"Sentinel" Quotes from Famous Books
 ... before—the thought was truly a horrible one, and one which it was not easy to overcome. The case sometimes stood thus: At every gate through which we were to pass, we saw a watchman—at every ferry a guard—on every bridge a sentinel—and in every wood a patrol. We were hemmed in upon every side. Here were the difficulties, real or imagined—the good to be sought, and the evil to be shunned. On the one hand, there stood slavery, a stern reality, glaring frightfully upon us,—its robes already ...
— The Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass - An American Slave • Frederick Douglass
... they quickly disposed themselves on the floor, where, worn out by the fatigues of the day and the stirring adventure of the evening, they were soon fast asleep. They had closed the door, near which Waggie had settled his little body in the capacity of a sentinel. George dreamed of his father. He saw him standing at the window of a prison, as he stretched his hands through the bars and cried out: "George, I am here—here! Help me!" Then the boy's dream changed. He was back in the dark woods ...
— Chasing an Iron Horse - Or, A Boy's Adventures in the Civil War • Edward Robins
... bucks out for a frolic, but quite ready, officers say, for any kind of devilment. They rode around the post three or four times at breakneck speed, each circle being larger, and taking them farther away. At last they all started for the hills and gradually disappeared—all but one, a sentinel, who could be seen until dark sitting his pony on the highest hill. I presume there were dozens of Indians on the sand hills around the post peeking over to see how the fun ...
— Army Letters from an Officer's Wife, 1871-1888 • Frances M.A. Roe
... that seems like an earthwork at the right of the buildings," added Christy. "Can you make out anything that looks like a sentinel?" ...
— On The Blockade - SERIES: The Blue and the Gray Afloat • Oliver Optic
... was fresh, in spite of the Midsummer sun, and youth and health danced in the veins of the lovers. And yet not without a touch of something feverish, something abnormal, because of that day—that shrouded day—standing sentinel at the end of the week. They never spoke of it, but they never forgot it. It entered into each clinging grasp he gave her hand as he helped her up or down some steep or rugged bit of path—into the lingering look of her brown eyes, which thanked him, smiling—into ...
— Missing • Mrs. Humphry Ward
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