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.
Buoyed with this spirit, and moved by the conviction that the eyes of the world were upon him, the first glimpse of the enemy was as one of sunshine to him; and as he looked around him and saw his brave officers and men towering and immoveable as cliffs in the presence of the angry deep, the strange fire so noticeable sometimes in his eye, blazed forth as though his soul went out in flame through each glaring orb; and the work of death had begun.
The battle of Ridgeway was commenced by skirmishers who were posted on both sides, among the woods and orchards with which that locality abounds; and although for some short period but little life was lost on the part of either the British or the Fenians, the daring of the latter had evidently confused and, in a degree, paralyzed the former from the first. In the woods, they gave the Highlanders a dreadful overhauling, and when pressed by numbers they steadily fell back upon the main body, with advantage to themselves and with loss to their opponents. When once aware of their position, and the great odds against them, in the incredible space of ten minutes, they threw up a breastwork of rails, from behind which they now began to deal the most deadly havoc amongst the enemy. The men engaged in more exposed positions, performed absolute miracles of valor, and charged the foe in the face of the most galling fire, until they actually touched their bayonets, and then poured in the murderous volley that shattered their ranks and strewed the field with their wounded and dying. As we learn from Major Denison, of the British forces, the Fenian officers were ever in front of their men, cheering them on to death or victory, and evincing such instances of true bravery as commanded the admiration of even those against whom they fought. Individual acts of the most terrible daring were performed by them, and so generally did the whole of O’Neil’s staff, including his gallant Aid-de-Camp, Lieut. Rudolph Fitzpatrick, as well as all the officers of the various companies, participate in the dreadful struggle, that even to this hour no writer has attempted to give any one of them pre-eminence over the other. And so of the rank and file, also. Scarce a single man of them, at one period, but was spattered with the blood of the enemy; and never did a solitary knot of them give way, for an instant, before any force that they were ordered to withstand. Wherever they moved the dead and wounded tumbled before them, until, fatigued by the frightful heat of the weather, they were, from time to time, constrained to pause in their dreadful work.
The engagement had continued for about an hour, when the brave Lieut. Lonergan bit the dust, while a cheer for Ireland struggled through the death rattle in his throat. He fell, a true hero and patriot, and well was his death avenged; for no sooner had its intelligence spread through his company, than its members became absolute tigers, and literally glutted themselves with blood. Then it was, that the Sun-burst carried through that hot field, from beginning to end, by Sergeant John Smith, of the 7th I.R.A., company G, might be seen flying where the enemy was thickest, surrounded by a struggling band, each of which was a host himself. Then it was, that the wild cry of “Erin go bragh!” smote on the ear of the foe like a death knell, paralyzed all their energies, and froze the warm current in their heart. At that moment a dozen men in green were worth a regiment of the material he fought against; and thus it was, that the enemy determined to mass all their forces against the gallant O’Neill, who stood like a rock amid the dreadful conflict, giving his orders with as much coolness as if he were dictating a letter; and, while the bullets whistled about him like hail, applauding the noble deeds of his men and officers, the next moment to be whirled into the dreadful melee himself.
With the keen, quick eye of a soldier, O’Neill perceived the intention of his adversary, who had, now, as he saw clearly, made up his mind to mass all his force against the Fenian troops and flank them. At this point the Boys in Green were ordered to fall steadily back and take up a new position, some distance in the rear of their rail barricade. The movement was performed in the most masterly manner; while the enemy continued to extend his wings—both right and left. On perceiving it, however, he construed it, as it was intended he should, into a retreat, and paused for a moment to consider what was best to be done. While deliberating, however, O’Neill, who had in vain been for some time endeavoring to draw out his centre, perceiving that the moment had arrived, sounded the charge, and, the next instant, the whole compact body of the invaders, with himself and his officers at their head, were thundering down, with the sweep of the Cyclone, upon the weak and startled centre of the foe, crashing through it like a cavalcade of thunder bolts, and scattering the whole of the English forces like chaff before the wind!
In the twinkling of an eye the enemy was flying in every direction before the victorious army of the Irish Republic! In their ignoble flight they divested themselves of all the clothing they could decently spare, and of everything that could tend to impede their progress! The field was strown with their great coats, knapsacks, rifles, and musical instruments belonging to their bands. Their dead and dying were left unheeded, and in every direction lay the unmistakable evidences of their sudden disaster and hopeless defeat. The compactness and dreadful resolve of the force slung against them by O’Neill, and the masterly way in which the bolt was hurled, at once bid defiance to all their pre-conceived ideas of fighting, or of the wonders that could be attained by a handful of brave men, commanded by a dauntless and experienced soldier; so, that their rumored attempt at rallying is supposed to have originated in a desire on the part of their historian, to lessen the disgrace of their defeat in the eyes of the people of Canada; for it is well known, that so hot and heavy was the pursuit, that they not only had no time to rally, but so intent was each one of them on effecting his own personal safety, that all discipline was at an end; until the Fenians, on perceiving that they were not yet reinforced, felt it advisable, notwithstanding their success, to fall back on Fort Erie, for the purpose of keeping their line of communication open with the American shore.
And yet until this disaster had overtaken them, the British troops fought well, considering the incentives they had to stake their lives on the field of battle. Nor were the Queen’s Own, who suffered so severely in this tremendous charge, and who fled so panic-stricken before it, a whit behind, in courage, some of the companies who appear to have escaped with less censure from the Canadian public, in relation to the loss of this important field. The Queen’s Own, as we are creditably informed, came up well to the mark on more than one occasion; and only gave way before such a charge as that which carried the day at Fontenoy, and which was, at the period, absolutely irresistible.
