by Tamara Gill
“I can understand that.”
They reached the place where Sean had said his ‘kit’ was stashed. Jaclyn found it with the help of a Fenian soldier who was apparently keeping an eye on the officers’ belongings.
Sean didn’t have much. There was a nineteenth century version of a knapsack, into which he’d stuffed a lethal-looking shaving tool, some soap and a brush to make it into a lather, and clothing of some kind which effectively hid what was below. She would have liked to rummage beneath the material, but with Newbigging and the Fenian looking on she figured it wasn’t such a good idea. She placed the plate and the fork on top of the shaving blade and closed the knapsack.
Newbigging immediately headed back toward O’Neill’s command post. Jaclyn went along. She had nothing better to do.
They were halfway there when she spied a fair-haired man wearing black talking to one of the Fenians. The soldier was listening politely, but he looked bored. After a moment the Fenian shook his head and the fair-haired man turned. Jaclyn saw that his face had once been handsome, but now it was puffy and the skin had sagged beneath eyes that lacked the spark of a man in charge of his life. On his cheeks and nose was a tracery of veins, giving him a florid look, while his complexion was a pasty white. Despite these indications of overindulgence, the fellow was wearing the coat and collar of a man of the cloth.
A little shiver of excitement slithered down Jaclyn’s spine and her heart skipped a beat. There was only one cleric she knew of who had come over with the Fenians.
The disappointment on cleric’s face disappeared when he saw Thomas Newbigging and Jaclyn. He started toward them.
Jaclyn grinned. She couldn’t help it. As a result of this meeting, Thomas Newbigging’s day was to become even worse than it already was.
***
The cleric held out his hand as he introduced himself. “David Lumsden, chaplain to the Fenian army, at your service. And you are, sir?”
“Thomas Newbigging, Father. This is my land your men are camped on.” Politely, Newbigging shook Lumsden’s hand.
Lumsden drew back in dismay. “Oh, no, no, no! You misunderstand, my dear Newbigging. I’m not a Roman Catholic. Oh no, no indeed. I am a Protestant minister.”
The look of disapproval settled back on Newbigging’s face. “I am afraid I do not understand, indeed, Reverend. I had assumed that the men in the Fenian army, being of Irish extraction, were mainly Roman Catholics.”
Lumsden nodded energetically. “As to that you are quite correct, sir! To no one’s surprise they have entered into this absurd scheme without the benefit of the sensible advice a clergyman would bring them. Although I am not of the Roman Catholic faith myself, I have observed a need for direction amongst the men. I could not leave them without spiritual guidance. Colonel O’Neill, who is a good man, concurred with my opinion and has asked me to tend to the souls of his men.”
Thomas Newbigging eyed Lumsden from beneath lowered brows, while Jaclyn settled back to enjoy the interaction between the two.
David Lumsden was indeed a Protestant minister, but he was also an alcoholic of no fixed address who had apparently decided to make the Fenian invaders his congregation. He had come from the US on his own and was in no way involved with the Fenian organization. O’Neill knew of him and let him wander around the camp as he did with any of the other tourists who visited on the first day of June, but that was as far as he went. The endorsement from O’Neill had come straight from Lumsden’s imagination.
“Why would you care about the souls of Roman Catholics?” Newbigging was asking.
David Lumsden looked surprised. “I care about every man’s soul.”
Newbigging shot him another underbrow look. “So O’Neill knows of you and approves of you?”
“He does, sir. He is a most careful man and I respect him. May I ask, my dear Newbigging, why you are here in the Fenians’ camp?”
Newbigging’s jaw clenched. A muscle twitched in his cheek. “They’ve dug up my orchard and now they have stolen all my horses. I can do nothing about the orchard, but I want my horses back!”
Lumsden’s face brightened, then he actually made a courtly little bow. “Perhaps, sir, I could be of service in this instance.”
***
Even though the flaps of O’Neill’s command tent were open to let in air, the interior of the tent was stifling. Sean could feel sweat trickling down his forehead and had to resist the urge to wipe it away. The day was damned hot. He wished he was outside, at the head of a column of troops, riding that spirited horse he’d liberated.
