CHAPTER XVI.
Had O’Neill a single troop of cavalry when he broke the British lines at Ridgeway, the 2d day of June, 1866, would have been the darkest that had ever occurred in the annals of Canada. He would have literally annihilated all the forces that were brought against him on that field, and struck such terror to the heart of the enemy, as to have still farther paralysed their volunteer service and destroyed the confidence of the Canadian people in the vaunted invincibility of the arms of England for many a long day, if not for all time to come. But owing to circumstances already referred to, he fought under every disadvantage possible to an invading army. Still, as the case stood, his triumph was not the less brilliant or decisive. He routed the enemy, horse and foot; and had he been in a position to dispose of prisoners, he could have taken a very large number with scarcely any effort; from the fact, that after the fearful charge that had broken through their lines, they became completely panic stricken and demoralized. As he pursued the flying forces towards Ridgeway, what he would have given for a few mounted riflemen or dragoons; but as a signal and glorious defeat was more his object than the spilling of blood, he now felt, unsustained as he was, it would be wise to fall back upon Fort Erie, in the hope that reinforcements had arrived there, although he was unable to leave even the smallest handful of a garrison to maintain the foothold he had so far achieved. Seeing there was nothing further to gain but everything to lose by remaining longer in a position he could not by any possibility maintain, in view of the hostile forces that he knew would soon be pouring down upon him from other quarters, he paused on the verge of the carnage that he might have wrought still further, and addressed himself to securing the safety of his little band of heroes and occupying some position on the frontier from whence he could, if hard set, effect his transit across the river, or take up a final stand, fighting until the last man fell in his ranks, if necessary to the success of any landings that he might learn of as having taken place on the Canadian shore at other points, or in view of the intention of the authorities at Buffalo to reinforce him, and enable him to pursue the campaign, so gloriously opened, with renewed hope and vigor.
The news of the disastrous defeat of the British arms spread like wild-fire; throwing the inhabitants in the immediate vicinity of Ridgeway, as well as those of the village itself, into a state of the most fearful consternation. Houses were barricaded and property concealed in the full anticipation that the conquerors would act upon the world-wide maxim, “to the victors belong the spoils.” But, as we have already seen, it was the government and not the peasantry or people of the country that O’Neill had come to overthrow. No better evidence of this could be afforded than that shown by the circumstance, that, although two infamous and relentless robbers, and their scarcely less culpable acquaintance and friend, Wilson, had, for two days and two nights, followed in the wake of his army, not a single opportunity was afforded them of joining any portion of his command in a stealthy raid upon the habitations or any of the people, or of taking an advantage of the confusion and lawlessness which almost invariably surround the camp of an invader. From first to last, his troops observed with singular fidelity, his order that the lives and property of the Canadians not found in arms against him, should be held as most sacred. And in no instance, although the temptations were various and marked, was this injunction violated. On this head, Major Denison himself is most explicit; and when we have the testimony of an enemy upon the subject, the most exacting incredulity cannot look for more conclusive evidence in the premises.