Barry and his comrades of the Canadian Fort fought throughout the whole morning with the most heroic courage. In several hand to hand encounters he performed prodigies of valor, and once thought he perceived the Kid and Black Jack, together with Wilson whom he saw in their company at Newbiggin’s farm, fighting on the English side. In this he was not mistaken; for these three worthies, on discovering the superior force of the British, at once concealed their horses and wagon in a sheltered hollow hard by the field, and making a detour through the woods on the verge of which they were passing, joined in the engagement, against the men who had treated them so well but a few hours previously. This they accomplished immediately after Col. Starr had driven in the outposts of the enemy, and when they had ascertained that the English forces outnumbered the invaders to an extent which, as they supposed, rendered the success of the latter totally out of the question.
While on one occasion, Nicholas was engaged with a Highlander whom he was pressing hard, a ball grazed his shoulder, evidently fired stealthily from behind a neighboring tree. A glance in the direction revealed the form of the Kid retreating from the spot and seeking shelter behind another, around which were gathered a few of the enemy who were paying some attention to a wounded officer. This struck him as strange; but as he had other work in hand, he permitted his cowardly assailant to escape for the moment. Later in the day, however, he caught yet another sight of him, and was satisfied that he had made a second deadly attempt upon his life. In this way the matter stood touching this peculiar case, until the total rout of the forces and their retreat towards Ridgeway village; when Barry, left with a few men to look after the dead and wounded while the main body pursued the fugitives, had yet another opportunity of testing the kindly intentions of Smith; for while he and four or five others were collecting the dead into one particular spot beneath a huge elm, in the vicinity of a house near which the greatest carnage had taken place, another ball whizzed by his ear; and the next moment the door of the building opened and out rushed half a dozen men, armed to the teeth, and laying one of his party dead at his feet with the only bullet that had taken effect out of a volley that had been fired as they rushed forward to overwhelm him in a hand to hand struggle.
The assailants were now six to five, but Barry soon made the numbers more equal, and the fight becoming desperate, two of his antagonists closed with him, who appeared to be men of tremendous activity and great personal courage. What seemed strangest, however, in the whole of this sudden attack, was, all the party that rushed from the house were masked, although he was satisfied that one of them, at least, was the Kid. The contest had continued for about eight or ten minutes when one of his assailants was stretched at his feet by an unseen hand; the other taking immediate flight. He looked around,—a stranger stood by his side. He was a handsome young man dressed in the plain garb of a farmer. Anxious to learn how the rest of his comrades fared, while thanking his new ally for his timely assistance, he glanced in the direction in which they fought; all save one was wounded but their antagonists lay beside them dead or dying. Begging the stranger to render him some assistance in staunching the blood of those who still survived, and removing them to a shed belonging to the house hard by, he discovered that his fallen adversary, who lay quite senseless from the blow he had received, now seemed to be bleeding profusely from some wound inflicted by himself; although until that moment he had not noticed it. His enemy had fought with a long, keen dagger after he had discharged his rifle and thrown it away, while the fugitive used one of the ordinary rifle-bayonets in his attack. The superb swordsmanship of their intended victim, however, was more than a match for them, and would, in all probability have triumphed of itself had not the contest been broken in upon in the manner already described.
In the course of a very few moments, the sufferers were removed from out the broiling sun to the shed just mentioned, where they were cared for as well as circumstances would permit—the stranger passing to and from the adjoining house with the necessary bandages, water, etc.
While removing the masks of two of the assailing party, who appeared to be mortally wounded, for the purpose of giving them the draft of water they had so earnestly though feebly implored, as Barry suspected, one of them was the Kid. The other was Wilson, whose last midnight journey had evidently been performed, as he was sinking fast, and that, too, without having gratified his love of plunder in a single instance connected with the invasion from which he and his two companions had anticipated so much. Outside, beneath a huge elm, lay Black Jack stone dead, from a frightful bayonet wound in his throat. His mask had fallen off in his death struggles, which must have been frightful, judging from the manner in which his clothes were covered with dust and the way in which the earth was kicked up all around him. Never was a more horrible face turned in such hideous blindness on the sun. His eyes were staring wide open, and his huge mouth, fringed with blood-stained froth, seemed stretched in demoniacal laughter at some horrid and unearthly orgy in which he was about to join. The sight was actually appalling; and Barry turned away from it in utter loathing to minister to those who were yet within the reach of human aid.
Although, dangerously wounded, he found that, unlike the same number of their comrades who lay stretched on the green sward without, his two companions who had been brought to the earth without being killed, were not beyond the reach of hope. With their antagonists, however, it was different; and now that Barry perceived the Kid; or Smith as we shall now call him, was fast approaching his end, in the great anxiety that he felt concerning the fate of his beloved, he knelt beside him and implored him to give him any information that he might possess regarding her, and so atone, before he crossed the threshold of the grave, for any wrong that he might have been instrumental in doing her through the machinations of others.
The dying man raised his heavy eyelids for a moment and ere they dropped again, managed, as if by one last effort, to point towards the prostrate form of the principal antagonist of our hero, who still lay insensible a short distance from him. His chest labored wildly for a few seconds, but before he could ejaculate a single word, a sudden spirt of blood leaped from his mouth and he was dead. Wilson had passed away more slowly and less perceptibly. From the moment he had been removed to the shed he spoke but once; and that was when he uttered a feeble cry for water. On beholding the latter dead, the stranger, who had lent such timely aid to our hero, regarded the silent form with a curious expression of countenance, and then turned away towards the house. In the meantime, the man who had for so far lain insensible, began to recover slowly. Hitherto, his mask which hid but half his face, leaving his mouth and chin uncovered, had not been removed; but now, as if in some uneasy dream, his astonishment of Barry, the hooked nose and ghastly countenance of Greaves!
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