by Michael Aye
Expecting Harrison to immediately set out in pursuit of the British, his officers were astonished when the general made no attempt to hurry after the enemy. Entering Amherstburg at the head of his army, Harrison seemed content and relieved he’d been spared a battle. The charred remains of Fort Malden stood silent and eerie. Would it have been different if Barclay hadn’t stripped the fort of its guns? More than one soldier glared upon the ruins as they passed it.
“Sir… General Harrison, sir.”
Turning to see who was addressing him, Harrison found Captain Hampton with one of the city’s residents. One of Hampton’s spies most likely, Harrison thought. “What is it, Captain?”
“I have word, sir that Tecumseh has just left. If you take my glass, you can see him sitting astride his horse on yonder hill.”
Taking the offered glass, the general fiddled with the focus then replied, “Yes, I see him. He’s just sitting there… watching.”
“Shall we send a squad after him, sir?”
“No, Captain. He would be gone before you could get out of town.”
“We could try, sir.”
“No, Captain. Return this man to his home and then go back to your unit.”
“Yes sir,” Hampton replied dejectedly.
When Harrison finally gave the word to move out, he decided it would not be good to leave the city without a force to keep control should the British or Indians return.
Departing on September 28th, it took two days to reach Sandwich, just eighteen miles away. Sandwich was located just across the strait from Detroit. Once there, Harrison lay over three days waiting on Colonel Johnson’s mounted rifles to join up. While waiting, Harrison ignored his seething officers and took over the home of Colonel James Baby, which had also been the headquarters of William Hull, the disgraced American commander.
Letting his horse crop at a small patch of grass, Jonah watched as Harrison’s infantry climbed into the boats to be rowed back out to Commodore Perry’s ships. His reverie was broken as Captain Clay Gesslin rode up.
Nodding to Moses, Gesslin spoke to Jonah. “The colonel is ready to pull out.”
“Looks like they might have a wet ride,” Jonah said, referring to the soldiers in the boats.
“Better them than us,” Gesslin replied, using his head to indicate the loading of the infantry.
“I won’t argue,” Jonah said. “How about you, Moses, land or sea?”
“I’ll stick to this hoss. If he goes down, I can still walk. One of them ships go down, I’d be in a heap of trouble. Only one man I ever heard of who could walk on water, and I never been much at swimming.” As an afterthought, Moses added, “And I certainly can’t drink that much water.” This brought a chuckle from Jonah and Gesslin.
“I like his thinking,” Gesslin said, as the three of them swung their horses around to catch up to the colonel.
“Glad to see you, Mr. Lee,” Colonel Johnson greeted Jonah as they rode up. “I don’t believe you’ve had the pleasure of meeting my brother, have you?”
“No sir.”
“James, this is Mr. Jonah Lee. He has the confidence of the president. Mr. Lee, my brother, Lieutenant Colonel James Johnson. He is my second in command.”
As the two shook hands, Jonah felt firmness in the man’s grip and decided he, like his brother, would be a formidable opponent.
“It’s good to meet you,” James said. “I’ve seen you in camp and Clay speaks highly of you.”
By the use of Gesslin’s first name, Jonah decided James was a little more relaxed than his brother.
Captain Gesslin was assigned the forward detail. Thinking it would be a cooler ride, Jonah and Moses decided to accompany the group. As much as Gesslin’s Kentucky volunteers liked to whoop it up in camp, they were all business on the trail.
About noon, a heavy mist began to fall; not a heavy rain, not even a sprinkle, just a mist. As the group rode toward Detroit, Jonah realized a man would have his hands full trying to make a go of it in this area. The country seemed low and soggy. They passed a few frame houses and a couple of larger houses with barns in the back. However, they were all deserted. Not a single soul was sighted, not even an Indian.
“You ever been to Detroit?” Gesslin asked as he sidled his horse next to Jonah’s.
“No, I’ve not had that pleasure,” Jonah responded.
