by Tamara Gill
For all his enthusiasm, George Denison had missed the party, along with his commanding officer. He knew that, and, she suspected, he resented it. That was why he was hiding behind a stiff, military demeanor when in his writings on the invasion he’d shown himself to be enthusiastic, perceptive and outgoing.
“Who’s that you’ve got with you?”
Denison looked down at Jaclyn, standing in the midst of his troopers. “A prisoner. I need a secure place for him and other Fenians we will be rounding up today. Where is your jail?”
The man peered at Jaclyn. “He looks a little young to be one of the Fenians.” Then he shrugged. “The Fenians secured their prisoners in the ruins of the old fort. You could put him there. You’ll have to talk to Dr. Kempson about using the town jail.”
“And where do I find the good doctor?”
We’re back where we started. Denison’s voice was even, but clearly he wanted to be on his way. The householder must have caught the nuance in his tone, or perhaps he’d said his piece and was content to let Denison go, for he gave very specific directions on how to get to the reeve’s house. Denison saluted again and told his troop to move out. When they were away from the house, he held up his hand. Every one stopped, including Jaclyn, who narrowly missed making contact with the rump of the horse in front of her.
Denison rode back to where she was and said, “Corporal, take a detachment of three and the prisoner to the old fort. He will remain under your guard there until I relieve you.”
“What? No way!” Jacqui said. She had visions of being stuck in a Canada West prison for months a waiting trial as a Fenian. The idea horrified her. “I am not a Fenian! Will you get that through your thick head, Denison? Take me with you to Kempson’s house. He can vouch for me. You can’t lock me up for a crime I didn’t commit!”
“Move out,” said Denison, urging his big black horse to a canter. His troop, except for the four guys guarding Jaclyn, followed.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
The ruins of the old fort didn’t look any different than they had the day before when she’d found Sean wounded, leaning against the cold stone of the crumbling wall. However, while Jacqui was unsurprised at the state of old Fort Erie, the corporal commanding the little detachment was clearly expecting something more than ruined walls surrounded by a six foot redoubt.
After some discussion, the volunteers herded her over to the high wall and left her there on her own. One soldier climbed up to ground level and took up a position at the top of the mound, while another settled himself at the entranceway. The corporal and the third trooper marched about the perimeter, keeping a wary eye on the activities of their prisoner.
All this seemed a bit like overkill to Jacqui, who knew there wasn’t much she could do to escape. She looked around for a comfortable spot to sit down. The Canadian prisoners had trampled the long grasses, making it easier to see the chunks of broken stone that had fallen from the destroyed buildings, so it didn’t take her long. She sighed as she settled down, then leaned back against the wall.
Like the day before, the sun blazed from a cloudless sky, quickly burning off the cool left from the night. Later the area would be hot. Now the touch of the sun on her face was a gentle pleasure. Jacqui closed her eyes and decided she would not think about how empty her stomach was. Enjoy the moment, she told herself, and tried to believe that a sunny day spent in the confines of a makeshift prison was a good thing, not a bad one.
It didn’t work.
She was worried about George Denison. He had probably ‘secured’ the town by now and started on his principal task in the invasion, rounding up the Fenian stragglers who didn’t make it onto the scow or back to the States on their own.
His first batch of prisoners would be men who passed out in a town under the control of the Fenian Expeditionary Force and woke up in one retaken by an exuberant jerk who did everything by the book. They didn’t have a chance.
Nor did the many stragglers who were lying low in the countryside, for Denison would continue his assignment for the next few days. That meant Sean was in considerable danger. So too were Sara and Grandpa Bailey, who could also be arrested for harboring a Fenian.
It was very quiet in the ditch. Occasionally she could hear the jingle of spurs as her guards marched the perimeter, but they weren’t talkative types. With her eyes closed it was impossible to judge the passage of time and damn it, she was so tired. There was nothing, absolutely nothing she could do for Sean at this very moment. Why not make the best of it and make up some of the sleep she’d missed last night? Sighing, she curled up on her side, pillowed her head on her arm and let the sun coax her into sleep.
