by Ben Guyatt
“I’m sorry, Sarah.” Billy dashed for the shelter of the trees as the soldiers took aim and fired. He ducked as the musket balls pierced the air, ricocheting off the trees and earth as he jumped over a ridge. Sarah screamed when Billy tumbled down the steep embankment and finally came to rest, bruised and dazed. He gathered his senses and painfully heaved himself up.
Samuel Foote and the soldiers rapidly descended the hill, unaware Billy was only a few yards away. Foote stopped and held up his hand to halt the others before taking a few guarded steps. His eyes searched the area and found Billy staring back, cowering behind a fallen log. Foote loaded his pistol as Billy watched in horror. Sarah’s father took deliberate aim but then slowly lowered the weapon.
“It was just a rabbit,” he told the soldiers. The Americans started back as Foote moved closer to Billy. “We’re even now,” he muttered at Billy, tucking the pistol inside his pants. “Next time I’ll fire.”
In disbelief Billy watched as Foote scuttled off to join the soldiers. “Sarah ... oh, Sarah, what are we going to do?” he whispered to himself.
Isaac Corman sat at his kitchen table inspecting his rifle. His pretty blond wife, Keziah, looked on anxiously. “We don’t even know if the Americans are coming to Stoney Creek,” she said nervously as her husband frowned at her. “You were wounded once. Next time you might not be so lucky.”
Isaac chuckled. “I’m a patriot, not a coward.”
“Nobody has ever questioned your courage, just you.”
His grin vanished. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
She kissed him on the forehead. “Let others fight. You’ve done your duty.”
“One battle doesn’t make a man, Keziah.” He began polishing the musket with a rag.
Keziah sat across from him and took his hands. “You promised me you wouldn’t fight again after Queenston Heights.” She tenderly stroked his fingers. “I want you to keep that promise.”
“Fort George has fallen. Do you understand what that means, Keziah? The British Army will need all the men they can get just to keep this country free. If the Yankees get any farther, the whole war is lost. I have to fight.” He caressed her face, but Keziah moved away from him and folded her arms. “I’m leaving tonight,” he told her, setting the gun aside. Isaac started for the door and waited for her response, but none came. He sighed. “I have work to finish.”
Keziah threw her arms up in frustration. “That’s it? Proclaim you’re going to fight and walk away?”
“What would you like me to do? Do you think this is easy for me?”
“What am I supposed to do? Wait until I hear you were killed and then move on with my life? I know so many women like that. I don’t want to be one of them. They change ... they have no soul left. You can see it in their eyes. They’re lost ... they’re dead, but still alive. I don’t want to be lost like that.”
Frustrated, Isaac kicked the door hard. “Just what exactly would you like me to do?”
She clenched her fists. “Stay alive. Stay with me. I have as much say in your life as you do.”
“Really?”
Keziah fought back tears. “I work as hard as you do.
I’m always there for you.”
“And I’m not?”
“Not when you leave me to go and fight. I know it’s hard to go into battle, but it’s harder still to watch the man you love go off to fight in a battle and not know what’s happening.” She embraced him. “Please, I’m begging you to stay.”
Isaac pushed her away. “I’m not going to argue with you about this anymore. I suggest you start dinner.”
“Make it yourself! Why should I cook for a dead man?” Keziah flopped into a chair as Isaac slammed the door behind him. She closed her eyes and began to weep again, but suddenly stood when she heard the sound of horses. Keziah moved to the window and spotted a contingent of American cavalry approaching the property.
Isaac was about to hammer a fence post but stopped and watched as an American officer cantered toward him. “I’m Major Thomas of the U.S. Army. Indians have been harassing us ever since we came into this wretched country, and I want to know where they’re camped.” The young major wiped sweat from his moustache, but Isaac ignored him and resumed working. Irritated, Thomas dismounted and spun Isaac around. “I’m speaking to you, sir! Where are the Indians?”
Swinging the hammer hard onto the post, Isaac said, “I don’t know and I don’t care.”
