Due North to Freedom

by Terence O'Grady

  Chapter Twelve: Escape from Chimborazo

  Abigail moved quickly across the ward to Mr. Smith’s bedside.

  “Are you Robert Smith?” she whispered urgently.

  “Yes, I am,” said Mr. Smith, eyeing Abigail cautiously. “But I’m afraid I haven’t had the pleasure, ma’am.”

  “My name is Abigail O’Toole, Mr. Smith. I’m Ryan’s and Matthew’s older sister. And I’m here to help you.”

  Mr. Smith smiled slightly. “Now that would take a lot of doing, young lady. Just how do you intend to help me?”

  “By getting you out of this hospital and back with your son,” said Abigail, sounding as confident as possible.

  “Whew! That’s a tall order! In case you haven’t noticed,” he said, indicating his bandaged arm hanging loose in a sling, “I’m not really in a position to fight my way past half a dozen guards.”

  “We’re not going to fight our way out,” said Abigail calmly. “We’re going to walk out…as primly and properly as you please. But first you’ve got to put on this orderly’s uniform.” She looked around the room quickly and saw a screen standing in the corner. “There,” she said, pointing to the screen. “That should do nicely.”

  “Well, ma’am, I think it’s only fair to tell you that I think you’ve completely lost your senses and you’re likely to get into some serious trouble if you persist with this scheme,” said Mr. Smith, shaking his head sadly.

  “Let me be the one to worry about that, Mr. Smith. Right now, the only thing you have to worry about is getting this orderly uniform on quickly and quietly. The guard might return at any moment. We’ve no time to waste and your son is eager to see you.”

  “All right, missy. I’m grateful for any plan that’ll keep me out of Castle Thunder.”

  Mr. Smith eased himself out of bed, the orderly uniform draped over his good arm, Abigail turned to watch the only door to the ward. Abigail could hear Mr. Smith struggling to get his wounded arm free of the sling so that he could force it into the sleeve of the uniform. Finally he succeeded and stepped away from the screen.

  “You know, ma’am, there aren’t many black orderlies in this hospital. Somebody’s bound to get suspicious. Most of them are in the next building where most of the Negro patients are kept,” said Mr. Smith, rubbing his wounded arm and grimacing slightly.

  “If anybody asks, we tell them that I just borrowed you from the Negro ward to help me carry something,” said Abigail, her eyes darting quickly around the room. “Yes, that will do nicely,” she said, putting down her flowers and eyeing a large bag of letters waiting to be mailed. “I’ll simply tell the guards that I’ve agreed to do a favor to the patients and take their letters to the Richmond post office. And you’ve agreed to help carry them as far as my carriage.”

  “That’s all well and good, Miss Abigail,” said Mr. Smith warily, “unless we run into someone who knows who I am.”

  “Well, the sooner we get far away from this ward, the sooner we can stop worrying about that,” Abigail said firmly, picking up the bag of letters and placing it gently into Mr. Smith’s arms. “Keep your bandaged arm on the bottom and maybe no one will see it.”

  “I’ll do my best ma’am, but I’ve little strength in that arm at present.”

  “I understand, Mr. Smith. We’ll make our escape as quickly as possible.”

  The pair walked through the ward in a leisurely manner, Abigail chatting cheerfully to project a confident air. Most of the patients didn’t even bother to lift their heads until Abigail reached for the door handle.

  “Say! Smith? Is that you?” came a voice from the back of the ward.

  “Hush now, Charlie,” said Mr. Smith, affecting a light hearted manner. “I’ll be back to see you later.”

  “Damnation, Robert! You can’t just walk out like that…”

  But Abigail and Mr. Smith were gone, the door closing behind them.

  Abigail saw that Adams, the orderly from the next ward, had not yet returned. “That’s a blessing,” she whispered. But as the two walked quickly through the ward, another orderly appeared in the doorway.

  “Say, what’s all this?” the orderly said, gesturing toward Mr. Smith.

  “This man has kindly agreed to help me with a little project,” said Abigail, smiling confidently. “Some of our gallant wounded have asked that I deliver their letters to the post office.”

  The orderly turned his attention to Abigail. “And who exactly are you, ma’am? I’ve never seen you before.”

  “My name is Sally Harris and I’ve come to give some aid and comfort to the wounded,” said Abigail in her most innocent tone. “This is my very first trip to see the wounded and a number of men asked me if I would just carry this bag of letters to the post office. Then this kind man offered to help me with my burden and…”

  “They did, did they?” interrupted the orderly angrily. “Well, it just so happens that that’s my job at the hospital. I’m the one who picks up the mail.”

  Abigail hesitated. “Oh, I see sir but…surely you must have more important things to do…tending to our brave heroes…I’d be delighted if I could lighten your load a little bit.”

  “Hrumph!” grunted the man, folding his arms across his chest. “Well, I guess so. We’re awfully short-handed tonight. Half of these wards are unattended. I guess it’d be all right if you took the letters to the post office—just this one time.”

