War 1812

by Michael Aye

  “I see,” the colonel said. “There’s a small creek not a mile back the way we came. We will go back to it and wait for the general,” Colonel Woods said, giving orders to Gesslin. “From that point to the British line is less than… three miles… wouldn’t you say, Captain Hampton?”

  “There about,” Hampton replied. Colonel Woods, Hampton, and a sergeant had ridden out last evening to meet up with other spies who were keeping a close eye on the British army. They were now on their way back to report their findings to General Harrison.

  Reaching the creek, the horses were watered, and men rested on the creek bank, holding the reins to their mounts. Not trusting to chance, Gesslin deployed several guards. Soon, gunfire could be heard, but it didn’t have the back and forth that was usual in a battle. Nor were there any other sounds that would be associated with a fight.

  Seeing Jonah’s look, Gesslin answered the unasked question. “Colonel Johnson is firing shots around the horse’s heads. He’s getting them used to the noise so they won’t spook during battle. The colonel heard of a general who was on a fox hunt once. He had this beautiful jumper, but when they blew the horns for the hunt to begin, that blame horse reared up and dumped his master right in a pile of fresh horse dung. Said neither the general nor the horse was fit to hunt. Colonel Johnson is ready to hunt Redcoats, and he wants his horses just as ready.”

  Trying not to laugh, Colonel Woods said, “You don’t expect me to believe that tale do you, Captain Gesslin?”

  “Well sir,” Gesslin said, pausing as if pondering his next words. Finally, he said, “It’s between you and Colonel Johnson whether you believe the story or not. However, I suspect if you were to ask his father-in-law, you better have a fast horse ready.”

  “No, Captain, I’ll take your word for it.”

  Once the colonel had ambled off, Jonah sidled up to Gesslin and said, “I didn’t know Colonel Richard Mentor Johnson had a wife or family.”

  Gesslin looked straight at Jonah and replied, “He doesn’t.”

  “You sod,” Jonah said, laughing. “Does Hampton know?”

  “Course he does. You want to make a bet on if Woods will ask Johnson?”

  “No, I don’t believe I’ll take that bet.”

  Seeing Hicks walk up, Gesslin acknowledged the man. “Rest of the outfit is coming, sir.”

  “Thank you, Hicks. Now let’s see what our masters have up their sleeves, Mr. Lee.” As Gesslin walked by, Jonah thumped him a good one as he fell in step behind his friend.

  Colonel Woods was laying out Proctor’s line of defense. “He has a six-pounder about here,” he was saying, “but they’ve put up no breastwork. Also, Proctor’s men are drawn up in open lines, separated from one another instead of standing close together or in ranks. Of course, we need to test their lines to see if they’ll remain the same once the fighting starts.”

  The colonel’s map was drawn up much as they were told with the river on the right, the swamp on the left, and the British in the middle.

  “But where are Tecumseh’s warriors?” Someone asked the question that was on Jonah’s mind.

  Unlike the ‘we aren’t sure’ reply that was given, Jonah was sure. The Indians would be in the swamp. He wasn’t sure what it would take to overrun the British. Probably not much if what they’d encountered the last few days was a true example. But the Indians, that would be another story. Before this day was done, there would be more American blood mixed with the Canadian soil. Would some of it be his or Moses? Only God knew.

  There would be no more postponement, no more maneuvering. Today was the day. Before the sun went down, they’d either be victorious… or possibly dead. Forlorn hope… What is that? Jonah wondered. His mind had drifted away and now they were talking of a forlorn hope.

  “A group of twenty riders or so,” the general was saying, “can charge the British, and then when the British respond, the riders can cut off the charge.”

  “Cut off the charge?” Jonah said aloud. “General, you might stop a horse but you can’t stop a cannon ball or musket ball once it’s fired.”

  “I am aware of that,” Harrison snorted.

  “Then you are just as aware that you are sending twenty men to a certain death.”

