Billy Green Saves the Day

by Ben Guyatt

  “Nothing. Like I said, I’ve had enough of war and I don’t want anything to do with this. I’m a simple farmer and blacksmith.” Isaac offered his hand. “But good luck to you.” They shook hands, then Isaac turned for the door.

  “By the way, you’ll need the password to get through our lines,” Thomas said. “As kin, you have to promise not to give it to the enemy. Doing so would be treason.”

  Isaac placed his hand over his heart. “You have my word.”

  “It’s Wil-Hen-Har,” Thomas said with a grin. “Code for William Henry Harrison.”

  Isaac tipped his hat and walked out.

  Major Thomas withdrew a half-burnt cigar, lit it, and looked at two of his men. “Follow him, but do it discreetly. In war you can’t even trust family.”

  A tiny wisp of smoke rose straight up from the chimney of a white two-storey farmhouse. The home was nestled on a cleared area of land, surrounded by woodland and a cedar swamp on one side, and the tangled foothills of the escarpment on the other.

  Inside the house a widow named Mary Gage sat at her kitchen table peeling potatoes. She smiled warmly at the painting of her late husband in the front hallway. Two other paintings showed her two grown sons. All were portraits from the waist up, indicating a certain degree of wealth. Each man held a Bible, conveying religion as the most important aspect of his life.

  Suddenly, Mary thought she heard something and stopped working. After a few seconds, she began peeling again just as there was a flash by one of her windows. Carefully, she pulled the curtain aside as her door crashed open. Several U.S. soldiers stormed inside. Mary screamed and ran for another door. When she threw it open, she discovered more Yankees waiting for her.

  Clambering up the stairs to the second floor, Mary bolted into a bedroom and barricaded the door behind her with a chair. She inched away and covered her mouth with trembling hands when she heard heavy footsteps coming up the staircase. Mary slid down the wall and caught a glimpse of the thousands of American soldiers converging upon her property. Her eyes widened in horror as the bedroom door was smashed open.

  Downstairs, Generals Chandler and Winder scoped out the home. “We’ll use this house as our headquarters until we decide when to attack Burlington Heights,” Chandler said, peering out the window when he heard skittish animals. At the barn some of the American soldiers awkwardly tried to round up the nervous livestock.

  Mary was escorted into the room and fretfully looked out the window where a soldier held a knife to the throat of one of her sheep. “Please, I beg you, don’t hurt my animals!”

  Chandler quickly swiped the curtain closed, and then they all heard the death cry of the animal. The men outside laughed, rejoicing over the fine meal they would have tonight.

  Mary collapsed into a chair as Chandler placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry, madam, but it’s a necessity of war to feed my army.”

  Winder rolled his eyes and gestured to the guards.

  “Lock her in the fruit cellar.”

  “No, please don’t!” Mary cried.

  Chandler turned away as the widow was subdued and forced downstairs. “Was that absolutely necessary?” he asked Winder.

  “What would you like me to do — let her walk away and tell the British we’re here?” Winder took a bite from a peeled potato. “I realize you’re in command, but if you don’t have the stomach for this sort of thing, then leave it to me.”

  Chandler reflected for a moment, then said, “I think we should post some of the men in a square mile around this property. The British might launch an attack.”

  Winder eased into a chair and continued eating. “The settlers have been confined to their homes. The British don’t even know we’re here.”

  At that moment a man wearing tattered clothes and walking with a limp was brought into the room.

  “What does this peasant want?” Winder demanded, eyeing the man from head to toe.

  The stranger wrung his hands and looked up shyly. “Mm ... mm ... my name issss ... Fitzgibbon. I www ... would like to sss ... sell mm ... my butter to your arm ... army.” He wiped drool from his mouth.

  “I thought he might be a spy, sirs,” an American soldier said.

  Winder scowled. “Don’t be so stupid, man. Take a good look at this stuttering idiot.”

  “I ... I just www ... want to mm ... make some mm ... money,” Fitzgibbon said, coughing.

  Chandler waved Fitzgibbon out. “For God’s sake, let him sell his wares. We have more important things to discuss.”

