Wau-nan-gee; Or, the Massacre at Chicago: A Romance of the American Revolution — John Shaqi
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
"Jealous of Ronayne?" exclaimed Captain Headley with unfeigned
surprise. "Ha! ha! ha! excuse me, my dear Ellen, but I cannot
avoid being amused at the strangeness of the conceit."
"It was even so," returned Mrs. Headley, gravely, "and a source of
unhappiness I fear it will prove to us all that it was so."
"Proceed," said her husband.
"Are you aware that the son of Winnebeg has never entered the fort
nor been even in the neighborhood since the night of that marriage?"
pursued his wife.
"I do not believe he has been seen since," remarked Captain Headley.
"I _know_ that he has not; but yet he is ever near, seemingly bent
on one purpose."
"Love?" interposed the Captain, smiling.
"Yes, love! but a fearful love--though the love of a smooth-faced
boy--a love that may bring down destruction upon us all."
"Ellen, you begin to fill me with alarm," remarked her husband,
gravely. "You are not a woman to be startled by trifles, and there
is that in your manner just now which fully satisfies me of the
importance of what you have to communicate."
CHAPTER II.
"You know my love for Mrs. Ronayne," continued Mrs. Headley, after
a pause of a few minutes. "Even as though she were my own daughter,
I regard her, and would do for her all that a fond mother could
for her child. Only yesterday afternoon, while Ronayne and the
Doctor were out with a party fishing on the old ground above
Hardscrabble, she expressed a wish to visit the tomb of her poor
mother, who, dying within a week after her marriage, had been buried
near the base of the summer-house on the grounds attached to their
cottage, and asked me to accompany her. Of course I consented; and
as you were busily engaged, you did not particularly notice my
absence. We crossed the river in the scow, and ascended leisurely
to the garden. It struck me as we walked that the figure of a man,
seemingly an Indian, floated rapidly past within the paling of the
garden, but I could not distinctly trace the outline, and therefore
assumed that I had been deceived, and so said nothing to my companion
on the subject.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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