Chapter Four: No Chance to Escape
The next day I awoke and dressed before Captain Williams had come to get me. I tied my long, waves of golden red hair back into a braid that reached my waist, and secured the strips of cloth wrapped around my feet. I put on my cap and apron and walked across the pathway to the medical tent.
When I entered I was surprised to see the colonel himself sitting on a cot. His waistcoat was undone and his expression was one of severe pain. I looked around, and then remembered that I was the only medical staff in the camp.
In that moment, the better part of me was screaming to allow Colonel Tavington to suffer, but something about the way his face contorted with pain made me go to him. I approached the coat his was sitting on, nearly doubled over.
"Sir?" I asked meekly, not wishing to anger him.
"What?" he said. The word seemed forced, and he winced in pain when he said it.
"What happened to you?" I asked, nervously. There was no visible wound that I could see, but the colonel's arms were wrapped tightly around his abdomen, so he could very well have been covering it up.
"I…" he nearly choked on the words. "I…hurt…myself…"
I rolled my eyes and then prayed that he hadn't seen it. "Yes, Colonel," I said, as gently as possible. "I can see that. But how did you hurt yourself?"
"I…was…riding…with the…Dragoons…" he sputtered, wincing as he spoke each word. "Some…colonials…shot…at…us…"
I cut him off. "Was anyone shot?" I asked.
"No…" he said, glaring at me for interrupting him. "But…I…fell…off…my…horse…"
I covered my mouth trying not to laugh at him. Somehow it simply amazed me that a colonel in the British army would fall off his horse. But then I looked at the colonel, clutching his sides, obviously in terrible pain, and the laughter ceased on my lips.
"What hurts?" I asked him, holding my hands out, unsure what to do. This was, after all, my captor.
"My damn chest!" he yelled. "What's it look like?"
I jumped back, afraid for a moment that he would strike me. Then I realized that physically, I had the advantage. He was injured, and for the first time in the nearly two days that I had been in the camp, I felt a slight bit of control.
"Colonel," I said, stepping towards him once again. "You're going to have to let me see it."
He gave me another of his famous glares, his blue eyes on fire with white hot rage. Then, as though suddenly realizing his position, he let his arms rest. I took my chance and hurried to look at his chest.
I pressed on his rib cage and stomach. When I reached the muscle just below his rib cage, he cried out in pain. His left hand rose and flew at me, striking me hard on the face. I fell on the ground and stared at him in disbelief. The first time I had not been waiting for him to hit me was the one time that he had.
He looked at me, and his expression changed to one of sympathy. I picked myself up and approached him cautiously.
"I'm not going to hit you again," he said, frowning.
"You'd best not, or I may decide I don't know what's wrong with you," I threatened. It was dangerous business, threatening one's captor, but I was not going to allow myself to be abused.
"I'm sorry," he said. His voice had grown almost small and he reminded of me of my younger siblings apologizing to my mother for something they had done wrong.
"Thank you," I said. I had not expected him to apologize, but it was certainly welcome. "Can I please have a look at your abdomen again?" I asked him. "I promise I'll be careful."
He nodded and I proceeded to touch the muscle again, gentler this time. The area was somewhat swollen, and a bit red.
"How did you land when you fell?" I asked him.
"I landed on my stomach on a fallen branch," he answered. "Right about where you were checking."
I nodded, now sure of my diagnosis. "Well, you've badly bruised this muscle right here," I told him, pointing to the area that seemed to be causing him so much pain. "The reason your chest hurts is because this muscle helps you breath. It will get better, but you'll have to be careful not to over exert yourself for a few days, and be extra careful."
"Is there anything to do for the pain?" he asked.
I couldn't believe he was behaving like such a child over one injury. Perhaps he wasn't the bear of a man that I had assumed him to be. But then I remember that he was holding me against my will, and all thoughts of sympathy fleeted.
"I'm afraid not. You're just going to have to be careful, and take it easy."
"Impossible," he said. "We're moving out in less than an hour."
My heart caught in my throat. Moving out? This meant that my hopes of escaping the camp in the afternoon were dashed completely. There was no way for me to get away, and the next camp could be more difficult to escape from. I felt as though I was going to cry, but forced my eyes to remain dry.
