Books: Neville Trueman the Pioneer Preacher
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William Henry Withrow >> Neville Trueman the Pioneer Preacher
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Neville Trueman, who had a pass from Colonel Vincent to visit the
Methodist troops in the fort, felt himself summoned thither, as to
a post of duty, at the first sounds of the cannonade. He was soon
busily engaged, skilfully helping the surgeon and ministering
alike to the bodies and the souls of the wounded soldiers. He also
found time to visit the ramparts and speak words of cheer and
encouragement to the members of his spiritual flock. Although shot
and shell screamed through the air, and fragments and splinters
were flying in dangerous proximity, he felt himself sustained by
the grace of God. Amid these dreadful scenes he knew no fear, and
his calm serenity inspired confidence courage and in others.
The bombardment lasted a large part of the day. Fort George was
severely damaged. Several of its guns were dismounted, and the
whole place rendered almost untenable.
The night was one of much anxiety. The force of the enemy was
overwhelming. The fate of the fortress seemed certain; but
Vincent, with gallant British pluck, resolved to hold it to the
last. The wearied troops snatched what refreshment and repose they
could amid the confusion and discomfort and danger by which they
were surrounded. At intervals during the night the American fort
kept up a teasing fire, more for the purpose of causing annoyance
and preventing rest than with the object of doing any serious
damage. As a mere pyrotechnic spectacle it was certainly a grand
sight to watch the graceful curves of the live shells through the
air--a parabola of vivid brightness against the black sky, as the
burning fuse, fanned by its rapid motion, glowed like a shooting-
star. The loud detonation, and explosion of fiery fragments that
followed, however, was rather discomposing to the nerves, and
unfavourable for restful slumber to the weary warriors.
Another cruel refinement of war was still more disconcerting. In
order, if possible, to ignite the barracks, the gunners of Fort
Niagara kept firing at intervals red-hot cannon balls. A vigilant
look-out for these had to be kept, and a fire brigade was
specially organized to drown out any incipient conflagration that
might occur.
A similar compliment was paid by the artillerists of Fort George.
No little skill was required in handling these heavy red-hot
projectiles. In order to prevent a premature explosion of the
charge, a wet wad was interposed between the powder and the red-
hot ball. In the walls of Fort Mississauga, at Niagara, may still
be seen the fire-places for heating the shot for the purpose here
described.
But, notwithstanding the tumult, the roar of the cannon near at
hand, the explosion of shells, and the thud of the balls striking
the casemates, or burying themselves in the earthen ramparts, the
weary garrison snatched what repose was possible; for the morrow,
it was felt, would tax their energies to the utmost.
The morning of May 27th dawned as bright and beautiful as in
Eden's sinless garden--as fair as though such a deadly evil as war
were unknown in the world. The American shipping stood in closer
to the shore. The bombardment was renewed with intenser fury. It
was evident that an attempt was about to be made to laud a hostile
force on Canadian ground. Every available man, except those
required to work the guns of Fort George, and a guard over the
stores, as hurried down to the beach to prevent, if possible, the
landing. Boat after boat, filled with armed men, their bayonets
gleaming in the morning sunshine, left the ships, and, under cover
of a tremendous fire from the American fort and fleet, gained the
shore. First Colonel Scott, with eight hundred riflemen, effected
a landing. They were promptly met by a body of British regulars
and militia, and compelled to take refuge under cover of the steep
bank which lined the beach to the north of the town. From this
position they kept up a galling fire on the British troops in the
open field. The broadsides of the fleet also swept the plain, and
wrought great havoc among the brave militia defending their native
soil. To escape the deadly sweep of the cannon they were obliged
to prostrate themselves in the slight depressions in the plain.
Notwithstanding the inequality of numbers, the main body of the
enemy were three times repulsed before they could gain a foothold
on the beach.
At length, after three hours desperate struggle, a hostile force
of six thousand men stood upon the plain. The conflict then was
brief but strenuous. Many were the incidents of personal heroism
that relieved, as by a gleam of light, the darkness of the
tragedy. Jonas Evans was in the foremost files, and, as they lay
upon the ground, his comrade on either side was killed by round
shot from the ships, but, as if he bore a charmed life, he escaped
unhurt. Loker and McKay, while bearing off a wounded militia-man,
were captured, as were many others. At length the bugles sounded a
retreat. Slowly and reluctantly the British troops fell back
through the town. A strong rear-guard halted in the streets,
seeking the shelter of the houses, and stubbornly holding the foe
at bay while Vincent made his preparations for abandoning Fort
George. All that valour and fidelity could do to hold that
important post had been done. But how were a few hundred weary and
defeated men to withstand a victorious army of six-fold greater
strength? [Footnote: The details of the account above given were
narrated to the author by the venerable Father Brady, for many
years class-leader of the Methodist Church at Niagara, who was an
actor in the events described.]
