But in spite of the risk, we stayed. We were cold and tired and wet and hungry, and the tavern was warm and the fire bright. There was food in the pantry and rum in the barrels. We roasted a pig over the fire and ate hunks of the meat with bread dipped in the grease. I drank some rum and hot water, too. I’d never drunk rum before, only cider. It made me sort of dizzy. I lay down in front of the fire and went to sleep.
Nobody bothered us all night. In the morning we got up and ate what was left of the pig and some dried fish we found. Then we took all the rest of the food we could find and divided it up so each man could have a share. I got some cheese, dried fish, and bread, which I wrapped up in a napkin from the tavern cupboard. Taking food was stealing, but Levi Bullock said, “They fired on us. Taking food from the enemy isn’t stealing.”
Outside, the winter clouds were low and dark. Nobody wanted to leave the fire, but we couldn’t stay any longer. Sooner or later Lincoln would come after us. So we left and walked on toward Pelham. In about a half an hour it began to rain. In five minutes I was soaked through. The rain went on, and then it turned to sleet, which stung my face and hands when it hit. We walked out of South Hadley. It rained and sleeted all the while. I was soaking wet and I knew that if it turned a little bit colder my clothes would freeze to my body. Finally we got to the village of Hadley itself. We didn’t know whether the people there would be for us or against us. There was a tavern there and a row of houses and a couple of stores. Two of the men went into the tavern and after a couple of minutes one of them came to the door and waved us in. He was grinning. “They’re with the Regulators around here,” he said.
We went in and dried ourselves off as best we could, taking turns by the fire. The tavern keeper gave us rum and hot water to warm us up, and we felt a lot better when we left. We kept up a good, brisk marching pace, so as to keep warm and get to Pelham as soon as possible. We made it in four hours. The Regulators had set up headquarters in Uncle Billy’s tavern. Peter was there. When I walked in with the others he shouted, “Justin.” He threw his arms around me and lifted me off the ground. I was surprised. I had figured he’d hate me for running off while he’d been brave and stayed. But he was just glad that I was alive and well.
“I’m sorry I ran,” I said.
He put his hand on my shoulder. “You weren’t the only one.”
“That doesn’t matter. I’m sorry I did it.”
“Don’t worry about it,” he said.
I didn’t say anything for a little bit. Then I said, “Did you tell Molly?”
“No,” he said. “I just told her I hadn’t seen you. She’s pretty worried about you.”
“But you saw me run.”
“I wasn’t noticing very much. I was pretty busy.”
He was just saying that, I could tell. He’d seen me break and run.
“So, Justin. Had enough of war?”
I looked at him, surprised. “Oh, no,” I said. “No, no, Peter, I want to stay.” I just couldn’t quit until I’d made up for being a coward.
He gave me a long look. “After all this you want to stay?”
“Oh, yes,” I said.
“It’s likely to be pretty bad from here on out. That business at the arsenal wasn’t anything. We’re likely to see some real fighting. You haven’t even got a musket.”
“I have father’s sword. Lots of men don’t have muskets.”
“That won’t be much help when they’re shooting at you.”
“Peter, I want to stay.”
He thought about it. Then he said, “All right.”
After that he took us over to a barn where we were going to be quartered. Uncle Billy Conkey’s tavern was on East Hill. The barn was next to the church on West Hill, just across a little valley from the tavern. General Shays was putting troops on both hills so he could fire down on people coming up the valley.
There were some other men in the barn when we got there. One of them was another fellow about the same age as Levi and me. He was from Porterfield, a place near Levi’s hometown. Levi knew him. His name was Tom Mayo. Levi introduced us. We shook hands. I wondered if he’d run, but it wasn’t right to ask.
We slept together in the barn that night and in the morning they sent me and Levi and Tom over to the tavern to pick up our breakfast rations. We brought the rations back to the barn. After we had eaten I said, “There’s a cemetery behind the church. My great-great-grandfather is buried in that cemetery. Do you fellows want to see his grave?”
