In the Shadow of the Wolf

By Albert C. Dawson

In the Shadow of the Wolf

Except for three stories, Redcoat, Flight, and A Soldiers Story, the remaining accounts explore adventures occurring during the nineteenth century, mainly the settling of the western frontier and the turbulence of the Civil War.

As in the previous two volumes, Life at Stake and Ryley and Other Stories of Adventure, each story portrays how individuals confront and cope with extreme physical and emotional challenges during life-deciding moments.

Any protagonist, whether in a movie, novel, short story, or TV episode, invites the viewer or reader to vicariously place himself or herself in that same situation, wondering what decision or action he or she might have taken under similar circumstances.
On this premise, we, as readers and viewers, commonly develop an estimation of our own strength, will, courage, worth, and ability to survive.

It is to be hoped that the characters in these stories will stimulate such interest and thought. But, primarily, it must be remembered that fiction is to be enjoyed. As a writer, it is my sincere hope that I have achieved this to some degree of satisfaction.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Feb 4, 2013
• ISBN: 9781481710954

Albert C. Dawson

Al Dawson was raised on a small farm in the Northern Neck of Virginia, a peninsular surrounded not only by water but by history that encompasses the birth of this great nation, including the exciting figures of the Powhatan tribe and nation, Pocahontas, Captain John Smith, George Washington, Robert E. Lee, and so many others. Bullet holes in the walls of the local church, fired by Union soldiers, inspired his imagination as a youth, as did the exploits of distant relatives who fought in the War Between the States. After a wonderful, even inspiring, education in the small local high school, Al attended the University of Richmond where he earned his Bachelor of Arts in Spanish with Phi Beta Kappa honors, then continued his studies at the University of Wisconsin-Madison, where he received his Ph.D. He returned to his alma mater, the University of Richmond, to teach there for 34 years and with his wife to raise their two children, Eric and Sheila, both of whom continue to follow their parents professions as teachers and exponents of Spanish language and culture. After retirement, he and his wife Laila moved to the Rocky Mountains of Colorado where his long ingrained love for the rich history of western frontier life, mining and ghost towns, cowboys and Indians (native Americans to us now) came to the fore. The beauty, mystery, and lore of the mountains, deserts, and plains captivate him and his imagination, encouraging him to render in word something of the magic of not only where he lives but the marvelous resiliency of human nature itself.

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© 2013 Albert C.Dawson. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 2/6/2012

ISBN: 978-1-4817-1094-7 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4817-1095-4 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2013901430

Illustrations by Sheila Caputo

Cover by Paul Caputo

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Table of Contents

Revolutionary War

Redcoats

Civil War

Eggs

Too Damn Good

The West

The Last Whistle

Gumption

Cheyenne Woman

Obsession

Easy Money

The Teacher

Innocent

Three Sisters

World War II

Flight: Bloody Kraut

Flight Part II: Prisoner Of War

A Soldier’s Story

The Author

Dedication

One cannot be married to a vivacious, lovely, intelligent woman for forty five years without being astounded at the patience, kindness, and uncompromising love that she exhibits on a daily basis. For this and countless other reasons, I dedicate this third volume of short stories to my wife, Laila, my true soul mate.

Also, how could one forget our son Eric, his wonderful wife Genevieve, their smiling Emmy, and our daughter Sheila, her terrific husband Paul, their delightful offspring Joel and Maya, each of whom merits special note because of the vast space they occupy in their parents’ and grandparents’ hearts?

Of significant importance to me also are certain individuals who have fortuitously entered my life and who, because of their kindness, patience, and open hearts, have left an indelible imprint on my mind, thus, their inclusion in several stories as protagonists. They have, each in his or her own way, shared intimate aspects of their lives that permitted their fictional character to come alive for me in the creation of their story. Because of who they are and the nature of their stories, a number deserve special mention in this dedication: Justin Storms (Easy Money), Kurtis Tilley (Cheyenne Woman), Blake and Christy Crossley (Gumption), Ian Rush (Three Sisters), Eric Rudat (Flight), Oliver Bourke and Andrew Pugh – bona fide Englishmen - (Redcoats), Jesse Kirby (The Last Whistle), and Jacob Barker (Too Damn Good).

Tis the song,

the sigh of the weary,

And Times, hard times,

come again no more.

Many days you have lingered

around my cabin door,

Oh, hard times, come again

no more.

Stephen Foster

Redcoats

Soldier.jpg

Hey, Andrew, how soon you think we’re going to catch up with those Colonials? They’ve been slipping around us way too many times. Somewhere soon they’re going to have to make a stand and fight.

