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The Missouri Outlaws — Key Ideas to Explore

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In Category - Wandering Heroes Classic Adventures

Authors: Aimard, Gustave, 1818-1883, St. John, Percy B. (Percy Bolingbroke), 1821-1889 [Translator] Digital Source: Project Gutenberg Gutenberg Release Year: 2014 First Publication Year: Not confirmed

Key Word: Western stories; Outlaws -- Fiction; Missouri -- Fiction Target Reader: Readers of public-domain and historical texts

Book Edition: Project Gutenberg digital edition Book Language: en

Edition facts

Words 53,642

Reading time 234 min

Text sections 6

This digital edition of The Missouri Outlaws — Key Ideas to Explore is described by source-level measurements including 53,642 words, 3 hr 54 min estimated reading time, and 6 detected text sections.

The text analysis averages about 13.6 words per sentence, while the detected sections provide another way to judge how the source is divided.

Project Gutenberg metadata also associates the work with “Western stories,” connecting these edition facts with the source record’s subject description.

Source: Project Gutenberg record #44574

Gustave Aimard's frontier novel follows the Dickson family and the mysterious outlaw Tom Mitchell through Missouri's forests and prairies. The narrative shifts between domestic squatter life, tense councils, and violent pursuits, using recurring images of travel, kinship, and hidden identities.

Editorial Edition Score 4.7/5

★★★★★ ★★★★★

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Description quality20 pts
Title & short description10 pts
Source metadata20 pts
Text length15 pts
Chapters / structure15 pts
EPUB file integrity20 pts

Total of 100 points, scaled to a 2.5-5.0 range. Editions with an empty description or a missing EPUB file are not scored.

Edition quality

File: pg44574

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THE GOOD SHIP PATRIOT.

On the 4th of August, 1801, a little after eight o'clock at night, just as the last rays of the setting sun disappeared behind the heights of Dorchester, gilding as they did so the summits of certain islands scattered at the entrance to Boston Bay, some idlers of both sexes, collected on Beacon Hill, at the foot of the lighthouse, saw a large vessel making for the harbour.

At first it seemed as if the ship would be compelled to desist from her design, as the wind was slightly contrary; but, by a series of skilful manoeuvres, it at last passed by the danger which threatened, the sails were one by one taken in and furled, and finally the anchor was cast beside one of the many vessels in port.

A few minutes later nothing was to be seen on deck save one man walking up and down doing duty as watch for the time being.

The vessel had, under cover of a dense fog, escaped from Brest, slipped past the English cruisers, and finally, after many dangers, reached its destination.

Descending into the cabin, we find two men seated at a table upon which were glasses, bottles, pipes, and tobacco, conversing and smoking.

These were Captain Pierre Durand, a young man, with regular but rather effeminate features, and yet a look of frank honesty, to which his sparkling eyes, his broad forehead, his long waving hair, gave an appearance of singular energy. Though every inch a sailor, there was a refinement about him not generally found in his class.

His companion was a handsome and haughty young man, of about two-and-twenty, of moderate height, but with very broad shoulders; he was evidently of powerful make, with nerves of steel. His complexion was olive; his hair long wavy black; his eyes were large and bold; the expression of his countenance sombre and thoughtful, while at this early age many a wrinkle caused by thought or suffering was to be observed.

There had evidently been a warm discussion, for the captain was walking up and down, a frown upon his brow. Suddenly, however, he reseated himself and held out his hand across the table.

"I was wrong. Do not be vexed," he said.

"I am not angry, my good Pierre," he answered.

"Then why sulk with your friend?"

"I do not sulk, heaven knows; I am simply sad. You have reopened a wound I thought forever closed," the other added with a sigh.

"Well, then, in heaven's name, if it be so," cried the captain, "let us talk about something else--and above all, let us drink. This old rum is a sovereign remedy for the blues. Your health, my friend."

Both drank after touching glasses, and then silence again ensued.

"Now, my dear Oliver," resumed the captain, "at last we are safe in Boston. We leave tomorrow. What do you intend to do?"

"You remember our conversation at Brest?"

"I have not forgotten it, but I never seriously entertained the idea. We had dined rather copiously."

"We were very sober. There were two bottles on the table, one empty and the other nearly full. I then told you that though I had only just returned to France after an absence of ten years, I was compelled to leave at a moment's notice, and to leave without raising any suspicion. I wanted to depart without anyone being able to obtain the slightest clue; you remember," he added.

"I do, and I told you that I would run the blockade that very night, if the weather turned out as bad as I expected. Did I keep my promise?"

"With all the loyalty of your honest heart. I also told you I intended remaining in America."