“Are you sure the men you saw were part of the military?” Major Canty was saying. He was holding a rolled map in one hand and tapping it on the other. He didn’t look or sound as if he believed Captain Donohue.
Donohue responded predictably. He shoved out his chin and hardened his jaw. He apparently didn’t like Major Canty. “I am quite certain of that, Major. I’ll stake my oath on it.”
A small smile touched Canty’s mouth and was gone. “A cheap wager, Captain. If you are wrong, how much do you really lose?”
Donohue’s face contorted in fury. “How dare—”
Canty ignored him and continued on, his voice louder than Donohue’s. “On the other hand, if you are wrong, Colonel O’Neill and this invasion force have a great deal to lose. If the Colonel makes his troop dispositions based on your information and the British regulars turn up elsewhere, this whole endeavor could be in jeopardy. I ask you again, were the mounted men you saw near Chippewa British soldiers?”
Owen Starr broke in, “Sure, an’ you’re pushing the lad a bit hard, aren’t you, Canty?”
Donohue shot Starr a grateful look. “Yes, I’m sure.”
Canty glared at Starr then turned to O’Neill. “Colonel, this does not coincide with information I have received regarding planned troop movements in case of invasion from the United States.” He gestured toward Donohue with a disdainful flick of his wrist. His voice dripped with sarcasm. “However, since the good Captain is certain of his facts I recommend that you take his information into consideration when you plan the army’s movements.”
That advice stuck in his craw, Sean thought. Canty didn’t like to be wrong and he didn’t quite trust anyone else’s information. Sean fingered the brim of his hat, which he was holding under his arm with one hand. The felt was rough under his fingertips, a sensation that reminded him of a hundred other strategy meetings like this one, though often in far more desperate circumstances. In a way he couldn’t blame Canty. He too wondered about this sighting. Donohue was an excitable young man and he’d clearly enjoyed the public spectacle he’d made as he galloped into camp bearing his important news. He could hardly back down now without looking like a fool.
Sean thought again of his conversation with young Jack. The boy’s expression had been so carefully blank and he had been so obvious in his attempt to turn the subject away from Donohue’s sighting that Sean was pretty certain that he knew something. He wasn’t sure, however, whether Jack knew there were British troops in the area and didn’t want to give away their presence—thus tipping the scales in the Fenians’ favor—or if there were no troops and the boy knew Donohue was wrong. Sean’s instincts said there were no troops, but he had no proof. Donohue apparently did.
O’Neill held out his hand. “The map, Major Canty.” Canty handed it to him and he spread it out on the camp table, which had been moved into the tent for the purpose of this meeting. O’Neill plunked a stone on one corner, his plate and cutlery on two others, and finally a handgun on the last to keep the map flat, then he stabbed at the paper with his forefinger. “Chippewa is here.” He indicated a spot on the Niagara River east of them. Captain Donohue, show us exactly where you saw the scouts.”
Donohue pointed to a spot on the River Road, the main road in the area, not far from Chippewa.
“You are certain?”
Donohue nodded.
“Very well. The enemy has formed up here, beyond Niaga
ra Falls where the only bridge between the British colonies and the United States is located. In choosing this location they have effectively cut off the land route for reinforcements to us or for our retreat. We are here,” another quick jab. “An easy march from Chippewa along a well maintained roadway. We do not know if the British have brought artillery with them—we must assume they did. Or if they have a cavalry unit attached to the main forces. Again we must assume they do.”
“I concur, sir,” Canty said. “Although there is no regular cavalry unit in the Niagara region, the Governor General’s Body Guard, a volunteer unit, is stationed in Toronto. They are very likely to be sent to the area.”
O’Neill nodded. He looked around the tent. “Do you see the problem we face, gentlemen?”
Sean nodded. If there were British troops at Chippewa they could move out at any time, including under the cover of darkness, and catch the Fenian army unprepared.
“Any suggestions?” O’Neill asked.
Sean thought again of that Jack’s refusal to speak on the subject and wished he’d had time to dig the truth out of the boy. But he hadn’t and the time to make a decision was now. “Evasive maneuvers, sir.”
