The Bully Boys (5 page)

FitzGibbon put a hand on my shoulder. “I'm certain the storekeeper has already gotten word to your mother that I've taken you away to a place of safety. And safety does not include you coming with me . . . especially with what we have planned next.”

I was dying to know what he had planned, but it wasn't my place to ask.

FitzGibbon stopped at the door to the house and knocked. A woman, who was introduced to me as Mrs. DeCew, answered the door, and we were ushered into the kitchen, where Mr. DeCew joined us. He was older—and smaller—than I remembered. They were nice people and they made me feel comfortable and welcome. Mrs. DeCew then took me upstairs and showed me where I'd be sleeping. It was a big, spacious room—much bigger than the one I shared with my brother. I wondered if I'd be able to sleep without him pulling off the blankets and kicking me.

When we returned to the kitchen, FitzGibbon was sitting at the table with Mr. DeCew and another man. Spread out in front of them was a large piece of paper, a roughly drawn map. They were talking very loudly and seemed to be in the middle of an argument. Who was this man that he would argue with FitzGibbon?

FitzGibbon looked up. “Tommy, come, I want you to meet somebody. This is William Merritt, the leader of this militia division.”

“I'm pleased to meet you,” I said as we shook hands.

He didn't look much older than me! I couldn't believe that anybody that young could be in charge.

I must have been staring because FitzGibbon said, with a smile, “Yes, he is very young,” and I felt myself blush.

All three men laughed.

“I get that all the time,” Mr. Merritt said. “I'm twenty.”

Embarrassed, I dropped my gaze to the crude, sketched-out map on the table. It showed the Niagara River and the creeks leading into it, Fort George, Queenston, and on the American side, Fort Niagara and Lewiston. Just north of Lewistown was a red X.

“Thank goodness you're not an American spy or you'd know our plans,” FitzGibbon said, pointing to the map. “X marks the spot.”

“I didn't mean to spy, honestly!” I said, alarmed.

“It's all right, Thomas.” FitzGibbon chuckled. “I was just having fun with you.”

“Are you really going to invade the States?” I asked in amazement.

“Not invade,” FitzGibbon explained. “But we are going to make a trip over to the American side to liberate some supplies. There is a storage depot that supplies the American army at Fort George. If we take away their food and supplies we could cripple them. After all, an army moves on its stomach. This could be a decisive strike against the enemy!”

“Or against us,” Merritt said.

“Come now, William, I'm sure it will succeed . . . and you know how much I respect you.” He paused. “I must admit, your concerns have raised doubts for me.”

“It's just too risky, James.”

“But worth the risk if it works! Not only will it give us needed supplies and deprive them of resources, but it will strike fear into their hearts!”

“I know all the arguments, James, and I agree with them. An attack across the river would even force them to withdraw some of their soldiers back onto American soil.”

“Exactly my point!” FitzGibbon said, pounding his fist on the table. He was certainly convincing.

“If only we were operating on our ground. Our success so far has come from knowing the trails and countryside better than the Americans,” Merritt added.

“Some of your men must be familiar with the area,” FitzGibbon suggested.

“Familiar, yes . . . familiar in the same manner that the Americans are familiar with our side of the river, and you can see how little that has helped them.”

“I know the area,” I said quietly.

Both men stopped talking and looked at me.

“Remember when I said I had relatives on the American side of the river?” I asked.

FitzGibbon nodded.

“Four summers ago, when my Ma was expecting the twins, she was having a rough time. My brother and sister and I were still too young to be much help, so we spent the entire summer with our relatives. Their farm is right there,” I said, placing a finger just down from the red X. “My cousin and I used to ride his horses all through the area, we fished on the river . . . I even know the trails up the cliffs.”

FitzGibbon reached out and pushed the map toward me. “Here,” he said, handing me a piece of charcoal. “Sketch what you have just described.”

“I'm not much at drawing,” I said, taking the charcoal.

