The Bully Boys (20 page)

“Good news, sir,” one of them announced. “Reinforcements have arrived.”

“William Merritt?”

“No, sir. Captain Hall arrived from Chippawa with twenty men, and William Kerr, and—”

“William Kerr is here!” FitzGibbon exclaimed.

“Yes, sir, with almost one hundred warriors from the Six Nations.”

“But how did they even know about the Americans?”

“He said he and his men were tracking the American forces, and then they just came upon the battle after we'd engaged the enemy.”

FitzGibbon started to laugh.

“Sir, the Americans are waving their flag of truce again,” one of the soldiers announced.

“Good! I'm now even more eager to engage them in discussion. Come, Tommy!”

I picked up the pole and hurried after FitzGibbon, who
was striding across the meadow quickly. There were two men, riding horses, one with an officer's black felt hat, coming toward us.

“Shouldn't we slow down?” I suggested.

“No. We want to look confident and in charge.”

We stopped just before the Americans.

“Good day, sir, my name is Boerstler, Colonel Boerstler.”

My goodness, I thought. They had skipped up from lieutenant, past captain and major all the way to colonel! Now we were outranked.

“It was not necessary to send the commanding officer,” FitzGibbon said.

“Perhaps not,” Colonel Boerstler said. “And your name and rank?”

“I am a captain. Captain James FitzGibbon.”

“FitzGibbon?” Colonel Boerstler questioned. “Of the Green Tigers?”

“Yes, sir. I was told that this expedition was directed toward me and my men. That is why my commanding officer directed me to meet with you under a flag of truce. I have been given full authority to negotiate terms and conditions.”

The Colonel's mount shifted to the side and I saw blood staining a bandage binding his thigh. He'd been hit. FitzGibbon must have seen it too.

“You called for this truce, Captain FitzGibbon. I assume you are going to suggest we disengage. I will put forward the position that I am willing to withdraw my forces.”

“I'm sorry, Colonel, but that is not an option. I am here to request your surrender.”

“Surrender!”

My mouth almost dropped open and I had to stifle a gasp. This was unbelievable . . . for anybody except FitzGibbon. I'd seen him bluff his way through things before, but nothing this big.

“And what makes you believe that we would be prepared to accept such terms?” the Colonel demanded.

I wanted to hear this myself.

“I am simply appealing to your good judgment and your understanding of the situation in which you find yourself,” FitzGibbon said. His voice was calm and quiet.

“And just how do you perceive our situation?” Colonel Boerstler asked.

“You are surrounded, have inferior position lacking in cover, have no hope of reinforcements and are confronted by a greater number of men,” FitzGibbon explained.

“I do not believe you have more men than my force, Captain. I would estimate your numbers to be no more than one half of those under my command.”

“That is very astute of you, Colonel. At the beginning of the battle we had only about three hundred men. Subsequently our reinforcements have arrived. You are now surrounded by nearly eight hundred men.”

“You are bluffing, Captain FitzGibbon! There are not eight hundred British soldiers between here and Burlington Bay!”

“I said nothing about British soldiers. The mass of men under my command are Indians.”

“Indians? I haven't seen more than three dozen natives.”

“I'm surprised you have seen even that many. That is one of the gifts of my native brothers. They have the ability to blend into the forest, unseen . . . unseen, that is, until they end your life.” There was a pause, filled by the impact of the words that FitzGibbon had just spoken.

“The natives are good soldiers. Easy to command, but difficult to hold to the conventions of war.”

“What do you mean?” Colonel Boerstler questioned.

“Once the battle begins in earnest they are difficult to rein in. I was most fortunate that they refrained from firing during this truce. Their hatred for Americans is genuine and, I must admit, understandable. I'm afraid that they do not believe in prisoners . . . or survivors. When we re-engage they will not stop fighting until not one enemy is left standing.”

Colonel Boerstler's expression showed no emotion. Did he believe FitzGibbon's bluff ? Or was it a bluff ? He sounded so convincing that I wasn't completely sure myself.

