The Drinking Gourd A Story of the Underground Railroad
Chapter 1: Jeremiah
Saturday Night:
The half moon had just risen, casting a weak light over the still waters of the canal basin. It was a beautiful June night—cool with a gentle breeze—perfect sleeping weather for those lucky enough to be in bed at that late hour. In the village of Cadyville, not a single lamp was burning, and Main Street was deserted. Across the meadows the cows were settled and quiet. And in the marsh the wood ducks were nestled in for the evening.
Near the upstream gates of the lock, a lone figure sat in the dark. Struggling to stay awake, Jeremiah Cady took a deep breath, hoping that the fresh air would give him a jolt of energy and help him fight off the urge to close his eyes. He yawned for the hundredth time and stretched his back, but it did little to relieve the pain of sitting still for so long.
“I ought to be in my cozy bed right now,” he said to himself, but Uncle Caleb had made it clear: Jeremiah was to stay up on guard duty until first light. And if anything bad happened while Caleb was away, Jeremiah knew he would be in trouble. Caleb had a mean streak, and seemed to enjoy taking his anger out on the boy.
Jeremiah understood why he was sitting guard. Last night Caleb shot at someone in the woods near the barn—a horse thief or maybe a Riverite looking to damage the canal. Either way a stranger in the middle of the night meant trouble. The intruder had escaped, but a trail of blood led off into the woods, and Caleb wasn’t taking any chances that whoever had been sneaking around might come back and try again.
Despite his best efforts, Jeremiah’s head sagged forward and he started to drift. As he began to lose consciousness, a splashing sound startled him awake. For a moment he was frightened, but then the feeling passed and he chuckled to himself—probably just a turtle or a muskrat.
Still, he ought to check it out. Muskrats loved to burrow into the sides of the canal and had been known to cause washouts. And a muskrat hide was worth a dollar—a prize which Caleb would keep for himself—but Jeremiah knew that if his uncle found a muskrat hole in the canal bank, he would surely catch a beating. Pulling himself to his feet, he grabbed the old musket that Caleb had insisted he keep with him.
Jeremiah walked slowly along the towpath, gazing into the black water. About twenty yards upstream he spied some faint ripples near the far side of the canal, so he doubled back to the bridge, but as he started across he heard the squeaking of hinges. Someone was in the barn! “Horse thieves!” he thought. For a moment he was unsure what to do. He considered making his way to the house to alert Aunt Jane, but he knew that if he were wrong she would tease him, and Caleb would tell the story all over town. Jeremiah decided it was better to be killed by intruders.
Clutching the musket he moved cautiously toward the barn. As he neared the corral, Jeremiah paused to listen, but the only sound he heard was the wild thumping of his heart. He climbed through the split-rail fence noiselessly and crept across the yard.
The front doors of the barn were closed—a good sign. Jeremiah let out a sigh and allowed himself a moment of calm before moving on. Carefully he made his way to the back of the barn and peered around the corner. The rear door was slightly ajar!
Jeremiah’s heart was in his throat as he inched toward the open door. It took all his courage to peek inside, but it was too dark to see anything. He listened intently for a moment, but all he could hear was the occasional snorting of the horses, Molly and Buttercup, as they slept in their stalls.
Silently Jeremiah slipped through the door and tiptoed to the tool bench. He carefully leaned his musket against the wall and reached for a lantern. He was fumbling in his pocket for a friction match when he heard a slight rustling behind him. Before he could react something whacked him on the head. As he fell to the ground he lost consciousness.
To be continued Wednesday, January 16. Next Time: Cadyville