The dark sky warned of the coming winter as the wind swirled autumn leaves around the steps of City Hall in Hamilton. A few horse-drawn carriages drove by in the burgeoning city. Inside the government building a gathering of talkative senior men waited before a desk.
“Grandpa, whatever happened to all those men after the War of 1812 that you told me about?” a boy asked, sitting on his grandfather’s knee.
“Well, let me see. James Madison, who was the U.S. president at the time, he fled to Virginia when the British burned down the city of Washington,” the old man said as the others listened intently. “They still say his decision to invade Canada was the worst blunder ever made by a president. His vice-president, George Clinton, died of a heart attack in office. He was the first to do so. And then there was William Henry Harrison. You remember him? His name was used as the password to get into the American camp that night. He was eventually elected president himself but caught a bad cold and died of pneumonia thirty days before he was supposed to take the oath. He was the first president to die in office.”
“Keep going, Grandpa,” the boy said as the others urged the old man to continue. “What about the American generals who were captured at Stoney Creek?”
“Well, both were exchanged for British prisoners about a year later. General John Chandler became a senator, and General William Winder was appointed to defend Washington, but the British burned it down, like I said.” He thought for a moment. “John Norton, the Indian, well, he got into a duel because some young buck was making advances on his wife. John killed him and was never the same after that.”
“What about the British officers?” the boy asked eagerly.
“Colonel Harvey eventually went back to Scotland, and General Vincent became ill and retired from the army. But you know the funniest part of that war? Right up until the 1850s, the Americans considered invading again.”
“Why didn’t they?” the boy asked.
“I guess we gave them such a good whipping the first time they didn’t want to try again,” the old man said with a wink.
“So we won?” the boy asked happily.
“Well, the British won militarily, but the Americans convinced the English to drop their allegiance to the Indians. After that the Americans were free to attack the Indians and steal their land. And that’s exactly what they did.”
“But what about Billy Green?” the boy asked. “Whatever happened to him?”
“I’m not sure,” the old man said as a town official and a military attaché sat at the desk. “I heard he got married to a local girl and had a family. He might still be alive, or maybe he moved away.”
After leafing through some papers, the town official lightly tapped his gavel. “Quiet, please,” he said, and the room gradually fell silent. “In this the year of our Lord eighteen hundred and seventy-six, I hereby call this meeting to order.” He consulted a piece of paper. “As you know, the federal government of Canada is granting pensions of twenty dollars each to the veterans of the War of 1812. When your name is called, please sign your name and payment will be issued.” He waved a pencil in the air, scanned another sheet, and peered over his bifocals. “Is there a Mr. Billy Green here, please?”
There were a few awed whispers as the men looked around to discover an elderly gentleman in his eighties wearing a dark coat and hat sitting at the back of the room.
Billy got to his feet and shuffled to the front with the aid of a cane. He removed his cap, revealing thinning silver hair, but there was still a sparkle in his eyes. “I’m Billy Green,” he said gruffly.
The town official studied the senior citizen before him and then checked a sheet held by the military man. “Your military action, sir?” the official asked.
Billy steadied himself with the cane, moistened his lips, and stood at attention. “I was present at the Battle of Stoney Creek on June 6, 1813. I led the British Army under General Vincent to the Gage house.” Billy peered around the room. “I proudly wore the uniform of a British soldier. I saw combat ... and killed the enemy.”
“That must have been a great event in your life,” the military man said.
“It was the darkest, sir, and something I’d like to forget,” Billy quietly replied as the others in the room stared at him in confusion.
The military attaché quickly nodded to the town official and then retrieved the money. The official gave it to Billy. “It was a pleasure to meet you, sir,” he said with sincerity.
Billy shook his hand, tucked the money in his pocket with trembling hands, and moved slowly toward the exit as the men in the room stood and applauded. The little boy ran to Billy and hugged his leg, his head turned upward with a grin. Billy smiled and saluted him. The boy laughed and returned the salute.
One young man, obviously perplexed by the admiration for Billy, looked at the military attaché. “What did that man do that was so great?”
The military liaison shook his head and pointed at a map of Canada on the wall behind the desk. His finger circled Ontario. “If it wasn’t for Billy Green and the others, the Province of Ontario would most likely be a part of the United States today. As a matter of fact, if Ontario had fallen to the Americans, the rest of the country probably would’ve been captured.”
Slightly ashamed of his ignorance, the young man stood. “And all this happened in Stoney Creek?”
“Yes, it did,” the military attaché said.
The young man hastily exited the building and ran into the street where he saw Billy climbing into a carriage. “Mr. Green?” he shouted.
Billy turned toward him as the youth offered his hand.
“I just wanted to say thank you for what you did.” He shook Billy’s hand. “You know, if I had the chance, I’d like to be in a battle like you were.”
Billy thought for a moment, his cloudy eyes staring off. “I hope you never get that chance, son. I truly do.” He snapped the reins smartly, and the carriage pulled away.