Reflections in the Wake

by James Spurr

  Oliver understood the implication and did not pretend, “Our meeting in the Straits while approaching the harbor certainly was,” he smiled at the thought and the bit of excitement at the close crossing of vessels under generous sail in a stiff wind. “But as to his presence here at Mackinaw, that is no real surprise. I wrote and asked him, if possible, for him to meet us here and give us his assistance.”

  Captain James flushed with anger. He was the leader of the expedition and while he made the point abundantly clear to Bemose and Wasebitong, the two of them even now coming up from below, he did not think he would have had to so caution his uncle, given their experience with each other as shipmates.

  His expression was obvious and as everyone but Trove now gathered on the foredeck, Oliver attempted to elude a gathering storm. “Owen Dunlap was First Officer on H.M.Schooner General Hope. Bemose knows him and trusts him as well.”

  Captain James looked at her, wondering the depth of her complicity in what seemed a small mutiny. She nodded and assured, “Owen and your father were friends on Hope, allied against that monster ‘Captain Fleet,” she intoned derisively.

  Captain James could not resist. He would make his point. “I care not if this Dunlap was First Officer on H.M.S. Victory, or a friend of my mother’s as well,” regretting instantly his small reference to the lack of duty owed to Bemose, “I see no need to secretly expand our party, deliberately withhold information or seek the assistance of the British whose interests are to blame for my father’s death in the first place!”

  The statement was made with force, conviction and more volume than was characteristic of James aboard a frigate or among family. No one among the small party dared breathe, let alone speak for some awkward moments. All but one just looked uncomfortably elsewhere, whether the deck, the rigging, the island or as now revealed, Dunlap’s schooner.

  Marie however, looked at James and saw that he was tired, surprised and hurt.

  At that moment, a voice with a distinctly Canadian accent hailed, “Hello, St. Clair.” The distance was too near to pretend not to hear.

  Captain James shook his head in frustration and acknowledgement. When things at sea went awry, it was rarely in the singular and typically in series.

  Marie began, “James—”

  But Oliver interrupted, “No, Marie. Let me first apologize.”

  James looked at Oliver, ignoring the hail.

  “I could not tell you before I wrote. You were in Detroit; I was not. I could have told you on numerous occasions as we sailed north and should have. But who could have anticipated us meeting Dunlap while making our approach? I thought I would have more time, or if he was unwilling or did not meet us here when we needed, why bother? But before you decide,” and he chose his words deliberately so to acknowledge he was addressing Captain James, not his nephew, as leader of the expedition, “you need to be briefed on what information Dunlap can offer and how he can assist.”

  Captain James thought it was an appropriate answer. He cooled to the explanation.

  Marie interjected, “James, you are acting badly. Apologize and let’s work together and see what this man can offer.”

  James just sighed and looked at his wife. This was without a doubt, he realized, most assuredly not the United States Navy.

  Captain James looked at Oliver, gestured with his head to acknowledge the hail and went below.

  That evening, James reluctantly found himself in the owner’s cabin of Touch Wood. Dunlap was explaining to Marie, in all good humor and having offered the best of hospitality and manners, the meaning of the name of his schooner. “So you see, Mrs. Lee,” he explained, “her name reminds and suggests that gesture which sailors hold in some regard, assuring good luck. If you offer a wish, while aboard, you must ‘Touch Wood’ so as not to offend the gods and fate may treat you kindly.” So to demonstrate, while all seated snugly around the walnut table nodded and offered their approval, Dunlap rubbed its fine oiled surface, in one of the few parts not covered by dishes and wine filled glasses.

  James offered a small smile, although did not repeat the gesture as did Oliver, Marie and Wasebitong. He simply acknowledged to himself that he liked Dunlap. They would, if not for Dunlap being English, his service in the Royal Navy and his role in his father’s death, yet unexplored, make easy friends.

  Bemose offered, “Thank you, Owen, for your dinner, your effort in meeting us here this night and your interest in our purpose.”

