The Bully Boys (18 page)

“My poor husband. Sitting in the kitchen, hearing bits and snatches of the American plans. He wanted to come himself and warn you but his leg is still not strong enough
to support his weight for more than a few steps. That's why I had to come . . . no one else could do it.”

“I appreciate you coming to warn me. Do I understand that you walked all the way here from Queenston?”

She nodded her head.

“That is over twenty miles.”

“Twenty miles as the crow flies, but longer because of the route I was forced to travel. I couldn't risk coming directly.”

“Then you must be terribly exhausted.”

“I am very tired . . . but more than that I was feeling hopeless. I was afraid that I wouldn't find you . . . or wouldn't find you in time.”

“And what precisely were the plans that you heard, Mrs. Secord?”

“They were talking about how you and your men were staying at the DeCew mill. That the DeCews were providing you with shelter and food.”

Mrs. DeCew, standing off to the side, looked worried, and with good reason. If the Americans believed they'd been helping FitzGibbon, then they would surely seek retribution against her family. I'm sure she envisioned their house and mill in flames.

“They talked about the number of men who would be coming. I couldn't be certain exactly, because they didn't seem sure either—the number kept changing and growing—but I think they were talking about between four and six hundred men.”

“You must have heard wrong!” I exclaimed.

Mrs. Secord shook her head. “Those were the numbers I heard.”

“That actually makes sense,” FitzGibbon said. “The Americans are not likely to leave the safety of Fort George unless they have sufficient numbers to bolster their courage. And they said they were going to be leaving right away?”

“That was a subject of even more debate. One of the officers wanted to delay for a few days, or even a week, while two of the others felt it best to leave immediately.”

“Which means they could be here before nightfall, or not for another week,” FitzGibbon said.

“Or not at all,” Mrs. Secord said. “Perhaps I was overhearing nothing more than the idle bragging of a bunch of men whose tongues were lubricated by liquor.”

“Perhaps,” FitzGibbon agreed.

“And if that is the case, then I've been nothing but a fool . . . a silly fool.”

FitzGibbon reached out and took one of Mrs. Secord's hands. “My dear woman, you walked over twenty miles, unarmed, through wild country inhabited by snakes and all manner of wild beasts, crossing enemy lines, risking your life and the home and safety of your family if the Americans were to discover your actions. You are nothing less than a hero, even if no American ever advances on our position. Every soldier under my command is beholden to you for your bravery.”

Mrs. Secord looked down at her cup of tea. A small smile creased her face and she began to blush.

“Mrs. DeCew,” FitzGibbon called. “Do you have a bed for Mrs. Secord?”

“Of course,” she answered.

“She will require a few days' rest before she has regained sufficient strength to return to her home.”

“Thank you for your concern, Lieutenant, but I will need to leave much sooner than that. My family needs me.”

“As you wish. You must rest for the day and night. In the morning I'll arrange for an escort to take you at least part way home. Now if you'll excuse me, ma'am, I must take my leave and make plans in the event that we have
other guests
. Uninvited guests. And my thanks. If they do arrive, at least their arrival will not come as a surprise.”

* * *

THE REST of the day saw a swarm of activity. Mounted patrols were sent out in all directions and returned with news—no Americans had been seen moving on our position. A council was held with FitzGibbon and Captain Ducharme. Messengers were sent out to notify William Merritt and his militia about the possible danger and to see how quickly they could come to the DeCews' farm if needed.

I watched as Captain Ducharme rode off. I was curious to know what he and FitzGibbon had talked about. As casually as I could, I strolled up to the Lieutenant's tent. He was seated at a table, looking at a map spread out in front of him. I coughed to get his attention.

He looked up at me. “I was wondering what was taking you so long to come and poke your nose in here.”

I felt my cheeks flush. He smiled and then motioned for
me to come into the tent. I took an empty seat at the table.

“I've stationed pickets on this side of the camp. Captain Ducharme has placed his men in position here, here and here,” he said pointing to three other spots on the map. “And of course he has also sent patrols much farther afield. Hardly a deer could move through the woods without his native patrols being aware of it, so there is no fear of a large and noisy contingent of American soldiers going unnoticed.”

That was reassuring. “Do you think anything is going to come of all this?”

“I try not to predict. My grandmother used to say, ‘Pray for the best and prepare for the worst.'”

FitzGibbon stopped at the sound of horses being driven hard, hooves pounding against the ground. We both stood and hurried out of the tent in time to see three horses being reined to a stop directly in front of us. Their riders leaped down and rushed over to where we stood.

“Do you have news?” FitzGibbon demanded.

“The Americans have been spotted, sir.”

“Who saw them?”

“A patrol of Caughnawagas.”

“And did the Americans see our patrol?”

“They didn't think so, sir.”

“How many Americans did they believe were in the party?”

“At least four hundred, possibly five hundred men. And cannons.”

“I was not expecting cannons. Most peculiar tactical move. How many?”

“Three.”

“Where are they?”

“They're about ten miles south of us at—”

“South!” FitzGibbon interrupted. “Are you sure of that?”

“Yes sir.”

“Then we don't have much time. Not that much is needed. We're badly outnumbered and they're supported with cannon. We have only one choice.”

There certainly seemed like only one choice to me. I should get back to the tent and pack my—

“We have to attack.”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

D
ID HE say “attack”? Had I heard him wrong?

“I need one of you to ride after Captain Ducharme. He left no more than a few minutes before your arrival. The other two are to find William Merritt. His camp is at the fork of Twelve Mile Creek. You're to tell both men that we are going to engage the enemy at . . . come,” he directed as he rushed back into his tent for the map. We all followed and in our haste to enter bumped into each other.