“I will not surrender to a force that I have not observed. Have your forces step into the clearing so that I may see your numbers.”

FitzGibbon laughed. “Unacceptable. We will not reveal our positions.”

The Colonel turned away from FitzGibbon and looked directly at me. “Is he bluffing?”

“Excuse me?” I stammered.

“Is he bluffing? Does he really have that many men?”

“You're asking me?”

“Yes, I've heard tales of FitzGibbon's cunning. You're just a lad. You I can believe.”

I turned to FitzGibbon. He nodded, giving me permission to talk.

“I don't know. I'm not even a regular soldier.”

“But you do have regular eyes. Tell me what you've seen.”

I took a deep breath and thought through my answer. “I don't know how many men there are, sir, but I know there are the Bully Boys, and William Merritt's militia, and reinforcements from Chippawa, and Captain Ducharme's Caughnawagas, and William Kerr, and the warriors from the Six Nations. And there are probably more who have arrived since we came out under the truce.” I paused. “Could I ask you a question, sir?”

He looked a little startled by my request. “Certainly, son.”

I reached into my pocket and pulled out the letter. “I was given this letter by a dying American soldier. He asked if I could give it to his wife and tell her and their children what happened and that he loved them.”

Colonel Boerstler reached out his hand. “That is very considerate of you, son. I'll make sure she receives it.”

I drew back the letter. “Oh, no, sir, you don't understand. It isn't that I think you'll be able to pass on a letter, sir. I wanted to know if there was anything
you
wanted me to pass on to your wife or loved ones.”

The Colonel's mouth dropped open in shock.

“Colonel, we have no further time for discussion,” FitzGibbon stated, jumping into the gap. “Do you surrender, sir?”

“I . . . I require time to think. You shall have your answer . . . by sundown.”

“Unacceptable and unadvisable,” FitzGibbon interrupted. “I cannot possibly guarantee control of the native warriors that long. You must make your decision,
now
.”

“I cannot do that!” Colonel Boerstler objected.

“Fine. We have made our offer. The death of your men is no longer on my head. The consequences are now yours and yours alone! Good day, sir!” FitzGibbon spun around and started to walk away. I stumbled after him.

“Wait!” Colonel Boerstler called out.

FitzGibbon stopped and turned back. The two men looked at each other without speaking.

“I am prepared to surrender my forces. I ask for a period of twenty minutes to advise my men and prepare to lay down our arms. Is that acceptable?”

FitzGibbon nodded his head slowly. “I accept both your terms . . . and your surrender.”

CHAPTER TWENTY

I
SAT ON the grass. The sun shone down brightly. It felt good. I felt good. And relaxed, for the first time in over two weeks. It had taken that long for all the American prisoners to be transported to other locations. Five hundred and forty-two prisoners. That number still boggled my mind. While close to one hundred of them were wounded and required medical aid, the remainder were healthy—healthy enough to be dangerous—and were being guarded by a much smaller number of men. I hadn't slept well thinking about what would happen if they tried to escape. Even without weapons they would still have overrun us, I was sure.

I had gone with the Lieutenant, who was still a captain in their eyes, and walked among the prisoners. Their colonel was in the medical tent receiving treatment for the wound to his thigh. I was happy when I learned that he wasn't going to lose his leg. I enjoyed our conversations, and I did feel badly about tricking him . . . but then again, it might have saved his life, and mine. The Lieutenant told me that
he thought what I said to the Colonel made the difference in him accepting the terms of surrender. I didn't like to say that myself . . . but maybe he was right.

There was one prisoner who I was glad to see under heavy guard—Captain Chapin! FitzGibbon had danced a jig when he first discovered Dr. Cyrenius Chapin among the American prisoners. The Lieutenant held a deep hatred for the man. Loyalty came to FitzGibbon as naturally as breath, and he couldn't stomach a traitor. Chapin was kept separate from the other prisoners. A special fate, a hangman's rope, awaited him, and all traitors to the Crown, in Kingston.

