Meanwhile, on the windswept shores of Navy Island, William Lyon Mackenzie worked tirelessly at organizing the rebel forces. In an act of blatant rebellion against the Crown, he founded the Provisional Government of the State of Upper Canada. Under the grey winter sky, Mackenzie raised the revolutionary flag bearing the twin stars of Upper and Lower Canada. The symbol of rebellious solidarity snapped defiantly in the winter wind. Across the Niagara River, Sir Francis Bond Head and his troops looked on uneasily, paralyzed by the fear that any aggressive move might provoke a diplomatic crisis with the United States.

Colonel MacNab paced along the river’s edge, his boots crunching against the frozen ground. Acting on orders from Sir Francis Bond Head, his militia division had been tasked with monitoring the growing activity on Navy Island—and the rebels had been anything but idle. Their shameless preparations stirred unease among the loyalist ranks. The sight of insurgents securing their position was unsettling enough, but the crowning insult came in the form of the rebel flag fluttering above the treetops—a challenge to every law-abiding soldier watching from the opposite shore. That very morning, the rebels had unloaded and positioned cannons, their barrels now ominously trained on the government forces.

“My hands are tied,” MacNab growled. “We’ve been expressly commanded not to engage unless engaged upon. Makes me angry to watch these nitwits scurrying around. And the fact that our enemies to the south take such delight in supporting their cause… reason enough to blast them all away.”

He tugged his collar higher against the wind tunnel chilling his spine. “My spies tell me Mackenzie’s issued a price of 500 pounds on the head of Sir Francis! The man’s got some nerve.”

Captain Drew, MacNab’s naval commander, nodded his agreement. They had been watching the movement of the Caroline, a 46 copper-bottomed steamship, as it passed back and forth transporting new recruits and supplies of food and munitions to the island. “They have to amassing quite the number of rebels over there, ragtag though they be.”

“Not a happy bunch, I’m told,” MacNab snorted. “They’ve been deceived and are dangerously close to starving. It’s led to fighting. If we wait long enough, perhaps they’ll self destruct.” He laughed mercilessly.

“Not so different from our own men,” Drew cautioned. “Idleness does none of us any good. I’ve been thinking about the conditions for an attack—just thinking ahead,” he added quickly, anticipating MacNab’s objections. “The river’s current is formidable… and that waterfall—” He shook his head.

The men paused as insulting shouts from the rebel forces carried to them on the wind. Colonel MacNab glanced uneasily at the militiamen several feet away who had stopped their marching to shake their fists in response. “This won’t do. This won’t do at all, Drew.”

“Permission to speak freely, sir.” Drew straightened to his full height. “We could put an end to this nonsense in a heartbeat—just say the word. If we wait much longer, they’ll have enough men to launch an actual attack and cause damage. I say we strike before they have the chance to get properly organized. We could finish the job and be home before the weather turns.”

The sound of distant gunfire interrupted their conversation.

“By jove — now they are firing on us?! What more are we expected to endure?” Drew’s face turned a dark shade of crimson. “

“My good man, they use that boat to get all their supplies.” MacNab looked thoughtfully at the Caroline as it slowly pulled away from the port. “I would deem that an act of piracy. That would be a crime we could do something about.” Colonel looked significantly at Drew who nodded slowly as realization dawned. “Do you think we can cut out that boat?”

“An act of piracy to me too, sir.” Drew nodded in agreement. “Leave it with me.”

As darkness fell, the rhythmic dip of oars broke the stillness of the night. Captain Drew and his men rowed eight small boats across the moonlit, churning river.

“Steady on, men! Row hard—we’ve to reach that devil and be back before dawn,” Drew called, his voice carrying over the water.

Nearing Navy Island, the men scanned the shadows for any sign of their target.

“I see her, Captain!” a soldier called, pointing toward the wharf at Schlosser. “But… isn’t that American waters?”

“No matter!” Drew shouted back. “Our orders were explicit—get that boat!”

With renewed determination, the men paddled harder, pausing only to ready their pistols as they neared the wharf. When close enough, they hurled grappling hooks over the vessel’s side. Pistols drawn, swords in hand, they clambered aboard. Chaos erupted.

“Spare all lives!” Drew commanded, leading the charge onto the slumbering ship. Confusion reigned as his men whooped and hollered in the dark.

A gunshot cracked through the night—then another, and another.
“They’re firing on us!”

Within minutes, the dust had settled. Smoke drifted in lazy spirals above the deck, and the sharp tang of blood and gunpowder hung in the air. Captain Drew stood motionless, staring down at the lifeless body sprawled at his feet—a clean shot through the head.

He let out a slow breath, his jaw tightening.

“So much for that.” He muttered, almost to himself. “Throw this body overboard. And any others. I don’t want to know details… the less we know, the better.” He shook his head.

He scanned the faces of his men–all silently waiting for his command. They would need to control the damage.

“Let’s sail the vessel downstream.” His voice was cold, filled with the resolve of a man who knew this too would need to be answered for.

The boat chuffed slowly along. Too slowly.

“Captain, she’s not taking on steam fast enough.” One man shouted, “we’ll never make it—we’ll be stopped for sure.”

“Set her ablaze!” Drew ordered, suddenly sick of the entire ordeal.

He dispatched several men below deck to the ladies’ cabins, where they tore down bedsheets, soaked them in oil, and lit them aflame. Fire spread through the ship.

The men disembarked quickly, cutting the lines and towing the vessel into the current. As the Caroline drifted with the river, her flames licked the night sky, a blazing torch adrift on the dark water. The fire’s reflection shimmered like molten gold across the surface.

A crowd had gathered on the Chippawa shores, drawn by the glow on the horizon. Rumours spreading like wildfire.  

Colonel MacNab stood waiting; posture rigid as he watched the weary, water-soaked raiders come ashore. “A necessary act of justice,” he assured Captain Drew with a curt nod as he stood silent, shoulders slumped before him. They turned to watch. It came at a cost, but an act this bold could serve to put a final end to the rebellion.

The Caroline caught briefly in the rushes, then broke free and sailed downriver—its fiery hull eventually consumed in the rapids, leaving only twisted iron and the engine perched above the falls, a smoldering monument to the night’s daring events.