The Bully Boys (7 page)

Before our eyes the soldiers on the line closest to us were drifting away. At first it was just a few men, and then a few more, and then the line started to crumble in both directions into the darkness. Rather than simply slowly backing away, some men then turned and began running at a full trot.

“Stop your men!” FitzGibbon called out. “This is quite irregular to retire in such a manner while negotiating under a flag of truce!”

“I know it, sir!” Major Hall exclaimed.

“I must insist that you have them reassemble and then retreat in an orderly and more military manner. Please have them return to their ranks immediately!” FitzGibbon demanded.

“I do not possess the power to stop them!” Major Hall practically yelled out.

The line was now almost completely gone.

“But I do have the power to accept your offer. Please advise your commanding officer that I have agreed to the terms of the truce and my men are in the process of retiring to their homes.” He raised his hand and saluted FitzGibbon.

FitzGibbon returned the salute. “A most wise decision, sir!”

Major Hall and his aide turned and retreated from the field. No sooner had the darkness swallowed them up than FitzGibbon burst into laughter—a laughter that I was sure could be heard by both the retreating Major and our own ranks across the meadow.

CHAPTER FIVE

“ Y
OU DID IT, James!” William Merritt roared as he pumped FitzGibbon's hand.

“I don't think they'll stop running until each man is safely at home, hiding beneath his bed or behind his wife's petticoats,” FitzGibbon replied. “And our men?”

“We have eighty-four positioned along the top of the cliff. The remainder are below, guarding the boats. Some of the boats put into shore much farther downstream, but all have now been gathered together at the place where your vessel came to shore.”

“Excellent, excellent!”

“Should I order retreat?” Merritt offered. He paused and a smile came to his lips. “Or shall we . . .”

FitzGibbon nodded. “I would imagine that the entire defence for this whole sector was housed in those barracks. And now there isn't an American between here and the supply depot. I believe we should continue with our original
plan. We'll leave a party of ten men to hold the entrance to the trail and proceed with the remainder of our company.”

Merritt slapped FitzGibbon on the back and then left to gather the men into formation.

“Well, Tommy, I'll now offer you a choice,” FitzGibbon said. “You may retire to the boats or come with us to the supply depot. Which shall it be?”

“I was thinking I've come this far, so maybe I should go the rest of the way,” I answered. I didn't want to be deprived of the adventure that they were going to have just so I could stand by the river watching some old boats. Besides, with all the Americans in flight, what danger would there be?

“Good lad!”

Within minutes the men had assembled into four squads of roughly eighteen men. Two of the groups were militia attached to Merritt while the other two were members of the Bully Boys. The militia split off to either side, flanking the two squads of FitzGibbon's men, who fell in behind the Lieutenant and myself. Once again I was going to show them the way.

As we passed by the deserted militia barracks I couldn't help but think of what would have happened if they hadn't accepted FitzGibbon's pardon to return to their homes. It wouldn't have been a simple walk across the field but an impossible dash through a thicket of musket fire.

We cleared the field and were funnelled down the narrow road through thick forest cover. Merritt's squads were forced off our flanks and fell back to the rear. This trail led south toward Lewiston. I could still taste the dust in the
air, thrown up by the retreating Americans. We needed to follow it only as far as the trail cutting back downstream toward the supply depot. I knew the trail—I'd ridden or walked on it dozens of times—but I was having trouble locating the entrance in the dark.

“Do you need us to slow the pace?” FitzGibbon asked. “I know this is a task made more difficult by the dark of night.”

“No it's fine . . . or maybe just a little,” I admitted.

I kept my eyes trained to one side. I remembered the entrance was in the middle of a stand of birch trees, with one especially tall tree marking the very beginning. But in the dark, the trees all had a sameness to them, and the tips of the tallest were lost in the night sky.

It would be awful if I couldn't find the path. I'd have let everybody down and there would be nothing left but to head back across the river . . . back over to Canada.

I thought about my little piece of Canada: our cabin and the barn, the fields and forest and the stream running through . . . the stream! That was right, there was also a stream just past the entrance to the path, and we'd just crossed over a stream.

“We need to go back,” I said. “I think we've missed it.”

FitzGibbon raised his hand and the column came to a stop. He turned to the men directly behind him. “First four men, proceed one hundred yards down the way and take up position.”

They followed his directions.

“All others, rest and water. And I want those men with trinkets to secure them so you aren't jingling like a sled ride.”

The column split in two as men left the road, removed their packs and sat down, resting their backs against the bordering trees.

“Did you hear that noise as we moved?” FitzGibbon asked.

“I heard something, like metal rattling.”

“Good-luck charms, lockets, all manner of trinkets. Everybody has a tale about somebody whose life was saved when he was shot at and the musket ball was stopped by a metal trinket he was wearing.”

“That's incredible!”

“Incredible, but in truth all those trinkets have cost more lives than they'll ever save. Silence is more important than luck when attacking at night. How far back do you think the path is?” FitzGibbon asked.

“Not far. I think it's just ahead of the stream we crossed.”

“Think or know?”

“Think,” I reluctantly admitted.

“Let's go back then and try to locate it.”

I moved as quickly as I could without looking desperate. I didn't want everybody to know I'd made a mistake until they also knew I'd successfully found the right way. Most of the men had taken out their canteens, I could heard some talking, and a few had grabbed a bite from their rations. It was too dark to make out their faces clearly but I knew all eyes were trained on me as I moved past. The column was long. The sixty men were in pairs but they were well spread out.

No sooner had I passed the last man than I came to the
stream. Anxiously I searched the bush, looking for the opening or the stand of birch trees. Everything always looked so different in the dark. Then, practically right in front of me, I spied the opening. The way the trail angled into the road made it hard to see in the direction we'd been moving but almost impossible to miss coming back this way. My feet moved even faster on the way back to tell the Lieutenant that I'd found it!

