We continue forward. I fire again and again. Smoke, yells and the smell of gunpowder rise around me. I feel a surge of adrenaline. As we get closer to the fort, I make out Sean’s pale face above the bastion wall. I aim my musket at him and, for a second, wonder what it would feel like to fire real bullets (or musket balls). Like Helston said, some guys would have been firing at their own cousins in this war. It’s weird to imagine. What would I have done if I was a real soldier back then and I recognized someone I was shooting at? My finger hesitates on the trigger as I consider this. Before I come up with an answer, the fort’s front gate opens. A hand reaches out, waving a white cloth. They’ve surrendered.
Everyone on the field cheers.
“Wasn’t that too easy?” I ask Gunner, who is nearby. It seems to me the guys in the fort should have been able to pick us off easily as we marched across the open ground.
“Yeah, in this battle, the British gave up without much of a fight,” says Gunner. “The commander was actually court-martialed for surrendering too quickly. But the British made up for it when they tried to get the fort back. That siege lasted almost two months. By the time it ended, three thousand five hundred men were injured, dead or missing.”
“Wow,” I say, looking back at the field we just marched across. I try to picture it littered with real bodies. Real people.
“Fort Erie reenacts the main battles every year,” Gunner tells me. “You guys get to be part of that this Saturday.”
The fort’s gates open wide, and we march inside. I help Gunner and a few of the other guys hoist an old-fashioned American flag up the flagpole. Major Helston announces that we have a half-hour break before lunch, and I decide to look for Sean. I hate to admit it, but the morning wasn’t as boring as I thought it would be.
I walk past the officers’ kitchen toward the east bastion, where I had seen Sean during the battle. When I reach the ramp, I hear a voice that sounds like his.
“The fireworks will be cool.”
Fireworks? I hurry to the top of the ramp and round the corner. Sure enough, Sean is leaning against the stone wall. I jerk to a stop. Standing next to him is Nicola. No one else is up here.
“Hey,” Nicola says when she sees me. “Congratulations on the big victory.” Her cheek has that teasing dimple again.
“’Sup?” Sean nods at me. Is he trying to sound cool? “Did you hear we get to have fireworks Saturday night?” He sounds like his nerdy self again. “The battle is going to be epic!”
“You know,” says Nicola, “the big explosion happened right here—when the British tried to get the fort back from the Americans on the night of August 15, 1814.”
“Yeah, I know. Right here at the fort,” says Sean.
“No, I mean right where we’re standing,” says Nicola. “The British came over the wall and took this bastion. The American artillery retreated into that part of the fort.” She points toward the parade ground. “There was a big gunfight right inside the fort. Then the Americans turned the cannon on the back wall around to face the bastion.” She gestures to the wall beside the sally port where we snuck in last night. “And the British turned the cannon on the bastion around, so they could shoot back.”
“That’s close range to be firing cannons,” says Sean.
“Yeah,” says Nicola. “Not only that. The cannon here was right on top of the spot where all the fort’s gunpowder was stored. It was hit by a spark, and the whole thing blew up. It took out this whole end of the building and all the British soldiers who’d just come over the wall. There were bodies everywhere.”
Both Sean and I look around the bastion as if we expect to see the bodies. My eyes drop to the ground under my feet. I know the explosion happened two hundred years ago, but it’s creepy to be standing right at the spot.
“There’s no gunpowder under there now, right?” Sean asks.
“Actually,” says Nicola, “the gunpowder for the camp’s muskets and the fireworks is in a storage room right there.” She points to the ground between us and the building wall.
“Oh!” I say, making an exaggerated move for the ramp, as if another explosion could happen any minute.
Nicola laughs and grabs my arm. I pretend that I want to get away, making her hold on to me longer. Sean gives me a dirty look and turns away, and I can’t help smiling.
“Look down there,” Sean says. I’m pretty sure he’s just trying to interrupt my moment with Nicola.
“What is it?” Nicola asks. She drops my arm to go look over the wall. She has to stand on her toes to see over the top.