"It is to that madcap resolution I object," said the captain emphatically. "Why not stay with me? You are an excellent sailor--you shall be my chief officer."

"No, my friend. I can accept nothing which can ever tempt me to return to France," he answered.

"How you suffer!" sighed his friend.

"Horribly. Come, my friend, as we shall part for ever tomorrow, I will tell you my history."

"Not if it makes you suffer."

"I will be brief. Sad as my story is, it is not very long."

"Go on," replied Captain Durand, filling up two more glasses of rum, and lighting a fresh cigar for himself.

Continue Reading →

From its first chapter, The Missouri Outlaws establishes a pattern of movement that governs the entire narrative. The story opens aboard the ship Patriot, then quickly transfers to the Dickson family's squatter settlement, and from there to the open prairie, Indian villages, and the hideouts of outlaws. This constant shifting between enclosed domestic spaces and the vast, uncontrolled wilderness creates a structural rhythm that mirrors the characters' own restless journeys.

The novel's voice is marked by formal, almost ceremonial dialogue, especially in council scenes where characters speak in measured, respectful phrases. Aimard frequently uses the motif of the pipe being lit and passed around before any serious discussion, a recurring ritual that signals the beginning of important negotiations or revelations.

The Squatter's Household as a Stage

The Dickson family's home functions as a central hub from which characters depart and return. The narrative lingers on domestic details—the meal, the fire, the lighting of pipes—before any plot development. In one scene, after a meal, everyone rises, fills their pipes, and seats themselves by the fire, a ritual that precedes the chief's revelation about Evening Dew's abduction. This pattern suggests that the household is not merely a setting but a stage where alliances are tested and secrets are disclosed.

The family itself is depicted through a web of kinship terms: "my second son," "one of us," "my father." These repeated declarations of belonging contrast with the outlaws' isolation. The squatter's home becomes a moral anchor in a world of shifting loyalties.

Rituals of Speech and Silence

Dialogue in the novel follows a formal, almost theatrical pattern. Characters often speak in long, respectful addresses, acknowledging each other's wisdom and age before stating their case. For example, the old man says to the chief, "Allow me to speak frankly to you, chief. You are my relative; I remember your birth, and love you." This ceremonial politeness masks underlying tensions.

Silence is equally significant. After the chief reveals that Tom Mitchell carried off Evening Dew, "A deep silence prevailed." The narrative pauses, allowing the weight of the accusation to settle. These silences function as structural beats, marking moments of crisis or decision. The novel's pacing depends on such alternations between elaborate speech and sudden stillness.

Recurring Images of Travel and Pursuit

Travel is described through a consistent set of images: the hunter's equipment—moccasins, gun, provisions—and the solitary journey. When Numank-Charake recounts his search for Evening Dew, he says, "I put on my travelling moccasins, took my gun, provisions, all that a hunter requires, and started." This formulaic description appears whenever a character sets out, reinforcing the idea that movement is both a necessity and a ritual.

Pursuit is often framed as a chase through the wilderness, but the novel also includes psychological pursuit: characters track each other's motives through careful questioning. The physical and verbal pursuits mirror each other, creating a layered sense of movement.

The Outlaw as a Shifting Figure

Tom Mitchell, the titular outlaw, is introduced through others' words before he appears. The preface calls him "the mysterious outlaw" and "one of the most original characters" of Aimard's creation. In the excerpts, he is referred to as the ravisher of Evening Dew, and his name is spoken with a mixture of fear and respect. The narrative withholds his perspective, presenting him only through reports and reactions.

This indirect introduction builds anticipation. The outlaw figure is defined by absence and rumor, a structural device that keeps the reader guessing. When characters discuss him, they often use formal accusations: "Lagrenay's wife was never ill. Evening Dew was carried off by Tom Mitchell." The novel's structure thus relies on delayed revelation, with Mitchell's true nature remaining ambiguous until later chapters.

Readers attentive to the novel's structural patterns will notice how each chapter begins with a journey or a council, and ends with a decision or a departure. The recurring rituals—lighting pipes, exchanging formal greetings, and the careful weighing of words—provide a steady rhythm against the chaotic frontier. Pay attention to who speaks first in any gathering, and who remains silent; these choices often signal the balance of power and the direction of the plot.

Reading about Tom Mitchell’s hidden life in The Missouri Outlaws made me think of my grandfather’s old stories—how a man’s name could be a mask. One of Clive's Heroes: A Story of the Fight for India — A Reader’s Guide once stirred that same quiet recognition, as if distant frontiers still carried the weight of an unspoken self.