CHAPTER XVIII.
It will be remembered that when the brave O’Neill and his handful of troops fell down the river from Fort Erie on the night of the first of June, to go into camp at Newbiggin’s Farm, preparations were being made by the British not only to overpower him with superior numbers but to cut off his retreat upon the American shore and capture his whole command. In view of this, troops were being despatched against him from all points; while the tug Robb, black with artillery and men, came round from Dunville and patrolled the Niagara River between Fort Erie and Black Creek, under command of Capt. L. McCallum. This craft was manned by the Dunville Naval Brigade and the Welland Field Battery, under Capt. R.S. King, all armed to the teeth with Enfield rifles. On this vessel there was, we learn, so much mirth when it was found that the Fenians were cut off from the American shore, that the force aboard it assumed the air of a sort of military pic-nic party. They laughed at the dilemma in which they considered the invaders placed; and landed some of their men at one point on the river to make a pleasant reconnoisance of the enemy, and give them a warm reception as they came flying back towards Fort Erie before the victorious Queen’s Own or the University Rifles—either corps being considered quite sufficient to snuff out the little band of patriots who dared to beard the British Lion in his den. The wine and the jest passed gaily round, until so secure were they of their position and the defeat of the invaders, a landing was effected At Fort Erie where the skull and cross-bones of St. George once again floated over the village, and assured the inhabitants that they were not yet lost to wheezy old England. Lieut. Col. Denis was absolutely in ecstasies and evinced such instances of personal bravery over his brandy and water, that no one could have imagined, that, in the space of a couple of hours or so, he should be found in a hay-loft, shorn of his fierce moustachois, and endeavoring to imitate the Irish brogue, in the slouched caubeen and coarse, gray habiliments of some poor, plundered Son of the Sod. Those who caught a glimpse of the brave commander as he fled before the dangers that threatened him, report him as presenting the most ludicrous appearance imaginable, and scarcely worth sending to his account in a respectable manner. To this disguise alone, we learn, he owed his escape after the second carnage of the British by the Irish troops on the memorable day already named, and on their return from Limestone Ridge.
When O’Neill left Ridgeway, after pursuing the routed English forces through and beyond the village, he took the Garrison Road and, as already mentioned, fell back on Fort Erie. Here he came upon the Welland Field Battery and Dunville Naval Brigade just referred to. Flushed with the victory of the morning, he was upon them like a whirlwind, and, in the twinkling of an eye sent them flying to cover in every direction. His horse being much jaded with the march of the previous night, and the dreadful fatigues of the battle of the morning, he could scarcely get him to move a leg when he entered the village; and this circumstance was near leading to the most fatal results; for, in passing a house in which a number of the enemy had taken shelter, one of them came to the door, and seeing the animal going at so slow a pace, took deliberate aim with a rifle, and fired, in the hope of bringing down his rider. The all but murderous ball displaced the hair just over the right temple of O’Neill, lodging in a building opposite; the hero escaping all the dangers of the day, to the amazement of those who had marked him galloping among the carnage and bullets of the morning, in what might be termed a constant hand to hand struggle with death. It is sometimes thus with the men who show the most daring front in battle, and at the call of duty expose themselves to dangers the most appalling; while such as are more cautious often fall in their first encounter with the enemy.
The British forces at Fort Erie, from the very nature of things, had the Fenians at great advantage on the return of the latter from Ridgeway. The troops under O’Neill were fatigued and hungry, and after a desperate battle and a long march, while the English had been resting on their oars and feasting all day long, or at least for many hours. Still, with all these advantages in their favor, they were whipped instantly a second time; many of them being killed and wounded; Captain King of the Welland Battery losing a leg upon the occasion, and others being terribly maimed. In addition, some of them were so terror-stricken as to roll from the bank into the river, and conceal themselves as best they could, with their heads just over the water, and sheltered by whatever chanced to float against them or project into the flood. In one case they fought for a few minutes from behind some cord-wood: but from this they were soon dislodged by the terrible bayonets of their enemies, and scattered like sheep in and about the village. It was here that the brave Colonel Michael Bailey was dangerously wounded by a rifle ball from a house where the enemy had already hung out a flag of truce. He was riding at the head of his men when he was tumbled from his horse, the ball having entered his left breast, damaging the breast bone and passing out just under his right nipple. The wound was at the time considered mortal; but the gallant soldier survived it for upwards of a year. Still it was the occasion of his death ultimately; for, from the hour that he received it, he drooped gradually into his grave. Only for the timely interference of O’Neill, the house from which this treacherous shot was fired, like that from which he himself had nigh received his death, would have been burned to the ground. He saw, of course, how cowardly the act, to first hang out a flag of truce and then follow the white emblem with so diabolical an attack; but he perceived, also, that if one building chanced to be fired, Fort Erie might be burned to the ground. He therefore quelled the rising tempest at this foul play, and with his iron will held the whole command in the hollow of his hand and made those who composed it trample on their feelings and curb their just anger for the good of the cause—a noble sentiment emulated by the brave Dr. Edward Donnelly, of Pittsburgh, who at the risk of his life and liberty, remained among the wounded of both parties and assisted by the humane Drs. Blanchard and Trowbridge, of Buffalo, attended upon the sufferers even after the troops had recrossed the river, and the British had again taken possession of Fort Erie.