  “We have to know how Proctor’s forces will be deployed, Mr. Lee.”

  “General, with all due respect, from what we’ve seen these last few days, you can’t expect much.”

  “Dregs sir,” someone unseen had spoken.

  “They now have leadership,” General Harrison replied. “We have to know if they intend to do battle as they appear or not.”

  Angered beyond control, Jonah spoke, “Then I request permission to lead the charge, sir.”

  “Request denied.”

  “But sir!”

  “Don’t push me, Jonah,” Harrison snapped. “By God, we’ve been friends for a long time and because of that I’ve made allowances. But you will not challenge me on this. We already have our volunteers. They are ready and that puts an end to it.”

  Jonah started to speak again but felt a hand on his arm. Turning, he saw Colonel Richard Johnson and next to him, Moses. Johnson gave Jonah a firm look, motioned to the general with his eyes and then squeezed Jonah’s arm, giving another firm look.

  “My apologies, General,” Jonah finally said.

  “Think nothing of it,” Harrison replied. “Your hearts in the right place, regardless of the politics.”

  Walking away from the general’s group, Johnson whispered, “You are right, but we are too close to putting an end to it to have the general get mad and put you under house arrest.”

  “He couldn’t…,” Jonah started, but Johnson cut him off.

  “He could. It’s a long way to Washington. You’ve done a good job but don’t push it. You can’t change it and making a scene will only make matters worse. Besides that, you wouldn’t be able to live with yourself if you were kept out of the battle because you were being bull-headed. You’ve apologized, now let it go.”

  “Hell man, I’d beg and crawl if I had to.”

  “I am sure you would, Jonah,” Johnson said. “Besides, it’s a sound military strategy. No one will fault the general for his forlorn hope.”

  “I’m not thinking of fault, I was thinking of lives.”

  “What about the lives saved if the general is right, and they’ve other men deployed that we can’t see? It’s a necessary evil.”

  “You’re right,” Jonah acknowledged and then went to find Moses.

  Seeing a group of men passing a jug, Jonah knew these had to be the volunteers. Among them was William Whitley. It was said he built the first brick house in Kentucky. He had enlisted as a private at age sixty-four. William was a man who was welcomed at any campfire. He should be at home in his rocking chair, Jonah thought.

  “Jonah!” Turning, he saw that it was Moses speaking to him. “Colonel Richard Johnson has invited us to ride with the mounted rifles today. He says we are honorary Kentuckians now, and it wouldn’t be right to go into battle with any other group.”

  “I’ll be glad to ride with the colonel, but nothing says you have to. In fact, nothing says you have to go into battle at all.”

  “You are going,” Moses replied. “So I’m going.”

  “You have always been at my side,” Jonah said, trying to control his emotions. “There has never been a time when you weren’t there for me.”

  “And you for me,” Moses said, cutting off his friend’s remarks. Then before Jonah could speak, Moses continued, “The colonel has ordered his men to arm themselves with rifles, knives, and tomahawks. No swords or pistols.”

  “I see,” Jonah replied. “Well, let’s be fetching our weapons.”

  “We’ll need to check the edges as well,” Moses added.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  It was midday when twe
nty Americans mounted their horses to charge the British lines. Hands were shaken and men joked about, each knowing this may be the last ride many of them would take.

  “Well, let’s be about it,” a sergeant said, addressing the riders.

  A group of mounted rifles rode with the men of the forlorn hope to a point some three to four hundred yards from the British lines.

  Seeing the forlorn hope riders line up, Tecumseh used the distraction to cross the Thames River by a ford and made his way to the swamp where his warriors waited. In passing, he saw General Proctor and called out, “Father! Have a big heart.”

  Once at the edge of the swamp, an air of melancholy fell over the chief. He had fought many a battle and had never received much more than a scratch. However, today he would die. It did not make him sad; he was a warrior. Perhaps, it was hearing one of Proctor’s officers say it was downright murder to fight from such a vulnerable spot as Proctor had chosen.

