by James Spurr
James was reloading when he noted a small clearing in the middle of the swamp permitted a view of the higher field to his right. At that moment, the second line of infantry broke and the British regulars fled the field in near panic, run down by mounted soldiers in their inability to organize and their surprise at having been attacked by horsemen.
Oliver must have seen the same, as he called on everyone who could hear, “Press on lads, a full measure and we are in Kingston!” He fired a pistol as he advanced some steps and James remained crouched nearby, both pistols loaded, covering both Trove and Oliver while they reloaded.
As the American regulars slid left as they advanced, those on the far left saw more action as the Natives attempted to turn the flank. It was close and hard fought, but Oliver was careful of the geometry and advanced more slowly than possible; not from lack of courage, but from experience and duty to his comrades. “Not too fast, boys, keep to the left! Don’t let them behind us now.”
With Colonel Johnson confident in the line behind and secure in his flank, he pressed forward with his rifleman. The natives were beginning to waver, having witnessed the British lines in the field to their left melt before the mounted charge.
Soon, James knew, American troops would be entering the swamp from the right now that the field was clear. The natives knew the same. Despite their good fight and excellent leadership, the sheer number of American soldiers and the geometry of a flank attack were impossible to resist.
Step by step, James and Trove pressed on, always staying within sight of Oliver and covering for each other as weapons discharged and required reloading. While James was stepping over several dead natives, he was thankful that so far, none had been close enough to rush him.
At the moment it seemed, when the struggle could not sustain itself at its present intensity, James looked ahead to see a fierce warrior in a red coat and an officer’s sash crying out in his native tongue, leading warriors forward in the early moments of what could well grow into a counter charge.
With Oliver’s company slid well to the left, fewer Michigan men filled the center of the line behind Colonel Johnson. Sensing the danger, Oliver moved right and James and Trove followed, instinctively refusing to allow any one of them to become separated.
Colonel Johnson sensed the danger as well. He could not expect his men to do any more than he was willing to do himself. He shed the cover of scrub trees and tall grass and drove his horse for the native leader. Armed with a tomahawk in each hand, the native, with inspired men now following, met the horse, which reared as the native shrieked. Colonel Johnson brought down his sword, but it was blocked by a tomahawk, which twisted Johnson’s arm, nearly causing him to slip out of the saddle. The tomahawk in the native’s left arm crashed against the pistol in Johnson’s right, instinctively pulled inward toward him to break the blow which would otherwise have split his thigh. But as Johnson drew the pistol inward, he pulled he trigger.
The ball entered the native’s chest from his left side, just under his arm. He sat back in the tall grass, almost casually, but instantly bounded up and charged yet again. Johnson brought another pistol from his belt, with the hand which just moments ago wielded his sword. The native came at him with a long knife and James witnessed the spark from the pan, smoke from the barrel and a fine red mist exit the native’s neck. He crumpled to the ground as Johnson struggled and regained his balance on his horse.
Johnson withdrew several lengths as his men gathered round. Oliver looked to Trove and James, assuring himself of their safety, and in the momentary quiet of a dramatic turn of events in the heat of battle, he announced, “Tecumseth is slain!” Native cries at the same time, while not understood, seemed to confirm a calamity.
James was not certain whether to step back as had Johnson. Oliver must have sensed his doubt. He called to both James and Trove, “Now, let us fire all that we have and halt this advance!”
Between the three of them, five shots rang out in quick succession, directed toward that pocket of natives most willing to charge behind their now felled leader. Together with the Kentucky men rallying to Johnson, the rapid fire had its effect and the natives began to melt back quickly into the tall weeds. The Americans up and down the line, in turn, took heart and pushed forward, sensing the day was won.
But the native warriors did not leave without first, despite the stiff fire, removing the body of the leader of the Confederation, the only native who had for several decades united the People to an extent as could have, had he lived, stem what all had thought inevitable.
* * *
Despite the cold, not one of the men on deck went below. Wasebitong was visibly upset and was struggling to assimilate the details. He stared at the calm water over the transom, reflecting the very stars as represented his fellow native dead.
Dunlap confirmed, “The British line barely got off three volleys. Our lines were poorly formed, our artillery had no ammunition and Proctor was defeated within minutes. Not that he witnessed his disgrace. He was the first to flee the field.”
James at least respected Dunlap’s objectivity.
Oliver recalled, “The natives fought well, for at least a half hour, but were simply overcome by our numbers.”
James said to Wasebitong as he turned from the rail, “Some say Tecumseth was mutilated by our troops.”
Wasebitong flashed in anger but James gestured for his brother to wait until he finished, “Do not believe it. While there was far too much of that in those days, on both sides—”
Trove finished his sentence, having appeared to have finally finished his meal, “I saw warriors remove his body. As I have lived not far from there, for many years, I can say for certain his burial was with all the ceremony deserving of a great chief. To this day, the place of his burial is unknown.”
James nodded and confirmed, “As it must be, sadly.”
Wasebitong composed himself and Oliver offered, “He died a hero.”
As Marie and Bemose came up from below, Dunlap thanked his American guests for joining him aboard Touch Wood and confirmed they would talk and plan their expedition and departure on the morrow.
