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Za darmoA Conscript's Christmas
Joel Chandler Harris
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On a Sunday afternoon in December 1863, two horsemen were crossing Big Corn Valley, heading toward Sugar Mountain. They had set out from the little town of Jasper early that morning, and it was plain to see they had not enjoyed the ride. They sat slumped in their saddles, carbines resting across their laps, and whatever talk they shared was scattered and weary.
Truth be told, the journey from Jasper to the top of Sugar Mountain was never pleasant, even in the best weather, and now, with a bitter, cold mist pushed by the wind, it was downright miserable. Nor was it a short trip. Big Corn Valley stretched fifteen miles as the crow flies, and the winding road added five more. Then came the barrier of the foothills, and finally Sugar Mountain itself, which on a clear day towered above all the other peaks in that region.
But that wasn't all. Now and then, when the wind lifted the oilskin overcoats of the riders, the gray uniform of the Confederacy showed beneath. They wore cavalry boots, and there were telltale trimmings on their felt hats. With those signs to advertise them, they were not in friendly territory. Bushwhackers hid in the mountains, and for all the horsemen knew, the fodder stacks in the valley, looming like huge, ghostly shapes in the mist, might conceal dozens of guerrillas. That day they had ridden past the home of the only member of the Georgia state convention who had refused to sign the ordinance of secession, and the woods, as the local saying went, were full of Union men.
Suddenly, with a fierce, ripping oath, one of the horsemen pulled up short. "I wish I may die," he burst out, his voice shaking with long-held irritation, "if I ain't a great mind to turn around and go back. Where does this blasted road lead to, anyhow?"
"To the mountain—straight to the mountain," grimly replied the other, who had stopped to see what was wrong with his companion.
"Great Jerusalem! Straight? Do you see that fodder stack yonder with the hawk on the pole? Well, we've passed it four times, and we're no farther away now than we were at first."
# book_id: global-gutenberg-story-8af20c827f374752ae0818f08c4cf6f8
# book_title: A Conscript's Christmas
# chapter_id: 1-a-conscript-s-christmas
# chapter_title: A Conscript's Christmas
# book_page: 1 / 16
# chapter_page: 1
# language: en
# content_format: markdown
# reading_structure: unknown
# render_mode: prose
On a Sunday afternoon in December 1863, two horsemen were crossing Big Corn Valley, heading toward Sugar Mountain. They had set out from the little town of Jasper early that morning, and it was plain to see they had not enjoyed the ride. They sat slumped in their saddles, carbines resting across their laps, and whatever talk they shared was scattered and weary.
Truth be told, the journey from Jasper to the top of Sugar Mountain was never pleasant, even in the best weather, and now, with a bitter, cold mist pushed by the wind, it was downright miserable. Nor was it a short trip. Big Corn Valley stretched fifteen miles as the crow flies, and the winding road added five more. Then came the barrier of the foothills, and finally Sugar Mountain itself, which on a clear day towered above all the other peaks in that region.
But that wasn't all. Now and then, when the wind lifted the oilskin overcoats of the riders, the gray uniform of the Confederacy showed beneath. They wore cavalry boots, and there were telltale trimmings on their felt hats. With those signs to advertise them, they were not in friendly territory. Bushwhackers hid in the mountains, and for all the horsemen knew, the fodder stacks in the valley, looming like huge, ghostly shapes in the mist, might conceal dozens of guerrillas. That day they had ridden past the home of the only member of the Georgia state convention who had refused to sign the ordinance of secession, and the woods, as the local saying went, were full of Union men.
Suddenly, with a fierce, ripping oath, one of the horsemen pulled up short. "I wish I may die," he burst out, his voice shaking with long-held irritation, "if I ain't a great mind to turn around and go back. Where does this blasted road lead to, anyhow?"
"To the mountain—straight to the mountain," grimly replied the other, who had stopped to see what was wrong with his companion.
"Great Jerusalem! Straight? Do you see that fodder stack yonder with the hawk on the pole? Well, we've passed it four times, and we're no farther away now than we were at first.""Well, we've no time to stand here. In an hour we'll reach the foot of the mountain, and a quarter-mile further we'll find shelter. We must tend to business and talk it over later."
"And it's a mighty fine business, too," said the first speaker. He was slender, and his thin, straggly mustache did little to hide a rather soft, boyish face; he had clearly never seen hard service. "I never did believe in this conscript business," he went on, his tone whining. "It won't pan out. It's turned more men against the Confederacy than it has for it, or else my daddy's name isn't Bill Chadwick, nor mine neither."
"Well," said the other curtly, "it's the law, Bill Chadwick, and it must be obeyed. We've got our orders."
"Oh yes! You're the commander, Captain Moseley, and I'm the army. Aren't I the finest army you ever led? I'll tell you what, Captain (I'd call you Dick, like I used to, if we weren't in the ranks), when I joined the army I thought I was going to fight Yankees, but they stuck me in the training camp at Adairsville, and now here we are fighting our own folks. If we're not fighting them, we're chasing them into the woods and up the mountains. And what kind of soldier will one of these conscripts make? You needn't tell me, Captain! The law won't pan out."
"But it's the law," said Captain Moseley. The captain had been wounded in Virginia and was entitled to a discharge, but he had accepted the post of conscript officer. He had the grit and discipline of a veteran and a stubbornness that had earned him the nickname "Hardhead" in the army. He was tall and muscular, but his drooping left shoulder showed where a Federal bullet had found its mark. His closely cropped beard was tinged with gray, and his face would have been handsome if determination had not left its harsh lines there.
The two rode on in silence for a while, the cold mist stinging their faces. Presently Private Chadwick, who had been mulling things over, resumed his complaints.
# book_id: global-gutenberg-story-8af20c827f374752ae0818f08c4cf6f8
# book_title: A Conscript's Christmas
# chapter_id: 1-a-conscript-s-christmas
# chapter_title: A Conscript's Christmas
# book_page: 2 / 16
# chapter_page: 2
# language: en
# content_format: markdown
# reading_structure: unknown
# render_mode: prose
"Well, we've no time to stand here. In an hour we'll reach the foot of the mountain, and a quarter-mile further we'll find shelter. We must tend to business and talk it over later."
"And it's a mighty fine business, too," said the first speaker. He was slender, and his thin, straggly mustache did little to hide a rather soft, boyish face; he had clearly never seen hard service. "I never did believe in this conscript business," he went on, his tone whining. "It won't pan out. It's turned more men against the Confederacy than it has for it, or else my daddy's name isn't Bill Chadwick, nor mine neither."
"Well," said the other curtly, "it's the law, Bill Chadwick, and it must be obeyed. We've got our orders."
"Oh yes! You're the commander, Captain Moseley, and I'm the army. Aren't I the finest army you ever led? I'll tell you what, Captain (I'd call you Dick, like I used to, if we weren't in the ranks), when I joined the army I thought I was going to fight Yankees, but they stuck me in the training camp at Adairsville, and now here we are fighting our own folks. If we're not fighting them, we're chasing them into the woods and up the mountains. And what kind of soldier will one of these conscripts make? You needn't tell me, Captain! The law won't pan out."
"But it's the law," said Captain Moseley. The captain had been wounded in Virginia and was entitled to a discharge, but he had accepted the post of conscript officer. He had the grit and discipline of a veteran and a stubbornness that had earned him the nickname "Hardhead" in the army. He was tall and muscular, but his drooping left shoulder showed where a Federal bullet had found its mark. His closely cropped beard was tinged with gray, and his face would have been handsome if determination had not left its harsh lines there.
The two rode on in silence for a while, the cold mist stinging their faces. Presently Private Chadwick, who had been mulling things over, resumed his complaints."They tell me," he said, "that it's a heap easier to make a bad law than a good one. It takes a lot of smart men a long time to make a good one, but a passel of fools can patch up a bad one in no time. That's how I see it. And what's the name of this fellow we're after? Israel Spurlock? I'd like to know, by George, what's the matter with him! What makes him so all-fired important that two grown men have to go on a wild-goose chase after him? They dragged him into the army, and he dragged himself out, and now they say the war can't go on unless Israel Spurlock is there to drop his gun and run when a shell comes whistling overhead."
