Natchez Under-the-Hill

by Stan Applegate

  Captain Morrison turned his horse once again and rode just ahead of the two men back to where the group was still assembled, talking and making plans.

  “Let me introduce you,” he said to the group, “to the others who will be traveling with us on the Nashville Road. This is Mr. Ebersole and this is Mr. Swanson, both from Pittsburgh. They brought four flatboats down the river and—”

  “What we brought down the river is none of anyone’s business,” Mr. Ebersole said. “I am not interested in making any social contact with these people. Your job, Captain Morrison, is to get us safely to Nashville, nothing else.”

  “My job,” Captain Morrison said, “is to travel from here to Nashville under army orders. Civilians are permitted to go with us, under our protection, at my discretion.”

  Ebersole looked around the stable yard and the fenced pasture. “At your insistence, we have given up our rooms at the hotel to camp here. Show us where we may put up our tents.”

  Captain Morrison sat silently upon his horse for a moment, then said, “I will lead you there in just one moment. I want to remind you that I also insisted you exercise these four animals every day. They need to be in good physical condition to handle the strenuous trip north.”

  “Our horses are in excellent condition.”

  “Let me remind you once again: If anyone has to stop for any reason, the patrol cannot wait for you. Those are my orders.”

  Turning his horse, he called over his shoulder, “Follow me.”

  Everyone began to talk again, excited about the prospect of starting north. Mr. Culpepper said he had something he wanted to discuss with Hannah and Zeb, alone. They walked toward the big barn as they talked. “I know that you want to bring Suba with you on this trip north, Hannah—”

  “I do. I can’t bear to leave her here. Dancey Moore is gonna get her. I know it.”

  “I doubt that Dancey Moore will ever be a problem again. But I have an idea that may change your mind about leaving her here.”

  “What are you thinking about?”

  “Ever since I heard that Zeb had raced Suba down in Natchez Under-The-Hill, and that she had won against Perfect Chance—”

  “Perfect Chance?” Zeb asked.

  “That was the name of the racehorse Suba beat. He’s not the best in Natchez, but he often places or shows. He’s certainly faster than any of the fillies at the Natchez racetrack.”

  “But that was just one time,” Hannah said.

  “That’s true, but I’ve been timing Suba when you and Katie have been racing Suba against Christmas. Her speed is impressive.”

  “You think we should race her?”

  “I think she could be trained and made ready for the spring races. I think she’ll do very well, Hannah.”

  “But if she stays here, I’ll miss her terribly.”

  “I know you will, Hannah. But if you ever had thoughts about racing her, now is the time to do it.”

  “I’ll have to talk with my parents.”

  “I’ve already talked with them about it, Hannah. They said it was completely up to you.”

  “And you think it’s a good idea….”

  “I do. And if she is as good as I think she is, a foal out of Suba would be a very valuable foal indeed.”

  Hannah took a long breath, looking out over the pasture at the horses grazing in the far corner. “I’ll leave her with you and Katie then, Mr. Culpepper.” She sighed. “I wonder if I’ll ever be able to watch her race.”

  Suddenly she stopped. “But what about Dancey Moore? What if he ever gets out of that army prison?”

  “I’m sure,” Mr. Culpepper said, “that we never need to worry about Dancey Moore again. I know they’re guarding him very well. What’s more, if I’m right about Suba, she’ll be so well-known that stealing her would be impossible. No one could get away with it.”

  Tears welled up in Hannah’s eyes, and she got up and headed for the house. “I’m gonna tell Mama what we’ve decided.”

  Zeb rode out to the corral on Kapucha where his grampa was working with the little girls. He and his grampa stood together as the children rode around the ring. Mary was trotting her horse and little Beth was walking the pony, her hands gripping the reins tightly. She looked at Zeb’s grampa for approval whenever she passed him.

  Zeb was pleased to have an opportunity to talk with his grampa. He told him about the decision to let Culpepper race Suba. Then he told his grampa about an idea he’d been working out involving the draft horses and the missionaries. He spoke with excitement, motioning toward the Lodges, to the McAllisters, and back to himself again. When Zeb was finished, Cracker Ryan clapped him on the back.

