The Hunt for the North Star

by The Hunt for the North Star (retail) (epub)

  ‘Dead, sir,’ said the young lieutenant. ‘Captain MacLea commanded us during the retreat.’

  ‘MacLea!’ Vincent’s jaw dropped. ‘What the devil are you doing here?’

  ‘Escaping from the Americans,’ said MacLea. Derenzy had bandaged the wound in his arm, but it throbbed and ached every time he moved. He could feel the swelling beneath the skin that spoke of infection. His teeth were chattering, and he felt bitterly cold.

  Vincent motioned to the sentries at the gate. ‘Arrest this man and take him to the cells. See he is closely confined and does not escape.’

  ‘Hold hard, Colonel!’ protested Derenzy. ‘The Yankees set an ambush for us, but MacLea escaped and warned us. We lost a hundred men, but without MacLea we’d have been wiped out.’

  ‘That’s true, sir,’ said the lieutenant. ‘It was Captain MacLea who rallied the regiment and got us away safely.’

  Vincent frowned. MacLea watched him, waiting, feeling the fever tighten its grip and fighting down the urge to vomit.

  ‘Very well,’ Vincent said finally. ‘There will be an inquest into this… debacle, of course. But I have no choice, MacLea. There is a general order out for your arrest should you ever return to Canada.’

  He gestured again to the sentries. ‘Take him away.’

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  At Brant’s Crossing the snow had largely disappeared, save for a few muddy drifts in hollows where the sun did not reach. The air was warm with spring. Skeins of wild geese swept across the sky, followed by dense columns of on’te, the little doves that the white people called passenger pigeons. The on’te swooped through the forests looking for food and breeding grounds, and often fell into the nets the Kanien’kehaka had set for them. Cooked or smoked, the birds would provide enough food to last for weeks to come.

  Catherine Brant sat at the door of her lodge, smoking a long-stemmed pipe and watching the birds overhead with half-closed eyes. ‘Word has reached me that John MacLea has been arrested,’ she said. ‘They intend to put him before a court on charges of treason and consorting with the enemy.’

  ‘That is so,’ said Rebecca Morningstar. ‘MacLea was wounded in the fighting at Sackett’s Harbor, and by the time he reached Kingston the wound was infected, and he was suffering from fever. Once he has recovered, he will be sent to York for trial.’

  ‘You know him well, Kanahstatsi. Do you believe he betrayed his own people?’

  ‘I do not think he is capable of such a thing,’ said Rebecca. ‘He is a man of great honour. If he did work with the Americans, then he did so unwillingly and under duress.’

  Catherine Brant puffed on her pipe. ‘A man of great honour, you say. Such a man would give up his own life rather than lose his honour, would he not?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Rebecca. ‘On the other hand, there is the woman, Josephine Lafitte. MacLea loves her, and for her I think he would sacrifice everything, even his honour. She is involved in the game of spies, although how exactly I was unable to determine. But I think that if the Americans threatened her life, they could bend John MacLea to their will.’

  High in the sky, the honking of geese wove invisible patterns like music in the air.

  ‘John MacLea could be very useful to us,’ Catherine Brant said.

  Rebecca nodded. ‘John Norton respects him. So does your son. We need men like him, men we can trust. Especially now that Shawátis is dead.’

  ‘Yes. I have another mission for you, Kanahstatsi. I desire you to return to York, for two purposes. First, protect Madame Lafitte and see that no harm comes to her. Second, do your utmost to prove John MacLea’s innocence and secure his release.’

  ‘I will need assistance,’ said Rebecca. ‘Now that Shawátis is gone, we lack allies in York.’

  ‘Speak to Sekahos, the leader of the Mississaugas. He is an Ojibwe, not one of our own people, but even Ojibwes have their uses. And he owes me a favour.’

  Rebecca Morningstar knew better than to ask what that favour was. ‘It shall be done, Adonwentishon,’ she said. ‘As always, it is my honour to serve you.’

  * * *

  ‘He has arrived,’ said Charlotte Lawrence. She looked pale, her pallor a striking contrast to the black she wore. ‘They have taken him to the gaol and locked him up under guard. A crowd has gathered outside, hoping for a glimpse of him.’ She shuddered. ‘The ghouls. In their minds he is already tried and convicted. They are just waiting for the end.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Josephine. ‘They are hoping to see him hang.’

