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Updated: May 24, 2025
At Vrooman's battery, on Scott's Point, guarded by Heward's volunteer company from Little York, and some of Hatt's company of the 5th Lincoln militia, a mile from Queenston, the twenty-four-pound shells from the gun, mounted en barbette, which commanded at long range both landings, were leaving behind them furrows of fire in the black gorge.
"No," said Mary Leonard, "he isn't here this time." The florid old gentleman took a seat in front of them and continued to fan himself. The conductor came through the car. "Warm spell we're having for October, Mr. Hatt," he said, as he punched the commutation-ticket that was offered him. Mary Leonard and Lucy Eastman gazed spellbound at the back of Mr. Hatt's bald head.
Their fascinated gaze left the shiny pink surface of Samuel Hatt's head, and their eyes met. "I hope he won't see us," giggled Lucy. "I hope not. Let's look the other way." In a few minutes Mr. Hatt rose slowly and portentously, and, turning, made a solemn but wavering way down the car to greet a man who sat just across the aisle from Mary Leonard.
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