Thomas withdrew his sword. “I demand an answer!”
Isaac lifted the hammer again. “It’s painfully obvious your parents never taught you any manners.”
“What do you do for a living, sir?”
“I’m a blacksmith, but right now I’m mending some fence posts, in case you haven’t noticed.”
“Is that so? Well, the last blacksmith I ran into a few miles back deliberately put the nails in too deep on my horse’s feet. Would you do the same?” Thomas eyed an ox by the barn.
“No. I don’t care to work on your horse or any other that belongs to the U.S. Army.” Isaac continued hammering.
“What’s your name?”
Isaac started to walk away. “None of your business.”
“You’re under arrest as a spy for the British,” Thomas said, motioning to two soldiers. Isaac fought back but was soon overwhelmed. “And take that ox for slaughter,” the major added.
Frantic, Keziah ran from the house toward them. “Leave him alone!”
“Go back inside, Keziah!” Isaac cried.
She tried to pull the soldiers off her husband, but Thomas shoved her to the ground, causing Isaac to struggle even more. One of the soldiers went to help her, but the officer pushed him back. “No comfort or aid to the enemy,” the major said sternly.
The sympathetic Yankee stared at his superior with contempt. “Sir, I respectfully disagree with your methods.”
“Then you’re relieved.” Thomas gestured to some other American troops. “Take this soldier into custody, as well. I won’t tolerate traitors.” Reluctantly, the others took their comrade’s musket.
“After what you just did to my wife, when I escape, you’re the first one I’m going to kill,” Isaac growled at Thomas.
The major laughed and then slapped Isaac across the mouth with his glove. “I’ll see you hanged from the highest tree before that happens.”
Keziah watched helplessly as Isaac was taken away. “Please don’t kill him.”
“Stay inside, Keziah!” Isaac shouted, only to be elbowed in the stomach by Thomas.
Keziah collapsed to the ground. “Don’t hurt him. Please don’t hurt him.”
Billy raced toward a rickety wooden building with a sign that said: brady’s tavern. He turned off the dirt path and burst through the door.
John Brady, a middle-aged, balding man wearing an apron, finished topping up a patron’s beer as the customers looked on. “You’re father wouldn’t like you being in here, Billy. Want some water?”
The patrons laughed as Billy fought to catch his breath. “The Americans ... they’re coming!”
“I think you’ve been out in the sun too long.” Brady felt Billy’s flushed forehead. “If I wasn’t a good friend of your father’s, I’d give you a beer.”
“Listen to me! They’re here in Stoney Creek!” Parched, Billy grabbed a glass of beer from a customer at the bar and downed it.
“Now just a minute, boy!” the customer cried, yanking Billy by the collar. “I sure hope you’ve got some money, because you owe me a drink. If you don’t, I’m going to take it out of your hide.”
The others roared with laughter, and some even encouraged Billy to take a swing at the enraged customer, but Brady quickly slid another beer toward the man. “It’s on the house. Leave the lad alone, or you’re never coming back in here.” Satisfied, the man released Billy. Brady glared at Billy. “You shouldn’t have done that. I won’t tell your pa, but don’t ever do it again.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Brady, but I was
awfully thirsty. The Yankees really are coming. Really, they are.”
“And that’s another thing, son. You shouldn’t go around making up stories like that. Folks might take you seriously and you could do some real harm.” Brady gave him a glass of water. “Now drink up and get on home.”
“You have to believe me,” Billy said, running to a window and pointing.
Brady and the men laughed again until they heard the sound of approaching wagons and marching men. Everyone scrambled to the window to discover the point of the American army only fifty yards away. The customers talked nervously among themselves, a few even finished the remainder of their drinks, then they all scrambled out the door only to be chased and arrested after warning shots were fired into the air.
Panicked, Billy glanced around the tavern. “Is there another way out of here?”
“No,” Brady said. He quickly retrieved a pistol from behind the bar and handed it to Billy. “It’s not loaded, but point it at me. Tell them I’m a Loyalist and that you support the Americans. It’s the only way to save yourself.”