  ‘Will you go to him?’ Elizabeth Derenzy asked.

  Josephine shook her head. ‘I have already applied to see him, whenever he should arrive. I have been told he will not be allowed visitors.’

  ‘That is monstrous!’ said Elizabeth. ‘It is bad enough that they have arrested him, but to keep him in solitary confinement like an animal? It is immoral!’

  ‘What happens next?’ asked Josephine.

  ‘I spoke to Captain Derenzy,’ said Charlotte. ‘He says that on Monday, Captain MacLea will be arraigned before General Sheaffe and Mr Robinson. They will decide then whether he should face a military court martial or trial in a civilian court.’

  ‘The result will be the same, whatever happens,’ Elizabeth said. ‘Lady Lawrence is right. In the minds of the authorities and the people, Captain MacLea is already condemned.’

  Prideaux Selby, sitting dozing in an armchair beside the fire, looked up. ‘Who is Captain MacLea’s legal representative?’

  ‘He has none,’ said Josephine. ‘I have already asked every lawyer in York, and they have all refused. I pleaded with James Boydell, who was once John’s friend, but he also refused. He feels personally betrayed, he said, and he intends to give evidence for the prosecution.’

  Selby sat up, gripping his cane tightly. ‘I will not allow that fine young man to face a courtroom on his own,’ he said. ‘I was never called to the bar, but I have been a justice of the peace and I know the law. I will represent him myself.’

  ‘Father!’ said Elizabeth. ‘You must not over-exert yourself! The doctor said as much, remember?’

  ‘I don’t give a fig for the doctor,’ Selby said, rising and moving over to the writing desk. ‘Fetch the footman, daughter, and tell him to be ready to carry a message. I shall write to Robinson now, asking him when this arraignment is due to take place and informing him that I shall attend.’

  ‘Thank you, sir,’ said Josephine quietly. She rose to her feet and walked quietly out of the drawing room, into the empty morning room. Here she stood for a moment, looking out at the street and listening to the rattle of carriage wheels. The snow banks still stood like ramparts on each side of the street, but the streets themselves were bare and muddy. She could feel the tears on her face, falling steadily.

  Someone came into the room behind her. ‘Tell me if you want to be alone,’ said Charlotte Lawrence.

  How strange, Josephine thought, that the wife of John’s worst enemy should turn out to be such a comfort to me. ‘No,’ she said. ‘But I did not wish to embarrass the others by weeping in front of them.’

  ‘I wish I could tell you that all will be well,’ said Charlotte, coming forward and laying a hand on her shoulder. ‘I wish I knew how to save him.’

  The only way to save him was to find Polaris. But her efforts on that score had failed, just as John’s had failed. Alec Murray and his men had listened to every scrap of rumour in the taverns and on the street; Givins had made enquiries among all his Indian Department contacts, high and low, but they had learnt nothing.

  ‘I have only one suggestion,’ said Charlotte, ‘and it is quite a feeble one.’

  ‘I am ready to hear it, my lady.’

  ‘Oh, please don’t call me that! Hector managed to finesse himself a knighthood before he was killed, but that doesn’t mean I have to share in his dubious glory. Come to church with me tomorrow.’

  ‘You think if I pray devoutly enough my prayers will be heard?’

  �
��No,’ said Charlotte. ‘But I think the act of prayer itself might bring you solace.’

  * * *

  Oddly enough, she was right. The next day was Sunday, and Josephine and Charlotte Lawrence walked to St James’s church, which Josephine could still not enter without a remembering glance at the vestry door. The service, though different, took her back to her past, as a child in a convent orphanage in New Orleans, and the memories of happier times brought her a little peace. She lingered after the service ended, sitting in the pew with her head bowed; only once the church had emptied did she rise and leave.

  Charlotte was waiting for her outside. So, a little way off, were her watchdogs. It was young Appleby this morning, and Schmidt. Otherwise the street was empty; the other worshippers had all departed. ‘Thank you for waiting,’ said Josephine.

  ‘I’m glad to be of service,’ said Charlotte. ‘You poor thing. I cannot even begin to imagine how you are feeling. I am in love for the first time in my life, and I feel so wildly happy, and then I look at you and I am quite ashamed.’

