How the Americans Came to York, April 27, 1813.
"Steady, man," said Dr. Tam, with his hand on Edgar's arm. "The
laddie's threatening to disinherit you, instead of waiting for you to
do it to him. Now, listen, I'm an officer in Ferguson's regiment,
and no matter what he puts in private letters, which are none of my
business, I want to tell you something. Down at Lake Champlain the
Governor-General, Prevost, visited us. We were to make an attack on
the Yankee camp, and the night before I heard Ferguson preaching to
the men. He told them that being ready to die made a man more fit to
live. A Christian soldier can do his duty more calmly and bravely
and be more true to the king and obedient to his officers.
"He was standing on a box by a camp fire, with the men all 'round him
listening in deep silence. I saw the colonel come up with Governor
Prevost, who seemed surprised at a soldier's preaching. The colonel
said to Captain Haslem, who was there--'What kind of man is Ferguson?
Does he do his duty?'. The captain said--'He is always ready for any
call; all I ever heard against him is his preaching, and reproving
the men for swearing.' The Governor said--'I think we will let him
go on then. The army needs some chaplains.'
"The Yankees were gone when we went the next day. Our men plundered
the farms quite a bit. I kept my eye on Ferguson, and saw that he
not only never touched a thing, but kept the men near him better
behaved than they would have been. Now, you let the lad be till the
lake opens. There'll be stiff fighting then, and if he does his duty
let him have what religion he likes."
Edgar nodded grumpily, and as Ned left the room, he added, "If he
fails I'll send him off. I've worked too hard to make a name here to
have it disgraced by a Methodist coward."
He said very little to Ned during the next two months. On the
twenty-fifth of April, the ice had cleared from Toronto Bay, and Bee,
in her serge habit and plumed hat, sat very upright on her horse as
she rode by Sir John along the muddy water front to the wharves.
"They are very slow with those ships," she remarked, with the air of
a naval expert. "Major Edgar says there is too much red tape."
"Ladies shouldn't talk of war or politics. The feminine mind cannot
understand such things," but Sir John smiled on Bee with kindly
toleration as he spoke, for he was very fond of the outspoken,
affectionate girl. Then his face clouded again. Three ships should
have been ready by now, and only one stood complete--the
"Gloucester", which was then leisurely taking her guns on board. The
second ship was ready for launching, and men were working hard on the
third. Sir John had not been able to adapt himself to the new
conditions 'round him, as a younger man might. He was mainly
responsible for the delay with the ships, for Archy had been
recommended to him as a practical ship-builder, and the stately
baronet had been so scandalized by Archy's free and easy manners and
lack of grammar, that when that young man pointed out a score of
makeshifts that could be used on the new ships, and quoted the
Americans as having built a vessel of sixty-six guns at Sackett's
Harbor, eighty days after her first timbers had been laid, Sir John
told him firmly that such things would not do in British
ship-building. So snubbed him, that Archy had given no more advice.
Work on the ships had been stopped continually, while "proper
equipments" were being dragged up the long trail from Quebec.
"Old man means well, and I kinder like him," Archy told Edgar, "but
he's so stiffened up with pipeclay that he can't move except
according to regulations. I'm getting sorrier all the time that
General Brock's dead. Them Shawanese at Detroit wouldn't have acted
up so if he'd been round, and these ships would have got done."
Blake, the pompous captain of the "Gloucester", came to speak to Sir
John, and Bee, looking round, saw Susie walking with Ned in his
militia uniform, along Palace Street. Susie looked very pretty in
her short skirted house dress of homespun, with white collar and a
knot of red ribbon, and one of two young officers riding by stared at
her with impertinent admiration. The other, who was Vere, pretended
not to see Ned, but as they reached Sir John, Roke, his friend,
remarked, "Pretty thing over there with the red ribbons."
"That lady is the wife of Major Edgar, sir," said Sir John coldly.
He disliked Roke, whom he blamed for enticing Vere into the drinking
and gambling bouts which were continually unfitting him for duty, and
bitterly disappointing his grandfather.
"We don't speak of a lady under a colonel's wife," said Roke to Vere
as they rode on. "A captain's wife may be a woman, but under that
they are only things; and militia titles don't count."
Vere laughed, because he was afraid of being laughed at if he didn't,
though he was secretly disgusted with Roke's coarseness.
Unfortunately, Archy, passing by, heard the doubtful joke. He
repeated it to four militia men who knew Edgar and his wife well,
adding, "There's a dance to-night at their Palace place, and Mrs.