“We're not looking for a work of art. Any details you can add would be invaluable to us.”

I put the tip against the paper. First I added some details to the Canadian side of the river—a couple of back roads and the trail that FitzGibbon and I had followed. Next I found the spot where we always crossed the river. I traced a line with my finger across the river, but diagonally, the way our boat always got pushed downstream during a crossing.

“This is where we usually land,” I said. “There's a flat spot and easy access up the cliff.”

“And you think that spot would be a better landing than here?” FitzGibbon asked, pointing to another spot upstream.

“I don't know . . . we always put in here . . . and I figure my father did that because it was the best spot,” I answered.

“And how would you get from that spot to the supply depot up here?” FitzGibbon asked.

I put the charcoal to the paper again. “There's a farmer's lane at the top that leads this way . . . I mean this way,” I said. Although I could picture it in my mind, I couldn't remember where the lane started. “I'm just not sure, but I could find my way if I was there, for sure. And once you're on that trail it will lead you right to the place you've marked on the map. Of that I'm sure,” I said.

“Having a guide who knows the area changes everything,” Merritt said.

Did he mean me? I looked at FitzGibbon. He didn't look happy about the suggestion.

“It would put us on a level footing with the Americans who know the area,” the younger man said, trying to convince FitzGibbon. “Would you be willing to come along with us, Tommy?”

“That is not a question that should be asked,” FitzGibbon said.

“I'm sorry, James,” Merritt said. “It's just that it could make such a difference . . . the difference between life and death.”

“I didn't bring Tommy away from his family to place him in greater danger.”

“We can minimize the danger. He could lead the way to the trail at the top and then return to the boats to wait with the guards.”

“Tommy, would you please excuse us?” FitzGibbon said. “William . . .” He motioned for Merrit to follow as he walked out of the kitchen. A door swung shut behind them.

“For my part, I hope they leave you here,” Mr. DeCew said. “We could certainly use the help around the farm and mill. But if it were up to you, Tommy, what would you choose?”

I did want to be part of their adventure, and I certainly didn't want to work at somebody else's farm, but still . . . maybe it would be better to remain.

Before I could answer the door opened and FitzGibbon and Merritt reappeared.

“Tommy, do you want to go for a boat ride?” FitzGibbon asked.

CHAPTER FOUR

S
ILENTLY THE men dipped oars into the water. There wasn't a sound except the waves washing against the sides of the boat. Both sides of the river were pitch black. The only light at all was from the moon and stars, which were peeking through swirling clouds of mist that blanketed the water.

It was cool, but not cool enough to explain why I was shivering. I'd had more than second thoughts about agreeing to come along. Staying at the DeCews' farm wouldn't have been nearly as exciting but it certainly would have been safer. And warmer.

The Lieutenant and I were in the lead boat, the biggest vessel, along with twenty others. Around us, in a dozen other boats of different sizes and shapes, were the other eighty who made up FitzGibbon's and Merritt's detachments. We didn't need this many vessels to transport the men, but we'd use them to bring back the supplies they were hoping to capture.

The Lieutenant said I could come as far as the start of the trail and then, at that point, he'd sent me back with a rear guard to stand over the boats.

“Ever travel the river at night?” FitzGibbon whispered.

“Never,” I admitted. “It seems quiet . . . peaceful.”

“And dark. If the Americans on either side of the river saw us out here we'd have a welcoming party waiting for us no matter where we put in.”

“They can't see us now, right?” My doubts were suddenly overwhelming my confidence.

“Not a chance. Can you even see the other boats?” he asked.

I looked back and strained my eyes. I could only barely make out the outlines of the next two or three boats behind us, and the rest were invisible. I guess he was right. Between the dark and the mist we were safe from prying eyes.

“Are we coming in at the right place?” FitzGibbon asked of the soldier manning the rudder.

“The current is strong. It's a struggle to stay on course, but I'm doing my best,” he answered. “The other boats are smaller and might be pushed farther down river than us.”