The guns of the fort were spiked and overthrown, and baggage,
ammunition, and moveable stores were hastily loaded on teams
volunteered for the service, to accompany the retreat of the army.
With a bitter pang, Vincent ordered the destruction of the fort
which he had so gallantly defended. When the last man had retired,
with his own hand he fired the train which caused the explosion of
the powder magazine. When the victorious army marched in, they
found only the breached and blackened walls, the yawning gates,
and dismantled ramparts of the fort. From the shattered flagstaff,
where it still waved defiantly, though rent and seared by shot and
shell, the brave red-cross flag was hauled down and replaced by
the gaily fluttering stars and stripes.
Many a time has the present writer wandered over the crumbling and
grass-grown ramparts of the ruined fort, where the peaceful sheep
crop the herbage and the little children play. Some of the old
casemates and thick-walled magazines still remain, and are
occupied by the families of a few old pensioners. In these low-
vaulted chambers, with their deep and narrow embrasures, once the
scene of the rude alarum of war, often has he held a quiet
religious service with the lowly and unlettered inmates, who knew
little of the thrilling history of their strange abode.
Often at the pensive sunset hour, reclining in a crumbling
bastion, has he tried to rehabilitate the past, and to summon from
their lonely and forgotten graves upon the neighbouring
battlefield, or in quiet church-yards, it may be, far beyond the
sea, the groups of war-scarred veterans who once peopled the now
desolate fort.
Again is heard, in fancy, the quick challenge and reply, the
bugle-call, the roll of drums, the sharp rattle of musketry, the
deep and deadly thunder of the cannonade. How false and fading is
felt to be the glory of arms, and how abiding victories of peace,
more glorious than those of war!
The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power,
And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave,
Await alike the inevitable hour:
The paths of glory lead but to the grave.
But hark! a loud report awakes the dreamer from his reverie. It is
the sunset gun from old Fort Niagara; and as stern reality becomes
again a presence, the gazer's glance rests on the peaceful beauty
of the broad blue Lake Ontario, on which, at this quiet hour, so
many eyes, long turned to dust, have rested in the years forever
flown.
CHAPTER VIII.
THE FORTUNES OF WAR.
On the evening of the evacuation of Fort George, several of the
actors in the busy drama of the time were assembled in the great
kitchen of Squire Drayton's hospitable house. It was no time for
ceremony, so everybody met in the common living room. Captain
Villiers called to bid a hasty farewell to the kind family under
whose roof he had for several months abode as an invalid soldier,
and especially to take leave of the fair young mistress, through
whose care he had become convalescent. Neville Trueman had
resolved to follow the retreating army, both to avoid the
appearance of any complicity or sympathy with the invaders; and
that, in the severe conflict which was impending, his spiritual
services might be available to the militia, of whom a considerable
number were Methodists, and to such others as would accept them.
Zenas had obtained his father's consent to volunteer for the
militia cavalry service in this time of his country's need,
although it left the farm without a single man, except the squire
himself.
"The maids and I will plant the corn and cut the wheat, too," said
Kate, with the pluck of a true Canadian girl. "We'll soon learn to
wield the sickle, though you seem to doubt it, Captain Villiers,"
she went on, looking archly at the gallant captain, who smiled
rather incredulously.
"Nay, I am sure you will deserve to be honoured as the goddess
Ceres of your Canadian harvest-fields, by the future generations
of your country," politely answered the captain.
"I would rather serve my country in the present, than receive
mythical honours in the future," replied Kate.
"We'll be back before harvest to drive the Yanks across the river,
and get Sandy and Loker out of Fort Niagara," said Zenas. "Tom
would gnaw his very fetters off to get free, if he wore any. But
Sandy takes everything as it comes, as cool as you please. 'It was
all appointed,' he says, and 'all for the best.'"
"They will not keep the prisoners there," said the squire; "it is
too near the border. Chauncey will likely take them off to
Sackett's Harbour, and make them work in the dock-yards."
"They won't make McKay do that," said the captain; "it would be
against his conscience, and he would die first. He is the
staunchest specimen of an old stoic philosopher I ever came
across. Under the hottest fire to-day he was as cool as I ever saw
him on parade. As he stooped to raise a wounded comrade a round
shot struck and carried away his cartridge-box. Had he been
standing up it would have cut him in two. He never blanched, but
just helped the poor fellow off the field, when he was captured
himself."