* * *

SILENTLY OUR force spread out to surround the blockhouse where the supplies were kept. It was a large, wooden structure surrounded by a sizeable log wall, and it reminded me of a small fort. There was a gate at the front, closed now, slots in the walls from which muskets could be fired or the forest observed, and small covered areas on the roof that could conceal guards. There was no telling how many men were on guard or inside.

Everybody was under orders to remain hidden in the forest unseen and unheard by those who might be watching and listening. I was now glad that FitzGibbon had ordered the men to secure their good-luck charms. The Lieutenant thought he might have enough men to launch an attack, coming at it from three sides, and we were dispersed for just such an offensive. But first he wanted to try something different. He was going to try to trick his way through the gate. If anybody could do it, it was FitzGibbon.

I lay in the bushes, hiding behind tree and cover, and
looked down the roadway that connected Fort Niagara and Lewiston. Our route had crossed the road half a mile back, and at that point FitzGibbon, William Merritt and three other men had left us while we proceeded to our spots.

Just before we'd reached our positions, still safely out of sight and sound of the blockhouse, the company had come to a stop. All at once those members of the regular army, those under the command of FitzGibbon, removed their grey jackets and replaced them with the scarlet uniform of the British Army, which they always carried in their packs. At first I didn't understand why they were doing this—putting on uniforms that would draw attention to them. It was explained to me that if they had to storm the blockhouse the Americans would be more frightened to see the red of regular British soldiers and more likely to surrender without a fight. Besides, as I soon saw in the pitch black of the forest, they were not much more visible than the grey.

When the Lieutenant left he had put me in the charge of Mr. McCann. Though my old neighbour treated me more like the young boy I used to be than the young man I'd become, I had to admit that he made me feel safe. I trusted Mr. McCann. My Pa always spoke highly of him.

“How many soldiers do you think are inside?” I asked him in a hushed tone.

“Can't be certain. It's a large building. Could be fifty, although likely no more than two dozen,” he whispered into my ear. “But you can be certain they'll be blue-coats, regular army and not militiamen.”

I heard the approach of feet along the road and soon I
could make out the first faint outlines of five men. I thought it must be FitzGibbon and the rest, but in the darkness I couldn't be completely certain.

“I wish it wasn't both FitzGibbon and Merritt out there,” Mr. McCann whispered in my ear. “I shudder to think what would happen to the whole of the Niagara region if something were to happen to those two.”

“They'll be fine,” I whispered back. I couldn't even imagine anything befalling FitzGibbon.

“I'm sure you're right. No two men are better for the job. But if you dance with danger often enough . . .”

He let the sentence trail off as the men came to a stop thirty paces from the gate of the blockhouse.

“Hello! We are friends!” cried out a voice. It was William Merritt's.

“Identify yourselves!” came the answer from the blockhouse.

“We are militia from the Lewiston detachment and are answering to the orders of Major Hall!”

“And what might those orders be?” called back the voice.

“I'm not party to the Major's secrets!” Merritt answered back.

I saw a flash of white—it looked like an envelope—held high above his head.

“I have sealed orders. But I think they might have something to do with the British invasion and attack on Fort Schlosser!”

Mr. McCann leaned close to my ear. “Brilliant. Give them a little tidbit that they can't help but want to know
about. And to announce a British invasion like that! No one would suspect a redcoat to be giving such news!”

“Come forward and be identified!” came the answer from the blockhouse.

Maybe this was going to work, and they'd talk their way through the gate.

At the corner of the wall a torch was struck and the bright semicircle of light exposed three soldiers, one holding the torch and two standing off to the side holding muskets. Suddenly the torch was tossed through the air, spinning end over end to land on the ground a dozen paces in front of the gate.

“Come forward into the light!” called out the voice.

“You stay right here, no matter what happens!” Mr. McCann whispered firmly.

“No matter what happens? Isn't it working?” I questioned.

“I don't know, but I don't like them having to come forward like that. Once they're in the halo of the light they'll be a target for every musket on the wall, and they themselves won't be able to see a thing in the darkness. You're to stay here—promise me.”

“I promise.”

The five men entered the pool of light. They spread out so that all could be seen. Their weapons were on their backs.

“Are you men with the militia of Major Hall?” asked the voice.

“No, we were sent from Fort Schlosser with word to Major Hall to bring his militia to that area. It was he who
asked us to bring this message farther to this depot before returning to our posts,” Merritt explained.

“And why didn't he send his own men?” asked the voice. “They're mostly faces we are familiar with.”

“He wanted his squads to go as a whole. Besides he felt after our march to Lewiston we weren't good for much except delivering messages!”

There was a long pause. Mr. McCann was right, this wasn't going well. Inside the walls they were deciding what to do next while the five men stood outside, completely exposed in the light.

“Keep your word, remain here,” Mr. McCann whispered. He drew himself up from his belly and got to his knees. The men within my sight had done the same. They were getting ready to charge the walls of the blockhouse.

“Begging your pardon, sir!” cried out a voice—FitzGibbon's! “We're tired and hungry we is, and we was hoping for a place to lay down our heads and a nip to drink, but if you're fearful we can leave the orders here and go our way!”

There was no answer.

“We'll just leave the orders and be gone!” Merritt said. He bent down and went to place the envelope on the grass.

“That won't be necessary!” called out the voice from the blockhouse. “Come forward and be admitted!”

The five men proceeded out of the bright light and toward the gate. I let out a deep sigh. They had bluffed their way into the blockhouse. Once they were admitted, they'd block the gate and our men would rush in, overwhelming the soldiers within. They'd done it—just as I knew they—