Indians of North America -- Juvenile fiction; Pioneers -- West (U.S.) -- Juvenile fiction; Slavery -- Juvenile fiction
"Hurrah! I see a light ahead," he shouted at last; "that's the log hut
we were told of; and even if the wolves do come, we shall be safe from
them in a few minutes, for they will not approach a human habitation."
On we jolted; I could distinguish a clearing on the side where the light
appeared, it grew brighter and stronger, and presently my father pulled
up in front of a good-sized building, composed of huge logs placed one
above another, with the doors and windows sawn out of them, and roofed
with shingles, which are thin broad slabs of wood, split from the trunks
of large trees.
"Can you afford us shelter for the night, friend?" said my father to a
man, who, hearing the sound of wheels, came outside the door.
"Ay, and a welcome too, such as we give to all strangers who have money
or money's worth to pay for their lodging, and I guess you've got that."
"Yes, I am ready to pay for our board and lodging, but I could not tell
in the dark whether or not this was a house of entertainment."
"I guess it's the finest hotel you'll find between the Ohio and
Harrodsburg," answered the man.
"All right," said my father; "I'll see my wife and child, as well as our
goods, safe inside; then we'll take the horses and waggon round to the
stables."
Saying this he helped my mother and me to the ground. We entered a
large room with a huge cooking-stove at one end, and a long table down
the middle, flanked by benches. A middle-aged woman, with three
strapping girls, her daughters, advanced to meet us, and conducted my
mother and me up to the stove, that we might warm ourselves; for as it
was early in the year, the evening had set in cold. Our hostess talked
away at a rapid rate, giving us all the news of the country, and
inquiring what information we could afford her in return.
We found that we were still nearly another day's journey from Green
River, after crossing which it would take us the best part of a third
day to get to my uncle's location. Three or four other travellers came
in, armed with bowie-knives, and pistols in their belts, each carrying a
long gun, which he placed against the wall. A black man and a girl
appeared, to serve at table, and we heard several others chattering
outside, reminding us that we were in a slave-state. On my father's
return he took his seat by my mother's side, and talked away to prevent
me hearing the conversation which was going on between the other
travellers at the further end of the table, which showed they were as
rough in their manners as in their appearance. However, they did not
otherwise interfere with us.
At an early hour my father begged to be shown a room.
"I guess it's not a very big one," answered our hostess; "but you and
your wife won't mind a trifle like that. There's a bunk in the corner,
in which your young one can stow himself away."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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