The Outsider (22 page)

24

Winter 1812–13

Christmas passed in the woods with hardly a notice. Even after one of the men went through the camp carrying his Bible and beating on a coffee pot as he reminded them it was the Christ’s birth date, nobody paid the day much mind. There was no joy to be had in Fort Starvation.

And certainly no joy in Brice’s heart. Not since the army had shot Kerns. Yet he knew if Kerns was alive, he’d be standing there singing one of those Christmas songs his ma had probably taught him and reciting the Christmas story. Somehow Seth had managed to carry joy with him in spite of all that had happened, even to death.

When orders came before the first of the year to move up to the Rapids, Brice was glad to have something to think about even if that was only how to move their sick through the snow. After a couple of days of marching, the weather turned against them with fury. For two days they sat huddled in camp by whatever fire they could keep going as the wind swirled the snow around them in deep drifts until many of the men were crouched in snow caves.

They inched forward through the snowstorm on the third day, but by mid-afternoon they had to give up the march and make camp. Brice pushed out a spot in the snow for his tent. Then he joined the other men scavenging for bark or bushes, anything to keep them off the snow while they tried to sleep. As he trudged through the deep snow, he thought of how as a boy he’d run through the snow in the woods, spoiling its pristine whiteness with his tracks and laughing when the trees dropped snow down on his head and shoulders.

Now he couldn’t imagine ever taking pleasure in snow again. No matter its beauty, this scene around him would always be etched in his mind. Horses too far gone to pick at the brush the soldiers brought them. Men reaching hands out for warmth to flames flickering and spitting as the snow kept falling. Other men too cold and tired to do anything but sit and stare as they waited for death’s horse to take them from their misery. Brice had always heard death rode a dark horse, but surely this time death was sheathed in white. There was no beauty here.

A week later they reached their rendezvous only to find the other armies weren’t coming. General Harrison sent word for Winchester to fall back, but with nothing to fall back to except more starvation, they pushed on. The men cheered when they saw the first village, but the French settlers, who came out with white flags to welcome them, looked worried as they told how the British were threatening to punish any villages that gave aide to the American soldiers.

The night was so cold their breath froze in the air. Still, the men had purpose now. Under Colonel Lewis, the army was up and moving early the next day across the ice of Lake Erie and on to Frenchtown. Villagers kept passing them going south to escape the conflict sure to come.

They were within three miles of Frenchtown when the enemy discovered them. The men lined up in battle formation and stood in the snow as their battalion commanders read the colonel’s orders of the day.

“Soldiers! Your ancient enemy is before you. The wrongs that he has inflicted upon your country are fresh in your memory. That country calls upon you this day to vindicate her honor and her interests by inflicting upon him condign punishment. In the hour of battle remember what the Patriot Orator said to you at Georgetown: ‘You have the double character of Americans and Kentuckians to sustain.’ Do so, as I feel assured you will, and all will be well.”

With these words ringing in their ears, the men surged forward. The British waited until they were less than a quarter of a mile from the town to fire on them with their howitzer. It went well over their head, and the men kept moving forward. The next shot was nearer target, but some of the men in the ranks began crowing like roosters to make fun of the British artillery.

The drummers began a long drum roll as the troops crossed the slippery ice of the River Raisen in the face of the enemy fire. Once across the river they had to fight their way through a dense growth of cane, but the men pushed on into Frenchtown and the enemy force retreated.

Just as the men were ready to celebrate, they heard firing off in the woods, so they had to reform their lines and move back into the battle.

Brice stayed in the town to treat the one casualty, a Captain Hickman. He took over the first house he came to and worked to save the man’s leg. For a while he heard the firing in the woods beyond, but it wasn’t long before the war he fought in the house shut out all the sounds of war outside as more men staggered in with wounds to be treated.

He was working by candlelight when he finally heard the silence. No more gunfire. He didn’t slow his work. If night had ended the battle for the day, more men would be brought to his door now that there was time to worry about the wounded. At least they had the confiscated store of British medicines and bandages to use.

Hope was one of the last to come in. Brice looked him over and said, “You don’t look too much worse for the wear.”

“I’m too ornery to kill,” Hope said before he pointed to the bloody rag wrapped around his upper arm. “This ain’t much more than a scratch, but I come along to make the boy happy.”

