Sarah bolted to her feet. “You don’t know! I watched her die!”
“Sarah!” a man’s voice shouted.
Billy and Sarah quickly turned to discover Samuel Foote standing a few yards away with a pistol in his hand. The stern face and dark eyes of Sarah’s father sent a chill down Billy’s spine.
“I want you home right now!” Sarah immediately complied and rushed toward her father. “I told you to stay away from her, Green!”
“She’s not a child,” Billy retorted.
Samuel raised his gun and pointed it at Billy. “One less Loyalist urchin will make the invasion that much easier!”
Sarah lunged forward and tried to wrestle the weapon away from her father, but he pushed her aside.
Billy advanced toward Foote. “Those threats might work in America, but not here! Like it or not, Canada isn’t part of the United States and never will be!”
Sarah stepped between them and tugged at Billy’s arm. “Billy please … don’t.”
“It’s men like you that forced my father to leave New Jersey!” Billy cried.
Samuel moved closer. “Traitor!”
Billy waited, every muscle taut with anticipation as Samuel fired over his head.
“Next time you won’t be so lucky!” Foote gripped his daughter’s arm and escorted her away as she strained to look back at Billy.
Billy watched them for a few seconds before following a trail to the edge of the Niagara escarpment. He sat on the ground with his feet dangling over the precipice and stared at the tranquil, sparkling water of Lake Ontario. Suddenly, his eyes caught movement below on a ridge. There were flashes of colour through the greenery and the noise of breaking branches. It was a line of British redcoats. He gaped in amazement before scuttling to his feet.
“I don’t believe it!” he whispered excitedly.
Billy descended the ridge but froze when several of the flanking soldiers took aim at him. He flung his hands up in surrender. “My name’s Billy Green. I’m from Stoney Creek.”
Satisfied, the men lowered their weapons and resumed their painful march as Billy kept pace with the column. He studied the dozen beleaguered warriors, their faces dirty and bloodied from battle. A few lagged behind. Some limped, while others were aided by crutches and fellow soldiers. All were exhausted.
“Where are you going?” Billy asked.
“Burlington Heights,” one of the men mumbled.
“Where was the battle?”
“Fort George has been captured,” one of the men said dully. He had a bloodstained patch over one eye.
Billy grinned enthusiastically. “What was the fight like?”
“Don’t ask such a stupid question,” the soldier replied in disgust.
Taken aback, Billy slowed. “I … I want to fight, too.”
Another soldier shoved Billy aside, causing him to fall into the mud. “The British Army doesn’t need or want the useless militia,” the man growled. “Go back to your mother!” Several of the other soldiers laughed as they continued on their way.
Humiliated, Billy wiped the dirt from his face and watched as the platoon plodded out of sight.
A lamp illuminated the face of a dead young British soldier; his eyes wide, mouth agape. Two American infantrymen picked up the body and lowered it into a trench alongside other fallen redcoats. Dirt was shovelled over the mass grave.
The battle at Fort George was long and bloody, evidenced by the smoke still drifting from the battlefield and billowing in the decimated compound. Mangled bodies were strewn everywhere — British, American, black, and Native. Inside the fort the Yankee forces supped boisterously, huddled around countless campfires outside their tents. Above the fort, in makeshift headquarters, U.S. Generals John Chandler and William Winder relaxed before a roaring fireplace.
“I’ve had court cases tougher than this battle, John,” Winder declared, slightly inebriated as he slurped directly from a bottle of rum. The stout, ruddyfaced officer laughed stupidly and handed the alcohol to Chandler.
“Your love of drink is exaggerating your confidence,” Chandler said, preferring to pour the libation into a glass.
Winder grinned. “The British are going back to Burlington Heights to lick their wounds like the dogs they are.” He chuckled, kicked off his boots, and plunked his feet on the table. “I’ll wager you they give up on the defence of Upper Canada altogether. We’ve already captured Fort York and burned it to the ground. Their supply lines are virtually cut off.” Winder reached for the bottle clumsily and raised it. “We’ll march and sail unabated to Kingston, we’ll control the St. Lawrence, and we’ll strangle the British navy.”
“We don’t control Lakes Ontario and Erie yet, my drunken friend,” Chandler cautioned, corking the bottle.
Winder smiled, closed his eyes, and leaned back in his chair. “Just think of it, our names will be written in the annals of history. It will tell of how we courageously and brilliantly captured an entire country.”
He uncorked the liquor again, then staggered to his feet to fill his colleague’s glass but spilled it. The rum spread quickly and soaked Chandler’s shirt. Winder pretended to have shot him, and they both laughed heartily until there was a knock at the door. “In!” Winder bellowed.
A junior officer entered and saluted. “Sir, I have the final figures.”
Impatient, Winder waved for him to continue.
The junior officer read from a sheet of paper. “We had thirty-nine killed and one hundred and eleven wounded.”
“Brave boys,” Winder muttered, visibly shaken.
“And the enemy?” Chandler asked.
“Fifty-two killed, forty-four wounded, and two hundred and sixty-two captured,” the officer said, folding the paper.
“All of them ... on both sides were brave boys,”
Chandler said, raising his glass and drinking, much to the chagrin of Winder.
“Bring one of the prisoners in here!” Winder commanded, pulling on his boots. The officer disappeared for a moment as Winder buttoned his uniform jacket.
“What are you doing?” Chandler asked nervously.
“I can end this war even faster,” Winder said as a scared young British soldier was hauled into the room. “Sit down,” Winder ordered, motioning to a chair. The trembling teen took a seat, and Chandler offered him the bottle, but Winder swiped it away, smashing it to the floor. “How many forces do you have at Burlington Heights?” Winder