As already observed, when the rout and confusion of the English commenced, they fled in all directions; but their main body set off, at full speed, for Ridgeway, through which village, and for a mile beyond it, they were pursued by the Irish forces. As was to be expected, their wounded and dying strewed the way; while those who were thoroughly acquainted with the locality made their escape to the shelter of whatever woods or dwellings were to be found along the line of retreat, without actually bordering upon it. Amongst these latter were Greaves and the persons who made such a sudden and deadly attack upon Barry while engaged in looking after the dead and wounded that were found convenient to the house already referred to. This habitation ought to have been well known to one of the party at least; for it was neither more nor less than the residence of Wilson, in which Kate M’Carthy and Martha and her aunt had barricaded themselves, in the apartment of the former, after having secured the outer doors, when they heard the tide of war rolling towards them. Wilson, understanding how the case stood with them, when he found he could not gain admission, and being sensible that they could not hear his voice, hastily effected an entrance by a window in a sort of out kitchen, attached to the rear of the building, and soon admitted his companions; re-bolting the door, and running up stairs to warn the other inmates of the house not to speak or stir, but remain barricaded as they were, until they heard from him again. This done, he descended to where his comrades were, and was about to make some observation, when the Kid instantly drew the attention of Greaves to the party who were collecting the dead and wounded hard by, among whom he at once recognized Barry. In the twinkling of an eye, the countenance of Greaves was lit with an expression the most revolting; and turning to his companions he exclaimed in a low, hissing voice—
“Now, my countrymen, we can avenge ourselves in part, at least, for the disasters of the morning. There stand some of the most active and dangerous of the army of the invader, and it is for us to take signal vengeance on them, and not permit a single one of them to escape out of our hands. We must not risk firing upon them at a distance so great; as should we chance to miss a single shot, they would be sure to slip beyond our reach. Let us rush out upon them then, with such arms as we have at our command; and after giving them a volley pounce upon them knife in hand, for they appear quite unconscious of any impending danger. Above all things, do not let that officer escape. He is the most deadly enemy we have had to encounter to-day. Let him, at least, be despatched without fail, and one thousand dollars shall be distributed amongst you the moment I find him a corpse before my eyes.”
The Kid, Jack and Wilson understood all this; for the first of the villains had explained previously to the latter two, that Greaves was interested to an unaccountable extent, in the death of Barry; and had, on that very morning, before he left Ridgeway, promised him a round sum if he managed to despatch him in any way; whether by stealth, or otherwise. This he attempted, as we have already seen; but hitherto without the desired effect; so that, now, when his game was within his reach, and where he felt that he should be the gainer, no matter by whom our hero was laid low, he immediately fell into this second proposition, as did all the others who stood around him.
In a few moments, then, Wilson procured the masks already noticed; they being a portion of his stock in trade, and loading the three rifles they had at their command, the door was stealthily opened and the assault made, which had resulted in such disaster to themselves.
When Barry had recovered from the utter surprise occasioned by the presence of Greaves, and overcome the speechless astonishment into which it had thrown him, he knelt down beside the wounded man, and began to examine into the extent of his injuries. At first a few flesh wounds about the shoulders and arms were all that he could discover; and as these had bled freely, he fancied that the feeble condition of the wretch, was attributable simply to a loss of blood; and, now, that his wounds had been staunched, he believed he should gradually recover strength, so as to be able to offer some explanation of his presence in that part of the Province, as well as of the circumstances in which he now found himself. On a closer examination, however, and just about half an inch below the nipple of his left breast, the young soldier perceived a small discolored wound, evidently made with the point of his own sword during the struggle that had just terminated, and from which not a single drop of blood had flowed, outwardly at least. Here, without a doubt, all the danger lay; and as our hero was not versed in injuries, beyond the reach of external applications, all he could do was to bathe the bitter, little, blue or discolored orifice—the lips of which seemed to be pressed together in a vicious sort of manner—in some of the water that had been previously procured at the adjoining house, when the wounded men were removed from the open field. During this operation the eyes of Greaves were steadily fixed upon him, and when he had again bathed the wound and adjusted the head of the unfortunate sufferer on a pillow made of some hay found in one corner of the shed, the lips of the patient became as it were suddenly unsealed, while the light of a larger intelligence, rushed full into his eyes. At this period the wounded companions of our hero were comparatively easy, on the temporary couch made for them by the stranger, just before he disappeared and entered the dwelling a second time; so that, for the moment, there was not much to distract his attention from anything that Greaves might vouchsafe to say, some terrible foreboding having just rushed into his mind, based upon the dying intimation of Smith, that the man who lay thus helpless and for aught he knew dying before him, was in some way connected with the fate of his betrothed.
Scarcely had the conviction seized upon him, when Greaves motioned him to draw nearer. On eagerly complying with the request, he bent his ear almost to the lips of the sufferer, who breathed with great difficulty, and whose voice was scarcely audible, so weak had he become. As though by some effort of his indomitable will, however, he managed to collect all his energies into his tongue and throat; and after whispering through his compressed and pallid lips the single word “listen!” began slowly as follows:
“I am Edward Philip Darcy. I have lost, for I know that my hour has come!”