Wacousta : a tale of the Pontiac conspiracy (Complete)Richardson, Major (John)
General
Wacousta : a tale of the Pontiac conspiracy (Complete)
Richardson, Major (John)
Pontiac's Conspiracy, 1763-1765 -- Fiction
Hitherto the affectionate De Haldimar had loved to listen to these
sounds of comfort; for, although they carried no conviction to his
mind, impressed as he was with the terrible curse of Ellen Halloway,
and the consequent belief that his family were devoted to some fearful
doom, still they came soothingly and unctuously to his sick soul; and,
all deceptive even as he felt them to be, he found they created a hope
which, while certain to be dispelled by calm after-reflection, carried
a momentary solace to his afflicted spirit. But, now that he had every
evidence his adored sister was no more, and that the illusion of hope
was past for ever, to have heard her name even mentioned by one who,
ignorant of the fearful truth the events of that night had elucidated,
was still ready to renew a strain every chord of which had lost its
power of harmony, was repugnant beyond bearing to his heart. At one
moment he resolved briefly to acquaint the old man with the dreadful
fact, but unwillingness to give pain prevented him; and, moreover, he
felt the grief the communication would draw from the faithful servitor
of his family must be of so unchecked a nature as to render his own
sufferings even more poignant than they were. Neither had he
(independently of all other considerations) resolution enough to forego
the existence of hope in another, even although it had passed entirely
away from himself. It was for these reasons he had so harshly and (for
him) unkindly checked, the attempt of the old man at a conversation
which he, at every moment, felt would be made to turn on the ill-fated
Clara.
Miserable as he felt his position to be, it was not without
satisfaction he again heard the voice of his sergeant summoning him to
the inspection of another relief. This duty performed, and anxious to
avoid the paining presence of his servant, he determined, instead of
returning to his guard-room, to consume the hour that remained before
day in pacing the ramparts. Leaving word with his subordinate, that, in
the event of his being required, he might be found without difficulty,
he ascended to that quarter of the works where the Indian had been
first seen who had so mysteriously conveyed the sad token he still
retained in his breast. It was on the same side with that particular
point whence we have already stated a full view of the bridge with its
surrounding scenery, together with the waters of the Detroit, where
they were intersected by Hog Island, were distinctly commanded. At
either of those points was stationed a sentinel, whose duty it was to
extend his beat between the boxes used now rather as lines of
demarcation than as places of temporary shelter, until each gained that
of his next comrade, when they again returned to their own, crossing
each other about half way: a system of precaution pursued by the whole
of the sentinels in the circuit of the rampart.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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