Captain Moseley coughed to hide a smile.
"It's just like I tell you, Captain. The news says we had a great victory at Chattanooga, but I notice from the Atlanta papers that the Yankees aren't any farther north than they were before the fight. And to make it worse, they're warming themselves in Chattanooga while we're freezing outside. I reckon if Israel Spurlock had been on hand at the right time and place, we'd have driven the Yanks plumb back to Nashville. Lord! I hope we have him on the skirmish line next time we surround the enemy and drive him into a town as big as Chattanooga."
Private Chadwick kept up his complaining for some time, but it never disturbed the captain's calm. Moseley urged his horse forward through the mist, closely followed by his companion. At last they left the valley, crossed the foothills, and began the climb up Sugar Mountain. Here the going was less unpleasant. The road, winding and twisting around the mountain, cut through a dense growth of trees that offered some shelter from the wind. Sometimes the mountain itself shielded them, and during those comfortable stretches Chadwick even stopped his grumbling and rode along good-naturedly.
# book_id: global-gutenberg-story-8af20c827f374752ae0818f08c4cf6f8
# book_title: A Conscript's Christmas
# chapter_id: 1-a-conscript-s-christmas
# chapter_title: A Conscript's Christmas
# book_page: 3 / 16
# chapter_page: 3
# language: en
# content_format: markdown
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"They tell me," he said, "that it's a heap easier to make a bad law than a good one. It takes a lot of smart men a long time to make a good one, but a passel of fools can patch up a bad one in no time. That's how I see it. And what's the name of this fellow we're after? Israel Spurlock? I'd like to know, by George, what's the matter with him! What makes him so all-fired important that two grown men have to go on a wild-goose chase after him? They dragged him into the army, and he dragged himself out, and now they say the war can't go on unless Israel Spurlock is there to drop his gun and run when a shell comes whistling overhead."
Captain Moseley coughed to hide a smile.
"It's just like I tell you, Captain. The news says we had a great victory at Chattanooga, but I notice from the Atlanta papers that the Yankees aren't any farther north than they were before the fight. And to make it worse, they're warming themselves in Chattanooga while we're freezing outside. I reckon if Israel Spurlock had been on hand at the right time and place, we'd have driven the Yanks plumb back to Nashville. Lord! I hope we have him on the skirmish line next time we surround the enemy and drive him into a town as big as Chattanooga."
Private Chadwick kept up his complaining for some time, but it never disturbed the captain's calm. Moseley urged his horse forward through the mist, closely followed by his companion. At last they left the valley, crossed the foothills, and began the climb up Sugar Mountain. Here the going was less unpleasant. The road, winding and twisting around the mountain, cut through a dense growth of trees that offered some shelter from the wind. Sometimes the mountain itself shielded them, and during those comfortable stretches Chadwick even stopped his grumbling and rode along good-naturedly.
They had traveled about a mile up the mountain road, though they were not more than a quarter-mile from the base, when they suddenly came upon an old man sitting in a sheltered spot by the roadside. The horses shied, and the riders had to struggle to keep them from slipping off the narrow track into the gorge below. The old man wore a suit of gray jeans and a wool hat that, though well-worn, had kept its shape. His head was large and covered with a thick crop of iron-gray hair, neatly combed. His face was round, but the lines of character kept it from looking soft. A full beard could not hide the firmness of his jaw, but a serene smile played around his mouth, and humor sparkled in his small brown eyes.
"Howdy, boys, howdy!" he called out. "Your horses look tired, but they're spry enough. A step or two more and they'd have flung you down the hill and followed after you. They act like they weren't expecting company around here."
The old man's deep, measured voice marked him as a preacher. Captain Moseley suddenly remembered.
"This must be Uncle Billy Powers," he said. "I've heard you preach many a time when I was a boy."
"That's my name," said Uncle Billy. "And in my humble way I've been preaching the Word for thirty-nine years. If I ever saw you before, it's slipped my mind."
"My name is Moseley," said the captain.
"I used to know Jeremiah Moseley in my younger days," said Uncle Billy, whittling on a piece of pine bark. "Yes, yes! I knew Brother Moseley well. He was a God-fearing man."
"He was my father," said the captain.
"Well, well, well!" exclaimed Uncle Billy, both surprised and reflective. "Jerry Moseley's son! I declare, I often think of him. He wasn't much of a preacher on his own, but let him follow along to nail down the sermon, and none could match him in those days. Yet Jerry was a man of peace, and here's his son going about with guns and pistols, trying to give peaceable folks a taste of war."
"Oh, no!" said Captain Moseley, laughing. "We're just looking up some old acquaintances—friends we'd like to see."
# book_id: global-gutenberg-story-8af20c827f374752ae0818f08c4cf6f8
# book_title: A Conscript's Christmas
# chapter_id: 1-a-conscript-s-christmas
# chapter_title: A Conscript's Christmas
# book_page: 4 / 16
# chapter_page: 4
# language: en
# content_format: markdown
# reading_structure: unknown
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They had traveled about a mile up the mountain road, though they were not more than a quarter-mile from the base, when they suddenly came upon an old man sitting in a sheltered spot by the roadside. The horses shied, and the riders had to struggle to keep them from slipping off the narrow track into the gorge below. The old man wore a suit of gray jeans and a wool hat that, though well-worn, had kept its shape. His head was large and covered with a thick crop of iron-gray hair, neatly combed. His face was round, but the lines of character kept it from looking soft. A full beard could not hide the firmness of his jaw, but a serene smile played around his mouth, and humor sparkled in his small brown eyes.
"Howdy, boys, howdy!" he called out. "Your horses look tired, but they're spry enough. A step or two more and they'd have flung you down the hill and followed after you. They act like they weren't expecting company around here."
The old man's deep, measured voice marked him as a preacher. Captain Moseley suddenly remembered.
"This must be Uncle Billy Powers," he said. "I've heard you preach many a time when I was a boy."
"That's my name," said Uncle Billy. "And in my humble way I've been preaching the Word for thirty-nine years. If I ever saw you before, it's slipped my mind."
"My name is Moseley," said the captain.
"I used to know Jeremiah Moseley in my younger days," said Uncle Billy, whittling on a piece of pine bark. "Yes, yes! I knew Brother Moseley well. He was a God-fearing man."
"He was my father," said the captain.
"Well, well, well!" exclaimed Uncle Billy, both surprised and reflective. "Jerry Moseley's son! I declare, I often think of him. He wasn't much of a preacher on his own, but let him follow along to nail down the sermon, and none could match him in those days. Yet Jerry was a man of peace, and here's his son going about with guns and pistols, trying to give peaceable folks a taste of war."
"Oh, no!" said Captain Moseley, laughing. "We're just looking up some old acquaintances—friends we'd like to see.""Well," said Uncle Billy, digging his knife deep into the soft bark, "it's bad weather for a frolic, and not much better for a regular call. Especially up here on the mountain, where the ground is so wet and slippery. Looks like you've come a long way just to pay a friendly visit. But still," he added, looking up with a warm smile, "there's not a cabin on this hill where you wouldn't be more than welcome. Anywhere you find a hearthstone, you'll find a place to rest."
"So I've heard," said the captain. "But maybe you can save us some time. We have a message for Israel Spurlock."
The instant the words left his mouth, Captain Moseley knew he had made a mistake. Uncle Billy's face, which had been so open and kind, grew faintly stern. He raised his eyes from the bark (now shaped like a pistol) and looked at the captain through half-closed lids.
"Now, come," he said, "isn't Israel Spurlock in the war? Didn't a posse catch him down in Jasper and conscript him into the army? Think now! Isn't Israel Spurlock laid up somewhere, and isn't your message for his poor old mother?"
"No, no," said Moseley, forcing a laugh to cover his irritation.
"Not so?" exclaimed Uncle Billy. "Well, sir, you must set me straight when I'm wrong. But I tell you plainly, I've had Israel on my mind ever since they ran him down and dragged him off to war.
