Sworn for Mackinaw

by James Spurr

  “Mr. Dunlap, do you know one Mr. LaRoux?”

  “I assure you, Sir, I have never met the man and I deny all that is implied as to my involvement with any sales of arms. Who has taken this statement?”

  Fleet’s eyes widened when Colonel Pye noted calmly, “You are standing next to him.”

  Dunlap looked at Fleet with intense hatred that chilled even Colonel Pye. What he expected to see, but did not, in Dunlap’s expression, was at least some degree of surprise. Fleet, on the other hand, was having difficulty maintaining his composure.

  The Colonel demanded, “Mr. Fleet, do you stand by your statement taken from Mr. LaRoux?”

  Fleet stammered, “Of course, Sir.”

  “Do you believe him credible?”

  Fleet overplayed his hand, “An honest man, Sir, I assure you, most upstanding and of solid reputation!”

  “Why, then, Mr. Fleet, would LaRoux, if so honest and upstanding, be involved in what his own statement admits as secretive and illegal? Why then, Mr. Fleet, has this LaRoux suddenly vanished? Many near Amherstberg claim to know him, while none have seen him since apparently he gave you his statement?”

  Fleet stammered, “I have no idea, Sir. I have not seen him since, but perhaps those with an interest in keeping him silent have done him in.”

  Dunlap was outraged at the implication; murder by innuendo, atop of treason by heresay. He began to forcefully object, “Colonel, Sir, I must—”

  Colonel Pye interrupted with an even more authoritative voice, “The fact is, Mr. Fleet, Commodore Grant, whose reputation in Upper Canada far exceeds that of anyone in this room and most certainly that of the mysterious LaRoux, informs me that Mr. Dunlap, as confirmed by his regular reports, would have been nowhere near the Lake Erie shoreline in the months of September, October, or November for that matter. Dunlap traveled hundreds of miles north and west in furtherance of orders which I delivered in your presence. Would that surprise you, Mr. Fleet?”

  “I could not say, Sir. I do not keep the whereabouts of—”

  The Colonel interrupted, “Do you challenge the word of Commodore Grant?”

  Fleet was silent. Dunlap determined, in light of the direction of Colonel Pye’s questions, to remain silent. Colonel Pye was frustrated. Someone had sold those arms. He was charged with investigating the statement taken by Fleet, could not find LaRoux, trusted Commodore Grant, who supported Dunlap, who in turn appeared to have been nowhere nearby.

  “Mr. Fleet, where were you in the months of September, October and November last?”

  “Sir, carrying out your orders with respect to determining supply routes useful to His Majesty’s forces.” It then dawned on Fleet, so he added, “Indeed, my discussions with Mr. LaRoux were entirely consistent with those orders; to become more familiar with clandestine trade on the Lakes.” While true, Fleet had ducked the question, offering his supposed activity, not his whereabouts.

  Colonel Pye noticed the dodge and pressed, “Supply routes along the shore of Lake Erie, is that correct?”

  Fleet only mumbled, “Yes, Sir…” His voice trailed off as he realized that his orders delivered in Kingston placed him far closer to the illicit sale of arms than Dunlap, who had, it appeared, without Fleet’s knowledge, made his way far to the north and west.

  Colonel Pye continued, “I have had no reports from you. I look forward to receiving what must, I am sure, entail substantial documentation, compiled over many months. Dunlap, by contrast, posted a report to Montreal from Green Bay and visited with the Commodore near Detroit as well.”

  Dunlap interjected, “Did you not receive my report from west of Detroit, posted in early December?”

  “I did not. You will brief me later.” Pye looked again at Fleet. “Well, Mr. Fleet, I shall have your report. Correct?”

  “Yes, Sir, of course. Although not made aware of your arrival here today, let me polish the material, you understand…”

  Colonel Pye suspected Mr. Fleet had in fact compiled little material, but played along. Extending him a few days would matter little. “Take what little time you may need, Mr. Fleet.” He then announced his decision, at least for the time being: “I will continue to consider the veracity of this statement and whether any additional corroborating evidence comes forth against you, Mr. Dunlap. I will take no action at this time. Both of you, leave me now. I assume you have heard that all King’s forces in the area will muster in just a few minutes for my address.”