The shouts of some very grumpy men, the stamp of horses’ hooves, the creak of harness and the bellow of someone giving orders to everyone else woke her up. She yawned and stretched, very much aware that she hadn’t yet had enough sleep. After rubbing her eyes with her knuckles, she took stock of the situation.
The bellowing voice belonged to—who else?—George Denison, and he was busy supervising his troopers as they herded a dozen or so irritable men into the ditch. These, then, were the first of the Fenian stragglers and they didn’t appear to be too pleased that they were going to jail.
Neither was Jaclyn. She jumped to her feet and headed over to the opening where George Denison sat on his big black horse observing the proceedings. “Denison, you can’t do this to me! I’m not a Fenian. I’m Canadian. I don’t deserve to be here.”
The last of the prisoners shuffled through the opening into the ditch. His amiable expression was unfocused, clouded by too much hooch, but at the sight of her his face lit up in a smile. “Young Jack!” he said. “What a delight to see you again. I did not think I would have the pleasure after you left to help Major O’Dell unload his wagons.”
His clerical collar was gone and he was obviously drunk. The Reverend David Lumsden had not taken Thomas Newbigging’s suggestion that he return to Buffalo and now he was making sure that Jaclyn stayed right where she was.
George Denison, his face set in lines of contempt, said, “Liars are always caught out, boy. Remember that.” Then he turned his horse, ordered his troop back into action and headed out again.
“Insufferable jackass,” Jaclyn muttered turning back into the compound, away from the smirks of the two troopers who now guarded the opening. “Thanks a lot, Lumsden.”
The Reverend David Lumsden smiled with the serenity of the affably intoxicated. “My pleasure,” he said again.
The Fenians who had been brought in were a scruffy lot. Most were drunk, or hung over. Many found a place to lie down, then promptly fell asleep. A couple vomited up the contents of their stomachs. Jacqui found a spot at the base of the earthen rampart and settled down for what looked like a very long day. David Lumsden, faithful and easy-going as a puppy, sat down beside her and chatted in an inconsequential way until he fell asleep.
Jaclyn didn’t feel like sleeping any more. These were the first of the prisoners who would be crammed into the ruins of old Fort Erie. Eventually almost seventy would fill this small area. Here they would remain for several days until the British troops left the Fort Erie area. The prisoners would then be distributed to various jails in Canada West where they would languish until they were tried for treason in the fall of 1866.
Though the punishment for this charge was death, the penalty was never imposed on any of the convicted Fenian prisoners. Many did spend years in Canadian jails, though. The last Fenian was released from imprisonment in 1871, five years after the invasion had taken place. The very thought of spending five years in jail for a crime she hadn’t committed made Jacqui shiver.
Lumsden was deep asleep now, his mouth hanging open as he snored with great gusto. Lumsden’s trial was one of the ones reported in detail, a wonderful record for researchers and historians in the future. Thomas Newbigging had spoken at the trial, described the tea party, vouched for Lumsden’s assertion that he wasn’t one of the Fenians. David Lumsd
en would be considered not guilty and would go free, but not until he’d been imprisoned for months waiting for his day in court.
Jacqui pulled her legs up to her chest and lowered her head with a sigh. To keep her mind off her empty stomach and problematic future, she tried to focus on what was happening outside the ruins of the old fort.
As the day progressed the various military forces charged with defending Canada West would gradually fill the town of Fort Erie. George Denison were followed two of the British players, Colonel Lowry and Major Wolseley.
When the Fenians appeared to be a victorious force to be reckoned with, Lowry had been sent with reinforcements for Colonel Peacocke, but as he ranked higher than Peacocke in the bizarre hierarchy of the nineteenth century army he was now in overall command. He’d brought with him an aide, one Major Garnet Wolseley, a man on his way to fame and fortune in the Victorian military. Wolseley would be sent to negotiate the fate of the Fenians still stuck in the scow in the middle of the Niagara River with Captain Bryson of the Michigan. Peacocke was totally marginalized.