"…we'll be moving there for the winter," the colonel concluded.
I had not even heard him. My mind was buzzing with thoughts of how to get out of my situation.
"Moving where, sir?" I asked.
"To the training camp I just described," he said, exasperated.
"Could you describe it again?" I asked. Then, in an attempt to excuse my lack of listening skills, "I was trying to think of a way to help with your pain, and I didn't hear all of the description."
He nodded. "Did you think of anything?" he asked me, looking hopeful.
"For your pain? No, I'm afraid not."
He nodded again, sighing. "Very well. The training camp we are moving to is our most secured winter encampment, and by far the most luxurious."
I tried to imagine a luxurious war camp, but I could not picture such a thing. Colonel Tavington went on in his description, giving me an idea of what to expect.
"There is a wall around the perimeter and a large house…well, more of a mansion, really, that all of the officers stay in. There are…" His eyes looked to the ceiling as he tried to remember something. "There are about twenty rooms, I think."
By this time I was forced to lean on the cot nearest me. A wall? And a mansion? I had no chance of escaping from such a place!
"Are you alright?" he asked gruffly, once again annoyed by me.
"Yes," I said, my hands shaking at the idea of spending the entire winter in the care of Colonel Tavington.
"Well, from the look on your face," he said knowingly, "you are not happy about the move. Which leads me to believe that you had plans of escape."
"No!" I said, shaking my head automatically.
"No matter," he said, shrugging. The movement caused him to wince.
"Don't do that," I cautioned. "Your pain is subsiding, I can tell. Shrugging and other upper body movements are only going to aggravate your injury."
"Well, you'll be staying in the mansion with the officers," he told me.
I gazed at him, confused. There was almost a look of boyish playfulness in his dancing blue eyes.
"Why?" I asked him.
"Because," he said. "First off, I don't trust you. And more than that, I don't trust my men to treat you appropriately."
I thought that maybe I should point out that striking me across the face was not what I would consider appropriate behavior, but I thought better of it. Surely, the behavior he was referring to was far worse.
"Well," he said, finally getting up. He winced and began to double over again, and I grabbed his arm to stabilize him.
"Be careful!" I scolded.
"I'm not a child, unlike yourself," he snapped, pulling away.
"I am not a child," I stated simply.
"How old are you?" he asked me.
"Nineteen years of age, sir," I answered proudly.
He nodded, turning this over in his mind. "You look younger," he said finally.
"What were you saying?" I asked him, not wishing to discuss my age. Although considered a woman, I still looked a girl of fifteen, no matter what I did. At home, people had often confused John for the older sibling. My eyes watered at the thought of my brother, and I forced him out of my head for the moment.
"Oh yes," Colonel Tavington said, remembering what he had been about to say. "We should be leaving."
I nodded and walked with him out of the tent. Outside, the men were assembling, and several wagons were lined up along the pathway, preparing to leave.
"They're not taking the tents?" I asked, confused. Surely they wouldn't leave them behind for the colonials.
"No, there's another company moving in behind us," Colonel Tavington explained.
"I see." Then, a thought suddenly occurred to me. "How will my brother ever find me now that we're moving?" I asked him, frantically.
"We'll discuss this later," he said, pushing the matter off to the side. He was avoiding the subject, I could tell. "I have to go. You'll ride on the back of that wagon there." He gestured to a large wagon.
Captain Williams was holding the reins. There were a few supplies in the back, but for the most part, I had the wagon to myself. It occurred to me briefly that perhaps I could jump off of the wagon as we were moving and run away, but then I saw how many soldiers were assembling and realized that it was futile. I had not realized how many soldiers were in the small camp.
I climbed onto the back of the wagon, leaning my head against the side. Captain Williams said nothing to me, and I was glad of it. I did not like him. Even the colonel, who I had believed I despised, and who had struck me, was better than Captain Williams. Every time I saw him he eyed me maliciously, as though he knew something about me that I did not. I would go so far as to say that I was afraid of him.
I was suddenly jolted slightly, and the wagon began moving. I stared out at the camp, which was quickly fading behind me as we moved out. With the camp, any chance of escape that I seemed to have had, faded.