"It is something more than stoicism," said Neville. "It is his
staunch Scotch Calvinism. It is not my religious philosophy; but I
can I honour its effects in others. It made heroic men of the
Ironsides, the Puritans, and the Covenanters; but so will a trust
in the loving fatherhood of God, without the doctrine of the
eternal decrees."
"We must not delay," said the captain. "The enemy's scouts will be
looking up stragglers," and after a hasty meal he, with Neville
and Zenas, rode away in the darkness, to join the rearguard of
Vincent's retreating army.
They had scarcely been gone five minutes when a loud knocking was
heard at the front door of the house, and, immediately after, the
trampling of feet in the hall. A peremptory summons was followed
by the bursting open of the kitchen door, when two flushed and
heated American dragoons, one a comet and the other a private,
stood on the threshold.
"Beg pardon, miss," said the officer, somewhat abashed at the
attitude of indignant surprise assumed by Katharine. "But is
Captain Villiers here? We were told he was."
"You see he is not," said the young girl, with a queenly sweep of
her arm around the room; "but you may search the house, if you
please."
"Oh, no occasion, as you say he is not here. I'll take the
liberty, if you please, to help myself to a slight refreshment,"
continued the spokesman, taking a seat at the table and beckoning
to his companion to do the same. "You'll excuse the usage of war.
We've had a hard day's work on light rations."
"You might at least ask leave," spoke up the squire, with a sort
of
"An Englishman's house is his castle,
An Englishman's crown is his hat,"
Air,--"We would not refuse a bit and sup, even to an enemy."
Glad of an excuse to detain the scouts as long as possible Kate
placed upon the table a cold meat-pie, of noble proportions, and a
flagon of new milk.
The troopers were valiant trencher-men, whatever else they were,
and promptly assaulted the meat-pie fort, as from its size and
shape it deserved to be called.
"You know this Captain Villiers, I suppose?" said the dragoon
subaltern at length; "I had particular instructions to secure his
capture."
"Oh yes! I know him very well," answered Kate. "He was here sick
for three months last winter."
"And very good quarters and good fare he had, I'll be bound," said
the fellow, with an air of insolent familiarity. "And when was he
here last, pray?"
"About half-an-hour ago," said Kate, knowing that by this time he
must be beyond pursuit.
"Zounds!" cried the trooper, springing to his feet, "why did you
not tell me that before?"
"Because you did not ask me, sir," said the maiden demurely, while
her black eyes flashed triumph at her father, who sat in his arm
chair stolidly smoking his pipe.
With an angry oath, the fellows hurried out of the house as
unceremoniously as they had entered, when Kate and her father had
a merry laugh over their discomfiture.
Next morning the troopers appeared again, in angry humour. "That
was a scurvy trick you played us last night, old gentleman," said
the elder.
"No trick at all," said the squire. "I hope you were pleased with
your entertainment? Did you catch your prisoner?" he asked, with a
somewhat malicious twinkle of his eye towards Kate, who was in the
room.
"No, we didn't; but we came upon the enemy's rear-guard, and
nearly got captured ourselves. But you'll have to pay for your
little game, by liberal supplies for Dearborn's army."
The staunch old loyalist, who would willingly impoverish himself
to aid the King's troops, stoutly refused to give "a single groat
or oat," as he expressed it, to the King's enemies. It was
"against his conscience," he said.
"We'll relieve you of your scruples," said the officer. "I want
some of those horses in your pasture to mount my troop of
dragoons," and going oat of the house he ordered the half-score of
troopers without to dismount and capture the horses in the meadow.
The men, after a particularly active chase, captured three out of
six horses. The others defied every effort to catch them. The
troopers threatened to shoot them, but the cornet forbade it, and
ordered the squire to send them to head-quarters during the day--a
command which he declined to obey. Such were some of the ways in
which the loyal Canadians were pillaged of their property by their
ruthless invaders.
The squire indeed demanded a receipt from the officer for the
property thus "requisitioned."
"Oh yes! I'll give you a receipt," said that individual, "and much
good may it do you," and that was all the good it did do him, for
he never received a cent of compensation.