Andrew turned abruptly to give Oli a hard look before answering. Oli, for God’s sake, when we’re around the other troops, you’ve got to try a little harder to call me Lieutenant and not by my first name. I know we’re friends, but we just have to be more careful. You know as well as I do the Colonel gets furious if the officers get too familiar with their men; says it breeds contempt and lack of respect. But I agree with you. The Americans will have to make their stand. They’re fast running out of space to retreat too, now that we pretty much control South Carolina and Georgia. Once we beat them here in North Carolina, we can move back into Virginia, take over there, and the war, for all intents and purposes, should be pretty much over. Then we can go home and get out of this God-forsaken country.

Oli, a bit downcast, apologetically responded, Sorry, Andrew. I forgot. I understand, and you’re right, but it’s hard. We’ve been friends for so long, coming over here together to fight, leaving home and family too. I’ll try to do better on the officer bit. But, I really don’t understand why you don’t like it better here. It’s beautiful and there’s so much space to spread out. Sometimes I just want to turn into one of those big eagles we see every now and then, be free, and just fly over this whole country to see how large it truly is. I like it here, quite a bit. If the Colonials hadn’t declared their independence and the war started up, I might have even considered coming over to find myself some land and settle down. I certainly don’t have much to hold me in England like you do, what with all your family’s land holdings to look forward to inheriting. All my family and I got is our little cottage, which we rent from a landlord. And you know as well as I do he’s about as mean and greedy as they come.

Pipe down in the ranks, the stern voice of Colonel Webster interrupted. Lieutenant Pugh, get those men of yours into straight lines and in orderly fashion.

Yes, sir, Andrew responded. All right, men, you heard the Colonel. Let’s dress those ranks and look like the King’s soldiers we are.

Mumbling under the men’s breath was his only response as the troops gradually shifted, reformed, and straightened their lines of march. One of the men had the courage to say in a low voice, just loud enough that only Lieutenant Pugh and several around him could hear, You’d think the Colonel would let up a bit. He bloody well knows we’ve been marching hard for over two hundred miles, we’re short on food, and ain’t slept the last two nights. How much does he want out of us, anyway? We keep going this pace and we’ll be too bloody tired to fight.

Quiet, Higgins, Andrew replied. Complaining’s not going to make it better and if the Colonel hears…

Well, maybe he should hear. He’s been sittin’ on that fancy horse of his the whole time while we’ve been slogging in mud, dust, rain, and what all.

Lieutenant Pugh gave him a sharp, critical look before responding. He’s only following General Cornwallis’ orders. The general’s fighting mad ‘cause the Yanks keep slipping away from us and drawing us farther and farther from our supply base. He knows, as well as you do, that if we could catch up to ‘em, trap ‘em against the Dan River, we could crush them once and for all, which in the long run means we’ll get to return home to England that much sooner.

Yeah, I know all that, but I betcha Mr. High-and-Mighty ain’t missed a nice meal anywhere along the way, and he’s staying nice and dry in that big, fancy tent of his.

That’s enough, Higgins! Andrew replied authoritatively. You keep this line of talk up and I’ll have to put you on report. No point in bringing the men’s morale down any more than it already is. We’re all tired and hungry, but there’s nothing we can do about it. Just remember…we catch those Yanks, beat them, then we can get out of here.

Yessir, I ain’t complaining against you. You been stumping along with the rest of us, but…., seeing Andrew’s frown, he quickly added, Okay, I’ll shut up….for now.

The men, now in tighter formation, continued to slog silently along the narrow country road when suddenly a British Dragoon officer galloped past them in a flurry of wind and flying clods of dirt. It was all too apparent he was racing with important news to the back of the column where General Cornwallis’ and his staff were traveling. The men, caught off guard, were immediately seized by curiosity as to what the hurry was all about. Oli, however, leaned over to whisper to Andrew by his side, Bet that means they’ve run into some Yankee units up there somewhere. We should be hearing something pretty soon.

Andrew thoughtfully nodded his acknowledgement, his eyes following the trail of the disappearing rider.

As predicted, word spread quickly back through the ranks, soon thereafter backed up by Colonel Webster riding by and announcing, All right, men. The Americans are just up ahead of us. Seems they’ve positioned themselves on some high ground and are waiting to take us on. Now’s our chance to finally show them what a British soldier is made of. We’ll have them hightailing out of here soon enough, what’s left of them, that is.

Several of the men laughed at the Colonel’s attempt at bolstering their morale.

