by Gillian Chan
Although it saddened me that Father was not easy in my company, I did not complain, for I had a freedom that had been lacking, a freedom to escape the confines of our farm, to learn more of the world and to be treated as less of a child, my size fooling many of my newfound acquaintances. No time limits were set on me. If there was a particular job that required my labour, then I had to return with all speed, but if not, then as long as I returned before night fell, nothing was said.
I became something of a favourite at the army camp, perhaps because I was always eager to listen to the soldiers’ tall tales. It was there, too, that I could now gather news of how the war went. I was careful though to tell only Father and Angus, letting Father decide what he would tell the others. I thought he was wrong to shield Mother and the girls, because they would hear it at our Sunday meetings and by then, through the telling and imaginings of others, it all sounded so much worse.
Mother was almost hysterical when she heard of the dreadful events at Newark at the start of December, although she held back her tears and wails until we returned home. “Rob,” she cried, “they burned the village. They turned out women, children, old men and even those sick in their beds into the snow. How can they be so cruel?”
Father drew her close and wiped away her tears. “Hannah,” he said, “war drives men mad.”
“But, what’s to stop them advancing further?” Mother wailed. “And they were saying that Abraham Markle from our own village was there with Joseph Willcocks, leading the renegades, those so-called Canadian Volunteers.”
Father’s face hardened. “I had little good to say about Markle when he was here, Hannah, and now he has confirmed my ill opinion of him. The British will not let this atrocity go unpunished. You’ll see.”
Mother’s tears ceased but worry was still clear on her face.
Father patted her hand. “With winter coming, there will be little troop movement, so don’t fret that we will be in danger here.”
Mother seemed mollified, but then said, “But what about my father, Rob — his smithy is so close to the border.” She looked set to cry anew, but Father soothed her worries, telling her that her father was a seasoned veteran who would survive such troubled times.
I did not share his confidence and wished that the Lincolns would muster and march so I could press my case to go with them once more. Father was right, though. When I was at the camp, I heard news of the retaliation. I only told Mother that Fort George had been recaptured. I did not tell her that British troops had crossed the border and burned American villages. I also heard, but remained silent about, the capture of Fort Niagara on the American side of the river, and that the men of the area, the 1st Lincoln militia, had been in the thick of it, piloting the bateaux, and then fighting alongside the British. I am sure that they were as eager as I would have been to get revenge for Newark, for most came from that area.
* * *
When spring came in 1814, it marked the start of an exciting time. On several occasions Father even allowed me to work as a day labourer at the camp on Burlington Heights if I was not needed at home, letting me keep the money I earned — a whole two shillings.
I counted myself very fortunate, and since the militia mustered only to drill, my feelings of resentment lessened. I was determined that if Angus and Father were mustered again, this time I would not be left behind.
I also became an uncle. Morag had a baby girl whom she called Hannah after our mother. The baby was a pretty thing, but I could not help thinking that her birth would give Eric yet another reason why he could shirk his duty, something that were I in his place, I would never do.
One of the biggest events was the Assizes. Ancaster was proud to be chosen for such an event. We all thrilled to think that traitors were coming before the magistrates and would now get the punishment they deserved for their treachery.
The MacKays had always been proud to be Loyalists. It was why my parents had left their home in New York’s Mohawk Valley, moved to Upper Canada and cast our lot with the British. But, sadly, there were others who could not be trusted. They took free land grants from the Crown, but still harboured American sympathies deep in their hearts. Father said little about such men, but we always took our grain to the Hatt brothers’ Red Mill, rather than the Union Mill, even though the Union was closer. Father had no regard for one of its owners, the infamous Abraham Markle who had behaved so despicably at Newark. It was no surprise that his name was amongst the many who had been arraigned for treason and would be tried in absentia at the Assizes. Van Camp’s name was on the list too. I wondered where he had fled, and whether his family had gone, too.
I had never seen nor heard of an event of such importance in all my days. The chief justice of Canada was to preside as judge, along with two others who had come from York itself. Our own magistrates, the Hatt brothers, were to assist. Ancaster was awash with visitors, and many families made money by giving them board and lodging. Grandfather Livesay travelled from his forge near Niagara to stay with us so he could attend the trials. He, like my father, was staunch in his views and wanted to see justice done. Living close to the border, he had probably seen more than his fair share of traitorous behaviour.
For us all, Grandfather’s visit was a blessing. Mother seemed cheerful for the first time in many months. We all knew she hoped he would choose to stay and end his days among us, as he had no family left but her. He had lived for nearly twenty years by the great Falls, where he had set up his smithy after leaving Butler’s Rangers. He had been Father’s sergeant through the long years fighting the American Revolution. Grandfather talked fondly of his home there, so I was not sure that Mother’s wish would come about. For the rest of us, we had time to get to know our grandfather, whom we saw only rarely. He was a man quick to laugh and joke — things which had been lacking in our house for many months.
