Billy Green Saves the Day

by Ben Guyatt

  Adam caressed her hair as she buried her face in his chest. “He isn’t going to die,” he whispered as though to comfort himself more than her. “He’ll come back to both of us.” He looked at Levi, Keziah, and Hannah.

  “To all of us.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Billy rode through the black of night, his arms clinging tightly to Tip’s neck. The animal’s hooves came perilously close to the escarpment’s edge as Billy’s eyes searched for signs of the Americans. In the distance light radiated from the campfires at Burlington Heights just as a sudden bolt of lightning momentarily turned the countryside an incandescent white.

  Following a trail down the escarpment, Billy stopped at the foot of a swamp. He dismounted and calmed Tip as the horse panted from fatigue. “Good boy, Tip. We finally made it.”

  Billy tied the horse to a tree before wading into the hip-deep sludge. He fought to cross the marsh and hauled himself up the slippery embankment where he saw the friendly fires of the British Army a short distance away. The white canvas shelters were arranged in neat, tight rows surrounded by militia, settler, and Indian pavilions.

  Thoroughly winded, Billy hobbled onward, but then froze. He sensed someone behind him and pivoted to find a stone-faced British sentry holding a musket.

  “Identify yourself!” the soldier demanded.

  “My name’s Billy Green. I’m a Loyalist. The Americans have invaded Stoney Creek.”

  The guard aimed his musket. “You’re a spy.”

  “Please, you have to listen to me,” Billy said, but the sentinel pushed the tip of the weapon against his chest.

  “Don’t move! One more word and I’ll kill you.” The sentry shoved Billy forward into a tent where Colonel Harvey sat at a table writing. “Sir, this man claims he’s a Loyalist from Stoney Creek. I caught him trying to enter the camp.”

  Billy stepped forward. “The Yankees have taken over the Gage house. There are thousands of them.”

  “I know,” Harvey said, continuing to write.

  Billy’s jaw dropped. “What?”

  Fitzgibbon, dressed in full uniform, entered the tent. “I saw them,” he said casually. “I sold them butter, disguised as a settler. And now you’re trying to sell us a lie.”

  “Take him into custody,” Harvey said with a careless wave of his hand. “It’s obvious he’s trying to trick us into attacking and then be ambushed.”

  Billy struggled to break free, but the sentry manhandled him away. “You have to believe me. I’m not a spy. I know the American password.”

  Harvey looked up from his paperwork and studied Billy. “You’re lying. Get him out of here.”

  Billy was dragged off just as John Norton, the Indian leader, appeared outside the tent. “Let him be. I know this boy.”

  The moon disappeared behind some rain-filled clouds, and the wind began to pick up. Fog rolled in from Lake Ontario and crawled toward the shore, eventually engulfing Burlington Heights.

  Inside Vincent’s tent the general pulled on his coat. “What have we got?”

  “Seven hundred of our most elite men,” Colonel Harvey said, scanning a sheet of paper. “Major Pleanderleath will command the 49th Regiment, and Major Ogilvie is commanding the 8th.”

  Vincent buttoned his jacket. “Good, good. We’ll take one cannon. Any more will slow the march. You take the point, and I’ll bring up the rear.”

  “Yes, sir. I also think we should split our forces once we get there.” Harvey placed a hand-drawn map of the Gage property on the desk. “I suggest Fitzgibbon and I follow the road in while Ogilvie attacks from the south and Pleanderleath from the north.” He pointed with his finger. “Norton will lead his Indians from the high ground on the southwest corner of the farm. I’ve evenly split the militia between both regiments.”

  “I just pray to God the Americans don’t attack us here while we’re advancing on them,” the general said, attaching his sword.

  “About that, sir, I’d really like to see more men going to Stoney Creek.”

  “It’s out of the question, Colonel. If we should fail, Burlington Heights is all that’s left between this country and the Americans. We need more men here.” Vincent opened a drawer in his desk, retrieved his Bible, and sat in his chair. “I need some time alone. Please leave me now. I’ll be out in a minute.”

  Harvey saluted. “You’re doing the right thing, sir.”

