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Richardson, John, 1796-1852

"Hardscrabble; or, the fall of Chicago. a tale of Indian warfare"


After a few minutes search, the corporal appeared again
at the mouth of the loft, not only with a demijohn
half-filled with whisky, but with a large loaf of brown
bread, and part of a shoulder of dried venison, from
which nearly one-half had been chipped away in slices.
This, indeed, was a prize, and the men looked at the
articles of necessary supply, as they were successively
handed down, with an earnestness which denoted, that
whatever might be their apprehensions of danger from
without, they by no means coveted fighting on an empty
stomach. After having lowered the treasures he had been
so fortunate as to secure, the Virginian swung himself
down by his hands, without difficulty, upon the lower
floor.
The fire had been again revived, and having ordered
Jackson up into the loft, to keep watch at the small-window,
and apprise him if any attempt should be made to replace
the ladder, the corporal for the first time lighting his
pipe, sat down to ruminate on his position, and consider
the means by which the party were to be taken back to
the fort. Further serious apprehensions in regard to
their safety he did not now entertain, for baulked, as
the Indians had been, in all their attempts to get into
the house, he felt persuaded that it was more with a view
to annoy and alarm, than with any hope of eventual success,
that they still lingered in the neighborhood.


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