by Ron Carter
Eli sawed on the reins to bring his blowing mount to a sliding stop ten feet from the fallen Tecumseh. He leaped to the ground and had taken two steps when he stumbled and went to one knee, tried to rise, and toppled over onto his right side and rolled partially onto his face.
Behind him Billy heard himself scream, “Eli!” as he hauled his horse to a stop and hit the ground, running toward Eli, and his heart burst when he saw the great gout of blood on the buckskin shirt in the center of Eli’s back, and he dropped to his knees beside him and turned him and felt him limp and he cradled his head on his arm and he was muttering, “Eli, Eli, Eli,” when the blue-gray eyes opened and slowly focused. Eli swallowed and his mouth moved as if he were trying to speak and then he smiled up at Billy and relaxed and Billy felt Eli leave.
Billy sat down, still holding Eli in his arms, and he closed the vacant eyes. He gently laid his hand on the cheek and turned the head onto his chest and he began to rock back and forth with the scalding tears running, and he did not care. He did not know how long he sat holding Eli. He only knew that finally Harrison was alone by his side, his hat in his hand, silent, waiting. Billy looked up at him and wiped his eyes on his sleeve and said, “He’s gone.”
Harrison’s voice was choked. “Is there anything I can do?”
Billy shook his head. “No. I’ll take care of him.”
Harrison silently turned and signaled to his aide and escort and led them quietly away.
It was well past evening mess when Billy rapped on the door of the Mayor’s house in Moraviantown, where Harrison and his staff had established command headquarters. He was taken to the library, where Harrison stood when he entered.
Billy said, “I would like to take him home. I will need a few things. A surgeon to prepare the body. A coffin. A wagon and a team of horses and an ax and shovel.”
“When?”
“Tomorrow.”
“Where is he now?”
“Outside. Wrapped in canvas. Tied across his horse.”
“Would you like to bring him inside for the night? Here? You can stay here.”
Billy reflected for a moment. “That would be good.”
“I’ll send a detail to bring him in.”
“No, I’ll do it.”
“I’ll send for the surgeon. The coffin and wagon and team will be ready tomorrow. Anything else?”
“No. That will be enough.”
“Where are you taking him? Where is his home?”
“Ohio. But I’m taking him to Vermont. He’ll be beside his wife.”
Harrison’s eyes widened. “He was married?”
“Yes. One child. A daughter. Married to my nephew. Lost his wife over thirty years ago.”
“I’ll have the things you need ready when you want to leave.”
“Thank you.” Billy started to walk out when Harrison stopped him.
“Just a few things you should know. Tecumseh is dead. His warriors took his body. We could not catch Procter. We won today. The United States now controls the entire northwest section of the country. We turned the war in our favor. Was it worth it?”
Billy drew a deep breath. “He’d say it was.”
“You?”
Billy stared at the floor for a time before he answered.
“We won a great battle. We lost a rare man. Higher powers will have to decide if it was worth it.”
Notes
All locations identified in this chapter, such as East Sister Island, Sandwich, Bar Point, Fort Amherstburg, Dolsen’s farm, the Forks, Kings Road, McGregor’s Mill, Cornwall’s Mill, Arnold’s Mill, Moraviantown, and the scene of the pivotal battle west of Moraviantown, and all others, are historically accurate. The location of the rivers and streams, such as the Portage River, Raisin River, Detroit River, Thames River, McGregor’s Creek, and all others, are accurate. See Antal, A Wampum Denied, maps on the fly leaf, and p. 322.
Eli Stroud and Billy Weems are fictional characters; however, all other persons named in this chapter and the parts they played in the sequence of events, are real persons, and their names are accurate.