“Not good. We might not have enough time to regroup before heading inland and then getting back to the Canadian side before the sun comes up. Put your backs into it lads and let's make land.”

We were still too far offshore to make out anything except the darkened outline of the cliffs rising up on the other side.

Free to think, I couldn't keep my mind off what we were
doing. I hadn't stopped thinking about it since FitzGibbon had agreed to let me come along. We'd left the DeCew farm the next morning and camped closer to the river so we could leave the following night. I felt scared—not that something was going to happen to me, but about not being able to find the trail. It had been four years since that summer, and trails can disappear quickly if they're not used. Besides, I'd only been out on the trails during the day, and we'd be travelling by night. It would be awful if they trusted me to lead them and I couldn't. They would all think I had been full of bluster. Like my Pa always said, an empty barrel makes the loudest sound. The lump in my stomach got bigger.

“Feeling nervous?” FitzGibbon asked me.

“Some.”

“It's not too late to change your mind. You can remain with the boats.”

“You need me to find the trail.”

“We'll find the trail with or without you,” he said.

“But . . .” It suddenly dawned on me. “You don't want me to be here, do you?”

He didn't say anything for a moment.

“It's true. I'd rather you had stayed at the DeCew farm,” he said then. “But you know the terrain, and that knowledge might save the lives of my men and those of William Merritt.”

Before I could respond the boat ran against something and I was rocked forward. I stood up and saw that we'd hit rocks just off the shore. Some of the men pulled their oars out of the water and used them as poles to push off the rocks. Then one man, holding a rope, jumped into the waist-deep
water and waded to shore. Two others jumped in after him, followed by FitzGibbon. The boat was pushed and pulled forward then until it was safely beached. Wordlessly, the rest of the men got out of the boat. Each held his gun, powder and shot high above his head. If water got to any of those, then the muskets would be useless.

I climbed out and into the water. A shiver went up my spine that had more to do with fear than the coldness of the water. I couldn't help but think of FitzGibbon's offer. Maybe I should stay by the boats. Then I thought about all the other times I'd crossed this river before. Always during the day, and always with my Pa at my side. I wondered where he was now. All I knew for sure was that wherever he was, he was doing his part to defeat the Americans, and I had to do my part too. I'd lead them to the trails.

“Do you know where we are, Tommy?” FitzGibbon asked.

“I think so. We came in a bit father down river than I thought we should. We'll have to backtrack along the shore . . . maybe half a mile.”

“McNab, Jamison and Johnson are to stay with the boat. Alexander, I want you to take a party of two and go downstream to locate the other boats. Lead them back this way. We'll be at the top of the heights waiting,” FitzGibbon said.

I looked out over the water and didn't see anything. I remembered what I'd heard about the current being strong.

“All others come with me.”

I took to FitzGibbon's side and together we started to lead.

During the time it took us to cross the river the moon had risen higher in the sky. It threw off a little more light, which allowed me to recognized our location. A flat strip of land was wedged between the water and the cliff. There were very few trees or even bushes. That made the trip easy; of course, it also meant no cover to hide behind. I could picture unseen eyes peering down at us as we moved. I was pleased, at least, that the mist was spilling over the river and onto the flats.

“The path isn't far from here,” I said after we'd walked for awhile. “It branches off the road that runs along the top.”

“Good. Tommy, I want you to head back to the—”

“I thought I was going as far as the path?”

FitzGibbon paused. In the dark I couldn't read his expression.

“Last two in line stay here and direct the coming parties to follow us,” FitzGibbon directed. “Follow behind Tommy and me.”

My smile was lost in the darkness.

We moved up the trail and the rest of the line followed behind. I looked back over my shoulder as I started up the incline. What had begun as a force one hundred strong was now down to me, FitzGibbon and eleven men—thirteen of us. I wasn't superstitious but somehow that number didn't seem like a good omen.