“I know. They also have my husband. He’s wounded. I’m going for him.” The soldier looked for help, but not a man stepped forward to stop her.
Her ankle-length white petticoat stood out starkly among the soldiers’ dull uniforms. Her hair was tucked under her white cap.
Enemy soldiers saw the white figure approaching and alerted others. White was the symbol of parley and sometimes surrender between fighting soldiers. They watched with anticipation until they discerned that the approaching figure was only a slender young woman. What had she come for?
Oh, dear God, please help me, Laura breathed as she kept on advancing toward the enemy line.
Laura hesitated. The enemy was stationed just beyond. Dead and wounded soldiers lay before her. She trembled as she heard their groaning. As she ran fearfully from one to the next to find her husband, she forgot that the enemy soldiers were watching her intently.
Suddenly, she saw James. He was lying very still on the ground between two standing American soldiers. One soldier had raised the butt of his gun in the air ready to strike.
“No!” Laura shouted.
The soldier looked up.
She ran and threw herself over James’s body and screamed, “Kill me, not my husband!”
“Why not kill both of you?” the soldier snarled as he grabbed her arm and pulled her to her feet.
“She’s too pretty to kill,” the other soldier yelled, and yanked her over beside him.
Laura gasped for breath as she struggled to free herself.
“Stop!” A sharp command rang out.
Laura looked into the face of an American officer who had come up beside her.
“I apologize, Ma’am, for the conduct of my men,” he said politely. Then he turned aside and barked, “Page and Johnson, take these two under guard.”
Two more soldiers stepped forward from the other side of the battle site. They grabbed the weapons of the soldiers who had threatened Laura, then walked the offenders on up the Heights, where they disappeared among the trees.
“You may take your husband home,” the captain told Laura.
“Thank you,” Laura said, with tears falling down her cheeks. Already she was beside James, holding his head in her hands.
“Please, James, try to sit up. Then you can lean on me.”
He did not move.
“Here! Adams…Durham,” the captain commanded. “Help this man to his home.”
Another pair of soldiers stepped forward, tied their coats together, and lifted James onto the makeshift stretcher. They started slowly down the hill. James’s arms hung down, limp.
Laura turned to the American captain who had helped. “Thank you. Thank you, Mr…”
“Captain Wool.”
“Thank you, Captain Wool.”
Then she ran to the men who were carrying James and directed them toward the Canadian line.
She walked in front and to one side so that the Canadian soldiers would see her first and allow the Americans to pass. When they reached the place where the Queenston men were guarding the ground they had gained, James roused himself a little and groaned. Then he slipped into unconsciousness again.
“We’d better take him directly to bed and not change coats here,” the one soldier said.
The Queenston guards understood the situation and did not object. “I’ll go with you to make sure that you get back safely after you leave James,” one of them volunteered.
They reached the house and carried James to a bed in the girls’ room. Laura did not dare lead them to the other bedroom and the body of General Brock.
She thanked them at the door. They nodded and were gone. The soldiers standing in her kitchen watched in amazement.
“Please, go for the doctor,” she said, putting a kettle of water on to boil. A soldier nodded and left by the back door.
She went back upstairs to James, who was groaning weakly. She could see two wounds, one in his leg and the other in his shoulder. She went to the girls’ nightstand to get a jug of water. When she came back to the bed, James, delirious with fever, was calling her name.
“I’m here, James,” she said, placing a cool cloth on his forehead.
Finally, she heard noise below and heavy steps. She walked out of the bedroom to see the doctor and another soldier at the foot of the stairs.
“Dr. Greenfield, thank God you’ve come,” she cried out. The doctor started up the stairs to see James. Laura stared in disbelief at his clothes. He was splattered with blood and pieces of flesh. Even his face and hands were dirty with mud, blood, and grime. The stench from his clothes was worse than the smell of James’s fresh wounds.
Up in the room, Laura quickly poured water from her pitcher into the china basin and handed the doctor a bar of her own strong lye soap.
He hesitated at first and then proceeded to wash his hands. He would please the lady, he decided. He had no energy left to quarrel with her.
She watched anxiously while the doctor examined James. He was conscious now and groaned feebly as the doctor probed his wounds. Finally, the doctor said, “I’ve got the ball from his shoulder, but I can’t get the one in his knee.”
Laura was relieved when James lapsed back into unconsciousness. For a few minutes, he was free from the pain and could not hear the doctor’s comments. Dr. Greenfield finished dressing the wounds and walked out into the hall with Laura. “He will get better, won’t he?” Laura asked.
“I can’t say. Only God knows that, Laura. I’ll venture to say, though, that if he lives through the night, he may make it. However, we’ll have to amputate the leg if infection sets in, and with the bullet still there, it’s bound to.”
A feeling of powerlessness overcame Laura, and she grabbed the railing of the staircase to steady herself.
“These powders may help a little to keep the pain down. I’m sorry I can’t leave more,” the doctor said. “I must go now. There’s to be another battle soon. I have to be ready for the injured.”
