Thank you for this story, whether true or not, it must have in some pioneer family, happen as such. I have OSBORNE, OSBORN in my ancestry and there is a Sarah, and several John's but the Sarah I show would be a bit older. But thank you for sharing this "story". Antoinette waughtel@oz.net ----- Original Message ----- From: "jgmott" <jgmott@wcoil.com> To: <NEWGEN-L@rootsweb.com> Sent: Monday, December 11, 2000 9:43 AM Subject: [NEWGEN] Story > This is from another list. It is long, but a very good story(not sure if it is a true story though) > Gloria > The Christmas Cake > By Ed Price > > Deep snow filled the valleys and hollows of the Unaka Mountains with > soft, powdery whiteness. Christmas Day dawned clear and bright that > frosty morning in 1791. Outside the cabin all was quiet but John > Osborne, pioneer father of seven, didn't have to tax his imagination to > know what was coming next. A half dozen Indians were positioning > themselves for a final all-out attack. > All night long the place had been under siege. The warriors had arrived > about the middle of the afternoon on Christmas Eve, just as Mrs. Osborne > was taking her famous Christmas cake -- a splendid confection of flour, > honey, dried fruit and nuts -- out of the Dutch oven. Women in her > German-born family baked the cake for generations -- a special treat > only to be eaten on Christmas day. > With three Kentucky long rifles available, John Osborne and his two > oldest sons stationed themselves at narrow slots built into the walls of > the cabin and repeatedly blazed away at the attacking warriors while > Mrs. Osborne and the younger boys reloaded the guns. The Indians had > rifles too but, luckily, no one in the cabin had been hit. And as far as > John Osborne could see, none> of the attacking Indians had been shot > either. > Three-year-old Sarah, the only Osborne girl, seemed oblivious to > everything around her. At first the noise of the firing had hurt her > ears, but she quickly adjusted and turned her mind to more pressing > thoughts -- mainly getting herself a generous slice of Mama's Christmas > cake. "Sarah want Christmas cake," she said to her mother, who was > busily jamming a ramrod down the gullet of a rifle."Not now," her mother > snapped back impatiently. "Maybe later when our 'guests' have left." > Then she handed her husband the freshly-loaded long rifle while he > handed her an empty one. > Sarah toddled over to her 15-year-old brother, William, who was busily > aiming his rifle through a slot. She reached out with a chubby hand, > grabbed his homespun pant leg and tugged. "Sarah wants cake," she said > loudly, trying to get his attention. William was too busy to be > bothered. He unceremoniously shoved her away. The little girl went from > one brother to the other. All were too busy to eat cake, let alone cut a > piece for Sarah. Finally, sadly, she wrapped herself in a piece of > bearskin and hunkered down in a corner of the cabin. > As soon as darkness fell the firing stopped. Sarah's mother relit the > fire in the fireplace as her husband and sons kept watch through the > slots. Finally John Osborne turned to his wife. "I can't understand why > they haven't tried to burn the cabin down," he said ominously. "Don't > even think of such a thing," his wife snapped back. "Just thank God > we're still alive." "Maybe they're just trying to harass us, to drive us > away." > Mrs. Osborne frowned. "Give me half a chance and I'll be in that wagon > heading east before you know it." John Osborne nodded agreement. Two > days ago a person couldn't have pried him from his new farmstead. Now he > was more than ready to load up his wife, kids, and what few belongings > they had, and head back to the Cape Fear River were, > at least, the local natives didn't use you for target practice. > Little Sarah was fast asleep in the bearskin. When her mother picked > her up she woke and babbled the first thing that entered her mind. "Can > we eat cake, now?" Mrs. Osborne smiled at her daughter and kissed her > lightly on the cheek. "No," she answered. "That cake is for Christmas -- > tomorrow..." She turned to her husband and mumbled, "...That is, if we > all live long enough to eat it!" > --- > Now it was Christmas day. John Osborne thought it doubtful whether any > of the family would survive the hour. But all that Sarah could think of > was the Christmas cake. > It had snowed heavily the night before and it was frigid outside the > cabin. Inside, it