When I first saw Captain Chapin I was surprised. I don't know what I was expecting—maybe horns and hoofed feet! The day before he was shipped out I heard him talking to his guards. He sounded like anybody else, except for maybe being a little bit nervous. He looked over at me when I was looking at him and he smiled. I thought I'd feel hatred toward him, or at least anger, for all the things he'd done. But I didn't. Instead I just felt sorry for him, and for his family. Nobody in this war was much different from anybody else. That was something that seemed to become clearer in my mind all the time.

My thoughts were interrupted by the sound of thunder. I looked up and scanned the horizon, but there wasn't a cloud in the sky. How could there be thunder? Another blast. There must have been a storm brewing somewhere. It was best that I got back to work before it arrived. The fields weren't going to harvest themselves.

* * *

I'D FILLED no more than half a dozen baskets of corn when I was stopped by the sound of approaching horses. My first thought was that it might be American soldiers, but I realized that wasn't a great possibility. I was told that since the defeat in the clearing at Beaver Dams the Americans had hardly ventured out of sight of Fort George.

I recognized Mr. McCann, along with two other riders. They were coming fast. Mr. McCann reined in his horse, bringing it to a stop directly in front of me, while the other two riders rode off without him.

“Are you interested in going for a ride?” he asked. There was an urgency to his voice that alarmed me. Were there more Americans coming?

“Where to?”

“To investigate.”

I gave him a questioning look.

“Where there's smoke there's usually fire,” Mr. McCann said. He motioned over his shoulder.

There in the distance was a thick column of smoke rising up into the sky. I'd been so intent upon the harvest, my eyes to the ground, that I hadn't noticed.

“What is it? What's burning?”

“That we don't know. It's in the general direction of Queenston. What doesn't make sense, though, are the explosions that we heard just before the smoke.”

“Explosions! I thought that was thunder!”

He shook his head. “Gunpowder. The Americans are up to some mischief. It looks to be taking place close to Fort George and Queenston.”

My thoughts raced back to my farm. Had it been set on fire, or Mr. McCann's store?

“There's no point in thinking the worst,” Mr. McCann said, reading my mind. “We'll know soon enough. Advance scouts have already gone out. The Lieutenant is assembling a second group of riders now.”

We both heard the sound of approaching horses and watched as they broke through the trees. FitzGibbon was at the head of a column of two dozen men. They had traded their more common grey coats and were dressed in brilliant red, so that they looked like a flame bursting through the forest. I could only imagine the fear an American would feel seeing them charging toward him.

The Lieutenant waved to us, a smile on his face. We waved back. I could almost feel the excitement I knew he was feeling.

There was a gap and then another column of men, all militia, followed. I tried to count but stopped when the number reached thirty. I knew I'd feel safe with such a large group going before us. At the very end was Jamison, and he was leading my grey behind him!

“The Lieutenant said he couldn't imagine you'd say no to the invitation so he had your horse saddled,” Mr. McCann said with a smile.

Jamison came to a stop right in front of us as the remaining columns raced away. I took the reins. I couldn't help but notice that a rifle had been attached to the saddle. Any thought that somehow this might just be a pleasure ride was erased from my mind. I climbed aboard and we spurred our
horses onward. I didn't know about Mr. McCann or Jamison, but I wanted to be in the company of the large group of soldiers. They were moving fast and we pushed our horses harder to catch them. As the path twisted and turned they'd move out of sight, coming back into view only as we hit longer, straight sections. I was surprised not only at their pace but at their choice of routes. Rather than taking a little-used trail they were moving toward the main road to Queenston. FitzGibbon
never
took the major roads!

We moved hard until we came to the road. Up ahead I could see that the first riders had dismounted and they were watering their horses from a small stream that ran beside the roadway. We caught the group and also dismounted to allow our horses to rest and water. It was not just kind, but clever to give them rest. If we rode hard and then were confronted by Americans we'd need the animals to be fresh enough to carry us to safety.

“Could you watch my horse?” I asked Mr. McCann. “I want to talk to the Lieutenant.”