Flashman and Madison's War

by Robert Brightwell

  While others moaned about retreat and dishonour and abandoning territory and allies, it seemed clear to me that surrounded by a lake controlled by the enemy, Amherstburg would soon be a very unpleasant place to be. This was especially the case if you were deemed by that enemy to be a criminal requiring immediate execution. We were leaving a place of imminent danger and if we could keep ahead of the Americans all the way to a place of safety, then that was just fine for me. Indians and their supporters wrung their hands and dashed hats to the ground, complaining that separating an Indian army from their traditional homelands on American soil would be the end of Tecumseh’s federation. I did not give two pins for that; it had always seemed the most optimistic of ambitions. Individual Indians, never mind the tribes, were far too used to being free spirits. I thought that they could never be aligned and ruled as a single state.

  But as time passed it was clear that everyone, myself included, wanted to know a bit more about precisely what Procter was planning, or at least have some reassurance that there was a plan. If the warriors under Tecumseh could not be convinced that it was worth remaining with the British during the retreat, then my earlier doom-mongering with Procter, about desertions and massacres, could come true after all. A second council was organised two days after the first one to force our commander to talk.

  When Procter arrived in Amherstburg for this second meeting he went immediately to his now sparsely furnished house and summoned me to report on the progress of the evacuation. I had just finished telling him of the supplies sent up river when there was a knock at the door. It was Elliot, Tecumseh’s interpreter. His normally ruddy complexion was pale, nearly matching the pallor of the greasy locks of hair that reached down to his shoulders.

  “I need to talk to you urgently, General.”

  “Ah, Colonel Elliot, do come in.” Procter viewed the visitor with suspicion. I knew that Elliot had been in the territory for well over twenty years and Procter suspected that his allegiance was now more with the Indians than with the British.

  “They are gonna break with us, General,” warned Elliot without preamble. “I have never seen ’em so mad. One of them even threatened me with a tomahawk earlier and talked about taking my scalp.” He paused and pointed to a large map of the territory that Procter had laid out on a table, “If you don’t give them some hope of keepin’ their confederation together then you ain’t gonna have an army to retreat with.”

  “You mean they might attack us?” Procter looked shocked. “I cannot believe that they would be capable of such treachery.”

  Elliot gave a snort of derision. “Treachery is exactly what they accuse you of. I would not have believed it either a week ago, but now….” He took a deep breath. “For the first time in my life, General, I don’t feel safe among some of them Indians. Tecumseh now, he will not turn on us, but he will struggle to control some of the wilder ones if you don’t give him something to work with.”

  Procter licked his lips and stared down at the map, obviously considering his options. Then he looked up. “Gentlemen, rest assured that I have a plan and I will present it to Tecumseh and my other officers when we meet later this morning. And now if you will both excuse me….”

  With that Elliot and I were dismissed. I had not had much dealing with the translator before, in fact I had been surprised when Procter had addressed him as a colonel, not realising he had a military rank.

  “Do you think Procter has a plan that will work with the Indians?” he asked me quietly as we emerged back into the sunlight.

  “I’ll be dammed if I know,” I told him. “He has not told me if he has.”

  Two hours later and we were back for the planned council meeting. I had brought Black Eagle with me so that he could listen in to the Indian conversations, but this turned out to be a waste of time as most of the warriors had refused to attend to show their contempt for the proceedings. Tecumseh brought just three of his warrior chiefs with him and Elliot, while Warburton also appeared with three of his officers, determined not to be left out of the discussions.

  Procter opened the meeting by reminding everyone again of the implications of Perry’s victory on the lake.

  “How can we be sure that Perry has enough big canoes left to transport the American army?” asked Elliot after a whispered conversation with Tecumseh. “The Father with the One Arm could have sunk many before he was captured.”

  Procter turned to Black Eagle and me. “Because these two gentlemen were on Barclay’s flagship during the battle. Flashman, perhaps you would explain what you saw.”

  I briefly summarised the battle and Tecumseh nodded several times as Elliot translated. “The Father with the One Arm was a brave warrior,” he announced at last.

  “Now gentlemen,” called Procter directing everyone’s attention back to the map. “I propose that we make our stand here.” He pointed to a place on the map called Chatham. It was where a tributary flowed into the Thames forming a fork in the river. The Americans would be obliged to approach up the ‘handle’ of the fork if they were using boats, while the land between the two rivers would be protected on two sides by water. “It is far enough up steam to avoid us being trapped or encircled by landings further up the coast and is, I think you will agree, an excellent defensive position.”

  There were several glances around the room. Procter had surprised them with what seemed a sound approach and people began to nod in approval.

  Tecumseh listened intently to the translation and then said something in reply. “Tecumseh approves,” announced Elliot with I thought a sense of relief about him. He added, “It is also far enough to stretch American supply lines. The Indians will be able to ambush them, take supplies we need and leave them without.”

  “If you cannot take their ammunition, then blow it up,” suggested Colonel Warburton rubbing his hands together with sudden enthusiasm. “We can hold them at Chatham and then wear them down until we are ready to push them all the way back here.”

