Prelude to Glory, Vol. 9

by Ron Carter

  “Talk about what?” Margaret asked. “The war?”

  “You know? Adam came by?”

  “Adam and John. Yes. Told me all about it.” She threw both hands up. “Nonsense! Utter nonsense! Why can’t people just sit down and reason these things out?”

  Matthew avoided the question. “Caleb will be home soon. Is there anything you need? I can have the twins here whenever you need something.”

  “No, not a thing. I’m worried about Adam. Did he look a little peaked to you? Is he getting enough to eat?”

  Matthew snorted. “Mother, Adam’s strong as a bull. He’s fine. That isn’t what I want to talk about. It’s the war. It’s here. The chances are strong that this country is going to need every man it can find, and every ship, to fight the British. That might include most of us at Dunson & Weems.”

  Margaret’s face clouded. “You? At your age? Why, you’re sixty! Too old for such things!”

  “Not quite sixty, and I doubt age will matter anyway. Listen to me.”

  She used a handkerchief from her apron pocket to wipe at the perspiration on her forehead, then became still. “I’m listening.”

  “We’re going to need your help.”

  Her eyes opened wide. “Me? What can I do?”

  “Think about it. This trouble with the British didn’t start last Thursday. It started a long time ago. The Mayflower Compact. The Confederation Congress. Lexington. Saratoga. Valley Forge. Yorktown. Our Constitution. A new country. We thought it was over with England, but it wasn’t. It won’t be over with them until they understand we are a separate nation. That’s what this is all about. We have to fight them one more time to prove it. Father knows that. It has to be.”

  He watched the face that had been there for him from birth. He saw the beauty; he did not see the wrinkles or the creeping age. She worked her handkerchief with her hands for a time, face downcast, and he saw her eyes fill with silent tears at the remembrance of her John and the thirty-seven years she had yearned for him in the aching emptiness. She wiped at her eyes with her handkerchief, then raised her face to him.

  “I remember. I understand. You need me to give you my blessing and let you all go back to war. One more time. I understand.” She gazed for a moment at her hands, then said quietly, “I’ll do that.”

  Matthew left his chair and went to one knee beside hers. He wrapped his arms about her and pressed her close to him. “Thank you, Mother. Thank you.”

  He released her and stood.

  “But I’ll worry the whole time,” she declared.

  Matthew laughed. “I know you will. Bless you for it. But you’ll make it through.”

  She struggled to stand, and he helped her up.

  “I have to go now,” he said. “I’ll have the twins here in less than an hour to help you with the supper dishes and get ready for bed.”

  “No need,” she exclaimed. “I can manage.”

  “I know you can. But they’ll be here all the same.”

  Notes

  For the letter George Washington wrote in high temper to the Confederation Congress in February 1778 from the ravages of Valley Forge, chastising them for their neglect of his starving and dying army, see Leckie, George Washington’s War, pp. 433–34.

  All other characters in this chapter are fictional.

  Washington, D.C.

  Early July 1812

  CHAPTER XII

  * * *

  The President will see you now.”

  Tiny beads of perspiration glistened on the foreheads of Matthew and Billy as they rose from the upholstered chairs in the huge entry area of the Executive Mansion where they had been waiting in the dead, sweltering July midmorning heat of a mosquito-infested Washington, D.C. They both wiped their faces with handkerchiefs as they followed the quick, clicking steps of the small man in the starched black suit down the hallway, past framed paintings of men who had made history and scenes of the struggle for independence, to the large library. The little man held the door for them while they entered and slowed and stopped. Three walls of the room were lined with bookshelves stocked with orderly, organized rows of books and memorabilia. The fourth was a great window with heavy draperies and sashes and sunlight streaming through to cast a bright, misshapen rectangle on the polished floor. In the center of the room was a massive table surrounded by eight chairs with leather upholstery and brass studs. Spread on the table was a great, detailed map of the American continent, with President James Madison leaning over it, arms stiff, palms flat, as he studied the contours. At their entrance, he raised his head, and his smile was genuine as he strode to greet them.