He was always a sickly boy, and when I heard his name, I said to myself, 'Israel is sick, and they've come to fetch his mother to nurse him.' That's what crossed my mind."
A sharper man than Moseley might still have been fooled by Uncle Billy's innocent tone.
"No," said the captain. "Spurlock isn't sick. He's healthier than I am. He was conscripted in Jasper and taken to Adairsville. After he got used to camp, he decided to slip home for a bit to say goodbye to his folks."
"Now that's just like Israel," said Uncle Billy, closing his eyes and pressing his lips together. "Just like him. He knew he was dragged off right when he needed to bring in his crops and save his hay, because his old mother had no one else to help her but him. I expect he's been putting up his corn and such. The old woman took on terribly when they took him."
# book_id: global-gutenberg-story-8af20c827f374752ae0818f08c4cf6f8
# book_title: A Conscript's Christmas
# chapter_id: 1-a-conscript-s-christmas
# chapter_title: A Conscript's Christmas
# book_page: 5 / 16
# chapter_page: 5
# language: en
# content_format: markdown
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"Well," said Uncle Billy, digging his knife deep into the soft bark, "it's bad weather for a frolic, and not much better for a regular call. Especially up here on the mountain, where the ground is so wet and slippery. Looks like you've come a long way just to pay a friendly visit. But still," he added, looking up with a warm smile, "there's not a cabin on this hill where you wouldn't be more than welcome. Anywhere you find a hearthstone, you'll find a place to rest."
"So I've heard," said the captain. "But maybe you can save us some time. We have a message for Israel Spurlock."
The instant the words left his mouth, Captain Moseley knew he had made a mistake. Uncle Billy's face, which had been so open and kind, grew faintly stern. He raised his eyes from the bark (now shaped like a pistol) and looked at the captain through half-closed lids.
"Now, come," he said, "isn't Israel Spurlock in the war? Didn't a posse catch him down in Jasper and conscript him into the army? Think now! Isn't Israel Spurlock laid up somewhere, and isn't your message for his poor old mother?"
"No, no," said Moseley, forcing a laugh to cover his irritation.
"Not so?" exclaimed Uncle Billy. "Well, sir, you must set me straight when I'm wrong. But I tell you plainly, I've had Israel on my mind ever since they ran him down and dragged him off to war.
He was always a sickly boy, and when I heard his name, I said to myself, 'Israel is sick, and they've come to fetch his mother to nurse him.' That's what crossed my mind."
A sharper man than Moseley might still have been fooled by Uncle Billy's innocent tone.
"No," said the captain. "Spurlock isn't sick. He's healthier than I am. He was conscripted in Jasper and taken to Adairsville. After he got used to camp, he decided to slip home for a bit to say goodbye to his folks."
"Now that's just like Israel," said Uncle Billy, closing his eyes and pressing his lips together. "Just like him. He knew he was dragged off right when he needed to bring in his crops and save his hay, because his old mother had no one else to help her but him. I expect he's been putting up his corn and such. The old woman took on terribly when they took him.""How far is it to shelter?" asked Moseley, changing the subject.
"Not very far," said Uncle Billy, whittling more carefully. "Just keep to the middle of the road, and you'll come to it. And if I'm not there before you, holler for Aunt Crissy and tell her you saw Uncle Billy in the woods, and he said to wait for him."
With that, Moseley and Chadwick spurred their horses up the mountain, leaving Uncle Billy to his whittling.
"Well, dang my buttons!" burst out Chadwick when they were out of earshot.
"What now?" asked the captain, turning in his saddle. Chadwick had halted his horse and was looking back down the mountain.
"I wish I may die," he said, shaking the reins, "if we haven't walked straight into it with our eyes wide open."
"Into what?" asked the captain sharply.
"Into trouble," said Chadwick. "Oh, you can grin behind your beard, but just wait until the fun begins—you'll have plenty of dry grins then. Why, Captain, I could read that old man like a newspaper. While he was watching you, I was watching him. If he hasn't got a war map printed on his face, I've never seen one in the Charleston Mercury."
"The old man is a preacher," said Moseley, as if that settled it.
"Well, the Lord help us!" exclaimed Chadwick. "The worst whipping I ever got was from a young fellow who was both preaching and courting in my neighborhood. I sassed him about a girl he was sweet on, and he up and beat me, and got the girl besides. So don't tell me about preachers. That fellow came at me like a barnyard rooster, flapping twice to my once."
"And you've been running from preachers ever since?" asked the captain dryly.
"Not constantly running," replied Chadwick, "but I don't go out of my way to sass them. I give them the whole road when I meet them."
"Well," said the captain, "what do you plan to do about this one?"
"A man in a corner does what he can," answered Chadwick. "I'll just keep an eye on him, and at the first move he makes, I'll—"
"Run?" suggested the captain.
# book_id: global-gutenberg-story-8af20c827f374752ae0818f08c4cf6f8
# book_title: A Conscript's Christmas
# chapter_id: 1-a-conscript-s-christmas
# chapter_title: A Conscript's Christmas
# book_page: 6 / 16
# chapter_page: 6
# language: en
# content_format: markdown
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"How far is it to shelter?" asked Moseley, changing the subject.
"Not very far," said Uncle Billy, whittling more carefully. "Just keep to the middle of the road, and you'll come to it. And if I'm not there before you, holler for Aunt Crissy and tell her you saw Uncle Billy in the woods, and he said to wait for him."
With that, Moseley and Chadwick spurred their horses up the mountain, leaving Uncle Billy to his whittling.
"Well, dang my buttons!" burst out Chadwick when they were out of earshot.
"What now?" asked the captain, turning in his saddle. Chadwick had halted his horse and was looking back down the mountain.
"I wish I may die," he said, shaking the reins, "if we haven't walked straight into it with our eyes wide open."
"Into what?" asked the captain sharply.
"Into trouble," said Chadwick. "Oh, you can grin behind your beard, but just wait until the fun begins—you'll have plenty of dry grins then. Why, Captain, I could read that old man like a newspaper. While he was watching you, I was watching him. If he hasn't got a war map printed on his face, I've never seen one in the Charleston Mercury."
"The old man is a preacher," said Moseley, as if that settled it.
"Well, the Lord help us!" exclaimed Chadwick. "The worst whipping I ever got was from a young fellow who was both preaching and courting in my neighborhood. I sassed him about a girl he was sweet on, and he up and beat me, and got the girl besides. So don't tell me about preachers. That fellow came at me like a barnyard rooster, flapping twice to my once."
"And you've been running from preachers ever since?" asked the captain dryly.
"Not constantly running," replied Chadwick, "but I don't go out of my way to sass them. I give them the whole road when I meet them."
"Well," said the captain, "what do you plan to do about this one?"
"A man in a corner does what he can," answered Chadwick. "I'll just keep an eye on him, and at the first move he makes, I'll—"
"Run?" suggested the captain."Well," said Chadwick, "a man in a corner can't usually run. If I'm cornered, I'll scratch and bite and fight my way out. That's human nature, and I'm glad of it. Because if that old man's eyes didn't lie, we'll be scratching and fighting before we leave this mountain."
Moseley smiled grimly as the tired horses struggled on. A vague uneasiness had crossed his mind while talking to Uncle Billy, but he dismissed it—a soldier on duty couldn't worry about such things.
Soon they came to a flat shoulder of the mountain, a plateau bustling with life. Cattle grazed among the trees, roosters crowed, and in the distance a woman's voice rose in song. As they followed the level road, they saw a cabin with blue smoke curling from its chimney, looking warm and inviting. It was a comfortable place, with several outbuildings. Against the mountain's towering bulk, the structures seemed tiny, but they were neat and cozy. Feminine touches were everywhere—rows of carefully tended boxwood winded like a green snake through the yard, and a privet hedge promised sweet blooms in spring.
As the soldiers approached, a dog barked. The singing stopped, and a young girl appeared in the doorway, only to vanish like a flash. In her place, a motherly woman appeared, peering over her spectacles at the riders, unsure whether to frown or smile. The smile would have won anyway, but just then Uncle Billy himself pushed past her and came out laughing.