  Elliot spoke quietly to Tecumseh, who beamed in delight. He turned to Procter, “I have explained that this means that he will be able to maintain links to the tribal homelands and that there is still hope for his confederation. Indeed, sir, you have given us all hope.”

  I have never seen the mood of a meeting change so radically and so quickly. At the start Procter was seen as a lost cause, disliked or reviled by almost everyone around the table. At the end of it he had given them hope of victory and the fulfilment of other more ambitious dreams. I smiled with the rest of them, but thought that making a stand in the way he had described was a wild departure from his earlier plan.

  I was still not convinced that he had really changed his mind at all and so I stayed back at the end of the meeting until I could speak to him alone. He was just rolling up his map when I walked back to the table.

  “Sir if I am to help manage our retreat I am going to need to know what our ultimate goal is. When we talked alone before you were aiming to retreat all the way to York, but now you have laid out plans to make a stand at Chatham.” I took one final glance around to ensure no one else had entered the room. “Sir, are we really going to make a stand at Chatham?”

  Procter beamed at me and put a hand on my shoulder. Then he looked me firmly in the eye and said, “Of course we are making a stand at Chatham. You can forget about retreating to York; we will make our stand and with our Indian allies and we will beat the Americans.”

  “I am pleased to hear it, sir,” I said turning away. I had my answer. Procter had held my gaze just a second or two longer than normal. He had done exactly the same when he had spoken to Tecumseh at that first council meeting. I was sure the bastard was lying.

  Chapter 23

  Within hours of the council meeting with Procter, Tecumseh had confirmed that he would join the retreat and bring twelve hundred warriors with him. That second council meeting had taken place on the 20th September and by the 24th, unwanted supplies were being burned at Detroit. Trudging past the flames
was a long line of Indian families, forced to abandon their new villages, heading for the ferry over the Detroit River to join the warriors heading north.

  Our gallant commander, having secured Indian support for his retreat, had already departed Amherstburg. Soldiers wearing patched blankets and tattered greatcoats to keep out the growing winter chill reported seeing their general draped in fur rugs riding in his carriage up the road that went towards Chatham. He was doubtless aiming to meet up with his family that he had sent on ahead. By then just about every craft that could float with a shallow draught had been loaded with supplies and then rowed, sailed or towed around Lake St Clair towards the mouth of the Thames.

  Most of the army marched after them the next day, mixing with a stream of warriors that were still coming over on the ferry from Detroit. Black Eagle had sent Morag to join the other Indian women and children as they trudged north. Instead of joining her he remained with me. I had been detailed to stay with the rear guard. This detachment had some two hundred soldiers and a similar number of warriors, with Warburton in command. We were not expected to engage the enemy, or you could be sure I would have been elsewhere, but instead to watch for their arrival and burn the empty buildings of the town.

  I thought we would probably have another week before the Americans arrived, but they were in a hurry. They wanted to make as much progress as possible before the winter snows arrived and the very next day Perry’s fleet appeared. But instead of landing in Amherstburg, they sailed straight past.

  “They will be going to Detroit,” announced Warburton confidently. “They will want to tell its people of their new dominance on the lake and leave a sizeable garrison there to deter any raids by the Indians still on the American shore.” It turned out Warburton was right and the lookout we posted reported that the American fleet was showing no sign of movement as darkness fell. We spent a final night in Amherstburg and then the next morning soldiers and warriors roamed the town putting all the empty buildings to the torch.

  It reminded me of the burning of the Portuguese villages during our retreat to Torres Vedras, but our general then had a clear plan to return and I was pretty sure that things were not the same this time. As the Union Jack came down the flagstaff in the already burning fort, I think all who saw it must have wondered if it would ever rise to the peak there again. The old dry timbers burned easily and soon spirals of thick dark smoke were rising into the air to mark the destruction of most of the town. The wind, I noticed, was blowing the smoke to the east, perfect to bring Perry’s fleet back towards us from Detroit. It was not too long before the lookout reported that sails were approaching.

  We rode out of town, Black Eagle and I, still on our stolen horses, while the warriors and soldiers marched along the track beside us. A steady cold rain had started as we began the march, which was already dampening the fires we had left behind. Those who had greatcoats pulled up the collars and turned their faces away from the wind. The weather made what was a miserable experience even more desolate. I remember feeling quite sorry for myself, wondering what this wretched conflict had in store for me now and if I would ever see the shores of Britain again.

  Four miles along the road after a steady climb we came upon a hilltop. I glanced up and saw a knot of horsemen staring back at the town we had just left. Tecumseh, tall and erect on his mount, was unmistakable as was Elliot alongside him. Warburton and one of his officers were also with the group and he called me over.

  “Captain Flashman, do you still have your glass?”

  “One lens is cracked,” I told him, “but it still serves to a degree.”

  “Well mine was smashed at Fort Stephenson; could you lend yours to Tecumseh so that he can view the Americans landing?” I rode across and passed over the instrument. Staring through the murky weather I could just make out several ships now tied up at the dock and long snaking lines of men as they marched ashore. Tecumseh scanned the men briefly with the glass and then raised it a few degrees to scan the distant horizon.