  Dunlap caught the sincere look in her eye, leaned back against the cabin cupboard, twisted his wine glass and offered, “I was growing rather tired of my crew and the night ashore will do them well. They were more than happy to cook a dinner, in exchange for some small leave.” He then held up his glass for a toast, “Here is to William Lee. One of the few men I would much rather have always served with than shot at; a man which whether English, Canadian, French, American or Native, we could use more of and I am deeply sorry for his loss and all of yours.”

  James endorsed the toast with a sip of his wine. It was gracious and sincere. It also, he thought, raised many questions which he as a guest should not, he knew, raise at that moment, having enjoyed the meal in the candle lit cabin while drinking Dunlap’s wine. But then again, he thought, what better time with so little available?

  Before he could speak, however, Dunlap continued, “Oliver, I came to know you through William, but consider with great pride our work, each supporting our government and their representatives in Mr. Rush and Mr. Bagot. I suspect that had either man contacted others, the result could have meant disaster for our future.”

  Oliver nodded, “I am certain you have had your judgment and advice questioned, as have I.” James looked carefully but found no reference in Oliver’s expression or hint in his posture that James was one of those to which Oliver referred. “But,” Oliver concluded, “I am confident, with time, merchants such as we will see the benefits of free, unprotected borders, for the large part, in the healthy growth of trade and development.”

  Dunlap agreed, “St. Clair and Touch Wood lying alongside each other this evening and with us dining together, engaged in trade and with no guns muzzle to muzzle or threatening our peace is evidence of which you speak.”

  James hardly knew which topic to raise first. Marie was looking at him, assuredly hoping he would play the gracious guest. Bemose, he suspected, purposefully broke in to remind of long ties, “Owen, do you ever think about Hope?”

  “More than I should,” he admitted. He looked into the candle, reflecting back some years and continued “Quite a lot as I approached Mackinaw today. We sailed a course rather near, for a time, where Hope met her end. And where you and I and William nearly met our end. I cannot tell you how much joy I feel seeing you again, and meeting both of William’s sons. Who could have known that day we wrecked how you and William would go on to find a life in the turbulent times as unfolded.

  And who would have known that fool, Captain Fleet, would dog our days and continue to complicate all of your lives until finally meeting his just end. I tell you, I was not sorry for it.”

  James raised his eyes. Was Dunlap aware of his father’s role in Fleet’s death?

  If so, James knew instantly that he would assure more time be found to talk with Dunlap than he first would have allowed. As he boarded Touch Wood just two hours before, he was fully intending to learn what Dunlap could tell them about Invincible, thank him for his trouble and suggest he continue with his merchant crew to Green Bay, their intended destination. But with the reference made to having “shot” at his father and now more familiar with Fleet than James had ever imagined, James resolved Dunlap would remain close and would indeed be making the trip to the only Great Lake James had not yet sailed, or even seen.

  James decided he had been silent too long. But he took a careful approach, now that time allowed, “So, Mr. Dunlap, pray tell, when did you quit the Royal Navy?” It was a fair question, something which both had in common and James saw both Bemose and
Marie exhale at the civility of his tone.

  Dunlap welcomed the exchange, having noted a distant attitude in the elder of William’s sons, “Four years ago. Our squadron at the yard at Penetanguishene went from ‘ordinary’ to decay. Both armed schooners, Tecumseth and Newash, now lie at the bottom, at their moorings. The mosquito fleet of transports is still somewhat active in supplying the settlements on Drummond Island and at French River. But it seemed with peace well rooted, I could make a living as a merchant master and now have three ships which ply these waters in the fur trade. Touch Wood is the most recent. Thus, when I received Oliver’s letter, forwarded me by my former shipmates at the Royal yard, I welcomed the diversion to the Sault and beyond.”

  Wasebitong, encouraged by his brother’s entrance into conversation, spoke for the first time that evening, “The schooners you mentioned honor the native chiefs, do they not?”

