When Wilderness Was King: A Tale of the Illinois CountryParrish, Randall
General
When Wilderness Was King: A Tale of the Illinois Country
Parrish, Randall
Illinois -- Fiction
It is hard to tell how long I lay there, or by what miracle of God's
great mercy I had escaped death and mutilation. It was still day, the
sun was high in the heaven, and the heat almost intolerable, beating down
upon the dry and glittering sand. I could distinguish no sound near at
hand, not even a moan of any kind. The human forms about me were
stiffening in death; nor did any skulking Indian figures appear in sight.
From away to the northward I could hear the echo of distant yelling; and
as I lay there, every faculty alert, I became more and more convinced
that the savages who had attacked us had withdrawn, and that I alone of
all that fated company was preserved, through some strange dispensation
of Providence, for what might prove a more terrible fate than any on that
stricken field. With this thought there was suddenly born within me a
fresh desire for life, a mad thirsting after revenge on those red demons
whose merciless work I had been compelled to see. Yet if I hoped to
preserve my life, I must have water and air; a single hour longer in my
present situation could only result in death. Fortunately, such relief,
now that I felt free to exert myself and seek it, was not so difficult as
it had seemed. The heavy horse rested upon other bodies as well as my
own, so that, little by little, I succeeded in dragging myself out from
beneath his weight, until I was finally able to lift my head and glance
cautiously about me.
I pause now as I sit writing, my face buried in my hands, at the memory
of that dreadful field of death. I cannot picture it, nor have I wish to
try. I took one swift glimpse at the riven skulls, the mangled limbs,
the mutilated bodies, the upturned pleading faces white and ghastly in
the sunlight, the women and children huddled in heaps of slain, the
seemingly endless line of disfigured, half-stripped bodies stretching far
down the white beach; then I fell upon my face in the sand, sobbing like
a baby. O God, how could such deeds be done? How could creatures shaped
like men prove themselves such fiends, such hideous devils of malignity?
It sickened me with horror, and I shrank from those dead bodies as if
each had been a grim and threatening ghost.
Necessity presently overcame the dread possessing me; and slowly, seeking
to see no more than I must of the awful scenes about me, I struggled to
my knees, and peered around cautiously for signs of skulking Indians.
Not a living creature was near enough to observe me. To the northward
the savages were swarming about the Fort, and it was evident that they
had left everything to search for plunder. My uncovered head throbbed
under the hot sun, and my hair was thick with clotted blood; scarce a
hundred feet away was the blue lake, and on my hands and knees I crawled
across the beach to it, forgetful of everything else in my desire to roll
in the cool sweet water.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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