  “He is trying to get one last glimpse of the American shore,” muttered Elliot riding up beside me. “Probably wondering if he will ever see it again. Do you know where our commander is? I have not seen him since the council meeting and I would have thought his place was here.”

  “From what I have heard, he is at the front of the column with his wife and daughters,” I responded in a deliberately neutral tone. To change the subject I asked “Tell me, sir, you know more about the Indians than most white people. Do you think that this Indian confederation could ever work? My Iroquois friend,” I gestured to Black Eagle who had got off his horse to let it crop some grass a few yards away, “tells me that they struggle to align six small Indian nations spread over a few hundred miles.. He thinks that there is no chance of making all of the tribes cooperate as a single nation.”

  “Your Iroquois friend is probably right,” admitted Elliot. “Two tribes further south are warring with each other as we speak. But he has to try. You know how things are in Britain and Europe. More and more will come here to seek their fortune and they will all need land. Unless Tecumseh succeeds, the Indian way of life will be lost.” He gave a heavy sigh before adding, “And now it all rests on General Procter and what happens at Chatham.”

  He looked at me expectantly as though I would give him some words of reassurance, but I said nothing. Procter’s nerves were shot and I had terrified the man further with talk of him being hung and his wife and daughters being ravished if the Americans caught up with them. I had succeeded in getting him to retreat with the Indians, but now I suspected that he would not stop for anything. The Indian confederation, the British hold on western Canada and a good number of soldiers and Indians would all be sacrificed. Procter thought it was to enable him to save his neck and his family, but in reality it was all to save the neck of one Thomas Flashman.

  As I had not responded, Elliot lowered his voice and asked the question that he had really wanted to ask all along. “People tell me that Procter trusts you and he invited you to all of the council meetings. You must know him reasonably well. Do you think he will make a stand at Chatham?”

  What could I say? If I revealed my suspicions Procter would deny it and probably send me on some suicidal mission as punishment. At the end of the day Procter was also doing what I wanted – taking me to safety. “All I can tell you, sir,” I told him, “is that I asked the general that very question when we were alone and he looked me in the eye and assured me that he would make a stand at Chatham.”

  Elliot grunted his acknowledgement before adding, “It says something about your trust in the man that you thought it necessary to ask.” He was going to say more but then Tecumseh uttered something in his native tongue and Elliot smiled. He turned to me and explained. “Tecumseh says he is surprised that they have not got their American flag flying already – the flagpole still stands.”

  “They would have a job using that now,” I told him. “I had the flag halyard removed and two men greased the bottom of the pole as far as they could reach with a broom to stop them fitting another.”

  Tecumseh laughed when Elliot translated my reply and then looked at me directly. “No horsemen,” he pronounced as he reached across Elliot to give me back the glass. “No horsemen,” he repeated pointing down at the distant Americans.

  It was the first time I had heard him speak any English and I was not sure how much of a reply he would understand. “Foot soldiers will be slower,” I pointed out miming walking with my fingers. Tecumseh nodded and then stared at me frowning. His piercing dark eyes seemed to bore into mine. He said something to Elliot in his native tongue and the grey-haired man looked at me.

  “He thinks he saw you at Fort Meigs?”

  “Yes, I was there. At the first siege I fought with the Indians in the woods and I watched him stop the massacre of prisoners at the old fort. But I was dressed as an Indian then.”

  Tecumseh listened to Elliot translate my reply and then looked across at Black Eagle
. The big warrior was now sitting looking bored on a tree trunk, stropping the blade of his knife on the leather scabbard. The chief muttered something to Elliot and then held out his hand to me. I was surprised but put out my paw and gave his a firm shake. Tecumseh nodded, smiling, and then wheeled his horse around and rode off after his men.

  “He says you are a good friend to the Indians,” Elliot told me grinning. “There are not many white men he says that about.” Elliot pulled his horse around after the chief and left me sitting there, feeling a total fraud.

  My feeling of guilt eased over the next two days as the manner of our retreat turned into a farce. If it was any indication of our effectiveness as a fighting force then the sooner we reached York the better. On the first night fifty of the British soldiers in the rear guard deserted. While they might not have believed American promises of back pay, they were disillusioned and in no mood for a long retreat only to fight elsewhere. During that first day’s march we must have passed half a dozen carts and wagons, most with broken wheels which had just been abandoned rather than repaired. The situation was little better on the water. I saw a boat half sunk in the shallows, the muzzle of one of our few precious cannon now pointing harmlessly at the reeds.

  By the end of the second day, Indians alone made up the rear guard but we then discovered that they were not destroying the bridges as we crossed them. Warburton had been given orders to take down all bridges after we had crossed them to slow down the enemy. But to the Indians this made no sense. Surely, they argued, we want the Americans to come with their loaded wagons over these bridges so that we can take their supplies? We do not want to wait for ever to beat them at Chatham.