  Looking about, Tecumseh saw the British officer. Taking a page from the Indians, he had deployed two hundred men from the forty-first regiment inside the tree line where there was plenty of cover.

  Back at the American lines, horses pawed, pranced, and whinnied. One or two tried to bite their neighbor, but the firm hands holding the reins would pull until the bit would bite into the horse’s mouth and the animal would forget about its neighbor.

  General Harrison had ridden to the front line and spoke with each of the men. When that was done, he gave a nod and the sound of charge rang out from the bugle. The pounding of horses hooves made the ground vibrate. The British had been expecting the attack, but the sound of the bugle and the thunder of charging horses scared more than one man. Several of them would have run had not their sergeants and officers been there, cursing and driving them back to their post.

  Hair raising yells filled the air as the riders galloped toward the British lines. General Proctor was behind the British line shouting encouragement.

  A British officer called out, “Down in front, all right lads, take aim, steady, steady, I say… fire.”

  The entire front line fired, sending a swarm of musket balls to meet the rushing riders. The sounds of balls plowing into flesh made a sickening thud. The riders did their job, but too well. Cries of pain filled the air as both men and horses were hit with the onslaught of lead, buzzing like a swarm of angry hornets. Riders fell from their horses and lay dead. A wounded horse tried to rise several times, and finally a shot rang out from the edge of the woods putting the animal out of its misery.

  From the American lines not a man spoke. General Harrison saw Jonah but would not make eye contact. A few of the men who survived the charge could be seen standing or trying to stand. One man was helping a friend on a horse.

  A British soldier raised his musket to fire, only to be called down by his sergeant. “As you were, Lewis.”

  Of the twenty riders who rode with the forlorn hope, fifteen were killed outright and four were wounded. Only one man survived without even a scratch. With tears running down his face, he helped his wounded comrades back to their lines. One of the fallen was the sixty-four year old, William Whitley. An eerie silence hung over the Americans for a time.

  Having discovered how Proctor had arrayed his troops, General Harrison held an officer’s call. “Colonel Johnson, form your regiment on the left flank and I will bring up the infantry and attack the British line.”

  Johnson was ecstatic and thanked General Harrison for giving his men the tougher assignment. Johnson immediately sent a lieutenant to find a way into the swamp. Meanwhile, Commodore Perry realizing the cavalry, as he called the mounted rifles, would be leading the attack, positioned himself next to Lieutenant Colonel James Johnson. Governor Shelby’s militia would support the mounted rifles as he saw fit.

  As the final preparations were being made, Johnson’s lieutenant returned and reported, “I have scouted the swamp and find it impassable.”

  When General Harrison was made aware of the situation, a look of dismay filled his face. “Very well, Colonel, pull your men back and act as a reserve.” Harrison’s demeanor stung Johnson’s pride. The general as much as said he was a coward.

  Unable to stand such a blight, intentional or not, Johnson replied with a firmness he had not used on the general previously. “General Harrison, permit me to charge the enemy, and the battle will be won in thirty minutes.”

  Harrison was again dismayed at the way Johnson had spoken to him. Angrily, he replied, “Damn them! Charge them!” The general then turned abruptly to inform Governor Shelby and the other officers that he had changed the battle plan.

  Colonel Richard Johnson made his way to tell his brother of the change when he was called by his aide. Turning, Johnson found not only his aide, but Jonah and Moses.

  “We’ve found a place to cross into the swamp, after all.”

  “Damnation,” Johnson roared. “Jonah, you’ve made my day.”

  Lieutenant Colonel James Johnson had heard the interchange. Seeing his brother and his nephews standing behind their father, Colonel Richard Johnson made a quick unauthorized decision. However, if the plan was put into effect quickly, General Harrison would not have time to countermand his order.

