Crockett of Tennessee

by Judd, Cameron

  “God forgive them … how can evil be so great?” This from Canaday, a quiet musing.

  “How did you get out?”

  “They left after a time, once they was persuaded I was mortal hurt. By then that torch had near gone out, but once they was gone, I fetched up and got the flames burning brighter again. And then I looked for a way out … walked among them bones.” Persius’s eyes seemed to peer back into an ugliness his mind was already trying to veil. His voice softened. “There was still skin and hair on some of them, and pieces of their clothes. They was years old, most of them, pretty much crumbling to dust. There was a score of dead down there if there was one. Like stumbling around in hell, that’s how it seemed … I could see where some of them had tried to climb out and just died with their arms up.… God, God!”

  He lowered his head, trembling. David had never seen Persius with so little of his usual self-protective veneer of bluster.

  Canaday patted Persius’s shoulder. “God bless thee, my boy. God bless thee. All is well now. Look for the light of Christ within thee. Let it give thee comfort in thy times of sorrow.”

  “There is no light, none that I’ve ever seen,” Persius said bleakly.

  “There is, there is. Seek it.”

  David asked, “How did you get out?”

  “There was a way to the outside besides the way we had come in—it took a long time to find it. The torch burned out; I sunk down and just laid there amidst them bones. I was hurting, afraid I was dying. Then the morning finally came, and I saw light shining in through a hole in the rocks, way up high. I climbed to it. Don’t know how I did it, with my arm hurt, but I did, and I got out.”

  “What about the men who had done it? What happened to them?”

  Persius paused, then said very flatly, “I don’t know. They was gone, and I didn’t go looking for them. I went into the woods and washed my wounds, and started straight toward Jefferson County. I don’t care if I never set foot along the Clinch River again.”

  Persius’s situation gave David much to think about. Canaday was certainly right: the young man was much changed. His experience in the cave had done more than injure him physically. Somehow, it had fundamentally altered his spirit; like a soldier who has survived his first battle, he did not seem the same person he had been before. Whether this was to be a permanent change, David could not guess.

  Because of Persius’s altered personality, David was not particularly surprised when Canaday proudly announced about a week later that Persius was becoming a Quaker and sought admission into the Meeting. Already David had surmised that Persius’s experience had forced upon him an awareness of his mortality; it was only a short jump from there to religion.

  What did surprise David was one accompanying bit of news: Persius had also agreed to bind himself to Canaday under a work contract for a year. Persius, tying himself to long-term duty and labor? Truly he had undergone a major transformation. He had always shunned such commitment before.

  And this brought up a point David found puzzling. The experience Persius had described in the pit of bones had been chilling and dreadful … but he had come out of it safe and alive. The event had been horrible, to be sure, but was it horrible enough to have turned a pugnacious thief into a pacifist Quaker; a freedom-loving vagabond into a bound boy, especially when Persius was in his young manhood, a time when most wouldn’t desire an extended bondage of labor?

  David concluded that surely there was more to Persius’s story than he had yet told. He could find no other answer that covered the facts. Something further had happened to Persius along the Clinch River, something bigger and of more import than two scoundrels throwing him into a pit of bones. David’s curiosity raged white-hot—but he did not ask. Instinctively he knew it would be useless. If he was to know, it would be only when Persius Tarr decided to divulge it, if ever.

  In the meantime, there were other matters to occupy David’s attention. With his schooling and work at Bowater Canaday’s place behind him; David returned to John Canaday’s house and worked alongside Persius, sharing the little gable sleeping quarters and taking great enjoyment in watching Persius struggle to replace his “yous” with “thees” and his oaths with blessings. It was quite a battle. David began to have doubts about the thoroughness of Persius’s conversion.

  David did nothing to make it any easier for the fledgling Friend to hold true to his new faith. David had been practicing much with his rifle, and became an excellent shot. He slipped out at every chance to attend target practice and turkey shoots and any other kind of marksman’s match that came up … without John Canaday ever knowing, of course, because he strongly disapproved of such frivolities. Naturally, Persius was expected to feel the same way, now that he was a convert, but he had a hard time of it. His heart just wasn’t in abstinence from fun, and within a few weeks Persius began slipping out to the matches with David. Soon he was a Quaker only in the presence of John Canaday and his brood. When he was alone, he was more and more the natural-born scoundrel he had been before.

  But not entirely. There was still something that ate at Persius, that kept him turning at night, sometimes talking unintelligibly in his sleep, sometimes sitting bolt upright with a yell. What’s the matter? David would ask. Nothing, Persius would answer. Just a bad dream.

  David pondered the mystery and became increasingly sure there was more to Persius’s story than had been told. Though he had no new facts, a theory slowly began to develop in his mind; he had an idea of what the untold portion might be. It was disturbing enough that he hoped he was wrong.

  He had shot well today, better than ever before, and won a dollar for it. David shifted his precious rifle to his left shoulder and sauntered casually along the roadside, whistling beneath his breath, idly tossing Uncle Jimmy’s old silver nugget in his right hand. No need for caution today; old Canaday was gone off to Cheek’s Crossroads and wouldn’t be around to catch him coming back from a forbidden shooting match.

