Chapter 11

Henry was isolated to an outer building of the hospital where the patients with smallpox were being housed. Kid, whose own vaccination against the disease administered by Henry had thus far prevented him from becoming sick, was not supposed to enter the ward, but whenever possible he would visit the doctor. Henry's condition was not as dire as some of the others and, despite his exhaustion from working long hours, he slowly recovered. He and Kid found their roles reversed from the hospital in Washington – now it was Kid who did what he could to lessen Henry's fever, keep him company and read to him during the long days of his convalescence.

For several weeks Henry was too ill and weak to do anything but be a patient, but as soon as he had recovered some strength he resumed tending to the other sick men in the smallpox ward. The camp commander and the other doctors all urged him to return East to recuperate fully – back to Delaware and his own people. But Henry flatly refused, to Kid's incredulousness.

"Henry, you should go. It ain't good for you here," he urged as he sat by the doctor's bedside.

Henry had been up and working for several hours that afternoon and was already too worn out to do any more. Kid brought him dinner and argued again for the merits of leaving Camp Douglas.

"I'm fine, getting better every day," Henry protested. He sipped at his coffee, casting his unappetizing food aside.

"But you'd be better off at home, away from this place," Kid went on.

"And who'd look after the men? The Commander would leave them all to rot, or worse, exchange you all so you can go off and get killed." Henry rubbed his hand over the red pox scars that peppered his face. "Besides, I won't ever go back there. I aim to strike in a different direction."

Kid couldn't hide his smile and shook his head at Henry's stubbornness. "So go on, then. You ain't army, there's nothin' stoppin' you."

"I'll go soon enough," Henry sighed, resting back against the head of the bed. "It'll be a new year soon. The fighting can't go on much longer. And, besides, I'd rather make the journey knowing I had a friend out there."

"I got a ways to go before I even think about headin' west again," Kid said. "As soon as I'm able I'm headin' for Virginia and Lou."

"You said yourself, she may not have stayed there."

"Maybe not, but it's where I left her. It's where I'll start lookin' for her. And I won't stop until I do," Kid said with indefatigable determination.

Once again, Henry remained quiet on the subject of Virginia and the Union troops there. Only days before, the head of the Army of the Potomac, the indecisive General McLennan, had been removed from command. His continued lack of movement despite the superior numbers under his charge had finally worn down President Lincoln's patience. Many Northerners were convinced 1863 would see the end of the war once the fight was well and truly taken to the Confederacy. This confidence did not wane despite the crushing defeat at Fredericksburg that the Union had just suffered.

"Well, maybe we'll meet up somewhere down the road," Henry said instead, not meeting Kid's eyes.

The Kid smiled and sipped his coffee.

The new year began with the Emancipation Proclamation, and some of the bloodiest battles of the war followed. The winter was hard on the prisoners at Camp Douglas, hundreds dying every month from sickness that still plagued the camp. Supplies were scarce, even in the hospital, and food, clothes and blankets were becoming hard to come by. There was little for Kid to get his hands on to distribute to the needy men, as even Henry and the other doctors were feeling the sting of rationing. The daily rations the men had received when they first arrived at the camp were a feast compared to the inadequate provisions that now formed the prisoners' diet.

In July, what was supposed to be the definitive battle of the war was waged in Pennsylvania. When word came through that Lee's army had been defeated at Gettysburg the mood among the men was very low. Most were losing heart that they would ever see the end of the fighting. Worse still was their despondency that they could nothing to assist their Confederate brothers. Still the fighting went on.

In the fall the various plans for escape that groups of prisoners had been working on began to escalate. No more would they stand for remaining at the camp where they were being starved, mistreated and left to die. Not even their own army commanders could save them – prisoner exchanges were few and far between due to sluggish, bureaucratic paperwork. There was little hope to be freed from Camp Douglas except with the ending of the war, and the end was nowhere in sight.

The main breakout occurred in November of 1863 when 75 men dug underneath the walls of the camp and fled their captors. The rebellion raised the spirits of the prisoners so much that the camp commander immediately brought in Reserve Corps and sharpshooters to protect the boundaries of the compound. Confederates were shot down without warning if they ventured too close to the fences now. Other escape routes needed to be found.

It was a couple of months later that Kid first met Ezra Polk. He was admitted to the hospital with a gunshot wound inflicted by one of the guards when he defied an order. The warning shot had missed his heart only by inches, the bullet burying in his shoulder. Polk and his men were planning to escape Camp Douglas, and his time at the hospital opened his eyes to how they were going to do it. From his bed he observed the Confederate orderlies, Kid included, who had the run of the place. But it was Kid's comradeship with one of the Yankee doctors that caught Polk's attention.

For days he watched them interact – saw the trust the doctor obviously had in the Southerner. Polk hatched a new plan. He started by asking the other patients and orderlies about Kid, found out who he was and where he was from, and what little they knew of his story. Then Polk struck up a conversation with him, making small talk. After a couple of days of this he asked Kid to write a letter for him, as he was not able to with his injured shoulder.

"A Virginia man, huh?" Polk asked, as Kid settled by his bedside, pencil poised over the scrap of paper he had found for the patient's letter.

"That's right. Manassas."

"I'm from Missouri, myself," said Polk pleasantly.

"Who d'you want me to write this letter to?"

"My wife. Her name's Sarah. She's at home with our three young 'uns."

Kid started to write, but looked up when Polk did not continue. The man was just staring at him, a faint smile on his lips.

"You married?" he asked, nodding at the ring on Kid's finger.

"That's right," Kid replied.

"Children?"

"Not yet, we weren't long married before the fightin' started."

"Must miss her, huh?"

Kid shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He always tried to avoid talking about himself whenever he chatted with the other prisoners. He had listened as men shared their most intimate fears and secrets as they lay dying but he always kept quiet about his own. It was easier that way.

