Book: Ridgeway

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When the Kid, Jack and Wilson were liberated on the evening of the day
on which they had been captured with others, and sent into the
headquarters of Gen. O'Neill, it was decided that the first named of
these worthies should proceed at once to Wilson's, and apprise the
family of the presence of a hostile army, and the necessity of keeping
close and barricading the house in case the tide of war should roll in
that direction. The habitation, as already mentioned, stood in an
isolated spot surrounded with woods, and the proprietor was of the
impression, that it would escape notice or molestation; from the fact
that the Fenians seemed to eschew everything that savored, in even the
slightest degree, of the destruction of private property or of
gratuitous pillage. Besides, he perceived that for the purpose of
meeting some of the necessities of the invaders, a few horses had been
already impressed into their service, and felt, consequently, that
were his discovered on the road leading to his home, they could not
fail to share the same fate. He therefore, as just intimated, begged
the Kid to make the best of his way to Limestone Ridge, beside which
his domicile stood. To this request the Kid willingly acceded, as it
would afford him another opportunity of seeing Martha; so, when
evening was about to set in, he commenced his journey.

Earlier in the day, the brave Captain O'Donohue, of the 18th, white
out on a foraging party towards Chippewa, came up with some outposts
of the enemy, who, noticing his dauntless bearing, and the steady,
onward tramp of his handful of men, fled at his approach without
firing a single shot.

When passing out of the camp to the main road, the Kid learned that
the whole force was to move off at about ten o'clock in the direction
of Chippewa; it being the intention of the commander, as previously
observed, to get between the body of regulars about proceeding from
that point, and that of the volunteers, to move forward, and form a
junction with them, from Port Colborne; intending to attack and defeat
the one before the other came up. At this time O'Neill's troops did
not, as is confidently asserted, number as many as five hundred men;
while the force of the enemy surrounding him on every side, was
estimated at an aggregate of some thousands. This he well knew, but he
had invaded the territories of the ancient and implacable antagonist
of his country and his name, and he was determined to make another
Thermopylae of any pass in which he happened to meet the foe, no
matter how overwhelming their numbers.

This intelligence impressed the Kid with the idea that a battle might
possibly take place somewhere in the vicinity of Stevensville or
Ridgeway; as he knew that the leader of the Irish Republican Army, or
forlorn hope, as so small a body of men might be termed, would attempt
to intercept a junction of the enemy somewhere near one or the other
of these points, as both lay on the line between Chippewa and Port
Colborne, taking the Sodom Road and the Grand Trunk Railway as the
surest and speediest route between both these latter places. So
pushing forward, with speed that never slackened, just at the period
that O'Neill was about to break camp, under the pretence of attacking
Chippewa, Mr. Stephen Smith arrived at Wilson's door, and after a
polite double knock was admitted by the mistress of that suspicious
dwelling.

Martha was soon apprised of his arrival, and while her companion
trembled throughout every limb with anxiety for the fate of the
important enquiries which she had kindly consented to make, she
hastily left the apartment where both had been long seated, conversing
upon their future and the chances of escape from such a den. On
perceiving the Kid, although her very soul revolted against the touch
of his cold, clammy hand, she seemed to welcome him with more than
ordinary cordiality. She was, of course, both surprised and alarmed at
the intelligence of the invasion, and the proximity of the two armies;
for, as yet, not a whisper of it had reached her, so secluded the
place. He spoke of the necessity of putting the house in a state of
defence, so as to be ready to meet any contingency; although, as he
himself averred, he did not apprehend the slightest danger so long as
the inmates remained within their doors, in case the din of battle was
heard in the vicinity. As it was, however, the windows were well
secured, and the heavy, oaken front-door was capable of being rendered
all but invulnerable by a huge iron bar that could be speedily thrown
across it into two deep grooves in the posts.

All this having been seen to, some trifling inquiry was made as to
their lodger, when Mrs. Wilson, understanding previously the intention
of Martha, and sympathizing with the case of poor Kate, left the
apartment, as if on some ordinary household affair. Martha now set
about gaining the information she sought; but with all her art, could
only ascertain from her suitor, that Kate was in the power of an
individual who, for some reason unknown to him, had betrayed her into
Canada, and consigned her, for a time at least, to the place where she
was now domiciled.

"And were you a party to the abduction of this innocent creature?"
exclaimed Martha, the blood mounting to her cheeks in real anger and
disgust.