  Both answered, “Yes, Sir,” wheeled around and retreated from the room and onto the porch, where if not for the presence of near the entire garrison forming in ranks, they would have resorted instantly to fisticuffs, if not an official challenge for grass before breakfast on the morrow.

  Mr. Dunlap walked away, attempting to cool his anger. He was thankful for his visit to Commodore Grant and Grant’s recollection of it on his behalf. Mr. Fleet walked away cursing how his plans had been disrupted by Dunlap’s travels and reports, but more concerned for how he was going to soon acquire documentation of his having followed those orders delivered him in Kingston near a year before; the documentation of supply routes deemed important to the defense of Upper Canada.

  Colonel Pye slipped one set of documents into his satchel and removed another, which by gravity, though not weight, constituted the main purpose for his hurried departure from Fort Malden and journey to Fort St. Joseph. Lieutenants Fleet and Dunlap could wait. The King’s men would be plenty busy in the next few weeks.

  Chapter 15

  The Northwest wind held through much of the day. It seemed to back a point, maybe two, to the west in early afternoon just as the late June sun was as far to the north as is ever seen in the latitude of the inland seas. As the sun began to slide from its zenith, it dipped gradually lower to larboard in relation to the topmast, ever nearer the jibboom. Soon the sun would be directly in the eyes of Captain Lee and the crew of Friends Good Will. The intensity of the reflection increased by the hour, the color of the water revealing far less about depth and bottom than had the sun remained overhead, or to even greater advantage, shone from astern.

  Tension was high. Captain Lee remained professional, spoke softly and guardedly with discipline and calm. He stayed on deck, having stared at the charts so intently he knew all near to memory. James was quiet and watchful; Trove typically at ease. Oliver, visibly concerned and nervous, paced the deck trying to assist, and Bemose, trusting as always in William, sat quietly for what seemed hours next to the companionway hatch. The half dozen soldiers that had boarded at Mackinaw were oblivious to the danger and were more intent on napping, amusing themselves with hand carved wood dice or writing letters that Friends Good Will would later post to various destinations than observing the drama unfolding before them.

  It was three bells in the dog watch, just after dinner. Friends Good Will, close hauled if not pinching a bit, struggled to make a westerly course, having departed Mackinaw that morning. The chart showed a reef extending far to the west, easily a third of the way across Lake Michigan, just to the south and running parallel with the course. Some at Fort Mackinaw had advised sailing far to the west, keeping a large island that would appear ahead to larboard, and round it turning south to be assured of deep water. Others, including William’s former shipmate who had sailed to Fort Dearborn some years before, assured him the reef would recede and, if timed correctly, a deep channel allowed for the turn well before reaching the island and it was possible to bear directly south through the channel keeping the island to starboard and saving nearly a full day of sailing.

  Captain Lee searched for the channel. He thought he had found it more than two hours before, but it proved premature and all too risky. Large underwater boulders were sighted from the cross trees and Friends Good Will was able to claw off the all too near reef. William spent too many moments through the afternoon haunted by the lee shore grounding years before on Hope.

  Had the wind blown from on or abaft the starboard beam, he would have felt more relax
ed, but with sunlight from ahead and for only some three hours longer, options were running short. Debating whether to anchor for the night, despite the exposed position, he called once again, “James, if you please, swing the lead to larboard… this time from the jibboom.” Their speed slowed, leeway was a concern and Captain Lee needed as much lead time as was necessary if they were required to tack. “Oliver, stand by the headsail sheets. Trove, go aloft and read the bottom, if you can, from the cross trees.”