The next day I awoke and dressed before Captain Williams had come to get me. I tied my long, waves of golden red hair back into a braid that reached my waist, and secured the strips of cloth wrapped around my feet. I put on my cap and apron and walked across the pathway to the medical tent.
When I entered I was surprised to see the colonel himself sitting on a cot. His waistcoat was undone and his expression was one of severe pain. I looked around, and then remembered that I was the only medical staff in the camp.
In that moment, the better part of me was screaming to allow Colonel Tavington to suffer, but something about the way his face contorted with pain made me go to him. I approached the coat his was sitting on, nearly doubled over.
"Sir?" I asked meekly, not wishing to anger him.
"What?" he said. The word seemed forced, and he winced in pain when he said it.
"What happened to you?" I asked, nervously. There was no visible wound that I could see, but the colonel's arms were wrapped tightly around his abdomen, so he could very well have been covering it up.
"I…" he nearly choked on the words. "I…hurt…myself…"
I rolled my eyes and then prayed that he hadn't seen it. "Yes, Colonel," I said, as gently as possible. "I can see that. But how did you hurt yourself?"
"I…was…riding…with the…Dragoons…" he sputtered, wincing as he spoke each word. "Some…colonials…shot…at…us…"
I cut him off. "Was anyone shot?" I asked.
"No…" he said, glaring at me for interrupting him. "But…I…fell…off…my…horse…"
I covered my mouth trying not to laugh at him. Somehow it simply amazed me that a colonel in the British army would fall off his horse. But then I looked at the colonel, clutching his sides, obviously in terrible pain, and the laughter ceased on my lips.
"What hurts?" I asked him, holding my hands out, unsure what to do. This was, after all, my captor.
"My damn chest!" he yelled. "What's it look like?"
I jumped back, afraid for a moment that he would strike me. Then I realized that physically, I had the advantage. He was injured, and for the first time in the nearly two days that I had been in the camp, I felt a slight bit of control.
"Colonel," I said, stepping towards him once again. "You're going to have to let me see it."
He gave me another of his famous glares, his blue eyes on fire with white hot rage. Then, as though suddenly realizing his position, he let his arms rest. I took my chance and hurried to look at his chest.
I pressed on his rib cage and stomach. When I reached the muscle just below his rib cage, he cried out in pain. His left hand rose and flew at me, striking me hard on the face. I fell on the ground and stared at him in disbelief. The first time I had not been waiting for him to hit me was the one time that he had.
He looked at me, and his expression changed to one of sympathy. I picked myself up and approached him cautiously.
"I'm not going to hit you again," he said, frowning.
"You'd best not, or I may decide I don't know what's wrong with you," I threatened. It was dangerous business, threatening one's captor, but I was not going to allow myself to be abused.
"I'm sorry," he said. His voice had grown almost small and he reminded of me of my younger siblings apologizing to my mother for something they had done wrong.
"Thank you," I said. I had not expected him to apologize, but it was certainly welcome. "Can I please have a look at your abdomen again?" I asked him. "I promise I'll be careful."
He nodded and I proceeded to touch the muscle again, gentler this time. The area was somewhat swollen, and a bit red.
"How did you land when you fell?" I asked him.
"I landed on my stomach on a fallen branch," he answered. "Right about where you were checking."
I nodded, now sure of my diagnosis. "Well, you've badly bruised this muscle right here," I told him, pointing to the area that seemed to be causing him so much pain. "The reason your chest hurts is because this muscle helps you breath. It will get better, but you'll have to be careful not to over exert yourself for a few days, and be extra careful."
"Is there anything to do for the pain?" he asked.
I couldn't believe he was behaving like such a child over one injury. Perhaps he wasn't the bear of a man that I had assumed him to be. But then I remember that he was holding me against my will, and all thoughts of sympathy fleeted.
"I'm afraid not. You're just going to have to be careful, and take it easy."
"Impossible," he said. "We're moving out in less than an hour."
My heart caught in my throat. Moving out? This meant that my hopes of escaping the camp in the afternoon were dashed completely. There was no way for me to get away, and the next camp could be more difficult to escape from. I felt as though I was going to cry, but forced my eyes to remain dry.