His brows raised, Colonel O’Neill looked around the tent. “Any other opinions, gentlemen?” There was a solemn shaking of heads. “Very well. I have to agree with Major O’Dell. I had hoped that we would have more time to organize our forces and scout out the land before this happened, but... Major Canty, in your reconnaissance work did you find any positions which would make suitable locations for an engagement?”
Sean’s heart skipped a beat then began to thud quickly and with far too much force.
The excitement came first, it always did. The heightened senses, quicker, almost instinctive decision-making, a focus on the action around him, all were skills necessary to survive in a war. That was quickly followed by revulsion at the carnage he knew would be wrought, and anger at the pointlessness of it all. He thought he’d discarded these feelings when he’d been demobilized. Now they flooded over him once more, familiar and unwelcome.
Canty was pointing to the map. “There are places to the north and to the west of us. Here and here,” he pointed to spots on the map. “Where we would be able find an advantage if we forced the British to come to us.”
Sean was standing too far back from the map to read the lettering. He noticed that one of the sites Canty pointed to was shown as a height of land and was on a marked roadway that lead away from the river in the general direction of interior of the province.
O’Neill rubbed his chin. “Very well, gentlemen. We head northwest, but not immediately. First we must ensure that all of our foraging parties are in and that the enemy does not suspect our intentions.”
Captain Haggerty said, “With local people already in the camp, or bringing supplies, anything we do will be talked about. Sooner or later it will get back to the British in Chippewa. We must evict all the Canadians immediately, even if they have only come to deliver supplies.”
O’Neill shook his head. “Out of the question.” He glanced around, the intensity in his expression speaking loudly of his beliefs. “We have become a focus for local interest and I do not want to jeopardize this opportunity to win the people of this colony to our cause. Without a rising by the populace we cannot hold against British regulars. We are not invaders. We are liberators. We are here to free these people, not treat them as our slaves!”
“If I may speak, Colonel?”
O’Neill nodded. “Please do, Major O’Dell.”
“We could move under the cover of night. We would be travelling over a main roadway, not unmarked countryside. We would be able to make good time and cover a sizeable distance before first light. The British would not be expecting that. We could elude them and hit them at our leisure.”
“I find I like you more and more, Major O’Dell,” Canty drawled. “Colonel O’Neill, I’ll take the Major’s suggestion one step further. Let’s outfox the British and make certain it never occurs to them that we would break camp.”
“And how would we do that?”
Canty smiled. “Use their prejudice against them.”
***
The Reverend David Lumsden liked talking in great round phrases that flowed off his tongue with impressive ease. “I have not the least doubt that the good Colonel O’Neill will see you, Mr. Newbigging. Not the least doubt in the world! Why he said to me only this morning, ‘David,’—I gave him leave to address me by my Christian name, you know—‘David, I value the work you are doing here with these fine young lads who have joined our cause.’”
“Indeed,” said Newbigging, his expression impassive.
Lumsden’s long-winded monologue rolled on over the thump and crack of wood being chopped. “It is my duty to save their souls, I said. Aye, that I did, for I am an honest man as well as a virtuous one.”
Jaclyn might have giggled, except she noticed Newbigging’s gaze focused on the downed tree. His hands were clenched into fists. Jaclyn figured he would dearly love to sock at least one Fenian before the day was out and this one man, cheerfully chopping up one of Newbigging’s precious fruit trees, was it. True, there was no record that he’d ended up in a brawl with any of the Fenians, but records could be lost or altered over the years.
Tight-lipped, Newbigging turned on the Reverend Lumsden. “Did you happen to mention to Colonel O’Neill that if he refrained from ordering his men to destroy and steal property he would help save their souls?”
Lumsden stepped back, clearly disconcerted. “It is not my place to lecture the general officers on their way of life. I am here to help the common man—”
Newbigging shot Lumsden a look of disapproval.
Lumsden didn’t notice. “The men the Fenians have recruited are fine lads. I am reassured by the sturdy qualities I detect in these fellows. Colonel O’Neill need not worry about his men preying upon the good people of this region. I shall tell him so when next I see him.”
