Riall rushed about issuing orders left, right and centre. He wanted his five cannon on the forward slope of the hill so that they had a clear field of fire and planned for his infantry to form a line just in front of Lundy’s Lane and behind his guns. He had amassed around eleven hundred men and we knew Drummond was marching towards us with more reinforcements. Norton and I kept well out of his way. Norton had only managed to persuade fifteen warriors to accompany him back to the Niagara and they came more out of a sense of loyalty to him rather than a desire to fight. Black Eagle had insisted on accompanying me, but with his arm still bandaged, Morag had issued dire threats to both of us as to what she would do if he got hurt again. Most of the Indians that were there came from the western tribes and they now viewed the Iroquois with suspicion, having heard of the truce. We all just loafed about waiting for Drummond to arrive and hoping that he would come before any Americans appeared at the far end of the clearing.
In the end it was a close run thing. In the early evening of the 25th of July 1814 the first American troops started threading their way through the trees at the bottom of the slope. They came marching into view in a neat column and this time the short grey jackets did not fool anyone. Norton and I made our way to stand with the men at the crest of the hill to count the approaching men. There were no more than a thousand of them, less than the force Riall commanded, but he was pacing about anxiously and giving orders for ever more scouts to give him more information.
We had a well prepared position on the hilltop and I had seen Wellington beat far bigger odds from the top of a ridge, but Riall’s confidence seemed to disappear faster than a midshipman’s coins in a brothel. He had been beaten by these men before and the hurt to his pride was still raw. But instead of wanting to avenge that defeat he seemed far more concerned with avoiding another.
“Gentlemen,” he finally announced as he snapped his glass shut, “we will retire back towards Queenston until General Drummond can join us with reinforcements.”
There was a stunned silence among his staff officers who had spent the last hours making sure all was in order to defend the hill. “But sir,” Fforbes spoke at last, on behalf of the rest, “we have done everything that we can to make this hill a tough place for the enemy to capture. General Drummond is probably no more than an hour away with another five hundred men and at least another thousand are also on their way.”
“Damn you, sir,” roared Riall, “I will not have my orders questioned. That could be the advance guard for their whole army.” He glared around at his silent staff and mercifully missed me smirking with delight at the back of the crowd. “Give the order to retreat without delay.” With that he stalked back to his tent.
“He is mad giving up a position like this,” whispered Norton. “Even if the rest of the American army is out there, that is only around two and a half thousand men. We will have sixteen hundred within the hour and probably close to three thousand by nightfall.”
I laughed “Well I am happy to retreat. I am not getting myself killed for that buffoon and if he shows himself to be a poor general then Drummond is less likely to believe any claims he makes about us.”
Winfield Scot probably could not believe his luck when he saw teams of horses come over the top of the hill and start to limber up the guns that had yet to fire a shot at him. But he did not have long to celebrate as most of the guns had barely moved an inch when the orders were cancelled and the guns left where they were. Drummond had arrived just in time to see the first regiments marching away from the hill and he swiftly had them turnabout. The two British generals then had what seemed to be a heated conversation before Drummond assumed overall command and continued the preparations for defending the hill.
It was then the Americans’ turn to be indecisive. Winfield Scott had arrayed his men into line for an assault up the hill and they started the advance when they saw the gun limbers appear. But when the horses were sent away again the American line came to a halt. Perhaps Winfield Scott caught a glimpse of the two British generals as they sat on their horses reviewing the battlefield and feared the whole British army awaited him just over the hill. Whatever the reason, the American line stood some four hundred yards in front of the British guns, apparently unsure whether to retreat or attack.
The British gunners knew what to do, though, and opened fire on a target that was almost impossible to miss. The gun barrels were soon warm and pitching balls just in front of the American line so that they would bounce up and crash through the ranks at body height. When I had faced similar fire in India I had ordered my men to lie flat and Wellington had done the same in Spain. But these soldiers were determined to prove their new professionalism and so stood resolutely in lines as one gory hole after another was punched through their ranks. A few times the Americans replied with musket volleys but the range was far too long for them to be effective and they merely succeeded in shrouding their men in smoke. There were only three American cannon returning fire and they barely had the range to get anywhere near our artillery and they certainly could not reach the ranks of redcoats standing behind.
I could not understand why the Americans did not retreat as they did not seem to be achieving anything apart from getting killed. Norton offered to take what Indians he could gather and some militia through the woods around the edge of the field to attack the American left flank. He asked me if I wanted to go too but I refused. The whole venture sounded far too similar to Chippawa for my liking. If some of our warriors were willing to continue the fight perhaps some of theirs were too. I was not going through that nightmare again. With Morag’s threats ringing in our ears, Black Eagle and I stayed on the hilltop, safely out of range of the Americans and waited for what seemed their inevitable withdrawal.
As dusk fell a stand of Congreve rockets was set up by our cannon to join the artillery barrage. There are not many moments of any battle I can honestly say I have enjoyed but that was one of them – not least because I was completely safe. I remember standing on that hilltop as the first stars appeared and hearing the distant thunder of the falls interspersed with the sporadic crash of cannon fire, the occasional crackle of musketry and the whoosh of rockets as their fiery tails veered randomly across the night sky. The Congreves were completely useless, of course, and at best will only have succeeded in frightening some horses, but against a starry sky they looked very impressive.
