The Southern Literary Messenger, Vol. I., No. 8, April, 1835Various
General
The Southern Literary Messenger, Vol. I., No. 8, April, 1835
Various
American literature -- 19th century -- Periodicals
"The night was very dark and stormy; the wind mourned around the top
of the cliff, and the snow flakes whirling through the air, seemed to
me like so many ghosts. Three ravens fluttered up the side of the
rock, and lighting on a stunted pine, which grew near my place of
retreat, uttered a dismal scream, as if scenting for something to eat,
and waiting to feast on my carcass. Beneath me lay a thousand enemies,
who would in a moment have cut me into pieces, and given my body to
their dogs. My teeth chattered with cold and fear, and I felt like a
woman. The cliff was steep and overhung with shelving rocks. It was so
dark that I could not see my hand before me; and if I made one false
step, I should be dashed to pieces among the rocks, and Sinepaw would
remain a slave among my enemies. When my courage was about to expire,
this horrid thought revived it, and I immediately commenced sliding
down the cliff, holding on the points of the rocks, and grasping the
pine bushes which grew in my course. Several times my foot-hold
crumbled beneath me, and I fell from rock to rock, but there was
always something to stop my descent and prevent my destruction. At
length I reached the bottom, and stood on the level prairie. The camp
was but a short distance from me, and I walked towards it slowly and
cautiously. Every thing was solemn and silent, and the stillness was
only broke by the hollow wind whistling through the prairie glass, or
by the howl of some dog who could find no shelter from the storm. When
I entered the camp, I drew my robe over my head, and boldly stepped
forward. Several young men were standing near the different lodges,
perhaps to get a sly look at their sweethearts, but they took no
notice of me. Once I thought that a dog, belonging to the camp, would
have ruined me: he made for the spot where I was, snapping and
barking, and running around me several times; but, luckily, an old
squaw came from a lodge hard by, and drove him off. No doubt the Great
Spirit sent her, for had it been a man, he would have come towards me,
and spoken, and all would have been lost.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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