Sworn for Mackinaw

by James Spurr

  The bateaux Grant watched from his library window was typical in all respects: about thirty feet long, with a six foot beam, sharp at both ends, and shallow draft. This craft, like the hundreds just like it on the St. Lawrence River and scattered elsewhere on the Lakes, was propelled alternately or simultaneously, as conditions warranted, by poles, sweeps, and a simple, easily detachable rig for a single sail. With a crew of four, it would make the difficult journey up river against the current and provided little shelter or comfort for the boatmen. About 350 manned these craft supplying the settlements along the river and now, in the summer months, provisions flowed more freely and in greater quantity. It was hard work.

  The only thing unique about the particular bateaux studied by Commodore Grant was that in addition to the approximately 25 barrels, bales and boxes, it also carried a fifth person; a Royal Navy lieutenant with orders to report to the naval establishment upon his landing at Kingston.

  While the boatmen at first hoped for some assistance from their supercargo, whom they thought may contribute to propelling the bateaux and serve as something more than dead weight and a drain on provisions, they were soon cruelly disappointed. Lieutenant James Fleet was sullen, rude and resentful. Only after they were far enough from civilization for him to realize his safety depended entirely upon the boatmean did he in any manner pretend to man a pole or sweep. His efforts were insincere and unimpressive. He had made his way up the great river in a series of craft so that no one vessel was burdened, it seemed, by his presence for more than a few days at a time. This most recent crew, of what would prove for him his last bateaux on the St. Lawrence River, figured him for a dandy, but one perhaps with influence, so they cautiously bore the burden of him among them with quiet disdain.

  As the docklines were made fast and the boatmen released from this particular bateaux, and perhaps all other craft, for some hours or even days until their next trick, as they were never sure, they knew for certain precisely where in Kingston was best to squander what little time they may have before called upon to man the poles or sweeps yet again. They stepped off leaving others to the task of unshipping cargo, without so much as a word to Fleet. No friends made, none lost.

  Lieutenant Fleet donned his blue undress coat, buttoned his waist coat, gathered his bag and headed for what he assumed was the naval establishment, assured at least of his next meal. He had his orders in hand and the sealed envelope he had been instructed by the Captain of the H.M. Brig Triton to deliver to the Port Captain at Kingston. That charge had been made nearly a month ago and he now found himself deep within that continent to which he had hoped never to return.

  Fleet did not know but suspected he would not be required to return to Triton. He also suspected it was in large part because he had manipulated, and sometimes cheated, his First Officer, Lieutenant Conley. Weeks of playing whist had resulted with Conley being in the position of owing Fleet a significant sum in English pounds. Fleet suspected at the time his cheating was not particularly wise, but his resentment over having to say ’Aye, Sir,’ all too often for his tastes caused his desire to seek retribution upon Conley and humiliate him the only way at the time presenting itself in those weeks after landing at Halifax simply irresistible. What he did not know until the day of his unexpected departure was that Conley was engaged to the Captain’s daughter, residing in Halifax, and the account due had become an embarrassment and impediment to their plans for an autumn wedding.

  These thoughts occupied his tedious walk on that very hot morning. Upon reaching his destination, he announced his orders and settled uncomfortably on a stiff wooden chair in the stuffy foyer of the general administration hall for the Royal Navy establishment. His arm ached from carrying his bag. The dirt and sweat accumulated from his voyage these past days in the bateaux combined with the irritation of his wool coat and the confines of his kerchief to make every second of his wait near agony. And he gained the impression that he might well be waiting some prolonged period of time.

  After making all introductions, Colonel Pye seated himself in an upholstered chair. Commodore Grant eased his frame into the settee next to him, making apology as he raised a leg to ease his “poor circulation.”

  “Of course, Sir. By all means, make yourself comfortable. Thank you for traveling. Your efforts halved my distance and saved the crown some badly needed time. Where did you begin? Niagara?”

