War 1812

by Michael Aye

Finally, a British colonel said, “The coward, with a company of dragoons and savages, were seen escaping toward Moraviantown.”

  “Ten minutes, sir,” Lieutenant Colonel James Johnson spoke to General Harrison.

  “What’s that?” Harrison asked.

  “Ten minutes, sir. Richard said we’d defeat the British line in thirty minutes. We did it in one-third the time.”

  “Well that’s fine, Colonel,” Harrison replied. “But is that not the sound of gunfire coming from the swamp?”

  Governor Shelby was within hearing distance of the exchange. “I’ve sent my men to the swamp to aid Colonel Johnson,” he stated. “They are likely having a much harder go of it fighting the Shawnee hidden in the swamp.”

  While the three men had been talking, the sound of gunfire had picked up, and so had the sound of yells, curses, and war whoops. Men are fighting and dying in the swamp, James Johnson thought. And all I could think of was that we defeated the British line in ten minutes. The war, however, was not yet won. God be with Richard and his men, he prayed.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  When the bugle blasted the charge for the assault on the British lines, Colonel Richard Mentor Johnson’s brigade made their way into the swamp. Smiling at Jonah, Johnson said, “I predict a hot day, Mr. Lee.” The colonel was not talking about the weather.

  “I expect you are right,” Jonah replied.

  Riding double behind him, Moses grunted, “Not too hot, I hope.”

  Because of the thick undergrowth which gave limited access, the brigade doubled the amount of men it could bring into action by each horse carrying two men. Also, due to the tangled thickets, swords were left at camp. Each man carried, beside his rifle, a hatchet and a knife. Moses had sharpened Jonah’s and his edged weapons the night before. In fact, men had watched and emulated the man from Washington and his friend. Each carried two knives and two tomahawks. It was the second tomahawk that was poking into Moses’ back, creating a bad humor.

  The sound of bugles blaring, charging horses, and musket fire was heard on the road, but everything was quiet in the swamp; too quiet.

  “I feel like we’re being watched,” Moses whispered.

  “So do I,” Jonah replied, waiting for shots to ring out.

  Deeper they rode, the horses hooves now sinking into the soft wet ground. Men were fighting the vines and tangled thickets to keep from being knocked off their mounts. Tecumseh chose his line of defense well. He waited patiently, and when Johnson’s men were preoccupied with the undergrowth, he let out a blood-curdling war cry and guns blazed away as warriors fired from their hiding places.

  It was not unlike stumbling into a hornet’s nest as balls buzzed through the air. Some hit trees, showering bark into the faces of men and horses. Others found their mark, as the unmistakable sound of lead balls thudded into human flesh. At the front of the line, Richard Johnson was hit twice, in the hip and the thigh. Though unable to dismount himself, he shouted out the order.

  “Dismount… dismount!”

  The men didn’t need to be told. Most had already slid off their mounts seeking cover. One horse stung by flying bark became wild-eyed. With nostrils flaring, it reared up and toppled its rider into a pool of muck. A ball then struck the frightened animal, grazing its hind quarters and causing it to run wildly into the swamp, knocking over a warrior who tried to catch the animal as a prize.

  Seeing Johnson was wounded, Jonah and Moses darted from tree to tree to get to the brigade’s leader. The fire from the Indians continued with deadly accuracy and effect. Few of the Indians were showing themselves, and to make matters worse, Redcoats were now running into the swamp. Was it a planned attack or were the Redcoats retreating from the battle on the road? Regardless of the reason, the red uniforms made better targets than the brown-skinned warriors and the Americans took advantage of the targets.

  Like their comrades on the road, the Kentuckians began to cry out, “Remember the Raisin, Remember the Raisin.” This cry seemed to rally the Kentuckians, who were now finding targets other than the red uniforms. Firing their long rifles, men used them as clubs or laid them aside in favor of the tomahawk and knife. Remembering their fellow Kaintucks, who these savages had so ruthlessly slaughtered, the men fought with reckless abandon. Steel clanged on steel as knives flashed and tomahawks thudded into flesh and bone.

