“Are you thinking of leaving
us, Colonel?” General Brock asked.
Yank turned around and
hopped off the bunk. “I think of little else but the idea of
swimming across the Niagara is a bit daunting, General.”
“I,” Brock said, “am an
excellent swimmer.” He waited a moment to see if Yank would
comment, then continued. “But even I would not attempt to swim two
hundred yards in such violent waters.”
Yank walked closer to the
barred door. “If I agree not to run, do you think I might be
permitted to walk outside?”
“Do you feel well
enough?”
“Other than a persistent
headache from your cannonball and your Shawnee ally’s war-club, I
feel fine.”
Brock turned to the jailer.
“Unlock the colonel’s cell.”
Yank waited until the door
clanged open then stepped out. “Thank you, General.”
“If you would agree not to
bear arms against His Majesty, I would gladly send you across the
river in a staunch boat.”
“That’s not something I
could do,” Yank replied.
“Well then.” Brock bent at
the waist and motioned Yank toward the door with a sweeping
gesture. “Shall we take a little promenade?”
Yank walked past him,
through the door and out into the brilliant autumn sunlight. “Ah
fresh air.”
Brock walked outside and
stopped. “This is a very beautiful place. I don’t blame you
Americans for coveting it so.”
“If there are Americans who
covet it, I’m not one of them. I’d be perfectly happy to just be
left alone.” He pointed to a hill off to their right. “Can we see
the river from there?”
“Yes indeed. That is known
as the Queenston Heights. Directly across the river is the American
town of Lewiston.”
“Can we walk up
there?”
“Why not?”
“I see huts at the top and I
know that you have artillery up there on redans.”
“Yes?”
“You’re not concerned about
me seeing your defenses?”
“You are not willing to be
paroled nor are you important enough to be exchanged, so I think
the war will be over by the time you have your freedom.”
Yank started up the slope.
“Do you trust Tecumseh, General?”
“I have been very impressed
by him.”
“That wasn’t my
question.”
“I trust him to fight
against Americans. His hate burns bright.”
“If you win this war, as you
seem so sure of doing, will you trust Tecumseh not to turn on
you?”
“No. But when we win this
war and he no longer has access to firearms he will be easy to
destroy.”
When they reached the top,
Yank walked to the edge and looked down the heavily overgrown,
nearly vertical bluff at the racing water of the Niagara River.
“Did you know that there’s a ferry that connects Queenston and
Lewiston, General?”
“Yes, I did.” Brock had
borrowed a telescope from Captain Williams, the commander of the
light company that was deployed on the Heights. “As you can plainly
see, Colonel, if your compatriots try to cross here we will shred
them.”
Yank had noted that there
were three redans joined by a narrow path that sported a mortar and
two 18-pounders. “It would be unwise of me to comment,
General.”
“I must be getting back,”
Brock said, “but stay up here as long as you like. I will tell the
jailer that your cell door need not be locked.”
“Thank you.”
“We do have a bargain, do we
not?” Brock asked. “I have your oath that you will not try to
escape?”
Yank hesitated. “Yes, we
have a bargain until hostilities begin. Then you will need to lock
me up again.”
Brock chuckled and trotted
down the grade toward his headquarters.
“Colonel Van Buskirk,” the
captain said.
“Yes?” Yank turned to face
him.
“I’m John Williams. I’m
married to your cousin Elizabeth.” He shook Yank’s hand.
“Williams,” Yank said. “I’m
sorry. It doesn’t ring any bells.”
“I’m married to your cousin
Elizabeth Van Buskirk,” the captain said, showing some
annoyance.
“Forgive me, Captain, but I
have a half-dozen cousins by that name. Where is she
from?”
“Hartford, sir.”
“Ah, yes. She’s David’s
oldest daughter then.”
“Yes, sir.”
“This must be difficult for
you, being on two sides of a war.”
“It isn’t for me, sir. I’m a
Canadian and I don’t want to be an American.”
“Except you’re not a
Canadian, Captain, you’re a British subject.” He pointed. “We, on
the other side, do not wish to be anyone’s subjects.”
October 13, 1812
Queenston, Upper
Canada
Yank was awakened at about
4:30 AM by the sound of musket fire. He tried the cell door and
found it unlocked and when he walked through it, he saw the sentry
asleep in a corner. He walked outside and stopped, trying to decide
what to do. His oath to Brock had been conditional and the musket
fire could certainly be considered as hostilities. But, he decided
with a sigh, to escape now would violate the spirit of the
agreement. Resolved, he climbed the hill toward the
Heights.
Behind him, someone rushed
into the barracks and began shouting. Yank looked back but
continued to climb. He reached the Heights to find the gun crews in
the three redans awake and active. Captain Williams was looking
down at the river through a telescope. “Good morning,
Captain.”
Williams turned abruptly.
“Colonel Van Buskirk,” he said breathlessly. “I’m glad you’re not
the enemy or I should have certainly been skewered.”
“I am the enemy, Captain,
but not at this moment. What was the musket fire?”
Williams looked toward the
barracks where lamps had been lighted and men were beginning to
rush out to form up on the parade ground. “I don’t know, sir.” He
turned back toward the river and raised his telescope again. “But
it must be the expected American invasion.”
Yank walked closer to the
edge where he clearly saw three boats in the water and American
troops on the bank below his position. As one of the boats landed
and began to deposit more troops on the narrow bank a column of
British came out from the village to meet them. A minute later
musket fire began to break out all along the base of the
bluff.
From Vrooman’s Point, about
a mile north of the village, a British 24-pounder opened fire.
