Escape to Fort Abercrombie

by Candace Simar

  Sven grunted as he sprawled halfway across the log. “I can’t climb up,” he whispered, shivering with chattering teeth. “Tired . . .”

  Hannibal boosted Sven up on the log.

  “Hang on,” Ryker said. “We don’t want to lose you.”

  They paddled as hard as they could to put distance between them and the dancing Indians. Hannibal said it was a scalp dance, or a war dance. Whatever kind of dancing it was, the wails and whooping kept up as the little craft continued down Whiskey Creek. Ryker breathed a sigh of relief when they turned a bend. They no longer saw campfires along the shore.

  “Are you all right?” Ryker said. “What happened?”

  “I slipped under the water,” Sven said. “I doggy paddled . . . couldn’t see you in the fog. I thought I’d be dead as Johnny.”

  “You don’t know how to doggy paddle,” Ryker said. The realization of how close he had been to losing his little brother made him tremble. He couldn’t bear to lose anyone else.

  “I learned,” Sven said, spitting out a stream of water. “Watched the Indian boys.”

  Whiskey Creek joined the Red River of the North, and the fog lifted enough to reveal glowing lights of Indian campfires.

  “Slabtown,” Hannibal said grimly. “Injuns here, Fort Abercrombie beyond.”

  “We’re almost there,” Ryker said. The current quickened in the bigger river. It made it easier to paddle but also more challenging to steer. The worst thing would be to land on the shore next to the Indians. They had to stay in the middle of the river and aim for Fort Abercrombie. The fog protected them; Ryker was grateful for it, but it also made it difficult to see where they were going.

  They would never make it. Vonlaus. How could they glide under the noses of hundreds of Indians? Inside the fort waited food and shelter, protection, and Mama. Outside the fort was starvation, exposure, and cruel death at the hands of the Sioux.

  Hannibal looped his belt through the knothole. “Hang onto this,” he said to Sven. “Don’t let go no matter what happens.”

  “Where is the fort?” Ryker whispered.

  “Across the river from Slabtown,” Hannibal whispered.

  Ryker’s legs and feet felt numb. He reached up and patted Sven to make sure he was still safe. Klara whispered the Lord’s Prayer.

  “Let’s go,” he said. “We’re almost there.”

  CHAPTER 38

  * * *

  The fog pressed like a layer of smoke. Not a breeze. Every breath moist and cold. Smells of cooking and burning fires drifted over the water, along with laughter and muttered voices. Once they heard a baby crying.

  They glided down the river, churning feet beneath the water and passed the noise and lights of Slabtown. A beaver swam alongside of them for about twenty rods, grasping a leafy branch in his mouth.

  “There it is,” Hannibal said. The relief sounded in his voice. “Fort Abercrombie straight ahead.”

  A bulky shadow stood in the hazy fog. On the right was the steep bank of Slabtown, and on the left was the fort. Ryker remembered Fort Abercrombie as a scattering of buildings around a parade ground. He had seen from his perch in the cottonwood how the Sioux hid in the tall grass around the fort.

  “Where is the tunnel?” Ryker whispered.

  “Not too far ahead,” Hannibal said. “Hard to tell in this fog.”

  They paddled toward the fort. A canoe glided toward them out of the fog. It floated not ten yards to the right of their log. Ryker saw it coming, but it was too late to warn the others. He held his breath and prayed for angels to protect them.

  One of the Indians muttered a few words, and the other answered with a grunt. At least two Indians, maybe more. Ryker quit paddling, just dangled in the icy water and prayed, as the canoe drifted past.

  “Did you see that?” Hannibal whispered. “Too close.”

  Sven was hanging onto the belt with skinny arms and shaky hands. His teeth chattered. “I bit down to stop the chattering, and I think I broke a tooth.”

  “We’re almost there,” Ryker said in a whisper. “You’re brave. Just like Martin.”

  He had to make sure Sven kept awake. He looked ready to topple over. They headed toward the opposite shore, toward safety and warmth.

  “It has to be here somewhere,” Hannibal said. “Do you see anything?”

  They paddled alongside the fort entrance and then turned and paddled back again. Hannibal kept muttering about finding it, that it had to be right in front of them, when a voice sounded through the fog.

  “Who goes there?”

  “Private Hannibal Mumford bringing settlers into the fort,” he said.