  Unlike their British counterparts, the Shawnee braves were putting up a fierce battle. Jonah was on top of a warrior when another jumped him from behind. Unfortunately, for the brave, Moses was close, having just dispatched his foe. Making a half-turn, he grabbed the Indian’s wrist as he raised his knife to stab Jonah. Feeling the grip on his wrist, the Indian spun. As he did so, Moses struck with all his might driving the tomahawk deep into the enemy’s face and skull. Eyes glazing over, the Indian fell dead.

  Tecumseh’s shouts egging his warriors on could be heard above the melee. Taking a second to peer about him, Jonah was shocked to see Colonel Johnson still mounted and wounded in several places. “Follow me,” he yelled to Moses as he made his way to the colonel.

  He’d never survive if he stayed mounted. He was too much of a target. Then, before his very eyes, Jonah saw a puff of blood and dust jump from Johnson’s body as another ball had found its mark. Jonah’s stomach felt sickened. He could not let such a brave man die. Rushing to the aid of the colonel, Jonah and Moses found themselves attacked by a swarm of braves.

  Shots rang out and three Indians fell; each had been hit several times. Blood splattered across Moses’ buckskin shirt. Wiping it away, he was glad it wasn’t his. The two remaining braves, seeing their companions down, fled into the swamp. Another shot was heard and a ball ricocheted into the ground beside Moses. Damned if the colonel hadn’t been right. It had gotten hot…hot as Hades.

  Taking time to reload his long rifle, Jonah saw that more Americans were making their way into the swamp. It was their fire that downed the three Indians. Now the battle was turning for the Americans. Jonah couldn’t help but admire the gallant defense put up by the Indians. Hopping over logs and ducking underbrush, he and Moses made their way to the colonel.

  Above the din of battle, a lone war cry went up above all else. Tecumseh, wounded but still fighting, had spotted Colonel Johnson and was taking aim at him. Wounded as he was, Johnson had little strength left, but he was trying to raise his own rifle. Jonah and Moses, seeing the proud Indian chief raise his weapon to fire, quickly aimed and fired their long rifles. Another shot was heard as Colonel Johnson’s weapon went off. Unable to bring the long rifle to bear, the shot went off into the ground, harmlessly.

  Seeing the great chief’s body jerk as two balls plowed into the warrior’s chest, Johnson looked toward Jonah and Moses. As smoke drifted from the barrels of the men’s guns, a look of gratitude passed between the men.

  The fever of battle was still burning, and one of the Kentuckians yelled out, “The colonel has just killed Tecumseh.” He’d heard the shot, he’d seen the colonel’s weapon lower and he’d seen the Indian chief fall. He’d not seen Jonah and Moses as the colonel’s horse blocked them from his view.

  Hearing the man shout out caused two things to happen: the Indians either threw down their weapon and surrendered or ran off into the swamp. The second thing caused by the shout was men rushed to the spot where Tecumseh fell, and remembering their fallen comrades, began to hack and cut away pieces of the chief, mutilating his body beyond recognition. To try to stop the savagery was a useless effort. Jonah and Moses looked on with disgust.

  The chief had fought a brave fight and didn’t deserve such an ending. Had the British forces been led by General Brock along with Tecumseh and the Shawnee warriors, things might have turned out much differently, Jonah thought. Men were now gathering around Colonel Johnson. Clay Gesslin was there, as was his man, Hicks. Both were dirty with powder-stained faces. Blood and grime covered their hands, but neither seem
ed wounded.

  Jonah and Moses helped Gesslin and Hicks pull the pain stricken Johnson from his horse. The white horse was now streaked with blood from the colonel’s wounds. Grim faced, Johnson looked to Jonah, “You are unhurt, Mr. Lee… Moses?”

  “We are fine,” Jonah replied for both of them.

  As Major Barry, Johnson’s secretary, wrapped a blanket about the colonel, Johnson gritted his teeth and managed, “I fear I have been cut to pieces, but I think my vitals have escaped.”

