Reflections in the Wake

by James Spurr

  take the helm.”

  James called, “Hands, prepare to set the main.”

  Trove stepped into the waist and proceeded to the foredeck to cast off brails.

  The night remained calm, with a small sprinkle of rain near dawn. Those on deck were yet damp as breakfast was passed up from the galley hatch. Bateaux were already setting off from the shore and soon their sloop would be loaded to the gun’ls with soldiers and gear.

  The invasion of Upper Canada was underway.

  One of the regular officers who boarded was Oliver, a Major in General Harrison’s army. James helped him haul himself up from the bateaux and together they stood with Trove and his father as the sloop bore off on a starboard tack, steering northwest for the entrance of the Detroit River.

  Captain William, amid excited conversation, turned to look back over the taffrail. He commented, “A rare sight, indeed; an entire army, now afloat and ready to land on English soil!”

  James, Oliver and Trove all turned and beheld a sight they would never forget. Sloops and schooners, among many bateaux, spread over the horizon, flags flying from the gaffs and pennants from mastheads announcing the final showdown in the established order of the Old Northwest.

  Trove reminded, “General Johnson is to bring his mounted men up from the River Raisin to Detroit, in addition to all this,” gesturing aft across the horizon.

  James confirmed what he recalled of Harrison’s conference the day before, “General McArthur and his men will be taken across the river to Detroit, while Johnson and all his mounted men, with horses, will have to cross over to Canada.”

  His father admitted, “The logistics are complicated, but of course we just don’t know what to expect.”

  Trove brought the helm to windward in a puff of wind as Little Belt heeled slightly and sped forward, exhibiting the power to which all of them had become accustomed and which was so new and intimidating to the soldiers aboard, except for Oliver.

  James nodded, “I will clear and prepare the guns to support the landing.”

  Captain William scanned the shoreline of Canada with his long glass as the entrance of the Detroit River loomed ahead, “I suspect we will land the army unopposed. General Proctor is no Brock. He will never have the stomach for opposing us on the beach with our naval guns supporting the landing.”

  Trove said casually, “We shall see within the hour.”

  Captain William had it right. Three miles below Amherstberg, Little Belt trained her gun at the tree line with no enemy in sight as soldiers stepped unhurriedly from small boats to the beach, wet boots and pants to their knees the only inconvenience in what was until that time, the largest combined amphibious assault ever launched by American forces.

  The schooner Ariel, with Perry in command and transporting Harrison, fired its gun at a stand of trees behind which native scouts were observing the invasion. The single shot scattered the natives and no other belligerent acts were necessary. As Oliver stepped down into a bateaux, assisted by James and Trove, he offered, “Good luck to you, Navy tars. As I take Canada, secure for me our homes in Detroit, will you?”

  James assured, “With Johnson’s mounted men pouring in from the south and us delivering McArthur’s men, be assured we will be dining once again at the Pontiac House soon enough! Take care!”

  That night, Oliver camped in Amherstberg below the walls of Fort Malden. Its ramparts, however, were already stripped of canon, which Perry had captured at sea less than three weeks before. He had seen no British soldiers through his entire first day ashore.

  Little Belt anchored off the liberated village of Detroit, which flew the Stars and Stripes for the first time in more than a year. Captain William, James and Trove were joyous but subdued. It was evident, given their familiarity with the village, Detroit had suffered through the British occupation.

  The following day, Little Belt enjoyed a fresh southwest breeze; so welcome late in September. She sailed back and forth across the Detroit River from Detroit to Sandwich. She delivered Johnson’s mounted men to Canada and McArthur’s regulars to Detroit, so to guard from any possible native counter attack from warriors still on the United States side of the Detroit River. Meanwhile, Proctor and his native allies retreated east.

  James welcomed a ship’s boat from Ariel just after dark, delivering sealed orders to his father. In Perry’s hand, James learned that Little Belt was directed to sail the following day up the Thames River, its mouth situated along the south shore of Lake St. Clair.