  “Well, why didn’t you say so in the first place?” the soldier said. “I was about ready to open fire on you, Hannibal.” He held up a lantern.

  A shot rang out in the darkness, and the soldier fell.

  “Quick,” Hannibal said. He and Ryker pulled the log over to the cave entrance as a shower of bullets thudded around them. Hannibal threw the lantern into the river. They pulled the girls onto the shore. Klara still held Hannibal’s pistol. Sven scrambled down from the log. The soldier staggered to his feet.

  “Are you all right, Elmer?” Hannibal asked the soldier.

  “Just winged,” Elmer said. “Follow me.” Elmer scrambled into the mouth of the cave, holding his arm and cursing in German.

  Hannibal, holding Elsa, plunged after him with Ryker and the twins behind him. The cave was more of a deep trench and was covered with brush and branches. It stank of earth and hay and was as dark and narrow as a grave. A single glimmer of light showed far ahead of them. There was barely enough room to stand, and Sven went ahead in the narrow passage.

  Out of the darkness, an Indian war whoop sounded at the cave entrance, directly behind them.

  Ryker’s heart lurched into his throat. Had they gone through all their ordeal only to die at the very edge of safety? Ryker pulled Klara by the hand, hurrying toward the light. They must outrun the Sioux warrior. They must find Mama.

  The Indian yelled another hideous cry. Ryker smelled rancid bear grease. The roof of the cave would burn easily—dried brush and straw, broken branches. He shoved away the image of blazing fire overhead, without anywhere to escape.

  Klara stopped and turned toward their attacker. She raised and pointed Hannibal’s pistol in the direction of the war whoops. The Indian lunged forward. A ray of light glinted off the blade of his raised knife.

  Klara pulled the trigger.

  The shot exploded.

  Silence.

  CHAPTER 39

  * * *

  They stumbled through the cave, tripping over roots and small stones. Ryker heard nothing behind him but felt terrified the Indian might yet attack them. Klara knew nothing about shooting; surely her shot could not have been fatal.

  The Sioux seemed invincible. Ryker had seen only white men die at their hands, never the opposite. Certainly not at the hands of a little girl.

  “Don’t shoot,” Hannibal called out. “Coming in with survivors and a wounded soldier.”

  A young sentry helped them through the cave opening, holding a lantern. Earthworks protected the entrance, shielding them from the view of the Indians. A campfire burned with bright sparks flying up into the night.

  Klara still held the empty gun. She looked down at it and threw it in the grass as if it were a snake. Hannibal picked it up and tucked it into his waistband. Sven’s eyes swelled almost shut. Their teeth chattered, and the twins clung to each other in a desperate embrace. Sparks scattered from the blazing fire. Nothing seemed real.

  Hannibal plopped Elsa into Ryker’s arms. Sven pulled his knife out of his shoe and sawed through the fabric around Elsa’s mouth. She howled as loud as the Indian’s war whoop when free of it. All the while Ryker scanned faces, searching for his mother.

  The sentry let out a low whistle. “What do we have here?” He sent a runner for Captain Vander Horck. “Mumford, you lead a sorry looking bunch.”

/>   “You’re looking at heroes,” Hannibal said with a wheezy snort. He stretched his hands toward the fire, rubbing them together. “They’ve come through hell to get here and live to tell about it.”

  Not all of them lived, Ryker wanted to say. Papa and the Tingvolds and Johnny didn’t live. He was too tired to form the words. The warmth melted his frozen limbs and made his eyes droop with exhaustion.

  “Welcome.” Captain Vander Horck hurried toward them. “Quite a speech, Private Mumford. I want to hear more, but first I need reconnaissance information.”

  Hannibal reported the fires in Slabtown, the war dance by Whiskey Creek, and the burned homesteads on the frontier. A woman bandaged the wounded soldier’s arm. She said that his wound was not mortal. The children warmed their hands and then turned and warmed their backsides. It would take a long time for their clothes to dry.

  Hannibal spoke to the captain, while two armed soldiers disappeared into the tunnel.

  Ryker asked a fat woman wearing an apron if she had seen their mother. She shook her head and didn’t answer. Her face showed kind sympathy. Ryker asked again.

  “I don’t speak no foreign tongue,” she said in a loud voice as if Ryker were deaf. “Can’t understand you.”

