Wacousta : a tale of the Pontiac conspiracy — Volume 2 — John Shaqi
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
The elder officer sat with his back to the window, and immediately in
front of the fire; his companion, at a corner of the rude hearth, and
in such a manner that, without turning his head, he could command every
part of the room at a glance. In the corner facing him stood the bed
already described. A faint ray of the fire-light fell on some minute
object glittering in the chair, the contents of which were heaped up in
disorder. Urged by that wayward curiosity, which is sometimes excited,
even under circumstances of the greatest danger and otherwise absorbing
interest, the young man kicked the hickory log that lay nearest to it
with his mocassined foot, and produced a bright crackling flame, the
reflection of which was thrown entirely upon the object of his gaze; it
was a large metal button, on which the number of his regiment was
distinctly visible. Unable to check his desire to know further, he left
his seat, to examine the contents of the chair. As he moved across the
room, he fancied he heard a light sound from without; his companion,
also, seemed to manifest a similar impression by an almost
imperceptible start; but the noise was so momentary, and so fanciful,
neither felt it worth his while to pause upon the circumstance. The
young officer now raised the garments from the chair: they consisted of
a small grey great-coat, and trowsers, a waistcoat of coarse white
cloth, a pair of worsted stockings, and the half-boots of a boy; the
whole forming the drum-boy's equipment, worn by the wretched wife of
Halloway when borne senseless into the hut on that fatal morning.
Hastily quitting a dress that called up so many dreadful recollections,
and turning to his companion with a look that denoted apprehension,
lest he too should have beheld these melancholy remembrances of the
harrowing scene, the young officer hastened to resume his seat. In the
act of so doing, his eye fell upon the window, at which the female
still lingered. Had a blast from Heaven struck his sight, the terror of
his soul could not have been greater. He felt his cheek to pale, and
his hair to bristle beneath his cap, while the checked blood crept
slowly and coldly, as if its very function had been paralysed; still he
had presence of mind sufficient not to falter in his step, or to
betray, by any extraordinary movement, that his eye had rested on any
thing hateful to behold.
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