  Unknown to those aboard Little Belt, at about the same time, Oliver grabbed the reins of a horse, its rider sent to his campfire from Harrison. His orders were to break camp at dawn and march his men to the northeast, forming along the south shore of the Thames River under General Cass. They were to proceed with other men from Michigan in pursuit of the enemy.

  James suspected Captain William did not enjoy coaxing his fine-lined, powerful sloop up a narrow river. But even James understood the necessity. Her naval guns could provide cover; her hold and decks a headquarters or respite, depending upon circumstances and conditions. Yet the constraint upon her purpose, as a swift and seaworthy vessel frustrated his father greatly and the unknown risks of navigating through fallen submerged trees and bars left him pensive and poor company.

  James did not mind so much. It was a break from routine as transport and offered the possibility of action. He kept busy with the long glass. “Look,” he called out to his father, “Johnson’s mounted men in the field up ahead!”

  Captain William subdued his enthusiasm, “I care more about what’s ahead and about to slip under us than what’s in the field to starboard.”

  Trove was preparing the pivot gun while supervising other crew with the six pounders. He called out to the crew, “No, as I explained, place some blocks under the forward end of those planks and elevate the entire carriage. That is the only way, don’t you see, we can have the smaller guns fire over the edge of he banks!” Trove was going to great lengths so to be able to bring all three guns to bear. Captain William, James knew, would never have allowed such on the open waters, but truly, Little Belt was by and large a floating gun platform more than she was a ship upon a river such as the Thames.

  Just after noon and around a bend, Trove called out, “Small vessels ahead!”

  Abandoned along the shore, three small flat-bottomed craft with unstepped masts and spars, crude sweeps and most supplies removed, suggested the American advance was indeed pressuring Proctor in his retreat. There was nothing wrong with the vessels except for the implied fact that they could not move upriver with the speed desperate circumstances required. The crews had melted into the woods, determined to take their chances amid numerous open fields.

  Soon thereafter, Trove called, in a hushed tone, “Quiet! Are those guns?”

  James listened carefully, as did all aboard. Indeed, the small arms sounded distant but the sporadic shots were distinct. James called for the men at the braces to shift the angle of the topsail yet again, as the bend in the river dictated. It was the only sail set and was pushing the ship forward with as much speed as Captain William would allow, given the unknown risks just below the brown water. The bends in the river, snaking slightly from one compass bearing to the other, gradually led to a column of smoke in the distance.

  At the same time, they heard the sound of mounted men approaching and Captain Lee confirmed, from a sight from his long glass, “American troops, off the starboard quarter.”

  An Army Lieutenant road to the bank and asked, “Captain, is that canon serviceable?”

  James smiled at his father’s response, intended by way of reproach, while trying to be cooperative, “This ‘gun’ will place a nine pound ball anywhere you can point, young man, courtesy of the Navy!”

  Another voice from further aft called over the sound of his hurried mount, “Well then, Captain, let’s have one at the tree line, two hundred yards, three points off the starboard bow!”

  Captain William
turned and smiled. Together with James and Trove, they recognized Oliver’s voice. Captain William called over to the shore, “Just as you desire, Major!” After checking for some activity through the long glass, he stepped down into the waist, adjusted the elevation and directed the helmsman, “Turn slightly to starboard.”

  Captain William turned to Trove and said softly, “Now! Give fire.”

  The vent flashed and the gun roared smoke and flame. A moment after the recoil, Oliver called excitedly, “Perfect! William, keep fire on that point as you bring her up and around the bend. Fire as often as you can. I will direct my men into those woods where the road follows the river bank.”

  Several shots later, as Little Belt drew near where she had first taken aim, wagons appeared through the trees, with two partially burned gunboats abandoned and aground on the southern bank. Oliver’s men were excitedly taking inventory and small arms fire could be heard just ahead, although with less intensity as time passed. Several British captives were seated in a circle, disarmed and dispirited.