“It’s a sight different than this area,” Gesslin explained. “Not barren like you see here. The town is laid out regular- like into streets and even alleys. I expect they have one hundred and fifty homes. The land is more level and the farms produce good crops. Mostly orchards and wheat; it’s too cold for corn. Most folks in the town are American, but a few Canadians are about. The Detroit River has a lot of traffic. At one place, it’s a mile wide.” Gesslin seemed to ignore the mist as he talked and rode. He did have a small hide draped over his long rifle to keep the firing pan dry.
As the group rounded a bend, Gesslin’s point rider had pulled up. “Small Indian village up ahead,” he volunteered as Gesslin, Jonah, and Moses rode up. “Smoke coming from some of the huts, so I guess somebody is minding the fire.”
“Huh,” Gesslin snorted. “They have better sense than we do, at least they’re inside.”
Ignoring his captain’s comments, Coot, the scout, dug into his leather pouch and came out with a plug of tobacco. Unwrapping the brown paper from around the plug, Coot then brushed and blew away any dirt or lint. Being polite, he held out the plug for anyone to take a chew. When nobody reached for the plug, he stuck it in his mouth and tore off a chew.
“Don’t blame you,” he volunteered when everyone passed. “It’s been known to turn a man’s innards.”
Gesslin seemed as patient as Job as he waited for the man to work his cud then spit.
That done, Coot wiped his chin on his sleeve and said, “They’s a marsh to one side of the huts. No way to go around, as I can see. Have to pass the huts.”
This was what Gesslin had been waiting for. He knew his man and gave him time to make his report. Signaling to one of the other riders, Gesslin wrote a quick note to be carried to Colonel Johnson.
As the messenger galloped off, Gesslin spoke. “Let’s get a better view of this village.”
The group followed the trail a ways, but when the smell of smoke was distinct, they eased into the woods. After a hundred yards or so, the village was in plain sight. The huts were made out of tree branches and mud. Smoke rose from a few crude chimneys but not a soul was in sight. There was no sound, not a child crying, or a dog barking, not even a horse was seen.
“I don’t like it,” Jonah whispered.
“Me neither,” Gesslin responded. “Let’s get out of here.”
Chapter Seventeen
A bloodcurdling yell filled the stillness, followed by bodies painted in war paint dropping onto the riders from the trees.
As Captain Gesslin was hurled to the ground by his assailant, he shouted, “Ride for help.”
One of the riders at the rear of the detail caught a glancing blow on the shoulder from a tomahawk. He blasted his foe at point blank range with his rifle, then dug his heels into his mount and bounded away.
Meanwhile, Jonah was trying to rise from the ground where he was pinned by one Indian while another was tugging at the rifle held firmly in his hand. Seeing his friend, Clay, about to be stabbed with a wicked-looking knife, Jonah pulled the trigger of his rifle causing the one Indian to fall backwards from the impact of the ball. Rolling, he pulled his own knife and quickly dispatched his other foe. Reaching out, he grasped the Indian who was trying to kill his friend. Twisting the Indian’s arm, Jonah struck with all of his might plunging his blade deep into the kidney of the brave. The Indian fell forward dead. Another Indian had snatched up Gesslin’s gun and pointed the recovered rifle at Jonah. Kicking out, Jonah caught the Indian just below the knee, dislocat
ing it. The rifle went off as the Indian fell. Hearing a thud and feeling a jerk, it took a moment to realize the ball had struck a dead branch causing it to fall into Jonah. Standing, Jonah could see Moses was backed against a tree with two of the red devils closing in.
Picking up a tomahawk Jonah charged forward and buried it in the skull of one of the attackers. Seeing his friend fall, the second Indian turned to face this new challenge. Too late, he realized his mistake as Moses grabbed a handful of hair and deftly pulled his sharp blade across the exposed throat. A gurgling noise was heard as the Indian dropped.
Turning to see how his comrades were making out, a sick feeling came over Jonah as one of the Indians scalped Coot, who let out a scream. Picking up his rifle, Jonah clubbed the Indian from behind and hit him a couple more times with the metal butt plate, turning the Indian’s skull into a bloody pulp.
