by James Spurr
As a result of newspaper accounts of the Lewis and Clark expedition, enthralling Americans since 1805 with wanderlust, the settlement of those lands by United States citizens was just beginning in earnest. The Confederation, if it held, could seriously retard any westward expansion.
The Commodore replied, “I assume you have then heard of Tippacanoe.”
Dunlap confirmed, “I suspect word traveled among the native nations more swiftly even than our own European press.”
“What is made of it among the tribes? It has been reported by Americans and English alike as a serious blow to, if not the death knell of, the Confederation.”
“Governor Harrison did well to discredit the power of the Prophet and strike against Tecumseth’s vision, to be sure. I understand Tecumseth was not even in the Indiana Territory, but was south, perhaps as far as Georgia, encouraging the Cree. I have heard rumors he is now nearby, having rushed home upon hearing the news. He was angry with his brother for letting matters come to violence in his absence. I suspect Tecumseth is too shrewd to have ever allowed battle at any one site without employing the coordinated power of all of his allies. Nonetheless, some tribes have disavowed Tecumseth’s leadership and vow not to follow his direction since the defeat.”
The Commodore pulled now weeks old newspaper accounts from under some books and offered them to Dunlap. Dunlap thanked the Commadore and scanned the papers, intending to peruse all in depth in the morning. In the few moments of silence, Dunlap noted some of the leads under bold headlines:
In early November, Governor Benjamin Harrison of the Indiana Territory with the support of President Madison and federal troops, combined with militia, proceeded to camp near Prophetown and dislodged a large and growing force of natives who for some months had been threatening war throughout the Northwest.
Dunlap knew the rest. Harrison’s camp was attacked before dawn, but Harrison had prepared well and had taken precautions. The natives, though assured by the Prophet of protection by the Great Spirit, in fact fell to Kentucky rifles, dragoons and militia muskets as would any other men, however brave.
Daybreak allowed the superior firepower and organization of Harrison’s combined forces, including cavalry, to nearly destroy the native town, scattering the natives and severely damaging the reputations of their leaders. While some tribes pledged loyalty, others abandoned the vision. As Dunlap thawed and the Commodore stoked the fire, not one person throughout the Northwest, native or European, knew if the Confederation was destroyed or had merely been dealt a setback.
Dunlap admitted, “Our agents amid the wilderness have for some time now worked behind the scenes with various tribes to frustrate American expansion. While our relations are very good, I fear the natives will now do little in a coordinated fashion without His Majesty’s direct involvement.”
The Commodore nodded, “I suspect that is true.” There followed an uncomfortable silence. While the Commodore had last August in Kingston revealed his belief that the natives were very important to the defense of the Crown, should war erupt, both were aware it was Dunlap’s mission to foster that cooperation with, and encouragement of, the native tribes. Tippacanoe made Dunlap’s mission more difficult. British leadership was now near essential, given the early blow dealt by Harrison to native unity.
Dunlap offered somewhat hesitantly, “If Tecumseth winters at Malden, he will seek from us more direct assurances.” After still more silence, he asked, “Commodore, knowing you are not my superior in these matters, pray tell, any suggestions?”
The Commodore stared into the fire, considered the fair question from a promising officer now in a quandary between the limits of his orders and events unfolding more quickly then either could well manage. Amid the crackle, smoke and luminous coals, he imagined Tecumseth pressing Fort Malden’s commanding officer. In the absence of Colonel Pye and General Brock and not having issued Dunlap his orders, the Commodore staked his experience in the military and government upon his counsel.
“Owen,” using Dunlap’s first name to emphasize the unofficial nature of their conversation and of his proffered advice, “while it would certainly be tempting to give assurances our native allies need to hear, now more than ever, do not, I implore you, exceed your orders. England must assure native allies only of our friendship and support, not of our leadership in planning and commencing any conflict.”
