Acts of Courage (11 page)

FIFTEEN

Laura woke up with a start. She was almost certain she had heard the sound of a cannon firing. So, it had begun. The war they had all dreaded had come to Queenston and Niagara.

Laura jumped from her bed and hurried to the window to look out. She could see nothing but rain pelting against the window in the jet blackness of the October night.

James, where are you?
she asked herself.
Are you at the Landing to meet the enemy or have you gone to Fort George?
Or maybe you’re with General Brock.
She prayed aloud, “Please, God, protect him wherever he is.”

“Mama, mama.” The cry came from the cradle beside the bed as her son, Charles, woke up in fear.

Harriet and Charlotte stumbled into the room, almost tripping on their long flannel nightgowns. “Is that gunfire, Mama?” asked Harriet, still rubbing her eyes.

Charlotte was fully awake and asked anxiously, “Is it a bad thunderstorm? Do you want us to go downstairs?” But Laura could see the fear in her eyes and realized that her oldest daughter was well aware of the danger ahead.

“You go back to sleep now—all of you,” Laura said. “I’m keeping watch and, if I need to, I’ll call you.” Reassured, they returned to their beds.

Laura sank to her knees and leaned against the bed until the thumping of her heart had eased. After a short time, she got to her feet and dressed quietly, putting on her old short gown and petticoats. She lay back on the bed, fully dressed, and listened to the heavy rain.

It was still dark when Laura roused herself from a half-sleep. She looked down at Charles, who had kicked away his covering. His chubby pink toes lay bare on the quilt. Laura got up and pulled the blanket back over him, for the chill of the storm had penetrated the house. The clock on the dresser struck five a.m. It was time to get the girls ready to leave the house.

In the girls’ room across the hall, Charlotte was lying with her eyes wide open, but Harriet was sleeping soundly in her bunk opposite the bedstead. Laura cautioned Charlotte with a finger to her lips and pointed to the clothes on the bedpost, then she walked out of the room and went downstairs.

When Laura entered the kitchen, she was surprised to see Bob and Fan already moving around. Bob had a crackling fire going in the fireplace, and Laura stood by the hearth to warm herself. Fan was shaking as she stirred the porridge in the iron pot over the hearth. “Why can’t them Americans just stay home, anyway? We don’t want their laws here.”

Bob and Fan had come from the settlement of former slaves on the southwest side of St. David’s. They, and many others who lived there, had been freed under a law passed by Governor Simcoe in 1793. The new legislation forbade the import of slaves into the province and freed the children of slaves when they reached the age of twenty-five. It was no wonder that Fan feared an American takeover. It could mean she and her husband would be sent back to slavery.

After Laura helped prepare the breakfast, she went out the back door of the house and looked up to the Heights. It was still dark, but the rain was falling less heavily now. She could hear rustling sounds. Was there movement between the trees? She shrank back in fear to the side of the house and strained to see.

A bolt of lightning streaked across the sky and, in its pale light, she saw men in the red uniform of the British Army walking up the hill on foot. There was a great clap of thunder and, at the very same moment, the firing of guns.

Laura ran into the house and up the stairs and took a deep breath outside her daughters’ room. Then she went in and spoke with a quiet firmness that did not reveal her fear. “Harriet, dress quickly, and Charlotte, please get the baby ready.” Laura had trained her children before the crisis, and they knew now that they must do exactly as she said.

But before they could go down the stairs, they heard men’s voices and a loud banging at the back door. All four froze in fear as Laura called out, “Who is it?”

The voices were not distinguishable at first. Then they heard James above the noise of the others. “It’s me, Laura.”

While the children huddled together at the top of the stairs, Laura ran down to the door and pulled up the latch lock.

James burst into the room with three other men. Their red jackets and white breeches were soaking wet and spattered with mud. The sickening smell of wet wool and blood filled the hallway. The four of them carried a very large man in a gold-trimmed scarlet uniform. Laura held up a candle and, in its flickering light, she saw that the officer’s chest was soaked in blood.

“Quick, Fan,” Laura whispered as she stared at the wounded man. “Bring water and cloths.”

Her husband’s face was ashen, for the man they carried was their own General, Isaac Brock. “Up the stairs,” gasped James, his arms under one shoulder of his commander.

The frightened children scurried back to their room, and Laura handed Charles over to Charlotte. She closed their door tightly behind her as the men climbed the stairs very slowly with their precious burden.

The door to her bedroom was still open when she left the girls, and she could see the men by the bed, bending over the general. James came out alone to her and closed the door behind him.

“Laura, General Brock cannot be helped now. Tell Fan not to bring the water. In case the body is found here, we are removing his uniform so he can’t be identified by the enemy. We do not want them to know our leader is dead; nor do we want them to have the body. They’ll not recognize him out of uniform.”

“What are we to do—the children, James?”

“Go to the country. There is still some cover of darkness. Go through the village to the north side and then straight west. You’ll be safe there. For now, the Americans want Queenston. The countryside is safe.”

“But where are they? I thought the fighting would be at the Landing.”

“We thought so, too. We had it well guarded, but somehow they found a way to the Heights up the sheer cliffs through the fishermen’s pass. Only a few from Niagara know that way. Someone has betrayed us.”

“Where are the general’s men?”

“They aren’t here yet. When General Brock heard the cannon, he thought it was a ruse to draw his men away from their stronghold at Fort George so the enemy could attack there. He didn’t believe it was possible for them to find their way, let alone to climb that cliff. He felt the real fighting would come at the Landing, and he knew we were well prepared to hold out there until he could bring his men. So he left his men and came himself to investigate the situation.”

“It must have been three in the morning when I heard that cannon. Did the sound come from across the river?”

