s bayonet. "Sir, the
password," demanded the American sentry. Luckily the scout, instead of
wearing an English red coat, had on a blue jacket resembling {359} that
of the American marines, and he instantly took his cue. "Rascal," he
thundered back, "what do you mean, off your line? Go back to your
post!" The sentry's bayonet dropped; there was momentary darkness, and
the Canadian literally bolted. Then ludicrous ill luck befell all the
generals. Vincent had accompanied the raiders on horseback. When the
bugles sounded "retire," he gave his horse the bit, and in the pitch
darkness the brute carried him pellmell along the wrong road, over
fences and hayfields, some fifteen miles into the Back Country. Next
day, when Vincent was missing, under flag of truce messengers went to
the retreating American army to find if he were among the dead. At
four in the afternoon his horse came limping into the Canadian camp.
Chandler, the American officer, on awakening had sprung on horseback
and spurred over the field shouting commands. In the darkness his
horse fell and threw him. When Chandler came to himself he was
prisoner among the Canadians. Winder's ill luck was equally bad. By
the flare of the firing he saw what he thought was a group of
artillerymen deserting a gun. Dashing up, he laid about him with his
pistol, shouting, "Come on! come on!" Another flare of fire, and he
found himself surrounded by a circle of Canadian bayonets. "Drop your
pistol, sir, or you are a dead man," ordered a young Canadian, and
Winder surrendered.

It will be recalled that the garrisons of Queenston below the Falls,
and Chippewa above, and Erie at the head of the river, had retreated
from the invading Americans to the Back Country now traversed by
Welland Canal. From different posts beyond what was known as the Black
Swamp, these bands of the dispersed Canadian army swooped down on the
American outposts, harrying the whole American line from Lake Ontario
to Lake Erie. Of all the raiders none was more daring than Lieutenant
Fitzgibbons, posted beyond the Beaver Dams, at a stone house near De
Ceu's Falls. Space forbids more than one episode of his raids. Once,
while riding along Lundy's Lane alone, he was recognized by the wife of
a Canadian captain, who dashed from {360} the cottage, warning him to
retreat, as a hundred and fifty Americans had just passed that way.
Standing in front of the roadside inn was the cavalry horse of an