  Oliver rode over to the bank and offered, “Congratulations, Captain! Another well coordinated venture between the services!”

  Captain William replied, “Keep the salt pork, Major; leave us the wine!”

  Oliver smiled and shook his head, “Captain, you underestimate the wrath of your great guns! These are not food stores, I assure you.”

  Captain William, still smiling, took the bait, “What have you captured, Sir?”

  Oliver smiled broadly and called loudly, “Proctor’s ammunition; in the hold of the gunboats which they attempted to destroy, and a small train of four wagons!”

  The soldiers among the wagons erupted with “Huzza!” at the announcement.

  James was incredulous. The fact that the ammunition was so far to the rear of a retreat spoke volumes about the preparedness of their foe. Those on deck smiled and offered each other congratulations. His father waved his hat in celebration, but was cautious, “There will be a counter attack, Oliver, I would bet on it. Let me offer my ship to store the captured ammunition. With a few more of your men on our deck, we could defend the ammunition easily against many times our number.”

  Oliver considered. “I will keep one wagon for ourselves and nearby units. I will entrust to you the rest. Let us get started.”

  Captain William edged Friends Good Will toward a high bank and brought Oliver aboard as the captured ammunition was loaded. He explained, “These high banks ahead will prevent us from proceeding any further upriver. Our decks could too easily be swept from above and the river narrows to where we could not turn abound. I will return to Sandwich, add the ammunition to Harrison’s stores and join you tomorrow, if I can get permission.”

  Oliver warned, “We will catch Proctor tomorrow, William. There will be a battle. Stay on the Lakes, I beg you.”

  Captain William had to first care for his ship and her valuable contents, so gave no resistance. But James and Trove both pressed, “Father,” began James, “Release me and Trove. Assign us this unit, please.”

  In truth, Captain Lee had no need for such seamanship as James and Trove could be counted on to provide. Friends Good Will was, after all, well up the Thames River. He could easily make it back to Lake St. Clair.

  James added, “Even Captain Perry is ashore, fighting alongside Harrison!”

  Captain William looked to Oliver, caught his slight assent, nodded and allowed, “A temporary assignment, in exchange for these soldiers lent to me to protect our valuable cargo.”

  James and Trove waded ashore and joined Oliver’s unit. They watched as Friends Good Will cast off topsail clewlines and buntlines, soldiers hauled on topsail sheets and sailors yet aboard manned braces and swung the yards.

  Friends Good Will sailed more swiftly now, with the slight current, carrying in her hold the means necessary for the British Empire to defend Upper Canada.

  * * *

  Two days later, as aboard Friends Good Will fifteen years before, James, Trove, Oliver and Bemose broke free from the frustrating current of the St. Clair River. This time, however, they were aboard a schooner not nearly so lovely as the sloop which had once carried them north; the sloop which Oliver had launched and William had rigged and upon which Bemose, James and Trove so innocently staked their future.

  Bemose remained quiet and intent on searching the northern horizon. James approached and recalled, “Was it not in these waters that you met my father?”

  She smiled, through what he was surprised were moist eyes, close to tears, and admitted, “Yes, when he pulled me from the water and saved my life.”

  James noted, “I witnessed you returning the favor, many times over.”

  Appreciating the compliment, Bemose recalled, “And you and Trove and Oliver were aboard with us in June 1812 when the war had broken out and with none of us aware.”

  “I enjoyed that voyage, very much. Of course the return trip, amid the turmoil of our having scattered, was no doubt a turning point in my life.”

  “And in all of ours,” Bemose confirmed. “For all of these years…”

  The bell rang for a change in the watch. Trove, now watch leader, with his family well astern, called in good humor, “The smell of that soup requires my prompt relief!”

  Bemose looked at James and held her thought, feigning duty which directed her to take the helm from Oliver. James nodded and thought he would continue to press if he must, perhaps later that very night.

  As the sun set and night fell on Lake Huron, a head wind brought what felt like Arctic air, forcing St. Clair to tack back and forth.