“No, it was our own cannon stationed halfway up the Heights above Queenston. Our men shot it to warn us, then spiked it, making it useless, and fled down the hill. They never reached the bottom because the warning sound revealed their position and they were shot.”

“Why didn’t General Brock wait for more men before he attacked?”

“If he’d waited, he wouldn’t have been able to stop the Americans from marching in and taking Queenston. We held them back, and Colonel Macdonell should be here any minute to lead the next attack. The Americans have retreated for the moment.”

The solemn-faced soldiers hurried out of the bedroom, and James said, “I must go, Laura. You and the children hurry away. Bob and Fan will help.”

James and the other men rushed down the stairs and were gone.

“Come quickly,” Laura called to her children, opening their door. They crowded behind her as they went down the stairs.

Bob and Fan, who were waiting in the hall, helped put a cape on Charles, and they all hurried outside. The raw, wet wind cut through them as they walked along the street leading away from the Heights.

It seemed to take forever to reach the north end of town. It had started to rain again when they got there, and they met scores of wet and dirty Canadian and British soldiers marching down the main road toward them. Bob cheered loudly when Captain Runchey’s company of black soldiers came into sight.

The family turned up a side street, then headed north and west. Before long, they were on the outskirts of Queenston.

“We’ll cut across country now,” said Laura. She knew that any farm family would take them in, but the farther they went from Queenston, the safer they would be. She decided to head for the Chrysler or Clement farm.

They walked on in broad daylight now, and the rain had almost stopped. A silly rhyme that her father used to repeat started ringing in Laura’s ears: “If it rains before seven, it’ll stop before eleven.” Barely four months had passed since his death and she thought of him often. But if he were alive now, he would surely be grieved by this war. How torn he would have been, for he had friends on both sides.

The sound of gunshots echoed from the Heights behind them. Looking back, she could see flashes of gunsmoke. God, please keep James safe, she pleaded silently as she pushed along.
“Aren’t we ever gonna get there?” Harriet grumbled.

“How about a ride?” Bob asked, lifting the small girl onto his broad shoulders. From her new perch, Harriet smiled at the others who were still walking.

“May I carry Charles a piece, Ma’am?” Fan asked.

“I’ll be all right. He’s asleep, and it’s not far now.” Laura’s arms did ache, though, for Charles was a big baby. Laura turned to look back and saw other groups of women and children coming from the southeast.

The road was muddy in places, and as they reached the woods near the back of Clements’ farm, she said, “Climb through this rail fence here, and we’ll cut off at least a mile from going on the road.” They all squeezed through between the rails and pushed along a trail through the bush. The grass along the edges was long and very wet, but at least they were free of the mud on the road.

Finally, they saw the big grey, flat-board barn and the log cabin beyond. As they approached the house, Mrs. Clement swung the door wide open and reached out for the baby. Her usually jolly face was sober as she laid Charles on the bed in the adjoining room.

Pale-faced, the girls huddled together on the long bench by the hearth. The fire felt good.

“Will you have some porridge for yourself and the young-uns?” asked Mrs. Clement. “It’ll warm you.”

“We’ll just rest first, thank you,” Laura said, collapsing into a chair before the fire.

Mrs. Clement nodded and turned to stir the big pot of oatmeal porridge that she had already prepared for any who might come that day.

***

Much later in the morning, as Laura cut bread for the noon meal and the children played outside, she heard a loud knock at the front door. She went to open it and was not surprised to see Mrs. Law, another woman fleeing from Queenston, along with her eleven-year-old son, John. The Laws lived across town from the Secords, but they had chatted many times in the Secords’ general store.

“We’ve just come from Queenston,” she said. Her face had lost all of its colour and, glassy-eyed, she mumbled, “The fighting is bad. My husband and older son have been killed in the battle. I fear the Americans will take Queenston.”

Her red-headed son, John, stared straight ahead, too, and sat down silently on a chair just inside the door. He did not look like his usual self at all, with his face so pale even the freckles were faded. The stubborn expression on his face and his wild-looking hair reminded Laura of someone.

“Mama, Charles is crying,” Charlotte called from the bedroom. Laura went in to calm the baby and to coax him to eat a little.

When she came back into the kitchen, Mrs. Clement, Fan, and Charlotte had set the table for all of them. It was a simple meal of bread, turnips, and fried pork, with a glass of milk for each child.

“I’ll call the others,” Laura said, going to the door. Her children came running to the house, but young John Law was not with them.

Mrs. Law, who had sat in a numbed state on the kitchen couch since her arrival, suddenly came to life, screaming, “Where’s my son?” She stared wildly about and then rushed out of the house.

Laura looked at Mrs. Clement, who gave her a knowing glance. The woman had just lost her husband and older boy that morning. No wonder she was panicking. Laura suddenly realized whom young John had reminded her of. He looked just like Red, that unforgettable fugitive from a different battle. But now, she and her children were the fugitives.

“We must all help her look,” Laura said, breaking off her thoughts. The older children raced outside to hunt while Laura and Mrs. Clement started searching through the house.

“More than likely he’s crawled into a corner in the barn somewhere. That young’un is havin’ hisself a good cry where no one cin see him,” Mrs. Clement said.

Laura was looking behind the barrels on the back stoop when she noticed the elderly Mr. Clement heading toward the house.

“Was he in the barn?” Mrs. Clement asked anxiously, coming up behind Laura.

“No, but since you’ve not found him, I cin go back and check agin.”

Mr. Clement turned to go back to the barn, but stopped abruptly at Mrs. Clement’s cry. “Joseph, your musket’s missin’—and your cartridge pouch, too! Don’t you always keep ’em in back of the pantry?”

‘Yep, haven’t moved them for weeks.”