Back in the kitchen, the kettle was boiling over, and all the soldiers had gone except for the wounded Elijah. Dr. Greenfield took a look at his wound and said he was in no danger, but he’d be useless in the battle. Then the doctor left for the emergency tent set up for the injured not far from the battlefield.
“Where have the soldiers gone?” Laura asked Josh’s younger brother.
“To take the Heights,” he said weakly. “Sheaffe’s arrived, and they’ve gone to line up with his men.”
As Laura hastened back up the stairs and into the bedroom, the thunder of cannon and spatter of heavy musket fire filled the house. “Thank you, God, that James is not out there in the middle of it,” she mumbled aloud. At least there was that relief. But turning toward James, who was moaning now and moving his head back and forth on the pillow, she wondered if there was any reason to hope.
Laura emptied the dirty water into the pail and poured fresh, cool water into the china washbowl. She squeezed her damp cloth and laid it across her husband’s forehead. Already she had cut away his dirty, blood-soaked uniform and removed it from his body. She laid fresh, dry towels under his arms and legs and sides. Then, with a clean cloth, she dipped into the water and continued to bathe her husband’s burning body as he slipped in and out of consciousness.
James shifted restlessly in the bed and flailed his arms about as he continued to mumble meaningless sounds—and his temperature kept rising. Only when he finally lay still did she notice how quiet it was outside. She rushed to the open window and listened intently. There was no gunfire.
Was it over? She could hardly believe that. Even if the shooting had stopped, it did not necessarily mean that she and James were out of danger. It was quite possible that Queenston had been taken by the enemy, and that American soldi
ers were already on their way to take possession of all the houses in town.
The body of General Brock lay in the other bedroom—if American soldiers came to take over the house, there would be no way of hiding the body from them. And she had heard that they did not always treat bodies of leaders with respect. Then she remembered that they would not recognize him, since his uniform had been changed.
She turned back to the danger at hand. She would have no way of defending herself and her husband from a band of celebrating soldiers. Only God could protect them now. Otherwise, they were completely at the mercy of the enemy.
She looked down at James again. For now, he was her greatest concern. His pain was as bad as ever. Glancing at the washstand, she noticed that the water was low in the pitcher. She took it up and ran downstairs for more water. She went by the clock in the hall. It was five o’clock in the afternoon. It seemed much later.
Out at the well beside the house, she rolled down the bucket and looked up toward the Heights as she worked. Near the bottom of the slope, not far from the edge of the yard, she could see men coming toward her. They were Queenston men. She recognized their dull red coats.
“We’ve gained the Heights,” they shouted as they came nearer. “We’ve held it for two hours now. It’s ours!”
“We’ve taken more than nine hundred American prisoners. They’ll be marching them through the town.”
Laura saw the blue-coated captives not far behind. Even the ones with blood-soaked wounds were forced to limp along. She stood riveted to the spot, looking at the haggard faces of the defeated soldiers. Suddenly, she was aware of the suffering of the enemy. Then she saw a familiar face. It was Captain Wool. Blood trickled from a shallow wound on the side of his face and his eyes looked glassy. The soldiers had stopped the prisoners to assemble them into lines, Captain Wool in front.
Laura grabbed her pail of water and the big dipper that hung on a nail by the side of the well and ran to the side of the road. She handed the dipper of water to Captain Wool, who gulped the water down, then handed the dipper back to her. As the soldiers refilled the dipper from the pail and drank, the pain in their faces lightened a little.
Captain Wool had not realized who she was. Then, as he looked up to say, “Thank you,” a glimmer of recognition crossed his face.
A Queenston soldier handed her the empty pail and she turned to refill it, but by the time it was full, the men had started marching down the road again.
Laura raced back to the house, where Elijah was still lying on the couch in the hallway. “We’ve won,” she said, handing him a cup of water. He sighed and smiled.
At that moment, Laura heard someone at the door. Before she could rush to open it, James’s brother, David, came in. “We’ve taken the Heights, Laura,” he said. “Where’s James? They told me you got him.”
Laura led him up the stairs to the girls’ room where James lay. James did not recognize his wife or his brother.
“The fever is high,” she said. “I’m trying to keep it down with the cold water.”
“Be careful, Laura. You don’t want him going into pneumonia.”
Laura remembered General Brock’s body in their other bedroom. “David,” she asked, “will they be coming for General Brock now?”
“I thought you knew,” he said, surprised. “They came for his body early this morning. He was here very briefly. They took him to a safer house, farther from the American line.”
“I didn’t know,” she said. “We could have taken James to his own room. Still, he was better on this side of the house, farther from the noise of the battle. He needs stronger medicine, David. Will you try to find the doctor and get something more?”
“I’ll try, but he’s very busy. Goodbye, Laura.” He turned then and hurried down the stairs and out the door.
Laura shook a little as she went back in the bedroom. Her hands trembled as she squeezed the excess moisture from her cloth and bathed her husband’s brow. His eyelids opened, but he looked beyond her. His deep blue eyes were clouded and heavily bloodshot.
