The Bully Boys (21 page)

“I can if you'll share his answers with me!”

Despite everything I couldn't help but laugh.

FitzGibbon stood on the road, staring into the distance. The column of smoke was now thicker, dominating the sky.

“I didn't think you'd decline my invitation.”

“I'm curious too . . . but why are we taking the road?” I asked him.

“A straight line is the fastest.”

“But what about American patrols?”

“Last week they pulled back their pickets to a spot much
closer to the fort. This is now a safe route for us to—” He stopped. “Riders approaching!”

I looked down the road. I couldn't see anybody, but I could see a plume of dust rising into the air.

FitzGibbon barked out orders and everybody leaped into action. The horses were quickly led off to cover by half a dozen men while the rest took up positions behind the trees on both sides of the road. I removed the rifle from my horse before she was taken. I took my place next to FitzGibbon, behind a fallen log.

“Do you think it's Americans?” I asked.

“I don't know, but we have to be prepared.”

“What if it's a lot of Americans?” There were close to fifty of us, but there could have been four hundred of them.

“If it is a sizeable force, we'll cut it down in a hurry,” FitzGibbon said as he steadied his rifle along the top of the log, taking aim at the road. “Either way, we won't have long to wait.”

I strained my eyes to see up the road. I was relieved when I realized it didn't look like a big party. No more than three or four riders . . . wearing red coats! They were our men.

The soldiers farther up the road had also seen that they were British and had started to come out from their hiding spots. There were three horsemen and they came to a stop in our midst. It was obvious that the horses had been ridden hard as they were frothing at the mouth.

“What is in front of us?” FitzGibbon demanded.

“An open road with no Americans,” one of the men answered.

“None?”

“Neither on the road nor in the countryside.”

“For how far?”

“We were sent back with Queenston in sight. The Sergeant had the men take up positions along the road, awaiting your arrival.”

“It sounds as if the Americans might have pulled back even farther. Did you discover the source of the smoke?” FitzGibbon asked. “Is it coming from the village?”

“We didn't get close enough to see what was burning.”

FitzGibbon nodded his head. “Everybody mount up.”

There was a scramble as the men found their horses and reassembled on the road. FitzGibbon ordered the men to ride four abreast, with spacing between each group. He took the lead, followed by the rest of the red-coated Bully Boys and then the militia members. Mr. McCann was as anxious as anybody to find out what awaited us, but he was probably still under orders to stay by my side, and we fell in at the very end of the column.

I knew this road well. We brought crops to market in the fall along this route. More often, though, we travelled it by horse-drawn sleigh. Almost all our visiting to friends and family was done in winter. The rest of the year there was always too much to be done around the farm to travel even a dozen miles afield.

We were moving at a good clip and quickly closing the distance to Queenston. I recognized where we were, and knew we were no more than a mile from the houses on the outskirts of the village. The smoke in the sky was becoming
more pronounced, and the smell of it intertwined with the smell of the dust being thrown up by the horses in front of us.

Up ahead I saw the big barn of the McKenzie farm. There was a healthy-looking crop being harvested. Everything looked fine.

“Whooooaaaa!” came the call from the front of the column, and we came to a halt. What was happening? Had the enemy been spotted?

Before I had time to even think anything further we started to move again. But looking up ahead I saw that FitzGibbon was dispersing the men. He was splitting the group up, sending one party of men off to the left and a second off to the right. He held up his hand as we approached.

“Well?” Mr. McCann asked.

“Nothing. No American pickets yet. The question remains whether they have men still posted in the village or if they have pulled back, right inside the walls of the fort.”

“How will we know?” I asked.

“There's only one way.” He paused. “We have to enter the village. I've sent the men to take up positions surrounding Queenston. I'm going in.”

“By yourself ?”

“Possibly with one other man . . . somebody who knows the village,” he said, looking at Mr. McCann.

“It would be my pleasure,” he answered.