wasn't much warmer but, at least, there was no wind. > Those Indians out there must have been freezing. "I hope they freeze to > death," Mrs. Osborne said emphatically. John Osborne raised his > eyebrows. "Let's be charitable, Mother," he said soothingly. "If we're > going to die, we might as well do it while loving our enemies." > Mrs. Osborne stamped her foot angrily on the hard-packed dirt floor of > the cabin. "Love them if you wish, John. As for me, I hope they all go > to the blazes!" > Sarah tugged her mother's skirt. "Christmas cake," she burbled. > Her mother smiled. "Of course. Christmas cake. It is Christmas day, > isn't it." She moved to the table and picked up a knife. "We'll all have > a piece," she said as she sunk the blade into the soft confection. > The family assembled at the table, all but the oldest son who continued > to keep watch. John picked up his wedge of cake and said, "I bet them > savages would like a piece of this." Sarah was wide-eyed. "Why?" she > asked. Because it's cold, honey? I bet they haven't eaten for..." > "Here they come!" the eldest son shouted. Christmas cake was instantly > forgotten as family members scrambled to their stations. Firing started > again. Outside Sarah heard yelling and whoops. Daddy > was right. They must be hungry. They cried like she did when she wanted > something to eat. > The eldest son nearly dropped his rifle when he saw what happened > next. "What in the...." > John Osborne shouted through the slot. "Sarah! Come back here!" > Mrs. Osborne jumped up and looked around the cabin. Sarah was gone. The > door was standing open. Her husband now stood in the opening, his eyes > fixed on something outside the cabin. The firing had stopped. "What's > happening?" she shouted. > A stifled cry came from her lips. The Indians had stopped attacking. > Instead, they stood in the snow around a little girl who was holding a > plate bearing her mother's Christmas cake. She held it up to the > astonished Indians. Obviously, none of them knew quite what to do. > Finally one of the Indians -- a tall, graying warrior -- reached over > and took a piece of the cake. Gingerly he tasted it. When he finally > realized that the little girl wasn't trying to poison him, he took a > bigger bite. The half-dozen other warriors each took a piece and ate as > if they hadn'teaten for days. In no time at all, the Christmas cake was > gone. > The older Indian now bent down and whispered a few words to little > Sarah. Then they both looked toward the house. Sarah took the brawny > Indian's hand in her soft, white one, and they both slowly began walking > toward the cabin. > Inside, the Osborne family was on the verge of panic. "Here they come. > What are we going to do now?" Mrs. Osborne asked her husband. > John shrugged in confusion. > Before they knew it, Sarah and the Indian were standing at the door. > Sarah urged him to come inside, but he refused. > John Osborne pointed his long rifle at the Indian's chest. The old > Indianglanced at the muzzle warily. Then he made an unmistakable sign of > greeting with his hand. "I am Dragging Canoe," he said solemnly. > John's stomach did a triple somersault. So this was the infamous > Dragging Canoe, the renegade Cherokee who swore he would never make > peace with the whites. He had broken with his own people to form the > Chickamauga Nation. Now, this terror of the frontier was standing at > John's very threshold, making signs of peace. > Dragging Canoe nodded toward Sarah. "Little Flower fed my braves when > we were hungry. You will now live in peace." Then he turned and walked > back to his braves. "They're leaving," the eldest son said in utter > amazement. "They're just walking away." > Mrs. Osborne closed the door, stooped down, and gathered her little > daughter into her arms. "Why did you go out there?" she demanded to > know. "Daddy said the men outside were hungry," she answered simply. "I > took them food." > So a simple act of generosity by a little girl had saved an entire > family from destruction. And Dragging Canoe was as good as his word. The > family was never bothered again by Indian raiders. > > (NOTE: The next spring, 60-year-old Dragging Canoe died of apoplexy > after an all-night war dance. The eventual fate of little Sarah Osborne > is unknown.) > > > ==== NEWGEN Mailing List ==== > DON'T FORGET TO USE THE WORDS "THANK YOU" WHEN SOMEONE HAS DONE > YOU A FAVOR....ALSO WHEN SOMEONE HAS TRIED TO BE HELPFUL. >