  “Indeed,” nodded Dunlap. “We regard both as great leaders and it is sad the vessels went to ruin, but truly, better that than well employed.”

  All around the table understood the reference as a consequence of peace, tolerance and diversity among Native and European peoples. As lamentable as it was to see two fine ships ruined, it was still preferable to the alternative of war.

  Wasebitong offered, “My mother met Tecumseth on two occasions.”

  Dunlap nodded, looking at Bemose, “I knew him rather well in my role as a translator and one who moved freely among the tribes.”

  James wondered whether Dunlap encouraged native brutality at Fort Dearborn and the River Raisin, but having known him just hours and from what Oliver and Bemose described, he doubted it. He elected to not set sail on that course.

  Dunlap continued, “I was with Tecumseth on the Thames.”

  There followed an imposing silence. James and Oliver exchanged glances. Wasebitong replied, with just a touch of an accusatory tone, “My brother and uncle were also at the Thames, where Tecumseth was killed.”

  Dunlap knew that Oliver had been present at the Thames and discussed it with him, years before, when focusing upon the treaty which that night brought them together so casually. Dunlap was likely gauging, James assumed, how his guest would handle the fact that the two had no doubt been combatants.

  James assured, “I suspect, Mr. Dunlap, those hostilities near Moravian Town,” using the name for conflict used by the British, “was not the first time we might have taken aim, one at t’other.”

  Bemose and Marie tensed, but James kept his tone soft and explained, “On September 10, ’13, I was aboard Lawrence and finished the day on the deck of Niagara.” James let the effect of those sister ships and their very different stories take effect among those around the table. After a pause, James asked, “And you?”

  “In command of General Hunter,” Dunlap confirmed. “I was taken prisoner, of course, that evening, being the first officer exchanged.”

  Again, there settled a silence among those attending an impromptu dinner party in a cabin so small as all were shoulder to shoulder, with no standing headroom, insufficient leg room and once seated, no option to leave without disrupting all.

  Marie finally waded into the waters swirling about them all, “Let us pray that on no future occasion, among so many from so far, will we assemble around a small table with four having been stripped of our freedom.” For a moment, James registered some surprise until he mentally confirmed the accuracy of that sad calculation. Dunlap, Oliver, Marie and himself had served as a prisoner at some time during the world’s struggle with a Corsican artillery corporal and a new continent, untamed.

  Dunlap continued, “Your Perry thought my contacts with the natives may prove useful in encouraging their surrender. Indeed, I may well have saved lives, those next couple of weeks.”

  James nodded in agreement, then completed the muster, “Trove, should he ever finish off that chicken leg,” chiding his friend, who remained a casual observer in the face of well cooked meat, “Was aboard Scorpion with my father in command.

  Dunlap nodded and after a respectful silence, looked over to Wasebitong, returning to his original topic, “Tecumseth dominated a meeting I attended, just days after the Battle of Put-in-bay. Proctor was planning to evacuate Detroit, Sandwich, Amherstberg and much of Upper Canada. Tecumseth led the native allies in objecting to any withdrawal. I still recall his presence, his charisma and the power of his oratory.”

  Wasebitong was enthralled; Bemose proud but sad. James remained silent, learning only then of what events were unfolding among his adversaries, even as his father, Trove and he made ready Friends Good Will for an invasion.

  Dunlap continued, “Tecumseth shamed Proctor by strong implication and even intimidated him to stand and fight, eventually. I frankly wonder to this day whether Tecumseth was right. Opposing the invasion at the landing might have been more effective.”

  James was quick to point out, “More dramatic, certainly, but I doubt if it would have made much difference. Proctor had few artillery pieces and how would he have done better by subjecting his men to the great guns of our squadron?”

  Dunlap nodded, conceding the point, “Yes, but Tecumseth was impressive and the British retreat so badly handled.”