If we except the death of the brave Lonergan and that of half a dozen other noble fellows, whose names are unfortunately not at our command at this moment, and take into consideration the capture by the British of the Christian and chivalrous Father McMahon, who, regardless of his own personal safety, remained with the dead and dying, after the forces of O’Neill had recrossed the river, the victory of Ridgeway was completely unclouded. This patriotic priest and some other friends of Ireland are now suffering for their love of Fatherland in an English bastile at Kingston, in the New Dominion; but the thought strikes us, the hour of their redemption draws nigh. Subsequently, one or two others, including the gallant Bailey, died from the effects of their wounds upon that memorable field; but such are the contingencies of war, and such the fate of some of the truest of our race.
When O’Neill conquered and captured all the British force at Fort Erie, he at once sent a despatch to Buffalo asking for reinforcements and stating that if it were necessary to the success of any movement that might be going on at some other point, he would hold Fort Erie and make it a slaughter-pen to the last man of his command. General Lynch having arrived at Buffalo some short time previously, it was decided to send reinforcements; but on its being found, subsequently, that a sufficient number to be of real service could not be then sent to the Canada side, the idea was abandoned and transportation prepared for the victorious troops to re-cross the river.
When the British entered Fort Erie in the morning, they captured some Fenian stragglers who were, of course, set free on the arrival of O’Neill from Ridgeway; and now after being themselves captured in turn they were released on their parole; O’Neill having no other means of disposing of them. Nicholas was not engaged in this latter affair; as, not anticipating it, he had kept in the rear of the army with Kate and Evans; so that now when he came up, he was both ashamed and mortified that even an engagement so trifling, when compared with that of the morning, was fought without his having participated in it. However, the day was doubly won, and as he explained to his gallant Commander, the peculiarity of his position, with a smile and a hearty shake of the hand, he got permission to re-cross the river with his betrothed. This much accomplished, Henry turned his horses and drove down the bank at a quick pace, until he arrived at the house of a friend who kept a boat; and prevailing on him to take our hero and heroine to the American side a little below the Lower Rock, he made his warm adieux, with a promise soon to visit Buffalo with Martha, where, meeting an express desire from the lips of Kate, he agreed that they should be made man and wife. And so the friends parted for the time being—Nicholas and Kate, in the course of an hour, finding themselves under the Stars and Stripes once more, and beneath the hospitable roof that had so long sheltered her.
Here to their utter astonishment they found Big Tom who had just arrived from Canada; he having been obliged to turn over his establishment hastily to his trusty friend, Burk, and fly the Province; as through some successful espionage, his connection with the Brotherhood had been discovered. From a friendly detective who had learned the true state of the case and the danger that threatened him, he received the hint that urged him to make his escape, and which doubtless saved him from the horrors of a dungeon if not from death. His sister was to follow him as soon as a sale of his establishment could be effected, and then, as he said himself, “good bye to the tyrant until we meet on the battle field.” He was astounded at the disclosures regarding the pretended Greaves, and all but paralysed at the frightful position from which Kate had so miraculously escaped. When, however, he heard of the glorious victory of the arms of the Irish Republic at Ridgeway and Fort Erie, under O’Neill, he forgot everything else and leaped to his feet with a cheer that shook the house to its very foundation. In the ecstasy of joy that seized him, he took everybody near him by the hand ten times over, and added cheer to cheer until it was deemed expedient to recall him to something like reason. A more genuine display of heartfelt pleasure and patriotic feeling was never witnessed or experienced by any individual or indulged in a manner more original or unsophisticated.
“Tell it to me again, Nick! Tell it to me again!” he exclaimed for the twentieth time; “and did you see them run, and how many of them are kilt? Have you a soord or a gun or anythin belongin to them? for if you have I’ll give you tin times the value of it for a keepsake.”
“Oh!” replied Barry, amused at this unusual display on the part of the sedate and phlegmatic Tom, “there will be no lack of keepsakes in Buffalo to-morrow; for the field was covered with their coats, arms, and knapsacks; and some of these, I am sure, will be got for a mere song.”