  “Brother,” Johnson said. “Take my place at the head of the first battalion and charge the British. I will cross the swamp and fight the Indians with the second.”

  Jonah, Moses, and the officers of both battalions stood, their mouths agape. They couldn’t help but feel proud. They all knew Richard Johnson was assigning himself the greater risk.

  James Johnson and his sons started to protest, but Richard, placing his hand on his brother’s shoulder, cut off the words. “Brother,” Richard said, motioning to James’ sons with his eyes said, “You have a family, and I have none.”

  Not trusting his emotions to speak, James swallowed and then turned, “First battalion, prepare to charge.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  It was 2:30 p.m. when the American army formed up to attack. Lieutenant James Johnson had his mounted rifles on the left, along with Governor Shelby’s division. General Harrison lined up his infantry on the right side. In the distance, behind the British line, General Proctor could be seen riding among his men, urging them to stand fast.

  The powder smoke from the muskets fired at the ‘forlorn hope’ had been swept away by a gentle breeze. With a nod from General Harrison, the bugler’s nervous lips blew the bugle. As the charge was sounded, riders kneed their mounts and horses bounded away.

  The British infantry watched the thundering riders approach. Unlike the ‘forlorn hope’ riders’ small line, this group was so big, there was little doubt that the British line would be overrun. To add to the frightening sight of a charging brigade, a yell came from the group that was taken up and repeated time and time again. “Remember the Raisin! Remember the Raisin!” Closer the charging riders came.

  “Wait… wait,” a British officer spoke to his men in a trembling voice that could not hide his anxiety. He, like several of his Grenadiers, had been at the “Battle of the River Raisin.” They had marched away before the Indians butchered the wounded prisoners, but he’d heard of the ungodly acts and knew in his heart the lack of vigilance in keeping the wounded prisoners safe would come back to haunt them.

  The honor of the battle had been lost by the atrocities of the savages. Now, they would have to answer for their injustice. Would anyone survive? Would those that survived write his parents and say Lieutenant Richard Bullock died bravely fighting for king and country?

  The sound of the bugle continued to blast. The riders were now two hundred yards away, one hundred fifty, seventy-five, and fifty. Clods of dirt were flying in the air from the horses hooves as froth flew from the mouths of the wild-eyed steeds. The screaming riders rode with reckless abandon. Today the British would pay. A Brown Bess smooth bore musket fired from the British line; a nerv
ous soldier with an itchy trigger finger.

  “Take that man’s name, Sergeant,” an officer ordered.

  A chuckle was heard down the line. “Damn, little good that will do,” another soldier said.

  “Ready,” the British officer roared out, yelling to be heard above the thundering drum of horse’s hooves. “Aim… fire!!!”

  The first volley emptied a few saddles but did nothing to slow the charging Americans. British Lieutenant Bullock found himself yelling, “Fire the cannon! Fire the bloody cannon.”

  As close packed as the riders were, it would surely disrupt the charge. Where is Proctor? Bullock wondered. He should be directing the British defense. The roar of muskets being fired was deafening as the British got off its second volley, but it did nothing to slow the onslaught of determined American riders.

  The British infantry was busy trying to reload their Brown Bess muskets when the charging riders pierced the line and then wheeled, pouring a destructive fire into the British. The infantry lost its composure and men began to break ranks and flee. A few were tied up in hand to hand combat, but by now, the second wave of the riders had surrounded the British.

  Seeing the British were beaten and further fighting would only result in useless death, Governor Isaac Shelby shouted, “Surrender! Surrender! There’s no use resisting, you are surrounded.”

  A British officer, seeing the battle was lost, threw down his sword and raised his hands. Seeing the officer surrender, the other soldiers laid down their weapons, knowing the battle was over.

  The American infantry had now rushed up on the line and began collecting weapons.

  “Where is Proctor?” General Harrison asked. His answer came from a British officer.

  “We’d like to know the same damn thing, General.”