All good things come to an end and the start of a new phase in this battle was signalled by a sudden burst of firing on our left flank, near where the road that runs parallel with the river crossed Lundy’s Lane. It turned out that not all of Winfield Scott’s men had been standing and dying. Some on his right flank had taken advantage of the growing darkness to find an unseen path enabling a surprise attack on our left.
Suddenly our generals had things to do. It was too dark to see who was winning the distant fire fight and Drummond sent officers out to report for him while Riall snarled at Fforbes to get some of the gunners to swing their aim to the left. The noise of battle and from the waterfall was far too loud to yell the order to the gunners. Fforbes had barely time to call for a messenger, when Riall shouted irritably that he would take the message himself. Most of us sighed with relief to see the back of him as he had been snapping at everyone ever since he had lost command of the British force.
He disappeared into the darkness and – three cheers and a cigar to the American artillery – they only managed to hit him. My biggest regret is that I did not see it, but five minutes later Riall was being carried back on a stretcher, squealing like a stuck pig with what looked like a metal shell fragment in his arm.
“I will have to get him escorted and carried to the rear,” said Fforbes wearily. “I cannot have him here screaming in front of the men.”
“I will do it,” I volunteered.
“Are you sure?” persisted Fforbes. “I doubt it will make much difference to how he feels about you.”
I looked out into the darkness and grinned. “O
n the contrary, I think my circumstances are just about to improve.”
“You are not going to do anything stupid are you, Flashman?” whispered Fforbes as he stood close beside me. “If he is killed there will be an inquiry.”
“Don’t worry,” I told him. “I am not going to lay a finger on our general. Now, Black Eagle, are you ready to move? We have work to do.”
Chapter 35
A short while later Black Eagle and I were walking east along Lundy’s Lane, heading for the crossroads and the portage road that would take us to Queenston. A steady crackle of musket fire was continuing ahead on the right hand side of the road, while our cannon continued to bombard a now largely unseen enemy line in the darkness to their front. Between whining, Riall had decided that a stretcher was not a dignified or fast way for a general to travel and had insisted on being helped onto his horse. He was using his good arm to hold his injured one against his chest while I walked beside his mount and led it by the reins.
“Dammit, Flashman,” called out Riall as a new bust of firing broke out on the right hand side of the road. “Why do we have to travel this way? Surely we should go cross country over the hill?”
“Because we need to find that portage road,” I explained for the second time. “If we go cross country we will probably blunder into some forest first, which will slow us down. You don’t want to bleed to death, do you?” Riall had not lost that much blood, but from the fuss he was making it was obvious that he had not been seriously wounded before. He was frightened of dying, as any man would be with a lump of metal stuck in their arm, but the fear was making him even more irritable than usual.
“Well keep that bloody Indian away from me,” he snarled, “I don’t trust the brute.”
The ‘brute’ in question leaned across to me to whisper, “Why are we helping the general? I thought he was planning to have you arrested.”
“You will see soon,” I told him.
“Are we going to kill him?” Black Eagle’s white teeth gleamed in the darkness as he grinned at the prospect.
“No we are going to deal with him in a way that will not get me in any more trouble.” I smiled in the darkness for my plan was evolving. Until then I had not realised quite how frightened Riall was of the Iroquois. He was used to plantation workers in the West Indies who had largely been beaten into submission. They were very different from these proud and independent warriors, with their reputation for savage cruelty. Twice now Riall had insisted that Black Eagle move away from him, as though the Indian was an angry scorpion who could strike at any moment. I thought it would be a shocking waste not to exploit his fear for my own benefit.
“What are you two muttering about?” demanded Riall. “I am telling you, Flashman, that if you think this is going to persuade me to forget your treachery you are mistaken. I am still not convinced that you and your damn warriors did much fighting at all at Chippawa. For all I know you could have been sitting in a ditch smoking those damn pipes of yours.”
“We were just wondering if many of the American warriors have broken the truce,” I replied casually. “I thought I heard one of their screech owl signals, but it could have been a real owl, I suppose.”
“Are you saying that we could be being tracked by enemy warriors at this moment?” whispered Riall, the whites of his eyes gleaming in the night.
“Oh they would like to fight in cover like this,” I told him gesturing at the scrub and trees that lined either side of the road. It was hard to suppress a smile. Of course I knew no Indians would have considered crossing the wide expanse of open land that lay beyond the strip of scrub and besides, from what we had heard all of the American warriors were observing the truce.
“Some warriors will still be looking for scalps,” added Black Eagle sensing the fun to be had and joining in. He looked at the horror that was now plainly showing on Riall’s face and drew his scalping knife, testing the edge with his thumb. “You really want to be dead before they scalp you,” he warned ominously.
“Good God, Flashman,” cried Riall, “we need to go faster; I cannot be taken by those damn savages.”
At that moment a new burst of firing broke out ahead. We could see the muzzle flashes through the branches and this time it seemed even closer to the road. It was just what I was hoping for.
