by Michael Aye
Lieutenant Shipp returned in a few minutes and reported, “One dead, Major, and seven with minor wounds.”
“Thank God,” Croghan answered. “We have repulsed a major assault from two quarters with only one man dead and a few wounded.”
“It was the last blast of the six-pounder that ended the contest,” Shipp said. “That took the life out of them.”
“I wonder where the Indians were,” Gesslin said.
“The red devils apparently deserted the British. Had they participated the outcome may have been different.”
“Possibly,” Croghan admitted. “But I think not.”
The dark storm clouds in the west passed northward as the rays from the setting sun beamed down.
“What splendor,” Moses said, more articulate than usual.
A gentle breeze from the southwest swept the lingering fog of battle smoke away toward the forest.
“It’s the Sabbath,” Moses said.
“That’s true,” Croghan said.
As the twilight came, the major addressed his gallant little band with eloquent words of praise; he then said a prayer of grateful thanksgiving. Beyond the walls, the groans of the wounded British could be heard.
“We were truly blessed,” Moses said as he made his way to the rampart.
“What are you going to do?” Jonah asked.
“See if I can help the wounded,” Moses replied. Filling a bucket of water from a fire barrel, he tied a rope around the handle and lowered it over the wall.
Darkness fell and during the night many of the British dead were removed. All during the following morning, the wounded British were brought into the fort’s small hospital and their wounds tended as best the small medical staff could. By noon, scouts were sent out and they soon returned stating the British had pulled out leaving one of the gunboats loaded down with military supplies. These were brought into the fort.
Jonah then approached Croghan and advised him that he and Gesslin were going to head back to General Harrison’s camp. Croghan wrote a hurried report to the general and then thanked the men for their efforts.
“Hopefully we’ll see each other soon,” Croghan said as he shook each of the men’s hands.
“Hopefully it will be under more pleasant circumstances,” Jonah said.
This brought a smile from Croghan. “Hopefully,” he said. “… hopefully.”
Chapter Nine
A definite chill was in the air as dawn made its way over the thick forest, and the sky changed from dark to a hazy gray. The bright yellow, brown and red leaves that held to the limbs of the hardwood trees were still black as the sun hadn’t risen to the point the individual colors were distinguishable.
The sentry guarding the main entrance to Camp Seneca had his cloak pulled close about him. Gloved hands were still cold, made even more so by the chill of the steel musket barrel gripped so firmly in his hands. His nose was red and raw where a sleeve was used to wipe away the constant drip from a runny nose. Little clouds were created each time the man exhaled. The sentry was miserable… miserable and dangerous. It would not do for some sergeant to try to sneak up on him as he’d likely get a lead ball in his gut for breakfast. It would have been nice if the sentry had been allowed a fire, but this was denied by the general as it would point out the sentry’s location.
However, any Indian who had made twelve summers would have had no problem locating the sentry. With all the stomping around, rubbing and clapping hands together to keep warm, the sentry may just as well have lit a fire. The only reason he had not lost his hair was the Indians were meeting their general.
Tecumseh was arguing with British General Procter about his failure to bring the Americans to a battle. He knew if the British didn’t stand and fight, the tribes in the Confederation would lose the protection for their lands, which the British had promised if they would become their allies. Sensing the need to push Proctor into making a stand, Tecumseh faced Proctor and tried to force him into action by shaming him. “We must compare our father’s conduct to a fat animal that carries its tail upon its back; but when afraid, it drops it between its legs and runs off.”
Once the conversation was complete, Tecumseh realized Proctor could not be pushed and would not do battle on anything but his own terms. Therefore, when the sergeant came around with a private to relieve the miserable half-frozen sentry, he was still alive. Not because of any alertness on his part but because of the lethargy of British General Proctor.
Jonah and his group made their way into camp as the sun made its way over the trees. The sentry recognizing the group motioned them forward without calling for the sergeant of the guard. After unsaddling their horses, Captain Clay Gesslin shook hands with Jonah and Moses, stating he’d look up Colonel Johnson and report in. Jonah was tempted to make his way to the officer’s mess tent and break his fast but decided to report to General Harrison first. He was sure a hot cup of coffee would be offered. Moses took the bedrolls to their tent and made his way to the mess tent. The two would meet back at their campsite later.
Jonah was surprised to see twice the number of men gathered around General Harrison’s tent. Something was in the making… and with all the different uniforms, it had to do with the Navy. Making his way into the general’s crowded tent, Jonah thought he’d just listen without interrupting or getting involved.
However, Harrison’s wandering eye spotted him and called out, “By all that’s mighty, our Washington man is back and still has his hair.”
This caused everyone to turn and greet Jonah. A few chuckled at the general’s comments.
Harrison stood, shook Jonah’s hand and said, “I’m glad you’re back safe and sound. We’ll talk about the battle at Fort Stephenson later, but now I want you to meet Commodore Oliver Hazard Perry.”
Once the introductions were made, Harrison caused Jonah to flinch as he told Perry, “Mr. Lee is here on behalf of John Armstrong and President Madison to make sure we carry on this war in a manner suitable to the administration. By that, I mean we are to be both aggressive and economical.”
