she knew about Lieutenant James FitzGibbon. FitzGibbon’s Green Tigers had much the same mandate as William Merritt’s Provincial Dragoons in which Charles was a lieutenant.
At daybreak Laura arrived at St. Davids. The light breeze in which she’d first set off had disappeared, and already the air felt warm and humid. As soon as she reached Hannah Secord’s house, down the lane and past the mill, she asked about Charles. The news was not good; he was still very sick and definitely not well enough to leave his bed.
Laura agreed to sit down for a short rest; she loved and trusted these people. She told her dear friend Hannah, Hannah’s daughter Elizabeth, and Charles what she intended to do with the information she and James had unwittingly acquired. Charles may have been the one who suggested that Laura head farther north, take the long way around to Shipman’s Corners (today’s St. Catharines), rather than going directly to De Cew’s. There was a good chance that if she went the way he suggested she might run into Captain William Merritt who lived at Twelve Mile Creek. He would be sure to help her. Certainly Merritt would leave immediately for Beaver Dams if she told him of the American plan to attack.
Hannah Secord’s two oldest boys, who might have delivered the message to FitzGibbon had they been home, were both away with the militia. There was nothing anyone could say to dissuade her; Laura was determined to carry on. To her surprise, her niece Elizabeth offered to go with her. It might be safer to travel with a companion. But would the girl, who had never been very strong, be able to keep up?
Assuring Hannah and Charles that they would look out for each other, Laura and Elizabeth set out from St. Davids. By taking the roundabout route to Shipman’s Corners they were less likely to encounter American sentries on the road. However, it greatly increased the distance they had to travel. It also meant having to follow the old trail through the dreaded Black Swamp with its many stories of mysterious disappearances.
Laura Secord on Her Journey to Warn the British. Artist C.W. Jefferys, circa 1921.
Courtesy of Archives of Ontario.
The air between the dense cedars was filled with mosquitoes, and as they made their way toward the swamp, the ground under their feet became spongy. In the lowest areas, amidst the cattails, the black muck sucked at the light slippers the women wore, pulling them off their feet at every other step. They had to stop frequently, and Laura was growing concerned about Elizabeth. Laura herself, though small and appearing to be delicate, was wiry and strong, and she did not tire easily.
As the morning wore on, the temperature rose. By the time they reached Shipman’s Corners it was obvious to Laura that Elizabeth was near exhaustion. She knew the girl must go no farther. Family records indicate that Elizabeth, never robust, died the following year. She and Charles Ingersoll were never to marry.
Fortunately, the Secord family had friends at Shipman’s Corners, and Laura left her niece in their capable hands to continue on her journey alone.
On blistered feet, Laura turned south, heading toward De Cew’s, wishing she could be certain that by this time she was in British-held territory. By avoiding the road and any American sentries, she now ran the risk of encountering wild animals. She tried not to think about the wolves and wildcats that prowled the area, nor the masses of rattlesnakes that might be hiding from the blistering sun amongst the rocks.
She crossed fields of long grass and thistles that plucked at her skirts before she reached the woods. She didn’t believe half the stories she’d heard about atrocities committed by the Indians, but she knew there were hundreds of them camped in these woods. Although she knew that the Natives in these parts were friends of the British, she was a woman out here on her own. She pushed her sunbonnet off her damp forehead and carried on.
Laura was using Twelve Mile Creek as a guide, never going far from it for fear of getting lost. If Hannah had provided her with some food for the journey it would be gone long before this. At least the water of the creek would quench her thirst and cool her hands and face.
It had been an unusually rainy spring, and the creeks and streams had flooded their banks. In one place, where Laura had been expecting to cross the creek, she discovered that the footbridge had been swept away.
She followed the creek bank, breaking through the brush and tangle of willows, coming upon a spot where a tree had fallen across the water. Pulling up her skirts, she dropped down and crawled across it on hands and knees until she reached the other side. The bank was slimy with mud, and she had to grasp at any protruding roots she could. Her feet sliding from under her, she hung on and managed to pull herself to the top.
About seven o’clock that evening she reached a steep, wooded embankment and began the ascent, feeling the fatigue in the muscles of her legs. Both her slippers were gone by this time, her dress muddied and torn, her face and arms scratched by brambles. She stumbled on, thinking she should soon see the lights of De Cew’s farmhouse, and what a welcome sight that was going to be.
Suddenly, pushing her way through the last of the underbrush, Laura found herself at the edge of a clearing. She was surrounded by Native warriors.
The scene in the moonlight was terrifying. When they saw her, the Indians “all arose and with some yells, said ‘Woman,’ which made me tremble. I cannot express the awful feeling it gave me,” Laura said later, “but I did not lose my presence of mind. I was determined to persevere.”
She reminded herself that Native warriors had fought and died with the British in the American War of Independence, and with that thought she managed to keep her composure.
“I went up to one of the chiefs, made him understand that I had great news for Capt. FitzGibbon and that he must let me pass to his camp, or that he and his party would all be taken. The chief at first objected to let me pass, but finally consented, after some hesitation, to go with me and accompany me to FitzGibbon’s station.”
The Indians, most likely some of Dominique Ducharme’s Caughnawaga, who had recently arrived in the area, helped Laura to walk the last mile in the dark, through De Cew’s field to the farmhouse on the old Mountain Road from St. Davids.
She had walked for seventeen hours and covered nineteen miles (thirty kilometres), and although she would not be able to tell FitzGibbon how the American attack would occur, nor when, she was confident that he provided the best chance for the British to hold on to Niagara.
Lieutenant FitzGibbon must have been surprised when a strange woman appeared at the door of his outpost, dirty, barefoot, and obviously exhausted. As Laura wrote later, “I had an interview with him. I told him what I had come for and what I had heard — that the Americans intended to make an attack upon the troops under his command and would, from their superior numbers, capture them all.” Then she dropped onto a chair, and one of FitzGibbon’s men hurried to fetch her some water to drink.
FitzGibbon questioned Laura until he was convinced that she was not a spy. After all, she had come from Queenston, which was in the hands of the Americans.
After receiving Laura’s information, FitzGibbon alerted the Natives, and together with his own men they took up positions all night from which they could intercept any attack.
But first, because Laura was worn out, FitzGibbon had one of his men take her to the Turney farm, far enough away that she would be safe and could get some rest. Mrs. Turney gathered her up like a mother hen, filling a basin with water so that she could wash her hands and face, and finally setting her blistered feet into it. After making sure Laura had eaten, she insisted on putting her to bed.
Years