The Volunteers from Port Colborne were the next to arrive. With John Stoughton Dennis lost after the Battle of Fort Erie and Alfred Booker demoralized, command had fallen to the regular British officer, Captain Akers of the Royal Engineers. The volunteer forces that travelled to Fort Erie included the Queen’s Own and other smaller units, but not the Thirteenth from Hamilton. Akers had decided to leave the Thirteenth—Booker’s regiment—in Port Colborne, infuriating the men and officers, who felt they were being punished for their commander’s poor judgment. Shame at their defeat, mixed with resentment at being left out, would later lead to angry demands that Alfred Booker be court-martialed.
The Volunteers manning the tug Robb, cautious after their near escape the day before, would eventually decide to tie up at the dock. The members of the Welland Battery and the Dunnville Naval Brigade who had escaped the Fenians after the battle of Fort Erie would then be joyfully reunited with their fellows who had been captured. The prisoners from the Robb were then sent to the makeshift prison in the old fort. Their arrival would provide Jaclyn with a pretty good idea of exactly what time it was.
As if it mattered, she thought gloomily.
Peacocke was the last to reach the town. Despite having reliable information from Denison and others that the Fenians were indeed gone, he advanced toward Fort Erie in his careful, cautious way, taking most of the day to travel a distance Colonel Lowry had done in a few hours that morning. His troops were kept on battle alert and managed to shoot four residents of the area and a cow, all of who were suspected of being Fenians.
The day wore on. There was no food and the sun baked the compound until it was sweltering. The Fenian prisoners from the Robb arrived. There were so many of them that the ditch filled unpleasantly. These men had spent the night in tug without the lubrication of a lot of booze and they’d had time to think about what was likely to happen to them. Angry, worried and frustrated, they were desperate to escape and spoiling for a fight. The troops guarding the perimeter of the embankment were doubled, but incidents between the prisoners broke out anyway.
Scared now, something close to despair settled over Jaclyn. What if she wasn’t released from this prison? What if she was sent to an 1866 jail, to languish there for months? What if one of these rough, angry men discovered she was a woman? The last didn’t bear thinking about. She had to believe she would get out of here at some point. The problem was, when?
David Lumsden woke up. After watching a man dressed in Union blue almost come to blows with another in civilian clothes, he confided to Jaclyn that it was his calling to assist his fellow prisoners in accepting their plight. Jaclyn watched him wade into the fray. At heart Lumsden was a decent man, he just couldn’t handle hard liquor. His departure left her feeling surprisingly exposed, so she headed over to the entrance to the ruins where the two guards would, presumably, protect her if one of the other prisoners decided she would make a likely target for his temper.
She sat down with her back to the embankment, and the opening, so she could keep an eye on what was happening within the prison confines. She pulled her legs close to her body again and hunched down, pretending to be asleep. Tense, hungry and frightened, the day seemed endless.
“He claims to be a Canadian.”
Cautiously, Jaclyn lifted her head. She’d know that voice anywhere. George Denison in hypercritical mode.
A deeper voice said something she couldn’t catch, then another voice spoke. Denison said, “He may only be a boy, but he knows more than he should.”
More murmurs. By this time Jaclyn was sitting bolt upright, hope making her heart beat fast. One of the men guarding the opening stepped forward and shouted, “Jack Sinclair, show yourself!”
Jaclyn bolted up so fast she almost hit the trooper on the chin with the top of her head. “Sorry,” she muttered, and dived past him, out the opening. There she found George Denison. Beside him were Thomas Newbigging and Dr. Kempson. “Mr. Newbigging! Doc Kempson!” She could have kissed both of them, but didn’t. Instead she said, “What took you so long?”
Thomas Newbigging laughed. Kempson shook his head and George Denison glared at her. It was long past midday now and he was still dressed in his woolen uniform and the tall leather shako. His nose, chin and cheeks were pink and he looked as if he’d like to strip down into a tee and shorts and guzzle a couple of beers. “Do you vouch for this young lad?” he asked the other two.