  “Colonel, you look most uncomfortable.” Grant said. “Atticus, please, if you will, bring some cool wine for Colonel Pye. And your party?” he gestured to the others in the room.

  Although finding the Commador’s extended hospitality unusual, the Colonel assented, “Yes, that would be most kind. And could we open some windows?”

  “My, yes, of course, I was thinking the same just as you arrived. In answer, however, no, I have not resided at Niagara since after the Seven Years War. I began this trip just south of Detroit, where I have a farm on Grosse Isle. But I trust your journey went as well as mine?” Grant inquired.

  The Colonel nodded, recalling that Grant was a naval superintendent for Upper Canada since the early war, headquartered at Navy Island on the Niagara River. A midshipman before the war, Grant’s naval experience had proved helpful after the war when given command of the Lakes during the Colonial Revolution. At that time, he controlled, by either having built, purchased, leased or licensed, near all merchant shipping on the Canadian side and grown immensely wealthy. He also incurred serious loss upon the outbreak of peace. He lost his substantial land holdings in New York and ended his involvement in private shipping.

  Colonel Pye smiled and observed, “Here we are, two army officers drawn together by our unusual knowledge of ships.”

  The Commodore smiled in return, but reminded, “From what I read, our ships off the east coast have been embroiled in more controversy than those of ours on these Lakes.” The reference was of course immediately understood by Pye as the fall out from the Little Belt affair.

  “Indeed, our ships are having some difficulty resupplying along the United States eastern seaboard.”

  “Well, it is nice to know we are not the only part of the empire experiencing shortages of supply. I truly worry about our stores should hostilities spread.”

  Having nearly forgotten his manners, but not the others in the room, Colonel Pye awkwardly interjected a question he had meant with which to lead, “Sir, how is your wife and family?” He blushed just a shade, though it was difficult to tell in the heat.

  Atticus brought and served refreshments, the windows were opened. Despite the fact that the two men had traveled, taken together, nearly 1000 miles to talk solely about ships, the Commodore assured, “Lady Theresa is well, although slowing a bit. She is enjoying many grandchildren.”

  The Colonel had heard of the Commodore’s French wife and their twelve children; only one of which was a son. “I look forward to those days myself,” he responded. There was an awkward pause. He glanced to his Lieutenant who took it, rightly, as a sign and announced to the party, “Let us leave these two to confer while we tend to our mounts and later, enjoy some dinner.” The others removed themselves from the Library and as they departed, closed the double doors.

  At Navy Hall, between the door of the secretary’s office and the entrance hall, just outside that of the Port Captain, Fleet sat awaiting his interview. The door opened suddenly and a tall, fair haired navy lieutenant called back to a person within and unseen, “Thank you, Sir. I shall proceed there forthwith.”

  The voice had not changed. He seemed taller and leaner, but indeed, it was Fleet’s former First Officer, Owen Dunlap. Lieutenant Fleet was so taken aback he shrunk from view, turned, lowered his head and tried to regain his composure. It had simply never occurred to him he would, some six years later, meet a former Hope. Certainly not here, at Navy Hall. Certainly not Dunlap, who, at the time last seen, was mere Provincial Marine, not Royal Navy. Yet there he was, in the uniform only navy was entitled to don, observing proper courtesies among oth
er officers. Dunlap turned the opposite way, to Fleet’s relief, and strode quickly out of the foyer.

  Dunlap, excited by the prospect of that ordered of him by the Port Captain, was intensely distracted, seeing little but the course and distance to his immediate and near destination. His career had just taken still another remarkable twist.

  Called to England in the Spring of 1806, ostensibly for his testimony before a Court’s Martial for the loss of Hope, he was inexplicably never called as a witness, but instead was offered a commission as Lieutenant in the Royal Navy. Later that summer he was ordered back to the North American Station and, to his satisfaction, within a year found himself in the northern reaches of Lakes Huron, Michigan and Superior. He assisted in protecting the Northwest Company’s assets and operations at St. Joseph’s Island and gradually came to learn a great deal about the native tribes in the Upper Lakes.