Andrew and Oli exchanged glances, each aware, without a word being said, of what the other was thinking. They both knew that the American soldiers, a disproportionate number being civilians, were not on a par with the highly trained British Dragoons, but they also knew that those men fought hard when they did fight, and with their long rifles were expert marksmen at picking off the British from long range, a range that the English shorter musket could not match. However, General Cornwallis’ time proven tactic of boring in unrelentingly on the enemy’s front line until the British formations were close enough to deliver their massed volleys had consistently proved to be deadly effective. The concentrated musket fire would decimate and demoralize whoever was in front of them, especially inexperienced soldiers. The follow-up bayonet charge would inevitably put the Yanks into headlong flight. The latter, being farmers and tradesmen, had little training or stomach for hand-to-hand, steel-on-steel fighting.

A sense of urgency and expectation rippled through the British ranks as they broke out from long columns into three horizontal lines that stretched for over a hundred yards. Oli and Andrew were always impressed at the sight of the massed, bright red and white uniforms and tall helmets spread out to face the enemy.

Andrew nodded to Oli, their usual unsaid but understood signal for good luck, as he headed out to receive direct orders from his superiors. Oli, meanwhile, took his place with his comrades in line and stood quietly at arms, waiting. Every man around him knew that this could be his last minutes on earth, several praying aloud, others quiet, lost in their thoughts, thinking of family, loved ones, their homes in far off England.

Orders came down, the officers stepped in front of the men, exhorting them to represent themselves and the King of England with bravery and honor. They then began to move forward, waiting for the Yanks, now clearly visible on the small ridge in front, to fire their first volley. Oli always wondered who would be the first to go down. He too vividly remembered in past battles seeing men suddenly clutch at their body and then crumple to the ground to be replaced immediately by the man stepping up from the line behind. They moved steadily, methodically forward, a seemingly irresistible wave of red and white that would grind under their bayonets and boots whatever lay ahead.

Suddenly, a yell went up from men down the line on Oli’s right, attracting his attention. He saw men pointing, not at the Yankee lines directly in front, but to the west. Scanning the line of forest in that direction, he saw the reason for the shout of warning. A small force of Yanks had suddenly stepped out of a densely wooded area to kneel behind a split rail fence and take aim at the ranks of red. Oli realized with a sense of dread, as did his comrades, that these riflemen would catch them from an angle that his own advancing lines were not prepared to counter and which their officers had not anticipated. Quickly looking back to his immediate front, the harsh reality of their situation came pounding down on him…the Yanks would be catching them in a virtual crossfire. While he and his comrades moved relentlessly ahead to face the major contingent of American soldiers, this force to their right, even though small, would be raking their lines with accurate, deadly fire.

Oli looked to his far left, searching for his friend, Lieutenant Pugh. When he finally spotted him, Oli knew per the look on his face that he was not yet aware of this new threat. He started to yell in an effort to get his attention when suddenly the Americans disappeared behind a wall of white smoke as their muskets erupted almost as one. He heard musket balls whistle and hiss by him, saw out of the periphery of his eye men up and down the British lines crumpling to the ground. Then, he felt a dull thud in his lower left side, followed by something clanging against his helmet. A blast of pain ripped through his head before blackness swallowed him.

Sometime later and somewhere in the hazy fog of his semi-conscious state, he became aware that hands were moving over his body, pulling the musket out of his grip, searching his pockets, stripping him of his black leather pouch of powder and mini-balls. He forced his eyes open, trying to take in where he was and what was happening. Immediately over his head he caught the outline of a man’s face, a white shirt with billowy sleeves, blue pants. A Yank was taking his belongings, and he was helpless, partially paralyzed, to stop him or do anything about it.

The Yank, seeing Oli’s eyes flicker open, jumped back and pulled his musket to his shoulder, aiming straight down at Oli’s head. Then, to Oli’s horror, he saw the man deliberately and slowly shift his weapon. He held it upright so that the bayonet was above him, clenched in both hands, and now pointing down, poised to make the fatal thrust through the center of Oli’s chest.

He tried to protest, to say something, to do anything to defend himself, but his body wouldn’t respond. He stared into the man’s eyes, waiting with resignation the final thrust that would put an end to his life, while at the same time, ironically and strangely enough, wondering what it would feel like to be run through. But, to his amazement, a hand suddenly appeared out of nowhere to grasp the musket and yank it aside.

Hold up! Don’t kill ‘im. He can’t defend himself and we ain’t no cold blooded killers, in spite of his being a redcoat. Leave ‘im be. He can’t hurt us now. Let’s get after the rest of ‘em before they regroup.

The two men paused, looked down at Oli, and then both turned away to rejoin their friends running down the hill. Oli tried to twist to see where his own men were, but as he turned, a surge of pain plowed through his side and head, forcing him to black out once again.