  Captain Lee stared at the staysail and frowned. It was not as easily trimmed for close hauled as he preferred and Trove contrived for the sheet to be temporarily hauled inboard, restrained by a short length of line round the fife rail pins. It helped, but the sail delivered little power and the arrangement might slow what would need to be a swift tack. Captain Lee was just about to remind Oliver about the arrangement so he would be prepared when the lead flew forward of the jibboom in a graceful arc, splashed well ahead and, within moments, an indication of shoal water, James called, “Two Fathoms.” Friends Good Will required just more than one.

  Captain Lee called to Trove, “Report from aloft.”

  “Deck there, no sign of—”

  James called again, the result of a second sounding, “A quarter less three.”

  Captain Lee held his breath as Trove finished, “—shoaling. Dark water ahead.”

  Within two lengths, James, with near exuberance in his tone, announced, “Now more than four!”

  Captain Lee called, “James, continue now from the larboard channels.” As the bottom was appearing to recede, it required more time to retrieve the lead from each heave and rather than have the line slip under the hull in such depths it was better to retrieve from alongside.

  The next heave confirmed ample water and favorable trend. Within several more lengths, Captain Lee called, “Hands, prepare to ease sheets.” Trove assisted Oliver on the foredeck, James stood by the mainsheet, William pushed the tiller to starboard and Friends Good Will swung south. Bemose stood, stretched, turned to William and smiled.

  With the wind now free on the starboard quarter, James made off the mainsheet, and asked, “Shall we set the topsail?”

  After a stressful day sailing into unfamiliar waters and with night approaching, William replied instinctively, “I think not.” The topsail was more complicated than fore and aft sails and once set, restricted maneuverability. “I shall want all our options available this night.”

  Near dawn the wind diminished suddenly, thick fog descended like a shroud and for more than an hour the log caused only two knots along the line to pass within the time allotted from the small glass. Daylight revealed a very small, gray world. Visibility was less than a length, the sails were wet and slack, and a small roll from a left over wind and sea caused the sails to slat, line to chafe, and blocks to act as weights on pendulums. A wake was imperceptible. The watch remained silent, breakfast was postponed, and William allowed those not on watch to enjoy as much sleep as each required. Bells were suspended well past daylight.

  At the change of the watch, a sudden flurry of diffused motion brought what seemed hundreds of objects from the northern sky. Small birds descended down and around the deck, landing on any and all horizontal surfaces as the unexpected guests completed their downward spiral. It was as though the flock was as surprised to find Friends Good Will as the Ship’s Company was surprised to play host. The birds were utterly spent and, once landed, preferred to lie inert or walk so to seek shelter than to fly for any possible reason.

  William observed to Bemose, “It seems we make a most needed island.”

  “These poor creatures are exhausted. I will put out some water and food. Perhaps some bowls of grain.” The crew was curious and sympathetic, wanting to help.

  Oliver asked, “Do you think it the fog?”

  William nodded, “Aye, they are disoriented, likely unable to find a safe haven in what became a troubled sky. If the fog rolled in from the west, they well might have been flying since last evening.”

  Oliver wondered, with obvious sympathy, “I wonder how many did not find a haven?”

  As Bemose scattered bits or grain from a bowl near clusters of sparrows, most near or seeming asleep, she thought aloud, barely such that Oliver overheard, “We are no different, seeking a haven in troubled waters…”

  Four bells in the forenoon watch, however, seemed to ring up the sun, trying mightily to burn through the fog. At first, a patch of sky, well up to starboard, appeared bright. Within minutes, a luminous orb, easy on the eyes, confirmed celestial order. Soon after, visibility improved and blue skies were apparent overhead. The day was bright although shadows were soft with the fog laying from the surface to the cross trees.

  William was nervous as a cat. A deep fog hides all; a ground fog, only that what lies at the surface. Friends Good Will’s pennant, which flew from the topmast eighty feet from the waterline, when there was wind, was a not so subtle announcement of their presence. Exactly where, he was not quite sure. The pennant hung limp and symbolized for Captain Lee not an opportunity for rest, but rather warned of their exposure and vulnerability.

  “Deck there!” called Trove.

  Captain Lee looked aloft and responded, “Report.”