  General Vincent returned the gesture. “John?” Harvey turned. “Whatever happens, it’s been an honour serving with you. I personally want to thank you for your courage and your candour.”

  “You’re most welcome, General.” Harvey smiled and then exited.

  Vincent opened the Bible and closed his eyes as he murmured a prayer.

  Several British soldiers were asleep in their bedrolls as condensation exhaled from their mouths with each breath. The fog crept beneath the tent as the men unconsciously pulled the covers tight.

  Suddenly, a British officer threw back the flap and kicked at the soldiers’ boots. “On your feet and prepare for duty! I want you outside now!” he barked, and hurried out. Soon the British regulars and militia formed ranks as the Indians did the same under John Norton.

  Billy anxiously kept step with Colonel Harvey, who supervised the beehive of activity. “Please, I want to fight.”

  “You’ve done enough,” Harvey said, continuing the survey of his troops.

  “I need to do this, sir. Please, I’m begging you. I know this area better than anybody. I know it as well as any animal. I could be your scout.”

  Harvey stopped walking and confronted him. “I’m sorry, son, but leave this to the professionals.” He slapped Billy on the back before striding away.

  Dejected, Billy watched as the combatants assembled outside General Vincent’s tent. After a few moments, the general stepped out, dressed in his crisp uniform. A hush fell over the crowd.

  “Gentlemen, we’re going to march the three hours to Stoney Creek and launch a surprise attack on the Americans.” The general’s announcement caused an instantaneous reaction of whispers, both of support and disbelief.

  Vincent inspected the musket of a nearby infantryman. “This will be a cold-steel exercise, people. There will be no flints in the firelocks, so nobody fires prematurely.” He turned to Harvey. “Colonel Harvey has convinced me that this attack is essential. If we stay here and do nothing, it will only be a matter of time before the Americans surround us. This raid truly represents Upper Canada’s only hope of maintaining independence from American domination and expansion. This is a moment your children can say they witnessed ... and hopefully remember the sacrifices made to keep their future in their own hands.” Vincent patted the head of a nearby infant in his mother’s arms.

  The general’s eyes drifted off, and he frowned. “If Upper Canada falls to the United States, Lower Canada will surely follow. The destiny of a nation depends upon this fight, and though we’re outnumbered three to one, we do have the advantage of surprise.”

  Slowly, he walked along, surveying the troops. “A victory will indelibly write your names in history. Your efforts will be as great as those of the warriors before you.” He halted before a teenage drummer. “This is more than a battle about the British defending Crown territory.” He turned to the Six Nations men. “This is about our Indian allies and preserving their land and identity.”

  The general ambled over to a militiaman, who was holding his young son’s hand. “It’s about maintaining the livelihoods of the settlers and securing a future for their children and grandchildren. Some of you won’t return, but your noble sacrifice won’t be forgotten for generations to come.”

  Vincent scanned the nervous faces of his army and then focused on Billy. “And, finally, we all owe a debt of gratitude to Billy Green here. He’s made this assault possible by giving us the American password.” The general withdrew his sword and presented it to Billy. “I’d be honoured if you’d lead us as our official scout to Stoney Creek, Billy.” He ha
nded the young man a folded British uniform.

  Billy’s despondent face filled with jubilation as he glanced at Harvey. The colonel nodded and smiled. Billy beamed with pride as he gladly accepted the weapon and clothing. “Yes, sir!”

  Vincent climbed atop his horse and donned his hat. “Good luck, men, and may God bless you. Mr. Green, get into that uniform and lead us on.”

  Quickly, Billy ran behind a tent and disrobed. With quaking hands he stared at the white pants and pulled them on. He was shaking with excitement so badly he couldn’t get the red coat through his arms. Colonel Harvey appeared and held the jacket as Billy slipped into it. The officer buttoned it for him and gave Billy the standard black hat. Harvey smiled. “You look like a soldier. How do you feel?”

  “Happy ... and kind of scared,” Billy said sheepishly. “But I won’t let you down, sir.”

  “I know you won’t, son. Come on, it’s time.” Harvey escorted him to the vanguard of the small army.