  Indeed, the colonel had been ‘cut to pieces,’ as he said. He had five wounds. As the surgeon arrived, Johnson looked at Jonah and said, “Sir, I will forever be in your debt.” The pain was so obvious; it took a great effort for Johnson to speak.

  Knowing what the colonel meant but was not spoken, Jonah only nodded. As they moved the colonel, Johnson spoke to his secretary again, “Have a heart, Barry, I will not die.”

  The surgeon, A.J. Mitchell, felt his body shiver realizing he would be blamed if the colonel didn’t pull through. In the distance, an episodic shot could be heard as Major David Thompson chased the retreating Indians.

  “Chase they might,” Moses said, “but they’d not likely catch the retreating Shawnee.”

  From the edge of the swamp, men cheered as Johnson was brought out. “Three cheers for Colonel Johnson, the man who killed Tecumseh.”

  “Reckon he’ll ever give you the credit?” Surprised, Jonah and Moses turned. “I saw it,” Captain Clay Gesslin said. “He shouldn’t take the credit.”

  “So far, I haven’t heard him do so,” Jonah remarked.

  “He ain’t said he didn’t,” Gesslin replied, staunch in his belief.

  “He won’t.” Again the three men turned. It was Captain Hampton. In searching for his friends, he’d heard the exchange. “He needs the political recognition that will come from being known as the man that killed Tecumseh. He might even ride the reputation to the White House. You don’t have any political aspirations, do you, Jonah?”

  Shaking his head, Jonah replied, “None.”

  “Then you shouldn’t mind, sir, as your silence will give you a powerful man as an ally. Believe me, gentlemen, if he lives, Johnson will one day be a powerful man.”

  Epilogue

  Once back on the main road, Jonah’s group was spotted by Lieutenant Colonel James Johnson. As the colonel rode over to the men, he inquired about his brother. After hearing of his wounds, Johnson rode off to where the surgical tent had been set up. The surgeons from both armies were busy caring for the wounded, regardless of their uniform.

  As Johnson rode off, Jonah looked up at the still mounted Commodore Perry. He had been at Lieutenant Colonel James Johnson’s side since the first bugle had sounded.

  “Well Commodore, “Jonah said with a smile. “Are you ready to give up your ships and sails for the Calvary?”

  Chuckling, the commodore shook his head. “It’s been exciting. and I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.” Then, with his feet in the stirrups, he rose up and pulled at his trousers adding, “But I don’t think my bottom could stand much more.” This brought about the laugh as he knew it would.

  As soldiers drifted out of the swamp, one of Gesslin’s men approached and volunteered, “Did you hear, sir? Not only did we get Tecumseh, but we killed six other chiefs as well. One of them is said to be Tecumseh’s brother-in-law, Wahsikegaboe (Firm Fellow). He was married to Tecumapeace, who was Tecumseh’s sister.”

  I wonder how he knows that, Jonah thought. But the man answered the question before it was asked.

  “Most of the Indians ran off carrying as many of their wounded as possible. But one of the captured Indians is being taken around, and he’s identifying those left behind, both the dead and wounded.

  The sun was starting to go down when the patrol Harrison sent after General Proctor returned. They had not been able to overtake the British general, but they were able to capture his baggage train, which Proctor had not spared the time or men for. Going through the confiscated possessions, Harrison’s men collected personal papers and dispatches, which Harrison decided to forward on to Washington.

  In a jovial mood after winning the battle, Harrison sent for Jonah. “Well, old friend,” he greeted Jonah. “I see we’ve made it through another campaign. I feel we have broken the British hold on the northwest, and I’m about to send dispatches to that effect to Washington. I’m still waiting on an accurate count of men killed, wounded, and prisoners captured to include in that dispatch. That will give you time to write your own report so the rider can include it in his bag.”

  This was a kind offer, Jonah realized. Harrison was offering the proverbial ‘olive branch.’ Why shouldn’t he? The campaign had been won. Not much of a battle in one sense, but a great victory in another.