  “Two islands lie to the west: the larger, two miles off the beam; the smaller, four miles off the starboard bow.”

  “To the east?”

  “Dunes, lying from the nor’east to sou’west.”

  Captain Lee knew where they were from the chart drawn by one friend over pints paid for by another. He called, “Remain aloft. All further reports, in hushed tones. If called to the deck, slide down the backstay.”

  Captain Lee’s instructions revealed his concern. Oliver approached and asked, “Are we in danger?”

  “Oliver, if you please, assemble the soldiers on deck. Retrieve our musket from alongside my bunk and bring up all pistols among us. I will take two.”

  James looked at his father and with all the calm of a former Chesapeake, asked, “Clear for action?”

  The phrase, uncommon upon a merchant sloop, only underscored the urgency in William’s mind. He nodded to James and added, “Send a pistol aloft to Trove with the messenger, loaded and primed.” Then to Bemose as she ascended from the companionway hatch behind the last of their guests from Mackinaw, “Select a weapon from Oliver, my dear, if you will.”

  The Corporal, uncertain as to the cause for William’s concern, was asked to have all weapons loaded, primed and his men distributed along the rail so that a close watch was continuously maintained in all directions. Sensing from the tone this was not a time for questions, he replied, “Yes, Sir,” and began his preparations.

  In just five minutes, the soldiers and arms taken on at Mackinaw had been put to good use. The rail was manned, an armed lookout aloft and Captain Lee silently prayed for wind. Five bells brought only impatience, six, frustration and doubt among those who knew little of Captain Lee.

  Oliver and William shared observations of Mackinaw. Oliver observed, “In going over the books, I am pleased to report our cargo to Mackinaw was most profitable. We sold, delivered or earned a commission on our entire contents.”

  “Save for the chest,” remarked William.

  Reminded once again of that particular risk among what now seemed so many, Oliver asked, “I noted yesterday it was still aboard. Did you not intend to deliver it to Lieutenant Hanks?”

  “He was most encouraging and wanted me to make a copy to deliver to Captain Heald at Fort Dearborn, add to it what I can from completing this passage and deliver the original to him on our return.”

  Oliver observed, “He seemed a most capable chap; serious minded and no fool.”

  William nodded. “Yes, my impression as well. Did you know he sent one of his men to reconnoiter St. Joseph Island?”

  “I did not.”

  “Indeed. Unaware as we are of the political situation, rather than wait he determined to learn what he can. I respect that.” Will
iam, distracted, turned his head aloft while completing his compliment and took heart in the pennant now beginning to flutter, fitfully, but portending of wind in the offing. He moved closer to the tiller to be within easy reach.

  Oliver observed with some optimism, “I would entertain additional government charters. I sensed Lieutenant Hanks was impressed with Friends Good Will and perhaps—”

  A soldier stationed at the starboard shrouds called, “Native canoes approaching!”

  An arrow shot across the deck at that very moment landed harmlessly in the water. A second stuck fast in the mast as a third pierced the mainsail, just two feet above the boom, well aft.

  William called, “Hold your fire!” He observed at least four canoes approaching from the starboard beam, estimated five warriors manning each, made a mental note of at least two warriors paddling and instinctively concluded they were well outnumbered, perhaps two to one.

  Oliver, in the same second, noted the war paint on all, streaks of black and red on the faces and chests of those nearest. James took some heart in not seeing any firearms as yet wielded by any of the natives. Bemose, moving behind William stationed at the tiller, uttered but one word, “Winnebago.” William knew well of their reputation as courageous and skillful fighters.

  Two of the canoes were less than two ship lengths from Friends Good Will and the paddlers increased the stroke as all warriors shrieked and cried out so to terrorize their enemy.

  Captain Lee recognized instantly an ambiguous command structure. He had never clarified with the Corporal which of them were in command of the soldiers should a fight ensue on deck while underway. As this was no time for negotiations and rivalries and sensing they would perform better if comfortable with their own, he called, “Corporal, direct the fight!”