The Bully Boys (6 page)

The trail up the cliff was steep and I found myself labouring for breath before we'd reached the crest. I stopped at the top. The mist, which had been thinning out as we moved up, was now almost completely gone. FitzGibbon
motioned for the men to fan out across the top of the cliff.

“It's important to always claim the highest ground. From this point, we'll be able to cover our retreat across the flats to the boats. We'll have to be prepared in case there is pursuit. Can you direct us from here?”

“The road starts at the far end of this meadow,” I said. “And the path is close from there.”

“Good. I'm going to send you back down to wait by the boats.”

“But I thought—”

“Come, Tommy, it was agreed that you weren't coming all the way on this trip. I have to send you back.”

“I know,” I agreed. “It's just . . .”

“Just what?” FitzGibbon asked.

“I know exactly where we are, and I know the path is just up ahead somewhere, but it's been four years since I was here and I want to make sure I don't steer you in the wrong direction. Maybe things have changed . . . like I don't remember there being a barn up here.”

“A barn? I don't see anything.”

“Over there at the edge of the meadow. Can't you see its outline?”

“I can see something, but it doesn't look like a barn,” he answered.

The silence of the night was broken by the piercing sound of a bugle. I jumped at the sound, which continued as torches appeared around the building. In the light I could see soldiers, lots of soldiers, flowing out of a door and into the meadow. My heart rose up into my throat.

“Militia from the looks of them,” FitzGibbon said. His voice was calm, the complete opposite of what I felt.

“Do they see us?” I asked anxiously.

“They wouldn't have blown assembly if they hadn't. There must have been pickets on the top of the hill who rushed back to report when they saw us coming. Tommy, I need you to go down the trail and direct the men up to us.” I need to assemble my men before the enemy attacks.”

I was confused. “You already left somebody down below to send men up the trail,”

“They might not know they have to hurry. I need speed. Speed from both you and them! Go! Do as you've been ordered!”

I started away.

“And Tommy, tell them to make noise when they return.”

“Noise?” I asked.

“Lots of noise. Tell them to drag their feet and raise their voices. I need each man to sound like ten. Go!”

I stumbled down the trail. I had to hurry, and I guess it didn't matter how much noise I made. Surely by now some of the other boats had put in and the men had found their way to the foot of the cliff. I doubled my pace. My feet slid on some gravel and I slipped, almost falling over, regaining my balance only at the last second. Then I stumbled again and fell head first, skidding to a stop, a small hail of stones continuing down the slope before me. I tried to get back to my feet but tumbled forward again. This wasn't working. I'd have to slow down to go faster. My eyes were well
adjusted to the night, but there still wasn't enough light to see clearly.

I got to my feet slowly and started down the slope again. I didn't know what was going on above my head, but it was best I didn't think about it. The trail flattened out and I picked up speed. Within seconds I saw the first two men.

“Americans! There's Americans at the top of the cliff !” I called out as I skidded to a stop in front of them.

“How many?” one of them demanded.

“I don't know . . . lots I think . . . the Lieutenant sent me to get more men, he needs more soldiers up top as soon as possible! Where is everybody?”

I'd no sooner asked the question than we heard the sound of men making their way along the river.

“We'd better call them over,” I said.

I started to walk toward the noise when one of the men grabbed me from behind and pulled me down.

“What are you doing?” I demanded as I struggled to free myself. “We've got to let them know we're—”

A hand was pressed tightly against my mouth, cutting off my sentence.

“Shhhhh!” he hissed at me “Maybe we don't want them to know we're here.”

The hand over my mouth was released.

“But why?” I whispered.

“Do you have the eyes of an owl?” he asked.

“Of course not.”

“Then how do you know those aren't American soldiers? Stay here and stay silent,” one of the soldiers said.

The two men rose and started moving toward the sounds coming down the river. I braced myself for gunshots I hoped wouldn't come. Was it possible we were trapped between two columns of Americans? Seconds passed . . . seconds that seemed like hours. The sounds got louder. Whoever they were, they were moving closer. At least I wouldn't have to wait much longer . . . the waiting was the hardest part.

“Tommy!” somebody called out.

I'd never been so relieved to hear my name. I could make out dark figures coming out of the mist. They materialized into the familiar faces of William Merritt and Mr. McCann, moving at double time. Behind them the mist released a double row of soldiers. Before the first two reached me I had counted ten men.

“Tommy, where do we go?” demanded Merritt.

“It's over that way and then . . .” I could tell them, but I knew it would be faster if I led them. So what if FitzGibbon had ordered me to come down here? I did retreat to the flats, just as he'd ordered. He hadn't said anything about not coming back.

“Follow me,” I called out, and I started back toward the trail up the cliff.

Hitting the slope I slowed my pace. Remembering what FitzGibbon had said about making noise I began to drag my feet against the rock and gravel.

“The Lieutenant wanted people to come back noisy,” I called over my shoulder. “He wants them to think—”

“That we're a larger force than we are,” Merritt said,
completing my sentence. “Do you know how many Americans there are?” he asked.

“I don't know. They were still coming out of the building when I left. I think there are a lot of them.”

“Maybe not. We haven't heard any gunfire. If I was commanding a large force I would have already closed in on the enemy before he gained strength,” Merritt said.

FitzGibbon was waiting at the very top of the trail. It were hard to see clearly in the dark but I think he scowled when he saw that I'd returned. The scowl was replaced with a smile when he recognized William Merritt.

“How many are with you?” FitzGibbon asked.

“Sixteen men.”

I was hoping he was going to say more than that.

“I've left four soldiers to direct the remainder of the men to our position.”

“You certainly sounded like a force of hundreds,” FitzGibbon replied. “Have your men fan out, half in each direction, under cover of the trees and brush that run along the top of the cliff. When they've taken positions I want them to advance a few paces and strike a kneeling position, ready to shoot, but so they don't obstruct the fire of the men in the second and third rows.”

