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
Whether nettled at the support given to the proposition of Mr.
McKenzie by Winnebeg, or more immediately influenced by his strict
sense of obedience to the order he had received from General Hull,
or by both motives, Captain Headley firmly repeated his determination
to distribute everything, as he promised, on the following day.
The hour of twelve was named, and the council broke up, the younger
Indians leaping and shouting with joy as they separated in small
parties, some yet lingering about the fort and glacis, but the main
body moving off again to their encampment.
CHAPTER XV.
The remainder of the day passed heavily and gloomily. All felt
there was a crisis at hand, and the insolent tone which the younger
Indians had assumed, left little hope with any that the escort of
their allies on the long and dreary route on which they were about
to enter would bring with it anything but despair and disaster.
Captain Headley had exerted his prerogative. He had, as commanding
officer, decided upon his course in opposition to the judgment even
of his Indian counsellors; but he was not happy--he was not satisfied
himself. On re-entering the fort, after the council had been broken
up, he had felt it necessary to the maintenance of his own dignity
to summon the subalterns before him, and read, or rather commence
to read to them, a lecture on their disobedience of his command to
them to follow him to the council; but, with strong evidence of
contempt in their manner, they had turned on their heels and walked
away without replying, leaving him deeply mortified at a want of
respect for him, which was rendered the more bitter to his pride
by a certain latent consciousness that it had not been wholly
unmerited. On entering his apartment, he found his noble wife
preparing at her leisure the private arrangements for departure,
and calm and collected as if no circumstances of more than ordinary
interest were agitating the general mind. He caught her in his
arms; he sat upon the sofa, and drew her passionately to his heart.
Never in the course of twenty years' marriage had he more fondly
loved her. There was a luxury of endearment in that embrace that
renewed all the earlier and more vivid recollection of their union,
and for many minutes they remained thus, each wishing it could last
for ever. When this full outpouring of their souls had subsided,
their hearts beat lighter, felt freer, and there was less
scruple in entering on the subject of the immediate future that
awaited them.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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