  Billy took a deep breath and began to march as the men followed. He frequently checked over his shoulder and grinned with excitement, still amazed that he was leading the way.

  Major Pleanderleath caught up to Billy. “Slow the march, son.”

  “If we don’t hurry, daylight will break by the time we get there,” Billy warned.

  “Easy, lad, there will be time enough to die,” the major said.

  Billy gripped his sword. “Everyone thinks I’m just a boy, but I’m not afraid to die.”

  “I hope that’s true, because tonight will surely turn you into a man,” Pleanderleath said, falling back into the ranks.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Hours later the now slack, protracted, single-file column of British soldiers, Indians, and militiamen tramped silently through the timberland, their profiles moving eerily amid the heavy growth of pines. The small army came across another swampy marsh as the soldiers held their weapons over their heads in the knee-high mud.

  Billy looked up as a light rain started to fall. He heard the annoying buzz of a mosquito and slapped his sweaty neck too hard.

  Nearby, Major Pleanderleath watched him. “Are you all right?”

  “Sure,” Billy said unconvincingly.

  Pleanderleath smiled knowingly. “It’s normal to be frightened.”

  “I’m not!” Billy cried much too loudly.

  Pleanderleath wrapped an arm around Billy. “You should be.” A few snickers could be heard from some of the other men.

  “Are ... are you scared?” Billy asked shyly.

  “Of course, but those of us in the army know how to hide it better. There isn’t a man here who isn’t frightened.” Pleanderleath gestured at the marching troops behind them.

  Billy smiled weakly. “I guess I’m a little worried.”

  “You’ll be fine,” Pleanderleath said as the men came to the foot of a swollen creek. Some complained but were soon reprimanded.

  Through the trees Billy spied a church near the Gage property. “There it is,” he whispered to Pleanderleath, pointing.

  “Wait here!” Pleanderleath ordered, scurrying off.

  After a few moments, Colonel Harvey appeared on his horse and dismounted as the other British officers gathered around. “Take your men and skirt high around their camp from the south,” Harvey said to Ogilvie. “Major Pleanderleath, you attack from the north side. The general also wants some of your men to march on to the lake. The last thing we need is more Yankees joining the battle.” He glanced at Billy. “Well, son, are you ready?”

  Billy swallowed hard and nodded. “Yes, sir! I can handle anything.”

  Harvey shook his hand. “Good man.”

  Billy took a deep breath and moved cautiously forward, flanked by a small battalion. They moved stealthily through the woods and crouched behind some bushes. Billy peered through the branches and saw an American sentry sitting on a fallen tree trunk, his musket across his lap.

  The guard heard leaves rustling and quickly grabbed his musket. The soldier aimed when he saw Billy appear from the obscurity of the forest with his hands in the air to surrender. “I’m an American sympathizer, but the British forced me to fight. I escaped and want to enlist.”

  “Nobody gets in without the password,” the American said warily, steadying his weapon.

  “It’s Wil-Hen-Har,” Billy said.

  The enemy lowered his gun just as a British soldier emerged from the dark and bayoneted him in the chest. The young American gurgled as air escaped his trembling mouth before he slumped dead over the fallen log.

  Billy was shocked by the stark reality of the extermination and continued to stare at the slain man’s corpse. Colonel Harvey nudged him out of his trance and motioned for him to move along. Still mesmerized by the killing, Billy approached the second U.S. sentinel, who was sitting on a fence post. Sighting Billy, the soldier jumped to his feet and aimed his musket.

  “I escaped from the British,” Billy said again. “I’m an American sympathizer. I know the password. It’s Wil-Hen-Har.”

  The guard set his musket aside, and another British infantryman impaled him with a bayonet. The Yankee doubled over and let out a cry as he slipped into death. Twenty yards away, near the church, another American soldier heard the whimper and ran toward the British position.

  Billy panicked as he watched the enemy closing in and turned to Harvey, who was hiding in the shadows. “Shoot him,” he whispered.

  “Just give him the password,” Harvey ordered. “We can’t give our position away yet.”