Williams had at last spotted the boats in the water and ordered his
infantry to fire on them. A moment later, the artillery went into
action from the redans and the observer began adjusting fire onto
the American staging area in Lewiston.
Yank stepped back from the
edge as musket balls began to rise from the American invaders and
cannons across the river fired. Behind him, General Brock had
arrived from Georgetown and his entourage scattered as the first
American shells began to land in the village. As short time later,
a messenger from General Brock ordered Captain Williams to form the
light company and march it down to the village to repel the
American attack.
Yank’s attention was
diverted from Williams’ march by the sound of fighting from the
rightmost redan. The British artillerymen in all three positions,
fearing that they would be overrun without support from Williams,
spiked their guns and retreated toward the village.
Seeing the gunners coming
toward him, Brock recognized his mistake and ordered Williams to
retake the redan, then sent a second company of infantry that had
just arrived from Fort George to continue around the hill toward
the river.
The Americans that had taken
the guns met the charge of Williams with blistering fire that
caused them to stall. Incensed by the timidity of his troops, Brock
ordered a newly arriving company from Fort George to follow him,
raised his sword over his head, and charged. He had moved upward
only a few yards when an American musket ball struck his sword arm.
Brock dropped his sword but continued upward, shouting
encouragement. He was not quite halfway to the redan when a musket
ball struck him in the chest and snatched him from the
saddle.
Yank decided that his oath
to Brock died with the General and he began to move down toward the
Americans in the redans with his hands in the air.
“Are you surrendering,
Colonel Van Buskirk?” an officer shouted, stepping between his
alarmed musketeers and Yank.
Yank lowered his hands.
“Good morning, Colonel Scott. You have no idea how glad I am to see
you.”
“Not half as glad as I to
see you,” Winfield Scott replied, shaking Yank’s hand vigorously.
“You were reported as missing and presumed dead from the Battle of
Detroit.”
Yank gestured toward the
stalled British attack. “You’ve killed Isaac Brock but John
Macdonell just marched in with a battalion from Georgetown. He’ll
take command and will be coming again.”
“We should be able to hold,”
Scott replied.
“Who’s in overall
command?”
“Van Rensselaer.”
“And you?”
“I just relieved Chrystie.
He’s gone back to Lewiston for reinforcements and entrenching
tools. Things didn’t go well from the start and now we’re so
disorganized that I don’t know what units I’m commanding.” He
looked around. “I don’t seem to have any officers at
all.”
“Where do you want
me?”
“I collected a few regulars,
a handful of sergeants and some fugitive militia to take this
position. I’ll need you to help me hold the militiamen on line if
we want to keep it.”
Yank pointed toward the
barracks. “Here they come.”
Scott moved back to his
musket line. “First rank. Present. Fire. Reload.”
The militia, which was mixed
within the regulars, soon began to fall back. “Get back on line you
men,” Yank shouted. Halfway up to the Heights British Colonel John
Macdonell’s horse was shot from under him. “Look there,” Yank
called. “Their commander is down.” A few of the militiamen took
positions with the regulars and with the next volley British
Captain Williams went down. “Good job men,” Yank bellowed. “One
more and they’ll run. Just one more.” Most of the shirkers who
hadn’t clamored down the cliff returned to the line.
“Macdonell must have been
hit,” Scott shouted to Yank as the British began to retreat to
Queenston carrying Brock and Macdonell.
Yank hurried to join him. “I
suggest that we take advantage of the lull by occupying the Heights
and digging in with bayonets rather than waiting for Colonel
Chrystie.”
“Agreed,” Scott
said.
~
Of the six thousand
Americans that had been assembled at Lewiston during the previous
night, only about twelve hundred had actually made it across the
river. Of those men, a few were complete units while the bulk was
either enlisted men with no officers or officers with no enlisted
men.
At noon, General Van
Rensselaer, General William Wadsworth and Colonel Chrystie were all
on the Canadian side. Although still precarious, the American
position on the Queenston Heights had been fortified and the spikes
had been removed from the British artillery.
At the request of General
Van Rensselaer, General Wadsworth, who had joined the fight as a
volunteer, waived his right as the senior officer so that Colonel
Scott could be appointed commander of the regulars on Queenston
Heights while Wadsworth took command of the militia.
Van Rensselaer had
difficulty finding a boat crew to take them across but they
eventually gained the Canadian shore at about 12:30. Wadsworth and
Chrystie reached Scott’s position on the Heights at about 12:45. As
they arrived, a few of the leaderless soldiers who had gone into
Queenston to loot empty houses got into a firefight with a company
of British musketeers.
“What’s that firing?”
Wadsworth asked.
“Looters,” Scott answered,
pointing.
“Then who is that?” Yank
pointed at a body of men that were moving up from the village at
double-time in an organized manner with a dismounted officer
leading them.
“I think that may be Colonel
Fenwick,” Chrystie said.
“It appears to be,” Scott
agreed. “Although how he got down there I cannot say.”
Yank chuckled. “The
musketeers must have had him pinned down and the looters gave him
enough of a diversion to break contact.”
Scott laughed. “Perhaps we
should write them up for commendations.” He walked forward to meet
Fenwick. “We didn’t know you were down there.”
Fenwick leaned on his sword
to catch his breath. “A new infantry company and detachment of
Royal Artillery just arrived in the village from Fort George. Big
guns on wagons pulled by eight horses.”
Scot nodded. “Position your
men behind Colonel Chrystie’s and rest them. It will take the
British at least half an hour to place those guns.”