"Light, boys, light!" he called, hurrying to the gate. "Let me take your horses. Ah, you thought you could sneak up on Aunt Crissy and maybe conscript her too. But no, not so! Your Uncle Billy has been here long enough to rest his hands."
"You must have hurried," said Moseley, remembering the long climb.
"I could have taken a nap and still beaten you," said the old man.
"It's a good two miles of rough road," said Moseley.
"Cut through my horse lot and down by the saplings," answered Uncle Billy, "and it's not more than a quarter." He laughed heartily. "Just leave the horses here. John Jeems and Fillmore will tend to them while we go in and see what Aunt Crissy has for supper. It won't be fancy, but there's plenty."
# book_id: global-gutenberg-story-8af20c827f374752ae0818f08c4cf6f8
# book_title: A Conscript's Christmas
# chapter_id: 1-a-conscript-s-christmas
# chapter_title: A Conscript's Christmas
# book_page: 7 / 16
# chapter_page: 7
# language: en
# content_format: markdown
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# render_mode: prose
"Well," said Chadwick, "a man in a corner can't usually run. If I'm cornered, I'll scratch and bite and fight my way out. That's human nature, and I'm glad of it. Because if that old man's eyes didn't lie, we'll be scratching and fighting before we leave this mountain."
Moseley smiled grimly as the tired horses struggled on. A vague uneasiness had crossed his mind while talking to Uncle Billy, but he dismissed it—a soldier on duty couldn't worry about such things.
Soon they came to a flat shoulder of the mountain, a plateau bustling with life. Cattle grazed among the trees, roosters crowed, and in the distance a woman's voice rose in song. As they followed the level road, they saw a cabin with blue smoke curling from its chimney, looking warm and inviting. It was a comfortable place, with several outbuildings. Against the mountain's towering bulk, the structures seemed tiny, but they were neat and cozy. Feminine touches were everywhere—rows of carefully tended boxwood winded like a green snake through the yard, and a privet hedge promised sweet blooms in spring.
As the soldiers approached, a dog barked. The singing stopped, and a young girl appeared in the doorway, only to vanish like a flash. In her place, a motherly woman appeared, peering over her spectacles at the riders, unsure whether to frown or smile. The smile would have won anyway, but just then Uncle Billy himself pushed past her and came out laughing.
"Light, boys, light!" he called, hurrying to the gate. "Let me take your horses. Ah, you thought you could sneak up on Aunt Crissy and maybe conscript her too. But no, not so! Your Uncle Billy has been here long enough to rest his hands."
"You must have hurried," said Moseley, remembering the long climb.
"I could have taken a nap and still beaten you," said the old man.
"It's a good two miles of rough road," said Moseley.
"Cut through my horse lot and down by the saplings," answered Uncle Billy, "and it's not more than a quarter." He laughed heartily. "Just leave the horses here. John Jeems and Fillmore will tend to them while we go in and see what Aunt Crissy has for supper. It won't be fancy, but there's plenty."Aunt Crissy greeted them warmly, and her genuine hospitality soon put the guests at ease. Two boys, John Jeems and Fillmore, were big enough and old enough to serve in the army, as the captain quietly noted, but they were shy and awkward. And then there was Polly, a grown young woman whose smiles turned to blushes and dimples. Though grown, she had the liveliness of a girl—full of health and good humor, with the innocent shyness of a child of nature. She was impulsive and demure by turns, her moods whimsical and utterly charming. Her beauty lit up the cabin, set off by a strong individuality. Her face and hands were tanned by the sun, but her cheeks bloomed with youth and health. There's nothing more appealing than modesty without affectation, and Polly was as shy as a ground squirrel and as graceful. She never bothered with formalities, and her innocence was a delightful form of boldness.
The two rough soldiers, unused to women's company, were more awkward than she was, but they enjoyed the fire and the hearty supper. When the dishes were cleared, they brought out their pipes. Moseley, feeling guilty, suggested they move on up the mountain, but their hosts would hear none of it.
"Not so," said Uncle Billy. "If you knew this mountain, you'd never think of going further tonight. And besides," he added, glancing at his daughter, "ten to one you won't find Spurlock anyway."
Polly had been playing with her long braid, tied with a scarlet ribbon. At Spurlock's name, she flicked the braid like a whip, then tossed it behind her.
"Now, boys," said Uncle Billy after a pause, "I'd just like to know who's behind this Spurlock business. Maybe you think he's a nobody—and he is a bit puny—but what does the army want with a sickly man?"
"It's the law," said Moseley, realizing his mission was known. "He's old enough and strong enough to serve. The law calls him, and he must go."
"Yes," added Chadwick, staring at the fire, "and now they want him more than ever."
"Why?" asked Aunt Crissy.
"He's a deserter," said Chadwick.
"And what do they do with deserters?" she pressed.
# book_id: global-gutenberg-story-8af20c827f374752ae0818f08c4cf6f8
# book_title: A Conscript's Christmas
# chapter_id: 1-a-conscript-s-christmas
# chapter_title: A Conscript's Christmas
# book_page: 8 / 16
# chapter_page: 8
# language: en
# content_format: markdown
# reading_structure: unknown
# render_mode: prose
Aunt Crissy greeted them warmly, and her genuine hospitality soon put the guests at ease. Two boys, John Jeems and Fillmore, were big enough and old enough to serve in the army, as the captain quietly noted, but they were shy and awkward. And then there was Polly, a grown young woman whose smiles turned to blushes and dimples. Though grown, she had the liveliness of a girl—full of health and good humor, with the innocent shyness of a child of nature. She was impulsive and demure by turns, her moods whimsical and utterly charming. Her beauty lit up the cabin, set off by a strong individuality. Her face and hands were tanned by the sun, but her cheeks bloomed with youth and health. There's nothing more appealing than modesty without affectation, and Polly was as shy as a ground squirrel and as graceful. She never bothered with formalities, and her innocence was a delightful form of boldness.
The two rough soldiers, unused to women's company, were more awkward than she was, but they enjoyed the fire and the hearty supper. When the dishes were cleared, they brought out their pipes. Moseley, feeling guilty, suggested they move on up the mountain, but their hosts would hear none of it.
"Not so," said Uncle Billy. "If you knew this mountain, you'd never think of going further tonight. And besides," he added, glancing at his daughter, "ten to one you won't find Spurlock anyway."
Polly had been playing with her long braid, tied with a scarlet ribbon. At Spurlock's name, she flicked the braid like a whip, then tossed it behind her.
"Now, boys," said Uncle Billy after a pause, "I'd just like to know who's behind this Spurlock business. Maybe you think he's a nobody—and he is a bit puny—but what does the army want with a sickly man?"
"It's the law," said Moseley, realizing his mission was known. "He's old enough and strong enough to serve. The law calls him, and he must go."
"Yes," added Chadwick, staring at the fire, "and now they want him more than ever."
"Why?" asked Aunt Crissy.
"He's a deserter," said Chadwick.
"And what do they do with deserters?" she pressed.Chadwick silently passed his hand around his neck, grabbed an imaginary rope, and rolled his eyes upward, making a choking face. It was a clear, dreadful pantomime. Uncle Billy shook his head and groaned; Aunt Crissy threw her hands up in horror. Both looked at Polly.
The girl had risen from her chair, her eyes blazing.
"You'll be hung long before Israel Spurlock!" she cried, her voice sharp with anger, and she rushed from the room.
"Don't mind Polly," said Uncle Billy, smiling at Chadwick's shock. "She thinks the world of Sister Spurlock, and she's known Israel for many a year."
"Yes," sighed Aunt Crissy, "the girl's hotheaded. I guess we've spoiled her."
From the next room came a shrill, querulous voice: "Lord have mercy! What peace is there for a poor sick creature? What are you tramping around for like wild horses? I know! It's because I'm sick and weak. Oh, if I had my strength!"
Polly's voice answered, but her words were lost. Then the old voice again: "Who cares about Spurlock? Hasn't he got friends on Sugar Mountain? If they're after him, he's got as good a right to be after them. Go away, girls have no sense! Tell your pappy to come help me into my chair!"