I burned to attend the trials, to see the great men of our colony dispense justice, but thought it unlikely that I would be allowed. I was astonished when my grandfather asked me to accompany him, saying that a clever young fellow like myself could learn from such an event. I was even more surprised when Father agreed.
I expected the Assizes to be exciting, but after just a few days I was bored by their tedium. The accused were a sorry lot, corrupt and self-serving, save for one older man who seemed confused and ill-used. Although many were arraigned, only nineteen had been caught. The biggest traitors, those who actually fought against their own country, Markle and Joseph Willcocks — the worst blackguard of all — were safely with their American friends, cocking a snook at us and laughing.
What did inspire me was the prosecutor, John Beverley Robinson. I had thought that the attorney general of Upper Canada would be a man at least my father’s age, if not my grandfather’s, but he was so young a man, he looked as if he had just started shaving. Yet he had served at both Detroit and Queenston — just like Father and Angus — and he spoke with an authority that made men much older hang on his every word.
Grandfather was impressed, too, and told me that I should watch Robinson closely and learn from him. When the Assizes finally ended I felt a curious mixture of feelings. I had a great satisfaction that justice had been done to some measure, with fourteen of the accused being found guilty. I was sad that although some were granted clemency, the old man was not one of them. I thought that he was gullible and had been tricked by others.
I shuddered when Chief Justice Scott read out the sentence that those found guilty were to be hung, drawn and quartered before being beheaded. No man with any sense would risk such punishment, and I hoped that those still among us who were less than loyal would take note.
The proceedings had been so dull that I was surprised to find myself eager to get back to my duties on the farm. I knew that my future would not be there, as Angus would inherit the land, but Father had talked about getting more land for “his boys.” If he did that, then it could all go to Drew and Samuel, as far as I was concerned. Drew had changed in
the years of the war, and it was clear that he loved the land as much as Father and Angus did. I would make another life for myself. Before the Assizes I had thought that, if money could be found for my studies, law might be the job for me, but with it so deadly dull, I now knew I would have to find something else.
Grandfather left us soon after the verdicts were announced in the middle of June. We were all sad to see him leave, but happy that Mother had prevailed upon him to close up his smithy, which he would do at the end of the summer, and return to live with us before winter. This news buoyed us up, but rumours were again flying that American troops were massing on their side of the Niagara River. These rumours led to action, with the militia drilling and Father and Angus being called to Burlington Heights to labour there for days at a time.
Now that relations between Father and me were restored, I vowed that I would not go against his wishes, but still I had to ask that I might go, too. I chose my time well, waiting until he and Angus returned after four days’ hard labour cutting brush, and with the knowledge that they had only a night at home until they had to return. Father looked weary, although he and Angus both tucked heartily into the stew Mother had prepared.
“Father, is it true that there will be an invasion?” Drew asked.
I could have hugged him and swung him around for asking.
“It would seem so.” Father’s concentration on his food was so great that he seemed to answer without thinking. It was only Mother’s gasp that made him realise what he had said. “Hannah, Hannah, do not fret. Troops are already on the move to prevent any such incursion.” He grimaced. “That is why they call on us to do the menial work around camp. We are due back tomorrow, and you must prepare yourself, Hannah, for Hatt has told me that the militia will march for the border eventually, too.”
“Oh, Rob, could not someone else go? You and Angus are always the first to answer the call to duty.” Mother’s anguished words gave me the opening I needed.
“I could take your place tomorrow, Father, and you could stay here and set things in order for when you depart.” I was holding my breath, thinking that if he agreed to this, then perhaps when the Lincolns did march he would let me go, too.
Father was silent for what seemed minutes. “Aye, all right, Sandy.”
I knew better than to crow over my triumph, but made sure that Angus and I were up at dawn to make the journey to Burlington Heights. It was then that I learned what had led to my wish being granted. Three soldiers of the 103rd Foot had been flogged for abandoning their posts to go drinking at the inn. The whole camp, militia and all, had been forced to watch the punishment. Angus said that two had borne the whipping manfully, gritting their teeth and trying not to cry out as their backs were cut to bloody stripes, but one — a raw recruit, or so Father had described him to Angus — had wailed and screamed as each blow landed until finally he had lapsed into a merciful stupor. Even the most hardened men were green, seeing the state of his back.
“I vomited,” Angus confessed. “Father did not, but he turned aside and could not watch. He’s reluctant to be at the camp again, lest there be another flogging.”
“Do you think there could be?” I asked.
“Perhaps,” Angus said. “News of invasion and our orders to march might come any day. It makes the men tense, so discipline is tight.”
As it happened, our day of labour was uneventful and we were dismissed until further notice. John Lee, who had praised me on the day of Morag’s wedding, made much of me, telling Angus what a help I had been to him at Stoney Creek and how I was even more of a giant now than I had been then. I was flattered that he remembered me after more than a year, and hoped he had said similar things to Father. That might persuade him to let me go along when he and Angus marched with the militia.