“He’s not with the Fenians,” Kempson said. “They evicted him from their camp last evening.”
“He visited the Fenians while they were camped on my property, but he wasn’t one of them. Indeed, he did his best to help me get my cattle back,” Newbigging said. “He’s staying with old Jim Bailey who has a place outside Ridgeway.”
“He mentioned a Bailey,” George Denison said. He shook his finger unpleasantly near Jaclyn’s nose. “Let this be a lesson to you.”
Enough was enough. Jacqui grabbed that waving finger and pushed it roughly away. “Go stuff yourself, Denison! Of everything that has happened this past couple of days, you are my biggest disappointment. Try looking at the lighter side for once!”
George Denison’s face went beet red and he raised his hands as if he was preparing to throw Jaclyn back into the makeshift jail. Thomas Newbigging grabbed her by the arm and said, “Let’s go, Jack, before you get yourself into any more trouble.”
Kempson shook his head. “That boy lives for trouble.”
“Get him out of my sight,” George Denison said. “Now!”
Thomas Newbigging did.
The town of Fort Erie had a festive air to it. There were Canadian or British soldiers everywhere and the townspeople were out in full force. No one was working. The young women were flirting with the men in uniform and there was a considerable amount of local whiskey being consumed. Tomorrow life would get back to normal. Today the crisis was over and everyone was set to enjoy themselves.
After Jacqui parted from Kempson and Thomas Newbigging she wandered around for awhile, joining conversations, trying to find out if anyone wondered where a certain Fenian officer had disappeared to, but no one seemed to care. The main body of the Fenian army was gone; Major Denison and his cavalry had done a wonderful job of rounding up the stragglers who remained; the danger was over. No one remembered one wounded Fenian officer.
When the opportunity of a ride to Ridgeway came up, Jaclyn grabbed at it. She was hungry, she was tired and she wanted to get back to the Baileys’ farm to see how Sean was.
***
He was restless but blessedly still free of fever. That night Sara, Grandpa and Jaclyn took turns sitting beside his bed, watching for any changes. Jacqui had taken the first shift, so when she woke the next morning she went into Sean’s room to see how he was doing. Sara was seated beside the bed looking tidy and composed as if she hadn’t risen in the wee hours of the morning to sit with a desperately ill man.
Sara’s clean
appearance reminded Jacqui how dirty she was. After she scrounged up some breakfast she was going to figure out how to take a bath. “How is he?”
“The nightmares continue, but he is cool. There is no sign of fever.”
Jaclyn watched Sara place tiny stitches into the seam of a garment she was sewing. “That’s good. Right?”
Sara smiled. She continued to sew, one hand holding the white cotton cloth steady while the other plied the needle and thread. In and out, in and out. “Every hour that passes without fever allows the Major to gain strength. Yes, Jack, it’s good.”
Jaclyn sighed and rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands. She’d had about five hours sleep last night, a huge amount compared to the two previous nights, but she was tired and her spirits were low. “God, Sara. Should I have let Kempson do the operation he wanted to?”
Sean moved his head restlessly on the pillow. Sara stroked his cheek and murmured quietly. Her caress, for Jaclyn could not call it anything else, seemed to work. Sean began to breathe more easily and his body relaxed as he drifted into a deeper sleep.
“Why would you think that removing his arm would reduce the chance of a fever developing?” Sara asked, still stroking gently.
The question brought Jaclyn up short. The trauma to Sean’s body would have been just as great, if not greater, if Kempson had taken off his arm. In addition to the potential of fever and the inevitable pain, he would have had a long-term disability that would have made his life miserable in this unforgiving world. “I suppose I am afraid I made the wrong decision. Kempson was so certain that amputation was necessary and I’m not a doctor. I keep asking myself, what if I’m wrong? What if Sean doesn’t mend? What if he dies? It would be my fault. I...I couldn’t live with that.”
“He will not die,” Sara said.
“I wish I had your certainty.”