  Ryker could have kicked himself. He had used Norwegian words. It took a moment for him to remember the American words he needed. When he asked again, he saw her shake her head again. He described Mama as a Norwegian woman wearing a blue kerchief. “She doesn’t speak much American. And she’s . . .” Words failed him. Such things were not spoken, but he felt desperate. “There will be a baby.” Ryker was glad the darkness hid the blush he felt rising on his cheeks.

  “Haven’t seen her,” the woman said, in a gentler tone. “Maybe the captain knows something.”

  “And the Schmitz family?” Ryker said. “Their son Johnny was with us, but he didn’t, he couldn’t . . . he didn’t make it.” The twins held each other with Elsa wedged between them. Klara reached her free hand and gripped his.

  The woman draped blankets over their shoulders and gathered Elsa and the twins into her guiding arms. “Let’s get you out of those wet clothes.”

  “Milk,” Elsa said with a pitiful wail.

  “Poor little thing,” the woman said. “Auntie Abigail will find you milk. Don’t you worry. You’re safe with me.”

  The twins looked about ready to collapse. The blanket felt like a warm caress around Ryker’s shoulders. He was having a hard time keeping his eyes open.

  “Thank you, Missus.”

  “I’m Auntie Abigail. Just call me that. Everybody does.” Auntie Abigail hoisted Elsa in her plump arms. Elsa tucked her head under the blanket. A small sliver of light glowed through an open door across the parade grounds. “Think you two will make it on your own steam?”

  The twins nodded, barely standing up. How thin and frail they looked. Klara’s gaunt face reminded him of a corpse. Her lips showed blue with cold. Sven’s clothes hung in rags, and one of his shoes was missing. Still, he had kept his knife through all they had gone through. Ryker’s hands were empty. He had lost their quilt, lost Mrs. Tingvold’s book, and lost every bit of their supplies. It was a good thing they had not taken the family Bible with them. It would have been lost as well. Then he remembered the coins. He fingered the pouch still hanging around his neck.

  At least they had a few pennies. An overwhelming dread fell upon him. Mama wasn’t at the fort. He didn’t know how he could take care of his sisters and brother without Mama’s help.

  Hannibal disappeared with the soldiers. Ryker must thank him later. They would have not survived without him.

  “Are you coming?” Auntie Abigail looked over her shoulder toward Ryker. “Soup on the fire.”

  Ryker nodded. His brain refused to think.

  “Stay together, and keep your heads down.” She positioned herself in the lead. “If the fog lifts, the savages will be taking potshots again.”

  “I have a few questions for the young man,” Captain Vander Horck said to Auntie Abigail. “Take the little ones. He’ll soon join you.” He turned his attention to Ryker.

  “Now tell me what happened,” Captain Vander Horck said. “I understand you are a hero.”

  The unexpected kindness brought tears to Ryker’s eyes, and he struggled to regain his composure. He must deliver his important message.

  “The Sioux killed my father.” He gulped, choking on the difficult words. He still could not grasp that hard truth. “Stole my mother and baby sister, Elsa.” He wiped his nose on his wet sleeve, shivering when the cold cloth touched his face. “We found Elsa on the prairie.” The events of recent days swirled in his mind, and it took all his energy to speak sensibly. “Sven saw an angel.” The captain wouldn’t care about angels. “Sioux killed the Tingvolds, and Johnny Schmitz.”

  More soldiers gathered around them, eager to hear Ryker’s story.

  “Before Papa died, he said to fetch soldiers to find Mama.” Ryker swallowed hard. “Maybe you already found her?” His voice cracked. It was a long shot, but maybe, just maybe, God had another miracle for them, a miracle as wonderful as finding Elsa on the prairie. “Maybe she found her way to the fort.”

  “Not that I am aware,” Captain Vander Horck said. He asked the soldiers if anyone had seen a lone woman coming into the fort. No one had.

  “And your father’s name?”

  “Johann Landstad,” Ryker said. He should have said his father’s name at the start.

  “I’m sorry for your loss,” Captain Vander Horck said. “I remember him well.” He adjusted his spectacles, then clamped a strong hand on Ryker’s shoulder. “Johann was a good man, as honest as Abe Lincoln himself.” The man reeked of pipe tobacco and sweat. “When he said his hay was of good quality, you could believe it. Always kept his word.”