“Down by the river,” Sean says. He leans in closer to Nicola and points. When she doesn’t move away, he looks over his shoulder at me and grins. I glare at him and move to Nicola’s other side.
I look down over the field we just marched across, following the direction Sean is pointing. At the river’s edge below the fort, two long open boats sit on the beach. They look old-fashioned, so I guess they belong to the fort. Someone is down there, walking around the boats.
“Is that Major Helston?” Sean asks. The guy is wearing a white shirt and what looks like white breeches and tall black boots.
“I can’t tell. Maybe it’s Lieutenant Gunner.”
“What’s he doing?”
“Probably checking the boats before you guys take them out on the river,” says Nicola.
“Cool!” Sean says. “When do we get to do that?”
“Tomorrow, I think.”
I look out at the river, remembering what Gunner said about the current flowing to Niagara Falls.
“Are you sure it’s safe?” I ask.
“You’re not scared, are you?” Sean asks. Like he’s the brave one.
“You’ll be fine,” Nicola says, bumping her shoulder against my arm. “You know how to row, don’t you?”
I shrug.
“Look at all those boats out there.” She waves a hand toward the river, which is dotted with modern recreational boats. She shields her eyes from the sun. “It’s perfectly safe if you know what you’re doing.”
“That’s my point,” I say. “Do you trust any of us with a boat?”
With perfect timing, Arman and Carter appear at the top of the bastion ramp, and I make a sweeping gesture that takes in Sean, the two of them and me. Nicola laughs.
“What?” Arman demands as he and Carter join us.
We explain about the boats. Arman admits he’s never picked up an oar or paddle of any kind, but Carter and Sean claim some skill.
“There, you see?” Nicola says.
“Now there’s a boat I wouldn’t mind taking for a ride,” Carter says, pointing to a sleek modern speedboat cruising up the river.
“That’s the border patrol,” says Nicola.
“Really?” The sun glares off the water, and I squint to make out the details of the gray boat. “Are they looking for people crossing the border illegally?”
“That and smugglers,” she says.
“Smugglers?” Sean asks.
“Yeah, people have been smuggling stuff across this river since before the War of 1812,” Nicola explains. “Slaves used to cross here to get to freedom. In the 1920s and ’30s, when it was illegal to sell alcohol in the states, rum-running was a big deal. Nowadays people smuggle cigarettes, drugs, people…even cheese.”
I laugh.
“You’re kidding,” says Carter. “People smuggle cheese?”
“Well, I wouldn’t call it a major criminal operation, but it’s been done,” says Nicola.
“Don’t small boats go back and forth here all the time?” Sean asks. “It seems like it would be easy to drop off a person or a package without being noticed. I bet you could even swim across.”
“It’s not as easy as it looks,” Nicola says. “The water is shallow here, which makes the current fast, and the border patrol keeps watch—especially since 9/11. But people still try.”
As we talk, the boat picks up speed. Its bow lifts out of the water, and white water spra
ys out behind the two big motors at the back of the boat.
“I wonder if they’re after someone now,” Arman says.
As the boat speeds upriver, the growl of its engines reaches us on the walls of the fort. It doesn’t seem to be chasing anyone. My eyes drift back to the two old-fashioned boats on the shore. The guy down there is gone now.
“Come on, boys,” Nicola says. “Let’s go for lunch.”
Chapter Eight
It feels cooler in the shade of the mess tent when we first get there, but by the time we finish eating, it’s like a sauna. Every inch of me is dripping sweat. I’m tempted to sneak off and jump in the river. The current can’t be that strong if they’re going to let us take row boats out on it.
“Hey.” I lean in close to whisper my suggestion to Sean, but I’m cut off when Lieutenant Gunner calls for our attention.
He stands at the head of the tent with a large sack on the ground beside him.
“I have a surprise for you,” he says with a grin. Then he pauses and glances around as if checking that he’s not being watched. The rest of us look around too, wondering what he’s up to. There is no sign of Major Helston, and I don’t see Nicola or her mom either. The idea that Gunner might be about to show us something that Hell Storm wouldn’t like has us interested.