  Fitzgibbon nodded his appreciation and tripped over a chair, causing him to fall to the floor. Embarrassed, he grinned dumbly, picked himself up, and staggered out the door.

  “If all the British are as moronic as that man, hardly a shot will have to be fired,” Winder said as he searched the house’s cabinets.

  Chandler took a seat and plunked his feet on another chair. “You may be right, Mr. Winder, you may be right.”

  “Lord, it does my heart good to see you finally relax.” Winder found a bottle of whiskey. He uncorked it, poured two glasses, and raised his. “To comrades in arms! To friendship!”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  A droplet of blood splattered on the ground as Billy flinched, pulling out the thistles in his arms and legs. He peered over the precipice of the escarpment at the Gage property below. “Poor Mrs. Gage.”

  The area was teeming with thousands of American soldiers busy with activity — cooks preparing the slaughtered animals and baking bread, others erecting hundreds of tents, more digging up fence posts and building fires.

  Billy moved back into the safety of the forest, dodging the elms and pines and jumping over small swampy areas. Frequently, he stopped to catch his breath as his nervous eyes scanned the dense brush for signs of the enemy. He followed a ridge, descended the steep hill, then hid behind a bush where he gazed at a small house tucked amid the trees. After a couple of minutes, he ran toward the home and knocked lightly on the door.

  It opened slightly to reveal Levi holding a rifle, with his wife, Tina, and their baby, Hannah, behind him. “Thank God you’re okay.”

  “I tried to warn as many as I could,” Billy said as Tina handed him a cup of cold water.

  “What about Pa?” Levi asked. “And Keziah and Isaac? We have to tell them, too.”

  Billy downed the rest of the water. “It’s too risky. The Americans are everywhere.”

  “They’ve got to be told,” Levi said, slinging the musket over his shoulder.

  “You heard Billy,” Tina said. “There isn’t time. We should hide in one of the trapping huts until it’s safe to come out again.”

  “She’s right, Levi,” Billy said. “The Yanks have captured the town and are searching all the homes. It’s only a matter of time before they get here.”

  “Please, Levi,” Tina pleaded.

  Her husband hesitated for a moment before quickly gathering some provisions and tossing them into a canvas bag. Then Levi and his family hurried out the door, and Billy led them along a narrow path.

  “Hurry!” Billy urged. “I know the fastest way.”

  Tina stumbled but managed to hold on to the baby. Levi helped her up as Billy halted at the edge of the escarpment.

  “The closest hut is about twenty feet down behind some fallen trees,” Billy told them. He spotted several U.S. soldiers climbing toward them.

  One of the troops saw Billy and fired his musket. Hannah was nearly hit as the bullet lodged itself in a tree. Tina screamed and held her baby tightly as Levi pulled them away, but Billy remained.

  “Come on!” Levi shouted at Billy.

  “I’ll distract them,” Billy said, gazing over the edge. The Yankees were only yards away.

  Tina tugged at Levi’s shirt until he finally disappeared with them into the brush.

  Billy ran in a different direction, and the Americans followed him through the tangled vegetation. He hid behind some bushes and hollered an Indian war cry. The soldiers fr
oze, terrified, then fired aimlessly in all directions.

  “Let’s get out of here!” one of the men cried, and they hastily retreated.

  Relieved, Billy slumped down to catch his breath and noticed the tree beside him. Inscribed into the wood was a heart he had drawn months ago with his name and Sarah’s. He ran his finger along the etching and sadly lowered his head.

  Sarah Foote softly stroked one of the horse’s faces as she watched her father lift several bags of flour into their wagon, followed by a barrel of pork. Finally, he added some blankets and muskets. “I’m a patriot, Sarah. I have to help. Besides, this is a great opportunity for us. Once this country has been captured — and there’s no doubt that it will be — I’m sure I’ll be rewarded for my assistance.” Foote climbed into the wagon’s seat. “One day you’ll thank me for this. This is something you can proudly tell your grandchildren about.”