  ‘Don’t be,’ said Josephine. ‘Enjoy your happiness while you can.’

  ‘Things will come right,’ Charlotte insisted. ‘John MacLea will be free, and you will be together. We must believe that.’

  Josephine found it within herself to smile. ‘You are fond of him too.’

  ‘I have always admired him, although I freely admit my intentions were entirely carnal. That was before I realised how deeply attached he is to you… What was your husband like? Was he very different from John?’

  ‘I have never been married,’ said Josephine. ‘My widowhood is a stratagem. It helps fend off unwanted attentions.’

  Charlotte laughed. ‘I am sure it does.’

  From the street behind came a rush of running feet. Josephine turned to see Appleby and Schmidt surrounded by four men, fighting desperately, and then more men were rushing at her and Charlotte. Some had heavy wooden shillelaghs in their hands, and she could see the gleam of knives. Gasping, she pulled her pistol out of her reticule, aimed at the leader of the gang and pulled the trigger. The flint struck the frizzen with a shower of sparks, but there was no flash of igniting powder; the pistol had misfired.

  She put up the weapon, thumbing back the hammer again, but a blow from the leader’s shillelagh knocked it out of her hand. Then the men were around them, knives raised, poised for the kill. Charlotte Lawrence stood still beside her, too petrified and shocked even to scream.

  A pistol boomed and one of the knifemen spun around, clutching at his shoulder. More running feet, and a solid mass of men slammed into their attackers, driving them backwards. Clubs thudded, knives flashed; there was a choked-off cry of agony. Then in a moment it was over. The attackers were gone, running down the street, some of them leaking blood. The new arrivals stood around them, breathing hard, and Josephine saw that they were Indians in buckskins, several with the partly shaven heads of warriors. One, she noticed, had a rosary around his neck.

  When she spoke, her voice was shaking. ‘Who are you?’

  ‘We are friends.’ Rebecca Morningstar came walking through the group, a pistol smoking in her hand. She pointed to the man with the rosary. ‘This is my friend Sekahos.’

  Appleby and Schmidt, rescued from their own attackers, were there too. Appleby had a cut hand, Schmidt a bruise on his cheek. ‘Who were those men?’ Appleby asked.

  ‘Polaris sent them,’ said Rebecca. ‘They were sent to kill Madame Lafitte, in order to punish John MacLea. You must come with me, madame. You too, Mrs Lawrence; you were a witness to this attack, and are no longer safe.’

  ‘Where are we going?’ asked Charlotte.

  ‘Pine Grove,’ said Rebecca. ‘The home of Major Givins, deep in the forest. Mr Appleby, summon the rest of your friends and join us there. You and the warriors of Sekahos must guard these ladies well.’

  * * *

  On Monday morning, MacLea was taken from his cell in York gaol, put into a closed coach with a strong escort and carried to Government House. The crowd outside the gaol jeered as the coach drove away. ‘Do not mind them,’ said Prideaux Selby, sitting beside him. ‘Their voices are no more than the lowing of cattle.’

  ‘Cattle who would quite like to see me dead,’ said MacLea. The fever he had suffered at Kingston had left him weak; he was clear-headed now, but he still felt as if a puff of strong wind would blow him over.

  ‘That is the mob for you,’ said Selby. ‘Six months ago, they sang songs in your honour; today they curse your name. Fortune’s wheel, my friend. It will turn again soon.’

  MacLea looked at him. ‘I am deeply grateful for your help. But may I ask why you have chosen to represent me?’

  ‘To see justice done, of course.’

  ‘You believe in my innocence? You alone, of all the people of York?’

  ‘Not alone,’ said Selby. ‘You have many friends, Captain MacLea. Trust in them.’

  At Government House their escort ushered them into the lieutenant governor’s office, where a few months earlier MacLea had faced down Colonel Lawrence. He had a momentary vision of the colonel’s body lying face down, abandoned, on the ice.

  Today, Major General Sheaffe sat behind the desk. He looked weary, like he had still not recovered fully from the illness that had kept him bedridden in Niagara for most of the winter. His eyelids were heavy and his face seemed hollow. He looked coldly at MacLea. ‘Why is this man not in manacles?’