Uncle Billy rose and went into the other room.
"It's daddy," said Aunt Crissy. "He was a strong man once, but the palsy has wasted him. He's just like a baby now, and he's quarrelsome when the wind's from the east."
Indeed, the wind seemed to be blowing that way. Uncle Billy re-entered, carrying in his strong arms a large rocking chair holding a little old man, shriveled and shrunken, except for his head, which was large and noble, with bright, bird-like eyes.
"Gentlemen," said Uncle Billy, "this is Colonel Dick Watson. He used to be a big politician in his day. He's my father-in-law."
The Colonel eyed the strangers without returning their greeting. "I suppose you think it's fine to go to war where there are only peaceable folks," he snapped.
"Daddy!" warned Mrs. Powers.
"Don't pester me, Crissy Jane. Haven't I seen war before? When I was in the legislature, the boys marched off to Mexico. But you know there's no war up here."
"There's a big one over yonder," said Moseley, gesturing west.
# book_id: global-gutenberg-story-8af20c827f374752ae0818f08c4cf6f8
# book_title: A Conscript's Christmas
# chapter_id: 1-a-conscript-s-christmas
# chapter_title: A Conscript's Christmas
# book_page: 9 / 16
# chapter_page: 9
# language: en
# content_format: markdown
# reading_structure: unknown
# render_mode: prose
Chadwick silently passed his hand around his neck, grabbed an imaginary rope, and rolled his eyes upward, making a choking face. It was a clear, dreadful pantomime. Uncle Billy shook his head and groaned; Aunt Crissy threw her hands up in horror. Both looked at Polly.
The girl had risen from her chair, her eyes blazing.
"You'll be hung long before Israel Spurlock!" she cried, her voice sharp with anger, and she rushed from the room.
"Don't mind Polly," said Uncle Billy, smiling at Chadwick's shock. "She thinks the world of Sister Spurlock, and she's known Israel for many a year."
"Yes," sighed Aunt Crissy, "the girl's hotheaded. I guess we've spoiled her."
From the next room came a shrill, querulous voice: "Lord have mercy! What peace is there for a poor sick creature? What are you tramping around for like wild horses? I know! It's because I'm sick and weak. Oh, if I had my strength!"
Polly's voice answered, but her words were lost. Then the old voice again: "Who cares about Spurlock? Hasn't he got friends on Sugar Mountain? If they're after him, he's got as good a right to be after them. Go away, girls have no sense! Tell your pappy to come help me into my chair!"
Uncle Billy rose and went into the other room.
"It's daddy," said Aunt Crissy. "He was a strong man once, but the palsy has wasted him. He's just like a baby now, and he's quarrelsome when the wind's from the east."
Indeed, the wind seemed to be blowing that way. Uncle Billy re-entered, carrying in his strong arms a large rocking chair holding a little old man, shriveled and shrunken, except for his head, which was large and noble, with bright, bird-like eyes.
"Gentlemen," said Uncle Billy, "this is Colonel Dick Watson. He used to be a big politician in his day. He's my father-in-law."
The Colonel eyed the strangers without returning their greeting. "I suppose you think it's fine to go to war where there are only peaceable folks," he snapped.
"Daddy!" warned Mrs. Powers.
"Don't pester me, Crissy Jane. Haven't I seen war before? When I was in the legislature, the boys marched off to Mexico. But you know there's no war up here."
"There's a big one over yonder," said Moseley, gesturing west."Now, you don't say!" snorted the Colonel. "A big war, and you're all curled up here by the fire, out of sight and hearing!"
"We're on business," said Moseley gently.
"Of course!" said the Colonel with a harsh laugh. "I was just about to say that. War over there, business up here. Crissy, wipe my face—see if I'm sweating."
Mrs. Powers complied.
"I hear you're after Israel Spurlock," the Colonel went on. "What for? He has no slaves to fight for. All he can do is fight for his old mother."
Moseley tried to explain his duty, but the old man cut him off. "I know who sent you—Wesley Lovejoy!"
Moseley said nothing. Chadwick perked up.
"Well," Moseley admitted, "a man named Lovejoy is on Colonel Waring's staff and gave me my orders."
At that, the Colonel burst into laughter so sinister that the soldiers felt a chill.
"What's the matter with Lovejoy?" asked Chadwick.
"Oh, just wait," cried the old man. "You may not want to, but you'll have to. I may look puny, but I'm not dead yet. Not by a long shot!"
Aunt Crissy murmured, "I wonder where Polly is and what she's doing."
"Don't worry about Polly," said the paralytic. "She knows what she's doing."
"You seem to know Lovejoy well," said Moseley.
"Do I know him? That worthless cur! I've known him since he was big enough to rob a henhouse."
Uncle Billy tried to steer the conversation away, but it was clear Lovejoy had an enemy here. The soldiers felt like intruders and again suggested moving on. The Colonel laughed.
"I know how you feel, but don't go up the mountain tonight. Stay right here. Otherwise, you'll make your friends sorry. Don't ask how or why—just stay. Put me to bed, William, and don't let these men leave tonight."
Uncle Billy took the old man to his room. When he returned, the conversation lagged. Aunt Crissy again asked about Polly. Uncle Billy made a vague gesture that meant nothing to the soldiers, but it told Aunt Crissy that Polly had gone up the mountain in the rain and cold. She shuddered and drew closer to the fire.
# book_id: global-gutenberg-story-8af20c827f374752ae0818f08c4cf6f8
# book_title: A Conscript's Christmas
# chapter_id: 1-a-conscript-s-christmas
# chapter_title: A Conscript's Christmas
# book_page: 10 / 16
# chapter_page: 10
# language: en
# content_format: markdown
# reading_structure: unknown
# render_mode: prose
"Now, you don't say!" snorted the Colonel. "A big war, and you're all curled up here by the fire, out of sight and hearing!"
"We're on business," said Moseley gently.
"Of course!" said the Colonel with a harsh laugh. "I was just about to say that. War over there, business up here. Crissy, wipe my face—see if I'm sweating."
Mrs. Powers complied.
"I hear you're after Israel Spurlock," the Colonel went on. "What for? He has no slaves to fight for. All he can do is fight for his old mother."
Moseley tried to explain his duty, but the old man cut him off. "I know who sent you—Wesley Lovejoy!"
Moseley said nothing. Chadwick perked up.
"Well," Moseley admitted, "a man named Lovejoy is on Colonel Waring's staff and gave me my orders."
At that, the Colonel burst into laughter so sinister that the soldiers felt a chill.
"What's the matter with Lovejoy?" asked Chadwick.
"Oh, just wait," cried the old man. "You may not want to, but you'll have to. I may look puny, but I'm not dead yet. Not by a long shot!"
Aunt Crissy murmured, "I wonder where Polly is and what she's doing."
"Don't worry about Polly," said the paralytic. "She knows what she's doing."
"You seem to know Lovejoy well," said Moseley.
"Do I know him? That worthless cur! I've known him since he was big enough to rob a henhouse."
Uncle Billy tried to steer the conversation away, but it was clear Lovejoy had an enemy here. The soldiers felt like intruders and again suggested moving on. The Colonel laughed.
"I know how you feel, but don't go up the mountain tonight. Stay right here. Otherwise, you'll make your friends sorry. Don't ask how or why—just stay. Put me to bed, William, and don't let these men leave tonight."
Uncle Billy took the old man to his room. When he returned, the conversation lagged. Aunt Crissy again asked about Polly. Uncle Billy made a vague gesture that meant nothing to the soldiers, but it told Aunt Crissy that Polly had gone up the mountain in the rain and cold. She shuddered and drew closer to the fire.Indeed, Polly's journey was bold and dangerous. The night was pitch-dark; the rain fell cold and steady, and the wind moaned like some mighty spirit in the sky. More than once she wanted to turn back, but the memory of Chadwick's cruel gesture drove her on. She carried a message of life and freedom to Israel Spurlock.
