Conceived in Liberty Read Free

“Time for Congress—understand me, Clark—time enough for Congress—after the British. After the British,” he repeated. His eyes travelled over the sparks that marked the position of the sprawling, defeated army.
    â€œAfter the British,” he said dully.
    â€œThey say we’ll be going home,” Moss Fuller muttered plaintively.
    But there was nothing to go to. The Indians had burnt out the Mohawk. If my people lived, God only knew where they were.
    â€œI’ll not go back to the Mohawk,” Jacob nodded. “There’ll be no safe living in the New York Valleys. They’ll fight us from Canada for a hundred years.
    â€œYou won’t hold a musket a hundred years, Jacob,” Kenton laughed.
    â€œI hear of a rare beautiful land in Transylvania, a place they call the Kentuck. A Virginian named Boone sought it out——”
    Jacob cried: “Ye’re fools—all o’ ye. The British way is to play the red men against us. Where is the power of the Six Nations but in Joseph Brant? An’ Brant’s their tool. Didn’ they have him in England, making him into what he is? Mark me—I’ll tell you the power an’ scheme of the British, to play one force against another. But we’re a free people an’ no plaything for a King’s hand. There’ll be peace in the west—when we drive the last King’s man back to his dirty hole!”
    From where he was with his woman, Charley groaned: “Peace here, Jacob. Let be and damn the British.”
    Jenny had rolled over. She lay flat on her back, and Charley Green sat up, shaking his head wearily.
    â€œYou’ve used her up,” Kenton said.
    Jacob’s mood changed. He got up and went over to her. He slapped her back and pinched her cheeks. “Look at a real man.”
    â€œYou’ll kill her,” Moss Fuller complained. He wanted his turn. He wanted the little pleasure he could squeeze from her. He was trembling and anxious, with the fear of death in him.
    Jacob lay down next to her. We crouched close to the fire. From the New Jersey troops there came a great uproar, shots fired. We stayed close to the fire, hardly moving. With the heat, inertia had come over us.
    â€œAttack?” Ely asked.
    No more shots now. It didn’t matter whether we were being attacked. Two officers galloped past, their sabres bare and glistening in the firelight.
    â€œMore hell to pay.”
    Silence and Jacob’s hoarse breathing. I glanced at them, the man and the woman together. Only a glance. Moss Fuller had buried his head in his arms. He was coughing softly. Ely hummed a lonely French tune of the Valleys.
    I tried to think of a time when it had been different. I tried to think of a time when there had been shame and humility. I tried to think of the fire in our hearts that had sent us out to fight in the beginning.
    I speak my name. My name is Allen Hale. I am twenty-one years old. I am a soldier with the Continental army of America. I have come great distances to fight for freedom.
    The fire burns low, and Kenton rises to hack at the fruit tree. He comes back and drops the wood on the fire. He says:
    â€œI wouldn’t think to destroy a fruit tree. For a matter of ten years I saved the seed of cherry and plum. We thought to make a great planting in the Lake country when we moved westward. After the war we’ll move westward—I’ll save the seeds again.”
    The fire burns up. The brigades are quiet; perhaps they sleep. Moss lies with the woman, and his deep, regular breathing tells us that he sleeps. We none of us would take the woman now and rouse Moss from his sleep.
    Some Massachusetts men come and stand about the fire. Most of their brigades are without fire. They crowd close to the fire and break the wind from us. One is an officer, a bearded boy in a tattered field dress of grey homespun, carrying a rusty sword at his belt.
    The talk is soft, because