Edgar will be there sure, with most of our women. Now I haven't
anything against most of the crowd they'll meet--a bit too starched
for my taste that's all. But that there Roke doesn't get to no dance
in York with our women, and I guess you boys will have to help me
find him another engagement for to-night."
The ball was at its height that evening (and away at the other end of
the lake, two frigates with a dozen transports stood out from
Sackett's Harbour to attack York) when Sheaffe was asking why Roke
was not there, he having sent for him.
Roke finally entered, smothered in mud from head to foot. He said
that as he drove to the ball with his servant, five masked men
stopped them. One cut the horse loose and drove him on. The others
lifted the light cart and turned it over with its occupants
imprisoned beneath it in a deep mud hole. When they got out, the
five had vanished, but Roke accused Ned and some companions, for he
imagined the young man had resented his look at Susie. It was easily
proved, however, that Ned had not left home that evening, and his
name was dropped, though Roke still thought him responsible.
All York talked of Roke's mishap the next day, and Sheaffe attempted
vainly to find the mysterious five. Then Roke was forgotten, for at
four in the afternoon Gibraltar Point signalled that the enemy's
fleet was in sight, about twenty miles away, and approaching them.
York called out her defenders, two hundred regulars, three hundred
militia, and one hundred Indians. These last were stationed in
little groups in the woods round Humber Bay, Edgar and Tahata being
with them. The white men spent the night under arms in Fort Toronto,
while in the town the women buried silver, and tore up linen for
bandages.
Before dawn Ned was hurrying through the bush with Archy and his
company, very afraid that a queer feeling he had was fear. Hideous
faces daubed in black and white and blood red, peered at them as they
passed. The Indians were waiting for the fight in their war-costume
of loin-cloth and paint. Only the chiefs wore buckskin shirts and
leggings, though their faces looked like demon masks. Suddenly Ned
met his father, dressed as he had seen him first at Quebec, with a
belt of wampum as his badge of office. Now he only held out his
hand, but his grip and smile steadied Ned's nerves. He felt that his
father believed in him, and it gave him confidence in himself.
He crouched in the woods by Humber Bay, watching the enemy's ships.
They seemed very close now, ghostly looking shapes in the morning
twilight. Their boats were being loaded with troops to land beyond
the range of Fort Toronto's guns.
The boats came in, black shapes on the dawn-lit water, and from every
point in the woods on the shore came the wildest, most blood-curdling
sound Ned had ever heard--a long drawn out unearthly yell--the
war-whoop of the Mohawks. At the same time they fired, not in
volleys, but each Indian picking out his man. Then Fort Toronto
spoke in fire, for the two warships were nearing the entrance to the
harbour. They answered instantly with their heavier guns, and a
rolling cloud of smoke shut out the sight of the risen sun from
Humber Bay, and the roar of the cannonading dulled the noise of the
conflict on the shore. A mass of blue-clad men had landed there, to
be met by a savage scattering fire from the Indians and a sheet of
flame from the ambushed militia. Ned, for the first time, was firing
at living men. His nervousness had vanished, he forgot his scruples
against war. He fired, loaded, and fired again, in almost mechanical
obedience to orders.
He stopped firing on command, for out of the fort came a wave of
scarlet tipped with steel--the regulars were charging with the
bayonet on those blue lines forming on the shore.
"My happy grandmother!" ejaculated Archy, "there's something besides
starch in those fellows, swinging into battle like that. I just hate
to fight out in the open; you see----"
Ned never knew what. The order to charge came to them, and he was
dashing out of cover at Archy's heels. He gasped as the man beside
him fell in a crumpled heap, and the bullets whistled past his ears.
Then he forgot himself in that mêleé of battling men.
* * *
The sun, a fierce red ball, gleamed through the smoke, and by the
green woods men in red coats, men in gray coats, and men in no coats
at all, flung themselves on the blue lines which wavered, and
stumbled backward into the shallows of the lake. Now more boats were
coming from the ships, the American general, Pike, standing in the
foremost, as he cheered on his men.
Ned was parted from his companions in the rush. He sprang over a
log, and fired at an American officer who came at him with uplifted
sword. The man fell, and all the delirium of battle passed from
Ned's brain, as he stared horror-struck at his fallen foe. The
American was on his feet again, and the dark blood streaming from his
shoulder. He leaned weakly against a tree, and raised his sword.
Ned looked round and saw a young Indian, frightful with his naked
painted body and a dripping scalp at his girdle, levelling his musket
at the wounded man. Instantly Ned was between them--"Stop, Kawque,"
he cried to the Indian, "the man is wounded. He has surrendered."