Colonel Vincent, in the meantime, had withdrawn the garrisons from
the frontier forts on the Niagara river. He retreated with sixteen
hundred men toward the head of the lake, and took up a strong
position on Burlington Heights, near Hamilton. In the now peaceful
Protestant cemetery to the west of the city may still be trace
among the graves the mouldering ramparts and trenches of this once
warlike camp. Dearborn despatched a force of three thousand men,
with two hundred and fifty cavalry and nine field-pieces, under
Generals Chandler and Winder, to dislodge the Canadian force. On
the 6th of June they encamped at Stony Creek, seven miles from
Vincent's lines. The position of the latter was critical. Niagara
and York had both been captured. Before him was a victorious foe.
His ammunition was reduced to ninety rounds. He was extricated
from his peril by a bold blow. Colonel John Harvey, having
reconnoitered the enemy's position, proposed a night attack.
Vincent heartily co-operated. At midnight, with seven hundred
British bayonets, they burst upon the American camp. A fierce
fight ensued in which the enemy were utterly routed. The British,
unwilling to expose their small number to a still superior force,
retired before daybreak, with four guns and a hundred prisoners,
including both of the American Generals. The victory, however, was
purchased with the loss of two hundred men killed or missing. A
venerable old lady, recently deceased, has described to the writer
the dreary procession of waggons laden with wounded men that filed
past her father's door on their return to the British head-
quarters. The battle was fought early on Sunday morning, near the
house of "Brother Gage," a good Methodist, as his appellation
indicates. [Footnote: Carroll's "Case and His Cotemporaries," Vol
I., p. 307.] On that sacred day, so desecrated by the havoc of
war, he gathered the neighbours together and buried the slain,
friend and foe, in one wide, common grave. Among the traditions of
the war is one which records that the boys of the Gage family
gathered up a peck of bullets which had been intercepted by the
stone fence bounding the lane that led to the house.
The Americans, after destroying their camp stores and leaving the
dead unburied, retreated to Forty Mile Creek, where they effected
a junction with General Lewis, advancing to their aid with two
thousand men. At daybreak on the 8th of June, the American camp
was shelled by Commodore Yeo's fleet. The enemy retreated to Fort
George, abandoning their tents and stores, which were captured by
Vincent. Their baggage, shipped by batteaux to the fort, was
either taken by the fleet or abandoned on the shore. [Footnote:
Withrow's History of Canada, 8vo. ed., chap. xxiii.1.316]
CHAPTER IX.
A BRAVE WOMAN'S EXPLOIT.
Neville Trueman, found ample occupation in ministering to the sick
and wounded, and in visiting his scattered flock throughout the
invaded territory. He was enabled, incidentally, to render
important service to his adopted country. It was toward the end of
June, that one afternoon he was riding through the forest in the
neighbourhood of the Beaver Dams, near the town of Thorold,--a
place which received its name from the remarkable constructions of
the industrious animal which has been adopted as the national
emblem of Upper Canada,--where there was a small force of British
troops posted. In the twilight he observed a travel-worn woman
approaching upon the forest pathway, with an air of bodily
weariness, yet of mental alertness and anxiety. As she drew near,
he recognized a worthy Canadian matron, whom he had, more than
once, seen in his congregation in the school-house at the village
of Chippewa.
"Why, Mrs. Secord!" he exclaimed, reining up his horse as she
attempted to pass him, furtively trying to conceal her face, "are
not you afraid to be so far from home on foot, when the country is
so disturbed?"
"Thank God it is you, Mr. Trueman!" she eagerly replied. "I was
afraid it might be one of the American scouts. 'Home,' did you
say? I have no home," she added in a tone of bitterness.
"Can't I be of some service to you? Where is your husband?"
Neville asked, wondering at her distraught air.
"Haven't you heard?" she replied. "He was sore wounded at
Queenston Heights, and will never be a well man again; and our
house was pillaged and burned. But we're wasting time; what reck
my private wrongs when the country is overrun by the King's
enemies? How far is it to the camp?"
"Farther than you can walk without resting," he answered." You
seem almost worn out."
"Nineteen miles I've walked this day, through woods and thicket,
without a bit or sup, to warn the King's troops of their danger."
"What danger?" asked Neville, wondering if her grief had not
somewhat affected her mind.
"The enemy are on the move--hundreds of them--with cannon and
horses. I saw them marching past my cottage this very morning, and
I vowed to warn the King's soldiers or die in the attempt. I
slipped unseen into the woods and ran like a deer, through bypaths
and, 'cross lots, and I must press on or I may be too late."
Not for a moment did this American-born youth hesitate as to his
duty to his adopted country. Wheeling his horse he exclaimed, "You
brave woman, you've nobly done your part, let me take you to the
nearest house and then ride on and give the alarm."