“They already are preying on us,” Newbigging said with considerable heat. “And when do you expect to see Colonel O’Neill?”
“Soon,” said Lumsden.
Newbigging snorted with derision. The regular thump of the axe stopped. Jaclyn saw that the Fenian soldier had stopped to wipe his brow. He lifted a round canteen to drink deeply. She turned back to Newbigging and Lumsden. Lumsden was still chatting amicably, but Newbigging was observing the Fenian balefully. When the chopping resumed, a muscle jumped in Newbigging’s jaw. He turned his back on the Fenian and started walking. With each thunk of the axe hitting wood his back stiffened a little and his shoulders tightened.
Though he appeared bemused by Newbigging’s action, Lumsden didn’t miss a beat. He continued talking as he walked. Jaclyn fell into step behind them.
It was soon clear that Newbigging was headed to O’Neill’s command tent. Around them the Fenian camp bustled with men moving goods, setting up tents, cleaning their rifles. The smell of wood smoke was heavy in the air, and along with it the lingering scents of cooking. O’Neill’s tent was in sight when a Fenian soldier holding a rifle at the ready stepped in front of them. “Halt and state your business.”
Lumsden smiled in a friendly way. “I wish to speak with your Colonel, my good man.”
The soldier jerked his head in Newbigging’s direction. “And you?”
Though that muscle jumped in his jaw, Newbigging voice was level. “I wish to discuss the theft of my horses with Colonel O’Neill.”
The Fenian laughed. “You and a hundred others. What about the boy?”
Jacqui saw Sean O’Dell stepping from the tent. Ignoring the sentry’s raised rifle, she skipped past him. “I’m with Major O’Dell,” she said. “Sean, is the meeting over?”
At the sight of Jaclyn slipping past the guard Sean shook his head. “Is there a problem, soldier?”
The Fenian shrugged. “Don’t think so, Major. These two fellows want to talk to the Colonel about some horses.”
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Thomas Newbigging squared his shoulders and straightened his back. “I have spoken to Colonel O’Neill before.”
“Not since I’ve been on duty you didn’t.”
“I believe he will see me if you will announce me.”
The Fenian snorted. “I’m no lackey, mister. I don’t announce nobody.”
“Colonel O’Neill is conferring with his senior officers,” Sean said. “He has given orders not to be interrupted. You would be advised to come back at another time, Mr. Newbigging.”
“We understand perfectly,” Lumsden said, smiling amicably.
“We certainly do not!”
“We will come back later, Mr. Newbigging. There is no sense in forcing our way in. The Colonel is sure to see me when he has a moment.”
A half-smile flickered on Sean’s lips, then was gone. Jaclyn had the distinct feeling that he’d seen the likes of David Lumsden before.
Sean turned to Jaclyn. “It seems I need to find a way to keep you out of trouble, young Jack.”
Jaclyn assumed an innocent expression. “Thomas Newbigging isn’t so bad.”
Sean brushed his luxuriant mustache. “No, it’s the company he keeps.”
Newbigging made a sound that could have been a choked back laugh. David Lumsden continued to talk, missing the comment entirely.
“Come along, Jack. I’ve got work for you.”
Jacqui eyed him warily, but she fell into step beside him as he walked off, moving quickly to keep up with his long-legged stride. “What’s up?”
He shot her one of his enigmatic little smiles. Jaclyn felt distinctly uneasy.
The breastwork the Fenians had been building all morning was complete. Newbigging’s fruit trees had been assembled into a crude barrier about chest high. Leafy branches still bearing flowers and budding fruit filled in the gaps in the rough framework. Though it didn’t completely surround the camp, it did provide a defense around the road, allowing the Fenians to control who came in, and what went out of, their camp.
A long line of carts each bearing requisitioned supplies clogged the road. At the gateway two Fenian soldiers with rifles slung over their shoulders checked incoming carts and directed the drivers to an unloading zone. Canadians driving carts already unloaded were trying to leave through the same narrow access. The hot sun beat down on bare heads. Horses swished at flies with their tails, men sweated and tempers flared. There was a sense of resigned acceptance on the part of those entering the camp and frustrated annoyance of those whose business was done.