“How about with two other men?” I suggested.

“I suspected you would suggest as much,” FitzGibbon said.

Slowly we moved forward, FitzGibbon of course slightly in front. He pulled his rifle from the holster and laid it across his lap. Mr. McCann did the same, and reluctantly I followed suit. We moved past the first few houses. There was fresh wash hanging on a line behind one of the houses, flapping in the breeze. There was no other sound except the soft clumping of the hooves of our horses.

“That's a beautiful sight,” Mr. McCann said.

“What is?” FitzGibbon asked. I already knew the answer.

“My store.”

“Ah, yes, I know your store well,” FitzGibbon said. He looked back at me with a smile, and despite the situation I couldn't help smiling back, thinking about where my adventure had begun.

“There's been more than one time when I didn't think I would live to see it again, or that it would be there for me to see,” Mr. McCann said softly.

“It looks fine,” I said. “Everything looks fine . . . untouched. But where is that smoke coming from?”

“I don't know. It almost looks like it's coming from the fort,” Mr. McCann said.

“The fort? I wonder . . .” FitzGibbon said.

“Wonder what?”

“There's only one reason the fort would be on fire.”

“Why? Why would the fort be on fire?” I demanded.

“I need to have a closer look,” FitzGibbon said.

“Closer? Is that safe?”

“If my guess is right it's perfectly safe. I want you to
wait here.” Without warning, FitzGibbon dug in his heels and his horse leaped forward.

“Where! Where are you going?” I yelled.

“To the fort!” he screamed over his shoulder.

“The fort!” Mr. McCann said. “He can't go to the fort alone!”

“He isn't!” I said.

I was about to spur my horse forward when Mr. McCann reached out and grabbed the reins. “He said to wait here.”

“He was talking to you,” I said.

“What makes you think that?”

“You're a soldier, he can give you orders, but not me.”

“But I was also ordered to stay with you,” Mr. McCann said.

“Then you should stay with me. Come on, he's almost out of sight.”

FitzGibbon was now at the far end of the village. Mr. McCann flashed me a smile and dropped the reins of my horse. I dug my heels into the sides of the grey and she leaped forward. We raced forward as FitzGibbon disappeared around the turn leading to Fort George. Within a dozen seconds we'd reached the same spot. As we raced past the last house we met one of our pickets—four men who had been sent around to the far side of the village. FitzGibbon had passed by just seconds before and they were now scrambling to get onto their horses. We burst past them. FitzGibbon was now even farther ahead, his big black horse eating up the distance to the fort faster than we could close the gap.

I looked back over my shoulder and was relieved to see not just the four soldiers from the picket but at least a dozen of our men thundering after us. At least we weren't alone— although what good would twenty, or even two hundred men do against more than two thousand Americans?

Just up ahead, beyond the trees, across a long, open meadow, was the fort. We'd soon be able to see it . . . and anybody in the fort would be able to see us. FitzGibbon again disappeared from view as he rounded the last stand of trees. The column of smoke was rising from just beyond those trees, staining the entire sky. I could taste the bitter, acidic odour of gunpowder in the air.

Of all the foolhardy things I'd done since leaving home, chasing FitzGibbon like a bat out of hell right into the waiting arms of the enemy was probably the craziest! If I got out of this alive . . .

FitzGibbon had now cleared the trees and made it to the other side, within sight of the fort, and within reach of their cannon. I had to fight the urge to pull up on my horse, either slow down to allow the others to catch us or stop completely to enable them to pass. Instead I dug my heels in harder. We burst through the last of the trees and—

“Whooooaaaa!” I screamed as we brought our horses to a stop.

FitzGibbon was right there in front of us. He'd halted his horse just a hundred feet into the clearing. I was going to say something when my mouth fell open at the sight of the fort. Thick pillars of smoke rose from within it, the front gate was wide open, wooden timbers strewn about. And the
walls, the thick stone walls, were cracked and shattered in places with gaping holes visible.