  Now, with the prospect of further progress, he was much too distracted to note the figure of Fleet in the hallway before passing beyond.

  The Port Captain, however, stepped into the hall in time to observe Fleet still gawking at Dunlap as he quickly strode away. “So, Lieutenant. My secretary seems to have abandoned his station for the moment, but please come in.” He turned, walked back through the outer office and dropped a note on the secretary’s desk, which he had intended for Dunlap, but which he had forgotten to deliver before Dunlap set off.

  Fleet followed and as yet had not uttered a word. Finally, gaining his composure, he offered “Sir, Lieutenant James Fleet, reporting as ordered.”

  It was a clumsy beginning. He was still trailing the Captain into his office and thus the orders he referenced and held out could not even be seen. The Captain sighed, kept walking. Finally, as he wheeled around a large, disorganized desk and sank into his chair, he looked up at Fleet before him and offered, “There now, why don’t we begin again, Mr. Fleet. Present me your orders.” The Captain seemed in an affable mood, almost amused, much to Fleet’s embarrassment.

  The Captain read Fleet’s orders and commented dryly, “Well, you certainly are in Kingston. Now what?”

  Fleet appeared momentarily confused, then startled, as he recalled the envelope. He produced it instantly, informing the Captain that he had been instructed to deliver the envelope upon his arrival. The Captain nodded and his smirk seemed to say he was just told that which he already well knew. The Captain tore open the seal, read the contents while Fleet stood before the desk. The contents read like a resume, a referral of qualifications for Fleet:

  To the Captain of His Majesty’s Naval Establishment on Lake Ontario at Kingston: Greetings. I am pleased to present and offer Lieutenant James Fleet, Royal Navy, possessing both experience on the Lakes and with the storehouses and chandleries of Plymouth, most recently having served as second Lieutenant aboard H.M. Brig Triton.

  It appeared Fleet was a gift to the Naval Establishment of Kingston.

  The Captain was confounded. He even murmured, “Very odd, indeed.” He suspected Fleet was deliberately sent on a fool’s errand and could only wonder as to the cause and his deficiencies. Needing some time to determine where to best use one in whom no trust could as yet be invested, the Captain feigned deep thought and suggested, “Lieutenant, if you please, have a seat in the hall and I will consider your orders and deliver them to you shortly.”

  Again, as usual, Fleet could only respond, “Yes Sir.”

  As Fleet resumed his watch over the foyer, a Lieutenant approached from down the hall, entered the same office Fleet had just departed and returned moments later. He introduced himself as Secretary to the Captain, Port of Kingston and handed Fleet a piece of parchment signed by the Port Captain he had just that moment found on his desk. “The Captain apparently left his orders on my desk for me to deliver you.”

  Fleet thanked him and left the hall, relieved at the fresh air, although it was still hot, and read the orders while still on the steps of Navy Hall. “Proceed to Government House and introduce yourself to Colonel A. H. Pye, offering your services as he shall require.” As usual, thought Fleet; more runaround without so much as a meal. He headed for the mess. Government House could wait.

  Within Government House, Colonel Pye began, “Commodore, I have had the good fortune last week to attend Major General Brock in Montreal. He shared with me some thoughts on our strategy for defense should hostilities spread.” Pye was nearly whispering, not so much from a sense of insecurity but from urgency, and it was clear the meeting with General Brock had impressed him mightily.

  The Commodore nodded, leaned forward in encouragement for Pye to continue. He knew General Brock was in command of all His Majesty’s forces on the Lakes and there were few men on the continent held in as high esteem by the Commodore as Brock.

  “He has as yet committed nothing to writing and is gathering the opinions of those he thinks matters,” Pye continued. “He has instructed me to consult with you, Commodore. As your being the former Naval Superintendent, member of the Executive Council and Legislative Council, temporary Governor and administrator of Upper Canada and former Deputy Superintendent of Indian Affairs, General Brock specifically instructed me to extend his compliments, remind you of your service to the Crown as regards the Northwest Territory and respectfully requests your thoughts on such topics.”