“Is Bates all right?”

Hope’s smile went clear across his face. “The boy would’ve made you proud, Doc. He stepped up to the challenge and showed he’s a true Kentuckian for sure.”

Brice took the wrapping off Hope’s wound. “How’d the fighting go?”

“We pushed them back some.” The smile slid off Hope’s face. “We might have chased them clear out of the country if we’d only had the strength. We was just too weak to chase them on.”

“How did you keep on fighting after it got dark?” Brice asked.

“Well, by then a lot of the officers had fell and most of us were on our own. Course Kentuckians don’t need nobody to lead them into a fight. We know how to do woods fighting, and you’d be surprised, Doc, how often you can find your target if you just wait for them to shoot and then aim at the flash in the dark.”

Brice probed the wound on Hope’s arm. “This could use some stitches.”

Hope pulled his arm away from Brice. “Now don’t be doing nothing to me that’ll take too long.”

“The fighting’s over for today, Hope. What’s your hurry?”

“I reckon you’ve been up to your eyeballs in bandages in here and don’t know what’s going on outside. We won the day and now the colonel says we get to reap the rewards. Seems the redcoats left a pile of food behind when we showed them their way home. I tell you, Doc. We’re going to eat tonight.”

Brice wrapped a clean bandage around Hope’s wound. “You’d best get going then and let me get back to those who need tending.”

“You should come on out and help us eat up that good British beef. I hear they even have cider and apples.” Hope winked at Brice as he stood up. “Not to mention them fine French ladies that’s volunteered to serve up the food. A man can get a mighty hungering for the sight of something in skirts after months in the wilderness.”

Brice followed him to the door and watched the soldiers drifting from house to house. The men were shouting, but then the soft tones of a woman’s laugh carried across the town square to Brice. Something grabbed at Brice’s insides and he took a step out the door. Then he stopped. It wasn’t the sight of just any woman Brice hungered after. It was Gabrielle. Behind him, one of the wounded men moaned, and without regret, Brice turned back to his work.

Late the next day Nathan came to the door of the cabin where Brice was checking over some of the wounded and said, “Got a minute, Doc?”

“Sure, Bates.” Brice took one look at him and went out into the cold air to stand beside him. “I hear you were assigned to the detail to bring in the dead.”

A tremble passed through the boy that had nothing to do with the chill in the air. Brice went back inside and brought him out a cup of the brew of roots he’d been giving the men to try to strengthen them. “Drink this,” he ordered.

Nathan drank it down and made a face. “What was that?”

“Just some roots and a few tea leaves.” Brice waited a minute for the boy to say more. When he didn’t, Brice finally said, “You want to talk about it?”

“I don’t know, Doc. I just wasn’t ready for what was out there this morning.”

“I doubt any man ever is.”

“Then you don’t think I’m feeling all sick like this because I’m a coward? I mean, I wasn’t all that scared yesterday. I just kept loading and shooting till I couldn’t raise up my gun. A time or two I thought I might get killed, but I never thought about dying like that.”

“Indian warriors usually scalp the men they kill.” Brice had seen the bodies the detail had brought in. Thirteen of them frozen stiff from the cold night and all but one scalped and stripped.

“I’d heard that, but I guess until you see it with your own eyes, you can’t imagine what it’s really like. I don’t like thinking about dying that way.”

Brice was trying to come up with the right thing to say to ease the boy’s mind without lying to him when Hope came up to them. “There you are, Nathan. I been searching all over for you.” Hope peered closer at Nathan’s face. “Something wrong, boy? You’re looking a mite peaked.”

Brice answered for Nathan. “He was on the detail to bring in the dead.”

“You just have to push that out of your head and not dwell on it, boy,” Hope said.

Nathan looked over at him. “Don’t you ever think about what if that’d been you, Alec?”

“No profit in that and no reason for it either. I wasn’t one of them. Besides, we give them worse than they give us. You saw what we did to one of them.”

“But why?” Nathan asked. “Isn’t it enough to just kill them?”

Hope didn’t let the question bother him. “That’s just how things are, boy. You’re carrying too much a load from those old Shakers, but the fact is us and the Injuns are natural-born enemies. There ain’t no explaining it, and what does a fighting man need with reasons?”