We went out to the cemetery. It was deep in snow, but the crust was thick and hard and you could walk on it if you stepped carefully. My great-great-grandfather’s headstone was covered with snow almost to the top. I kicked through the crust and pushed the snow away from the stone with my hand. We could read the engraving:
IN MEMORY OF ALEXANDER CONKEY
DIED DEC. 3, A.D. 1758
AGED 81 YEARS
“When my father was a little boy he used to take him for rides on his horse,” I said. “He was born in 1677. There wasn’t anything but Indians out here then. The country was practically new then.”
“Imagine being buried in a town that didn’t even exist when you were born,” Levi said.
“If I get killed in the fighting, I’ll be buried here,” I said. “There’s a lot of Conkeys in this graveyard.”
“You figure you might get killed?” Tom Mayo said.
“We all might get killed,” Levi said.
But I knew it was especially me who was likely to be killed. If you want to be a hero, you have to take chances.
That was Saturday. We did a little drilling, but mostly we sat around, rested up, and put our weapons in order. I borrowed a whetstone from the tavern and spent some time sharpening my sword, even though it didn’t need it, just to have something to do. Sunday was the same—weather cold and clear but windy, so nobody wanted to spend much time outdoors. Levi and Tom and I took care of getting the rations. We didn’t mind, because it gave us a chance to find out what was going on. General Shays had made Peter an officer, probably because he hadn’t run from the arsenal fighting, so he usually knew what was happening.
When we came for rations Monday night, Peter told us that peace might be coming. General Rufus Putnam, Daniel Shays’ old commander during the Revolution, had come over that afternoon under a flag of truce. Putnam and Shays had discussed peace terms. “Putnam wants us all to lay down our arms,” Peter told us. “General Shays is all for it. He hasn’t got any stomach for fighting Lincoln’s troops. He told Putnam we’d give up and take an oath of allegiance to the government if the government will give all of us an unconditional pardon, and the militia is disbanded until the General Court can act on our grievances. Now we’ll see what Lincoln has to say about it.”
But Lincoln said no. Tuesday morning, Peter came around to our barn and made the announcement. He stood in the door with the bright sunlight gleaming off the snow behind him, and the men sat in the hay and listened.
“You fellows have probably heard that General Shays tried to make a bargain with Lincoln so’s we could avoid a fight. He said we’d be willing to take the oath of allegiance if they’d give us all an unconditional pardon and send Lincoln’s army home until the General Court can act on our grievances.” He took a deep breath. “I’m sorry to say that Lincoln has turned the proposal down. I’m supposed to tell you all that anybody who takes an oath of allegiance before a justice of the peace within the next three days will get a pardon. That’s the only deal Lincoln is willing to offer us—if we surrender he won’t hang us.” He turned and spit out into the snow. “Now, I don’t know what you fellows think about that kind of a bargain, but General Shays isn’t going to quit and I’m not going to quit and most of the other men I’ve talked to aren’t going to quit.”
He stared around at us as we sat in the hay. I couldn’t see his face very well because of the brightness of the light behind him, but I was pretty sure his jaw was jutting out. “Of course, I wouldn’t want to
influence any of you. It’s up to each man to decide for himself.” He turned and walked away.
Tom and Levi and I talked about it after Peter left. “I wonder why Lincoln wouldn’t agree to Shays’ plan?” Tom said. “What’s he got to lose by just waiting until the General Court has a chance to take up our grievances?”
“That’s obvious,” I said. “Lincoln figures he can beat us now, and maybe he won’t be able to beat us later.”
“You think we’re going to get beat?” Tom said.
“I didn’t say I thought so. I said that’s what Lincoln probably figures.”
Tom shook his head. “It still doesn’t make sense. I mean, why fight if you don’t have to?”
“Well, I don’t know,” I said. “Maybe he figures we won’t fight. Maybe he figures we’ll just give up.”