This chapter traces the fast-moving and startling events in which American general William Henry Harrison and his army of more than five thousand infantry and cavalry pursued British general Henry Procter and his much smaller British army with ten thousand Indians, from the west end of Lake Erie eastward, up the Thames River, where the Americans caught them, and the crucial battle now called the Thames Campaign, or the Battle of Moraviantown, was fought just over one mile west of Moraviantown on a parcel of land relatively clear of trees and forest, with the Backmetack Marsh on the north border. The chapter follows the route, the daily developments, and the weather patterns accurately. The rapid desertion of thousands of the starving and disillusioned Indians is accurately described, with only six hundred remaining for the battle, under the leadership of Shawnee chief Tecumseh and Ojibwa chief Oshawahnah. The capture by the Americans of the British trenching tools and most of their ammunition, from boats the British unintentionally left behind on the Thames River, is accurate. The names of all ships are accurate, except for the Margaret, which is fictional.
The battle fought at 4 pm on October 5, 1813, is accurately described, beginning with the arrival of the American troops to find the British formed in a single battle line, waiting. Harrison had planned to send his infantry against them, but when Procter suddenly moved half his men back two hundred yards to form a second line, leaving the first line much weakened, Robert and James Johnson, colonels of Harrison’s Kentucky cavalry, advised Harrison they could reach the British far quicker than the infantry. Harrison agreed. Half the Kentucky cavalry under James Johnson made their charge, shouting, “Remember the Raisin!” and decimated the British in just under three minutes, while the other half, under command of his brother Robert Johnson, charged into the Indians, who stubbornly resisted. Desha then led his infantry from the field to support Robert, as did James Johnson and some of his cavalry.
James Johnson was wounded but survived. The British, and then the Indians, broke and scattered in total defeat. Procter escaped and was not caught. Tecumseh was killed and his body removed by his warriors. Harrison instantly became a national hero, celebrated in every state in the union. It will be remembered that Harrison became the ninth president of the United States but died of pneumonia about one month after he was inaugurated.
For a complete chronological summary of the crucial events described in this chapter, see Antal, A Wampum Denied, pp. 315–53, and see particularly the diagram on page 343 showing the battle site, with the dispersement of both the British troops and Indians and the American troops.
In support, see also Hickey, The War of 1812, pp. 136–39; Stagg, Mr. Madison’s War, p. 329–30; Wills, James Madison, p. 125; Barbuto, Niagara 1814, p. 85.
Billy Weems and Eli Stroud are fictional characters.
The reader is again reminded that many less significant events occurred in the time frame and the area presented in this chapter; however, it would be impossible to include them all. Only the significant ones are presented herein.
Boston, Massachusetts
August 1814
CHAPTER XXIII
* * *
The distant rumble of thunder rolled over Boston, sweltering in the still, muggy, late-afternoon heat of mid-August, and citizens in the cobblestoned streets paused to peer west at the low line of deep purple clouds steadily moving across the neck that connected the peninsula to the mainland. They made their calculations of when the storm would engulf the town and hurried on to be certain it would not catch them unsheltered.
On the waterfront, Jeremiah Skullings walked steadily from his small insurance office on the east end of the waterfront, moving west, past Long’s Wharf, toward Fruit Street, eyes squinted against the western sun. Short, corpulent, Skullings carried his suit coat and a large brown envelope in one hand while he wiped at his round, sweated face with a handkerchief held in the other. To his left were the d
ocks, and beyond them the harbor, where he was accustomed to seeing the masts and riggings of hundreds of ships of every flag in the civilized world—coming, unloading and loading thousands of tons of freight, and going—the lifeblood of Boston town and much of the state of Massachusetts and the northeastern region of the United States. He studied the long, empty piers where only a few ships were tied, most of them with their decks deserted, their hatches sealed, their holds empty, riding high on the incoming sea swells. On the entire waterfront he saw fewer than ten ships with dockhands, stripped to the waist, sweating while they operated the arms and nets, loading or unloading the crates and barrels. The clamor and jostle and loud, raucous sounds of hundreds of dockhands of every description and language were gone. Skullings hurried on, unsettled at the quiet and the uncharacteristic inactivity of the Boston waterfront.
He angled toward the long row of buildings to his right, where offices of shipping companies and warehouse owners faced the docks, and walked through the open door with the sign above, DUNSON & WEEMS. He tossed his suit coat onto the counter, wiped at his face again, and watched the five men inside rise from their desks and walk to the counter, faces blank, waiting.
