A Loyal Lass: A Story of the Niagara Campaign of 1814
Amy Ella Blanchard
9781465550590
213 pages
Library of Alexandria
Overview
It was getting dark in the woods which ran along above the deep gorge through which whirled and rushed the waters of the Niagara River, and Marianne Reyburn unconsciously hurried her steps; for, though a frontier lass and fearless to a degree, she was alive to the dangers which lay hidden in the forest, and at this particular time she felt a new apprehension, for there were mutterings of a war with England, and that meant—what, she hardly knew. It might include other dangers beside the Indian horrors of which her grandmother was always ready to tell her. Those tales of the early settlements, of the days of Frontenac, of the Seven Years' War, and of the "Hungry Year," were what had fed her childhood's fancy, and even now she listened to them with wide-open eyes and parted lips. Canadian was this grandmother, and it was Marianne's father who had come up out of the south with his parents. Marianne liked to hear him tell how they left their Kentucky home in an emigrant wagon to settle in Ohio, and how a few years later her father, a young man of adventurous turn, had followed along the great lakes till he found him a wife on the borders of Ontario, and had finally made him a home near the little village of Lewiston. Fair of skin, blue-eyed, light-haired, Marianne was like her father, though he was long-limbed and muscular; from her French mother she had taken her petite figure and her quick, animated movements. She was half French, but as she ran along through the woods her heart beat more loyally for her father's country than for that land of her grandmother, on the other side of the river. Her moccasined feet made little noise as she followed the pathway before her. The sun was low in the west, and was setting blood-red, so that it flecked with a ruddy light the trunks of the trees. "It is getting late; I must hurry," murmured the girl. Suddenly she paused and her hand sought her belt. She stood very still and listened, then with stealthy tread she moved forward and with a catlike spring swung herself up amid the branches of a large tree near by. Stretching her slim body along a heavy limb, she lay quite motionless, hidden by the leaves, her ears alert for the slightest sound. Presently down the pathway came two men talking earnestly. Marianne was very quiet after the first start of surprise and the whispered word "Victor!" which accompanied it. One of the men wore the rough dress of a habitant; the other, in homespun, bore a pack on his back, and Marianne decided him to be a Yankee pedler. He was talking with the garrulity of one accustomed to an audience. As the two approached nearer, Marianne caught the words: "I sez, sez I: That's neither here nor there. If we hev a war, it's every man's dooty to fight for his country whether he's sartin she'd ought to hev fit or no. Fur my part, I say she hadn't oughter fight, but then I dunno as I'm capable of jedgin'—mebbe she'd ought. At any rate, ef she sez: Son, I want you should fight, I'll fight. I guess mebbe I kin. I'm kinder curious about it; but there! I'm the curiousest fellow you ever did see,—always pryin' into what's no consarn of mine."