“Laura, Laura,” he whispered, still not looking at her.
“I’m here, James.”
He moved his hand and she took it. His strengthening grip told her he realized she was caring for him.
“Who’s…winning?” He could barely say the words.
“We won, James. We’ve taken the Heights. It’s a definite victory.”
He relaxed his hold and slipped back into semi-consciousness. This time, he seemed more peaceful, and Laura felt he was resting.
Long past dark, Laura was still sitting at his bedside in the light of the flickering candles. Hearing footsteps on the stairs, she went out into the hallway and saw David Secord coming up the steps. His face was lined and smudged with dirt. Obviously he had not rested since the battle. Laura looked at him expectantly, hoping that he had brought more medication.
“How is he?”
“A little better, I think. He’s resting more comfortably, and he recognized me a short time ago, but he still feels very hot. And he’s in a lot of pain.”
David looked down at his younger brother. “The doctor’s too busy to come now,” he sighed, “and he’s run short of supplies, but we’re expecting more from the fort.”
“Is it really over?” she asked, looking for reassurance, though she herself had seen the enemy prisoners led through the town.
“Yes, for now.”
“Was it a long battle on the Heights?”
“Not at the last. We had them surrounded and pushed them to the edge. Then Sheaffe gave the order that if they surrendered, their lives would be spared.”
“What happened then?”
“They couldn’t hear him in all the confusion. They were jumping off the cliff to their deaths to avoid the British bayonets or the Indian scalping knives.”
“But those prisoners who went by…”
“Yes, we took some prisoners. I ran into their lines and shouted Sheaffe’s promise. Then they listened.”
“How did they know they could trust you?”
“My wife’s father and brother were among them, and they reassured the others. They were just ready to jump, too, when they saw me and stopped.”
“Thank God! But how brutal war is when men must fight their own kin! Were many of our men killed?”
“Fourteen, we think—far fewer than we expected—but two of those were Brock and Macdonell. The price for the Heights was high. There never has been a general like Brock and never will be again.”
“I know. James loved him, too, as we all did.”
“There’s great mourning now, and it will spread all across Canada this week as the news gets out. He gave his life to hold the line till reinforcements came. If he had waited, they’d have taken Queenston.” Then, breaking off abruptly, he turned toward the stairs again. “I must go now. Come down with me so you can latch the door.”
“Why?”
“We think we have them all, but a few American deserters may be roaming about.”
“Oh, I didn’t realize we were still in danger,” she said, following her brother-in-law.
“I wish I could stay to help.”
“We’ll manage. Your men need you.” Laura knew that David Secord was a major.
“Good night, Laura.”
“Good night.”
Laura dropped the latch across the door and turned back into the kitchen. She picked up clean cloths and a kettle of hot water, and hurried back up the stairs to her husband. She knew it would be a long night.
SEVENTEEN
When the autumn sun rose on the morning of October 14, Laura was still sitting beside her husband’s bed. Tired beyond measure, she had attended him all night as the wounds in his knee and sh
oulder became more and more inflamed. Not long after sunrise, James came fully awake for the first time since Laura had rescued him. Drops of perspiration fell from his forehead as he wrestled with his pain. Laura almost wished that he would slip back into unconsciousness. Finally, he fell into a fitful sleep.
Laura sat by the bedside. She had not slept since the day before yesterday. As she leaned over onto the bed, exhausted, she prayed for strength and for James. The doctor’s grim prediction was still in her mind.
If there were more battles, James would not be going, she thought with some satisfaction. Then she wondered what James would think about that. He had so wanted to defend his land. Unlike so many of the settlers, he had not been indifferent to the American attack. He was convinced that the invaders had to be defeated. How would he feel if he could not continue as sergeant of his militia regiment?
***
Laura awakened to the sound of James calling her name. She did not know how long she had been sleeping. As she raised her head, she saw that he was tossing with fever again and moaning in pain.
She ran down to the kitchen, selected some herbs and ground them together in a wooden cup. Hooking a kettle over the fire, she waited for what seemed like hours before it boiled. The tea would soothe the pain, even if it didn’t take it away.
Back in the girls’ room, she held some of the tea to James’s lips and put cold compresses on his wounds to cool the inflammation. His knee now looked worse than his shoulder.
The fever was rising again. Laura poured more water into the jug. Using linen cloths, she continued to bathe his body. She managed to comb out some of his blood-caked hair. Then his increasing groans told her she would have to stop, and he lapsed back into sleep.
Laura stood up to stretch, still keeping her eyes on her husband. She remembered again the doctor’s warning about James’s leg. Oh, dear God, please don’t let it happen. Please, don’t let James lose his leg. The thought of it made her feel sick in the stomach. Would they have to come in and hold him down while the doctor sawed off his leg above the knee? She almost fainted at the picture that flashed before her eyes.
Acts of Courage Page 13