  After midnight, all on deck were layered in their warmest clothing. The leaks continued and Marie worked the pump handle, just aft of the foremast. The rhythmic slosh of water spilled from the scuppers and provided the background noise as might cover intent conversation. James asked Bemose, stationed at the helm and with no retreat possible, “So what have you wondered, all of these years?”

  She hesitated but then relented, “If had you not escaped the British and joined the Navy, you and your father might not still be sailing together, perhaps the owners of some merchant ships.”

  The thought caused him pain. Bemose was wondering if the war had not, by interfering with the course of their lives and what time would have most assuredly been spent together, James’ continued presence in their lives would have kept William well off the deck of a North West Company schooner, the bones of which they sought, both man and ship.

  James thought for some moments, not for an answer, which for him was obvious, but for the best way to dispel haunting doubts. He began, “You recall well how my father regarded British authority on these Lakes and the righteous cause leading to conflict. I suspect you know that he would have joined the Navy, irrespective of my actions, thus causing us to part ways, at least for a time.”

  James knew that Bemose would not deny that which resided within her heart. She would not deny that James was correct. William had viewed the war as inevitable and was preparing for it, through smuggling weapons and clandestine activities even to the point where he risked his relationship with Oliver, who strove in those same days for patience and peace.

  But Bemose scoffed at his phrase, “Righteous cause!”

  James looked to her, searching her eyes in the dim light of the binnacle for the cause for her objection.

  Bemose continued, her feelings gushing forth as the water from the bilge returning to the sea over the side, “What is righteous about invading Canada? Did we need more land, with thousands of acres, if not miles for so very few Europeans? And what did it achieve?”

  James began to remind of the other reasons for the conflict, but Bemose cut him off, “Was not the agenda, in very real part, pushing the Kitchigamig Anishinebeg westward from their homelands altogether? Do not forget I am half French and as such wholly understanding of the manner in which European powers have viewed the Old Northwest since Brule had his heart carved out while still alive, some two hundred ye
ars ago!”

  James knew the truth of which she spoke. He considered the first European, to which Bemose referred, a Frenchman living among the people, some the Bahwehting, until years later he so violently learned the full extent to which the people rejected him as foreign.

  James did not immediately object. That alone, he suspected, surprised Bemose. His nod, he hoped, helped defuse her bitterness. As he paused to answer, he considered whether her acid tone was the result of the rise and fall of nations, both native and foreign, or the loss of her husband and his father to such events as none could control; events which swept them along as would the water flowing from the scuppers that night.

  “All of that is true,” he admitted. But he then reminded, “The French, then the English and finally the Americans, are not the only nations to have fought over these lands. The ‘people’ to which you refer,” James unable to pronounce the phrase in the native tongue, “fought their own wars for generations, as bitter and bloody as any of those conducted since the whites arrived; pushing each other from lands without regard for common ancestry or race.”

  Bemose looked at James as she edged the tiller to larboard. He knew his words took some of the sting from the obvious stupidity at which she took aim. He continued, “Wasebitong spoke just yesterday about a point of land which we may well visit in our search; a ‘Point Iroquois’ on Lake Superior marking the site of a large battle at which the Chippewa halted a long advance of the Iroquois westward that, if unchecked, would have driven your people from these inland seas. No whites had yet arrived to take sides in that conflict.”

  Bemose shot back, “The fact that native people are no more peaceful than white is no justification for war.”

  James could not argue with that. He stepped to the rail to check the speed by the sight of the water flowing past in the starlight. Returning, he admitted, “I suspect we agree that often many people follow similar paths for many different reasons.” James let her consider the thought as he turned and took a turn on the mainsheet. He continued his thought, just as Marie stopped pumping and joined them at the helm, “If it helps, know this: My father did not go to war for Canada. He went to war so to keep himself free from British domination of the seas to the point where they subjugated American seamen and controlled American shipping.”