by James Spurr
Oliver also thought of his departure from the approaching dock two months before. He had left a free man. He was returning as a prisoner, in the company of but not upon the deck of his own ship, with every person with whom he departed just two months before now scattered, it seemed, throughout the Northwest. He felt very alone. Just before landing, as oars were raised and the tiller put over bringing the boat smoothly alongside the commercial dock, he spied Mary. She was on shore, off to the side of the military and naval activity at the foot of the dock and with her, to his surprise and relief, was Bemose.
Upon stepping on the dock, he was ordered to wait among numerous soldiers making their greeting to the boat’s crew and exchanging news. Lieutenant Dunlap was summoned off to the side by an army Captain and appeared to be making his verbal report to a Colonel. Oliver glanced downriver, noticed the same brig as had been at Mackinaw for several days after his capture which had departed a week before.
Oliver overheard the enlisted men informing the boat crew what he scarcely believed, “Hull surrendered to Brock just two days ago.” After some questions, the soldiers confirmed, “No, I swear, not a shot!” It appeared those among them were as astounded as was he. “We maneuvered for days on all fronts, making quite a scene. The natives were everywhere at once, it seemed.” The entire group was near overjoyed at the impressive victory, all without cost. “Hull lowered his flag yesterday… At first we thought it was a trick.” After more questions, “Superior forces? Certainly—for the Americans. Their numerical advantage was huge. We took 2500 prisoners and 25 ordinance!”
Oliver noticed a native standing among the British Officers. This particular man, obviously a chief, was dressed in a fine combination of impressive native garments and portions of what were usually reserved for high ranking British officers. Indeed, he had wrapped around his waist a sash normally worn only by General Officers. He recalled Dunlap mentioning one native leader in particular whom he had met last winter and impressed him greatly. The man portrayed a charisma and presence, commanding respect from those British officers with him, and Oliver would have wagered, had an opportunity presented, this man was Tecumseth.
Mary and Bemose were waiting patiently off to the side, purposefully trying to attract no attention. Oliver gave Mary reassuring glances, attempting to show her that he was alright and in good health. He was grateful they seemed to understand he was a prisoner and could not stray from his guards.
Dunlap returned to Oliver with news that all civil order was quickly restored within the walls soon after the British entered. “Colonel Pye was sent down to the dock to meet us by General Brock, who I understand is within the walls. He assures me that all property and the rights of the citizens will be respected. While I thought perhaps you would be of some use in that process, it appears as we arrived too late. I will send back the boat with instructions to retrieve me at dawn when at such time we will make our way to Amhertberg.”
Oliver asked, “And then, Lieutenant?”
Dunlap looked down and away, realizing the implications. “There are, as you can imagine, far more prisoners than we ever expected at this location and time. I have only heard speculation that all will be making their way, on various ships, to Kingston.”
Both of them realized what Dunlap was really saying. With so many, the prisoners would be kept further from the frontier. More importantly, with so many, the likelihood of a quick exchange was not particularly likely. Oliver was wholly unaware as to whether the Americans had as yet even taken a prisoner in this young war and from what he had thus far seen, he doubted it very much. He hoped with no foundation in fact perhaps the war was proceeding more favorably in the East.
Dunlap, sensing his concern again attempted to forestall his despair. “Of course, civilians would, I think, be exchanged near first…,” but his voice fell away.
Oliver interrupted with some urgency, “Lieutenant, pray, grant me this night on shore. My wife stands yonder,” he gestured, “and I beg, allow me to have you make her acquaintance.”
Dunlap made to answer, but Oliver continued almost desperately. “Just one night with my children? Where, after all, could I possibly go within an occupied, walled city? Truly, I have demonstrated my honor and you know I will respect my parole.”
Again, Dunlap appeared to form a response. Oliver, like a plaintiff child, offered still just one last reason, “My wife, Lieutenant, is with child… you know I have not seen her since June.”
Their eyes met and Dunlap relented, “Meet me here at—”
Oliver smiled and pushed his luck, “At ten o’clock, after breakfast? You are most welcome to join us.”
Dunlap sternly objected, “Sir, you take advantage, certainly. I was going to say dawn, but…,” studying the sky, he conceded, “I would guess there will be no wind until mid-morning, so I will, I swear, have you hunted down and shot if you are not standing before me at nine.”
Both of them half smiled at the harsh language, recognizing Dunlap’s attempt to retain some semblance of dominion over his prisoner in front of the boat crew.
Dunlap turned to the coxswain, “Inform the First Officer to make all secure within the squadron, retain a minimal anchor watch through the night, be ready to weigh by mid morning. All others can spend the night ashore. But I stress,” raising his voice and pointing his finger, “within the walls! Anyone caught outside the walls will be punished!”
The coxswain repeated the orders, made his obedience and proceeded with his mates back down the commercial dock to the ship’s boat.
Dunlap looked at Oliver, glanced at Mary and gestured with both hands. “Go!” shooing him off, suggesting regret and frustration with his soft heart.
