American. Fitzgibbons could n't resist the temptation for a bout with
the foe, and dismounting, was entering the door when a soldier in blue
dashed at him with leveled musket. Naturally not keen to create alarm,
Fitzgibbons knocked the weapon from the man's hand, and without a sound
had thrown him on the ground, when another American rifleman dashed
from behind. Strong as a lion, Fitzgibbons threw the first man
violently against the second, and was holding both at bay beneath his
leveled rifle when one of the downed men snatched the Irishman's sword
from the scabbard. He was in the very act of thrusting the sword point
into Fitzgibbons, when the innkeeper's wife, with a dexterous kick,
sent the weapon whirling out of his hand. Fitzgibbons disarmed the
men, tied them, threw them across his horse, and himself mounting,
galloped to the woods with a laugh, though one hundred and fifty
Americans were within a quarter of a mile.

The American commanders at Niagara determined to clean out this nest of
raiders from the Back Country, and Lieutenant Boerstler was ordered to
march from Fort George with some six hundred men. Leaving Fort George
secretly at night, Boerstler came to Queenston at eleven on the night
of June 23. Here all Canadian soldiers free on parole were seized, to
prevent word of the attack reaching the Back Country. The troops were
not even permitted to light camp fire or candles. The great secrecy of
the American marchers at once roused suspicion among the Canadians
between Queenston and the village of St. David's that the expedition
was directed against Fitzgibbons' scouts. At his home, between
Queenston and St. David's, dwelt a United Empire Loyalist, James
Secord, recovering from dangerous wounds received in the battle of
Queenston Heights. He was too weak himself to go by night and forewarn
Fitzgibbons, but his wife, Laura Ingersoll, a woman of some thirty
years, was also of the old United Empire Loyalist stock. She
immediately set out alone for the Back Country to warn Fitzgibbons.
{361} Many and contradictory stories are told of her march. Whether
she tramped two nights and two days, or only one night and one day,
whether her march led her twenty or only twelve miles, matters little.
She succeeded in passing the first sentry on the excuse she was going
out to milk a cow, and she eluded a second by telling him she wished to
visit a wounded brother, which was true. Then she struck away from th