  “It would be my pleasure to do so,” said Abigail, “as long as this gentleman can help me carry the mail bag to my carriage.”

  “Well, if he’s quick about it and then gets right back to work,” said the orderly. He turned to Mr. Smith, a sour expression still entrenched on his face. “Just where do you work, boy? I don’t remember seeing you around here.”

  “I work in one of the Negro wards in the next building, sir,” said Mr. Smith quietly. “I’m new. Only started working here a couple of days ago. I was just passing through here when this lady asked me to help her.”

  “Yeah? Well, all right then. But better get a move on and get back to your ward fast.”

  “Yes sir, right away sir,” said Mr. Smith.

  “Well, we’ll be on our way then,” said Abigail, nodding politely. “Come along now,” she said, gesturing for Mr. Smith to follow her and moving quickly through the door.

  Left alone, the orderly shook his head and shrugged. “Oh well, it’s no skin off my teeth.”

  A moment later, Adams appeared. “Did you by any chance see one of the men from the prison ward walking through here? I just got a crazy report that the man just walked away from his bed and no one stopped him.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said the other orderly. “Nobody’s been through here except for some lady here to visit the wounded. She had some letters with her. Said she was going to take them to the Richmond post office for the prisoners.”

  “Have anybody with her?” Adams asked, an annoyed look on his face.

  “Just an orderly. Somebody I’ve never seen before. Said he was new, from the Negro wards.”

  “You fool! It’s a black man that I’m looking for! That was probably Robert Smith, the one who’s trying to sneak out. Tarnation! Get out of here right now and alert the guards!”

  Abigail and Mr. Smith were almost out the front door of the hospital when they first heard voices yelling behind them. “A man’s missing! Somebody’s escaped!”

  “Ma’am,” said Mr. Smith eagerly, “I think the time has come for us to step lively!”

  Abigail, however, refused to quicken her pace. “No, Mr. Smith,” she said firmly, “the last thing we want to do is to draw attention to ourselves. Walk normally and pretend we are having a pleasant conversation. When we get past the building ahead of us, we will be turning left.”

  Mr. Smith nodded, pretending to be chatting casually. “But ma’am, the gate’s straight ahead. I thought you said your carriage is waiting.”

  “It is waiting, with your son at the rein
s. But that’s not where we’re going. Our plan allows us an alternative escape route and it’s obvious we’re going to have to take it,” said Abigail as she steered Mr. Smith to a path on the left.

  “But…where does this path lead?” asked Mr. Smith anxiously.

  “Most importantly, it leads away from the main gate where the guards will be waiting to apprehend us.”

  “But…” began Mr. Smith.

  “Where it leads to is a little difficult to be sure of, but I’m guessing that if we walk another couple of blocks, we’ll be past the main buildings and not too far from the river.”

  “Pardon me, ma’am, but how is that going to help us? I must tell you ma’am that I am unable to swim.”

  “Swimming won’t be necessary, Mr. Smith. Ryan and Matthew will meet us at the river in a small boat,” said Abigail, as she and Mr. Smith began to move faster.

  “But how?”

  “As I stated, Mr. Smith, it’s all part of the plan. If things had gone completely smoothly, we would have walked out the front gate together and gotten into our carriage as proper as could be. But we figured that we might run into a little problem and so the boys decided to have the boat ready on the river just in case.”

  “Praise be! It seems you thought of everything!” exclaimed Mr. Smith, hurrying to keep up with Abigail as they walked past the final building in the hospital complex.

  The voices behind Abigail and Mr. Smith had gotten quieter for a few seconds but now they started up again. Whistles could be clearly heard, probably no more than two hundred yards away from them. But most of the commotion seemed to be taking place at or near the main gate. It appeared that no one was following them on their path to the river.

  “There! Down the bank and over to the right!” exclaimed Abigail, gesturing toward the boat. “Careful now! The embankment gets steep here.” Abigail led the way, pulling up her long skirts and moving gingerly but quickly down the slope. The waiting boat was barely visible in the twilight.

  “Over here, Abigail! Over here!” shouted Matthew, beckoning Abigail and Mr. Smith to the small boat.

  “Lower your voice, Matthew!” demanded Abigail in a loud whisper. “We don’t want to attract the whole Confederate army!”

  The agitated voices in the distance seemed to draw closer. Abigail could hear their pursuers’ excited shouts clearly now.

  “They’re on to us. In the boat, quickly,” ordered Abigail. “You first, Mr. Smith.”

  Mr. Smith stepped into the river, no more than two or three feet deep at that point, and awkwardly climbed into the small boat. Abigail followed, the boys reaching out to pull her in.

  “Quickly! Quickly, boys! But as quietly as possible.” The boys had wrapped their oars in canvas and the boat pulled away from the shore without a sound. A minute later, they thought they could see men standing on the riverbank, yelling and peering intently down the river. But as they rounded a bend in the river and the moon slipped under a cloud, the voices stopped as the boat disappeared into the inky blackness of the night.