"I have not," said the American, adding with biting contempt, "I do
not surrender to a renegade. I prefer to be shot, rather than
massacred as my countrymen were, who surrendered to yours at Detroit."
Ned heard the Indian move behind him, and knew in a moment that he
would see the wounded man shot down. Something in the American's
proud eyes gave him an inspiration, and he cried, "Are you Eli Goode?
I am Ned Edgar, and I know your sister. For Bee Goode's sake,
surrender now."
The American's face changed, as quickly as Bee's often did. He
lowered his sword, exclaiming, "Bee wrote of you in England."
The Indian glided away, and Eli sank fainting to the ground again.
Ned cut his coat away, bandaging the wound with a skill he had learnt
from Dr. Brown. He did not knew that for a few minutes he and Eli
had been alone in the thicket, but that they were then surrounded by
the advancing Americans. For an instant Ned was covered by a dozen
rifles, which were raised as quickly as his occupation was
discovered. He stood up very dismayed, but the foremost American was
speaking. "Reckon you took the captain prisoner, and now we have
taken you, so an exchange will be all right. Better chase yourself
out of this, stranger." Ned snatched up his rifle and ran.
He was soon back to the woods, where his friends had retreated. It
was now ten o'clock, and the battle was lost. Fort Toronto's
fortifications had been ruined, and her guns silenced by the enemy's
fire. Her garrison had left and fallen back on Western Battery,
where the scattered men from Humber Bay joined them. As Ned came in
he saw the American flag rise over the ruins of their first fort.
Just then he did not love his enemies at all.
He saw Sir John sitting on his horse as composed in that hour of
defeat and danger as if he had been on parade. Ned watched him
giving orders to the waiting men 'round him, with a great respect for
British discipline. Then Edgar hurried by, his stern face softening
as he saw his son. He went to Sir John who sent him on to burn the
ships on the stocks, and wrote another order for Vere to take to the
captain of the "Gloucester", that she must be blown up. Then after
speaking to the men who were spiking the guns of Western Battery, he
rode off towards Half-moon Fort where Sheaffe was waiting. Ned and
his companions followed, plodding along like the weary defeated men
they were.
Outside Western Battery, Pike and the advancing Americans had halted,
summoning the silent fort. But they got no answer, the regulars were
just leaving, Vere riding by their captain. Ned saw flames bursting
from the new ships, and immediately after was thrown to the ground by
an explosion that shook the earth beneath him. The powder magazine
of Western Battery had blown up--an awful volcano of flame and smoke,
the debris of a fort, and the high-hurled broken bodies of three
hundred men.
Americans, including General Pike, and English were killed alike, and
the explosion itself was a mystery. Certainly neither army could
have been intentionally responsible for it, entailing as it did, the
lives of so many men on each side.
Ned picked himself up unhurt, and looked back in horror. He saw Vere
stumble up from beside his dead horse, and run a few steps, then fall
again, brought down by a sharpshooter's bullet. Many of the
scattered Americans were sheltering in the woods.
Only remembering the old schoolboy friendship, Ned crept from stump
to stump, till he was crouching by Vere in the slender cover of a
pile of brushwood. Vere's face was drawn, and his eyes, wild with
fear, stared at Ned as he spoke in panting jerks--"I'm dying, Ned."
"You're not dying, Vere," said Ned, as he skilfully bandaged the
wound. It was in the leg, dangerously near a large artery. Ned knew
it needed better attention than he could give, but how was Vere to be
got to Half-moon Fort, across the common swept by the enemy's fire?
Ned knelt down, managed to get Vere on his back, and praying the
bandage might not slip, stepped out boldly. Very slowly he walked
along beside the forest in whose shades Death crouched, but with
American chivalry no man fired, and they reached Half-moon in safety.
There Ned was hailed by Archy. "Hello, didn't know what had become
of you. We've got to get out of here. The women from the Palace are
in town--Mrs. Haslem and Miss Bee are at your place and the Yankees
won't hurt anything in petticoats; Sheaffe and the regulars, and the
wounded in wagons, are making tracks for the Don bridge, and as the
Yankees won't take the militia prisoners, if they come in and give
their parole, he says we can do as we like. You can bet your sweet
life I ain't going to give no parole, but I'm not going to Kingston
with Sheaffe either. I'm off to the bush till I can find a general
who does things, but it'll be all right for you to look after your
redcoat friend."
