The Discovered

by Tracy Winegar

  It dawned on me that my only hope of salvation was escape. And so I then determined I would observe everything, most especially my surroundings to try to figure a way out of it. I was the only prisoner I could see. The Rebels moved out so quickly from Rappahannock Station they left many behind in the hasty retreat, having little or no time to worry over captives, I supposed. I knew I wouldn’t be here myself if it wasn’t for that snake Jack Monroe.

  They had no food to give me. They had no food for themselves even, much less an enemy captive. When they stopped to rest, they would eat their meager portion and observe me suspiciously; as if they were afraid I might spring up and snatch it away from them. I watched with hungry eyes, saliva wetting my mouth in anticipation of something to eat. Each meal I went without made my stomach feel sore and empty.

  I tried to drink as little water as possible because I didn’t want to have to relieve myself, but then I still had to urinate, whether I wanted to or not. The first day, I waited until it was dark, tried to hide myself behind a tree for some privacy while the guard stood close by with his rifle at the ready. I nearly couldn’t go I was so nervous about it.

  As we walked, I couldn’t help but think I was headed further and further into enemy territory, further away from Sam, and my chances of being discovered for what I really was grew with each passing moment. They would take me to a prison, and I would languish there, with no hope of ever seeing my home or those I loved again. Perhaps they would discover I was a girl, in which case I might be sent home. But if I were sent home, everyone would know what I had done. There would be no concealing my double life.

  Oh, how vexing a lie becomes. It was my own stupidity which had brought me to this. I was bound by the game I played. My mind worked furiously, to the point of mental exhaustion, to figure a way out of the situation. My head hurt, my stomach ached, I was exhausted, and yet I was forced to press on.

  Maybe I should just tell them, and finally own up to the truth. But then I recalled all of the tales they told of women being taken advantage of by the Rebs. I saw for myself what Old Whiskers was capable of and I was sure there were others of the same make as he. I didn’t have any idea who I could trust. So I carried on with the ragtag lot as they marched on and on. I was near the back of the procession, under the guard of about four or so men, who would rotate in the responsibility of watching over me. I became certain if I couldn’t beg mercy as a woman, I must try to get away.

  This notion ran round and round my head. The first day I thought of it and nothing else. If I should try to get away, it must be for once and for all. I could not let them catch me again. What would be the best way to go about it? When would it be an optimal time to make my move?

  My captors said very little to me. I suppose they were feeling sore over their recent loss. I knew what it was like, how hard it was to accept a terrible defeat. The only things I could derive from them were things I was able to observe by watching and taking note. I could not tell much by looking at them. They were lean and hungry and tired. It becomes difficult to even tell the age of a man so worn by his circumstances. They looked collectively old in their sagging skins. I knew their names from when they addressed one another. Perry, Phillip, Donavan, and Curtis. As I observed them, I came to realize if I was to try to escape, it must be on Perry’s watch. Out of all of them he was the most polite and seemed to be the least threatening toward me.

  He offered me drink. He turned his back and allowed me privacy when I must do my business. He wore a soft and kind look about his eyes. The others looked upon me with nothing but scorn. They allowed for no favors on my behalf. They touched me with rough hands and eyed me with contemptuous glances.

  I somehow managed to make it through the first day. When night fell, they made camp. I sat next to the fire, saying nothing, trying to remain inconspicuous. One of them approached me, stood before me as if to observe. I kept my eyes down and remained still. He bent down and took hold of my feet and began tugging at my boots.

  “No!” I cried, as I tried to move away from him, near panicked because I didn’t know what he was going to do, but he held my foot firm and wouldn’t let me go.

  “What are you doing?” one of them asked him.

  “I could use some boots,” he responded.

  “Leave the boy alone, Phillip,” the one called Curtis said.

  Phillip did not listen. He continued to pull the boot from my foot and then went to work on the other. When he was finished he sat down and tried them on for size.

  “How’s that?” Donavan asked.

  “They are small, but better than going without,” Phillip replied.