  “Mister Dunson and Mister Weems! Welcome to my humble quarters. Or should I say my humble temporary quarters?”

  They all smiled as Matthew and Billy reached to shake the small, thin, firm hand, and Madison continued.

  “You received my letter, then?”

  “Yes, Mister President, we did.” Matthew touched the breast of his suit coat where the letter was held in the inside pocket.

  “Was it a great inconvenience for you to come? Leaving your business for several days?”

  Billy answered, smiling. “It is a blessing to be away from it for a little time.”

  Madison smiled back. “I understand. Oh, yes, I understand.”

  Again the three of them smiled, and Madison continued.

  “Your wives? Families? They are well, I hope.”

  Billy spoke. “Yes, thank you. They’re in good health. The children are growing.”

  For a split second a wistful look crossed Madison’s face. “They grow up so fast. So fast.”

  Too late Billy remembered that Madison’s marriage to Dolley had been childless. Widowed with an infant son after three years of marriage to John Todd Jr., she had married Madison, and together they had raised the boy, Payne. He had been unsettled and erratic as a youth, and a frustration to Madison, and now, as a mature man away from them and making his own way, his life remained as it had been—in turmoil.

  Billy made no answer. Madison went on, wasting no time or words.

  “I’m certain you are aware Congress declared war on Great Britain.”

  “Yes,” Matthew replied. “Two weeks ago.”

  Madison gestured to the table. “Good. I need help. Advice. And I need it from someone who has borne arms and who has no political ambitions or axes to grind.”

  He led them to the table and within seconds both men were oriented to the huge map.

  “Let me be specific,” Madison declared. “Congress is firm in its conclusion that the key to defeating the British at the earliest possible time is taking Canada.”

  He paused, and Matthew and Billy exchanged glances. Madison went on.

  “In large part I concur. Right now Canada is the source of lumber and other necessaries to keep the British navy afloat. If that source is denied them, their navy will decline rapidly and they will very abruptly lose dominance of the high seas. And when that happens, they become vulnerable, first to France, then to us. The question becomes, what is the most efficient way to take Canada?”

  He pointed to the map. “From the Atlantic on the east, to the west end of Lake Erie, travel is almost exclusively on water. Hudson’s Bay, the St. Lawrence River, Lake Ontario. Nearly fifteen hundred miles. I’m informed roads on either side are little more than wagon ruts and nearly impassable about half of the year. It follows that whoever controls that waterway controls Canada.”

  He glanced at both men, who were intently studying the map, waiting for him to continue.

  “If control of the water is the key, then I propose that we accomplish that in three ways.” He tapped the map. “Here. Montreal. At the east end of the corridor. Take Montreal, and we control all shipping, both directions.”

  He shifted his hand and pointed again. “Here. The central section of the corridor, at the west end of Lake Ontario. Take York and Fort George and Stoney Creek, and our Fort Niagara can control the Niagara River. We can stop all
that comes and goes from Lake Erie to Lake Ontario.”

  He shifted his hand once more, pointing. “Here. Detroit. The west end of the corridor, on Lake Erie. From our Fort Detroit we can cross the Detroit River and take Fort Malden and Amherstburg from the British. Once in possession of all three of these locations, we can control all traffic from the Great Lakes to the Atlantic. All of northeastern Canada.”

  He straightened and cleared his throat.

  “I propose we attack and take all three locations immediately. Take control now. If we’re successful, Canada’s commerce is paralyzed, and England is crippled. She’ll come seeking terms soon enough.”

  He straightened and faced the two men, a very small man looking up at two large ones. “Mister Dunson, you are a seasoned combat naval officer. Mister Weems, you were a lieutenant in the Continental Army. Your advice would be invaluable. What is your reaction to all this?”

  Matthew exhaled slowly. “How do you propose taking these three locations?—Montreal and Niagara and Detroit? Water or land?”

