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Parrish, Randall, 1858-1923

"A Romance of the Black Hawk War"


The night air increased in chilliness as the hours approached dawn, and
I shivered in my wet clothes, although this only served to arouse me
into immediate action. Realizing more than ever as I again attempted
to move my weakness and exhaustion from struggle, I succeeded in
gaining my feet, and stumbled forward along the narrow spit of sand,
until I attained a bank of firm earth, up which I crept painfully,
emerging at last upon a fairly level spot, softly carpeted with grass,
and surrounded by a grove of forest trees. The shadows here were
dense, but my feet encountered a depression in the soil, which I soon
identified as a rather well-defined path leading inland. Assured that
this must point the way to some door, as it was evidently no wild
animal trail, I felt my way forward cautiously, eager to attain
shelter, and the comfort of a fire.
The grove was of limited extent, and, as I emerged from beneath its
shadow, I came suddenly to a patch of cultivated land, bisected by a
small stream, the path I was following leading along its bank. Holding
to this for guidance, within less than a hundred yards I came to the
house I was seeking, a small, log structure, overshadowed by a gigantic
oak, and standing isolated and alone. It appeared dark and silent,
although evidently inhabited, as an axe stood leaning against the jamb
of the door, while a variety of utensils were scattered about.
Believing the place to be occupied by a slave, or possibly some white
squatter, I advanced directly to the door, and called loudly to whoever
might be within.


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