Within seconds Oliver was holding Mary in his arms. Oliver wiped away some of Mary’s tears, and Bemose let them complete their embrace and assure each other of their mutal well-being and that of the children before she approached. Mary asked, “Oliver, however did you get them to release you?”
Oliver’s expression changed as he realized Mary had misunderstood their reunion. “My dear, I am yet a prisoner and will depart tomorrow morning. I convinced him to allow us this night.” Mary’s look was a mixture of profound disappointment and thanks for the precious moments they had.
“Still,” she persisted, “however did he allow that, if you are still a prisoner?”
“Confess for me, will you my dear, to Father DuPuis? I told him you were with child.” Oliver and Mary desired a large family and with three children were already well on their way. But with his recent voyage and the outbreak of war, he feared it would interrupt their plans and it weighed on his mind heavily down-bound from Mackinaw.
Mary looked up at him, searched deep in his eyes, clenched the lapels of his coat and whispered, “We have one night. Whatever would we, come morning, need to confess?”
Oliver nodded. She took his hand and began to lead him home as Bemose drew along his other side. Oliver, aware of the urgent need to convey as much information as possible, offered, “Thank God you are safe, as I trust William is as well. Please, get word to him. We effected James’ escape from the upper St. Clair River and he swam to Canada. If I had to guess, he is making his way to join the Navy.”
Both women were surprised, not so much as to James’ plan but that Oliver participated in the escape. While Mary indicated concern, Oliver sensed from Bemose the hint of new found respect in her eyes.
Bemose offered, “William is closer than you think, of course waiting to see if he can assist James, who we assumed would be with you.”
They walked inside the gate and past some British guards. Mary added before Oliver could ask, “I do not know where, Oliver. I have not seen William but Bemose has him outside the walls with those she trusts; mostly hidden, I gather.”
Oliver looked at Bemose, nodding his appreciation. Bemose continued, “William has asked me to tell you the documents they search for are hidden behind the orb of the sternboard, which Samuel crafted as easily removable.”<
br />
Oliver stopped in the middle of the street, smiling, then grew grim. “Bemose, you must tell William two things. First, Fleet is in command of Friends Good Will.” Even before she could digest this distressing news, he continued, “If the documents are found, we have all been promised the full extent of the King’s wrath.”
Bemose nodded and promised, “He will know within minutes. He also asked me to tell you, as he saw Friends Good Will well upriver this afternoon, he has a plan to recover the documents tonight.”
Mary made her greeting to British soldiers passing very close to them, crossing the street in front of the Williams’ home, effectively cautioning her husband and best friend to be discreet. Oliver understood the warning and as Mary conversed for a moment with their occupiers, Oliver’s expression suggested some explanation would be appreciated. Bemose whispered just loudly enough for Oliver to comprehend the essential ingredient in that evening’s scheduled event: “Samuel.”
They parted company, Bemose to seek out William; Oliver to spend precious time with his children and his wife.
Samuel sat on a tree trunk along the river bank adjacent to Friends Good Will lying to her anchor. The moon was high, the night was quiet.
The recently arrived sailors from the small squadron had long since given up all hope of greeting the dawn at the Pontiac House. After accounting for his granddaughters, Samuel closed the doors and shutters just before midnight, his customers well past drunk. By that hour, they had largely given over their coin together with their wits and were adjudged incapable of further celebrating British victories. Whether the sailors celebrated the fall of Detroit, which they had missed, or the fall of Mackinaw, which offered no pubs, became increasingly unclear as the night unfolded.
As a friendly (and shrewd) landlord, Samuel offered the First Officers of Salina and Erie and the Captain of Friends Good Will transportation to their ships in his canoe, pulled up on the shore at the commercial dock. Each could then spend a quiet night aboard in their respective bunks earning the pleasure of Lieutenant Dunlap come first light. All three appreciated the gesture and seemed to revel in the small distinction afforded them as between those jacks sailing ‘fore the mast, who, as a whole, displayed no real concern over gathering in blankets in the open air near the walls under the narrow overhang of ramparts or near the gates of the walled city.
As he paddled the three officers, their uniforms disheveled though their spirits high, Samuel thought of Lieutenant Fleet, demanding to be addressed as “Captain”, and the conversation they engaged in well into the evening as Samuel delivered still another mug of ale. Fleet mentioned his desperate need for documentation of supply routes used by mariners along the Lakes and apparently heard that Samuel would “view his need kindly.” Samuel did not understand what Fleet meant by that remark, nor could he believe Lieutenant Dunlap had referred him such a fool, but took him seriously enough when Fleet offered near a year’s wage for any such material fully documented.
Halfway from the shore to Salina, her First Officer and Captain Fleet quarreled about some point of seamanship having to do with currents and maneuvers under sail in light wind. Just as Fleet seemed on the verge of challenging on the ‘morrow, nearly upsetting the canoe, he appeared to pass out. The First Officer of Salina commented to his counterpart from Erie that while Fleet was an arse, he could shoot, and owned fancy pistols. He was relieved their argument had been forestalled and had not risen to that level of acrimony and hoped all would be forgotten in the morning. The other agreed, whether with Fleet as an arse, a deadly shot, or both, was lost in his incoherent mumbling. Samuel would deliver him to Erie last of the three.