Drenched and numb, she climbed the mountain path, feeling her way along the trees. At last she heard Spurlock's dogs barking. What if the soldiers had reached him first? She didn't know she'd been gone barely half an hour. She rushed across the clearing and pounded on the door.
Inside, Mrs. Spurlock was spinning while Israel carded wool. The noise made them jump. Mrs. Spurlock's thread broke; Israel dropped the cards.
"Did anyone ever hear the like?" she cried. "Go see what's trying to tear the roof off!"
They reached the door together. Israel threw it open, and there stood Polly, pale, trembling, and dripping wet.
"Polly!" he gasped.
"In the name of the Lord!" cried Mrs. Spurlock. "Where did you drop from? You look like a drowned ghost. Come in and dry yourself. What brought you out in such weather? Who's dead or dying? Look at the girl!"
"Have they come?" whispered Polly.
"Listen to her, Israel! I believe she's gone raving mad. Shake her, Israel, shake her!"
But Polly burst into tears and fell into Mrs. Spurlock's arms. The older woman soothed her like a baby and led her to the fire, sending Israel out of the room. Soon Polly was dry and dressed in ill-fitting clothes, but to Israel she was as beautiful as ever—even more so as she told her story with sparkling eyes and flushed cheeks.
Mrs. Spurlock listened with indignation; Israel with warm admiration. When Polly spoke of his danger, her voice trembled, and he laughed softly, rubbing his hands together.
"And to think," Polly finished, "that worthless Wesley Lovejoy had the nerve to court me last year! He's been hanging around me ever since."
"I saw him dropping his wings," said Israel, laughing. "That's why he's after me so hot. But never mind, Mother. You look after the girl who's going to be your daughter-in-law, and I'll look after your son."
# book_id: global-gutenberg-story-8af20c827f374752ae0818f08c4cf6f8
# book_title: A Conscript's Christmas
# chapter_id: 1-a-conscript-s-christmas
# chapter_title: A Conscript's Christmas
# book_page: 11 / 16
# chapter_page: 11
# language: en
# content_format: markdown
# reading_structure: unknown
# render_mode: prose
Indeed, Polly's journey was bold and dangerous. The night was pitch-dark; the rain fell cold and steady, and the wind moaned like some mighty spirit in the sky. More than once she wanted to turn back, but the memory of Chadwick's cruel gesture drove her on. She carried a message of life and freedom to Israel Spurlock.
Drenched and numb, she climbed the mountain path, feeling her way along the trees. At last she heard Spurlock's dogs barking. What if the soldiers had reached him first? She didn't know she'd been gone barely half an hour. She rushed across the clearing and pounded on the door.
Inside, Mrs. Spurlock was spinning while Israel carded wool. The noise made them jump. Mrs. Spurlock's thread broke; Israel dropped the cards.
"Did anyone ever hear the like?" she cried. "Go see what's trying to tear the roof off!"
They reached the door together. Israel threw it open, and there stood Polly, pale, trembling, and dripping wet.
"Polly!" he gasped.
"In the name of the Lord!" cried Mrs. Spurlock. "Where did you drop from? You look like a drowned ghost. Come in and dry yourself. What brought you out in such weather? Who's dead or dying? Look at the girl!"
"Have they come?" whispered Polly.
"Listen to her, Israel! I believe she's gone raving mad. Shake her, Israel, shake her!"
But Polly burst into tears and fell into Mrs. Spurlock's arms. The older woman soothed her like a baby and led her to the fire, sending Israel out of the room. Soon Polly was dry and dressed in ill-fitting clothes, but to Israel she was as beautiful as ever—even more so as she told her story with sparkling eyes and flushed cheeks.
Mrs. Spurlock listened with indignation; Israel with warm admiration. When Polly spoke of his danger, her voice trembled, and he laughed softly, rubbing his hands together.
"And to think," Polly finished, "that worthless Wesley Lovejoy had the nerve to court me last year! He's been hanging around me ever since."
"I saw him dropping his wings," said Israel, laughing. "That's why he's after me so hot. But never mind, Mother. You look after the girl who's going to be your daughter-in-law, and I'll look after your son.""Go away, you goose!" cried Polly, blushing. "If they hang you, whose daughter-in-law will I be then?"
"The Lord knows," said Israel with mock seriousness. "They tell me Lovejoy is an orphan."
"You must be crazy," said Polly hotly.
"I wouldn't have him if he were the last man. You'd better worry about your neck."
"They'll have to catch me first," said Israel.
Just then a hickory nut fell on the roof, and Polly jumped in fright.
"You thought they had me then," Israel teased.
"Oh, I wish you'd run away!" she pleaded. "They'll be here any minute."
Israel stood before the fire, a handsome figure despite his lean frame. He was angular but not stooped, awkward but well-proportioned. As Mrs. Powers often said, he was "not to be sneezed at."
After a moment, he grew thoughtful. "I tell you," he said, kicking the embers, "this business puzzles me. Wes Lovejoy acted like my best friend. He kept finding me in camp, and when I said I needed to go home to help Mother, he just laughed and said I wouldn't be missed. Now he's hounding me. What's he got against me?"
Polly knew, and so did Mrs. Spurlock. Lovejoy was jealous, and a jealous man is dangerous. Polly had once flirted with Lovejoy for fun, never realizing she had kindled a fire she couldn't put out. She knew Lovejoy saw Israel as a rival and had likely turned him in.
Her alarm was genuine. They had been sweethearts for years and were to be married soon. She thought nothing of her mountain climb; she would have risked far more. Israel appreciated it, glowed with pride. His calm fearlessness was both impressive and exasperating to Polly.
"Oh, do go on!" she begged. "Those men will catch you if you stay here grinning."
"Shoo!" said Israel. "Even if the house were surrounded by forty thousand, I'd slip through and take you with me."
Suddenly the dogs barked. Polly sprang up, but Israel disappeared as if by magic. Mrs. Spurlock calmly lit her pipe. The barking faded—a false alarm. Israel slipped back in, closing the door quietly.
"Shh!" he warned. "Don't make a fuss. The dogs were barking at spirits."
# book_id: global-gutenberg-story-8af20c827f374752ae0818f08c4cf6f8
# book_title: A Conscript's Christmas
# chapter_id: 1-a-conscript-s-christmas
# chapter_title: A Conscript's Christmas
# book_page: 12 / 16
# chapter_page: 12
# language: en
# content_format: markdown
# reading_structure: unknown
# render_mode: prose
"Go away, you goose!" cried Polly, blushing. "If they hang you, whose daughter-in-law will I be then?"
"The Lord knows," said Israel with mock seriousness. "They tell me Lovejoy is an orphan."
"You must be crazy," said Polly hotly.
"I wouldn't have him if he were the last man. You'd better worry about your neck."
"They'll have to catch me first," said Israel.
Just then a hickory nut fell on the roof, and Polly jumped in fright.
"You thought they had me then," Israel teased.
"Oh, I wish you'd run away!" she pleaded. "They'll be here any minute."
Israel stood before the fire, a handsome figure despite his lean frame. He was angular but not stooped, awkward but well-proportioned. As Mrs. Powers often said, he was "not to be sneezed at."
After a moment, he grew thoughtful. "I tell you," he said, kicking the embers, "this business puzzles me. Wes Lovejoy acted like my best friend. He kept finding me in camp, and when I said I needed to go home to help Mother, he just laughed and said I wouldn't be missed. Now he's hounding me. What's he got against me?"
Polly knew, and so did Mrs. Spurlock. Lovejoy was jealous, and a jealous man is dangerous. Polly had once flirted with Lovejoy for fun, never realizing she had kindled a fire she couldn't put out. She knew Lovejoy saw Israel as a rival and had likely turned him in.
Her alarm was genuine. They had been sweethearts for years and were to be married soon. She thought nothing of her mountain climb; she would have risked far more. Israel appreciated it, glowed with pride. His calm fearlessness was both impressive and exasperating to Polly.
"Oh, do go on!" she begged. "Those men will catch you if you stay here grinning."
"Shoo!" said Israel. "Even if the house were surrounded by forty thousand, I'd slip through and take you with me."