When he came to, Oli knew something was different, strange, and then he realized what it was—total silence. His first thought, I’m dead, was quickly dismissed as he became aware of slight movement to his side; plus, his head pounded and throbbed like Hell, giving the impression his whole cranium was expanding and contracting, the pain and dizziness making him feel on the verge of throwing up. Then there was a touch to his shoulder. He opened his eyes slowly to see a man leaning over him, the same man who had earlier saved him from being bayoneted.

How you doin’, young fella? was the first question. You feelin’ any better?

What…what…happened? Oli managed to stammer. Where am I?

Looks like you took a bullet up against that helmet of yours, ricocheted off the metal plate; saved your life it did. As for your unit, they pulled back to join up with the rest of your regiment. We broke off contact with ‘em and came back here. I saw you still lying there, still breathing, so my son and I picked you up and brought you up to the woods here. I checked out your head wound. Can’t tell how bad it is, but it sure dug a big hunk out of your scalp. Probably take quite a while to recover from that. Can’t even imagine the headaches you’re gonna have.

Oli remained silent for a moment, absorbing the information and thinking about the headache he was experiencing right at that moment. Then, with some trepidation, he asked, Who…who won?

Don’t rightly know, son. You Brits regrouped and stormed our breastworks, took heavy losses, they did. But our General Greene pulled our men out in timely fashion, pretty much intact, and retreated south. You redcoats lost a lot of your buddies, hundreds dead and wounded, probably about a quarter of your total force. We captured a bunch of prisoners too. We’re trying to gather up all the wounded on both sides so’s we can take ‘em to houses and farms all around us for help. That’s what we’ll do with you soon’s my son gets back to our farm to bring a horse and cart. Should be here pretty soon. My wife’ll get you feelin’ a lot better real fast.

But…but why would you…? Oli started to ask but was interrupted by the sounds of someone coming close.

The man paused to look up, and then continued. Ah, here’s my son, Danny, comin’ now. Let’s see if we can get you up and into the cart.

First, Oli interrupted shakily, barely able to formulate his words into a full question, did you find a British lieutenant among the prisoners, the wounded, or… he was reluctant to say the words, …the dead?

Nope, can’t say as I did. Hey, Danny, do you or any of the fellows recall seeing a British lieutenant among any of the Brits?

No, Pa. Almost all of ‘em were just regular soldiers, like that man you got there. Think I would’ve picked up on an officer if he was downed. I can ask the other fellas to keep a sharp eye out though, if you want.

Danny’s father looked down at Oli questioningly, who managed to say, Please, if you would. He’s a life long friend of mine, …my best friend, Lieutenant Pugh. I’d like to know if he’s…still alive.

Danny, do us a favor and have the fellas check around. The lieutenant is a friend of this young Brit.

Sure, Pa, Danny replied before heading off in the direction of his companions who were gathering up weapons captured in the battle.

Come on, young fella. Let’s see if between the two of us we can get you into that cart there.

I’ll do my best, Oli answered. But my head is about to burst and my stomach isn’t feeling too good, sorta like I could throw up anytime.

Well, you just give me some forewarning before that happens, Danny’s pa chuckled. I don’t need any English vomit all over me. By the way, just so we know how to call each other, what’s your name?

Name’s Oli, actually Oliver Bourke.

Good name! Mine’s Jeremiah McKenzie. My son there is Daniel, or, as we call him, Danny.

Oli nodded his understanding and then concentrated on the struggle to slowly get to his feet, waves of dizziness and nausea sweeping over him as he did. Jeremiah supported him by catching him under his armpits while wrapping his arms tightly around Ollie’s chest. Oli was immediately aware of the steely strength of those arms and hands and knew that this man helping him was strong as an ox, one he would not like to engage in hand-to-hand combat.

They managed to cover the several feet to the cart where Oli grasped the sideboards and held on while Jeremiah literally lifted him off his feet and into the bed of the cart.

Ain’t got no blankets or stuff to make the ride more comfortable, so you’ll just have to gut it out, Jeremiah said, a note of sadness in his voice.

I’ll be all right, Oli rejoined.

The man smiled and then crawled up into the seat of the cart where he picked up the reins. Before moving out, he called out to his son, Danny, you ready to go? I wanta get this fella back to the house as quick as we can.

Yeah, dad. I got about twelve muskets here we can take back too. Might come in handy later.

Good thinking, son. Just toss ‘em in the back beside Oli there and let’s get home.

Jeremiah then snapped the reins lightly over the horse’s back and ordered the animal to move forward, saying, Come on, Daisy. Let’s go home. The horse’s ears perked up as if understanding the words and briskly stepped out.