  I scuttled backward into the shadows, clamping my hands onto my feet, feeling violated, feeling frightened beyond belief. I thought the worst. I thought he meant to hurt me. When his purpose became clear, I was relieved, but I was also sorry to lose my boots. The nights were very cold now and without those boots, I knew I would suffer, and to have them wrenched from my feet in such a manner upset me terribly.

  Everyone settled in to sleep except for the one called Donavan, whose turn it was to watch over me. I lay awake in misery, turning once to get more comfortable. I chanced a glance at him and he scowled at me.

  “Don’t get any ideas,” he said. I didn’t answer. I did not move a muscle again. I lay in a ball upon my side and cried silent tears, hoping no one would know.

  Sometime before dawn, I struck upon an idea. If I was to escape it must be soon. I must be ready to act at the next possible opportunity. In the darkness, I reached out my hand tentatively and dragged it upon the ground, sweeping it along the loose soil, feeling deliriously for the object of my desire with my extended fingers. Cautiously and almost unperceptively I widened my arc, fingertips stretching and searching in the dirt and darkness until I encountered what I was looking for. I inched it back toward me, doing my best to make as little noise and motion as I could. With no reaction from my guard, I was confident my work went undetected. Once my hand was back at my side and no one was the wiser, I clutched my prize with a feeling of elation. Then slowly, slowly I slipped the palm sized rock into the depths of my pocket and waited.

  In the morning after, they banked the fire and cleared camp. We continued on, at times close to the river, other times, seeming to move away from it. It was just after midday when I informed one of them I needed to stop.

  “I must relieve myself,” I told the one called Perry.

  “I’ll take him,” Phillip said to Perry. He grabbed me roughly by the arm and led me off into a wooded area. I was right away very alarmed he was ruining my plans. I intended upon Perry taking me. Instead it was Phillip, the one who wore my boots. Just the sight of those boots on his feet seemed to crush my morale. We walked a short distance, and as we did so I took in my surroundings, working out in my head any possible hiding places that might harbor me.

  “Get on with it,” he said, with a disapproving tone. He held his rifle, ready to use it.

  I turned as if I might empty my bladder, but really I was working the rock from my pocket. I clutched it firmly in my hand. A feeling of dread coursed through me, making my knees feel week.

  “Might I have some privacy?” I requested.

  He sighed as though he were very much put out by me, but turned his back to me in honor of my request. The second he wasn’t looking, I spun around, lunging toward him. I threw myself upon his back, using the rock to beat him upon the head. He began to cry out and I put my free hand over his mouth and knocked him hard again. Out of surprise he dropped his rifle, grabbing franticly at his head as I gave him another good blow.

  The blood ran down his forehead and into his eyes as he tried to fight me off, his mouth attempting a yell with my fingers clumsily working to suppress the noise. He stumbled and fell to the ground and I with him. I nearly got the wind knocked out of me and lost my grip on the rock, dropping it. He was clutching at his head, trying to rouse himself from the ground. Strangely enough, he made very little noise, ju
st an odd sort of groan as he cradled his skull in his hands. My best defense was his bewilderment. Before he could do more, I rolled away from him and sprang to my feet. I took off at a sprint through the trees, my eyes darting this way and that in hopes of finding some shelter to conceal me. I heard him then, calling out to the others.

  “He’s got away! Damn it! He’s got away!” he was bellowing.

  Chapter 21

  I RAN ON, DEEPER INTO THE WOODS, thick with underbrush. I came upon a massive hedge, overgrown with limbs of thorn, and thick with leaves. Without any hesitation, I dove toward the base of the briar patch and worked my way in, feeling the barbs ruthlessly tear at my flesh, yet pressing myself deeper still despite the terrible pain.

  My breath came at a quick, heavy pace. And I did my best to calm myself, to regulate it, so no one could detect me. I was so thick in the tangled brambles that I didn’t think they would follow after me, even if they knew I was there. I lay with my belly flat upon the ground and waited.