  “Almost entirely by land. We will march armies to the locations. Once they arrive, they’ll have to cross the Niagara River to take Fort George, and the St. Lawrence to take Montreal, and the Detroit River to take Fort Malden and Amherstburg. But none of those rivers are an insurmountable obstacle.”

  Matthew shook his head. “The problem isn’t the size of the rivers. The problem is that all three of those locations can be reached by gunboats—Montreal, Fort Niagara, and Detroit. The question is, who’s in control of the Great Lakes and the St. Lawrence River right now? We or they?”

  “Right now, they are.”

  “Do you have a plan to change that? Take control from them?”

  Madison frowned. “No. I asked Congress for more gunboats, but they see no need for them. In fact, they reduced what little we have up there.”

  Matthew’s voice came quiet. “What do we have up there?”

  Madison was slow in answering. “Two vessels. A small army transport named the Detroit on Lake Erie, and a navy brig named the Oneida on Lake Superior.”

  Matthew dropped his eyes for a moment. “Do you have any idea how many they have?”

  “One ship of the line, nine frigates, and twenty-seven lesser gunboats, stationed at Halifax and Newfoundland, available to the Great Lakes and the waterway. Thirty-seven vessels that are armed and available.”

  “Congress can’t see the problem?” Matthew exclaimed. “We have two ships to face thirty-seven? We can’t take control and maintain it without ships!”

  Madison nodded. “I agree. Unfortunately, it is not in my power to change it. It is in the hands of Congress, and for their own reasons, they refuse. They see this entire plan in a very simple light. They have convinced themselves that if we just go through the formalities of marching up there, the Canadians will surrender without a fight.”

  Matthew would not let go. “Congress is responsible for this plan? What committee? Who?”

  “William Eustis—secretary of war—asked the advice of two of our generals—Hull and Dearborn. General Hull insisted we needed a stronger naval force up there, but Eustis disagreed. Mister Eustis agreed with the three-pronged approach and presented the plan to Congress. With a few adjustments, they approved it.”

  For a moment Matthew stood in silence with the muscles of his jaw making tight ridges. “I don’t recall ever hearing that William Eustis has had combat experience. Has he?”

  “He was a surgeon in the Revolutionary War, and later in Shay’s Rebellion.”

  Matthew’s face clouded. “Who are you sending up there to lead the campaigns? Which officers?”

  “General William Hull is already marching there with about two thousand men he gathered in Ohio. He is under orders to cross the Detroit River, take Fort Malden and Amherstburg, and move east. Major General Henry Dearborn will command a second army that will be divided. One section will be under orders to cross the St. Lawrence far to the east of Lake Ontario and subdue Montreal, and at the same time the second section will cross the Niagara River at our Fort Niagara and take the British Fort George at the western tip of Lake Ontario, and on around to take Stoney Creek and York. Then the two armies, one under General Hull, the other under General Dearborn, will join, and we shall be in control of the entire region.”

  Billy spoke. “Did you say they are the same two generals who Eustis called on for advice?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do I remember General Hull from the war back in ’76? Wasn’t he an officer? And Dearborn?”

  “Yes. Both were officers in the Continental Army during that war.”

  Matthew interrupted. “Isn’t Hull the governor of Michigan Territory?”

  Madison nodded. “Yes. Why? Is there a problem?”

  Billy cut in. “Maybe, but not because he’s the governor. How old are those two men?”

  Madison reflected for a moment. “Sixty years, perhaps a little over. They’ve had experience commanding men in battle. Is age a concern?”

  Billy ignored the question and wiped at the perspiration on his forehead. “How is their health?”

  There was a pause before Madison spoke. “Hull has had a stroke, but he’s reported to be completely recovered. I believe Dearborn to be in good health.”

  “Have both men accepted these commands?”

