Conceived in Liberty Read Online Free PDF

Pennsylvania German.
    I gathered wood, went back and built up the fire. The heat of it woke Jacob and Henry. Then the Pennsylvania trumpets shrilled away the morning. The scene was old now, half-naked beggars coming to life, a great rush of movement back and forth to drive off the cold. The brigades were assembling.
    â€œThere’s to be a review of the brigades today,” Jacob said. “A grand review with a flag parade.”
    Charley, sprawled out, sang, “The beggars are coming to London Town, London Town …”
    â€œWe’ll need a flag——”
    â€œA great white flag with a smoked ham painted on it—a roasted ham with gravy dripping for a border to the flag.”
    We had no food; we stood and looked at the fire. Edward Flagg slowly munched a handful of snow.
    â€œI wouldn’t,” Ely said. “The snow’ll burn yer mouth and belly.”
    â€œThe Jersey men are eating,” I said. I could see a few camp kettles boiling over their fires.
    â€œI’ll go to the commissary,” Ely said.
    â€œThey’ll want an officer’s requisition.”
    Ely stumbled off. “He’ll not wear Moss’ shoes,” I said. “His feet are fair gone and shapeless, not to be put inside shoes.”
    â€œThere was a good coat gone to the grave with Moss. The dead don’t feel cold.”
    â€œThe shoes shouldn’t go to waste,” I muttered. I sat down and slowly untied the bandages over my feet, holding them close to the fire. Finally, they were bare, blue with frost. I let them warm by the fire. They were covered with sores, unhealed cuts, dirt.
    â€œRub them with snow, Allen.”
    I said, laughing: “They’ll rot before I make them colder.”
    Vandeer said: “I call to mind a tract of Bishop Berkeley’s I read through. A rare fine philosopher who holds that pain and all material things vanish with the mind that knows them.”
    â€œWell, Moss is dead, and we’re here. I’d as leave be here as dead and stiff.”
    â€œBut no cold for Moss,” I said. “We can draw for the shoes, Jacob.”
    â€œThey won’t fit me,” Edward said sullenly. He was a big man, big hands, big feet. I think he had the largest hands and feet I’ve ever seen on a man.
    Kenton found a pair of dice and rolled them on a crust of snow. Henry drew the shoes with a double six. He held the boots between his knees, fondling them and feeling their softness. Then he unwrapped the bandages from his feet. The bandages clung, and he told us it was the first time in eight days he had bared his feet. When he got to his socks, he found they were crusted with blood. His feet were swollen out of all shape.
    We tried to force the boots on. Henry lay down on his back, his feet stretched out, his hands clenched with pain. I had a little tobacco left, and I broke off a piece of it, gave it to him to chew while we worked on his feet. He broke up the tobacco, chewing desperately, his face twisted with pain, the brown stain running over his beard.
    When the boots were on, he made no move to rise. “I can’t stand it,” he whispered. “Take them off.”
    We bound up Henry’s feet after that. Jacob insisted that we wash them, but Henry refused. I wanted the boots. We rolled again, and Kenton drew them. I told Kenton I would fight him for them: I told him man to man, I would stand against him and fight for the boots.
    Jacob pushed me away. “Keep yer head, Allen,” he said.
    â€œThey’re Moss’ boots,” I said. “Where’s Moss?”
    I sat down on the ground, put my face in my hands. I was hungry and my head was light. I felt a great strength, as if I could fight Kenton and all the rest of them. I felt that I could walk with strides yards long.
    Then I began to cry, easily; I kept my hands over my face. When I looked up, they were standing round me. I could see how Clark