Skullings’s attitude was a mix of anger and frustration as he pushed a large envelope to Billy Weems.
“There they are. Just arrived from Philadelphia.” He shook his head. “Bad.”
Billy opened the envelope, laid the twelve-page document on the counter, and silently read the bold print at the top.
“MONTBANK INSURANCE, LTD. PHILADELPHIA, PENNA U.S.A.”
Beneath, in smaller letters: “Revised Insurance Premiums. Effective midnight 31 August 1814.”
Billy glanced at Skullings for a moment, and Skullings shook his head, apologetic, frustrated, hating it.
“I’m sorry, Billy. Nothing I could do. The board of directors in Philadelphia decides all these things. I only follow them.”
Silence held for thirty seconds while Billy scanned the heavy print at the headings of each section and the first few lines. Matthew stood behind him. On Billy’s left was Adam; on his right were John and Caleb, all standing still, silent, waiting.
Billy drew a deep breath and said quietly, “We’re in trouble.”
Matthew asked, “Up?”
“Every one of them.”
“How much?”
Billy turned pages and followed lines on the schedules with his finger as he answered.
“They won’t insure anything to do with weapons. Cannon, muskets, bayonets, gunpowder, sulphur, flints—any of it.”
Matthew shifted his feet but remained silent. Billy went on.
“Tripled the rates on just about everything made of steel or iron. Stoves, plows, nails, chains, saws, tools, needles, screws, bolts—everything.”
He moved his finger to the next page.
“Doubled the rates on flour, rice, dried fish, salt beef, sowbelly—most food items—tobacco, cotton, spices, salt. Raised rates on cloth, buttons, just about everything made of wood.”
He raised his eyes to Skullings. “Any discounts for regular customers? We’ve been with you for nine years.”
Skullings shook his head. “I asked. I told them if anyone’s earned a discount, it’s you. But their answer was no. No discounts to anyone.”
Matthew interrupted. “If those rates hold very long, we’ll have to close our doors.”
Skullings’s answer came instant, hot. “If those rates hold for ninety days, we’ll have to close the Boston office of Montbank Insurance Limited! I’ll be dismissed. Nobody can afford those rates. The Buford Insurance Company across the back bay in Charlestown? Their rates got so high they closed their office four days ago. Their central office in New York is declaring bankruptcy. There was even some talk of bankruptcy in our Philadelphia office.”
Adam broke in. “How much commercial shipping is there right now here on the east coast?”
Scullings turned to him. “Our company figures show a sixty-eight percent drop since May of this year, and it’s getting worse.” He threw up a hand. “It was Napoleon! When he surrendered to the English last April, the British had hundreds of ships and thousands of troops they’d been using in Europe to fight him. They sent most of them to put a quick end to the war here! Have you seen Chesapeake Bay? Delaware Bay? New York Harbor? Filled with British ships and soldiers.”
Adam continued. “Does your company have any estimate of how long this will go on?”
Skullings shook his head. “None. No one does.”
“Why haven’t the British shut down Boston Harbor?”
“They don’t need to. The biggest harbors are New York and Philadelphia and Baltimore, and when they closed them down, business stopped at just about every other harbor from Maine to the West Indies. They’ll get around to Boston if they think it’s necessary.”
Billy pointed out the open door. “Nine of those empty ships out there are ours. Crews are gone. Our customers can’t pay the insurance rates, and they won’t risk shipping without insurance for fear of losing it all to the British.” He tapped the twelve-page insurance schedule on the countertop. “I think this just about finishes it.”
Caleb was leaning on his elbows on the counter as he spoke to Skullings. “You sure they’re after the big shipping ports? Washington, D.C., is just south of Baltimore.”
“Yes, but there’s no commerce in Washington, D.C. Government, but no commercial value worth going after. It’s Baltimore they want. Baltimore and maybe Annapolis.”
Caleb answered, “Don’t be too sure. If they take Washington, the federal government stops. That might end the war in a hurry.”