Chapter 5
July 1814
We did not have long to wait for those orders. News came in early July that the Americans had crossed the river and that Fort Erie had fallen to them. Then came more news, of a battle at Chippawa Creek, where the Americans had bested our forces. Details were scarce, but by eavesdropping on Father and Angus I realised that it was something of a rout, with the Americans surprising our men and then forcing them to retreat. There were many casualties. I had to sneak around to hear this because Father tried to keep as much as he could from Mother, who now seemed to quail and cry at any news of the war. She was almost hysterical when he told her in the mildest terms that the Yankees had crossed the border, and he did not mention Chippawa at all. He tried to jolly her along with bluster, telling her that those Yankees would soon be sent home to lick their wounds once the British and militia marched down to meet them. I could feel a nervous excitement building, for surely now with the war coming so close and invasion being spoken of, Father would have to let me go with him.
I knew why Father was so sparing in his telling, for if Mother knew that the Americans had scouting parties riding where they chose in the area around the great Falls, she would fear for our grandfather’s safety as well as worrying when the militia would actually march. Some said the Americans had come as far as Twenty Mile Creek, which was so close to us we dared not let her know such details.
On the ninth of July the 5th Lincoln marched — Father and Angus among them — but they marched without me, to my great sorrow and frustration. The arguments I used had not worked on Father before, and they did not work this time. He would not be moved. I argued furiously. I tried not to bluster, and was determined not to cry, presenting my arguments as logically as I could. It was all to no avail. I was to stay and work the farm with Drew.
I chafed at this decision. I worked and brooded. I knew that I was the equal if not the better in strength of many men, either militia or our army — some of the British soldiers were scrawny little men. Father’s careful teaching had ensured that I was a better shot than most. I knew that I would be of use. Had I not already shown that? All that kept me from disobeying and following the militia was the memory of Father’s silent anger. I was not sure I could endure that again.
My trips to deliver eggs to the army encampment were the only bright spots in an otherwise miserable existence, although I grew increasingly frustrated as I saw more and more troops moving south. I did at least get news of what was happening, news that the Lincolns were with the British army near the Falls, waiting to see what the Americans would do next.
Those found guilty at our Assizes were to be executed at Burlington Heights on July 20 and I made sure I would be there that day. I found myself having to play Father’s role with Drew, who was desperate to come, too. He begged and pleaded, but I refused to listen.
When I arrived it seemed that almost everyone had turned out to witness the hangings. Families had driven out in wagons. Children wound through the feet of the people gathered near the makeshift gallows. Enterprising women were hawking pies and pastries they had made. Whisky and beer were to be had. The mood was excited and wild. I could feel my own anger swelling within me and soon I was shouting and cheering with the best of them.
I recognised many familiar faces in the crowd. Captain Hatt was there, perhaps in his role as magistrate, for he stood on a wagon bed with some British officers and John Beverley Robinson and Thomas Scott, the chief justice, to have a clearer view. A hand clapped me on the shoulder, and when I turned I saw the grinning face of my brother-in-law Eric.
I scanned the crowd behind us. “Surely you have not brought Morag and the baby here!” I exclaimed.
He laughed. “No, Sandy. Just my father and I came, but I have lost him in this crush.” His breath was hot on my face, stinking of whisky. “What a spectacle this is going to be, seeing traitors get what they deserve. We shall tell our grandchildren of this day, you can be sure of that.”
I bit back the reply that leaped into my mind that sometimes one could be a traitor through inaction just as much as action. How could Eric gloat when he had not done his duty and gone with the militia? I tried to move away from him, but he cl
ung to my arm.
“Did you bring your wagon today or come on Hamish?” he asked. “If you’ve your wagon, then we can stand on it, like those bigwigs, and get a better view, too.”
When I admitted that my wagon was under the trees, he pulled at me until I reluctantly led him to it, only to find others already using it.
Eric was all for throwing them off, but I refused. There was room for us still, and it was not his place to decide who might use it.
The sound of fifes and drums cut through the crowd’s hubbub, which gradually died away as a grim procession made its way towards where we stood. The eight prisoners were bound and shackled, loaded in two wagons that were being led towards the trees. Nooses already hung around their necks, ready to be attached to wooden braces that had been constructed. I could not help but look for the old man. Unlike the others who were standing, albeit some were shaking, he was crouched down in the bed of the wagon, weeping. A woman I presumed to be his wife walked alongside. The wagon’s slow pace enabled her to hold his hand, which she raised to her lips and kissed. Another man — not one of the prisoners, for he had no noose around his neck — knelt beside the old man, reading from a bible.
The crowd remained silent. The drummers and fifers halted and marched smartly to one side as the wagons were carefully positioned underneath the wooden gallows. A bugle was blown and John Beverley Robinson raised his voice to bellow out the sentence that had been passed. Even in the silence, I struggled to hear all that he said:
“… The prisoners shall be hanged by the neck, but not until they be dead, to be cut down alive, and their entrails to be taken out and burnt before their faces, and their heads cut off, and their bodies divided into four quarters, and their heads and quarters disposed of at the King’s pleasure.”