  At that point, James determined he would need to address more detail than would be welcome by some around the table. He suggested, “Let us stretch our legs on deck and perhaps take a smoke.” While James had come to decide he found no enjoyment in pipes or tobacco, it was the only excuse he could think of to divide the dinner party, then on the wane.

  Dunlap understood, as did Oliver and Wasebitang. Trove had just reached for another chicken leg and Marie and Bemose offered to assist in the galley.

  Dunlap slid back the companionway hatch and four men, one young, stepped into the cold night air and partially starlit sky. Fortunately, the blustery wind had abated. The men huddled aft and, all understanding the purpose for their conference, whispered recollections which brought the event to life for the one of them born just days before the events they described.

  * * *

  Moravian Town, 5 October 1813

  Harrison’s scouts, James knew, reported that the settlement, sometimes known as Fairfield, though better known as Moravian Town for the Native mission established there, was defensible. The settlement offered high ground, the Thames River on one side and a ravine in front.

  James assumed that he and Trove, with Oliver’s company, would see no serious resistance until they approached the town.

  Oliver learned while still two miles downstream from the town, well before reaching their assumed destination, the fight would come early. An aide from Harrison’s camp brought a dispatch, which informed, “British regulars have formed in two lines, in the open with the river on their left and the natives in a swamp to the right.”

  Oliver showed the note to James and explained, “Proctor may be considering Harrison’s typical use of our mounted men against his Natives. The swamp will make their task more difficult.”

  Within ten minutes, another rider arrived, before Oliver had yet situated his company of regulars. The second note ordered, Regulars will assemble on the left and press the Indians in the swamp. Mounted men will attack the British infantry lines.

  Oliver half smiled and nodded. Harrison, he knew, was a careful strategist and with Proctor already revealing his defense, the Americans would serve up a surprise. “James and Trove,” he called, “come with me and let us redirect our troops.”

  Oliver assembled the sergeants and one lieutenant and they proceeded to position themselves, along with the other company of regulars, from Kentucky. Soon, small arms fire was erupting from the tall grass, cattails, wetlands and marsh, as native war cries filled the air. The Kentuckians in front held their fire, waiting for the mounted men on their right to charge. When he heard the thunder of hoofs and the shooting began in earnest, to the right in the open field, Colonel Johnson of the Kentucky regulars cried for his men to follow him into the swamp. Oliver called ou
t to his sergeants to press close behind and give all the support possible.

  Oliver looked to his watch and noted it was 3:40 in the afternoon. He commented to Trove, “Rather late to begin a major battle.” There was but three hours of daylight remaining.

  He watched with some fascination, James noted, as the British infantry, assembled in two lines, fired the first volley. Even as they walked toward the swamp, the Kentucky men just then entering, the mounted soldiers slammed into the British lines.

  The first British line was torn and scattered, not so much broke or fleeing as unable to any longer form up together while dashing aside from the mounted men wielding pistols and swords who kept them from reloading with any efficiency or coordination.

  The second line fired a volley, but more mounted men were pouring into the confused first line, many of whom were near defenseless and fled back to the safety of their comrades, whose weapons also, just discharged, were near useless at the moment.

  The Kentuckians advanced into the swamp and moved with aggression and anger, sensing a chance for revenge for past actions unknown to James and Trove. The fight was fierce and Tecumseth and his warriors did well to defend the swamp even as they tried to turn the American flank.

  But Oliver would have none of it. He signaled his men to slide further left as they advanced in support of their Kentucky comrades just ahead.

  Trove had a rifle and had fired once. James had borrowed Oliver’s two pistols and had available his own dirk, but as yet was presented no good targets. He knew when opportunity presented, the tall grass and brush would require quick action. The battle in the swamp was more like bushwacking and Trove, from the delta of the St. Clair River, was right at home in the marsh, like the routine hunts for muskrat and squirrel of his youth.

  James fired his pistols in quick succession, the second at a native rushing toward Oliver with a tomahawk. The native fell, but James suspected a Kentucky rifleman had saved Oliver’s life rather than himself.