“Black Eagle,” I called, scout for me down the scrub on the right hand side of the road and let me know how close the American soldiers are.” The big warrior disappeared into the bushes while I continued to lead the general’s horse forward down the road. “If the Americans have reached the road they may ambush anyone travelling down it,” I warned the general. “But we have to risk it to get you to a surgeon.”
“Better the Americans than the savages,” muttered Riall. At that moment a real owl hooted – unless it was Black Eagle playing tricks – and Riall nearly jumped out of the saddle in alarm. “Faster, Flashman,” he cried, “for the love of God faster.” With that he kicked his heels under the horse and went forward at a trot, forcing me to jog alongside with the reins. We must have covered some two hundred yards then and all the while I could hear Riall muttering to himself what seemed to be a prayer as he constantly scanned both sides of the path. “Look out!” he shouted as a dark figure stepped out into the path ahead of us.
I hauled on the horse’s rein. “It’s all right, it is Black Eagle,” I told him before going forward to speak to the warrior. A moment later I was back with Riall as Black Eagle disappeared once more into the trees. “It is not good news, sir. The Americans are up close to the road some three hundred yards ahead of us. But there are also some Indians tracking behind us, on both sides of the road. Black Eagle does not think that there are more than a dozen and they may not even attack.”
“A dozen of the devils,” gasped Riall. “We can’t go forward and we cannot go back, what are we going to do?”
“Don’t worry,” I assured him supressing a grin. “Black Eagle has gone forward to distract the Americans as we get close. We should get past in the darkness. If the Indians attack I will try to hold them off. Most will already have taken scalps at Chippawa.” I paused before adding hesitantly, “Although I suppose a general’s hair would be highly valued.”
We started to move forward again. Riall was positively shaking with fear now. “I still have my pistol, Flashman,” he whispered. “Do you think I should save it for myself, you know… at the last?”
The poor fool could not bring himself to finish the sentence and I almost felt sorry for him then. “Only if they have surrounded you and have their knives out,” I replied. The last thing I wanted was him blowing his brains out as I knew what was going to happen next.
The night air was suddenly rent with a cacophony of screams, howls and whoops from behind us. It did not really sound like as many as a dozen Indians, but Riall was not counting. With a shriek of terror he dug in his heels and the mount sprang forward. I let go of the reins and shouted after him. “Ride, General, ride for your life and I will try and hold them off!” I fired my pistol in the air then and shouted loudly, “Come on, you devils, I will give you a taste of cold steel.”
Another shot came from the Americans further down the track and staring in their direction I could see dark shapes moving onto the road to intercept the single horseman charging towards them.
“Don’t shoot!” I heard Riall shout. “Don’t shoot, I am a British general. Don’t let those savages get me.” The Americans brought his horse to a halt and I saw some reach up and haul him down from the saddle, only for him to shriek in pain as his arm was moved.
Black Eagle stepped out on the track behind me and gave one final war whoop before guffawing with laughter.
“Shut up, you fool; we don’t want to give the game away now.” I doubted Riall was listening, though, as he was being half pulled and half carried into the scrub along the south side of the road to start his journey to captivity. He was still shouting and yelling, but his captors were also exclaiming and hooting in
delight when they saw the rank of their prisoner. I saw several of the shadows stand in the middle of the path and guessed that they must have been staring at our shapes in the gloom. They were probably trying to figure out what had frightened a British general into their ambush as they must have known there were no American Indians there. One even fired a shot at us, but at over a hundred and fifty yards, we were out of effective range for a musket. They showed no sign of wanting to pursue us, but I was confident we could lose them in the scrub to the north of the road if they had.
“Did you see his face when he looked over his shoulder at my whoops?” asked Black Eagle chuckling again. “He probably pissed himself with fear when he rode away.”
I was struggling to stop laughing myself. I had always planned to engineer Riall’s capture by the enemy, but to have him voluntarily give himself up was the cherry on the cake. Especially as he thought Black Eagle and I were doing all we could to save him. It could not have worked out any better, but there were still things to do. “Quickly, this way,” I called stepping off the road into the scrub on its northern edge.
“Where are we going now?” asked Black Eagle.
“To Riall’s tent in the British camp,” I told him. “There is some paperwork I need to attend to while everyone is distracted elsewhere.
Chapter 36
By the time I got back to the top of the ridge I was in an ebullient mood. My release letter now bore Riall’s signature, and the man was in no position to point out that it was a forgery. Fforbes might suspect it was faked, but as Riall was not likely to be exchanged for months, if not years, I thought he would go along with it. No one would blame him for taking the signature at face value and anyway he still owed me for my imprisonment the previous year. To make things even better, there had been no sound of battle for over half an hour. The glow of sunset in the western sky had disappeared while I was in Riall’s tent and it was now virtually pitch dark. It seemed that the Americans had retired back to their camp for the night. With the battle apparently over, I suggested to Black Eagle that he should go to our tent in the camp. I would need to report the loss of Riall and I had to make it sound a dreadful misfortune. The last thing I needed was the big oaf chuckling in delight as I told the story.
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