"Oh! it was all in the way of business," replied the other, "and
perceiving that it would result in the most pleasant companionship for
one I so admire, I had the less scruples in furthering the design of a
good employer."

Let it be understood that this villain had not even the most remote
idea of the pure nature and true character of Martha. Having seen her
but a few times, he subjected her moral worth to the standard of that
of her uncle, and thought, consequently, that the disclosure he now
made would enhance him in her estimation. In this he was mistaken;
for, no sooner had he made her thoroughly cognizant of the fact that
he was not an innocent, but a willing, instrument in the abduction of
poor Kate, than she sprang to her feet, and with a glance the most
withering, and full of unconquerable hate and aversion, without a
single other word, left the apartment and ascended to that of her
friend.

No sooner had she disappeared than an expression the most demoniacal
stole over the countenance of Smith. The very devil sat on his brow,
while his eyes turned absolutely green in their sockets. His thin,
pale lips glistened again, as he drew them across his sharp, white
teeth, in an attempt to smile. Looking stealthily about him, while a
curious expression, still more horrible, replaced the one already
described, he hastily drew a long knife from a sheath concealed
beneath his vest, and regarded it for a moment in the light of the
lamp before him. He knew that every hope of obtaining the hand of
Martha was lost, and forever; and now for a terrible revenge.

"They are helpless and alone," he muttered, slowly rising to his feet.
"There is wealth, too, somewhere here; and should I silence them all,
it will be mine, and their death will be laid at the door of the
invaders. Besides," he growled, "no suspicion can rest upon me, as I
am the known friend of Wilson and the family. Nobody saw me come--no
person shall see me leave. I shall fire the house after having rifled
it; and conceal whatever I may obtain, in some convenient spot until
the affair has blown over. Jack and Wilson know too much of me: I am
tired of them. If needs be, I shall silence them also. I have rare
work before me. Barry must die; but what shall I profit by killing him
if I kill this woman also? Who cares! The devil is working with me;
and now for it! To the foot of the stairs, then; where, as they
descend, they shall fall one by one without a groan until the rare
bird of a prisoner is left alone in her room. Then for some wild sport
and the final blow!"

Having muttered all this to himself, the demon in human shape,
extinguishing the lamp, sprang forward in the direction of the stairs,
to await the first who happened to descend: but scarcely had he
assumed his post of death, before the large oaken door was thrust
rudely open and two strapping young fellows, armed with a revolver and
a dirk each, rushed into the apartment, and alarmed all the party up
stairs by calling aloud for a light, the gleam from the hearth being
feeble and uncertain.

Instantly the knife of Smith was returned to its sheath, while he
stepped forward, saying that he had just accidently extinguished the
lamp in the absence of Mrs. Wilson and Martha, who had run up stairs
to acquaint a lady friend with the intelligence that he had but that
moment brought her from Mr. Wilson, regarding the invasion of the
Province and the proximity, as he had no doubt, of the Fenian and
Canadian forces.

"That is just the mission we have come on ourselves," returned one of
the new comers, "as we were apprised that Mr. Wilson was from home,
and thought that his family would like to know of the dangers that
possibly surrounded them."

The manly voice of the speaker soon brought Martha and her aunt down
stairs; and the lamp being speedily relighted, the former advanced
towards the speaker and taking his extended hand, with a bright eye
and a flushed cheek, heard all he had to say on the subject which
occasioned his unceremonious visit.

"One of us will stay with you," he continued, while she thanked him
for his goodness, "until Mr. Wilson arrives; and although he is not
over social in his habits, I am sure he will not misconstrue the
anxiety we feel for the safety of his family."

"Thank you! thank you, Mr. Evans," returned Martha; "we shall feel so
grateful for your protection; and as to my uncle, I am satisfied he
cannot be otherwise than obliged to you for this great kindness."

"You stay then, Harry," observed the other stranger, "for I shall move
on to Ridgeway, as I want to hear what's afloat there. There are
troops, I know, at Port Colborne, and they ought to be apprised of the
whereabouts of the enemy, and so should the inhabitants of this
neighborhood. Mr. Graham, the Collector of Fort Erie, has, I am
informed, proceeded with information of the enemy to Port Colborne; but
still there is not yet anything known of their precise location, so
contradictory are the rumors, not only as to where they are encamped,
but in relation to their numbers."