Gunner reaches into the sack and lifts out a gun. Not a musket. Not anything from 1812. This gun is yellow, orange and green plastic. A Super Soaker water gun. He dumps the whole sack on the table next to him, and out pours the biggest pile of water guns I’ve ever seen.
“Gentlemen, choose your weapon.”
We jump from our benches and rush for the guns.
By the time darkness settles and we climb into our sleeping bags that night, I’m exhausted. It’s still stinking hot, so I leave my bag open and lie on top of it.
Sean managed to scrounge some toxic-smelling bug spray earlier. He sprays one last blast of it and then zips his sleeping bag up to his chin despite the heat.
“That was the best day,” he says.
“Yeah,” I agree. “I wonder what Hell Storm would have made us do if he hadn’t taken the afternoon off.”
“You think he wouldn’t have let us have the water fight?”
“Are you kidding? He’d never let anything plastic into camp.”
“You don’t like him, do you?” Sean says. I can hear him shift in his sleeping bag, like he’s rolled to face me—even though it’s black as oil in here.
“And you do?”
“He’s not that bad,” Sean says with a yawn.
“Yeah, right,” I say sarcastically. “Let’s just say I’d rather fight on Lieutenant Gunner’s team.”
“Unit,” Sean corrects me, but without much energy.
It’s too early and too hot to sleep. But I can already hear Sean’s breathing grow slower and deeper. I feel like kicking his sleeping bag, but I can’t move. It looks like it will be an exciting night of lying awake, listening to him breathe. That’s the last thought I have before I’m dead asleep.
It’s still dark in the tent when I wake up. I have no idea what time it is, but I have to pee. I fumble my way out of the tent and stand for a moment, getting my bearings. The rows of silent tents look eerie. From where I stand, the security light is hidden by a tree. The light that falls across the tent roofs looks like moonlight. This must have been what the camp of soldiers looked like two hundred years ago. Maybe I should stay authentic and use a tree instead of a stinking port-a-potty.
I walk past the tents toward the trees. Nothing moves. If this was 1812, soldiers would be keeping watch. Also, all the nearby trees would have been cut down for firewood, or spikes for the dry ditch, or maybe a palisade to protect the soldiers camped outside the fort. When the Americans held the fort in 1814, there would have been over 3,500 soldiers camped here.
I am starting to sound like Sean. I look away from the camp to the modern lights of Buffalo on the other side of the river. I picture people out at restaurants and movies, home watching TV or playing video games. I squint, and the lights blur. I can almost imagine soldiers’ campfires dotting the shore. Then, the lights of a boat catch my eye, and I’m back in the present, wondering what has gotten into me. The boat is moving fast. Border patrol? Or maybe it’s a smuggler about to make a drop.
My eyes move from the river to the black walls of the fort. There is a flicker of light on top of the wall. Lieutenant Gunner with his cell phone again? But the light isn’t clear white like a cell-phone screen. It’s yellow and wavers like a candle or a lantern. Maybe it’s Major Helston on some kind of midnight watch. He probably doesn’t use a flashlight. That would be too modern for him.
The light moves back and forth as if signaling someone or searching for something. Like a lost head? Now I see the shadowy shape of a person holding the lantern. I can make out the guy’s arm and his shoulders…And where his head should be—nothing.
Forget the trees and 1812. I run for the stinking, plastic, modern port-a-potties and the bright glow of the security light.
Chapter Nine
“Any of you city slickers know how to row a boat?” Lieutenant Gunner asks.
It’s the next day. We’ve just dragged the two old wooden boats half into the water. In the bright summer light, I’m sure I totally imagined the headless guy on the wall last night. The shadows must have played tricks on me.
“I can row,” Sean volunteers.
“Good. Get in the first bateau, there,” Gunner says, gesturing toward the closest boat. “I need five more guys to each take an oar. And a head man. I’ll take the stern.”
“What’s a head man?” I ask.