  “When Billy becomes my husband, there will be two sides to the story,” Sarah said.

  “As long as I’m alive, that’s not going to happen. Even if I were dead, marrying that traitor would shame the family name. Remember that.”

  Sarah fought back tears. “Please stay. I’m scared to be alone.”

  He cupped her chin. “I’m ... I’m sorry about this morning. I’ll never raise my hand to you again. I promise.”

  “What if something happens to you?” she asked, holding his hand close against her face.

  Foote leaned down and kissed her forehead. “I’ll be back in the morning. I’m just going to give these things to our army and find out what their plans are. You stay inside until I get back.”

  “I might not be here.”

  Foote was unsure for a moment, then laughed. “Sarah Foote, you should have been in the theatre.”

  “Why don’t you marry again?”

  Confused by the question, Foote frowned. “Why did you ask me that?”

  “Because I think your heart would soften. You need a woman to love, to make you forget, to help you move on.”

  “Your mother was the only woman I’ll ever love. Ever.”

  “But if you met someone, you might not care as much about this war. Things could be different and better for you ... for all of us. And maybe you might like Billy.”

  Foote fought to keep his temper in check. “Some wounds never heal, Sarah. Billy and his kind don’t belong with us.”

  “Why are they so different? They’re only fighting for what they believe in just like you. We’re more the same than anything.”

  “Americans will always fight because we’re always right!” he shouted.

  “Are you listening to yourself? Do you know how arrogant that is? Some folks back home think President Madison made a mistake. A lot of Americans don’t think like you do. They hate war and always will.”

  Foote shook his head. “Those Americans are wrong and not patriots. Billy has done this to you, hasn’t he? He’s poisoned your mind so that you can’t see things clearly.”

  “The only thing I see is an angry man so full of hate I don’t even know him anymore.” She turned toward the house.

  “One day you’ll understand, Sarah. Until then it’s my duty to make sure you’re protected from the wrong kind of thinking.” He jerked the reins.

  The team of horses pulled away as Sarah watched, a solitary tear rolling down her cheek. “Goodbye, Father,” she whispered.

  A bead of sweat rolled down Adam Green’s nose as he struggled to heave a sack of flour over his shoulder. He carried it to a wagon where he stacked it with some others as Billy stormed into the barn and collapsed onto a bale of hay, completely breathless. “Where have you been all day?” Adam asked. “I need some help filling this order.”

  “The Americans ... they’re here,” Billy gasped.

  Adam stopped working. “What?”

  Billy fanned himself with his hat. “Levi and I saw them. The Yankees have taken over the whole town.”

  Adam stared at his son, then realized Billy was telling the truth. “We’d better pack some food and hide in the woods. You get the team ready.” He started to leave the barn.

  “No! I have to tell Keziah and Isaac. I just came here to warn you.” Billy poured some nearby water over his hot neck. “I knew you were going to town to make a delivery.”

  Adam reached for his musket. “Then I’ll go with you.”

  Billy took the weapon from his father. “No, I’ll do it alone. I don’t want you to get hurt. You did your part during the revolution. Now let me do mine.”

  “We’re not going to argue about this. Give me the gun.”

  Billy stepped back and held the musket firmly. “Listen to me for once, please.”

  Adam inched closer. “Give me the gun, boy!”

  “I’m not a boy. I’m almost a man. I know what I’m doing and I’m doing it alone.” Billy backed away. “Let me prove to you I’m a man, or I swear this is the last time you’ll see me.”

  Adam smiled, sensing further debate was futile.

  “You’re as stubborn as your mother ever was. If I let you do this and they catch you, this could be the last time I see you, anyway.”

  “Maybe, but at least it will be on my terms.” Billy extended his hand. “Trust me, Pa.”

  “All right. You warn Keziah and Isaac and then come right back. Understand?” Adam shook his son’s hand. As Billy ran out of the barn, his father watched him go, full of apprehension. “Good luck, son.”

  In front of Isaac’s house an American sentry yawned, then spat at a fly on the porch railing. Inside, Keziah sat at the kitchen table, gazing woefully at the floor. A young U.S. soldier watched her with genuine concern. “Try not to worry. They won’t harm your husband.”

