Wacousta : a tale of the Pontiac conspiracy — Volume 2Richardson, Major (John)
General
Wacousta : a tale of the Pontiac conspiracy — Volume 2
Richardson, Major (John)
Pontiac's Conspiracy, 1763-1765 -- Fiction
His companion had emptied his first pipe, and was in the act of
refilling it, when he resumed his seat. He was evidently impatient at
the delay of the Canadian, and already were his lips opening to give
utterance to his disappointment, when he felt his foot significantly
pressed by that of his friend. An instinctive sense of something
fearful that was to ensue, but still demanding caution on his part,
prevented him from turning hastily round to know the cause. Satisfied,
however, there was danger, though not of an instantaneous character, he
put his pipe gently by, and stealing his hand under his coat, again
grasped the hilt of his dagger. At length he slowly and partially
turned his head, while his eyes inquiringly demanded of his friend the
cause of his alarm.
Partly to aid in concealing his increasing paleness, and partly with a
view to render it a medium for the conveyance of subdued sound, the
hand of the latter was raised to his face in such a manner that the
motion of his lips could not be distinguished from behind.
"We are betrayed," he scarcely breathed. "If you can command yourself,
turn and look at the window; but for God's sake arm yourself with
resolution, or look not at all: first draw the hood over your head, and
without any appearance of design. Our only chance of safety lies in
this,--that the Canadian may still be true, and that our disguise may
not be penetrated."
In despite of his native courage,--and this had often been put to
honourable proof,--he, thus mysteriously addressed, felt his heart to
throb violently. There was something so appalled in the countenance of
his friend--something so alarming in the very caution he had
recommended--that a vague dread of the horrible reality rushed at once
to his mind, and for a moment his own cheek became ashy pale, and his
breathing painfully oppressed. It was the natural weakness of the
physical man, over which the moral faculties had, for an instant, lost
their directing power. Speedily recovering himself, the young man
prepared to encounter the alarming object which had already so greatly
intimidated his friend. Carefully drawing the blanket hood over his
head, he rose from his seat, and, with the energetic movement of one
who has formed some desperate determination, turned his back to the
fire-place, and threw his eyes rapidly and eagerly upon the window.
They fell only on the rude patchwork of which it was principally
composed. The female had quitted the room.
"You must have been deceived," he whispered, keeping his eye still bent
upon the window, and with so imperceptible a movement of the lips that
sound alone could have betrayed he was speaking,--"I see nothing to
justify your alarm. Look again."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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