Another round of chuckles filled the tent causing Jonah to flush once more. However, Harrison draped his arm across Jonah’s shoulder and spoke to the commodore.
“In truth, Oliver, Jonah is a brave man. One I’d trust my life with. He’s a fighter, not a bureaucrat. The commodore, Jonah, is here to do away with the British presence on the lakes. If we can do away with their ships, we limit the supplies being furnished to the army and several garrisons.”
One of the general’s aides then entered the tent, “Sir, breakfast is ready. Due to the number of guests, would you prefer it to be served in the officer’s mess?”
After a quick glance around the tent, Harrison said, “Yes, I think that would be preferable.”
As the officers made their way in to the officer’s mess, Jonah found himself sitting across from Perry. Once breakfast was served the men ate heartily. Platters heaping with fried eggs, ham, sausage, and mounds of fried potatoes were placed in front of the hungry men. Hot bread was served with fresh preserves and blackberry jelly. The coffee was hot…hot, black, and strong.
After finishing his meal, Perry seemed ready to talk and found Jonah a ready listener. “The British have maintained control of Lake Erie for over a year,” Perry began. “With this control they have been able to establish a supply route from Fort Malden to Port Dover. We have been able to raid the British outposts, but until now we’ve not had the ships and firepower to take on the British with any chance of winning. We are still outnumbered, and the British have just completed construction on a new flagship I’m told. I’m not sure how many guns she’s to mount at this point, but I’m told they’ll be long nines.”
“Do we carry the same?” Jonah asked.
“No,” Perry said, his voice excited. “We carry carronades. The carronades are shorter guns which carry a m
uch heavier ball and can wreak much more havoc and destruction. They are affectionately called smashers by the gunners. The disadvantage is the range. The range of a long nine is a mile. The carronades effective range is half that. Therefore, to be effective we have to move in close. We have a few long guns but the smashers make up our main armament.”
“Won’t they be able to pick us apart at the greater distance?” Jonah asked.
Perry’s reply was short and blunt. “Aye, they’ll try.”
Harrison then joined into the conversation and asked, “How do we compare in numbers, Oliver?”
The commodore paused and took a sip of coffee. “At last report, the British squadron is made of six ships armed with sixty-three cannons. This does not count the new Detroit.”
“And our ships?” Harrison asked.
“We now have a flotilla comprised of nine vessels mounting fifty-four guns.”
Jonah did not miss the use of vessels instead of ships when the commodore spoke. General Harrison either missed the difference or chose not to pursue it. Rather he asked, “What about our men, are they ready?”
“Aye, they are ready and eager. The days of gun and sail drill have honed these men into a fighting crew. The British, on the other hand, are not so well-manned. My spies tell me their ships are manned with a few seamen, but the majority of the crews are made up of poorly trained British soldiers, Canadian militia and provincial mariners. Therefore,” the commodore said as he wiped his face with a handkerchief then pushed his chair back, “I believe we can put an end to the British control of the lake… God willing.”
The men then focused their attention to breakfast and it was soon finished. Jonah rose as Harrison and Perry stood up. A few of the officers followed as the two men left the officer’s mess. A servant refilled Jonah’s coffee cup, and he sat back down. He was not a sailor but understood without the water supply route the British in the northwest could not survive. Therefore, it was imperative the commodore beat the British. Finishing his cup, Jonah made his way back to his tent to write his report on Fort Stephenson and the need to end British occupation of the Great Lakes. As he finished his report, he added, ‘I feel Commodore Perry is a man of action and the right man to deal with the British on the lake. My question is, does he have the forces at his disposal to accomplish the task?’
Chapter Ten
The next few days were lazy ones. The mornings and evenings were cool, but the temperatures climbed during the middle of the day. Moses complained about the fluctuations in temperature.
“Blast it all, I don’t know if I’m going to burn up or freeze. A jacket is too much and a shirt ain’t enough.”
Jonah couldn’t help but smile at his friend. It was not the temperatures bothering Moses but the boredom. Since returning from Fort Stephenson and meeting with Commodore Perry very little had transpired, but today was sure to be different.
Commodore Perry had sent word to General Harrison that his vessels were ready to take on the British fleet. For some time now Perry’s little squadron had been blockading the water route between Long Point and Amherstburg, aggravating the shortages in the British camp. Spies had related the British were short on food, blankets, and medicine… everything but ammunition.
“That’s no wonder,” General Harrison boasted. “They haven’t fired a shot since the attack on Fort Stephenson.”
The spies also related that the carronades and other guns which had been ordered for the newly constructed Detroit had not arrived. Robert Herloft Barclay, the British Naval Commander, had shifted ordinance from Fort Malden to arm the ship. After a meeting between Barclay and General Proctor, the decision was to attack Commodore Perry’s vessels and put an end to the blockading.
Commodore Perry sailed into Sandusky Bay amid a sky of heavy, dark clouds.
“It’s going to rain for sure,” Moses grumbled. “Hot, cold and now wet, I don’t know what’s worse, freezing, baking or drowning.” Moses had voiced the same complaint many of the Kentucky volunteers had complained of.
