Border Rifles

Gustave Aimard

Description

In the mid-1830s, Americans living in the then Mexican-controlled colony of Texas began to bridle against the increasingly strict rule of the government. This sentiment eventually boiled over into full-bore revolution in 1835 and 1836. French writer Gustave Aimard sought to dramatize these events in a series of action-packed historical novels, beginning with The Border Rifles.

Sujets

• Westerns
• Western (genre)
• Western

Informations

• Publié par: The Floating Press
• Date de parution: 01 octobre 2015
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781776592937
• Langue: English

Extrait

THE BORDER RIFLES
A TALE OF THE TEXAN WAR
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GUSTAVE AIMARD
 
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The Border Rifles A Tale of the Texan War First published in 1861 Epub ISBN 978-1-77659-293-7 Also available: PDF ISBN 978-1-77659-294-4 © 2013 The Floating Press and its licensors. All rights reserved. While every effort has been used to ensure the accuracy and reliability of the information contained in The Floating Press edition of this book, The Floating Press does not assume liability or responsibility for any errors or omissions in this book. The Floating Press does not accept responsibility for loss suffered as a result of reliance upon the accuracy or currency of information contained in this book. Do not use while operating a motor vehicle or heavy equipment. Many suitcases look alike. Visit www.thefloatingpress.com
Contents
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Preface Chapter I - The Runaway Chapter II - Quoniam Chapter III - Black and White Chapter IV - The Manada Chapter V - Black-Deer Chapter VI - The Claim Chapter VII - Monkey-Face Chapter VIII - The Declaration of War Chapter IX - The Snake Pawnees Chapter X - The Battle Chapter XI - The Venta Del Potrero Chapter XII - Love and Jealousy Chapter XIII - Carmela Chapter XIV - The Conducta de Plata Chapter XV - The Halt Chapter XVI - A Political Sketch Chapter XVII - The Panther-Killer Chapter XVIII - Lanzi Chapter XIX - The Chase Chapter XX - The Confession Chapter XXI - The Jaguar Chapter XXII - Blue-Fox Chapter XXIII - The White Scalper Chapter XXIV - After the Fight Chapter XXV - An Explanation Chapter XXVI - The Express Chapter XXVII - The Guide Chapter XXVIII - John Davis Chapter XXIX - The Bargain Chapter XXX - The Ambuscade Endnotes
Preface
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In the series commencing with the present volume GUSTAVE AIMARD hasentirely changed the character of his stories. He has selected amagnificent episode of American history, the liberation of Texas fromthe intolerable yoke of the Mexicans, and describes scenes quorum parsmagna fuit . At the present moment, when all are watching with batedbreath the results of the internecine war commencing between North andSouth, I believe that the volumes our author devotes to this subjectwill be read with special interest, for they impart much valuableinformation about the character of the combatants who will, to a greatextent, form the nucleus of the confederated army. The North looks downon them with contempt, and calls them "Border ruffians;" but when themoment arrives, I entertain no doubt but that they will command respectby the brilliancy of their deeds.
Surprising though the events may be which are narrated in the presentvolume, they are surpassed by those that continue the series. The nextvolume, shortly to appear under the title of "The Freebooters,"describes the progress of the insurrection till it attained theproportions of a revolution, while the third and last volume will bedevoted to the establishment of order in that magnificent State ofTexas, which has cast in its lot with the Secessionists, and willindubitably hold out to the very last, confident in the prowess of itssons, whose fathers Aimard has so admirably depicted in the present andthe succeeding volumes of the new series.
L.W.
Chapter I - The Runaway
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Start of Prologue.
The immense virgin forests which once covered the soil of North Americaare more and more disappearing before the busy axes of the squatters andpioneers, whose insatiable activity removes the desert frontier furtherand further to the west.
Flourishing towns, well tilled and carefully-sown fields, now occupyregions where, scarce ten years ago, rose impenetrable forests, whosedense foliage hardly allowed the sunbeams to penetrate, and whoseunexplored depths sheltered animals of every description, and served asa retreat for hordes of nomadic Indians, who, in their martial ardour,frequently caused these majestic domes of verdure to re-echo with theirwar-yell.
Now that the forests have fallen, their gloomy denizens, graduallyrepulsed by the civilization that incessantly pursues them, have fledstep by step before it, and have sought far away other and saferretreats, to which they have borne the bones of their fathers with them,lest they might be dug up and desecrated by the inexorable ploughshareof the white men, as it traces its long and productive furrow over theirold hunting-grounds.