  “Do you see him?” One asked to the other. They must have been within a stone’s throw of me, because I could hear their voices distinctly.

  “Neither hide nor hair,” the other replied. They continued to explore the area round about me as I could hear their foot falls all about. I braced myself, fearful they might detect me, and force me out of my hiding place.

  “Did you check over that a-way?” I heard one ask. I could perceive them as they investigated the vegetation growing thick in the forest, poking with their rifles, testing with the toes of their boots. I waited until the sound of them became more distant. Eventually they must have given up and moved on. I still didn’t budge, too frightened to chance being seen. The afternoon wore on into evening, and then progressed into a dark and chilly night. Yet I remained. At some point I dozed off and slept. When I woke, it was midday again.

  Tentatively, I crawled from my hiding place among the thicket of thorny limbs and sat on my bottom, listening. I didn’t hear a sound for some time, but I knew I must be careful and guarded. I took stock of my situation, trying to decide what my next move should be. My uniform was ripped to shreds, as was the exposed flesh upon my hands and face and feet from the prickly bramble I sought refuge in. I hadn’t had food in over two days and water in at least twenty-four hours. I wasn’t in the best condition.

  I could hear the river in the distance. I was no good with direction, this I knew. Sam did his best to teach me ways of acquainting myself to where I was. When I was captured they’d mostly followed the river as we traveled south. I knew if I was able to reach the river, I could ascertain which course I must take to try to find my way back. I thought I should simply follow it back in the other direction. There I could get a drink too. But I was hesitant. I didn’t want to be out in the open.

  Under the cover of trees I made my way toward the water, stopping every so often to listen and observe. There didn’t seem to be any sign of my earlier captors, but I remained alert for them. Upon reaching the river, I was sorely tempted to dart out and get myself some water, but I managed to hold myself back, waiting until it was dark again.

  I belly crawled all the way to the river bank, cupping my hand and drinking again and again, until I thought I might burst. I washed my hands and face, feeling the sting in the many places where I was scratched up. I crawled back to the trees and took note of the position of the stars and the direction of the river before I started out at a slow pace, listening to the water slosh in my belly as I went. I soon became tired, but I pressed on, knowing the night would shroud me from the enemy. As it grew light out, I searched out a proper place to hole up.

  A dry creek bed was just the thing for it. I recalled how at home, there were many such creek beds which ran fast and steady in the spring and connected to the lake, but lay dormant in autumn and winter. I worked fast to gather branches to make a loose bundle and then covered it with a sufficient pile of leaves to conceal myself, and then burrowed in. By this time my energy was fast leaving me. I was walking all night and still nothing to eat. Even if I had my rifle in my possession, I couldn’t have gone hunting, for fear someone might be in close enough proximity to hear it discharge.

  Lying in the creek bed with the leaves for protection, my mind began working over my dilemma. It being fall there were no berries or fruit growing wild. Without some sort of a weapon, I didn’t have any hope of catching meat, and I couldn’t light a fire for fear of being detected. Before I could come up with any solid solutions, I fell off to sleep.

  Now as I slept, I dreamed of Antietam again. It was not the same old dream I usually dreamed, of me lying dead in the cornfield. Very different this time. An officer stood over me and gave me a shovel and told me, “Dig!” I undertook to do as he commanded. I scooped out the dirt and tossed it aside. Yet no matter how hard I worked to dig a trench, it was as if I’d done nothing. There was no progress made. The futility of it discouraged me, but also drove me to try harder.

  I was determined to make the hole bigger. With unwavering zeal I plowed the shovel head deeper, frantically tossing soil to the side. Still it remained as it was. Despite my fatigue and hard work, it was nothing more than a diminutive gash in the earth. There was naught to show for my struggle.

  Evening was just setting in when I awoke with a start, and for a moment I became disoriented. I did not recall where I was or what I was doing there. My stomach lurched within my gut. I staggered up and looked about in a panic. But slowly it dawned on me I was on the run. I remembered what Old Whiskers had done to me, how he had sorely betrayed me. I felt such hunger and such emotional distress that I threw myself to the ground and I cried.