James made to board St. Clair’s boat with Wasebitong, who quite deliberately refused, insisting, “I will cross with the women and Trove, who can return for you and Oliver.”
James did not press. A first hand account of the death of Tecumseth, who James knew was revered by all natives in the Northwest, was difficult for Wasebitong. James took no offense and allowed him some time.
James took that time with Dunlap, who affirmed, “Yes, I have information about Invincible.”
“Let us meet tomorrow,” James suggested. “I have many questions as to what occurred and under whose leadership.”
Upon its return, James stepped into the boat last, but heard Dunlap admit as he shoved off from the side of Touch Wood with his oar, “I was her captain. And I am haunted to this day that your father was the only one to have died when she wrecked.”
James paused before beginning the stroke, looked up, met Dunlap’s eyes and promised, “We will talk tomorrow.”
James immersed the twin blades, leaned back and hauled on the oars, pressing the thole pins with hours of pent up frustration. Dunlap, who James did not at first want to join when the evening began, was now, whether Dunlap even knew it, let alone liked it, was most certainly an integral part of their small expedition.
The following morning, James and Marie went ashore and before climbing the heights behind the fort to take the view of the straits, James first stopped at the Customs house to file the manifest, declare the cargo and visit with the owner’s factor, so to begin the process of offloading and filling the hold of St. Clair.
Mr. Day, the factor, opened the envelope as Captain James was instructed by Mr. Figgins to deliver. All unfolded with droll routine and with little comment about the early arrival of a cargo so far north, until Mr. Day examined a small note in Mr. Figgins’ own hand. He looked up at James and asked, “
When will you depart for Detroit?”
James replied, “When ready. We have sprung our jibboom and need to repair some sail. Then there is the hold to fill.”
Mr. Day nodded, let the note rest on his desk and explained, “Your employer instructs me to put another Master aboard if you do not depart within six days of your arrival. Most unusual.”
James was silent for some moments, cursing Figgins with his thoughts. Finally, he asked, “Are there Masters available?”
Mr. Day confirmed, quietly, “Yes, so early in the season. Few are as yet underway or otherwise engaged.”
James stood and walked to the window, overlooking the straits, “Mr. Day, you have your orders from the owner. Do as you must. I will set off for some days and may or may not return within that time. I will contract the repair work in my absence. Deduct the cost from the receipts for those goods we are delivering.”
Mr. Day murmured, quietly, “Well, perhaps the repairs will take more time…”
James joined Marie in a crude bakery and together they set off for a blockhouse and small surround of stockade on the pinnacle of the ‘Great Turtle.’
The view was spectacular in the early morning sun and the twenty minute walk uphill was just sufficient to fight off the cold April air in a land where spring came late. James explained the history and significance of the fortification, rather diminutive compared to the large stone fort below. It was situated on the spot where fifteen years before, the British placed cannon at dawn, after a long night march, serving to inform the American garrison just waking below that a change in the balance of power upon the inland seas was a ‘fait accompli.’ Two days later, Friends Good Will arrived at the dock and was seized as a prize of war.
Upon their return to St. Clair, Oliver informed that they had been invited to dine that evening with the commander of Fort Mackinaw, he having sent a messenger and written invitation to both ships in the harbor.
Marie asked of Bemose, “Do you anticipate it will be a dress affair?”
She replied, with a half smile and some sarcasm for the naïve, “My entire wardrobe is available, should it help. Wasebitong’s as well, for that matter.” Then turning to her younger son, Bemose suggested, “Come, let us visit the People.”
James was confused for but a moment. Then he realized and caught Marie’s glance and explained, “I take it, Oliver, we are not all invited.”
Oliver admitted, regretfully but with a sense of realism, “Just the three of us and Owen.”
Captain James was uncertain what irked him most; the racism of the invitation or that his uncle was on a first name basis with a man who spent much of his adult life as their enemy and had yet to account for the death of James’ father.
That evening, the small party of four whites trekked up the steep footpath to the south gate of Fort Mackinaw. Upon closer inspection, the years and the elements had been hard on the entire structure. Once inside, well worn barracks were in the middle of refurbishment and the stone and stockade walls were receiving some badly needed pointing and replacement.
James glanced over to his right, at the building in which Oliver had been held captive, straight ahead along the north wall to the building of his imprisonment and turned to his left, to where upon the porch Lieutenant Fleet had fifteen years before pronounced judgment and confiscated Friends Good Will and her cargo.
An American officer now stood on that porch and welcomed them with a smile. “Good evening,” he offered. “Let me introduce Major Alexander Thompson, Commander of Fort Mackinaw. I am Lieutenant Gibbons.”
Introductions went well and all proceeded into the Major’s quarters, where a table was set with the finest the frontier had to offer. The conversation was easy and Major Thompson was obviously pleased and proud with his command and the progress underway, “The Army almost abandoned Fort Mackinaw just two years ago.”
“What was the issue?” asked James, with some surprise.
“With the opening of Fort Brady at the Sault, which I attended to before this assignment, back in ’22, Mackinaw is no longer really on our northern boundary any longer and it serves little strategic purpose by way of defense since the Rush-Bagot disarmament of the Great Lakes.”