"I hoped to have done it myself," she said. "But it is best as it
is. Never mind me. Every minute is precious."
Without waiting for more words, Neville waved his hand in
encouragement, and putting spurs to his horse was out of sigh in a
moment. In a few minutes he galloped up to the post held by the
British picket, and flung himself off his reeking steed--incurring
imminent risk of being bayoneted by the sentry, because he took no
notice of his peremptory challenge. Bursting into the guard-room,
he called for the officer of the day, Lieutenant Fitzgibbon. A few
words conveyed the startling intelligence--the alarm was promptly
given--the bugle sounded the "turn cut"--the guard promptly
responded--the men rushed to arms. Messengers were despatched to
an outpost where Captain Ker was posted with two hundred Indians,
and to Major de Heren, commanding a body of troops in the rear.
Neville, followed by two files of soldiers, returned to meet the
brave Canadian matron to whose patriotic heroism was due the
rescue of the little post from an unexpected attack by an
overwhelming force. They found her almost fainting from fatigue
and the reaction from the overstrung tension of her nerves.
Leaping from his horse, Neville adjusted his cloak so as to make a
temporary side-saddle, and placed the travel-worn woman thereon.
Walking by her side, he held the bridle-rein and carefully guarded
the horse over the rugged forest path, the two soldiers falling
behind as a rear-guard. As they approached the post at Beaver
Dams, the redcoats gave a hearty British cheer. The guard turned
out, and presented arms as though she were the Queen; and the
gallant Lieutenant Fitzgibbon assisted the lady to alight with as
dignified a courtesy as he could use to royalty itself. She was
committed to the care of the good wife of the farm-house which
formed the head-quarters of the post, and every means taken to
ensure her comfort. By such heroism as this did the stout-hearted
Canadian women of those stern war times serve their country at the
risk of their lives.
Vigorous efforts were now made for defence. Trees were hastily
felled to blockade the road. A breastwork of logs was thrown up at
a commanding position, in front of which was an abattis of young
trees and brush piled up to obstruct approach. Lieutenant
Fitzgibbon had only some forty-three regulars and two hundred
Indiana, to oppose a force of nearly six hundred men, including
fifty cavalry and two field-pieces. He must effect by stratagem
what he could not effect by force. Every man who could sound a,
bugle, and for whom a bugle could be found, was sent into the
woods, and these were posted at considerable distances apart. The
Indians and thirty-four red-coats, concealed behind trees, lined
the road. Before long was heard the tramp of cavalry and rumble of
the field-guns. As they came within range the buglers, with all
the vigour in their power, sounded a charge, the shrill notes
ringing through the leafy forest aisles. The Indians yelled their
fearful war-whoop, and the soldiers gave a gallant cheer and
opened a sharp fire.
The ruse was as successful as that of Gideon and his three hundred
men with their trumpets and pitchers, in the wars of the
Philistines. After a spirited attack, the advanced guard fell back
upon the main body of the enemy, which was thrown into confusion.
Some of the cavalry horses were wounded, and dashed wildly through
the ranks, increasing the disorder. The artillery horses caught
the infection, and, plunging wildly, overturned one of the gun-
carriages in the ditch. At this moment a body of twenty Canadian
militia arrived, and Fitzgibbon, to carry out his ruse of affected
superiority of numbers, boldly demanded the surrender of the
enemy. Colonel Boerstler, the American commander, thinking the
British must be strongly supported, to Lieutenant Fitzgibbon's
astonishment consented. The latter did not know what to do with
his prisoners, who were twice as many as his own force, including
the Indians. The opportune arrival of Major de Keren and Captain
Villiers, with two hundred men, furnished a sufficient force to
guard the prisoners. The chagrin of the latter, on hearing of
their deception and capture by a handful of red-coats and red-
skins, was intense. The name of the heroic Canadian wife, Mrs.
Laura Secord, to whose timely information this brilliant and
bloodless victory was due, was honourably mentioned in the
military despatches of the day; and her memory should be a
perpetual inspiration to patriotic daring to every son and
daughter of Canada. [Footnote: A portrait of Mrs. Secord, as a
venerable old lady of ninety-two, in a widow's cap and weeds, is
given in _Lossing's Pictorial Field Book of the War of 1812_,
page 621; also her autograph and a letter describing her exploit.
The Prince of Wales, after his return from Canada in 1860, caused
the sum of L100 sterling to be presented her for her patriotic
service. Lieutenant Fitzgibbon was made a Knight of Windsor
Castle.]
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