"I can satisfy you as to both these circumstances," broke in the Kid,
with a voice as bland as if murder had not visited his heart for an
age, "for I heard this evening that they were encamped about four
hundred strong at Newbiggin's farm, four or five miles down the river
from Fort Erie; and that they intended to move on towards Chippewa
about ten o'clock; branching off in the direction of Ridgeway, in the
hope of meeting the troops coming from Port Colborne, and defeating
them before they formed a junction with those expected from Chippewa."

"As my cousin Harry will sit up with the family for the remainder of
the night, then, perhaps you would not mind walking as far as
Ridgeway," replied the young fellow who had last spoken, "as we are
sure to have news there; from the fact of the village being on the
line of the Grand Trunk."

Seeing that his murderous plot was for the time defeated, the Kid made
no objection to this request; feeling that the darkness and the night,
as well as any whirl of excitement or debauch, were more in accordance
with the infernal tone of his spirit, than the conversation of two
beings, Martha and Evans, whom his keen eye at once discovered to be
lovers. So bidding the family good night, and not waiting to partake
of the refreshments offered him after his journey from the Fenian
camp, he sallied forth with his new acquaintance on the road leading
to the village.

"Henry," said Martha, when the sound of their receding footsteps had
died in the distance, "do you know anything of the man Smith who has
just left us, for you seemed to eye him very intently from the moment
the lamp was relighted until the door closed behind him this moment?
We know now, and have often suspected, him to be a villain; but
circumstances over which we had no control--that is, my aunt and
myself--have thrown us occasionally into the society of the wretch,
whom we both loathe and detest."

This interrogatory was put in the absence of Mrs. Wilson, who had
again sought the apartment of Kate to tell her all that had just
transpired. It seemed to embarrass the young man for a moment; but
recovering himself, he frankly replied--

"I have seen that man frequently in Buffalo. Not long since, he was
pointed out to me as a most dangerous character who was under the
surveillance of the police; and, as you may be well assured, I was
astounded to find him here and at such an hour."

"Oh!" returned Martha, "he has been here often, Henry, and what I now
fear is, that my uncle is leagued with him, not only in the most
frightfully dishonest practices, but in the abduction, at the instance
of some other villain, of a good and pure young creature who, a few
nights ago, was brought here by them under the pretense that it was
the wish of her lover that she should accompany them where this wretch
would--a pretense that disguised itself under a veritable token
procured in some way from her betrothed, and evidently used without
his sanction or knowledge."

"I believe your uncle to be a bad man, Martha," returned Evans, "but
the fault is not yours; and besides, there is not a single drop of his
blood in your veins. I am convinced, also, that your aunt knows it,
and that it is that which so wastes her away and destroys the whole
sunshine of her life. I have long felt it; and were it not for the
dread of paining you through exposure, I should ere this have directed
the attention of the authorities to some circumstances affecting his
character and honesty, that came under my own notice; for, Martha,
dear, but a few hours since, as I may say, I was an accidental witness
of an incident which more than confirms all the suspicions that have
so long rested on him."

"I know! I know?" interrupted Martha, while she hid her face in her
hands and wept in bitter agony, "but go on!"

"When," resumed Evans, "two or three nights ago, believing Wilson to
be from home--for I shall no longer call him your uncle, he being, in
truth, no relation whatever of yours,--I stole up from our place to
say a few words to you and urge you to quit this house and become my
wife. I was astonished to see a light in the stable as I crept by it;
and looking into one of the windows. I perceived this man leaning over
a large case filled with valuables that had evidently been stolen by
him, or by some of his accomplices, who had entrusted them to his safe
keeping until the noise of the robbery had blown over. I saw this, I
saw with my own eyes; and now that you are aware of it, can you
longer remain beneath this roof?"

"It is true! alas! too true," sobbed Martha, "for I myself saw the
very same case; and then it was, that for the first time, a full sense
of his horrible vocation fell upon me and the poor woman that he calls
his wife. Of course, Henry, I shall quit this place, and forever; but
until this horrible din is over, and the poor creature up stairs
placed in some safe hands, I shall bear my terrible lot as best I
can."

"Rightly spoken, dear Martha," returned Henry, kissing off her tears,
"and I trust that this lady of whom you speak, will prove herself
worthy your kindness and esteem."

"No fear of that, dear Henry," returned the maiden, "my heart tells me
that she is as good as she is beautiful, and I know, not only from her
own lips, but from what has transpired this very night, that she is
the victim of some foul plot yet to be punished and explained."

"And where has she come from, and what is her name?" rejoined Henry,
evidently becoming interested in the fate of our heroine.

"Her home is in Buffalo," replied Martha, "and her name is Kate
M'Carthy."