The Commodore looked at Dunlap, who appeared on that frigid night more a wilderness scout than a naval officer. The Commodore well understood Dunlap had formed relationships with natives he truly respected and desired to assist. The Commodore continued in an effort to ease the frustration apparent on Dunlap’s face. “The Crown desires peace with the United States however so certain she may have become of the inevitability of war. England is stretched thin across the globe. While you may feel disingenuous, promising support and encouraging action while able to take none ourselves, do not go so far as to encourage violence.”
Dunlap observed rather coldly, “I have rarely seen orders demanding a finer line; indeed a line so fine as nearly impossible to distinguish while discussing friendship around the fire in a wigwam.
The Commodore nodded, “Perhaps this will help: encourage preparation in all respects. Make clear we shall stand with them, together, should war come, but do not advocate violence. England will not offer the same unless the United States acts first.”
Dunlap nodded. “I will deliver that message clearly and often, but truly, I do not know if such subtle rules for engaging a common enemy mean anything at all to our native allies. I fear they may not.”
The Commodore knew enough about native tribes from his days as Commissioner of Indian Affairs years ago to know Dunlap was right.
Fleet ordered LaRoux to proceed ahead of him on the short trek back to his horse still tied at the outlet of Portage Creek and Lake Erie. Along the way LaRoux asked why Fleet had requested that he bring a lantern. Fleet responded, “How else, LaRoux, are we to take your written statement?” Fleet failed to mention the other reasons. The lantern had identified LaRoux to Fleet, distinguishing him from anyone else who may be about. It had also revealed him to Fleet from a distance, while at the same time worsened LaRoux’s night vision. Fleet, at least this night, was both sober and cautious.
Arriving at his mount, Fleet took a small, capped well of ink, quill pens, one of several pieces of parchment, and a flat, thin board from his saddlebags. He removed his gloves, motioned for LaRoux to seat himself on the smooth, clean fallen tree trunk and informed him to take his ease. He seated himself near ten feet distant along the same tree trunk, straddling the trunk and facing LaRoux. He removed a naval issue pistol from under his boatcloak, placed it at halfcock and set it carefully on the trunk between his legs, muzzle facing LaRoux.
LaRoux judged the distance between them, considered the barrel in alignment with his torso, swallowed and looked up at Fleet, backlit somewhat by the lantern hung on a sapling branch just behind his left shoulder. Fleet suggested, “Let us begin.”
Fleet dipped the quill in the small well of ink and scratched across the top of the parchment, 17 December, 1811, near Fort Malden. “Your Christian name?”
“Jean,” replied LaRoux. He was most uncomfortable, having never had his words in any manner preserved, let alone those admitting what he suspected may be a capital crime.
Fleet took a moment for the preamble. Being first duly cautioned and sworn, fully capable and under no compulsion, I, Jean LaRoux, do offer the following as my testimony:
“All right, LaRoux, briefly explain these arms sales. When did they occur, how were you contacted and whom did you meet?”
“I do not know the individual dates, Mr. Fleet, but I received the first note the third week of August, with the exchange within a week.”
“And the other two?” prompted Fleet.
“The second was mid September, with the third later in October. Each exchange was within a week of receiving notes after meeting with an unknown person w
ho provided all direction as to the details.”
“What did the notes instruct?”
“The notes alluded to an opportunity to earn a commission for attending to the disposal of goods. The notes did not mention or list arms. The notes only assured a sufficient opportunity for inspection of the goods upon the exchange.”
Fleet revealed, “I am already aware you did not yourself acquire the arms which is why you are not the target of this inquiry. Tell me, who did?”
LaRoux relaxed a bit, believing what Fleet revealed as making perfect sense. “I do not know, but I arranged for a ship, an American merchant sloop, to pick up the arms at convenient locations near the shore. Those on board provided the coin. I located the cache of arms hidden nearby, observed the loading, removed my agreed commission from the coin I was given and buried the balance where I had found the arms. I can only assume the coin was recovered soon thereafter, well out of my view.”