“No, that’s not it,” Levi said. He’d got out his pipe and was tamping tobacco into it, being careful not to spill any in the hay where he’d lose it. “What it is is that people who have power and money don’t like people without it to be rebellious. They like poor people to do what they’re told without making a fuss.”
“I don’t believe that’s so,” I said. “I mean, the government’s supposed to represent us. It’s not like when we were under King George and the British. We’re not supposed to do what the General Court wants us to do—they’re supposed to do what we want them to do. The government is supposed to see that everybody gets a fair shake.”
“Why?” said Tom.
“Because,” I said. “That’s the way it’s supposed to be. We elect them to put in the laws we want to have, and if they don’t pass the laws we want, why we can dis-elect them.”
Levi got out his flint and struck it, and after a bit he got his pipe going and puffed out some smoke. I envied him smoking. I was tempted to ask for a puff, but I decided I’d better practice on my own before I tried in front of anybody. “Supposed to be is just supposed to be,” he said. He took another sip of smoke and let it dribble out of his mouth as he talked. “They’re supposed to represent us—the General Court and the Governor and his Council and all—but you put a man on top and the next thing you know he figures he’s got a right to be on top, and that everybody else is supposed to do what he says. They even begin to figure that they have a right to own all the property, too. It’s like you read about in the history books when they were all either lords or servants.”
“It’s not right for them to take our farms away to keep for themselves,” I said.
“It doesn’t matter if it’s right or not,” Levi said. “It’s human nature, and you can’t change human nature.”
“That’s not what our minister says,” Tom said. “He says people should study to be good. He says people can improve themselves if they want.”
Levi puffed a bit on his pipe. “I never met anybody I thought was improved. They all look pretty much like the same old model to me. You can’t make a master not want to be a master, or a rich man give up his wealth. Look at Major Mattoon. You went against him and what happened? He gave you a smack across your tail or he set you out in the cold without anything but the clothes on your back.”
“Well, if I’m bad I deserve it,” Tom said.
I thought about Major Mattoon. “Levi’s right,” I said. “Mattoon never paid any attention to me. He just ordered me around like I was a mule. I mean, it didn’t matter if I was right or not, he made me do what he wanted, no matter what.”
“That’s it,” Levi said. “It’s the same with the government. Your father or Peter or whoever you’ve got for master wants you to do what you’re told and no rebelliousness, and it doesn’t matter what’s right.”
“What Molly says is that Peter’s got the responsibility for us all. He has to be the master so he can see that things run right.”
“Well sure, if you’re talking about little children,” Levi said, letting the smoke dribble out of his mouth some more. “You can’t let a little child run around and do anything he wants. Sooner or later he’s bound to get trod on by a horse or get into poison ivy. But it’s different with us because we’re grown-ups. The government shouldn’t try to treat grown-ups like little children, because the government is just grown-ups, too.”
Levi was a pretty good arguer, that was for sure. “Then there wasn’t any point in kicking out King George. If the General Court isn’t going to do what we want either, we might as well have kept the British.”
“No, you’ve got it the wrong way around. We don’t have to keep either of them. We have to kick them both out. I mean that’s what we’re doing here today. And we should have done it at the last elections. If there’s enough of us to beat ‘em in battle, there sure was enough of us to elect our people to the General Court. We were stupid not to send our representatives. The British tried to run us around like a herd of cattle, so we kicked them out. Now the new government is taxing us to death and putting us in prison and when we ask for new laws so we can keep our farms and feed our families, why they tell us to shut up.” He sucked up the last of the smoke in his pipe, knocked the ashes into his hand, and threw them out into the snow where they wouldn’t set the hay on fire. “I mean, after all, Just, why are you fighting? What are you here for?”
I was glad it was sort of dark in the barn because the question made me blush. I wasn’t there to stand up for our rights so much as to make myself a hero. I felt ashamed. I wasn’t out for the good of all of us, I wasn’t out to save poor farmers from losing their land. I was thinking about getting to be a hero. I was out for myself.