“I ... I can’t,” Billy said, trying to give the weapon back, but Brady forced it into his hand.
“Just do it, or they’ll take you away and force you to fight,” Brady said as a group of American soldiers entered the tavern, followed by an officer.
“Get ... get your hands up!” Billy shouted, and Brady complied.
“Who are you?” The U.S. officer asked suspiciously, staring at Billy.
“My name’s Billy Green. I saw your army coming down the road. I’m an American sympathizer and I captured this Loyalist.”
“Prove it.” The officer reached for one of the bottles of liquor. “Shoot him.”
Billy and Brady exchanged fearful glances, then Billy asked, “Why should I do your dirty work? I’m a citizen, not a soldier.”
“You’re just a boy, and what’s a boy doing in a tavern?” the officer demanded, helping himself to some bread behind the bar.
“Like I told you, I saw your army coming down the road and I wanted to help.” Billy edged toward the door.
“Where do you think you’re going?” the officer asked as he set up some glasses.
“Home. I don’t care what you do to him.” Billy opened the door just as Brady charged him but was subdued.
“Yankee lover!” Brady yelled as he was pushed into a chair.
“How old are you, boy?” the officer asked.
“I’m ... I’m fourteen,” Billy lied. “I know I’m too young to be in the army.”
The officer smirked. “I have boys in my command from Connecticut, New York, and Pennsylvania who are younger than that. Maybe you should join us.”
“I’d like to, but my father won’t let me.”
“Leave him be,” Brady said, still constrained by a guard. “His mother died when he was a baby and his old man’s dying. Billy’s the only one left to take care of him. He’s got no brothers or sisters.”
“Didn’t you just call him a Yankee lover?” the officer asked suspiciously. “Why do you care so much?”
“Billy’s touched in the head,” Brady whispered to the officer. “He’s always coming in here and telling us how much he hates the Loyalists and the British because his pa was wounded in the revolution. I give the boy some bread when he barges in here like this with his gun. It’s not even loaded.”
The officer considered Brady for a moment to weigh the truth of the tavern keeper’s words, then looked at Billy. “Give me that weapon, boy.”
Billy decided to take on the crazy role Brady had given him. “Get back! You’re a British spy! Take one step and I’ll shoot you down!”
The officer held his hand out. “I said give it to me.”
“Bang! You’re dead!” Billy pulled the pistol’s trigger, but it was indeed empty. The officer took the gun away from Billy as the other soldiers laughed. “I shot you! You’re dead! Lie down!”
“Get him out of here,” the officer told his men, and Billy was pushed out the door. The officer poured freely from a whiskey bottle and filled the glasses, spilling alcohol all over the bar and floor. “Help yourselves, men. Looks like this town’s full of drunks and crazies.” His men laughed as they served themselves drinks.
Outside, Billy peered in the window and saw Brady wink at him. Billy winked back, then sprinted away.
The waves of Lake Ontario crashed against the shore, churned the surf a deep blue, and violently rocked the moored American troop boats. A small number of U.S. infantrymen hastily set up camp beside a partly burnt hotel with a charred sign that read: the king’s head inn. Inside, the owner, John Lottridge, huddled with his frightened wife and two children as they watched a brigade of Yankee soldiers ransack their hotel.
Major Thomas stepped in and removed his hat. He strolled behind the desk and found several muskets hidden on a shelf along with a few bottles of wine. The major grabbed one of the bottles, slumped into a nearby chair, and rested his muddy feet on the table. He pulled the cork out with his teeth and spat it across the room. After taking a heavy swig, he scraped the mud off his boots with a knife. “What do you do for a living, sir?”
“I’m ... I’m an innkeeper,” Lottridge said, perplexed by the obvious.
“I wonder why you have so many weapons behind that desk.” Thomas flicked a piece of mud against the wall.
“Please let my family be,” Lottridge said as Thomas hurled the bottle through a window, shattering the glass.