LaRoux briefly described the arms in each shipment to the extent he could recall. The interview was slowed as a result of Fleet’s recording. The severe cold drove deep into their joints, now more vulnerable as a result of their physical inactivity. Gradually, the wind had increased and was now whistling through the tree tops and stirring small waves on Portage Creek. They lapped over the sand bar lying perpendicular to the creek’s outlet to Lake Erie. Their mutual discomfort was increasing as they sat exposed and inert on the polished tree trunk. Finally Fleet seemed pleased with what he recorded. He read back the statement, word for word, attempting to build LaRoux’s trust in his role as scrivener.
LaRoux confirmed the facts were fairly recorded. Fleet created a signature block for LaRoux, with his own signature as a witness adjacent to LarRoux’s at the extreme bottom of the single page. LaRoux was cold, stiff, apprehensive and entirely eager for this altogether disappointing evening to come to a close. He therefore made no issue of what Fleet had omitted, or of the curious fact that the signature block was located well below the last line of text.
LaRoux took the quill from Fleet, dipped it into the ink with fingers well stiffened. While squinting in the dim lantern light, he with great care and obvious unfamiliarity with the written word signed his name, hoping to please the King’s man with a pistol close at hand.
Dunlap enthralled the Commodore with the details of his voyages. Utilizing the Great Lakes and navigable rivers, Dunlap had logged more than 1200 miles in just four months while spending significant time among four native tribes, a Scottish fur trader in Green Bay, and his own comrades at St. Joseph Island. He had formed impressions of the American settlements and states of readiness at both Forts Dearborn and, after trecking overland across the entire width of the southern Michigan Territory, Detroit.
“So, what do you make of Fort Dearborn?” the Commodore asked at one juncture.
The Pottawatami are yet with Tecumseth, I would wager, while I am not sure the Miami ever were, really. Still, the most prominent American merchant, Mr. Kinzie, may be doing more for us than any of the King’s loyal subjects!”
“Whatever do you mean?”
“He sells liquor to the natives, most liberally. While that makes him popular, it creates a dangerous mix which I believe he will come to regret. Indeed, our own agents foster bitter resentment for the Americans among the natives precisely because most will not sell them liquor. This Kinzie is a rare friend, indeed, even if he is utterly unaware.”
“And your Scot, how does he fit into the mix?”
“Mr. Dickson, stubborn and volatile, has been resentful of and carries a grudge against the Americans at Mackinaw, something, I believe, to do with what frankly sounds as legitimate taxes.” He chuckled. “I suspect he simply wishes the world had not changed and the Union Jack still flew over the straits! It galls him that the nearest major trading center has now been turned over to the Americans. He may prove quite useful as an agitator and seems to have some influence with the natives.”
The Commodore nodded and smiled, recalling the same regret, to a lesser extent, which he himself felt when in 1796 Britain finally withdrew to the borders agreed upon in resolving the Colonial rebellion.
“And at Detroit?”
“Well, Commodore, you may know far better than I, here, just a few miles downriver.”
“Fortunately, this Isle isolates me to a great extent. We are now nearly self-sufficient and most of our outings are by boat to the east to Amherstberg. Indeed, tomorrow, we shall send you across to Fort Malden by boat. That ice you crossed in the western channel is not yet so thick. We will have open water in the eastern channel for some weeks yet.”
“Thank you. I had hoped to impose upon you in precisely that manner. I will draft my report, post it to Montreal and winter at Malden, hopefully with Tecumseth. As for Detroit, the Wyandotte and Kickapoo seem firmly under Tecumseth’s influence. They view Tippacanoe as a setback and I believe will follow his lead.”
Dunlap hesitated, but seeing the Commodore noticed, offered before he could request, “As I had hoped, it appears the Crown has yet some very good friends in Detroit.”
The Commodore raised an eyebrow, encouraging Dunlap to continue.