Yet the funny thing was I didn’t believe that Levi was out for the poor farmers, either. I didn’t have any reason for believing that, it was just a feeling I had. I tried to think of a way to say it without being insulting. “Well, listen, Levi. Why are you here? I mean, did you come to fight to save the poor farmers from getting thrown in debtors’ prison?”
“Partly. My father can’t pay his taxes either,” he said. “I’m here to keep the government from pushing me around.”
“You’re out for yourself, then.”
“I sure am,” he said. “I told you, that’s human nature. It’s human nature for the rich to want to stay rich, and the poor to want to get rich and for the ones on the top to push on the ones below, and it’s human nature for the ones on the bottom to push back. I’m just going according to my human nature.”
Levi Bullock sure was a good arguer. But I wasn’t sure he was right. I didn’t want to get rich or powerful. I just wanted to keep what was mine, and not have anybody lording it over me. I was determined I was going to think about the whole thing before I said anything else.
Chapter Ten
FOR THE NEXT FEW DAYS WE JUST HUNG around Pelham. Nobody felt very good. It seemed like Lincoln had four thousand men to our two thousand. On top of it, they all had good Brown Bess muskets with bayonets, and some cannons, too. We didn’t see how we could beat them unless we got awfully lucky. It just seemed like we were doomed to get beaten, with a lot of us getting killed for nothing. But we didn’t have much choice about it. If we just gave up, they would go right ahead taking our farms away and putting us in jail. And of course those of us who were fighting might be put in prison or even get hanged, for being rebellious, although I didn’t see how they could hang all two thousand of us. We felt like we were in a trap. There didn’t seem to be any way out.
Of course, anyone who wanted to could quit and take the oath of allegiance. A few did—maybe four or five. None of the rest of us would speak to them. They had to leave Pelham. Most of us stuck it out, if only because we didn’t want to go against our friends and neighbors.
On Wednesday I went out to the farm to see Molly. It had only been ten days since I’d seen her, but so much had happened that it seemed like a year. I felt as if I was a different person—more grown up or something. I gave her a hug. “Well,” she said, “You don’t look too bad.”
“I guess I’m all right,” I said. “Sort of hungry, though. There�
��s never enough to eat.”
“It’s a surprise that there’s anything at all. Everybody in Pelham has been giving as much as they could for the troops, but it isn’t near enough. I spent the past three days collecting what I could. I borrowed a sleigh and a horse from Uncle Billy and went around to the farms. Most of the people are willing to help, but they don’t have much to give.”
“With all the rain and sleet I don’t see how you got through.”
“Oh, I managed somehow. But if we get too much more snow a lot of the roads will be shut off,” she said.
“What do you think’s going to happen?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” she said. “I haven’t seen Peter for a couple of days, but he doesn’t know much anyway. Nobody does. Not even General Shays.”
“Do you think there’ll be killing?”
“There usually is in war,” she said.
I wondered what she would do if I got killed, but I didn’t want to talk about that. She gave me some bread and milk, and then I walked back to the barn. Seeing her made me feel a little better, but still there was a lot of gloom everywhere.
On Thursday, which was the first of February, it snowed three more inches. We began to get rumors that we were going to move. I asked Peter about it once when we were at the tavern getting provisions. “I don’t know,” he said. “I wouldn’t tell you if I did, anyway. There are too many rumors going around as it is.” But on Saturday we got the order to form up. Nobody was happy about that, because it was snowing again. We didn’t know why we were moving. All we knew was that we formed up and headed out on the road northeast to Petersham. We had a lot of sleighs and pungs going along with us to haul our provisions in—sacks of cornmeal; great hunks of salted, smoked hams and beef; barrels of molasses, rum, and cider; a few live pigs with their feet tied so they couldn’t run off; and some turkeys and chickens in sacks.
The Winter Hero Page 8