A shot rang out. Whirling around, Jonah saw an Indian go down kicking while Gesslin held a smoking pistol in his hand. Blood oozed from a cut to his scalp and to his shoulder. But he was alive and fighting. Jonah gave a sigh of relief. He’d come to really like Gesslin and would take it hard if he fell. As quick as the attack had begun, it was over.
“Damn,” Gesslin swore, as he looked about. One man dead with a tomahawk still buried in his back. Coots, wounded and scalped, and still another; the one who rode away for help was wounded, but how bad was still to be seen.
Moses had a huge goose egg knot over his temporal area and a busted lip. Jonah’s ribs hurt so bad, it was hard to take a breath.
“Damn,” Gesslin cursed again. “I let my men get ambushed like some bunch of city folks.”
“You’re not the only one,” Jonah said, trying to salve his friend’s hurt.
“But I was in charge.”
“Makes no never mind, Clay. You did everything right. You took every precaution. This is war and men die.” Placing his hand on his friend’s shoulder, he continued, “It could have been worse.”
“Tell him that,” Gesslin replied, pointing to the scalped Coot.
“He’s alive,” Jonah started to say but remained silent.
Moses walked over and took the scalp from the dead Indian’s hand. He then rinsed it off with water from his canteen. With Jonah and Gesslin watching, he poured water over the wounded man’s head, and then placed the scalp back over the wound. He adjusted it slightly, then tore a strip from a blanket and bound it over the scalp and under the jaw
“Don’t try to talk,” he cautioned Coot. Then as an afterthought, he added, “Leave your chew in the pouch.”
Once clear of the wounded man, Jonah asked, “Will that grow back?”
Nodding, Jonah went to look for a small flask he carried in his saddlebag. He could use a drink, and Coot could probably use the whole bottle. Taking a swallow, the sound of Colonel Johnson’s men could be heard. Maybe they’d have a jug somewhere.
Skirmishers were sent out and the small village was quickly searched. A British officer’s coat was found but little more. The huts were destroyed and the group pulled out. Later that night, Gesslin stopped by Jonah and Moses’ camp. Moses had managed to get a fire going in spite of the dampness.
“Pine knot, what some call lighter, will burn every time,” Moses was telling one of the men. “I always keep a few sticks in my possible bag for days like this.”
Soon, the aroma of hot coffee could be smelled all over the camp. After taking the cup of offered coffee, Gesslin squatted next to the fire.
“Thanks for being supportive this afternoon,” he half-whispered. “The colonel said as much.” Pausing to blow on the strong black liquid, Gesslin took a timid sip then added, “The sawbones said Moses may have prevented ill vapors and purification by fixing Coot up like he did. Says he’ll probably still be bald on top.”
“Did he take the ah… scalp off?” Moses asked.
“No, said to leave it there where it belongs.”
“Is the same bandage still on?”
“No,” Gesslin chuckled. “They handed a bottle of brandy to Coot, who drank it down. He’d already had a nip from somebody’s jug. Soon he was snoring away. The sawbones took the opportunity to put on a clean bandage while he slept. Now he looks like he’s got a toothache or something. He’ll have a headache come tomorrow, I’m betting.”
“Of that I’m certain,” Jonah said, causing those around him to chuckle.
The rest of the trip was uneventful. They passed more deserted homes and one more deserted Indian village.
“Once the British pulled out, the red devils didn’t have anyone to protect them so they lit out as well,” Lieutenant Colonel James Johnson theorized. “They’ll pay for their hellish ways, though, of that I’m certain.”
The weather was clear for the rest of the journey, but now that it was early October, the mornings and evenings had a definite chill that seemed to last longer each day. Jonah despaired more and more over bringing the British to battle before the winter came. As the cold set in, the mood of the men changed. What once made them laugh now made them snarl and curse. They were all bone tired and saddle sore when they came to the River Rouge. Here, Johnson’s men made camp and waited for Harrison’s messenger. A full day’s rest was a balm for the men.