“Right here is the point of engagement. Beaver Dams. From the south, this is the route they must follow to get to the DeCews'. There is a large clearing just past the dam with excellent cover on all sides. We can fire from behind trees, while the Americans will have no protection from our shot. And if we need to, we can simple dissolve into the forest. At both ends of the clearing the path is narrow, twisting and obstructed. Far too narrow to allow five hundred
men to move quickly. At this point,” he said, placing his finger on the map, “I need Captain Ducharme to position his forces to block the enemy's retreat.”

“You don't want them to retreat?” I asked in amazement.

“Perhaps . . . but only when we are ready for a retreat. We don't want them to run until we have at least given them a bloody nose.” He moved his hand to another point on the map. “And if William Merritt can arrive in time, he is to come along this path, placing himself between the clearing and the DeCew farm. Is this all clear?”

Everybody nodded in agreement.

“You are dismissed. God's speed.”

They rushed from the tent and within seconds I heard them leaving, riding hard. FitzGibbon had his head down, studying the map. He looked up at me.

“You believe it would be better to retreat?”

I nodded my head.

“I considered that option. I could easily withdraw my forces into the forest. We could retreat in complete safety. The Americans would have no way of following us.”

That was what I wanted to do . . . disappear into the forest.

“Unfortunately that would allow the Americans to come unobstructed to the DeCew farm.”

“But we'd all be gone by then,” I reasoned.

“Yes, we'd be gone, but what about the DeCews?”

“They can come with us when we leave.”

“But what we'll leave behind is evidence of our encampment—hoof prints, beaten-down fields, including the spots
where the tents have been pitched. And that's not all. What about the farm and the mill? You know what the Americans will do when they find evidence that the DeCews have provided us with aid.”

Of course I knew what would happen.

“We would have escaped into the forest, but we wouldn't have travelled far enough to escape the sight of the smoke rising into the air. The house, the barn, the mill—even the unharvested crops would be put to the torch.”

I shuddered at the thought of the DeCews losing everything. They had been so kind to me, to everybody.

“But it's more than just that. If we allow the Americans to advance this far forward without being challenged then they will become braver. They will start making advances into the countryside, away from the fort and the river. No one will be safe. That can't be allowed.”

He was right. “Can William Merritt and his militia get here on time?”

“I plan to engage the enemy long enough for him to arrive to reinforce our positions.”

“And we can slow them down, right?” I asked.

“We can slow them down. With the fifty men of the Bully Boys and Ducharme's natives we'll be able to surround them with over one hundred and fifty men.”

“Why only one hundred and fifty? Where are the rest of Captain Ducharme's men?” He'd had over two hundred warriors when we'd travelled with them!

“The Indian regiments aren't as structured as regular militia units. Warriors come and go at different times. Captain
Ducharme has had as many as three hundred warriors and as few as fifty. We'd better get going.” He paused and looked at me. “
I
have to get going. You don't have to come along, Tommy. I'm not sure you'll be any safer here than you'd be with me. But I'd understand if you didn't want to be close to a battle right now.”

He was right again. I didn't want to be near the fighting, but I was afraid to admit it, even to myself. I wasn't a coward, I knew I wasn't, but I didn't know if I could face another battle. And this was the strangest part: I wasn't afraid that somebody would shoot at me, I was afraid that I might have to shoot at somebody else. And of course I'd heard stories, not just from FitzGibbon but from men around the campfire at night, describing the aftermath of battle. What would it be like to walk through a field littered with corpses, to hear the cries of the wounded, to know that people I knew—people like Mr. McCann or McAdams or Jamison—could or would be among them?

“You can remain here. There are things to be packed in preparation for a move in the event we can't hold them.”

He had given me the opportunity to stay.

“Or you can accompany me. I'll be taking up a position away from the clearing, on a small hill. It is high enough for me to see the field of battle and the surrounding countryside. That will enable me to make decisions concerning our strategy—if we should allow the enemy to retreat, or disengage and retreat ourselves. We'll be out of range of the muskets and I can't imagine they'll even notice us, so we won't warrant cannon fire.”

A shiver ran up my spine. I'd forgotten all about the cannon. I'd heard of the devastation they could do. A single cannon ball could plough through a dozen men, ripping them to shreds.

“Well, Tommy?” FitzGibbon asked.

I took a deep breath. “I want to stay here.”

“I understand.”

“But I'm coming with you,” I said.

FitzGibbon reached out and put a hand on my shoulder.

* * *

WE LEFT our horses tied to a branch at the bottom of the hill. As we climbed, I watched the rest of the Bully Boys move along the path toward the clearing. They were going to take their mounts slightly farther along and then take cover in the forest at the end of the clearing and along the path leading away from it. I felt better knowing that those fifty men stood between me and the Americans. There was nobody, on either side of the border, more brave and loyal and strong than FitzGibbon's men. I had nothing to fear . . . and then I remembered that there were over five hundred Americans. Even the Bully Boys couldn't fight against odds that high.

“Here, take these,” FitzGibbon said.

He handed me a pair of field glasses, just like his. I put them up to my eyes and could no longer find the clearing, which I'd seen so well in the distance. I moved them closer
and then farther from my eyes until they came into focus. Then I looked around until I finally spotted the opening in the forest.

“Do you see anything?” FitzGibbon asked.

“Nothing.”

“Neither do I,” he admitted.

“Do you think they're coming?” Perhaps there was still a chance that they had turned around. Or maybe they were coming some other way . . . coming at us from another direction. That thought sent a chill through my body.

“They'll be coming.”

“Maybe they've turned around.”

FitzGibbon chuckled softly. “Not likely. I'm still surprised, though, that they chose this route to the DeCews'. It's much longer, not very well known and . . . I wonder.”

“What?”

“It's the sort of trail known only by locals. I wonder if they are being led by a traitor, perhaps even the infamous Dr. Cyrenius Chapin himself.”