  David relived the event in his head. Too bad Persius hadn’t been present to see and envy his excellent marksmanship. Persius was not a particularly good shot himself, even using David’s fine rifle; David relished the knowledge of Persius’s unspoken jealousy when they competed at matches. Persius would have eagerly taken part in today’s event had not Canaday assigned him the task of splitting rails.

  David stopped and stepped off the road, hearing a wagon behind him, approaching the bend he had just rounded. Its rumble certainly was odd, as if something was wrong with a wheel—and then came a loud slamming noise, a cracking of wood, and a man’s voice shouting an alarm, followed by two feminine screeches.

  Even without having seen anything, David knew what had happened, and to whom. The wagon had lost a wheel and cracked its axle, and the man who had yelled was William Elder. His voice was distinctive and booming. David’s family and various branches of the Elders had known each other for years. William Elder now ran an inn near the Dandridge community, just north of one of the bends of the French Broad River.

  Elder stood beside the wagon, scratching his head and looking sour, when David came back around the bend. Elder looked up. “David Crockett! I’m jiggered! Fancy running into you here.”

  David shifted his eyes to the young ladies with Elder—Margaret and Annalee, two of William Elder’s daughters. Feeling in frisky and bold spirit today, David narrowed his left eye when he looked at Margaret … enough of a wink to be noticed, but not enough for her to be sure he had intended to do it. Margaret gave him a brief, uncertain smile in return. Beautiful girls, these Elders. David wondered why he hadn’t really noticed that before.

  “Looks like you’re bedeviled with wagon trouble today, Mr. Elder.”

  “Yes indeed. That deuced sorry wheel! And now my axle is splintered.”

  David knelt, Elder beside him, and examined the damage. The wheel lay on its side, pinned beneath the wagon, and the greasy wooden axle had splintered at its end.

  “That will take some time t
o fix,” David observed.

  “Yes. I’m afraid it will.”

  “Come on ahead with me to the Canaday house. There’ll be help for you there.”

  David walked beside Elder the rest of the way in, talking over the news and bragging, loud enough for Margaret to hear, about his success at the day’s shooting match. She was walking directly behind her father, and when David turned his head just right, he could catch a glimpse of her without being obvious about it. When he saw her glancing back at him with big doe eyes, he felt warm from head to toe.

  Persius was happy to put aside his rail-splitting and join David and a couple of neighbors in fixing the damaged wagon just enough to roll it to a neighbor’s house for a more permanent repair. The Elders then returned to the Canaday house; by now it was late, and John Canaday had returned. He invited the Elders to remain until their wagon was repaired, and they accepted, much to David’s delight.

  And to Persius’s. David noticed that Persius seemed quite fascinated with Annalee Elder, and strutted about before her in a manner most unseemly for one purportedly a Quaker.

  John Canaday must have noticed it too, because the next day he sent both David and Persius to work on the most distant portions of his extensive property, sending them out before dawn, before the Elders arose from their beds. When they returned that night, the Elders had already gone back to their home.

  David wasn’t angered by Canaday’s obvious ploy; he had already made an arrangement that rendered it moot. “It appears I’ll have to go calling on Margaret Elder tomorrow evening,” he said to Persius after they crawled into their sleeping gable. “Somehow or another that silver piece of mine has managed to go missing. Seems I recall seeing it fall out of my hand into her pocket. Reckon I’ll have to fetch it back from her.”

  Persius grinned. “That’s a long stretch to their place.”

  “Ten miles, at least.”

  “A man needs some company on so long a journey. I suppose it’ll be up to me to provide it.”

  David smiled and nodded. “They’re mighty pretty gals, Persius. I swear, that Margaret’s prettier than Amy Sumner. Why in the world I never noticed it before I can’t figure out.”

  “Annalee ain’t no slouch herself,” Persius replied. “I might have to start calling on her, if she’s willing.”

  “As long as you leave Margaret alone.”

  “I will. I promise. And the same goes for you and Annalee.”

  They pledged to respect each other’s romantic fields of conquest, rolled over in their blankets, and fell asleep at once. Canaday might not have succeeded in diverting their minds from the Elder girls, but he had succeeded in thoroughly exhausting them.

  Chapter 24

  John Canaday could hardly understand it. For weeks now both Persius Tarr and David Crockett had been going through unexplainable spells of weariness. At least once a week, sometimes twice, they trudged through their working day in a state of listlessness, moving like worn-out ancients instead of the strong and virile young men they usually were. He wondered if they were ill.

  But that theory didn’t cover the facts. If illness were causing their mutual torpor, it would do so consistently. Their odd condition was sporadic, and occurred in both young men at the same times. Therein lay the most mystifying aspect of it.

  And then there was that long, stout pole Canaday had found of late, leaned up against the gable of the house. He had moved it to the edge of the woods three or four times, and each time it had returned. It was downright puzzling. No one in the household seemed able to explain it, David and Persius included.

