The Last Three SoldiersShelton, W. H. (William Henry)
History
The Last Three Soldiers
Shelton, W. H. (William Henry)
North Carolina -- Fiction; Soldiers -- Fiction; United States -- History -- Civil War, 1861-1865 -- Fiction
The troopers dismounted, and some lay down on the ground by the horses,
while two kindled a fire in the stone chimney of the cabin and made
coffee for the others. Corporal Bromley leaned a bundle of
red-and-white flags against the door-post, and after turning aside with
Lieutenant Coleman and Philip Welton to inspect their supplies on the
pack-mules, the three joined the captain and the guide in the shadow of
that end of the cabin which looked toward the singular mountain
standing boldly between the Cove and the valley beyond. That it was a
mighty fortress, unscalable on its western side, could be seen at a
glance. The broad moonlight fell full on a huge boulder, whose mighty
top, a thousand feet above the Cove, was fringed with a tall forest
growth that looked in the distance like stunted berry-bushes, and whose
rounded granite side was streaked with black storm-stains where the
rains of centuries had coursed down. The moonlight picked out white
spots underneath the huge folds which here and there belted the rock
and protected its under face from the storms. These were the spots
which the rills dribbled over and the torrents jumped clear of to meet
their old tracks on the bulging rock below. It looked for all the
world as if the smoke from huge fires had been curling against the
mountain for ages, so black were the broad upward streaks and so white
in the moon's light were the surrounding faces of the rock. Phil was
the first to speak.
[Illustration: "IT WAS A MIGHTY FORTRESS, UNSCALABLE ON ITS WESTERN
SIDE."]
"It must have been a giant that rolled it there," he said with a sigh
of relief, and looking up at Andy, the guide.
"Well, now, youngster," said Andy, "you'd 'low so if you was round
these parts in the springtime, when the sun loosens the big icicles
hangin' on them black ledges, an' leaves 'em fall thunderin' into the
Cove bottom."
The Cove post-office, whose long white roof crowned a knoll nearly in
the center of a small tract within the mountain walls, Andy said, was
at such times a great resort of the mountaineers, who came that they
might watch the movement of the avalanches of snow and ice.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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