We just got to beautiful Whitman Mission, wait well, I thought beautiful. There are a lot of burned down buildings here and I thought that is was our final stretch to load ourselves on supplies, but there is nothing here besides one family and burned down buildings. My wagon train and I go to talk to them and we find out that the, Cayuse tribe of Indians and burnt down all the buildings and raided everyone, they came right on the day that it was happening and they also had planned on getting supplies they were completely out and still are, they have been starving there for a little over 3 days so my wagon train and I had felt really bad and gave them some supplies. We felt bad for them, but it was a huge mistake to do that now because everyone. …show more content…
We had to travel across this strip of land called the dales and we had to pay a toll. But we did not have enough money so we had to give some stuff from my wagon in exchange for some
The driver, Cecilia Blair, of vehicle 1 was traveling north through the intersection of N. State St. and Flint St. when she had a collision with vehicle 2. The driver, Jacqueline Muir, of vehicle 2 was heading west on Flint St. when she was struck by vehicle 1.
The forest had gone.... and the Witch looked much younger. Audette opened her eyes and had found herself upon a brow of white lilies. The shape of the shrouded old woman seemed changed. Having turned around, and opened her mantle to the tearing gusts, Meliza revealed to the young lady two streams of shinging blackness and smooth white flesh. Audette stopped in her tracks.
Jake opened his pocket watch, tipping the crystal face toward the low flames of the campfire. Another hour before daylight and he’d pick up Duvall’s trail. The muscles in his jaw clenched, hate pulling at every part of him. He’d kill Duvall, and he’d do it with Texas’ silent blessing. No judge had pronounced a sentence, but Jake saw the outlaw pull the trigger—watched Harrison die.
Hello, this is Kelsey Maley reporting from a battlefield in France during spring of 1914. As you can most likely hear, the battle is booming behind us. The gunshots and cannon fires can be heard from miles away. From where I am standing one can also hear the cries and screams, and running horse hooves from the war below. Looking down we can see the khaki and grey uniforms either riding horses or hiding in trenches and with guns or swords. It is hard to concentrate on these men in uniforms because of the dirt and smoke covering the air around them. Walking up here is difficult because of the bumps in the ground. One may be able to feel the rumbling and shaking ground every time a cannon is fired. Each side is obeying the screams from their comandor
The well known Grand Canyon wasn’t always grand. About 6 millions years ago there live a princess called Artemis, she loved a lot of things like hunting, wilderness, and animals. Her kingdom was located in the territory now called, Arizona. She always had her trusty bow and arrow everywhere she went. She hunted so much that she would bring extra animals to feed the poor. But her father didn’t like that, he was selfish and forbade her to feed the poor anymore. He wanted her daughter to be normal, like wear dresses, have proper manners, and be quiet like every princess should be. She didn’t like that, her passion was to hunt, and possibly become a warrior with her true love. The fault with that dream she had no true love.
Swords crashed against shields like a field of doors slamming shut in the wind. Arrows whistled through the air; a murder of tiny crows swarming above us vulnerable soldiers. The grunts of men impaled by hafts and sliced open by steel join the cacophony of a battle raging into dusk. Wet warmness would splash across me in response to the dying cries of my comrades as one after another of those we battle would push our shields apart and break the line. The ground was wet and sloppy, dried earth had been turned to slush by a rain that did not fall from the sky. The ground was rendered difficult to manoeuvre through, encumbered by the lifeless figures of soldiers now without the allegiance that lead them to a face in the dirt.
You have successfully entered enemy territory. You and the other recon soldiers have crossed the distance of open plain, skirted the barbed wire, and are close to the enemy trenches. You all lie on your stomachs in the mud, rifles in hand. So far, the going is good. You don’t seem to have been spotted, and no shouts of alarm split the air.
One always asks, why does one kill? For love, for money, for power…and sometimes because the devil was hissing in your ear, kissing your neck, willing you on. He’d spoke of wrong doings, and trespasses, ones that could not be forgiven. So Cain had taken destiny into his hands, millenia ago he was going to find himself wrapped up in the embrace of hell, of Satan, and the Pit.
Both local newspapers began to signal, albeit discretely, that war could be approaching its end. Reports spoke in guarded terms about German difficulties and in the ‘Letters to the Editor’ columns, there were encouraging words, leaving readers in no doubt that a resolution was close. Talk in shops and at church services built on the speculation. When news of the imminent German surrender reached soldiers in the front line it was greeted with silence. ‘We did not cheer,’ one soldier recalled. ‘We just stood, stunned and bewildered.’ He continued: ‘On the stroke of 11a.m. the CO raised his hand and told us that the war was over. Then we cheered, with our tin hats on and our rifles held aloft. For old hands like me, it was funny realising that the day we had waited so long for had come at
Jimin wakes up to the sound of explosions and fire. A thousand and some men meet their demise each day, and Jimin prays at night he’s not one of them. The war rages around him, and he gets off the make-shift bed to get changed into his gear to help out. He caps the patterned helmet and looks at himself in the mirror. His reflection stares back, sad and weary, a youth gone wrong. He smears camouflage onto his face, high on his cheekbones until there is nothing left of him but an empty vessel of war.
A fortnight passed, and Percy and his siblings spent extra time with Will. After coming close to losing him, they all got along better than ever.
At some point, their ears had finally given in to the echoing shots and yells and had dulled to the point where they could barely hear anything at all. The students - cut, bruised and bloodied - lay upon the ground. Dead or hiding. Hoping for mercy, for that’s all they had left to hope for.
After John harnessed the team to the wagon, he, Charity, and Charles loaded Uriah into it. She and Charles then headed to town with him. She left John and Martha Jane to watch over the younger children, with strict orders that they had all better be on their best behavior until her return. John was nearly twelve; she figured he ought to be capable of watching the little ones.
It was February 23, 1939 Austria a young adult was taken away from his home and his casual day to day life. The second world war. Was taking place. We were swarmed into the streets and being taken out. People in confusion as to why these German soldiers are constantly yelling at us
After studying American author, Walt Whitman, it is clear that he has had a long lasting impact on society and the lives of authors and artists who came after him. Through works like Democratic Vistas and Song of Myself, Whitman gave American society tools to promote creative expression and the essence of democracy. However, Whitman’s methods had to be adopted over time to touch/bring attention to different social issues. Two authors who were able to branch off of Whitman’s works and ideas were Isadora Duncan and James Baldwin. By analyzing these two important characters of history, we will be able explore two different social issues in two different eras and how Duncan and Baldwin refined Whitman’s approach in order to make a statement in society. It’s significant to identify the importance of these artists because this process is still relevant in today’s society, adapting from Whitman in order to get points across and make a difference.