Suddenly the dogs barked. Polly sprang up, but Israel disappeared as if by magic. Mrs. Spurlock calmly lit her pipe. The barking faded—a false alarm. Israel slipped back in, closing the door quietly.
"Shh!" he warned. "Don't make a fuss. The dogs were barking at spirits."He moved about, gathering his gear: a canteen over one shoulder, a hunting horn over the other, a powder flask in his pocket. His mother packed a satchel with food—baked fowl, smoked beef, and bread. Soon Israel looked like a peddler.
"I'm going up to the Rock," he said, "to light a fire. Maybe the boys will see it, or smell the smoke."
Without more farewell, he stepped out into the dark, leaving the two women by the fire. They sat for hours, silent, sharing an unspoken understanding.
Toward morning the rain stopped. Just before dawn, Chadwick, who had slept soundly, was roused by barking and went out to check the horses. He saw a muffled figure crossing the yard.
"Halt!" he cried. "Who goes there?"
"Nobody that'll bite you," snapped a voice—Polly's. She was looking at the sky, where a red glow reflected on the clouds, pulsing as if flames were dancing.
"What's that?" Chadwick asked.
Polly laughed. She knew it was Israel's beacon, summoning the congregation of Antioch Church. Israel was safe.
"It's just a fire," she said calmly. "If a house is burning, it can't be helped. Water won't save it now."
She went inside and began breakfast, singing. Chadwick noticed her strange expression, but couldn't read it. He helped with chores, but she ignored him completely.
As they rode on later, Chadwick shared his theory: "That girl's a sly one. We're going on a fool's errand—we're heading away from Spurlock, not toward him. She went last night and warned him. Her shawl was wet this morning, but it hadn't rained. She must have been in the bushes."
Moseley saw the logic. "What should we do?"
"Let's split up," Chadwick suggested. "You go up the mountain, and I'll watch Uncle Billy's place. If Spurlock is hiding, he'll come back for the girl."
They parted. Moseley rode uphill, reaching the Spurlock house in three quarters of an hour. Mrs. Spurlock came out, friendly but evasive: "Israel went to find the cows that broke out early. He'll be back soon, I expect."
Moseley rode on. He passed many armed men, all claiming not to have seen Spurlock.
# book_id: global-gutenberg-story-8af20c827f374752ae0818f08c4cf6f8
# book_title: A Conscript's Christmas
# chapter_id: 1-a-conscript-s-christmas
# chapter_title: A Conscript's Christmas
# book_page: 13 / 16
# chapter_page: 13
# language: en
# content_format: markdown
# reading_structure: unknown
# render_mode: prose
He moved about, gathering his gear: a canteen over one shoulder, a hunting horn over the other, a powder flask in his pocket. His mother packed a satchel with food—baked fowl, smoked beef, and bread. Soon Israel looked like a peddler.
"I'm going up to the Rock," he said, "to light a fire. Maybe the boys will see it, or smell the smoke."
Without more farewell, he stepped out into the dark, leaving the two women by the fire. They sat for hours, silent, sharing an unspoken understanding.
Toward morning the rain stopped. Just before dawn, Chadwick, who had slept soundly, was roused by barking and went out to check the horses. He saw a muffled figure crossing the yard.
"Halt!" he cried. "Who goes there?"
"Nobody that'll bite you," snapped a voice—Polly's. She was looking at the sky, where a red glow reflected on the clouds, pulsing as if flames were dancing.
"What's that?" Chadwick asked.
Polly laughed. She knew it was Israel's beacon, summoning the congregation of Antioch Church. Israel was safe.
"It's just a fire," she said calmly. "If a house is burning, it can't be helped. Water won't save it now."
She went inside and began breakfast, singing. Chadwick noticed her strange expression, but couldn't read it. He helped with chores, but she ignored him completely.
As they rode on later, Chadwick shared his theory: "That girl's a sly one. We're going on a fool's errand—we're heading away from Spurlock, not toward him. She went last night and warned him. Her shawl was wet this morning, but it hadn't rained. She must have been in the bushes."
Moseley saw the logic. "What should we do?"
"Let's split up," Chadwick suggested. "You go up the mountain, and I'll watch Uncle Billy's place. If Spurlock is hiding, he'll come back for the girl."
They parted. Moseley rode uphill, reaching the Spurlock house in three quarters of an hour. Mrs. Spurlock came out, friendly but evasive: "Israel went to find the cows that broke out early. He'll be back soon, I expect."
Moseley rode on. He passed many armed men, all claiming not to have seen Spurlock.Then he met a strange little hunchbacked man with a long rifle, who grinned and said Spurlock was "all about." He seemed to mock Moseley, pointing out fresh tracks that led nowhere. Moseley laughed but felt uneasy. Soon he was lost, riding in circles, unable to find the way back.
Meanwhile, Chadwick had hidden his horse and was watching Uncle Billy's farm from a thicket. He sat on a log, thinking, and fell asleep.
He woke to find himself dragged backward and tied up. His captor was Israel Spurlock.
"Well, blame my hide!" said Chadwick. "You're the very man I'm hunting."
"And now you're sorry you found me," said Israel.
"Not too sorry," replied Chadwick. "I had a feeling I'd run into you."
"You fell right into my arms," Israel laughed. "Let me help you up." He untied Chadwick's hands.
"You got me there, sure enough," said Chadwick. "I was dreaming of Christmas, you know. It's not far off."
"Christmas!" scoffed Israel. "You were planning to stuff me into Lovejoy's stocking. A fine present I'd make. No, Lovejoy wanted to hang me."
"So," Chadwick asked, "whose stocking am I going to fill?"
"Danny Lemmons's," said Israel. "He'll be glad to see you."
"Who's Danny Lemmons?" Chadwick asked.
"He's the bull of the woods," said Israel. "He's small and hunchbacked from a broken back as a baby, but he's the smartest, toughest man on this mountain. He has brains, too."
"And what are you going to do with me?" Chadwick asked.
"I'll take you down to Uncle Billy's," said Israel. "They're expecting you. Polly told them you might come back."
"How did Polly know?" Chadwick wondered.
"Danny Lemmons told her."
So Chadwick walked down the mountain as a prisoner, but treated like a guest. Uncle Billy's family pretended he was capturing Israel, but they all enjoyed the joke. Chadwick waited for Captain Moseley to return, but the day wore on with no sign of him.
In truth, Moseley was fine, only lost. His horse, however, found the way back to Uncle Billy's famously well-stocked corncrib.
Moseley reflected on the absurd hunt for Spurlock. He realized he was helping settle a petty, jealous score for a militia politician. "It's enough," he said aloud, "to make a sensible man sick."
# book_id: global-gutenberg-story-8af20c827f374752ae0818f08c4cf6f8
# book_title: A Conscript's Christmas
# chapter_id: 1-a-conscript-s-christmas
# chapter_title: A Conscript's Christmas
# book_page: 14 / 16
# chapter_page: 14
# language: en
# content_format: markdown
# reading_structure: unknown
# render_mode: prose
Then he met a strange little hunchbacked man with a long rifle, who grinned and said Spurlock was "all about." He seemed to mock Moseley, pointing out fresh tracks that led nowhere. Moseley laughed but felt uneasy. Soon he was lost, riding in circles, unable to find the way back.
Meanwhile, Chadwick had hidden his horse and was watching Uncle Billy's farm from a thicket. He sat on a log, thinking, and fell asleep.
He woke to find himself dragged backward and tied up. His captor was Israel Spurlock.
"Well, blame my hide!" said Chadwick. "You're the very man I'm hunting."
"And now you're sorry you found me," said Israel.
"Not too sorry," replied Chadwick. "I had a feeling I'd run into you."
"You fell right into my arms," Israel laughed. "Let me help you up." He untied Chadwick's hands.
"You got me there, sure enough," said Chadwick. "I was dreaming of Christmas, you know. It's not far off."
"Christmas!" scoffed Israel. "You were planning to stuff me into Lovejoy's stocking. A fine present I'd make. No, Lovejoy wanted to hang me."
"So," Chadwick asked, "whose stocking am I going to fill?"