"…we'll be moving there for the winter," the colonel concluded.
I had not even heard him. My mind was buzzing with thoughts of how to get out of my situation.
"Moving where, sir?" I asked.
"To the training camp I just described," he said, exasperated.
"Could you describe it again?" I asked. Then, in an attempt to excuse my lack of listening skills, "I was trying to think of a way to help with your pain, and I didn't hear all of the description."
He nodded. "Did you think of anything?" he asked me, looking hopeful.
"For your pain? No, I'm afraid not."
He nodded again, sighing. "Very well. The training camp we are moving to is our most secured winter encampment, and by far the most luxurious."
I tried to imagine a luxurious war camp, but I could not picture such a thing. Colonel Tavington went on in his description, giving me an idea of what to expect.
"There is a wall around the perimeter and a large house…well, more of a mansion, really, that all of the officers stay in. There are…" His eyes looked to the ceiling as he tried to remember something. "There are about twenty rooms, I think."
By this time I was forced to lean on the cot nearest me. A wall? And a mansion? I had no chance of escaping from such a place!
"Are you alright?" he asked gruffly, once again annoyed by me.
"Yes," I said, my hands shaking at the idea of spending the entire winter in the care of Colonel Tavington.
"Well, from the look on your face," he said knowingly, "you are not happy about the move. Which leads me to believe that you had plans of escape."
"No!" I said, shaking my head automatically.
"No matter," he said, shrugging. The movement caused him to wince.
"Don't do that," I cautioned. "Your pain is subsiding, I can tell. Shrugging and other upper body movements are only going to aggravate your injury."
"Well, you'll be staying in the mansion with the officers," he told me.
I gazed at him, confused. There was almost a look of boyish playfulness in his dancing blue eyes.
"Why?" I asked him.
"Because," he said. "First off, I don't trust you. And more than that, I don't trust my men to treat you appropriately."
I thought that maybe I should point out that striking me across the face was not what I would consider appropriate behavior, but I thought better of it. Surely, the behavior he was referring to was far worse.
"Well," he said, finally getting up. He winced and began to double over again, and I grabbed his arm to stabilize him.
"Be careful!" I scolded.
"I'm not a child, unlike yourself," he snapped, pulling away.
"I am not a child," I stated simply.
"How old are you?" he asked me.
"Nineteen years of age, sir," I answered proudly.
He nodded, turning this over in his mind. "You look younger," he said finally.
"What were you saying?" I asked him, not wishing to discuss my age. Although considered a woman, I still looked a girl of fifteen, no matter what I did. At home, people had often confused John for the older sibling. My eyes watered at the thought of my brother, and I forced him out of my head for the moment.
"Oh yes," Colonel Tavington said, remembering what he had been about to say. "We should be leaving."
I nodded and walked with him out of the tent. Outside, the men were assembling, and several wagons were lined up along the pathway, preparing to leave.
"They're not taking the tents?" I asked, confused. Surely they wouldn't leave them behind for the colonials.
"No, there's another company moving in behind us," Colonel Tavington explained.
"I see." Then, a thought suddenly occurred to me. "How will my brother ever find me now that we're moving?" I asked him, frantically.
"We'll discuss this later," he said, pushing the matter off to the side. He was avoiding the subject, I could tell. "I have to go. You'll ride on the back of that wagon there." He gestured to a large wagon.
Captain Williams was holding the reins. There were a few supplies in the back, but for the most part, I had the wagon to myself. It occurred to me briefly that perhaps I could jump off of the wagon as we were moving and run away, but then I saw how many soldiers were assembling and realized that it was futile. I had not realized how many soldiers were in the small camp.
I climbed onto the back of the wagon, leaning my head against the side. Captain Williams said nothing to me, and I was glad of it. I did not like him. Even the colonel, who I had believed I despised, and who had struck me, was better than Captain Williams. Every time I saw him he eyed me maliciously, as though he knew something about me that I did not. I would go so far as to say that I was afraid of him.
I was suddenly jolted slightly, and the wagon began moving. I stared out at the camp, which was quickly fading behind me as we moved out. With the camp, any chance of escape that I seemed to have had, faded.