“I don’t know, Alec. Just seems like there ought to be a reason for dying.”

“Well, and there is a reason for that. We’re Kentuckians, boy, and our country’s asking us to drive the enemy out of this place. A few of us is going to die in every battle, but in the end we’ll make this whole blamed country ours like it was meant to be.” Hope looked over at Brice. “Ain’t that right, Doc?”

“I’ll leave the explaining of it to you, Hope. I’ll just patch up the results.”

Hope took hold of the boy’s arm. “Come on, boy. Ain’t no use talking war to a man who don’t like to fight.”

“I’ll fight my way, and you can fight yours, Hope.”

“Don’t get your dander up, Doc. I didn’t mean nothing by what I said.”

As Brice watched them walk away, he wondered if he’d ever see either of them alive again if the British decided to come back. The men had set up camp in the middle of the village, but the pickets thrown up around the town on three sides wouldn’t hold long against a heavy attack with artillery. Brice went back inside to his patients. He couldn’t worry about what he couldn’t change, but he wished Seth were there to offer up a prayer for all of them.

The thought had no sooner come to his mind than it was almost as if Seth were speaking in his ear.
“You don’t need me to pray for you, sir. Every man can go right up to the throne of God and offer up his own prayers. It says so in the Bible, sir.”

Brice looked up toward the ceiling but no words filled his mind. He’d spent a good amount of time in church. He’d heard plenty of Scripture.
For God so loved the world.
But how could he keep loving men even when they were shooting at other men who presumably God loved too? Brice frowned and let the worry flow back through him.

He saw the same worry on many of the officers’ faces as the days passed. A few reinforcements straggled in, but no orders were given for the men to fortify their position. The river was behind them but the British wouldn’t come from that direction. They’d follow the easy path of Hull’s road close by to make an advance on the town with their artillery. But while it was obvious the army’s position in Frenchtown was vulnerable, they had no way to retreat without leaving the wounded behind. No officer could order that kind of retreat, not and leave the wounded to the mercy of the Indians. Brice could only hope General Harrison would show up with fresh reinforcements before the British marched against them.

25

The British came first. The beating of reveille had no more than died away in the mist on January 22 when a sentry’s musket gave the alarm. The men formed up, but once the British started pounding the ranks with their artillery fire, it was a total rout.

Brice and those wounded who could get to their feet watched out the doors and windows as the men out on the field began to run for the river with no sign of an orderly retreat. Beside Brice, a wounded captain muttered. “The Indians will cut them off for sure.” He turned from the window to pick up his gun.

Brice looked from him to the men dying out on the battlefield. He picked up a gun from one of the beds and stepped toward the door to follow the captain out. One of the other doctors stepped in front of him. “It won’t do anybody any good for you to go out there and get yourself killed, Scott. We’ll be needed more after the shooting is over.”

“I can’t just stand here and watch them be overrun. You can handle whatever comes up.”

Brice found a place along the pickets. Hope spotted him at once. “Hey, Doc. Now you’re gonna do some of my kind of doctoring. Just make every shot count.”

“I know how to shoot, Hope.” Brice looked through the pickets and took careful aim. They were at an advantage here against the enemy. He couldn’t see the retreat of the regulars now. He’d just have to hope they’d make it to the Rapids and some measure of cover and not worry about the captain’s words saying the Indians would cut off their retreat.

He had no idea how much time passed as he shot and reloaded and shot again before Hope came running to get him. “It’s the boy,” he said. “He took a bad shot in the leg.”

Brice looked down at his gun, warm from firing. He hadn’t stopped to help others when they’d fallen.

“Come on, Doc. Any fool can shoot,” Hope said. “You got to help the boy before he bleeds out.”

Brice handed his gun to the man next to him and followed Hope to where Nathan was lying in snow turned red by his blood. A touch of a smile came to his pale lips when he saw Brice. “Hey, Doc, think you can work another miracle to get me around this one?”

“I’ll patch you up best I can, but I’ll leave the miracle working up to the Lord.” He kept his voice crisp as he looked at the wound, but inside his heart was sinking. There was no doubt the boy was going to need another miracle.

Hope helped carry Nathan into one of the houses, but once they got the boy laid out on a bed, he said, “I’d stay and help, Doc, but I reckon we’d both better stick to what we’re best at.”