"Danny Lemmons's," said Israel. "He'll be glad to see you."
"Who's Danny Lemmons?" Chadwick asked.
"He's the bull of the woods," said Israel. "He's small and hunchbacked from a broken back as a baby, but he's the smartest, toughest man on this mountain. He has brains, too."
"And what are you going to do with me?" Chadwick asked.
"I'll take you down to Uncle Billy's," said Israel. "They're expecting you. Polly told them you might come back."
"How did Polly know?" Chadwick wondered.
"Danny Lemmons told her."
So Chadwick walked down the mountain as a prisoner, but treated like a guest. Uncle Billy's family pretended he was capturing Israel, but they all enjoyed the joke. Chadwick waited for Captain Moseley to return, but the day wore on with no sign of him.
In truth, Moseley was fine, only lost. His horse, however, found the way back to Uncle Billy's famously well-stocked corncrib.
Moseley reflected on the absurd hunt for Spurlock. He realized he was helping settle a petty, jealous score for a militia politician. "It's enough," he said aloud, "to make a sensible man sick.""Lord, yes!" came a voice behind him. It was the hunchback, Danny Lemmons. He chatted cheerfully and admitted he was there to keep an eye on Moseley. He introduced himself, boasting that Polly thought he looked "snatching" in his Sunday clothes. He sang a playful song about going to Polly's house and then walked ahead, leading Moseley to Mrs. Spurlock's, where a group of armed men was waiting. Moseley realized he was their prisoner and, with good humor, dismounted and handed over his sidearm.
Danny Lemmons had orders from Colonel Watson. Moseley and Chadwick would be held to lure Lovejoy, whom the mountain folk wanted to settle with.
A few days later, Lovejoy was captured.
He was brought in, bound to his horse, defiant and bitter. Christmas came the next day, and it was a day to remember.
After breakfast, Uncle Billy Powers preached a simple, sincere sermon. Then he announced that two souls would be joined in marriage.
He pulled out a license and called Israel and Polly forward, making them husband and wife.
The Christmas feast that followed was legendary.
The soldiers, used to scant rations, marvelled at the spread: a great bowl of eggnog, apple dumplings, chicken pie, barbecued shote and mutton, a fat turkey, and all the trimmings. Uncle Billy's family and guests crowded around the table.
Chadwick, who had appointed himself carver, kept the mood light. "Don't worry about the eggnog," he said. "It's got enough Christmas in it—I made it myself." The dinner was a success.
When Uncle Billy noticed Lovejoy still bound, he was upset: "I don't want any man at my table on Christmas with his hands tied. Turn him loose!"
But Colonel Watson and Danny Lemmons protested. Lovejoy sat pale, glaring at Israel, refusing food. Eventually, they agreed to release him. Danny Lemmons untied one arm and was working on the other when Lovejoy seized a fork and stabbed Danny in the back with all his might.
To everyone's astonishment, Danny just laughed and rose, leaving Lovejoy on the floor, tightly bound again. He picked up the fork. "I guess this needs washing."
Chadwick was stunned. "I saw him stick you!" he insisted. But Danny was unharmed.
# book_id: global-gutenberg-story-8af20c827f374752ae0818f08c4cf6f8
# book_title: A Conscript's Christmas
# chapter_id: 1-a-conscript-s-christmas
# chapter_title: A Conscript's Christmas
# book_page: 15 / 16
# chapter_page: 15
# language: en
# content_format: markdown
# reading_structure: unknown
# render_mode: prose
"Lord, yes!" came a voice behind him. It was the hunchback, Danny Lemmons. He chatted cheerfully and admitted he was there to keep an eye on Moseley. He introduced himself, boasting that Polly thought he looked "snatching" in his Sunday clothes. He sang a playful song about going to Polly's house and then walked ahead, leading Moseley to Mrs. Spurlock's, where a group of armed men was waiting. Moseley realized he was their prisoner and, with good humor, dismounted and handed over his sidearm.
Danny Lemmons had orders from Colonel Watson. Moseley and Chadwick would be held to lure Lovejoy, whom the mountain folk wanted to settle with.
A few days later, Lovejoy was captured.
He was brought in, bound to his horse, defiant and bitter. Christmas came the next day, and it was a day to remember.
After breakfast, Uncle Billy Powers preached a simple, sincere sermon. Then he announced that two souls would be joined in marriage.
He pulled out a license and called Israel and Polly forward, making them husband and wife.
The Christmas feast that followed was legendary.
The soldiers, used to scant rations, marvelled at the spread: a great bowl of eggnog, apple dumplings, chicken pie, barbecued shote and mutton, a fat turkey, and all the trimmings. Uncle Billy's family and guests crowded around the table.
Chadwick, who had appointed himself carver, kept the mood light. "Don't worry about the eggnog," he said. "It's got enough Christmas in it—I made it myself." The dinner was a success.
When Uncle Billy noticed Lovejoy still bound, he was upset: "I don't want any man at my table on Christmas with his hands tied. Turn him loose!"
But Colonel Watson and Danny Lemmons protested. Lovejoy sat pale, glaring at Israel, refusing food. Eventually, they agreed to release him. Danny Lemmons untied one arm and was working on the other when Lovejoy seized a fork and stabbed Danny in the back with all his might.
To everyone's astonishment, Danny just laughed and rose, leaving Lovejoy on the floor, tightly bound again. He picked up the fork. "I guess this needs washing."
Chadwick was stunned. "I saw him stick you!" he insisted. But Danny was unharmed."It beats the world," said Chadwick. "That was faster than a cat's blink. A man that spry ought to be in the war."
"He is in the war!" cried Colonel Watson. "He's my chief bushwhacker!"
"On which side?" asked Chadwick.
"The Union, the Union!" the Colonel shouted.
"Well," said Chadwick, "that talk won't spoil my appetite for this barbecue."
After the meal, Danny played fiddle, and everyone danced. It was, as Chadwick admitted, a merry Christmas for a conscript.
The next day, Colonel Watson and Danny met with Moseley. The captain and his men were free to go. Lovejoy, however, was to be taken "over the mountain," a euphemism for execution. Polly begged for mercy, and they finally released Lovejoy to leave with Moseley.
They started down the road, but Lovejoy broke away, grabbed a musket, and raised it to fire.
A shot rang out from the bushes—Danny Lemmons appeared, his rifle smoking. Lovejoy fell dead by the roadside.
"You see what he was after!" Danny cried. "He should've gone over the mountain."
Moseley and Chadwick hurried after the fleeing militia, leaving Danny behind. It had been a strange Christmas, but perhaps not the last.
# book_id: global-gutenberg-story-8af20c827f374752ae0818f08c4cf6f8
# book_title: A Conscript's Christmas
# chapter_id: 1-a-conscript-s-christmas
# chapter_title: A Conscript's Christmas
# book_page: 16 / 16
# chapter_page: 16
# language: en
# content_format: markdown
# reading_structure: unknown
# render_mode: prose
"It beats the world," said Chadwick. "That was faster than a cat's blink. A man that spry ought to be in the war."
"He is in the war!" cried Colonel Watson. "He's my chief bushwhacker!"
"On which side?" asked Chadwick.
"The Union, the Union!" the Colonel shouted.
"Well," said Chadwick, "that talk won't spoil my appetite for this barbecue."
After the meal, Danny played fiddle, and everyone danced. It was, as Chadwick admitted, a merry Christmas for a conscript.
The next day, Colonel Watson and Danny met with Moseley. The captain and his men were free to go. Lovejoy, however, was to be taken "over the mountain," a euphemism for execution. Polly begged for mercy, and they finally released Lovejoy to leave with Moseley.
They started down the road, but Lovejoy broke away, grabbed a musket, and raised it to fire.
A shot rang out from the bushes—Danny Lemmons appeared, his rifle smoking. Lovejoy fell dead by the roadside.
"You see what he was after!" Danny cried. "He should've gone over the mountain."
Moseley and Chadwick hurried after the fleeing militia, leaving Danny behind. It had been a strange Christmas, but perhaps not the last.
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