Dunlap nodded, “We face the same questions with respect to military establishments around Lakes Huron and Superior. From whom, exactly, are they protecting our citizens?”
Major Thompson nodded, but then explained, “Still, in regard to Mackinaw, it is a gathering place of so many natives, Metis and French traders each summer. Without a military presence, these gatherings could easily grow lawless and the Customs function requires some degree of official modicum.”
Servants lit candles as dusk approached. Oliver asked, “Is the Army’s role now more of policing then defense?”
“I think that is fair,” Major Thompson agreed, “as the permanent occupants are not as yet numerous enough or sufficiently united to police themselves.”
Marie’s expression revealed some surprise and she asked, “Not united? This island has been inhabited for many generations and in a remote location!”
“That is true, Mrs. Lee, but many of the landowners are yet divided and not on civil terms with each other on account of the late war.”
James supported Marie, “For what reasons?”
Major Thompson shared a little known fact, “Many supposedly sympathized or collaborated with the British occupiers. After the war, land claims were settled in part by requiring an oath that such persons offered no aid to the enemy. Many of those oaths are apparently suspect and when taken to support title in land, well, let’s just say that deep resentment lies just below the surface of many personal relationships.”
Everyone at the table imagined and well understood the tension generated among neighbors, some former enemies, having taken false oaths for personal gain. It was a revealing dynamic to Marie of how the Great Lakes, on the front lines of so many conflicts, remained a cauldron of resentment and pain.
Dunlap changed the subject, “Is the Sault more unified?”
Major Thompson smiled slightly in the soft candlelight, the sun having set early behind the stone and stockade wall outside the west window of the dining room. He nodded, “Yes, in a manner of speaking… more unified in their support for the British and more tolerant yet of Native ways. I would say ten years ago they were still begrudging the fact the post war boundaries left them in the United States. But generally, daily life is little changed and they seem to be adapting and forgetting old grudges.”
James tore at some bread and changed the subject yet again, “Major, do you have any adequate charts we might copy for our trip to and beyond the Sault?”
Major Thompson became rather excited, “Indeed, some excellent work by a Royal Navy Lieutenant… ah, Henry Bayfield.” He recalled and repeated the name slowly but with much admiration.
“Henry?” asked Dunlap. “Why yes, I know him” he reached for another helping of venison. “I served with him at the establishment at Penetanguishene! He is excellent and I recall now he did some work in Lake Superior and northern Lake Huron several years ago.” Shaking a fork laden with meat, he assured, “If we have access to his work, we are most fortunate. Our search will be made much easier.”
Gradually, through dinner, Major Thompson learned of the search and the personal nature of the expedition, ready to leave at first light in three canoes all now tied to the transoms of St. Clair and Touch Wood. The decks were strewn for stowage yet that evening with numerous supplies such as food, blankets and shelters for the camps they would make each night.
Finally, over cakes and berries, James asked for Dunlap to reveal what he knew of the wreck of Invincible.
Dunlap was cooperative, but stuck to the facts of her location, concluding, “My sense is that she struck some distance on either side of Whitefish Point.” It was perhaps the wine that led him to admit, “Alas, in the ensuing strife to survive in the winter storm and make our way as quickly as possible back to the Saul
t, I do not know if we were west or south of the point itself.” He explained, almost by way of defense, “Visibility was very bad in the snowstorm and your father, James, as Sailing Master, was the only one of us who had even a vague idea of our courses and distances and where we might have wrecked.”
Left unsaid was the fact that William Lee did not survive so to assist any of the survivors with their location. James thought it fortunate that Bemose did not have to endure Dunlap’s first hand account, however sketchy the details.
Major Thompson, after hearing Dunlap’s story and understanding of their purpose, rose from the table and returned from an adjacent room, used as a private office. He carried a large rolled chart.
He gestured for his guests to clear away some dishes to make room, keeping a glass of brandy close at hand. Without a word he unrolled the chart, guided all eyes with his to Whitefish Point, drawn with detail and skill. His finger came to rest near Whitefish Point where a small notation was made explaining a dot of ink.
Major Thompson affirmed, with confidence, “If Lieutenant Bayfield is as good as you and everyone else says, Mr. Dunlap, there lies
Invincible.”
Chapter Twelve
Bemose leaned forward and straightened her posture, braced her thighs and calves for the inevitable thrust, twisted the shaft of the paddle slightly, lowered her arms and dug the blade into the cold, calm water of Lake Huron.
Dunlap had done the same just a moment before from the aft thwart, alternating the stroke perfectly. Sometimes, with a subtle twist of the blade before withdrawing it from the water, he supplied what little steering was necessary, given the experience of his partner in the bow.
The canoe, one of three comprising the expedition, slipped through the gray early morning light. The party loaded the canoes at dawn and slipped the painters holding them fast to the stern of St. Clair within half a glass and just minutes before.
Bemose had not yet warmed to the work, but deftly unbuttoned the lower two of her coat, allowing more freedom of movement and ventilation, without breaking stroke.