So the very independent militia captain went off, with most of his
companions, to look for a commander they approved of. Ned meanwhile
found a surgeon, and helped put Vere in the last of the hurrying
wagons, that took the wounded past sullen little York, and crossing
the Don bridge, plunged into the woods along the Quebec Road
(Kingston Highway). Vere sat up and held out his hand to Ned as the
wagon reached the Don, for Ned was one of the rear guard who were to
fire the bridge, after the retreating party had crossed. They did
this, and Ned managed to be left on the Toronto side of the river.
Then he made for the woods behind York, hoping to find his sagacious,
ungrammatical captain.
The smoke from the burning bridge joined that of the fire by the
wharves, wrapping Edgar, as he stood on the shore, impatiently
waiting for the messenger with the order that should prevent the
capture of the "Gloucester". The Americans had been delayed by the
confusion following the death of Pike, but Edgar was expecting to see
their frigates off the wharves every minute. He had already been
once to beg the captain to blow her up without the order. He could
tell him it had been given, and its non-delivery was no doubt owing
to the messenger's death in the explosion. But Blake had declined to
take orders--or advice--from a militia officer, and Edgar had fumed
on shore, to hurry back as his quick eye saw the enemy's ships
advancing slowly through the smoke.
But Half-moon Battery was empty with her guns spiked, and without a
crew, the "Gloucester" could not fight. Still her captain refused to
destroy her till the last minute, and before Edgar could convince him
it had come, the frigates bore triumphantly down on them, and they
were ignominiously captured. York surrendered at once, and at two in
the afternoon, the American flag was raised over the town. The
parliament buildings were sacked and fired, the town escaping by
payment of a money requisition, but the stores were emptied and many
houses robbed of silver, the enemy getting a spoil, mainly in furs,
of half a million dollars.
The officers of the "Gloucester" were sent on shore. Only Edgar
stayed. A lean American pointed at him accusingly--"You are the
renegade who called yourself Kaanah," he cried.
"That is my name in the lodges of the Mohawks," Edgar answered
carelessly. "If you mean to hang me you have a good chance." He
glanced at the yardarm above his head, and threw open his collar,
adding, "I am also a British subject, and England will make you pay
for my murder. It would be nothing else, for you cannot find a man
who can say I have done anything unworthy of my race."
But the men round him were possessed by that hate of the Indian which
has so often hurried men of the new world into thoughtless reprisal,
and Edgar would have died, had not a girl appeared among the soldiers
on the shore. She was holding the arm of an American officer,
white-faced and with a bandaged shoulder. Eli had got himself
billeted on Susie to protect his sister and her friends, and he had
gone out with Bee to look for Edgar, whom he knew would be in danger
if recognized among the prisoners. Bee saw Edgar, and Eli sent her
back at once, going on board himself. "Gentlemen," he said to
Edgar's judges, "fifteen years ago my father met Mr. Edgar, both
travelling through the Ohio valley. They were captured by the
Shawanese. Mr. Edgar was spared because he was English, and Tecumseh
was hoping for the friendship of the English against us. My father
was to be burned at the stake, but Mr. Edgar risked sharing his fate
by pleading and offering bribes, and instead of both dying, both were
spared, and the Indians named this man Kaanah, 'One-who-is-a-Friend'.
They were close friends till my father's death, when he left my only
sister to Mr. Edgar's guardianship. England may have shamed her
civilization by her alliance with savages, but though as a soldier
Mr. Edgar could not choose his duties, I am certain he has never been
a renegade to his white blood."
Eli's defence of his father's friend was accepted, and Edgar was sent
to the other prisoners at the palace. It was night now; in conquered
York the women grieved for their dead, and prayed for their
living--the men who were in the woods, and who would not surrender.
As Edgar entered the big room where the English prisoners were, he
saw Roke among them, and heard him saying--"The worst of all is
letting them get the 'Gloucester', and Sir John gave Ensign Haslem
the order for her captain. I heard him. And I saw young Haslem
being carried to a wagon by Ned Edgar, and also saw him hold out his
hand to Ned, evidently giving him something. Now, that order was not
delivered, and as Ned is not among the dead or prisoners, it means
that he ran without doing what he was ordered."
"You lie," said Edgar promptly. Roke turned on him angrily, but the
other men interfered. Exhaustion was more responsible for peace than
forebearance, however, and Roke, with most of the others, was asleep,
when he was awakened some time later by Edgar.
"I'm going to escape," said the militia officer briefly, "I know more
about this Palace than the men who think they are guarding us, and
you are going with me. You called my son a coward, and when we find
Ensign Haslem, and when he says, as I know he will, that it was not
to Ned that he gave the letter, I shall take great pleasure in
shooting you."