Brice waved him away as he worked to slow the bleeding. When he raised the boy’s head up to drink down a draught of medicine, Nathan said, “It’s bad, isn’t it, Doc?”

“It is, but I’ve seen worse.”

Nathan reached out and grabbed Brice’s hand. “Don’t cut it off, Doc. I’ve done suffered too much keeping that leg to have you cut it off now.”

“Easy, boy.” Brice pushed him back down on the bed gently. “I’ll do what I can, but I can’t make promises.”

“You won’t cut my leg off, Doc. I know you won’t.” Nathan shut his eyes.

“Better to lose your leg than your life,” Brice said, but the boy gave no sign of hearing.

“Just as well,” Brice muttered to himself. There were times when even the dark sleep of unconsciousness was a blessing.

Brice didn’t know Dr. Rowen was behind him until he spoke. “You’re wasting your time, Scott. Gangrene’s sure to set in on a wound like that, and you’ll end up having to cut off the leg anyway. Better to do it first and clean.”

Brice didn’t look up. “Maybe so, but the boy deserves a chance at keeping his leg.”

Dr. Rowen looked out toward the sound of battle and shook his head. “I’m not sure any of us are going to keep anything at the end of this day.”

A couple of hours later, an ominous silence fell over the battleground. Some of the men behind the pickets stood and waited. Others left their position to find food. Hope came to see about Nathan.

“I’ve done what I can for him, Hope,” Brice told him. “But what’s going on out there? What’s this quiet mean?”

“We beat them back, Doc. They made three charges at us, but we picked them off like flies. We wouldn’t have lost a man if it hadn’t been for the Injuns sneaking around behind us where they could get a clear bead down on us.”

Dr. Rowen came up to them and asked, “Is it over for the day?”

“I’m doubting it, sir. They’ll be back at us again most likely.”

“And will you be able to beat them back again?” Dr. Rowen asked.

This time Hope wasn’t so cocky. “Well, it’s like this, sir. We’re as good a bunch of fighting Kentuckians you’re ever likely to see, but even Kentuckians can’t shoot when they run out of ammunition.” Hope fingered his ammunition pouch. “We’ll keep them back as long as we can, and then we’ll fight them hand to hand till there ain’t none of us left to fight.”

Just then a shout came from the fence. “The enemy’s coming with a white flag.”

“Now see there,” Hope said. “Them redcoats are done ready to call a truce.”

But it wasn’t a truce the enemy asked for. Instead they demanded the complete surrender of the American troops. They had captured General Winchester and the general had sent orders for the soldiers to lay down their weapons and surrender.

The men’s hands tightened on their guns as the parley went on. None of them wanted to give up their weapons. Not after the fate of the men at Fort Dearborn the year before. Those men had surrendered, stacked their arms, and marched out as prisoners of war. But the Indians had honored no agreements and the men were all killed without mercy. The men behind the pickets at Frenchtown remembered and vowed to fight to the end. If they were going to die, they wanted to do it with a gun in their hands.

Nevertheless, before the sun went down and with the British commander’s promise that the Americans could keep their private property and the wounded would be protected by British guards until sleds could be sent to take them to Amberstburg, the officers agreed to the terms of surrender. Then even before the Kentuckians had laid down their guns, some of the Indians were crowding around to grab anything they could from the men. It wasn’t until the men shouldered their guns that the British Colonel Proctor waved the Indians back.

As if to beat the fall of night, the British hurried the men as they marched out from behind the pickets and grounded their arms before lining up as British prisoners. The walking wounded lined up with the rest of the prisoners to move out.

Brice and Dr. Rowen were left behind to care for the men too badly wounded to move under their own power. Before Hope fell into line with the other prisoners, he slipped over to talk to Brice. “I don’t like the looks of it, Doc. I wish you and Nathan was lined up with me.”

“The boy’s hurt too bad to march anywhere.” Brice shook Hope’s hand. “Don’t worry about us, Hope. They’re leaving guards, a Captain Elliott and three interpreters, until they can send the sleds for the wounded. And who knows? The way they’re in such a rush it could be Harrison will beat them here.”

“I wish I could believe you was right, Doc.” Hope shifted from one foot to the other before he said, “If I don’t never see you no more, and you do make it back to Kentucky safe and all, you tell my girl I loved her. I wasn’t always a good pa, but I did love her.”

