Hardscrabble; or, the fall of Chicago. a tale of Indian warfare by John Richardson


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Page 44

Many of the men, dressed and accoutred for the morning
parade, which usually took place at about nine o'clock,
were grouped around, and anxiously watching the approach
of the boat, as of something they had despaired of ever
again beholding. Captain Headley drew his telescope to
the proper focus, and after looking through it a few
minutes--remarked--

"Thank Heaven, all is right--they are all there, although
it is quite unaccountable to me how they could have been
detained until this morning. And, oh! it seems they have
taken a heavy draught of fish, for, although I cannot
see the bottom of the boat, their feet are raised as if
to prevent crushing or injuring something beneath them.
But hold! there is something wrong, too. I do not see
the usual number of muskets piled in the stern. How can
this be, Mr. Elmsley?"

"Perhaps there is not the same number of men," suggested
the lieutenant--"some of them, for causes connected with
their detention, may be coming by land."

"Not at all. There are seven men. I think seven men
compose the fishing party; do they not?"

"Six men, besides the non-commissioned officer; yes, sir."

"I can make out Corporal Nixon, for he is steering and
facing me, but for the others, I do not know them well
enough to distinguish. Here, Mr. Elmsley, take the glass,
and try what you can make of them."

The lieutenant gazed through the glass a moment, and then
pronounced name after name, as the men severally came
under the range of the lens. "Yes, sir, as you say,
there is Corporal Nixon steering--then, with, their backs
to us, and pulling, are first, Collins, then Green, then
Jackson, then Weston, then Cass, and then Philips. But
what they have in the bottom of the boat, for I now can
see that plain enough, is not fish, sir, but a human
body, and a dog crouched at its side. Yes! it is indeed
the Frenchman's dog--Loup Garou."

"Well, I want to know!" exclaimed Ephraim Giles, who had
ascended the bastion, and now stood amid the group of
men, "I take it, that if that's Loup Garou, his master
can't be far off. I never knowed them to be separate."

"Yes, sir, that is certainly a dead body," pursued the
lieutenant--"somebody killed at the farm, no doubt. Have
you any orders for the direction of the party, when they
land, sir?" he inquired, as he handed back the glass to
the captain.

"Just desire the drum to beat to parade," was the answer.
"It wants only a few minutes of guard-mounting, and by
the time the men have fallen in, and the roll is called,
the boat will be here. Where is Mr. Ronayne?"

"I have not seen him this morning, sir, but believe that
he is in his own rooms. He, however, knows the hour, and
doubtless will be here presently."

"When the men have fallen in, come and report to me,"
said the captain, as he descended from the bastion, and
proceeded to his own quarters, to eat his untasted
breakfast.

The lieutenant touched his cap in assent, and then, having
despatched a man with orders to the temporary drum-major,
crossed over to the apartments of the ensign, anxious
not only to excuse himself for not being able to receive
his friend to his own breakfast, at the hour he had named,
but to prepare him for the reception of the body of Mr.
Heywood, which he doubted not, was that now on its way
for interment at his own house.

On entering the mess-room, in which they had taken their
punch, the previous evening, everything bore evidence of
a late debauch. Ashes and tobacco were liberally strewed
upon the table, while around the empty bowl, were, in
some disorder, pipes and glasses--one of each emptied of
all but the ashes and sediment--the other two only
half-smoked, half-full, and standing amid a pool of wet,
which had evidently been spilt by a not very steady hand.
The windows were closed, so that the smoke clung to what
little furniture there was in the room, and the whole
scent of the place was an abominable compound of stale
tobacco and strong whisky.

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Books | Photos | Paul Mutton | Sun 8th Feb 2026, 14:41