Is this constant disafforesting and clearing of the American continent amisfortune? Certainly not: on the contrary, the progress which marcheswith a giant's step, and tends, before a century, to transform the soilof the New World, possesses all our sympathy; still we cannot refrainfrom a feeling of pained commiseration for that unfortunate race whichis brutally placed beyond the pale of the law, and pitilessly tracked inall directions; which is daily diminishing, and is fatally condemnedsoon to disappear from that earth whose immense territory it coveredless than four centuries ago with innumerable tribes.
Perhaps if the people chosen by God to effect the changes to which weallude had understood their mission, they might have converted a work ofblood and carnage into one of peace and paternity, and arming themselveswith the divine precepts of the Gospel, instead of seizing rifles,torches, and scalping-knives, they might, in a given time, have produceda fusion of the white and red races, and have attained a result moreprofitable to progress, civilization, and before all, to that greatfraternity of nations which no one is permitted to despise, and forwhich those who forget its divine and sacred precepts will have aterrible account some day to render.
Men cannot become with impunity the murderers of an entire race, andconstantly wade in blood; for that blood must at some time cry forvengeance, and the day of justice break, when the sword will be cast inthe balance between conquerors and conquered.
At the period when our narrative commences, that is to say, about theclose of 1812, the emigration had not yet assumed that immense extensionwhich it was soon to acquire, for it was only beginning, as it were, andthe immense forests that stretched out and covered an enormous spacebetween the borders of the United States and Mexico, were only traversedby the furtive footsteps of traders and wood-rangers, or by the silentmoccasins of the Redskins.
It is in the centre of one of the immense forests to which we havealluded that our story begins, at about three in the afternoon ofOctober 27th, 1812.
The heat had been stifling under the covert, but at this moment thesunbeams growing more and more oblique, lengthened the tall shadows ofthe trees, and the evening breeze that was beginning to rise refreshedthe atmosphere, and carried far away the clouds of mosquitoes whichduring the whole mid-day had buzzed over the marshes in the clearings.
We find ourselves on the bank of an unknown affluent of the Arkansas;the slightly inclined trees on either side the stream formed a thickcanopy of verdure over the waters, which were scarce rippled by theinconstant breath of the breeze; here and there pink flamingos and whiteherons, perched on their tall legs, were fishing for their dinner, withthat careless ease which generally characterizes the race of greataquatic birds; but suddenly they stopped, stretched out their necks asif listening to some unusual sound, then ran hurriedly along to catchthe wind, and flew away with cries of alarm.
All at once the sound of a musket-shot was re-echoed through the forest,and two flamingos fell. At the same instant a light canoe doubled alittle cape formed by some mangrove-trees jutting out into the bed ofthe stream, and darted in pursuit of the flamingos which had fallen inthe water. One of them had been killed on the spot, and was driftingwith the current; but the other, apparently but slightly wounded, wasflying with extreme rapidity, and swimming vigorously.
The boat was an Indian canoe, made of birch bark removed from the treeby the aid of hot water, and there was only one man in it; his riflelying in the bows and still smoking, shewed that it was he who had justfired. We will draw the portrait of this person, who is destined to playan important part in our narrative.
As far as could be judged from his position in the canoe, he was a manof great height; his small head was attached by a powerful neck toshoulders of more than ordinary breadth; muscles, hard as cords, stoodout on his arms at each of his movements; in a word, the wholeappearance of this individual denoted a vigour beyond the average.
His face, illumined by large blue eyes, sparkling with sense, had anexpression of frankness and honesty which pleased at the first glance,and completed the ensemble of his regular features, and wide mouth,round which an unceasing smile of good humour played. He might betwenty-three, or twenty-four at the most, although his complexion,bronzed by the inclemency of the weather, and the dense light brownbeard that covered the lower part of his face, made him appear older.
This man was dressed in the garb of a wood-ranger: a beaver-skin cap,whose tail fell down between his shoulders, hardly restrained the thickcurls of his golden hair, which hung in disorder down his back; ahunting shirt of blue calico, fastened round his hips by a deerskinbelt, fell a little below his muscular knees; mitasses , or a speciesof tight drawers, covered his legs, and his feet were protected againstbrambles and the stings of reptiles by Indian moccasins.
His game-bag, of tanned leather, hung over his shoulder, and, like allthe bold pioneers of the virgin forest, his weapons consisted of a goodKentucky rifle, a straight-bladed knife, ten inches long and two wide,and a tomahawk that glistened like a mirror. These weapons, of coursewith the exception of the rifle, were passed through his belt, whichalso supported two buffalo horns filled with powder and bullets.
The appearance of the man thus equipped, and standing in the canoe amidthe imposing scenery that surrounde