  John Canaday accepted the shrugs and denials of everyone in the household—except David and Persius. Something was up with those two. The reappearing pole beneath their window, the bursts of weariness—he was certain these mysteries were connected, though he had not a clue as to how. It bothered him to think his workers were deceiving him. Not so much where David was concerned; he expected a certain amount of deceit from David. But Persius shouldn’t lie about anything. After all, he was a convert to the faith; dedicated to honesty, labor, and the simple, good life. Unless, of course, his conversion hadn’t gone quite to the bone. But that was an idea that Canaday, with an idealistic streak age hadn’t erased, wasn’t prepared to accept.

  They moved in silence, shifting about on bare feet, avoiding the floorboards that tended to creak. By the light of a single grease lamp they dressed themselves in their best clothing, then opened the window and shinnied down the long pole they had quietly wedged into the corner formed between the chimney column and the house. When it was placed just so, it reached right to the window of their sleeping quarters, and made a dandy substitute for a ladder, and both had gotten adept at descending and ascending by it. Persius went down first, David next, after pausing at the top of the pole to carefully close the window again while he clung to the pole like a squirrel.

  “Think they heard us?” Persius whispered when both were on the ground.

  “No,” David said. “I could still hear the old man snoring when I closed the window.”

  They went to the stable and quietly saddled and bridled two horses. They didn’t mount immediately, but led them well down the road from the house, walking them in the soft, sound-muffling grass instead of on the hard-packed dirt road. Only when they were out of sight and sound of the house did they mount and ride. They would not dismount again until they had traveled upward of ten miles, all the way to the Elder residence. There they would spend most of the night romancing the Elder sisters, staying as long as they could, allowing themselves just enough return time to ride the ten miles back home again, put up the horses and tack gear, and climb back up the pole to their window and into their beds. The next day, naturally, would be an agony of labor done without sufficient rest—but the Elder sisters were worth the sacrifice.

  This had been going on for many weeks now, and so far they hadn’t been caught. But David worried about John Canaday, who seemed suspicious and had asked uncomfortable questions about the pole. They dared not tell the truth about it. Canaday wouldn’t think highly at all of two young men spending time with attractive young ladies after dark, unsupervised, and without the knowledge of the girls’ parents. And in particular he would disapprove of Persius, nominally a Quaker, fraternizing with a girl who was not a Friend. David was well-aware that Canaday still prided himself in having led in Persius’s conversion. Ironically, he was the only person who had not realized that Persius’s “conversion” had backslid itself into nonexistence long ago.

  Still, David hoped Canaday wouldn’t find out about these nocturnal outings—not that it would make much real difference if he did. He intended to court Margaret Elder—he had taken to calling her Maggie lately—whatever the old man thought about it, and more than that, he intended to marry her. There was no doubt in his mind he had found the woman with whom he wanted to spend the rest of his life.

  Keeping company with Maggie in broad daylight was a rare and delightful privilege, and David Crockett enjoyed himself immensely as he strolled beside his beloved in one of the meadows nearby the Meeting House of the Quakers. This was much easier going than courting on the sneak after midnight. On this day the very air seemed lighted with a glow that spoke of happiness and the goodness of life, as if some portion of heaven had fallen to earth and been absorbed into the countryside. And it was all because of Maggie.

  This was a wedding day—not for David Crockett, but for his former infatuation, Amy Sumner, and Robert Canaday. David and Maggie had both played a part in the now-completed marriage service and celebration, serving as attendants to the bride and groom. This was the first wedding in which David had participated, and he thought it had been a grand experience … so grand that he was ready to take part in such a ceremony again, as soon as possible. And not as attendant, but bridegroom.

  Maggie’s hand in his own felt small and feminine, wonderful to caress. It was not a delicate hand; the continual labors of frontier life had put strength i
n her grip and and calluses on her palm. David didn’t care. He had never known any other kind of girl, and wouldn’t have known what to make of an uncallused hand. He could conceive of no finer or more appealing female than the one walking at his side.

  At that moment, he was in the midst of what he considered the most important conversation of his life, one he had been waiting for the right moment to take up. This time, in the soothing afterglow of the Canaday-Sumner wedding, had seemed that right moment.

  “… and you know I’ve done a right smart bit of striving to be with you, coming out at night and riding ten mile in and ten mile back and such as that.”

  “I know,” she said.

  “Now, a man don’t do such as that if he ain’t got a strong desire to be with his intended—”

  “Intended?” Maggie repeated, casting her glance side-wise toward David.

  David felt flustered. He hadn’t really meant to use that loaded a word just yet, though in fact it went precisely to the point he was aiming toward.

  “Well, yes … intended. And that’s what I’m trying to say to you. I’ve got intentions for you. I … love you. I want to make you my wife.”

  By the time the words were out, he felt he would have choked had he been compelled to add another one. Never had he forced out a more difficult series of sentences. He had laid his heart and his plans at Maggie’s feet. He awaited her response.

  “Wife …” she said. “Why, David, you surprise me!”

  Surprise? David didn’t like the sound of that. How could she be surprised, considering all the time and effort he had put into romancing her? He saw at once that this wasn’t going to come together as readily as he had hoped.

  “I’ve never had a marriage proposal put to me before,” she went on. “Why, I hardly know how to think!”