“He sits at the front and makes sure we don’t hit anything,” explains Gunner. “Can you handle it?”
“Uh, I didn’t mean—”
“Good man.” Gunner ignores my objection and slaps me on the back.
Sean waits while I climb ahead of him into the boat. The sides aren’t very high, and it has a flat bottom, so it doesn’t rock much. I clamber over the plank seats until I get to the pointy end of the boat.
I can hear Major Helston giving orders to the guys at the second boat. I glance over, glad to be in this boat. I wonder where Nicola is.
“No one goes out on the river without a life jacket,” Hell Storm bellows, this time directing the order at all of us.
Sean nudges me to buckle the straps of my life jacket. The life jackets are boxy orange ones, which ruin the effect of our 1812 uniforms. Sean double-checks that his own life jacket is secure. Then he pulls down the brim of the straw hat he’s wearing to keep the sun from barbecuing his pale face.
“Did the 1812 soldiers use these kind of life jackets?” someone asks.
Everyone laughs.
“Life jackets weren’t invented yet,” Sean points out.
“That’s right,” says Gunner. “There was more than one way to die in the War of 1812.”
“Nice,” I mutter as I hunch down in the boat. Sean sits on a plank bench behind me, facing the back of the boat.
“Real reenactors don’t wear life jackets either,” he tells me. “They want to look authentic, so they keep the life jackets hidden in canvas bags under here.” He pats the bench.
“Good thing we’re not real reenactors,” I say. Proper reenactors would be loaded down with heavy coats, muskets and gear. If they fell overboard, they’d sink like cannon balls—just like the real soldiers must have done.
On shore, Major Helston joins Gunner behind our boat. Both of them are wearing their red uniform jackets and black hats (which I now know are called shakos). I can see sweat running down Helston’s face, but Gunner looks cool. They take hold of the back of the boat and push it toward the water. My heart jumps. They’re not going to let us go out on our own, are they? But as soon as the boat slides free of the gravel, Gunner jumps into the back, and we’re off.
Right away, I feel the current grab the boat and start pulling us downstream. Sean, Carter and the other oarsme
n dig the oars into the water, and we gain control. We head toward the other side of the river and Buffalo. Behind us, the second boat follows, with Major Helston at the stern.
The sun glints off the water, and there’s a cool breeze. Major Helston yells something from the boat behind us, interrupting my thoughts. I turn to see him pointing upriver. Gunner waves at him then turns back to us.
“I’m supposed to tell you about the Ohio, the Somers and the Porcupine,” he says.
Arman, who isn’t rowing, raises his eyebrows. “Sounds like a bunch of cartoon animals.”
Carter laughs, and one of his oars catches, splashing Sean.
Gunner shakes his head. “The Ohio, the Somers and the Porcupine were three American armed schooners anchored near the head of the Niagara River, protecting Fort Erie.” He gestures downriver in the direction the border patrol boat sped off yesterday.
“When the British army, the Canadian militia and their First Nations allies started setting up siege lines outside the fort, the schooners fired at them from the river. So the British navy carried six small boats overland and put them in the river near here. They disguised them as supply boats and snuck up on the schooners.” Gunner pauses while Carter and Sean knock oars and splash the guys sitting ahead of them. We wouldn’t be able to sneak up on anyone.
Gunner tips his shako forward to shield his eyes and sighs. “Well, they snuck up in plain sight,” he says. “The ships thought they were supply boats. When the British got close, they whipped out their swords and boarded the first two ships. The Porcupine cut anchor and ran.”
While Gunner talks, I look back at him and the guys rowing. Now Gunner calls to me. “Hey, head man! How’s it look up ahead?”
I remember I’m supposed to watch where we’re going. I turn around quickly, hoping we’re not on a collision course with a speedboat. The river is clear ahead of us. I look to the US shore, expecting to see Buffalo getting closer. But instead, it’s almost as far away as when we started. With one difference. It’s moving south, and we’re moving north. The current is taking us toward Niagara Falls!
Siege Page 3