Within an hour, one that seemed a painful eternity, Oli felt the cart slow down and come to a stop. He wanted to pull himself up to look over the side boards but a shot of pain in his side, followed by another wave of nausea, stopped him short. His blazing headache had almost made him forget about the wound in his side.

Suddenly, at his feet he heard the tailgate being dropped. Someone jumped up into the cart to stand over him. Looking up, he saw it was Danny, a broad smile on his face. Okay, Mr. Bourke, let’s get you down and inside the house. Pa’s gone to get my mom and sister to help out.

Before Oli had struggled into a half sitting position at the tailgate, ready to lower his legs and feet to the ground, several persons had gathered around him. Looking up, he saw Jeremiah and two women, one, older, a stately, dignified look on her face, tinged with a look of deep compassion and sympathy. The second was a young girl, quite pretty, probably in her late teens, possessing strawberry blonde hair that fell lightly in curls down to her shoulders. Oli could tell she was studying him, trying to figure out who this strange man was, this enemy soldier in bright red uniform that her father and brother were bringing to the house. But her face had a sweetness and kindness to it that were accentuated by bright blue eyes and a lightly freckled nose.

Oli was drawn back to his dilemma of getting down and out of the cart when he heard Jeremiah ask, You ready to get down, son? We’re all here to help out. The missus there is my wife, name of Esther. My daughter is Meredith. Hon, why don’t you and Meredith go and set up a bed while Danny and I see to gettin’ this young soldier inside?

The two women hitched up their long skirts and hurried back toward the house, Meredith casting one last glance over her shoulder at Oli before disappearing inside.

Jeremiah and Danny gingerly lifted Oli off the cart, keeping his feet under him for additional support. As he hit the ground, however, the slight jolt, added to by the bouncing and jostling of the ride in the cart, set off a wave of pain, dizziness, and nausea that staggered him. He grabbed on to the two men’s shoulders and arms in an effort to hold himself upright, while fighting off the urge to eliminate what little food or liquid was left in his belly.

Oli missed the exchange of worried looks that passed between Jeremiah and his son Danny. He was only vaguely aware of Jeremiah’s whisper to his son, This fella might be worse off than we thought. I don’t like the looks of this head wound.

Oli shook off the fleeting second of concern as another wave hit him and he sagged in the men’s arms, who now literally picked him up by his legs and shoulders to carry him into the house. Once inside, Esther rushed toward the three men, a frown of deep concern furrowing her face.

What happened? she queried.

Don’t rightly know. I’m afraid he might be worse off than we figured. That gash in his head, now that I look at it a bit more, looks pretty raw.

Quick, get him over to the bed and lay him down. We’ve got to keep him still. Meredith is bringing some hot water and cloth. We’ll get that wound cleaned up a bit and see how bad it is. Unfortunately, we won’t have the help of Doc Wilkinson ‘cause he’s got more’n he can handle with all the wounded on both sides. I’m afraid whether this young man makes it or not is going to be up to us…and to God.

Just then Meredith appeared with a basin of steaming hot water and cloths. As the men returned to tend to the horse and unload the muskets from the cart, the two women bent over Oli and started to loosen his uniform and wash the blood from his head, face, and neck.

Suddenly Meredith gasped and stood up straight from her task of unloosening Oli’s dust covered red tunic. Mom, look at this! He’s been hit twice. I didn’t even see it until I pulled open that red jacket and saw the blood on the inside. Looks like he took another bullet down low in his side, but from what I can tell, it went straight through. It’s a wonder he didn’t bleed to death before getting here."

Let me see, Meredith’s mother asked. She slowly pulled Oli’s shirt up out of his pants after unbuckling the thick, black leather belt. She examined the wound, probing around it with her fingers before lifting Oli slightly to check the exit point of the mini-ball. I think we’re in luck, and so is he, she added with a look of relief. From what I can see that thick belt rode down and covered the holes so that it pretty much stopped the bleeding, at least slowed it down quite a bit. Otherwise, I don’t think he would have made it. Looks too like it was far enough over to his side that it wouldn’t have hit any organs, just going through muscle and skin. As I said, this fellow is just going to have to make it now, since God’s protected him twice…not taking a bullet through his skull, nor through the middle of his body. Yes, the Lord’s got additional plans for this young man. It just isn’t his time, and we’re going to do everything we can to help make that true.

Meredith sighed and smiled in relief. As Oli stirred slightly, she leaned over, cupping his face between her hands, saying, You’re going to be all right. Mom and I are going to see to it.

Oli feebly opened his eyes, smiled weakly, and then lapsed back into unconsciousness.