  I thought perhaps I should just lay there and give up. Would it be such a bad thing to give in and just let death find me? As much as I wanted to, I also wanted very much to see Sam again. And dare I say, revenge drove me to collect myself, get up, and move on? What would Old Whiskers say for himself if I were to show up back at camp again, the old devil? So I walked on, putting one step in front of the other.

  Just as it got good and dark, I came upon a small farm in the middle of nowhere. The lights from within glowed like bright stars on the horizon, and I followed those beckoning lights, as a moth to flame. In this place, one could not be certain whether you were encountering friend or foe. I couldn’t chance asking for help. I would not go to their door looking for compassion.

  Erring on the side of caution, I crept closer, waiting and watching at the boundaries of the farm’s cleared land. After a while, I saw the man of the house come out onto the porch and then he scraped the supper plates into a bucket. He took the bucket up in his hand and started to whistle as he headed out to a pen near the barn. I heard the pigs running for the fence, grunting with glee, for it was their meal time. The man lifted the bucket over the fence and dumped its contents into the trough. He checked the barn to see it was latched proper. I could hardly hold myself back. Why doesn’t he go back to the house? And then finally he headed back.

  In desperation, I took off at a run toward the pen. I dropped to my knees, and reached through the fence, pushing snouts aside as I grabbed what I might from the trough. A crust of bread, the remains of a stew with generous chunks of meat, an apple core with enough left on it for a few precious nibbles from its flesh. I wasn’t concerned over what it was, just pleased it was something to eat. I shoved it in my mouth and hardly chewed before I swallowed. I reached through the fence again, my fingers grasping for more as I fought the animals over the food, but the pigs had already devoured the rest by the time I got to it.

  Having exhausted my means of getting food, I crawled on hands and knees to the barn. The door creaked loud upon its hinges, and I paused for a moment to see if it would garner any reaction from the occupants of the house. There was nothing, and so I slipped in and shut the door behind me, my bare feet shuffling against the cool dirt floor.

  The cow was quiet in her stall, chomping contentedly on her hay. I opened the stall door and slipped in. She mooed
in protest, spooked by the stranger in her pen. I tried to soothe her by rubbing her sides and shushing her. Then I crouched down to help myself to her milk. With nothing else to drink it from, I shot it straight into my open mouth in even, steady streams. It was warm, and tasted better than I remembered milk ever tasting. The heat from the cow made me feel a comfortable drowsiness leaving my limbs languid and slow to react.

  Once I got my fill, I ventured over to where the chickens roosted. Now a chicken and her eggs aren’t easily parted. They began squawking when I reached beneath their feathered bottoms and procured an egg or two, pecking at my hands all the while. I tried to shush them like I did the cow, as I shoved the tawny eggs into my pockets, but they continued to voice their disapproval. I got one for each pocket, and thought to leave, when the door burst open and the man of the house came charging in, rifle in hand. He must have heard the chickens. He must have realized something was amiss. I realized, with a deep sense of dread, I was trapped.

  Chapter 22

  I FROZE WHERE I WAS, thinking perhaps if the farmer didn’t see me right off, he might leave. I pressed myself into the shadows, hardly chancing a breath. He swung his lantern this way and that, his other hand gripping his rifle. Surely it was how a quail must feel when it knows it is being hunted, but flies from the shelter of a bush anyhow, to become exposed to the danger. The waiting became too great. The suspense drove me to motion. I lit out for the back door of the barn, the door they let the animals through in the mornings to pasture. I unlatched it, without looking back and I ran.

  The farmer was taken off guard for a moment, but then he composed himself, dropping his lantern to the ground, he pulled his rifle up, and he got a few shots off in my general direction before taking chase. I didn’t hesitate for a moment. I continued running with all haste as he yelled after me, “Stinking thief, stop I say!”