  “Good thinking, Zeb,” Cracker Ryan said, smiling. “That’s an excellent plan.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  The Road North

  December 11, 1811

  At last the convoy was lined up and ready to leave. A fine drizzle greeted the column. Mounted on Kapucha, Zeb rode up to the Lodge wagon and offered the family his new, large tent. He and his grampa would use their old tent, which still worked fine, and the Lodges would have shelter as well. He then showed them how to use the two halves of the tent as ponchos as they rode. In a few moments, Mr. and Mrs. Lodge sat on the wagon bench with one of the halves wrapped around them. The other half covered the two girls and the Lodge family possessions in the bed of the wagon.

  Captain Morrison rode back to the rear of the convoy, dismounting at the missionaries’ wagon to check a wheel. He looked at the rest of the wagon and shook his head. Sarah’s husband, Ben, had repaired the old wagon for the time being, but no one expected it to hold for very long. Captain Morrison mounted again and rode to the three dragoons of the rear guard, spoke with them briefly, then cantered back to the head of the convoy.

  Zeb and Hannah looked at each other and, without saying a word, moved out of the convoy to the little Culpepper cemetery. Hannah slipped off Christmas and stood by Lonnie’s grave. “Good-bye, Lonnie,” she said. “Thank you.”

  Zeb helped her back up on Christmas and the two rejoined the convoy.

  Captain Morrison spoke to Sergeant Douglas, who raised his arm and shouted, “Move out!”

  The sergeant and the three dragoons in the lead moved forward immediately, with Captain Morrison and Cracker Ryan just behind them. Following them were Mr. Ebersole and Mr. Swanson, each man leading a draft horse loaded with pack baskets. Next in line rode Hannah on Christmas, then three dragoons, and last were Hannah’s mother on one draft horse and Dr. McAllister on another.

  Following them were the Lodges, in their wagon pulled by the third Ryan draft horse. Zeb came next, riding Kapucha. He led the fourth of the draft horses, which served as a packhorse. Behind Zeb rode the three dragoons of the rear guard.

  The convoy snaked out of Washington onto the Natchez Road. Two hours later they stopped at Mount Locust Inn to water the horses. The light rain had stopped and the sky was clearing. Everyone seemed to be in good spirits.

  A courier galloped in and handed Captain Morrison an envelope. Zeb watched as the captain read the message, then wrote a note and handed it back to the courier. The captain surveyed the group standing around and stretching and ordered the sergeant to reassemble the convoy. As they re-formed, Captain Morrison checked the members once again. He stopped to talk with Mr. Ebersole and Mr. Swanson. “I don’t like the look of your horses. Have you been exercising them as I asked?”

  “We rode them every day since the day you mentioned it,” Mr. Ebersole said. “These are good horses. We brought them with us all the way from Pittsburgh.”

  “What? You mean those horses have been idle on a flatboat for two months or more?” Captain Morrison demanded.

  “Yes, but—”

  “Enough! If you are smart, you will go back now, while you have the chance. Those horses will never make it. If you decide to continue and if you cannot keep up, we will have to leave you wherever we are.”

  When the captain reached the mis
sionary family, he was still angry with Ebersole and Swanson. Mrs. Lodge was in the back of the wagon sorting through their supplies. The two girls sat on the bench with their father. They looked up, their eyes wide with fright as Captain Morrison pulled the horse to a stop next to the wagon.

  “This is your last chance,” he said impatiently. “You’ve got a much better horse now, and the wagon has been repaired, but I’m still afraid the wagon won’t make it. You can easily go back to Washington from here without an escort. Surely you have more sense than those two fools up in front.” He waited a moment. When they did not respond, he said, “If, however, you decide to continue with us and you break down anywhere between here and Yowani, I will have to leave you and continue with the rest of the convoy, just as I told them. I cannot be responsible for you.”

  The captain nodded to the sergeant, who waved his arm and shouted, “Move out!” The convoy moved forward once again.

  When they reached their campsite the first night, the dragoons immediately put up their tents in a neat row. The civilians formed a loose circle around the campsite. Zeb helped the Lodge family put up the new tent and then loaned them the Spanish army shovel to dig a trench around it. They rolled out the ground cloth and put their meager possessions inside.