The children whimpered as Mrs. Lottridge pulled them closer. “I’m ... I’m the captain of the militia. Please, I don’t want any trouble.”
Thomas took a swig from another bottle of wine. “When I ask a question, I want the truth. I’m tired of hearing lies today. What can you tell me about the strength of the British position and the Indians?”
“I don’t know anything about that.”
Thomas chuckled and fingered the hilt of his sword. “You honestly expect me to believe that as the captain of the militia you don’t know the answer to my question?”
“I know it sounds like I’m lying, but I really don’t. I haven’t been involved in the militia as much as I used to be. My work here has kept me away.” Lottridge ran his fingers through his young daughter’s hair. “My family’s more important.”
“Your heartfelt words don’t change my mind. I strongly suggest you tell me the truth.” Thomas purposely split his finger against the blade of his sword, causing it to bleed. Fascinated, he watched the tiny stream of blood curl around his finger. “Well?”
Lottridge looked at his family before taking a deep breath. “You know the British are camped at Burlington Heights. As far as their numbers are concerned, the last time I was there I saw maybe ten thousand troops.” Knowing he was lying, Lottridge noted the grave concern that flashed across the faces of Thomas and his men.
Thomas smiled thinly. “Ten thousand? You wouldn’t be exaggerating, would you, sir?”
“It was about a month ago. There might be more, there might be less. I know the British want to hold Burlington Heights more than they wanted to keep Fort George.”
“Why?” Thomas asked, still not convinced he was hearing the truth.
“Burlington Heights is farther away and tucked inside a bay. We need the cover for defence and to hide our supply ships.”
“I think you’ve told him more than enough,” Mrs. Lottridge said to her husband sharply.
“What about the Indians?” Thomas asked.
“That I truly know nothing about. They stay with their own kind. We never know where they are or what they intend to do.” Lottridge watched some of the U.S. soldiers take barrels of flour, pork, and other provisions from his storeroom.
Major Thomas studied Lottridge and his family for a few moments. “Keep them under guard,” he ordered his men. “Now get them out of my sight.”
Lottridge and his family were taken from the room as Thomas took another long drink from the wine bottle. “Bring the other priso
ner in here.” Isaac Corman was accompanied into the room and shoved hard into a chair opposite the major. “Ready to talk?”
“Your death can’t come soon enough,” Isaac growled. “And it will be by my hands.”
Thomas laughed. “Your heroics won’t do you much good with a musket ball through your head.” He took a musket from a nearby soldier and loaded it. “Have you ever seen what buckshot can do to a man’s face from such a short range? I’m only going to ask you one more time. Where are the Indians camped and what do you know about the British forces?”
Isaac closed his eyes. “Do what you must.”
Thomas wrapped his finger around the trigger as the other soldiers recoiled, anticipating the gruesome outcome. “I can shoot you as a spy, but I’d like to know why you’re being so stubborn. Is your life worth it?”
“All men from Kentucky are stubborn, just like U.S. General William Henry Harrison. As his first cousin, I’m most certain this barbaric act would anger him.” Isaac hoped his connection to an American general would spare his life.
Utter amazement shot across Thomas’s face. “I don’t believe it. I’m the general’s second cousin.”
Equally impressed by the coincidence, Isaac managed to smile. “I don’t think he’d approve of blood relatives like us killing each other, do you?”
Thomas raised the musket again. “How do I know you’re not just saying this to save yourself?”
“Everyone from Kentucky knows General Harrison. Besides, I’ve never met you. How would I know you’re related to him?”
Thomas lowered the weapon and offered Isaac a bottle of wine. “I apologize for the way I treated you and your wife, sir. The stress of war can make a man’s temper short and his chivalry forgotten. Please forgive me. What are you doing in Canada?”
Isaac declined the drink and glanced at the setting sun. “To tell you the truth, I’ve had enough of war. I came here to Canada to start a new life. I’m worried about my family, sir. May I go now?”
“I guarantee you won’t be harmed, but please tell me, do you know anything about the British and the Indians?”