  They stood in silence for a brief moment. He cleared his throat. “Didn’t you have a brother?”

  “Martin,” Ryker said. “Signed up last year.”

  “I remember now,” Captain Vander Horck said. “Lied about his age.”

  Captain Vander Horck asked where Martin was fighting and clucked his tongue when he learned that Martin was missing since Shiloh. He slipped into deep thought, rubbing the bridge of his nose with a pointed finger.

  “We’ll find her, son.” He removed his hand from Ryker’s shoulder and straightened his back. “We’ll whip the Sioux, and then we’ll find your mother.”

  Ryker had done it. Papa told him to get word to the soldiers, and he had done it. Ryker’s legs shook so hard that he feared he might fall down. His teeth chattered, and it took all his determination to follow after Auntie Abigail who had gone ahead with his brother and sisters. It was a short walk, and as he crossed the threshold into the warm and lighted building, he heard a sharp command issued from Captain Vander Horck.

  “Man your posts,” he said. “Expect an attack at first light.”

  CHAPTER 40

  * * *

  Ryker squinted at the unexpected brightness of a lighted lantern in the blockhouse. The room was crowded with women and children, sprawled on the floor, leaning against the wall, overflowing every bed and cot. It seemed they were making ammunition, or at least handling ammunition. The smell of gunpowder filled his nostrils, along with the pungent smell of sweat and cooked cabbage.

  He followed Auntie Abigail toward a long bench along the opposite wall and collapsed in relief. All conversation ceased as Ryker and his family walked into the room. Everyone stared. Ryker searched each face, hoping to find Mama.

  “Have you seen my husband,” a woman said from the side of the room. “John Millicent, from McCaullyville? He went for supplies. Maybe you saw him?”

  “No,” Ryker said with a shake of his head.

  “Percy Gunderson?” a young girl said. “We had to leave without good-byes. We are to be wed next week.”

  “No,” Ryker said again. “Heard the Jensen girls were taken west along with my mother, but that’s a
ll I know.”

  They pressed in then, all asking questions and wanting news about neighbors and family members. Elsa let out a howl in protest and buried her face in Klara’s chest.

  “Enough.” Auntie Abigail held up her plump hand. “Can’t you see they’re dead on their feet?” She asked for the loan of dry clothing and ordered a skinny woman to prepare food. “They’ll be ready for your questions tomorrow.”

  How long had it been since Ryker had been inside a building? Tomorrow he would count the knots on Klara’s apron strings.

  Mrs. Jacobs and her many children huddled in the opposite corner. Tomorrow Ryker would confess how he had taken food from her home. He didn’t know how to repay her, but he would. Like Papa, Ryker would be an honorable man, a man of his word. Right now he was too tired and hungry to explain.

  Auntie Abigail scavenged for dry clothing, and a tall woman used a blanket to curtain off a corner where they could change away from inquisitive onlookers.

  “It’s for a grown woman,” Klara said. She held up a woman’s party dress that would have fit their mother.

  “It’s only for tonight,” Ryker said. “At least it’s dry.” He wore a shirt several sizes too small and a pair of ragged trousers large enough to wrap around him twice. Sven wore a night dress. “Our clothes will be dry tomorrow.”

  They came out in their hodgepodge of rags and finery, at least clean and dry again. Auntie Abigail brought cabbage stew and fresh bread. How good it tasted. Ryker smacked his lips and downed every drop of hot food. Klara held a bit of bread dipped in broth to Elsa’s lips, but she turned away and whimpered for milk. Auntie brought another ladle of broth, and more bread, before Ryker could ask.

  “Eat up,” she said. “You deserve it, after what you’ve been through.”

  A buxom woman with dark hair and a tired smile approached them. “I’m Mrs. Kelly. I’ve extra milk for your baby. Abigail says she asks for milk.”

  Elsa hesitated to leave Klara’s lap, until she realized there was milk. “Mama,” she said. Elsa’s tiny hands shook as she eagerly accepted the offered breast. She leaned into the woman and nursed blissfully with closed eyes. Auntie Abigail found a pallet on the floor for Elsa and the twins. She covered them with a quilt. “Lie beside them,” she said to Ryker. “We’ll talk tomorrow.”