Hope fell in with the other Kentuckians marching out as prisoners of the British. Brice watched them until they were out of sight. It was only right that Hope mentioned Gabrielle. She was the fine yet unbreakable thread that tied them together. Brice and Nathan and Hope.

The silence after the British left with their prisoners was oppressive. As Brice moved among the wounded, the uneasiness grew as night fell. But though a few Indians wandered through the houses looking for plunder, they didn’t offer any threat, and the hours crept by.

Just after dark, Brice stepped outside to see the British captain mounting one of the wounded officers’ horses. He looked in Brice’s direction and hesitated for a bare moment before he kicked the horse and rode out of Frenchtown.

Dr. Rowen came up behind Brice. “Who was that?”

“Our guard, the good Captain Elliott.”

“There aren’t going to be any sleds, are there, Scott?” Dr. Rowen didn’t wait for Brice to answer. “Not that it matters anyway. I’ve heard the British are giving their red friends a victory frolic a little ways from here. We’ll be lucky if any of us see the sun rise in the morning.”

“The sleds will be here,” Brice said, but he was anything but sure of that.

“Maybe so, but it might be wise if all of us take a few minutes to get right with God before too much more time passes.”

“You mean a deathbed confession?”

“I’ve heard plenty of them and I know you have too.”

“Too many,” Brice agreed.

“That boy, the one you tried to save his leg. He may be wanting to make one. He’s come to and he’s calling for you.”

When Brice stepped up beside Nathan’s bed, the boy opened his eyes. “Doc,” he whispered. “I’m tired, Doc. I’m thinking about letting go.”

Brice sat down beside him. “You can’t give up now, Bates. You can find the courage to hang on a little longer.”

“Courage. I’ve always wanted to have courage, to be brave, but I’ve never been sure I was. Maybe that’s why I ran back into that barn at Harmony Hill. To prove I was brave.” Nathan stopped and licked his lips. “Maybe that’s why I marched on up here with Alec and you. But you know, I still don’t feel brave. I’m still afraid.”

“Even brave men feel fear, Nathan, but you don’t have to prove anything anymore. You did that already out on the battlefield. You’ll never have to doubt your bravery again.” Brice gently laid his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “But there’s no need suffering. Let me give you something to help you sleep.”

“Not yet. If I go to sleep, I won’t ever wake up. I know that.”

“Then drink half the draught. That will dull the pain some.” He raised the boy’s head and tipped up the cup until he’d taken a couple of swallows.

The boy lay back and looked at Brice. “You really think I’m brave, Doc? You’re not just saying that because you think I’m about to die?”

“I don’t lie to my patients.”

“But sometimes you don’t tell them the whole truth either, do you, Doc?”

“What do you mean?”

“Gabrielle. Why didn’t you tell me you loved her?” Nathan’s eyes were fastened on Brice.

Brice let out a long breath before he said, “I didn’t want to admit it to myself at first. But then that day I saw her sing, I knew.” He looked at Nathan for a long minute before going on.

“But what good would it have done to tell you? She wouldn’t listen to either of us.”

“But she listened more to you than me, didn’t she? Does she love you?”

“I want to believe she does.”

“Good, then maybe she’ll listen to you when you go back to get her. I don’t like to think of her growing old in that barren place.”

“The last time I saw her she gave me no hope of ever listening.”

“She’ll listen if she loves you enough. She didn’t love me enough.” He shut his eyes and was so quiet that Brice thought he’d slipped into sleep. But then he said, “I can see her here, kneeling by my bed, praying for me. Do you think she knows I’m in trouble? You know, with her gift of knowing things?”

“It wouldn’t surprise me, Nathan. She did love you.”

“I know. Like a brother,” Nathan said. When he groaned again, Brice raised his chin and poured the rest of the medicine down his throat.

If she loves you enough.
The boy’s words stayed with him as he walked through the wounded, stopping here and there to try to give a measure of comfort to the men who were only a step away from death.

An hour after daylight he heard horses and looked out to see the three interpreters leaving camp. Nothing stood between them and the Indians now. A fist tightened around his heart when he looked in the other direction and saw the Indians coming into the town. They might all just be a step away from death.