  “You flatter me, certainly. But of course I will offer my thoughts and wish it could be more.”

  “General Brock must assume hostilities will spread. He regrets the reality that many in the United States Congress look longingly north, and that English subjects in Canada number little more than a tenth those living in the Colonies and Territories.”

  The Commodore asked, as a reproach, “You mean, Colonel, do you not, the States and their Territories?”

  “Well, yes, of course…”

  “Still, I am aware of those hawks who would like to see us absorbed into a ‘democratic union’, the Commadore conceded. “But please understand, England plays into their hands with these policies of impressment and interference with free trade. Why must we so antagonize the situation?”

  The Colonel looked surprised and disappointed. The Commodore continued, “You see, I am just old enough to appreciate, objectively, the grievances and ill intent on both sides of any given border. I realize, of course, General Brock does not solicit my thoughts on how to defuse, but rather defend, am I right?”

  The Colonel brightened a bit. “That is correct.”

  “Then let us be about it. As I stated before, I am concerned and have given much thought to supply routes. I also have suggestions as to how to ally with certain native tribes. First though, tell me, as it will impact my advice, how does General Brock see the defense?”

  “Well, Commodore, picture a tree, if you will…” The Colonel conveyed what General Brock had explained in Montreal: that the lifeblood of any tree was its trunk. Sever the trunk and the branches would wither and the entire tree would die. Save and protect the trunk and the loss of some branches would not, certainly, have the same direct effect. “So you see, Commodore,” he concluded now, “the trunk is the St. Lawrence River; the branches the Northwest Territory.”

  The Commodore nodded, even while standing at the open window considering a massive oak. “As you have so well explained, our forces will concentrate upon holding the St. Lawrence River, not only the trunk, but also a formidable natural boundary and obstacle in its own right.” The Colonel nodded. The Commodore asked, “So what defense, if any, for the branches?”

  “That is precisely where we welcome your input.”

  Both men heard the knock on the front door and a moment later the servant explaining that Commodore Grant was engaged and asking that a certain Lieutenant wait. Then Atticus interrupted thereafter and explained that Lieutenant Dunlap was recommended to the Commodore by the Port Captain. The Commodore asked, “From where has this Dunlap come?”

  Atticus replied, “He mentioned Green Bay and Sault St. Marie, assisting the Northwest Company.”
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  The Commodore smiled. “Tell him it will not be long.”

  Colonel Pye looked curiously at the Commodore, wondering what business could interrupt their discussions.

  The Commodore explained, “I dined last evening with some Naval Officers, including our Port Captain, and held forth on my views on the importance of our relations with the native tribes. He must have actually been listening.” The Commodore poured another glass of wine before continuing.

  “You see, Colonel, one of my two chief concerns is really an opportunity, provided we recognize it. Outnumbered as we are, out here among ‘the branches,’ judicious alliances between His Majesty’s forces and the natives will go far, I think, in forestalling our premature harvest. This Lieutenant may bring us more current information.”

  The Colonel nodded, “By all means, let us hear of what news in the North.”

  Dunlap was received warmly, interviewed at length of his impressions of the Northwest Company, their relations with the Natives, their vulnerability on the Upper Lakes, the growing number of American vessels, and of a particularly difficult Scotch loyalist in Green Bay whose hostility to American interests may prove opportune.

  Noting the growing number of vessels flying the stars and stripes, the Commodore concurred, “I myself took passage from Detroit to Niagara aboard an American merchant schooner, Salina, with a Daniel Dobbins both owner and Master. A thoroughly capable chap. They are finding many cargoes and he reported development is brisk.”

  “Aye, Sir, I have heard of Salina. She makes it as far north as Mackinaw, so I am told,” Dunlap returned.

  “Tell me, Dunlap,” inquired the Colonel, “How did you make it around the rapids at the Sault?”