  The dragoons were busy digging the army latrine and making the communal cook fire. Everyone pitched in except Ebersole and Swanson.

  Hannah and Zeb collected kindling for the fire, while two of the dragoons cut wood.

  They had all carried some food with them: salted meat to be cooked over the fire, white potatoes and yams, and winter vegetables such as cabbage and collards. Everyone had brought bread, since they would see no more until they reached Nashville. Once they ran out of food, they would have to stop at the stands, the little makeshift inns located about twenty-five miles apart on the road. If they were going to keep the schedule Captain Morrison had set, they would seldom have time or opportunity to hunt.

  Hannah and Zeb searched for mud to pat around the potatoes they were planning to bake in the cook fire. But the soil was still too sandy. They wet the potatoes, and Hannah rolled them into the fire with a piece of kindling. She looked at Zeb and grinned. “Remember those wonderful baked potatoes the night we crossed the Duck River?” she asked.

  “Course,” he replied. “I thought they were the best potatoes I’d ever eaten!”

  After they ate, each person went to the stream and washed his or her own tin dish, pots, and utensils with sand and water. But Swanson and Ebersole didn’t bother. Are they gonna eat off dirty plates tomorrow morning? Zeb wondered. Maybe they think someone’ll wash the gear for them.

  The McAllisters had set up their tent next to Zeb and his grampa. They watched as Ebersole and Swanson stacked their dirty plates and pots and put them back inside their tent.

  “They may give out before the horses do,” Cracker Ryan observed. “They’re bound to get sick if they don’t clean their cooking gear. They may need your services before morning, Dr. McAllister.”

  Captain Morrison walked around the campsite and talked with each group. When he got to the McAllisters and Zeb and his grampa, the old man asked him, “What do you think will happen to Dancey Moore?”

  “I have news for you. I received a message at Mount Locust Inn. I have mixed feelings about the news, so I wanted to wait until we set up for the night to tell you.”

  “Oh, no!” Hannah cried. “Don’t tell us that Moore escaped!”

  “No, Hannah. The territorial judge felt that there was not enough evidence to convict him for Lonnie Champ’s death. His lawyer convinced the judge that no one could prove that it was murder, so Moore was convicted on lesser charges. He was sentenced to ten years in prison doing hard labor. Those men he had with him were sentenced to five years.”

  “That should take care of him for a while, Hannah,” Zeb said.

  “But Captain Morrison, you don’t seem particularly happy,” Cracker Ryan said.

  “I’m not. The judge wrote that he thought it was a nice irony, having Moore and his men work out their hard labor sentence mucking out the stables at Fort Dearborn.”

  Cracker Ryan sagged. “Oh, no!” he said.

  “What’s the matter with that?” Zeb asked. “I think it’s funny. Serves him right.”

  Cracker Ryan said, “Dancey Moore is a scoundrel, a thief, and probably anything else we might name, but he does know horses, and he knows how to dicker as few people do.”

  Hannah interrupted. “But I don’t see—”

  “He and his men will do that job better than it has ever been done. They’ll bathe and brush and currycomb the horses. They’ll have them oiled and shined and ready for parade,particularly the officers’ horses, the sergeants’ horses, and the horses of the men in charge of keepin’ watch on them.”

  Captain Morrison nodded. “You’re right. It won’t be long before they’ll be breaking horses for the dragoons and maybe helping in the training some of the new recruits. We have a lot of new recruits now and too few experienced men to train them.”

  Zeb shrugged. “So he’ll be doin’ something he knows about, something he likes. He’ll still be in prison.”

  “But not for long, unless I miss my guess,” Captain Morrison said. “He has contact with a lawyer, which means he has access to his bank account. Can you imagine what a temptation a bribe of five hundred or maybe a thousand dollars would be to some of those new recruits? I sent a letter back to the commanding officer, asking him to talk with the judge. I hope I’m not too late.”

  “Too late?” Hannah asked.