  ‘We judged there was no need,’ said the officer in charge of the escort. ‘Captain MacLea has given his parole not to attempt to escape.’

  ‘And you believed him?’ said James Boydell, incredulous. He stood by the window, regarding MacLea with open anger in his face. ‘The man who has betrayed us all, professionally and personally? Do you really think you can believe a word that comes from his lips?’

  ‘Hallo, James,’ MacLea said quietly. ‘It is good to see you again.’

  ‘Shut up!’ snarled Boydell. ‘Not another word from you, you lying bastard!’

  ‘Hold hard!’ said Prideaux Selby sharply. ‘This man is innocent until proven guilty. Until that time, he has a right to speak.’

  ‘I think we all share a sense of personal betrayal, Mr Boydell,’ said John Beverley Robinson. He was seated at one of the side tables, papers spread out before him. ‘I too trusted this man. Let us stick to our task. We are here to decide how we will deal with Captain MacLea.’

  ‘For God’s sake,’ said Boydell venomously. ‘He’s guilty as sin. Take him outside now and shoot him.’

  ‘What exactly is your role here, Mr Boydell?’ Selby asked. ‘I understand General Sheaffe is Captain MacLea’s superior officer, and Mr Robinson is the chief law officer of the colony, but what about you?’

  Isn’t it obvious? thought MacLea, but he said nothing.

  ‘We invited Mr Boydell to give his views,’ said Sheaffe. ‘All the same, Mr Boydell, I think you should calm down.’

  Boydell spread his hands. ‘My apologies,’ he said curtly. ‘Sir Roger, Mr Robinson, I am afraid I let my emotions get the better of me.’

  MacLea looked up. ‘Sir Roger? Are congratulations in order, General?’

  ‘We have received word that General Sheaffe has been made a baronet for his services, particularly for his distinguished conduct during the Battle of Queenston,’ said Robinson. ‘The late Colonel Lawrence was also knighted for his gallant part in that action. Tragically, he died before he could receive the news.’

  Sheaffe nodded. ‘Sir Hector will be remembered as one of our most distinguished officers,’ he said. ‘Now, let us get back to business, if we may. The purpose of this meeting is not to determine whether Captain MacLea is guilty or not guilty, but to determine how he should be tried.’

  ‘What is your view, Sir Roger?’ asked Selby.

  ‘I have instructed my adjutants to prepare charges of desertion in the face of the enemy against Captain MacLea. This would allow him to be tried by a military court martial. I
should say that I am very much in favour of this option. Court martials are held behind closed doors and tend to be brief. I should like to have done with this affair as soon as possible.’

  Robinson frowned. ‘I agree that a swift trial is desirable, and I also agree that the public should not be involved. I am prepared to recommend to the chief justice that a trial be held in camera, before a judge only, with no jury and no one but the officers of the court present. But the trial should be for treason, not desertion. We need to send a strong and clear warning. No mercy will be shown to traitors.’

  ‘May I speak?’ asked MacLea.

  ‘I suppose so,’ said Sheaffe reluctantly.

  ‘I did not desert,’ said MacLea. ‘I surrendered to force majeure, and only went with the Americans to save the lives of the men with me – including you, Mr Boydell.’

  ‘You bloody liar!’ Boydell exploded. ‘You led us into an American trap, told us to leave you and then went over to the enemy. For Christ’s sake, MacLea, I saw you!’

  ‘As for treason,’ continued MacLea, ‘I admit I worked with the Americans, drilling a company of deserters and defectors for service against Britain. I have the names of all these men, and if you give me pen and paper, I am happy to write them down for you. I ask only that you not punish innocent members of their family for their crimes. I will also repeat what I told Colonel Vincent at Kingston, namely that the Americans intend to attack York and may arrive at any moment. If I were you, General, I would start putting this town into a state of defence.’

  Boydell pounded his fist on the windowsill. ‘Why should we believe you? Why should we believe anything you say?’

  ‘You can believe me now, or you can wait for the Americans to arrive and confirm my story,’ said MacLea. ‘By then, of course, it will be too late. Finally, I should like to point out that I escaped at the first opportunity, and that Captain Derenzy and the surviving officers of the Royal Americans will testify that I helped to save the Lawrence expedition from disaster.’