Skullings shrugged. “Could be. I’m no expert on war. My only interest in all this is insurance, and as of right now, that’s almost gone.” He drew a great breath, and his cheeks ballooned as he exhaled. “I need to get back to my office. I’m going to have some upset shippers coming in.” He pointed at the document. “I brought this to you to give you notice as quick as I could so you’d know what to do with your customers.” He shook his head, jaw set in disgust, and picked up his coat. “I hope you understand.”
Billy said, “Thanks. Not your fault. We’ll be in touch.”
The five men stood silent in the stifling heat of the Dunson & Weems office, watching Skullings disappear east on the nearly deserted waterfront, coat in hand, wiping sweat.
Matthew broke the silence. “I can’t see a way out.”
Billy heaved a sigh. “I don’t think there is one.”
There was fear and defiance in John’s face and his voice. “We just sit here in this office and go bankrupt?”
Caleb cut in. “Who’s in command of the British down there on the Chesapeake and Delaware Bay?”
Adam answered. “An admiral named Alexander Cochrane. A second admiral named George Cockburn, and a general named Robert Ross. All competent. A little arrogant, and they all dislike Americans. Why?”
“Who’s in command of our forces?”
Again Adam answered. “Commodore Oliver Perry is near the top of the naval command. He’s outstanding. Our ground forces? Right now it’s General William Winder. I doubt he’s qualified for what he has to do. He answers to John Armstrong. Secretary of war. John Armstrong is likely the most incompetent man in Washington. He’s caught up in politics—compromised—beyond all hope. He has his yes-men in critical positions, and when you put them all together, they don’t stand a chance of defending this country. Why are you asking?”
Caleb straightened. “It looks like Dunson & Weems is going to close its doors if our military doesn’t clear the British off our coast.”
Adam replied, “I doubt John Armstrong is even aware of what’s going on. The man seems to think inspecting troops and making padded reports is the key to winning the war.”
Matthew spoke from behind Caleb. “What are you suggesting?”
Caleb shrugged. “Nothing. I was thinking about Adam up on Lake Erie. He helped Perry beat Barclay. Maybe there’
s something we could do to help him on the Chesapeake.”
Matthew shook his head. “Send Adam and the Margaret? One ship? I doubt the British would let the Margaret get past Cape Charles into the bay, and if they did, it would only be to trap her. The British have more than two hundred gunboats down there. If we armed every one of our ships and sent them in to help Perry, they wouldn’t last two days.”
Caleb turned and started back to his desk. “Just a thought.”
Matthew picked up the new schedule of insurance rates and said, “Get your chairs around my desk. There are some things that need to be said.”
Chairs scraped on the worn floor, and Matthew took his seat facing the four other men.
He pointed at the schedule of insurance premiums. “These are the insurance rates we’ll have to start quoting tomorrow. I doubt we’re going to find one customer who can pay them. I think our business will be at a standstill by this time tomorrow afternoon.” He turned to Billy. “If that’s true, how long can we keep our doors open? How much cash do we have in reserve?”
Billy pondered for several moments. “If we anchor all our ships, lay off all the crews, pay the debts we now owe, and collect our accounts receivable, we’ll have enough cash in reserve to keep the five of us and our families alive for about six months. Next February. If the British are still here, we’ll have to start selling the ships to feed our families. There will be no market for the ships in the United States. We’ll have to sell them to some foreign company. French. Dutch. Spanish. Anywhere we can, for whatever we can get.”
Matthew leaned back in his chair, eyes narrowed as he worked with Billy’s opinion. He turned to Adam and went on.
“Caleb raised a question. Is there any way we can use our ships to help win this war? Arm them? Provide crews? Tell Perry they’re available?”
Adam studied the floor for a time, then raised his head. “I don’t think so. If this were out on the open sea, or even on a lake the size of Erie, there might be a chance we could help. But this is going to be decided within the confines of the Chesapeake and the Delaware. Two narrow bodies of water. There’s no place to run, and I can promise you, we aren’t going to take on two hundred British gunboats without space to run. I can’t think of a way to help Perry. Matter of fact, we’d be a hindrance. He’d be worried the whole time about getting us killed.”