"By heaven!" exclaimed Evans, leaping to his feet as if the house were
falling, "where is she? where is she? Lead me to her at once!"




CHAPTER XV.


Had General O'Neill not entertained strong hopes he should be
re-inforced, knowing, as he did, that a large body of Fenian troops
were scattered along the American frontier, under the command of brave
and true men, he would have broken camp with a sad heart on the night
of the first. No man in existence was more thoroughly aware than he,
that, 'though brave as lions, the force at his command was altogether
too small to effect anything permanent upon the soil of the enemy. The
most he hoped to achieve, was a footing, until his command had
acquired sufficient strength to enable him to move upon some of the
important towns of the Upper Province. Of the dangers and perils that
surrounded him he was fully aware; but he knew, also, that, now that
he had crossed the Rubicon, how fatal it would be to the prestige of
the cause of Ireland, to retreat again to the American shore without
measuring swords with the foe, no matter what their numbers, and, if
needs be, illustrating, with a handful of men, the spirit resolve and
bravery which, long previously, fostered by the noble Roberts and
Gibbons, etc., fired the whole Organization on this great continent,
and placed the ultimate independence of Ireland beyond any possible
contingency. O'Neill was just the man to make this impression, and to
seize upon every circumstance calculated to aid him in the attempt.
Fresh from the fields of the South, where his sword and name were a
watchword and a tower of strength when danger was to be met in the
gap, he was used to war in all its phases; while the fierce leaven of
his patriotism and the mighty promptings of his ancient name, now that
he had made a descent upon the enemy of his country and his race,
rendered him almost invincible. Though small his band, he knew that
each man who had accompanied him thus far was a host in himself, and
ennobled by a spirit identical with that which prompted him in the
main. And now the hour had arrived when he should show the enemy and
the world that numbers were as nothing in the sight of the God of
battles. Besides, he felt it, as a mere matter of generalship,
incumbent upon him to maintain, if possible, a foothold or rallying
point for whatever reinforcements might follow him, as well as keep
open the line of communication with the shores he had but just left.
In short, critically as he was placed, and regarding his little host
as the vanguard of freedom, he determined to sacrifice himself and
them to a man, if necessary, in maintaining his ground until
thoroughly satisfied of the truth of his fears that President Roberts,
deceived, like the Organization generally, in the capacity of the
Secretary of War, was no longer able to send reinforcements or further
a movement calculated to sweep the Province from Sandwich to Quebec.
In this way matters stood with him on the night that he left his camp
at Newbiggin's Farm. He was aware that two large bodies of the enemy's
troops were marching upon him from two opposite points, and that to
permit them to form a junction would be to court utter annihilation.
As before observed, then, he set out at the hour already named, with a
view to getting between them and defeating the one before the other
came up. In his sublime enthusiasm he invested each individual of his
command with the purposes and attributes of a hero, and felt that a
body so constituted, so compact and so easily handled, could be slung
with fearful effect against almost any number of men who had no heart
in the fight, save that which was engendered by an uneasy and
uncomfortable sentiment of badly founded loyalty to the flag of a
tyrant, or that degrading spirit of hireling hostility, which changed
its force and direction, in accordance with the amount of gold offered
by the subsidizing party.

Moved by impulses so noble and disinterested, the whole camp now
marched away in the direction of Chippewa, burning the bridges behind
them, to a point some five or six miles distant, where the
reconnoitering party, under the command of Col. Hoy, had been ordered
to wait until the main body of the troops came up, and to the left of
which Gen. O'Neill hoped to intercept some one of the two hostile
forces that were, as he was perfectly convinced, moving against him
from opposite points of the compass.

In the rear of the moving camp followed Black Jack and Wilson, at a
very respectful distance; they being comfortably seated in the wagon
of the latter, that had been brought cautiously from its hiding place,
when the steady tramp of the rear guard of the army had died away.

"What a pity it is," said Wilson, as the team crawled slowly along,
"that we have no chance to take the number of a few of those self-same
invaders from behind a tree or log; for I find the English blood
beginning to stir within me."

"Vot's to be gained by it," returned Black Jack, "seein as 'ow there's
no use in cuttin a vizzen or scuttlin a nob, unless there's some svag
at the end on it? For my own part," he continued, "I'd rather that ve
should try our luck among some of the farmers or gentry about here;
although I'm certain they're purty vide avake seem as vot's afoot just
now."