The two women worked diligently for two hours, getting Oli out of the thick, red, wool uniform jacket, his black boots, and white pants, then proceeding to clean both wounds, applying alcohol and other ointments and liniments to the areas, before wrapping clean, white cloths around his head and midsection.

After their concentrated effort, they both stood to look down at their patient, while pushing back from their forehead strands of hair that had fallen loose. Esther finally said, Think that’s about all we can do right now. Let’s leave him be, get ourselves cleaned up, and see about getting some supper on the table. Jeremiah and Danny should be coming back real soon, and I know they’ll be hungry.

Where’d they go, Mom? Meredith asked.

Thought I heard ‘em say they were going to check with the other men still down on the battlefield, something about somebody’s friend. I didn’t hear anything else, and barely that.

The two women went about their separate tasks, occasionally checking back to see how Oli was doing. Each time he was breathing smoothly and easily, and no fever had set in. About an hour later both Jeremiah and Danny appeared at the door.

Where have you two been? Esther inquired a bit brusquely, clearly showing her frustration and indicating she wished the men had been there to help her and Meredith.

Jeremiah smiled and touched her cheek tenderly with the back of his hand. Sorry, hon, something we felt we had to do.

In response to the quizzical look from his wife, he added, This young soldier here, Oliver Bourke, asked about a friend of his, a lieutenant, if we had seen him among the wounded, dead, or prisoners. We went back to talk with the men and some other units to see if they’d heard or seen anything. Seems there’s a possibility a couple of the men saw a young lieutenant among the prisoners. They’ve gone to check and will report back to me later.

Esther’s countenance changed immediately as she recognized the mission of mercy her husband and son had been on. Oh, that would be wonderful if they found him alive and well. If they do, is there any possibility he could be brought here? I’m willing to bet that seeing his friend would help Mr. Bourke recover much faster.

Don’t know if that’ll be possible or not, but I’ll try. I think the men would listen to me, but right now they’re still pretty stirred up. A few think we should just shoot every single one of the Brits and send the bodies back to his Lordship Cornwallis as a sign. Most don’t hold to that line of thinking, thank God. So, we’ll see. I’ll get the word out. Tomorrow, if Danny’s willing, I’ll send him to learn more and talk to the officers in charge of the prisoners. But, first, we have to find out if that prisoner is young Bourke’s friend or not.

Resigned to having to wait until the next day, the family went about their usual pre-dinner tasks, with occasional visits to Oli’s bedside. After supper dishes were cleaned up, they all stood around Oli’s still form, held hands, and said a prayer on behalf of his recovery and well being. They all decided to retire early, everyone being exhausted from the tense events of the day, all except Meredith who announced she was going to stay close by to make sure Oli didn’t wake up and need something. Jeremiah and Esther exchanged understanding looks, Danny smiling mischievously in his big brother way, and all left the room.

Meredith brought a candle close to Oli’s bed, carefully placing it on the small stand, pulled up a rocking chair into which she curled up under a quilt, and was soon fast asleep.

During the night, Oli only woke once, feebly asked for some water, and was soon back into dreamland. Meredith stood by him until she was sure he was fast asleep, then returned to the rocker.

Early the next morning, her mother, father, and brother entered quietly to find the two young people fast asleep. Esther whispered, This is a very good sign. I just wish we could get Doc over here to check him out to be sure, although I’m not convinced there’s much more he could do. I think it’s a matter of waiting and seeing.

Danny chimed in, You’re probably right. I’m gonna get a quick bite of breakfast, pack up some food and water, and head over to where they’re holding the prisoners. While I’m there, I’ll see if Doc’s around and is willing to come over. He might not, seein’ as how he’s only one man trying to take care of so many wounded. Worth the try though.

Esther looked at her son, her eyes saying more than words could ever express in gratitude. She simply said, Daniel, thank you from the bottom of my heart.

Sure, Mom, was Danny’s easy reply.

Within minutes Daniel was out the door and on his way, waving goodbye just before disappearing into the adjoining woods.

God speed, his mother called to him, then returned to check Oli’s temperature. He has no high temperature, she exclaimed. This has to be a miracle, I truly believe.

Meredith, upon hearing her mother’s voice, jumped and was immediately out of the rocker to stand by her parents. Is he all right? she asked. I fell asleep, and didn’t watch over him as I promised.

Not to worry, daughter. He’s doin’ as well as can be expected, probably even better, according to your mother, Jeremiah reassured her. Daniel’s gone to see what he can learn about young Bourke’s friend, and to see if the Doc can come over. So, we’ll just stay close, watch over him, and see what happens.