"What d'you wanna say in this letter?" he tried again to focus Polk's attention.

"Truth is I can't write my Sarah 'bout this place," Polk sighed. "I'd rather she don't know the truth."

"I understand." Kid felt the same difficulty when it came to writing to Lou. There was no sense worrying her unnecessarily when there was nothing either of them could do to fix the situation.

"Your wife know what you're doin' here? Bet she's proud," Polk asked, determined to keep him talking.

Kid just shrugged.

"I seen you helpin' the boys. They all say how good you been to them. How you make sure they're taken care of."

Kid put the pencil and paper back into his pocket. "Maybe we should try writin' this letter another time."

"Maybe we could just talk awhile, Kid. It is Kid, isn't it?"

"That's right."

"Is your wife back in Manassas? I heard there was more fightin' there."

"No, she's with my family, near Williamsburg."

Polk shook his head. "I'm sorry to hear that."

"What do you mean?" Kid looked up, alarmed.

"Can't be easy on her, everythin' that's been goin' on there."

Kid frowned darkly, unable to find his voice to ask the questions he so desperately need to have answered.

"Why, the Army of the Potomac's been all through those parts for more than a year now. They're usin' Chesapeake Bay to invade, blockadin' the waters all through there to cut off our supplies."

"Was it bad there?"

"Who can say. It's bad everywhere. But I heard there was fightin' right in Williamsburg itself."

Kid breathed heavily, imagining the worst. His anger flared when he thought of all the times he had asked Henry for word of what was happening in Virginia. Never once did he tell him about the danger in Williamsburg. His chest grew tight with fear when he thought about what Lou may have gone through, what she still might be going through.

"I'm sorry, Kid. You're right, we should write this letter another time." Polk decided not to say any more. He had already known Kid had a wife in Virginia but he had no idea that the man knew so little of what had transpired there. Polk realized it might be easier to convince Kid to help them than he had anticipated.

The Kid, stunned into silence once more, didn't acknowledge Polk as he withdrew to his own bed near Henry's office. His mind was racing – he had no idea what had happened at Williamsburg and if Lou was all right. His sense of hopelessness was crippling, and festered within him when he contemplated his circumstances. He had been so reliant upon Henry to keep him informed about what was happening, but for some reason the doctor, his supposed friend, decided not to tell him. Kid was surprised at the betrayal he felt over Henry's actions.

When Henry joined him for coffee that evening Kid was still quiet. Henry was exhausted so talk was light, and he didn't notice Kid's reluctance to speak or even meet his eyes. Kid decided not to say anything to him about what Polk told him. He wasn't sure why he kept it to himself, but the trust he had placed in Henry was shaky and he felt it best to think on the situation more before he confronted him.

A few days later, just before Polk was due to be released, he shared with Kid the escape plan. Polk had used his time at the hospital to observe more than just Kid – he watched when the doctors came and went, when the meals were delivered for the patients, and where the unfortunate souls who had lost their lives were taken. That was when he realized how he and his men would escape the hospital.

The bodies were disposed of throughout the day, left in a room at the rear of the building and then transported to a graveside outside the camp gates every few nights. The room was locked but Polk knew each of the doctors had a set of keys. That was why he needed the Kid. If he had more time he would have cultivated the young man further, to make sure he could be trusted, but his shoulder was healing and he knew he would be sent back to the barracks soon. Polk explained everything to Kid late one evening as the other men slept.

"You in?" Polk whispered, staring intently at the Kid. "If you are, we'll be outside these walls in a matter of days, and you can be on your way, home to your wife."

Kid looked away, trying to process everything Polk had told him. But it was hard to concentrate on anything other than the thought of leaving the camp and of finding Lou.

"I'll get word to my men," said Polk. "There's five of 'em. They know what to do to get brought in here. Then, we'll leave through the same door as all our brothers who've died here. We just need the key."

Kid scrubbed his hand over his stubbled chin, unsure of the plan, but unable to think of too many objections. He knew himself that it was possible – they could get away under the cover of darkness before anyone even knew they were missing.

"That doctor, he trusts you, doesn't he?" Polk continued.

"I guess he does, yeah," Kid replied in hushed tones.

"Do you know where he keeps his set of keys?"

Kid nodded. "In his desk."

"And can you get into his office?"

He nodded once more. He came and went from the office almost as much as Henry throughout the day. It wouldn't be difficult, especially if he waited until Henry was asleep.

"So you'll do it?" Polk said insistently, when Kid fell into silence again.

"I don't know." Kid's head was bowed.

Polk tried to control his anger, not wanting to ruin things when he was so close. "How long have you been here, boy?"

"Nearly two years."

"And how much longer are you gonna stay? Men are dyin', Kid. In here and out there. How else are you gonna get to where you're needed?"

"The prisoner exchanges will keep happenin'. They may let us go." Even as he said it, Kid didn't really believe it. Besides, he had been excluded from all the previous exchanges, when other men around him had been returned to the Confederate army.

"They ain't gonna let you outta here," Polk whispered harshly. "None of us, 'cept as corpses. You ain't seen what I seen, Kid. You don't know what it's really like out there in the camp."

Guilt pierced Kid's heart at that. He knew the truth of it, and it never ceased to cause him pain.

"You owe us," said Polk, driving the sentiment home with a swift poke at Kid's chest.

Kid looked swiftly around to ensure no one was listening. The other men were asleep, but he knew Henry might still be awake and could look for him if he realized Kid was not in his bed.

"If you won't come with us, at least help us by gettin' the key," Polk said.

Kid straightened in his chair. "All right."

The other man looked up, relieved.

"But I'm goin' with you," Kid said with determination.

Polk grasped his hand firmly and nodded. "We go tomorrow night, then."