  “Thank you, sir. I will write a brief report. General,” Jonah spoke again.

  “Yes,” Harrison replied.

  “My congratulations, sir; I salute you.”

  Moved by Jonah’s remarks, Harrison responded, “You were a big part of it, old friend. Let not a few words spoken in anger at heated times come between us.”

  “Thank you,” Jonah replied.

  Later, by the heat of a flickering campfire, drinking strong black coffee, Hampton was quoting figures to his friends. “We’ve been able to count thirty-three dead Indians, and there’s no telling how many of them the retreating Indians dragged away. However, when we went back for Tecumseh’s body it was nowhere to be found.”

  “I’m sure some of his braves snuck back and took the body,” Moses volunteered.

  “Regardless, we’ll pack up and head home tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow!” Jonah repeated.

  “Yes,” Hampton replied. “Harrison has nailed shut the door the Commodore closed. Harrison will reinforce strategic forts and will push on with a large force making sure the British don’t mount a counter offensive. But for most of the volunteer militia, the war is over. Governor Shelby is taking his boys home tomorrow; their moment of glory is over.”

  “I think we shall ride with them, at least as far as Sandwich,” Jonah replied. “Plan on spending some time there, do you?” Gesslin jokingly said to his friend.

  “One never knows,” Jonah returned, but his mind was firmly set on a lovely widow who said she’d be waiting.

  Without another word, Moses went about packing their belongings and thinking they’d more likely-than-not meet up with some of the Indian women who responded so positive to his protection. Downright grateful they were!

  Historical Notes

  This book was written to honor the 200th anniversary of America’s second revolution. The forgotten conflict as it is called by some. Tom Grundner and I talked about the upcoming 200th anniversary, and it was his encouragement that was the deciding factor for me to agree to write a trilogy on the war.

  With the exception of my characters, I tried to remain true, good or bad, to the leaders of the war. The battles from Frenchtown and the massacre at the River Raisin, to the attack at Fort Stephenson; and the last big battle outside of Moraviantown were as historically accurate as possible. The ship to ship battles on the Great Lakes where Commodore Perry defeated the British naval commander, Captain Barclay followed the history books very closely.

  The description of the landscape and the elements endured by our fighting men was as close to the actual events as I could make it. Of course, this is a work of fiction, so I did take certain liberties. There was no way to put a real life person at all the historically significant events, hence the creation of the president’s man. A person who had a certain degree of freedom to move about as he wished and could travel to hot spots as the need arose.

  The following books in the trilogy will deal with the Battle of Horseshoe Bend and include the fall of Washington. The last book will be based on the Battle of New Orleans.

  For
anyone interested in reading more on the War of 1812, I highly recommend the following books:

  Kentucky in the War of 1812 by Anderson, Chenault, Quisenberry

  The War of 1812, a Forgotten Conflict by Donald R. Hickey

  1812, the War that Forged a Nation by Walter R. Borneman

  Union 1812 by A.J. Langguth

  Warships of the Great Lakes 1754-1834 by Robert Malcomson

  About the Author

  Michael Aye is a retired Naval Medical Officer. He has long been a student of early American and British Naval history. Since reading his first Kent novel, Mike has spent many hours reading the great authors of sea fiction, often while being “haze gray and underway” himself. This is his first novel on the War of 1812.

  Acknowledgements

  American authors, Jim Nelson and Bill Hammond, continue to lend an ear and offer advice and wisdom to a novice. I feel that they set the standard by which the rest of us strive to reach. Thanks for always being there.

  British author, Alaric Bond, has become a good friend. His in-depth knowledge and willingness to share information about the business has been heartfelt. Alaric’s unique style and deviation from the usual format for his characters place him in a category by himself and in line with the masters of nautical fiction.

  To Chris Lindensmith of Bitingduck. This is our first work together and it has been a pleasure.

  The availability of this work is totally due to the dedication and tireless efforts of my writing partner and my partner in life. Her name should come first.