The morning passed uneventfully. Oli woke up several times, was given water, a cool wet compress placed over his forehead, the wound in his side checked for additional bleeding, of which there was none, and he was quickly fast asleep once more. They all knew that this was probably the best medicine that could be prescribed right now.

About mid afternoon, they heard the sound of approaching horses and looked out the window to see Daniel on horseback, accompanied by several other men. When they drew closer, Jeremiah exclaimed, Well, I’ll be. Danny got the Doc, and if my eyes don’t deceive me, there’s a British soldier with ‘im, plus several of our men. Let’s go see what’s up.

They hurried outside to wait just beyond the door as the approaching party drew close and stopped, Danny jumping down off his horse first.

Dad, Doc decided to come….and guess what. This British officer says he’s Oli’s friend.

My Lord, boy, how did you accomplish all that?

Doc interrupted with a smile on his face, That boy of yours is about as persuasive as you are, Jeremiah. Once I heard the story and met this young British officer here, I just decided I had to come. Besides, we captured a couple of their doctors and between the three of us, we did all we could for the wounded, for the time being. Once I examine this fellow you have, I’ll head back and see what more I can do. But, right now, let’s go see how he’s coming along.

He slid off his horse, grabbing his medical bag off the saddle pommel and headed for the open door without waiting for anyone. Esther quickly escorted him inside.

Meanwhile, Jeremiah greeted the three men that had accompanied the party back to the house. Howdy, Hank, Samuel, Liam. Mighty nice of you to help out.

Least we could do, Liam responded. The Colonel, once he heard Daniel’s story, told us to bring this Brit here and to check up on how you were doing. He heard how you and your men hit the British from the side. Took ‘em totally off guard. They regrouped and came on at our main lines, but what you did slowed ‘em down and gave our main forces more time to get settled down. Boosted their spirits right smartly.

What happened? Jeremiah asked. Did we lose again?

Well, not exactly… Liam started.

What do you mean, ‘not exactly’? Jeremiah quickly interrupted.

Well, they finally broke through all three of our lines. I gotta admit these redcoats are some mighty fine soldiers, he continued, as he looked at the young British lieutenant by his side.

Andrew swelled with pride, sitting higher in his saddle.

Liam paused, a smile on his face, and then proceeded. As I was sayin’, they broke our lines and took the field, but General Greene pulled us out in time with minimum losses and withdrew all our men several miles back down the road south. But the Brits didn’t follow. By what we can tell, they musta lost a quarter of their entire force, some cannon, and the way I see it, was just too exhausted to follow up. First thing you know, Cornwallis called ‘em all back, and right now we hear they’re headed toward Wilmington to regroup. So, in one way, they won, but in another, we hurt ‘em so bad, they won’t be fit to do any more fightin’ for quite a spell, at least until they find some reinforcements or replacements. Frankly, if I had to say one way or the other, I’d cast a strong vote for our boys. They fought like demons today and out did some of the best soldiers in the world.

Looking at the young British officer, he asked in a serious tone, And, Lieutenant, how would you interpret what I just said?

Andrew hoisted himself up, straightening his back, then replied, Unfortunately I would have to agree. We ran you off the field of battle, but you ran us out of men. General Cornwallis and Colonel Tarleton had no choice but not to pursue your men any further. I understand also that Colonel Webster, one of our best field officers, was killed in battle. That is a sore loss for us indeed.

Thank you, young man, for being so honest, Liam smiled back. That attitude is one good reason why we brought you along to see this friend of yours. Seems you two are mighty good friends, am I right?

Yes sir, the best. We joined up and sailed across the Atlantic together. We’ve been fighting in the same regiment since we arrived. He’s no doubt my most trusted friend, and it will please me greatly to know that he’s alive and hopefully will survive his wounds.

Jeremiah reached up to grasp his hand, inviting him to dismount and accompany him inside to see Oli.

Once they reached the interior of the house, Jeremiah guided the lieutenant to the bedroom where Oli was awake and resting. When Andrew saw his good friend, his face beamed in recognition. Oli, meanwhile, overjoyed at seeing Andrew alive and well, was about ready to pull himself out of the bed to greet him, but was restrained by the doctor.

Not yet, young man, he said. You’re not quite ready to be moving around any until we see how those wounds are healing. I’m still concerned about that gash in your skull, but I think it, and those holes in your side, will prove to resolve themselves, with time, if you stay still and get enough rest.

Oh, he’ll get rest; we guarantee it, Esther retorted, her voice full of conviction.

Well, Lieutenant, why don’t you get over there and say hello to this friend of yours, who obviously thinks so highly of you,…and that, in spite of your being an officer, Jeremiah laughingly offered.

