[Prisoners of Chance by Randall Parrish]@TWC D-Link bookPrisoners of Chance CHAPTER XII 8/11
We have escaped with our lives from New Orleans, and are now seeking refuge on the Ohio." He nodded, his shrewd gray eyes fastened intently on my face, his own countenance expressionless. "Who holdeth New Orleans ?" he asked in a tone of interest. "The Spanish, under O'Reilly." "'Tis what they told me above, yet I believed they lied.
Those with you are French ?" "Ay." "And you ?" "Of Louisiana birth and English blood; five years I have been a hunter in the Illinois country." He groaned as though the mention of the word awoke unpleasant memories. "'Tis an unholy land, no fit abiding place for the elect, as I learned, having passed through its settlements seeking prayerfully to bear an evangel unto that stiff-necked people.
Friend, thou hast an honest face, and I will say in confidence I have been ofttimes blessed of the Spirit in the conversion of souls; yet this people laughed at my unctuous speech, making merry regarding that head-covering with which the Almighty chose to adorn his servant.
Dost thou know the French settlement on the Kaskaskia ?" "I have been there often." "Ah! 'tis verily a stronghold of popish superstition.
Recall you the humble cabin of Gabriel La Motte, the Huguenot, close by the ravine? It was there I abode in much spiritual and temporal comfort with that godly man, until certain mad roisterers took offence at plain gospel speech, driving me forth into the wilderness, even as Jehovah's prophets of old.
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