“What . . . what happened?” I stammered.

But FitzGibbon just whooped for joy and threw his hat into the air. “The Americans have destroyed the fort!” he shouted.

“But why? Why would they do that?”

“Because we've won, Tommy, because we've won. They've abandoned the fort, they've withdrawn.”

“Does this mean the war . . . the war is over?” I asked in a halting voice.

“Not for everybody,” FitzGibbon said, “but it is for you.”

“What do you mean?”

“The Americans have withdrawn well beyond Queenston. It's safe for you to go home.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

“ C
OME ON, YAH!” I screamed as the horses dug in harder. “Yah! Yah!”

The horses surged forward again until their harness became taut and they were frozen in place, defeated by the stump, unable to move even an inch farther.

“Whoa, girls!” I called out as I backed them up slightly.

I picked up the axe and started to chop away at one of the exposed roots. The blade dug into the flesh of the stump, sending chips flying up into the air, and one glanced off the side of my face. I swung again, and again, and again, until I broke through. I dropped the axe to the ground from my sweat-soaked hands. The sun was hot, and there was hardly anything more tiring and back-breaking than clearing stumps, but each one removed freed up a few more feet of field to be ploughed and planted.

“Come on, girls . . . you can do it,” I said reassuringly. “Yah! Yah!” I screamed.

They jumped forward and the harness strained. I could see the stump shaking, resisting under their power, but starting to give.

“Yah!”

There was a loud
pop
and then the stump pulled free. The horses practically jumped forward, almost stumbling, with the sudden release.

“Whoa!”

I walked to the front of the team and I reached up with one hand for each animal, to scratch behind their ears. Bessy ignored my touch, but my grey leaned her head over and pushed harder against my hand. In the beginning I wasn't sure she would ever become a farm animal, but she'd showed me she could do just about anything.

“That looks like a difficult job,” a voice called out.

I turned around. It was FitzGibbon in his red uniform, sitting atop his horse! “Lieutenant!” I called as I rushed over to his side.

He climbed down from his horse and we shook hands. It had been almost six months since I'd seen the Lieutenant, and almost a full year since the last American had left Canadian soil and the terms of peace had been agreed to. Everything, all the borders, had returned to the way they'd been before the war.

“Actually, it's Captain now,” FitzGibbon said, turning his arm to show me his new insignia. “And this time it isn't just a trick.”

“What are you doing here?” I'd heard FitzGibbon was stationed in the town of York now.

“I had government business in these parts and I wanted to stop in and give my regards to you and your family.”

“Can you visit for a while? I'm sure my Ma would be upset if you didn't stay for supper.”

“That has already been arranged. I was up at the house, looking for you, and your parents extended an invitation. I see you've put your horse to good use,” he said gesturing to my grey. “Did you finally give her a name?”

“Yeah . . . I call her Grey.”

He laughed. “Not the most imaginative name, but fitting nonetheless.”

“She's really made a difference around the farm. It would be twice as much work to clear these stumps without her,” I explained.

“Even with her, it looks like a very difficult job.”

“It is,” I agreed. “But the only way to grow more crops is to clear more land. Whenever the horses and I aren't needed elsewhere I harness them and we come out here. It's slow, but we're doing it. I've cleared almost an acre and a half this summer.”

“Your father is lucky to have such an industrious son,” FitzGibbon said with a smile.

“I'm not just doing it for him,” I admitted. “All the land in this direction,” I said, motioning to the stand of trees, “will be mine someday. My Pa says there are forty acres for me and forty for my brother. I'm just clearing a little of it now. I hope I can make a go of it.”

“Have no fear, Tommy. I know you will be a success, whether as a farmer or as something else.”

“Something else?” I asked.

He nodded his head. “I must admit that this is more than just a social visit. I have been given the task of recruiting young men from the area. Men who would like to take up service for His Majesty. Be part of an enlarged standing guard.”