"Yes! yes!" returned the other, "that's all well enough in its way;
but as we can't hope to accomplish much until there's a fight between
the invaders and the invaded, I should like, if an opportunity turned
up, to thin out a few of those green jackets while we hid the horses
hard by and waited the result of the conflict."

"Vell! vell!" replied Jack, "there vouldn't be much 'arm in tryin our
'and in that vay, as ven ve got a chance ve might step into the ranks
of the Hinglish and give them a lift; ven, if needs be, ve could slip
out again and take our luck in the trail of the fight, pickin hup
votever might drop in the vay."

About midnight the troops came up with Col. Hoy's party, and after
marching a considerable distance and then taking a couple of hours
rest, the whole force made a cautious detour towards the direct line
leading from Ridgeway to Chippewa; O'Neill being satisfied that he had
already intercepted the junction of the British, and should be able to
engage and defeat either one party or the other before they could both
unite.

In this way the night was passed; every precaution being taken to
guard against ambush or surprise, until morning became well advanced,
and the invaders, after having emerged from a swamp through which they
had marched, found themselves within three or four miles of Ridgeway.

It was at this point and period that the Kid, after leaving Greaves,
had come up with, or rather encountered, the wagon with Black Jack and
Wilson, who, as usual, kept moving slowly in the rear of the troops
and sniffing, like blood-hounds or vultures, their prey in the
distance.

As observed in a previous chapter, the two worthies had scarcely
welcomed their companion or seen him comfortably seated beside them,
before they were all aroused by the report of fire-arms, apparently
ahead of the main body of the troops, which, as near as they could
calculate, was about half a mile in advance. It was at this moment
that the brave Col. Starr, who commanded the advance, got the first
glimpse of the outposts of the enemy, which he at once charged and
drove in like so many sheep; and this was the music heard by Wilson
and his companions. Shortly afterwards, the main body of the enemy,
commanded by Lieut. Col. Booker, from Port Colborne, were discovered,
and the battle was opened by a speedy and judicious disposition of the
Fenian forces, and the hasty throwing up of a rail barricade from
behind which some of the Boys in Green commenced their work of
destruction; while others of them kept the British skirmishers in hand
in the woods hard by, and in a manner the most cool and artistic.

Any person who gets a view of Major Dennison's map, in the work
already mentioned, representing the disposition of the two
antagonistic forces at Ridgeway, will at once be struck with the
overwhelming numbers of that under the command of Col. Booker,
compared with the compactness and fewness of the troops commanded by
General O'Neill. In this chart we have the whole field studded, on the
British side, with Highlanders, York Rifles, Trinity College
Companies, University Rifles, the Queen's Own and the 13th Field
Battery, etc.; while on the side of the Army of the Irish Republic, as
the diagram shows, we have but a handful of men, without artillery,
and with but very few mounted officers. The circumstances under which
the forces met, were favorable to Col. Booker, also; for not only had
the British the advantage of a great superiority in numbers, stores
and equipments, but they were engaged at their own doors, in the midst
of a passive or friendly element, and with unlimited supplies and
resources at their command; while, on the contrary, the men under
General O'Neill were but poorly equipped, without supplies or proper
ammunition--their bullets having, in some instances, to be pared on
the field with a knife before they fitted the bore of their
rifles--and were in the midst of an enemy's country, surrounded on all
sides by hostile battalions, and with but a slight hope of being
reinforced before the enemy came down in overwhelming numbers upon
them. This was a critical position, and well calculated to dismay any
man less bold and courageous than O'Neill; but frightful as it was, he
saw the necessity of accepting the situation. He remembered having, on
the battle fields of the South, with but twenty men, defeated two
hundred of a force under Hamilton, and run them in helpless disorder
for a distance of thirteen miles; killing five of them with his own
hand. He remembered, in addition, having, with a command of but fifty,
charged, on the same fields, in defence of the American Union, two
different regiments of the enemy, routed them, and recaptured the
officers and guns of the Republic that had been previously taken by
them; and remembering all this, his heart rose within him, and he felt
that with his little band of Spartans, few as they were in number, he
could work a double miracle when he met the tyrant of his name, his
country and his race face to face. And so he did not stoop to measure
the forces that were surrounding him; well knowing that, if all came
to all, and that, if it were necessary for him to fall back upon the
American shore, he could cut his way through them; as he was inclined
to regard their numbers as but simple encumbrances to themselves;
feeling, as he did, that they could be neither disciplined nor
actuated by any proud impulses such as fired his own troops and his
own bosom.

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