The next morning, a Captain Sympson arrived with the news that General Harrison’s forces were about five miles up the Detroit River at Sandwich. After a hearty breakfast the regiment saddled up and moved out to rendezvous with the general.
Riding into General Harrison’s camp was much different than on previous occasions. The mood in the camp was very somber. There was none of the good-natured jabs thrown at the mounted rifles by the infantry. There was also no hooting and hollering that usually existed at this time of day when the army was in camp.
Moses edged his horse up next to Jonah and half-whispered, “Something is going on… something serious.”
“Do you think it’s the knowledge we’ll soon come to battle with the British?” Jonah asked, knowing Moses had a feeling for such matters.
“No… I don’t think that’s it. Most of these boys would be hunting liquid courage and bragging about how many Redcoats and red devils they planned to plant.”
Recognizing a recent acquaintance, Jonah and Moses rode over to where Captain James Hampton stood under a huge old walnut tree.
“Jonah,” the captain spoke, touching his hat in greeting. “You and Moses made it through with your scalps, I see. I did hear you had a mite of trouble.”
Now, how in the hell did he know that, Jonah wondered.
“Wasn’t much trouble,” Moses commented. “Not so much as to create notice.”
Hearing this, Captain Hampton raised his eyebrow as if to say, that’s not what I heard.
Jonah, then using Hampton’s first name, asked, “What is going on, James? It seems we’ve ridden into a sullen camp.”
“Firing squad will make things that way.”
“Was somebody shot?” Jonah inquired, not sure he’d heard Hampton correctly.
“Not yet,” the captain replied. “But will be in the morning at first light.”
“What for? What was his offense?” Jonah muttered.
“Desertion, third time in fact.”
“Damn,” Jonah swore. “That’s not good with a battle looming in the near future.”
“Well, it sends a message,” Hampton countered. “Ain’t nobody in this army that didn’t sign up on his own free will. But once you sign, you’re bound by the regulations. Sides, he was told after his second time what would happen if he ran again. Brought it on himself, I reckon.”
Jonah looked at Moses, who just shook his head and whispered, “May the Lord be with him.”
As the two started off, Hampton called after them. “Rider came in today. There’s mail and dispatches at the general’s headquarters.” He then gave directions to where the headquar
ters had been set up. Thanking Hampton again, Jonah and Moses rode away.
“Hopefully, we will find that headquarters has a place assigned for us,” Jonah said, still feeling low over the news from Hampton.
Thunder rolled in the east and gray clouds were building. A corporal was in front of the general’s headquarters when Jonah and Moses rode up.
“There’s a small barn out back where your horses will be safe,” the corporal volunteered. He’d been around the general’s staff enough to know Jonah was the president’s man and was to be offered every courtesy.
Thanking the corporal, the men kicked the mud and dirt off their boots and made their way to the front door of a large comfortable-looking house. A bright crack of lightning followed by a loud boom made Moses jump.
“That was close,” he swore. “Made my hair stand up.”
Jonah couldn’t help but smile at Moses’ discomfort. Then the rain began to pour… a heavy downpour.
“Might rain out the firing squad,” Jonah commented.
Shaking his head, Moses replied, “No. We’ll have a let-up tomorrow morning for a while, and then I expect it’ll be with us a few days.”
“I hope not,” Jonah replied.
“Wanna bet on it?” Moses smirked.
Jonah’s reply was just a stare.
Chapter Eighteen
Captain Charles Todd, General Harrison’s aide, met Jonah and Moses as they entered the headquarters. “Mr. Lee, Moses. It is good to see you.”
“Captain,” Jonah and Moses replied in greeting.
“The general is talking with Governor Shelby, Commodore Perry, General Cass, and General Clay. They are expecting Colonel Johnson at any time. Mr. Lee, General Harrison has left word that you are welcome to join them, sir.”
Humm! Jonah thought for a second, and then asked, “Is this a social gathering, Captain, or are they meeting to discuss battle plans to engage the British?”