“You’ve been around the Kentucky militia so much you sound like them,” Jonah chided his friend.
“I’d hate to hear how bad you’d complain if you had the chilblain,” Moses snorted then said, “It’s where I was stuck by the Creek arrow that gets me into such a misery.”
“Maybe it’s the knowledge General Harrison has invited Chief Tarhe and his band of Wyandots into the camp that’s got you shirred up,” Jonah suggested.
“That don’t help none,” Moses agreed.
Jonah had mixed feelings about the peace overture to the Wyandots, but even if they couldn’t count on the tribe as allies, if they’d remain neutral and not back the British that would in itself be a blessing.
“Mr. Lee.”
“Yes,” Jonah replied as he turned to find Lieutenant Walters, one of General Harrison’s officers, speaking.
“The general’s compliments, sir. Commodore Perry has sent boats to transport the general and members of his staff out to the… ah… flagship. The general felt you might enjoy the outing, sir.”
Outing indeed, Jonah thought looking at the sky. He then turned toward Moses who made a backhanded waving motion.
“You go,” he said. “I’m like Captain Clay’s men. Given the choice I’ll stick to horses and dry land.”
Jonah shook his head and asked, “When do we depart, Lieutenant?”
“The boats are waiting now, sir.”
“Yes, I imagine they are,” Jonah replied. “Let me get my raincoat, and we’ll be on our way.”
Moses had rustled up a cup of coffee by the time Jonah was leaving. Ducking under a tent flap as the first drops of rain started to fall, Moses smiled and said, “Keep dry.”
By the time Jonah had arrived at Harrison’s tent, he found the general had offered to take the Indians aboard Commodore Perry’s ship to see firsthand the power the Americans were ready to unleash on the British.
Not one to speak profanity, Jonah hissed, “What a shitten mess this is gonna be.”
“I agree, sir,” Lieutenant Walters replied.
Not realizing he’d spoken aloud, Jonah flushed. However, it was satisfying to know he was not the only one with the same opinion.
By the time the boats were rowed out to the Lawrence, Jonah was soaked through and through. What little water had not found its way down the neck of the coat had been sloshed over the sides of boats, so he was wet from one end to the other. Unfamiliar with the navy tradition of firing salutes, Jonah almost jumped over the side when the cannons went off saluting General Harrison.
“Damn,” he shouted.
“Easy sir,” one of the sailors consoled him. “It was just a salute for the general.”
“Well, you might have warned me before hand.”
Even though the sailor seemed sincere, Jonah didn’t miss the snickers behind him. I wonder how the Wyandots reacted, he thought to himself. He didn’t really care if the heathens had been warned before time. Serve the sailors right if a few heads had been bashed after the cannon fired its salute, however. Jonah’s boat hooked onto the Lawrence just in time for him to watch the Indians swarm over the sides of Perry’s ship. As the Indians poked about the ship, Jonah grasped a firm grip on the hand ropes and made his way up the slippery battens. Well, at least I didn’t wind up with a dunkin in Lake Erie, he thought as he made his way through the entry port.
There, he was met by one of the commodore’s lieutenants. Not sure about naval protocol, Jonah gave a salute, doffed his hat and reached out to shake the lieutenant’s hand. Watching the lieutenant’s face, it was easy for Jonah to realize he’d confused the officer. However, there was a smile on the lieutenant’s face when he took Jonah’s offered hand.
It was apparent he knew who Jonah was as he said, “I’m Lieutenant Jones, Mr. Lee. The commodore and the general have already gone below so if you’l
l follow me we will join them.”
The lieutenant either omitted or forgot to tell Jonah to lean over. No sooner had he made his way down the small companion ladder and entered the commodore’s cabin than he butted his head on a beam. He staggered as stars flashed before his eyes.
“Damn it, man,” Commodore Perry hissed at Jones. “Did you neglect to warn our guest to duck?”
Lieutenant Jones looked contrite and worried so that Jonah felt it had not been a purposeful omission. God help the sod if he ever found out different, though.
As soon as Jonah was able to fully get his wits about him, he found he was having his knot examined by both the commodore and the general.
“It’ll likely swell as big as a goose egg but shouldn’t bleed,” the commodore stated.
“It’s how much it rattled my brain I’m worried about,” Jonah managed to say.
“No worries there,” General Harrison replied, trying to be humorous. The only response he got for his efforts was a glare from Jonah.
Commodore Perry offered a glass of wine and again offered his apology for the accident. “A bad beginning, Mr. Lee, when I was planning on asking if you have the desire to spend a few days sailing with us.”
Jonah was not sure how to answer. He had no desire to be a sailor but this might be an experience that might not arise again. It would certainly be something he could add in his report to the president, a view of the war from a different vantage point. “I’ll consider it,” Jonah finally answered.
“Our friend,” General Harrison said to the commodore, “is much more at home astride a horse than trying to dodge beams aboard ship.”
“Ahem… well, you have until the morrow to decide, Mr. Lee,” the commodore stated.
At that time Lieutenant Jones returned. “The weather is deteriorating, sir, and the savages… ah, the Indians appear ready to leave the ship.”
