THE ATTACK ON THE FORT Francis Parkman
SIX years ago, a fellow named Jim Beckworth, a mongrel of French, American, and Negro blood, was trading for the Fur Company, in a large village of the Crows. Jim Beckworth was last summer at St. Louis. He is a ruffian of the worst stamp, bloody and treacherous, without honor or honesty; such at least is the character he bears upon the prairie. Yet in his ca the standard rules of character fail, for though he will stab a man in his sleep, he will also perform most desperate acts of daring; such, for instance, as the following: While he was in the Crow village, a Blackfoot war-party, between thirty and forty in number, came stealing through the country, killing stragglers and carrying off hors. The Crow warriors got upon their trail and presd them so cloly that they could not escape, at which the Blackfeet, throwing up a mi-circular breastwork of logs at the foot of a precipice, coolly awaited their approach. The logs and sticks, piled four or five feet high, protected them in front. The Crows might have swept over the breastwork and exterminated their enemies; but though outnumbering them tenfold, they did not dream of storming the little fortification. Such a proceeding would be altogether repugnant to their notions of warfare. Whooping an
原画场景d yelling, and jumping from side to side like devils incarnate, they showered bullets and arrows upon the logs; not a Blackfoot was hurt, but veral Crows, in spite of their leaping and dodging, were shot down. In this childish manner, the fight went on for an hour or two. Now and then a Crow warrior, in an ecstasy of valor and vainglory, would scream forth his war song, boast himlf the bravest and greatest of mankind, grasp his hatchet, rush up, strike it upon the breastwork, and then, as the retreated to his companions, fall dead under a shower of arrows; yet no combined attack was made. The Blackfeet remained cure in their entrenchment. At last Jim Beckworth lost patience.
“You are all fools and old women,” he said to the Crows, “come with me, if any of you are brave enough, and I will show you how to fight.”
He threw off his trapper’s frock of buckskin and stripped himlf naked, like the Indians themlves. He left his rifle on the ground, took in his hand a small light hatchet, and ran over the prairie to the right, concealed by a hollow from the eyes of the Blackfeet. Then climbing up the rocks, he gained the top of the precipice behind them. Forty or fifty young
Crow warriors followed him. By the cries and whoops that ro from below, he knew that the Blackfeet were just beneath him; and running forward, he leaped down the rock into the midst of them. As he fell he caught one by the long loo hair, and dragging him down, tomahawked him; then grasping another by the belt at his waist, he struck him also a stunning blow, and gaining his feet, shouted the Crow war cry. He swung his hatchet so fiercely around him that the astonished Blackfeet bore back and gave him room. He might, had he chon, have leaped over the breastwork and escaped; but this was not necessary, for with devilish yells the Crow warriors came dropping in quick succession over the rock among the enemies. The main body of the Crows, too, answered the cry from the front, and rushed up simultaneously. The convulsive struggle within the breastwork was frightful; for an instant the Blackfeet fought and yelled like pent-up tigers; but the butchery was soon complete, and the mangled bodies lay piled together under the precipice. Not a Blackfoot made his escape.
DISCUSSION
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Let us make two preliminary obrvations on this anecdote (e Glossary). First, it is allegedly true; it is not made up. Second, Parkman wrote it not primarily becau it was spirited and interesting in itlf but becau it illustrated one aspect of the life he wanted to describe to the people back home. The obrvations rai two questions. First, would this anecdote be an acceptable piece of fiction if, instead of using fact, Parkman had simply made it up out of his head? Second, would it be an acceptable piece of fiction if Parkman had written it not to instruct his readers but becau it was interesting in itlf?
We must answer no to the first question becau, though fiction is not tied to fact, it may u fact. Many pieces of fiction make as much u of historical fact as doe this. We must answer no to the cond question becau, though many pieces of fiction are written with a desire to instruct the reader, they are not written with the purpo to instruct the reader merely about matters of fact.
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If we are not debarred from calling this anecdote fiction becau it is true and not becau学习党内法规>dota影魔
the author’s avowed purpo was to instruct the reader, why, then, is it not to be considered a piece of acceptable fiction? To answer this question, we must look at the nature of the anecdote itlf.
The anecdote proper is simply the account of a spirited piece of action that, as a piece of action, is unified. That is, we have the situation precipitating the fight, the cunning defen by the Blackfeet that creates a problem for the attacking Crows, the failure of the Crows to solve their problem, then the daring solution by Beckworth. The anecdote, as action, is unified becau it prents problems and solution, becau it has a beginning, a middle, and an end. Our curiosity about the outcome is satisfied. But this outcome does not satisfy fully the interest that we bring to fiction. For one thing, the action recorded in this anecdote is purely external; it does not sufficiently involve the character and motive of human action. The only item of psychological interest is that Beckworth “lost Patience.”
Let us look at another example, in which the emphasis is on character: Samuel Clements’ brief account of an old Mississippi River steamboat pilot.