Samuel considered his reunion earlier that evening with Lieutenant Dunlap, who last graced the Pontiac House briefly the previous December. He had discussed with Samuel his experiences through the Colonial Rebellion and his views as to British rule of the Northwest. Samuel was impressed while at the same time concerned, however, as to what knowledge Dunlap may hold of him, his past, and of what Dunlap was obviously implying.
That afternoon, Captain Lee requested Bemose summon Samuel to his hideout, a wigwam well away from the walls, deep into a thick, tall patch of prairie, but not far from the river. The shelter was most humble, slabs of bark tied to sapling frames. It was one of the older standing from prior seasons and not regularly occupied though occasionally used by transient natives of little status with the surrounding tribes. Samuel held William in high regard and was overjoyed to learn of his safety even as he was sad for his loss of Friends Good Will. Amid the dark shadows inside the wigwam, hiding now as a mere fugitive, William requested that Samuel recover the very documents which Fleet would later that evening seek to purchase for a most generous sum.
“Listen, my friend,” Captain Lee implored. “I need your help once again. Later this night after you close and attend to an errand for me, could you return so that I might impart the rest of my plan?”
Samuel nodded his head willingly, but William saw doubt in his eyes, whether for his lack of ideas or lack of vigor from age, William was unsure. William knew he would have to think things through for Samuel and explain them well. “I extend to you, Samuel, the high praise and deep gratitude of our nation.” William assumed that between them that nation was the United States. “Here is how the first part will all unfold…”
Samuel now sat on the trunk along the river bank in the dark having returned from a second meeting with Captain Lee. It had been more than an hour since he dumped the comatose carcass of the First Officer of Erie onto the deck at the entry port, fortunately helped by the lone sailor assigned the anchor watch, and he watched the clouds form a checkerboard cloak over the near full moon. As he sat, his heart beat fast with excitement recalling his second conversation with Captain Lee.
“Samuel, your talents with your knives and chisels are proving more valuable than our collective efforts with stolen arms,” William allowed. “Your hollow orb and our beautiful sternboard may provide for some defense of our Lakes, even yet, thanks to you.”
“I am pleased to hear the arrangement served you well, Captain. The orb was difficult to hollow, you see I had to…,” but Samuel noticed William’s impatience and his voice trailed off.
William continued with some urgency, “T’is there you will find some documents. Could you bring them to me before dawn? I have a plan as to how you can go about it, hopefully undetected…”
Now, just as William predicted, the northeast wind diminished as the clouds gathered from the southwest. As though summoned for the sole purpose William had described, the wind began to fill in from the southwest, entirely the opposite direction as earlier in the day. The new wind was too light, at first, to alter the manner in which the ships rode to their anchors amid the current of the Detroit River, but soon, the gentle breeze built and Samuel prepared to launch his canoe for the second time that night. Before shoving off, he looked upriver to the line he had earlier tied at William’s request, just below the waterline around Erie’s rudder gudgeion, while making his way back to shore in his canoe after dropping off his drink filled passengers. It was still snug round a tree and well disguised to all not knowing where to look.
Oliver held Mary close, closed his eyes and made to think long and hard how he felt that precise moment, knowing well that for some prolonged time comprising his near future, he would never again feel so loved, so comfortable and so secure. The children were asleep, the moon flooded their bedroom bathing the floor and half of the quilt in what seemed a bright, while blue, light. The quilt covered Mary and tucked round her neck as she lay on her side next to him. The same quilt covered only half his torso and he purposefully uncovered his left leg as he lay on his back, allowing for some cooling in the middle of the August night.
Mary giggled and whispered, “Josiah.”
Oliver considered and nodded, confirming, “I like that, but a bit masculine, don’t you think, for a girl?”
Mary gave him a playful jab to his side and
assured—no, more warned, “Trust me, it will be a boy.”
“How is it you are so certain?”
“I was right as rain with the others, don’t you recall?”
Oliver teased back, “Yes, but luck runs out!” He flexed, preparing for another jab. It was a good sign. Over the years, Mary would, when certain of the consequence of their love, begin selecting names near as soon as their breathing returned to normal; with Ephrium, even sooner.
Both of course were purposefully ignoring the implications of the moonlight shadows slowly moving across the room. Soon, Oliver would be bound by his parole, his signature on parchment, his honor as a man, to leave everything he lived for and endure his share of pain for those ten steps taken on the deck of Salina; steps taken for his nephew James, for his nation, for his self respect. Oliver prepared Mary for his absence of more than a year, though hoped, while unspoken, his tenure as a prisoner would not be near so long.
Oliver grew serious again, his thoughts returning to the present and the next six hours of bliss with Mary, the last of those including his children. “William continues to amaze. How could he, while in hiding, arrange for Samuel to accomplish our objectives? Truly impressive.”
Mary asked, “Whatever do you mean?”
Oliver explained, “Bemose informed me while you distracted those British soldiers outside our home that William was arranging for Samuel to recover the documents I mentioned. I will feel much more secure, for both William’s sake and mine, once those papers are once again in William’s possession.”