Lt. Pugh stepped over close to Oli’s bedside, the two friends studying each other for a moment, before Andrew kneeled and reached out to grasp his friend’s hand. Oli, you’re going to be all right, aren’t you? Andrew asked, a strong note of deep concern in the tone of his voice.

Oli looked at him hard and said, slowly gathering his wits about him, Andrew, I mean Lieutenant Pugh, I can’t tell you how relieved and pleased I am to see you alive. I was afraid you were one of the many dead they keep talking about.

Yeah, Oli, I guess I was pretty lucky at that, and, my good friend, you can forget the lieutenant business now. I guess I was pretty fortunate at that. When the Americans started shooting at us from the woods, picking us off one by one, several platoons of our unit broke off to stop ‘em. But in the following firefights some of our men lost contact with each other. I saw that several of their skirmishers were settled in behind some trees, so a number of my men and I went after them. Problem is, when we got there, they pulled back into the woods further. We started to go in after them, but suddenly out of nowhere a whole detachment of Colonials appeared and took us by surprise. We had to surrender or be shot down where we stood. I guess we’ve been lucky in another way too, because I felt pretty sure, in the heat of the battle, that they would probably kill us on the spot. But, instead of doing that, they took us prisoners. Since then they’ve showed us every kindness possible, even, as you can see, tracking me down and bringing me here to see you.

Doc interrupted, adding. You fellows are indeed fortunate in yet another way. You probably don’t know that this whole area you’re fighting your way through is Quaker. Most of us are pacifists and won’t fight; however, a number of our young men, right or wrong, have seen the merit and need of taking up arms and defending our families and our way of life in this country. We recognize that most of you Brits are not here by choice. I certainly don’t know if this is true of you two or not, and it really doesn’t matter. It is, in my opinion and belief, our duty to esteem and respect every individual human life, no matter the circumstances nor rigors of the time. Thus, we can be resisting you in one moment and trying to save you in the next. That might be a little hard for you as soldiers to understand but that’s the way it is for us.

Thanks, Doc. Well said, Jeremiah threw in. That’s exactly where I am on this. I decided to stand and fight to protect all that’s dear to me, but it will not deter me from trying to be a decent, Christian human being.

Lt. Pugh bowed his head, clearly moved, absorbing the content of what had been said, and comprehending fully how fortunate he indeed was. He finally commented, I don’t know what to say, nor any proper way to thank you for what you’re doing for me and for Oli here. I can only promise that, after this cursed war is over, and, assuming we win, I will do everything in my power to help and protect you and your families.

Well, I hope you’ll stand by your word on that, young man, Jeremiah responded. But don’t you get too set on your winning this war, not yet anyway. We colonials, as you call us, bend a lot, but we ain’t been broken yet. And I certainly don’t see us surrendering until there just isn’t any other way or hope.

I deeply respect that, sir, Lt. Pugh responded.

That brings up an issue that we need to address, and this is as good a time as any to do so, I guess, Jeremiah continued. "The men here just told me that it’s General Greene’s intent to have you Brits that we captured sign on your word of honor an oath to go back to England and never return to do battle again on American soil. If you were to do so, we are prepared to escort you to Charleston where there are Loyalist merchant ships anchored in the harbor, preparing to sail back to your home country.

Lt. Pugh’s mouth dropped open in amazement, incredulous of what he had just heard, even wondering if it might be a trick or deception. Sir, are you serious about what you just said? It sounds too good to be true.

It is true, son, believe it. But time is short, so a decision has to be made quickly in order to get to the ships before they set sail.

Two or three minutes of utter silence followed. Lt. Pugh was clearly buried in his thoughts, weighing the pros and cons, including what he would say to his parents and friends back in England upon their learning that he had been captured and had agreed not to fight again. He looked down at his friend, hoping to see in Oli’s eyes some indication of what he should do, but all he saw was an understanding smile.

Oli, what would you do? he paused. What are you going to do?

Andrew, it’s easy for me. You know where my feelings are…have been all along. If I come out of these wounds all right, and the doctor here leads me to believe I will, I intend to stay here. No matter which side wins, I feel sure I can start a new life here. What I don’t know is if they’ll give me this option or just send me back to England.

As he concluded, he looked at Jeremiah and the doctor, and then at the three Americans standing quietly in the background. Jeremiah looked around him, reading the faces of his friends, then stepped forward.

Mr. Bourke, Oli, I believe I can correctly speak for these men when I say that we would welcome you in our community, right here in Guilford Courthouse, if you so choose. Am I speaking out of turn, gentlemen?"

The men almost in unison responded, Nope, that’s our sentiments exactly.

"Well then, Mr. Bourke,