Prelude to Glory, Vol. 5 by Ron Carter

Author:Ron Carter [Carter, Ron]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Historical
Publisher: Deseret Book Company
Published: 2001-08-31T04:00:00+00:00

Part Two

North of Coryell’s Ferry, near the Delaware River, Pennsylvania

Late November 1777

CHAPTER XV

* * *

At noon a chill breeze came gusting from the north, stirring the dead leaves that still clung to the trees, sending them fluttering to the forest floor. A little before one o’clock the breeze rose to a bitter wind, driving slate-gray clouds to blot out the bright midday sun and cast the southeastern Pennsylvania hills and valleys into a shadowless twilight. By two o’clock the wind was moaning in the pines and firs and rattling the stark, bare branches of the oak, poplar, and maple trees, sending the thick cover of brown, brittle leaves skittering along the forest floor southward. At half past four, wet sleet came slanting on the freezing wind.

Billy Weems drew up the collar of his summer coat, hunched his shoulders, and bowed his head as he walked on with the wind at his back. He carried his musket in his right hand and with his left, reached to hitch up the rope that went over his shoulder to his bedroll. He broke from the trees into a small field of wheat stubble jerking in the wind, now plastered white with the sticky sleet. His eyes narrowed as he peered about in the gathering gloom of early evening for the lights of the farm building that must be nearby. From a quarter mile to the west came a faint gleam, and he turned to his right, slogging through the stubble in soaked shoes that were separating at the seams and had holes in both soles.

He climbed the split-rail fence behind the low, slab-sided barn and paused at the south end, shielded from the wind and sleet to open the pan on his musket enough to be certain the powder was dry. He snapped the pan shut and drew the big hammer back to full cock, carrying the weapon loosely in both hands as he rounded the corner. Yellow lantern light glowed from two small square windows along the west wall of the barn, and he walked past a low enclosure where a sow lay on her belly inside a three-sided hutch connected to the barn, continued past an empty pen for milk cows, and turned again to pause near the front door. Carefully he pulled the latch rope, pushed the door open, and quickly stepped inside, blinking in the light, musket muzzle raised, ready, as the wind and sleet came whistling in.

To his right a startled man sitting on a one-legged milk stool jerked his head from the flank of a Jersey cow and started to rise until he saw the musket muzzle swing to bear on his chest. Straight ahead a boy with a pitchfork load of dried grass straightened to stare, frightened, indecisive, looking white-faced at his father for directions.

Billy’s eyes swept the barn. There was no other movement, and he saw no weapon other than the pitchfork clutched by the boy. He lowered the musket, closed the door, and cleared his throat.

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