  “If they do escape, they can’t go back to Natchez. They’ll either go to New Orleans or they’ll come north … up the Nashville Road!”

  Zeb looked down the dark road.

  “Unfortunately,” Captain Morrison said, “if this happens, they will be mounted on excellent horses, in good condition. They will surely be armed. And Dancey Moore wants revenge. He’s furious with you, Hannah, for fooling him.”

  Hannah’s mother pulled her close. “What will we do?”

  “I doubt he’ll attack the convoy, but we’ll double the watch at night. Once you’re at Yowani, he can’t hurt you.”

  Dr. McAllister put his arms around Hannah’s shoulders. “He’s right. We’ll talk with the Miko. He’ll never let Moore within a mile of Yowani.”

  Dr. and Mrs. McAllister walked away with Hannah between them, the three of them talking quietly.

  “We’ll look after Hannah,” Zeb said.

  “And what about the sergeant?” Cracker Ryan asked Captain Morrison.

  “Of course, I regret now that I let him go. That combination of Moore and Scruggs is a very dangerous one. If Moore does escape and the sergeant joins him, they’ll be hard to stop. The army has a number of people in Natchez Under-The-Hill looking for the sergeant.”

  The captain looked down at the old Ryan camping tent. “I’m glad you loaned your new tent to the missionary family. I know it must sound to you that I’m too rough on them, but I had been hoping that they would decide not go. Mark my words. That wagon will break down, and there is nothing that anyone will be able to do for them.”

  The captain touched his hat. “Good night.”

  The next day, the horses ridden by Ebersole and Swanson were obviously tired. The convoy had slowed and stopped more frequently to rest, but it was clear on the fourth night that the merchant’s horses couldn’t make it. “We will reach Brashear’s Stand by noon tomorrow,” Captain Morrison told them. “If you can’t keep up tomorrow, try to make it to the stand. At least you’ll have a place to stay until you can make other arrangements.”

  “Other arrangements?” Ebersole asked.

  “You may find someone willing to sell you a horse,” Captain Morrison said. “A horse in good condition. Or maybe with a month of daily conditioning, you might be able to get those four horses into good shape.”

  “But how will we catch up with the convoy?”

  “You won’t
. You will have to go alone, like most of the others on the Nashville Road. I wish you had turned back at Mount Locust.”

  “You can’t do this to us! I’ll write to your commanding officer.”

  “Good. He’ll be pleased to know that I am carrying out his orders.”

  The convoy left the next morning, with Ebersole and Swanson far behind, and arrived at Brashear’s Stand about noon, where they stopped and had their noon meal. They had just finished eating when Ebersole and Swanson arrived. Their horses were walking slowly with their heads down, their necks and flanks lathered.

  The two men immediately began to negotiate for horses. Ebersole approached Cracker Ryan. “I understand you are a horse trader and that the four draft horses are yours,” he said.

  When the old man nodded, Ebersole continued. “I’d like to buy ’em from you.”

  “They’re being used. How can I possibly sell them?”

  “You can leave the squaw, her kid, and that white man who’s with ’em here at the stand. They’re probably used to a lot worse than this. We’ll give the kid some money for that big horse she’s riding. That horse could pull the wagon and we’ll give you such a good price, you won’t mind givin’ up whatever you’re carryin’ on the packhorses. Whaddya say?”

  “Mr. Ebersole,” Cracker Ryan growled, “up to a minute ago I was feelin’ a little sorry for you two. Now I wouldn’t sell you one of those horses, much less four. No matter what the price!”

  “I know you’re a horse trader, Ryan. That’s just a good dickering line you’re usin’. But money talks. I’ll offer you five hundred dollars a horse!”

  Cracker Ryan began to uncoil his whip. “Do you know why I’m called Cracker Ryan?”

  Ebersole shouted, “All right! Five hundred was low. Seven fifty? … A thousand?”

  The old man stepped back and gave the whip a little flip with his wrist. The end snaked out and took a leaf off a nearby tree.

  Cracker Ryan held up his other hand. “Please, Mr. Ebersole. Don’t say another word.”

  Ebersole raised his fist and shook it at Cracker Ryan. “You’re crazy, you old fool….”