“Second and third rows?” Merritt demanded. “What second and third rows?”

“The ones I'm hoping the Americans will see in their imaginations.”

Merritt turned to McCann. “Have the men follow the directions of the Lieutenant.”

“Yes, sir!” he answered, and he retreated to give the orders.

“What is the strength of the enemy, James?” Merritt asked.

“It's a militia force. I haven't seen any blue uniforms or cannon. It numbers between two and three hundred.”

“Two and three hundred! Even if our entire force gathered here in time we would still be outnumbered by a margin of close to three to one! Should we not be retreating?”

“Retreat is not advisable. Retreat would cost us our only two advantages—the high ground and deception,” FitzGibbon said calmly. “Tell me, William, what would you do if you were in command of three hundred men facing an enemy numbering forty?”

“Why, I'd press forward with an attack, losing not a second.”

“As would I. So why haven't they attacked? Maybe their officer is inexperienced or timid. Maybe he is experienced but realizes that his men do not have the heart for a fight. I would also say with some certainty that the mist and darkness below and dim light and cover here make it near impossible for him to accurately know the size of our force. So he must read our actions. If we retreat, it will be because we are of inferior numbers, and he will be able to spur his forces on to pursue us. Nothing promotes bravery as much as seeing your enemy flee. But if we are to stand our ground, he will have to assume that we are in possession of a force at least as great as that under his command. Do you see the interesting challenge before us, William?”

“I do, but we can't simply remain here indefinitely. At first light he'll be able to see our numbers clearly. We must move back down to the river before then.”

“I agree, we must move . . . forward.”

“You want us to attack!”

Merritt's voice reflected my shock. Even FitzGibbon couldn't think he could win this battle!

“I did not say attack. I said forward. And that I will be doing alone. I wish to meet the American commander under a flag of truce and test my beliefs about their resolve to do battle. William, you are in command of both units in my absence.”

He placed his rifle and pack on the ground. Then he picked up a long stick that had a piece of white cloth attached at the end. Obviously this had been his intention for a while and he had prepared for it.

“Well Tommy, are you ready to go?”

He was sending me away, back to the boats. “Yes, sir.”

“You don't seem very excited.”

“I thought maybe I could stay here to see what was going to happen,” I said.

“Believe me. You will see things very closely. You are coming with me.”

“I am?” I asked in shock.

“Come when I call,” was his answer.

“Yes, sir.”

FitzGibbon began walking toward the American position, waving the white flag of truce above his head. At the far side of the meadow I could just make out the outline of
the ranks of American soldiers, strung out in a thin line the width of the meadow. And while I was certain we were still out of musket range, I knew we wouldn't be for long.

“Attention!” FitzGibbon bellowed, and I jumped slightly. “I come under a flag of truce!” he yelled, and his voice echoed back at us through the night air.

Silence.

“Will you accept my truce!” he called again.

By now, even the crickets had stopped chirping.

“Come forward,” called out a voice at last. “You are allowed to approach under the flag of truce.”

“We are proceeding!” FitzGibbon yelled back. He motioned for me to come to his side.

“No matter what I say, you must nod your head in agreement. Now come, and don't be afraid. We are under truce. The Americans might be our enemies, but they are people of integrity and will honour the truce as surely as we would.”

FitzGibbon handed me the flag. He started forward and I fell into step beside him. He was setting a quick pace, showing no fear, and I struggled to match his strides.

“I want to view their positions, see the faces of the men on the line, and let them hear my words,” he said, and he started to move with even greater urgency.

Soon I could almost make out the faces of the men who were standing before us. The line curved out of view in both directions. We moved so close that I could hear a murmur of conversation and coughing among the ranks. FitzGibbon suddenly stopped, and I almost bumped into him.

“I am a lieutenant, upon the orders of Colonel Bisshopp. I await your commander!” he called out.

He leaned over to me and spoke softly. “I want them to think there is a full colonel waiting in the unseen darkness. A colonel might mean a force of five hundred men.”

Two men pushed through the American ranks. One was a soldier carrying a flag of truce similar to the one that I held, and the uniform of the second included a distinctive black felt hat, which identified him as an officer. They stopped in front of us.

“At your service, sir!” FitzGibbon said, saluting the enemy officer.

The officer saluted back. “I am Major Hall, commander of the American militia detachment. We have honoured your truce, Lieutenant. What do you wish to discuss?”

“My commanding officer has asked me to make an offer to yourself and to the men in your charge.”

“And what is that offer?”

“Amongst our command are two regiments of militia who have been recruited from directly across the river, among them this young lad, who is my bugler,” he said, motioning to me.

A bugler? I'd never even held a bugle before, but I knew that large companies often had buglers . . . this was more of the deception to convince them that we were a large force of men.

“The militia commander has stated that his men will follow orders, but that they do not wish to fire upon men who are their neighbours, some of whom are friends or even
family,” FitzGibbon continued. The Lieutenant cleared his throat noisily. “I see you are all militia,” he announced in a loud voice.

Why was he talking so loudly? The Major was no more than a few feet in front of us.

“And we do not wish to be killing the husbands, fathers and brothers of our neighbours across the river!” FitzGibbon finished loudly.

I noticed that all the talking and coughing and shifting of feet among the American lines had stopped. They were listening to him. Everybody who could hear was hanging on his every word.

“We make a promise that no home will be entered nor homestead harmed! You shall all be allowed to retire to your homes!” he practically yelled.

“That is a most generous offer you are making, Lieutenant, and if you would allow me time to consider such an offer I would . . .” Major Hall stopped talking as we all heard a rumbling and shuffling behind him. He turned toward his lines.