  “I know you’re just saying that, but thank you,” she said, managing a half smile. The soldier shifted uncomfortably and was clearly weary. “Would you like to sit down?”

  He tipped his hat. “I better not, ma’am.”

  Keziah motioned to a freshly baked pie on the windowsill. “How about something to eat?”

  The soldier hungrily eyed the pie and wet his lips. “No, thank you. Like I said, I don’t think I should sit down.”

  Keziah retrieved a plate, cut a thick slice, poured a glass of milk, and presented him with the snack. “Then you’ll just have to eat standing up.” The youngster glanced out the door. “An empty stomach is an empty stomach no matter who you’re fighting for,” she told him.

  The soldier set his musket aside and feverishly began to eat.

  “How old are you?” Keziah asked, returning to her chair.

  “Fourteen, ma’am,” he said with his mouth full.

  “Where are you from?”

  “Virginia.”

  “Family?”

  “Yes, ma’am. My parents and two sisters.” He washed down the last bite with the milk.

  “Do you have a girlfriend?

  The soldier blushed. “No, ma’am.”

  “A handsome lad like you?” she said, laughing slightly at his boyish charm. “Do you like being in the army?

  “No, I wanted to be a lawyer, but I was conscripted. I hate the army. I hate this stupid war.” He handed her the plate and glass. “Thank you for the food, ma’am.”

  Suddenly, there was a heavy thud, and the youth’s face contorted. The Yankee drew a breath as a line of blood dribbled from his mouth. He took one step forward and collapsed into her arms, an arrow buried in his back. Horrified, Keziah gently lowered him to the floor.

  Outside the house the other U.S. soldier, having heard the noise, scrambled around the corner of the home but was met with an arrow piercing his chest. He tried to remove the projectile, but then another arrow slammed into his thigh. The soldier let out a loud cry as several Indians converged upon him with their knives raised.

  Inside, Keziah cradled the young soldier’s head in her lap and rocked him as he quietly wept for his life. With moistened eyes she watched as he convulsed for a moment and then went limp. After a few seconds,
she looked up to discover an Indian standing in the doorway. “He was just a boy!” Keziah shouted, and stood. She began pounding the Indian’s chest with her fists. “He wasn’t a soldier! He was just a boy!” Keziah ran out of the house where more Indians surrounded her. She fell to the ground and buried her head in her hands. Then a hand reached down and stroked her hair. When she glanced up, she saw Billy.

  “It’s all right, Keziah. It’s all right,” he said as Keziah embraced him.

  “They took Isaac! They took him away!”

  Billy held her tightly. “I’ll find him. I promise.”

  At Burlington Heights a British infantryman wiped away a tear of laughter as he watched another soldier lift his mud-plastered face out of the muck. Dozens of Crown regulars toiled to create more earthworks — long, high ridges of wet soil to protect them in future battles.

  Several cannons were rolled into place overlooking the water as General Vincent and Colonel Harvey strolled along to survey the work. “If they come by land and sea at the same time, we’re defeated,” Vincent said.

  “Not if we go to them first,” Harvey said, stepping over a puddle.

  “This isn’t the time for foolishness. Our efforts should be focused on defence — what little of it there’s left.”

  Harvey avoided his commander’s eyes. “If I may say so, sir, I think you’re being too pessimistic.”

  “I’m being realistic. Our only hope is to resist their assault.”

  “Perhaps you’ll change your mind when the scout parties return. Once we know where the Americans are camped, we might be able to launch a pre-emptive strike.”

  Vincent stopped and turned to him. “Assuming we find them, we can’t spare any men to fight them.”

  Harvey took a long look at the soldiers working.

  “I think the men would rather die attacking the enemy than defending Burlington Heights. At least we’d have the element of surprise.”

  Vincent noticed a fresh grave and some troops digging another. “Death is death. And just as honourable under either circumstance. No, we’ll stay here and defend ourselves ... and the fate of the country.” He entered his tent and closed the flap behind him.