  “Finally, yes. When I offered the Detroit command to Hull, he refused at first because of his view that we must have a greater naval presence up there. I then offered it to Colonel Jacob Kingsbury, but his health is failing, and he could not accept. When I went back to General Hull, he had changed his opinion about naval power. He now thinks that a strong army in Detroit will be able to defeat the British and hold the west end of the water corridor. He accepted the commission and was actually marching before Congress declared war. Dearborn accepted the position of commander of the force that is to take Montreal and the Niagara area. Why? What are you seeing that I am not?”

  Billy spoke slowly. “Age. Old men to plan wars, young men to fight them. Age brings experience, and experience makes men cautious. All too often there is no place in battle for caution. Officers have to take chances. Make decisions almost instantly. They don’t have the time to reflect. To be cautious. I see a strong probability of problems.” Billy abruptly changed direction. “Who is the secretary of the navy right now?”

  “Paul Hamilton.”

  Billy reflected for a few moments. “Haven’t I heard things about him? He has a weakness for strong drink? Undependable?”

  “Both. Regrettably. And there’s little I can do about it.”

  Billy went on. “If this plan is put in motion, you’re going to need a clear mind that you can depend on to make it work.”

  Madison’s face dropped. “I could not agree more, but I repeat: There is nothing I can do about it. Anything else?”

  Billy pointed. “Yes. I don’t recall a road from Indiana to Detroit. Is there one?”

  “No. Hull is building a road as he moves north.”

  Billy made calculations from the map. “Two hundred fifty miles?”

  “Approximately.”

  Billy asked, “If Hull gets to Detroit, and the British cut that road and trap him, how does he get out, or how does a force get up to relieve him?”

  “He’ll have to make his own way out.”

  Billy shook his head slowly. “With Tecumseh’s Indians up there, that could become a massacre. A tragedy.”

  “Hull knows that. He’ll be responsible to avoid it.”

  “If the British use Indians, Hull won’t know they’re there until they come jumping.” Billy shifted his hand to point. “Over here—Detroit and Niagara—the same problem. If the British cut the roads, how do those men escape, or how do we get relief up there?”

  There was defensiveness in Madison’s soft voice as he made his answer. “We will have to be certain the force we send there is large enough that they can defend themselves in any event.”

  Billy we
nt on. “Supplies?”

  “They’ll have to take sufficient with them to stand a siege.”

  Billy broke off and remained silent. Matthew picked it up.

  “Do you know who the British have in command up there?”

  “Yes. Major General Isaac Brock.”

  For a moment Matthew closed his eyes, probing his memory. “He’s a competent officer. Even brilliant.”

  “That is our estimate of him, yes.”

  “Do you intend sending more ships of the line up there?”

  “Yes. The Constitution, and the President.”

  Again Matthew reached into his mind. “Two more ships? That brings it to four of our ships facing thirty-seven of theirs? The Constitution and the President will add about eighty-eight more cannon to our forces—forty-four each—but that will still leave us about six hundred short of what the British already have up there. The odds against us are heavy.” He turned to tap the map. “How do you plan to keep the three locations in full communication? By land or water?”

  “Water, if we can. Land if not. Is it critical?”

  “It could be. The success of all this depends on taking all three locations at about the same time. If we fail at one location, we’ll be in trouble. If we fail at two locations, we’re doomed. The reason is, the British will have to split their forces to cover three locations, and when they do, they will have weakened themselves. If they have only two locations to cover, or one, they can consolidate their forces to better advantage.”

  He paused and watched Madison until he saw understanding, then went on. “The result is that our three forces must be in constant communication so that if one or two fail, the others can get braced, or get out of it altogether. You’re going to need a plan and a schedule and a secret code for communications so each will know what’s happening with the other two.”

  “That can be done.”

  Matthew straightened to his full height. “May I give you my worst fears?”

  “That’s why you’re here.”

  Matthew’s hand swept across the map. “Close to fifteen hundred miles, east to west. The enemy knows the territory better than we do because they’ve been there longer. They have Indian allies who know it in close detail. Those Indians can move through the woods eighty miles in one day and fight the next without a problem. Our forces would be lucky to cover a fourth of that.”