“It appears some in Detroit recall our rule favorably, if not in the Northwest, then elsewhere in the Colonies or on the continent. Colonel Pye offered me names of those who may be sympathizers, if not spies, before I left Kingston. I have been having some fair success, even after all these years, of establishing contact. Two are in Detroit, one at Mackinaw and the last found his way to Fort Dearborn. One of the two in Detroit, the more helpful despite his age, favored us with information as long ago as the Colonial rebellion!”
“Really? The Rebellion?” The Commodore exclaimed, “So many years ago!”
“Aye, proving only that some people never change,” mused Dunlap.
The two sat in silence for a time, searching their weary minds for topics yet considered urgent, despite the late hour. Dunlap felt there was something more the Commadore wished to address. Finally, apparently assuring himself he could trust Dunlap to both tell the truth and keep his inquiry discreet, the Commodore said, “Owen, I wish to discuss with you, confidentially should you wish, Lieutenant Fleet.”
Dunlap was surprised but made no objection. The Commodore continued, “I sensed in Kingston some tension between you two, but cannot for the life of me fathom why. I was myself at the moment trying to recollect what I knew of the man. Did my instincts fail me?”
Dunlap smiled, once again amazed by the Commodore’s perception, to say nothing of memory, addressing a concern stemming from a conversation more than four months before. “No sir. Your instincts are as good as gold. I served with Lieutenant Fleet on Hope. He was Master Commandant and I was his First. Hope was—”
“Wrecked in Northern Lake Huron,” the Commodore interjected, “amid suspicions of inebriation.”
Dunlap stared off into the distance and nodded.
The Commodore continued, “And a man was lost?”
Dunlap clarified, “Sullivan drowned, most certainly. Most do not recall that the Sailing Master is thought to have run and a native female passenger went missing.”
“Do you trust Fleet?” the Commodore asked.
Dunlap waited some seconds, knew he could be candid with the Commodore and replied, “I did not then. I do not now. I never will.”
The two sat, yet again, for some time, in silence.
Fleet gestured with the pistol, now in his right hand, and LaRoux stood. The parchment was rolled and held in his left. “I have just one more question, LaRoux. Which ship did you engage for transporting the arms?”
“The only ship that replied to my inquiries, Mr. Fleet; an American merchant sloop, maybe 50 tonnes.”
“Her name?”
LaRoux was relaxed and cooperative. “Friends Good Will.”
Thinking perhaps more specifics might prove valuable in the future, as it had always proved in the past, Fleet asked, “And her Master?”
“I do not
know, Lieutenant. We… well… made no formal introductions, you understand.” LaRoux shrugged.
Fleet nodded. “If you please, gather the ink, quill, and writing board and stow it all in my saddlebag. The quicker we depart, the quicker we warm.”
LaRoux nodded, turned away from Fleet, raised the saddle bag flap, reached up and slid the board in from the top of the pouch. The task required he raise both his arms.
Fleet lowered the lantern from the sapling limb and placed it heavily into the snow just behind the fallen tree trunk, largely blocking the light. He stood, slipped the parchment into the interior pocket of his cloak with his left hand. The pistol, released from half-cock, he slid inside his waist sash. He was no more than three feet from LarRoux, facing his back, and as he stowed his pistol he drew his dirk. He reached his left arm around the front of LaRoux’s neck pulling him back away from the horse and brought the dirk forward through the middle of LaRoux’s back.
LaRoux could only gasp, half choked by Fleet’s forearm wrapped around his neck. Fleet cringed as the blade of the dirk scraped and cut against what he could only guess was LaRoux’s spine. As he thrust it all the way in, encountering more bone and resistance than he had imagined, LaRoux’s legs went limp and his arms flailed. Fleet leveraged down on the dirk’s handle, forcing the blade to rise, then jerked the handle of the dirk upward. This violent motion brought the brief struggle, no more than a couple of seconds, to a gruesome end. Fleet released his arm around LaRoux’s neck, stepped back and pulled out his dirk as LaRoux’s body slumped and fell.