Wau-nan-gee; Or, the Massacre at Chicago: A Romance of the American RevolutionRichardson, Major (John)
General
Wau-nan-gee; Or, the Massacre at Chicago: A Romance of the American Revolution
Richardson, Major (John)
Chicago (Ill.) -- Fiction; Fort Dearborn Massacre, Chicago, Ill., 1812 -- Fiction; Massacres -- Fiction
All these particulars Lieut. Elmsley subsequently ascertained from
Winnebeg, for anxious as he was to take a last leave of his dying
friend, and to express his joy at once again beholding, even under
these disheartening circumstances, her for whom both himself and
his wife had ever entertained the strongest friendship, the officer
was afraid to move from the spot where, unseen himself, he had
witnessed all, lest by suddenly exciting and agitating, he should
abruptly destroy the life which was evidently fast drawing to a
close. To have broken that solemn and silent communion of spirits,
would, he felt, have been sacrilege, and he abstained; and yet, as
if fascinated by the sight, he could not leave the spot--he could
not abandon his dearest and best friends without lingering
to know how far his services might yet be available to both or one.
Apparently, Mrs. Ronayne had not uttered a sound since that piercing
cry had escaped her which attested her first knowledge of the
hopeless condition of her wounded husband. The attempt to carry
him off the field, with the view not only of preventing him from
being scalped, as he certainly would have been by the party then
advancing, but of conveying him to the Indian camp of the women,
had been productive of the greatest suffering; so much so that when
he had gained the point where he now lay, and where his wife had
first met him, he declared to Wau-nan-gee his utter inability to
proceed further, and prevailed on him to place him on the ground
that he might die in quiet.
It was now near sunset, and the condition of the Virginian was
momentarily becoming weaker. He suddenly made an attempt to rally,
and for a moment or two raised himself upon the elbow of the hand
that still encircled the waist of his wife.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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