XVI.
Careless of consequences, I waited to see what would happen. As I stood on the brow of the hill where our company was situated, the scene was indeed worthy of my study. Ludicrous as were many of the elements which went to make it up, the charm of nature was superior to them all, and commanded my tribute of respect and admiration. Right below me was a pretty valley, down the very centre of which flowed a little creek marking the boundary of Canadian territory, and dividing by its narrow course the Canadian from American soil. A soft pleasant sward sloped gracefully down from where I stood to its bank, while on the other side there rose in graceful outlines the monarchs of a Canadian forest, overtopped by a rocky cliff standing out in bold and picturesque relief. The soft sweet breezes of the spring morning played upon our faces, while the brilliant sunlight sent its rays flashing upon our bayonets, and dancing on the waters underneath.
Nature was in her very best and sweetest mood, and yet little room for appreciation of her charms existed in the breasts of those who, sweeping down the valley’s side beneath me, were seeking, in their own foolish way, to make “Ireland a nation once again.” They were a funny crowd. All were armed, but few were uniformed. Here and there a Fenian coat, with its green and grey faced with gold, caught the eye, but only to stand out in contrast with the surrounding garments of more sombre hue and everyday appearance. The men marched with a certain amount of military precision, for all had received some degree of military training. At last they reached the little wooden bridge by which the water was crossed, and deploying as skirmishers in close order, they advanced with fixed bayonets, cheering wildly. Not a soul appeared in front. The dark Canadian trees hid from their view the ambushed Canadian volunteers; and, fixed in their belief that nothing was known of their coming, they advanced in a spirit of effervescent enthusiasm. But not very far, however.
A few paces, and on their startled ears came the ringing ping, ping, of the ambushed rifles, as the Canadians poured a deadly volley straight into their ranks. Utterly taken aback, they stopped, broke rank, and fled as in 1866, an ungovernable mob, to return for a moment in order to pour a volley on their almost invisible enemy, and to finally retreat up the hill to where I stood, still under the fire of their adversaries, leaving their dead to be subsequently buried by the Canadians.
On the slope of the hill was a large structure known as Richard’s Farm, to which the invaders retreated and continued their firing, ineffective as it was.
Seeing that all was over here, for a time at least, I hurried off to the point where the St. Albans contingent had by now arrived, and were arming. The process took some time, and while engaged in superintending it, I was afforded practical evidence of the termination of O’Neill’s part in the fight. Standing in the middle of the public road where the men were forming into line—it was now half-past one, the “battle” which I have just described having taken place about 11.30—I was startled by the cry, “Clear the road, clear the road!” and almost knocked down by a furiously driven team of horses, to which was attached a covered carriage. As the conveyance flashed by me, I caught through the carriage window a hurried glimpse of the dejected face of O’Neill, who was seated between two men. I understood the situation in a moment, but said nothing. To have given the command to shoot the horses as they turned an adjacent corner would have been the work of an instant, but it was no part of my purpose to restore O’Neill to his command. I learned subsequently that O’Neill was in the custody of the United States marshal, General Foster, who, acting with that precision so peculiar to General Grant’s administration, when contrasted with that of Andrew Johnson’s, had, in consequence of the information furnished, arrived on the scene of the battle immediately after I left, and arrested O’Neill for a breach of the Neutrality Laws. O’Neill, who was in the company of his comrades, had at first refused submission, and threatened force, but on General Foster placing a revolver at his head, he gave in.
When the news of O’Neill’s arrest reached us later on in the afternoon, a council of war was held, presided over by John Boyle O’Reilly, of whom I have already spoken, the council being held in a meadow, where we all stood in a circle. Contingents were hourly arriving, and a strong attempt was made to get Boyle O’Reilly to take command, and lead the attack at some other point, but in the end nothing was done.
Next morning, General Spear, the Secretary of War of the Fenian Brotherhood, arrived at St. Albans, and sought to do something practical in the way of continuing the invasion. Through his aide-de-camp, Colonel Brown, and subsequently in person, he appealed to me to supply him with 400 or 500 stands of arms and ammunition within twenty-four hours. Of course, it would never have done for me to have allowed further operations, and so I pleaded it was impossible under the condition of affairs then developed. Thousands of Canadian troops had arrived on the border, and the arms being located in places difficult to get at, they were out of reach for the moment. Luckily for me, the appearance of United States troops in the vicinity put any further attempt at war operations out of the question, for in order to avoid arrest for breach of the Neutrality Laws, the Fenians had to disappear with alacrity. I left this point with the rest of them, and hurrying to Malone, another of the places where rendezvous had been arranged, I found a similar state of things prevailing here, although the arrest of O’Neill, and the unexpected appearance of the United States troops, filled the invaders with dismay, and utter demoralisation was the result.