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Parrish, Randall, 1858-1923

"A Romance of the Black Hawk War"

I was obliged to
rely upon a guess at the time of night, yet surely it could not be long
after twelve and there must yet remain hours of darkness amply
sufficient for our purpose. With the boat once securely in our
possession, the engineer compelled to serve, for I had no skill in that
line, we could strike out directly for the opposite shore and creep
along in its shadows past the sleeping town at the Landing until we
attained the deserted waters above. By then we should practically be
beyond immediate pursuit. Even if Carver or the sheriff discovered
Kirby, any immediate chase by river would be impossible. Nothing was
available for their use except a few rowboats at the Landing; they
would know nothing as to whether we had gone up or down stream, while
the coming of the early daylight would surely permit us to discover
some place of concealment along the desolate Illinois shore. Desperate
as the attempt undoubtedly was, the situation, as I considered it in
all its details, brought me faith in our success and fresh
encouragement to make the effort.
The distance was covered far more quickly than I had anticipated. The
road we followed was by now fairly visible beneath the faint
star-gleam, and once we were below the bluff the broad expanse of river
appeared at our left, a dim, flowing mystery, the opposite shore
invisible. To our strained eyes it seemed an endless flood of surging
water. Immediately about us, all remained dark and silent, the few
trees lining the summit of the overhanging bluff assuming grotesque
shapes, and occasionally startling us by their strange resemblance to
human beings.


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