  Nervously, Billy stepped forward, but the American saw his dead comrade. As the U.S. soldier raised his musket, Billy lunged forward and snatched it with his left hand. He watched in horror as the tip of the musket’s bayonet inched closer to his chest. Both men stared at each other with wide eyes until Billy managed to lift his sword with his right hand and stab the Yankee.

  Terrified, Billy stepped back and watched as the enemy dropped to his knees, still clinging to Billy’s legs and holding the musket. Gradually slackening, the American’s body finally relented as he fell onto his back, the sword protruding with the handle clenched in Billy’s hand. With his last breath the dying soldier’s reflexes relaxed as his finger pulled the trigger, sending a loud blast that echoed through the night air.

  Colonel Harvey advanced and angrily shook his head, realizing the element of surprise was lost. “Secure the church!” he shouted. The British charged as Billy stood there quivering, maintaining his death grip on the sword.

  Fitzgibbon ran up and dragged Billy away. “Come on!”

  Overwhelmed, Billy remained hypnotized by the surreal scene. “I ... I never killed a man before. He wasn’t much older than me, maybe younger. He was ... he was someone’s child.” He looked at Fitzgibbon.

  Fitzgibbon clutched Billy by the shoulders and shook him back to reality. “So are you!” He withdrew the sword from the Yankee’s torso and pressed it into Billy’s hand. “We have to go!” Fitzgibbon pulled him away as Billy rigidly glanced over his shoulder at the dead American.

  Just then a British soldier laughed as he raced alongside Billy. “Welcome to the war, boy!” he cried, running farther ahead.

  Inside the church, pandemonium reigned as the Americans awakened. Many scrambled for their guns and clumsily began the loading process, still half asleep and undressed.

  One U.S. officer clambered to the front of the room, frantically waving his arms in the air. “Quiet! There’s no reason to panic!” he shouted over the din as the flustered men gradually calmed down. “It was just a bolt of lightning.”

  As he said that, the door was kicked open and several British infantrymen entered and fired their muskets. The Americans were felled as those still in their bedrolls immediately surrendered.

  Outside the Gage house the American divisions were in total disarray as a frenzy of activity ensued. The officers argued fiercely about what action to take as some dismissed the reverberation as a clap of thunder.

  Inside one te
nt Major Smith hastily pulled on his boots and threw on his jacket. He ran outside and waved to his men. “We’re under attack! Form ranks!”

  One of Smith’s officers strolled toward him with a smirk. “It was just thunder, Major.”

  Smith seized him by the collar and yanked him closer. “I said form ranks, you idiot.”

  The junior officer grinned and shook his head. “You’re making a mistake, sir.” As he said that, a musket ball pierced the muggy air and penetrated his back with a sickening thud. The officer dropped to one knee, a look of surprise on his face.

  Smith tried to lift the man, but the dead officer’s weight forced him to drop the body. “Bloody fool!”

  In the Gage house General Chandler stood at the window gazing out, then glanced at Winder, who stared into space. “Our arrogance has brought us this mayhem!” Chandler said, hastening to get dressed.

  “How could you let this happen?” Winder asked, thoroughly astonished.

  Chandler froze when he heard his colleague’s words, then pointed at the door. “Get to the cannons! And may God have mercy on you ... on all of us.”

  Outside, Fitzgibbon led the procession toward the American campsite. Many of the British soldiers were already bragging about their imminent victory

  Billy proudly slashed his sword in the air when he noticed the abandoned campfires. “They’ve already retreated!”

  “Enough!” Fitzgibbon yelled. “The battle’s just begun. Now fix your flints.”

  Suddenly, Billy stopped running and looked around to discover that the Americans had moved their position away from the Gage home to the top of a hill. “Oh, my God,” he whispered when he heard the call of a bugle to summon the U.S. Cavalry.

  “Fire!” an American officer shouted. The Yankee forces commenced a maelstrom of bullets and cannonballs.

  The British were bombarded, many still trying to load their muskets. Instantly, dozens of redcoats dropped dead as the scent of gunpowder filled the air. Many writhed on the ground, severely wounded as the cannons initiated another barrage. The artillery blasted through the British ranks, killing and mutilating additional men.