Thank you to searchingforperfection and catbrown for their hard work in editing, and all of their suggestions. I appreciate all votes, feedback and comments, and I do read all the comments.
This story is a sequel to The Doctor's Daughter. Both are set during the War of 1812. Since the death of Major General Brock in the fall of 1812, neither side has scored a decisive victory. There have been minor accomplishments for both the Americans and the British, but the War Hawks in Washington are eager for more promising actions that will validate Jefferson's boasts that the conquest of Canada is "a mere matter of marching". In the spring of 1813 Major General Henry Dearborn is ordered to lead his forces in an attack on Kingston, Ontario. He considers those orders and then attacks the town of York (later known as Toronto), instead.
6
Lawrence watched the spectacle in shock for several seconds and then slowly stood. Everyone in the area was insensible, badly injured or had been killed by the catastrophic explosion of the magazine. The Christian man in him was wearied by the seemingly senseless loss of life on both sides, but the Captain in him forced himself to act.
He recovered his sword from one of his former assailants, but he did not see his pistol at hand so he recovered one that lay nearby. A glance at the Sergeant and the American General made it clear that the former had not survived the destruction of the magazine and the latter would soon expire.
Lawrence stole away, into the woods. A couple of times an American recognized his British uniform but seemed incapable of saying or doing anything to stop him from escaping. From the safety of the trees, the Englishman watched the camp and saw the Americans beginning to rise to their feet in confusion. The wounded cried out for help, or release.
Captain Orr shook his head and slipped away northwards and into deeper woods. He knew where he was in relation to York now and he meant to return to Abigail to help her escape to safety.
Lawrence trekked north about a mile and then headed due east, as best as he could determine. He moved as fast he could and maintained as straight a course as was possible. At any moment he might encounter either Americans or some British forces, and either would divert him from his objective.
He dropped down a steep bank and then jogged across a grassy meadow, realizing he was approaching one of the local rivers or streams. He stopped at its bank and looked for the best place to ford. A body dressed in an American uniform was half-lodged onto the muddy bank. A tree kept it from floating downstream, but Lawrence could see the water was slowly rising and the corpse would soon be floating down to the lake.
The body made a noise and Lawrence peered at it. One of the hands moved, weakly squeezing mud between its fingers.
Lawrence shrugged and then took another look at the dying American. He was a young man, perhaps about eighteen, and his legs were prisoned by the trunk of the tree. The tree itself had been freshly felled by a large rock, possibly thrown all this distance by the explosion, thought Lawrence.
He closed his eyes and tried to concentrate on getting to Abigail. This man was not his responsibility, he told himself silently, Abigail and Millie were. But this man was really a boy, just as young as Millie, he argued with himself.
He knew he couldn't leave this boy to slowly drown, enemy or not. Lawrence leapt into the water and splashed towards the young man. The sounds roused the American and he opened an eye and slowly focused upon the advancing British officer. His hand fumbled at the dagger at his belt.
"Easy there, my Yankee friend," soothed Lawrence. "I'm here to free you, not kill you."
The American's eye closed and he slumped as if unconscious.
Lawrence marvelled that he could not feel the chilling cold of the water he waded in and then realized that his senses and sensibilities were numbed from the explosion of the magazine. He reached into the water and grabbed the trunk. Taking a deep breath, he then lifted, straining his back and legs. He could feel something shift and then the trunk moved away from him.
He guessed it was stuck on a rock hidden beneath the surface. He reached under the water again, gripped the trunk with both hands and then lifted once more. His muscles ached as he strained, inch by inch, until the tree started floating away from him.
Lawrence glanced at the American, only to realize he was no longer there. Diving at the trunk, he felt underwater with his hands. One last desperate plunge brought the feel of the man's uniform to his fingers and he tugged the young man to the surface. Captain Orr staggered to the muddy bank and collapsed with his helpless enemy beside him.
"Well, my American friend, it looks like this may be your lucky day. Not only have I saved you from drowning, but I am also going to take you home, where my wife will make sure you are returned to health. I only hope that you return the favour to me one day."
The American lay unconscious in the mud, breathing slowly.
7
"Sir!" called out a young man's voice.
Lawrence froze and then made a show of shifting the weight of the American on his shoulder. He cast his gaze about, searching the trees for whoever had spoken to him. Six figures gradually revealed themselves. Lawrence recognized from their civilian clothing and weapons that they were members of the York Militia.
"I'm Captain Orr. What are you gentlemen doing out here?"
"Well, Sir-Captain, we've been on the run since the Americans blew up Fort York," said the oldest among them. He had a beard and Lawrence thought he recognized him as a local baker.
"They didn't destroy the fort, we did. Major General Sheaffe ordered the magazine blown and it was a good thing he did as the Americans were just about to walk in and take all our supplies. Were you men on duty there?" Lawrence prayed that one of them would tell him the Militia escaped for the explosion.
The men looked at each other and one of the younger men, a large, sturdy youth, nodded to the older man to keep talking.
"Well, when we saw how many Americans were advancing off the beach we decided that it was suicide to stay at the gun emplacement. We left and were going to reposition ourselves closer to town where we'd have a better chance of fighting back, Captain." The man was clearly embarrassed and understood that Lawrence would guess at the truth behind their story.
"You thought it was a lost cause and fled." Lawrence looked each one of them in the eye and one by one, their eyes dropped in shame. "Don't feel bad, men. The Major General decided to reposition himself all the way to Kingston. The enemy outnumbers us by at least one thousand men. I believe that York is lost."
There was silence at that admission. Each looked for some sign of bravado or encouragement in the others' faces, but saw none.
"So the Yankees have won? And soon they'll take all of Upper Canada?" asked one of the younger men. Lawrence stared at the speaker who stood quivering with fear. The Captain guessed the young man to be fifteen at most and easily the youngest in this group.
"Well, I don't think they've taken all of Upper Canada, men. They've certainly managed to cut our supply lines from Kingston and Montreal, but we have some strong forces on the Niagara peninsula and an army already in Kingston. The Americans have made a bold move in attacking York, but they would have been better off taking Kingston. They've finally won a victory, but the war isn't decided by one victory otherwise they would have surrendered after Queenston Heights."
The youth and the others looked a little heartened by Lawrence's speech. It warmed him that he had been able to provide some cheer to these men, who were his neighbours in York.
"So, Captain, where are you headed with your prisoner?" asked the oldest man, shouldering his musket.
