One Sloop and Slow Match

by James Spurr

  Perry looked to William and Daniel, who in turn looked to each other, taking the sizable task in stride. Perry nodded to Chauncey and offered his superior, “I am fortunate to have most capable men at my disposal, upon whom I have the utmost confidence.”

  Perry then surprised Chauncey by inviting, “For my part, I will be on the river, marking the precise spots with buoys where each ship shall take station. Care to join?”

  Chauncey was taken aback, felt guilty to think that he would instead actually sleep, and found himself promising instead, “Certainly, Captain, let us attend that detail together.”

  William looked over the side from the entry port and awakened Tiffany, the only one it seemed having benefitted from a nap in the small boat. Tiffany, at least, would be refreshed come morning as the invasion of Canada commenced.

  Well after dark as William and Daniel gathered small craft from the river bank so to augment all available ship’s boats and while Chauncey and Perry spotted and marked with small buoys the favorable positions each ship in the squadron would assume within hours, a lone rider delivered to Tiffany a dispatch from General Harrison. Perry returned to shore in the early hours of 27 May, as United States ships prepared to make way at the mouth of the Niagara River at the western end of Lake Ontario in full support of troops intent upon landing upon a foreign shore.

  Tiffany immediately delivered the dispatch to Perry. His eyes were sore from a lack of sleep, but Perry read Harrison’s account of British ships, who at the time of the writing, were preparing to make way at the western end of Lake Erie. The British ships of which Harrison wrote were apparently dispatched to land British troops upon a foreign shore, even as Perry prepared to do the same. Perry took some deep breaths, brought the dispatch down to his side and rubbed his eyes. He would carry the dispatch to Chauncey. The news could not wait.

  For many days, the artillery duel between the cannon in Fort Meigs and those surrounding it continued unabated, with its pitch and intensity varying for no particular strategic reason. Colonel Proctor recognized that a siege was very much about psychology. He observed to Dunlap, having taken the shore and made to assist the Royal field artillery, “We must destroy the American’s hope. There is no need to rush. Let them know the inevitability of their fate. Sometimes, the wait we subject them to and the prospect of their future is a more effective weapon than our guns themselves.”

  Dunlap nodded, his hearing gradually returning from the most recent rounds, but cautioned, perhaps more loudly than he intended as the volume of his own voice was as yet still difficult for him to judge, “Sir, I understand. But I grow increasingly concerned that from the range of our guns on the northern shore we simply cannot significantly damage the walls. Should not a proper siege be moving gradually closer?”

  Proctor considered the point. He set aside the distracting reference to ‘guns’. Why did the Royal Navy insist upon referring to cannon as nothing more than one might a mere pistol? Still, Proctor had to admit, his cannon had, after days, done little more damage than would a pistol. He offered, “Lieutenant, the open ground between our artillery and the walls will not permit us to get much closer without sacrificing the batteries themselves. They would be much too exposed to return fire.

  What do your natives say?”

  Dunlap was candid. The morale among the natives was not particularly high. They did not much like sitting and watching long range artillery duels. “Many of the lesser chiefs are impatient for a frontal attack,” he conceded. “Tecumseth is willing to wait. Native scouts, however, report an American relief column advancing.”

  Proctor lowered his long glass from his most recent assessment of the minimal damage done from the last half hour of powder and shot expended; nearly wasted. He knew he did not have the provisions, nor his native allies the patience, for the construction of elaborate trenches gradually bringing his artillery closer to the walls. He asked, “How far out and from where?”

  Dunlap replied, “From the south. Maybe a day’s march.”

  Proctor nodded as the brilliant glint of glass reflected from atop the walls of Fort Meigs. Oliver was also peering through his long glass, at the Royal artillery on the northern bank.

  Morale among the besieged was quite high. General Harrison allowed the American artillery every opportunity to search out and attempt to destroy the batteries, arrayed sometime out of sight, firing upon the fort. Even limited success boosted spirits. Oliver observed to one of his company commander’s, “We have not had to reinforce or repair the walls to anywhere near the extent as I had feared.”

  “Aye,” replied the Captain. “My men are getting all too used to this leisure. Rather bored, even, I would venture.”

  Oliver half smiled. He knew the British could not stay forever. It was much too early in the season to significantly augment any provisions from the surrounding countryside.

  A cannon fired from the northern bank. The shot approached, the ball slammed into the wall some 100 feet to the west of their position, near the base of the wood stockade poles. Well supported by earth between and behind, the ball caused little damage, the few splinters flying outward, injuring no one. The same spot, Oliver guessed, would be able to sustain many such direct hits before any breach was even so much as threatened.

  The following day, cheers erupted from the men on the walls, the officers called for the gates to open and a relief column of Kentucky militia, commanded by Brigadier General Clay, entered triumphantly. The men had heard small arms fire through much of the morning and were unsure if any relief could fight their way through the siege. The occupants of Fort Meigs were elated and wondered if the relief and reinforcements signaled victory.

  General Harrison met with Clay on the ramparts with his other officers, including Oliver. “Congratulations, General Clay,” Harrison began, extending full courtesies to the militia general although only a brigadier. He continued while shaking his hand, “You have my thanks and personal appreciation for taking an interest in our situation.”

  Clay was both kind and effacing in light of his achievement, “Truly, Sir, we from Kentucky would have done this and more. Indeed, the resistance was not particularly impressive. Our casualties were as light as our enemies’ resolve was weak.”

  A tinge of suspicion rose in Oliver’s mind, but Harrison expressed the same doubt with his next question, “Did you enter the fort with the entirety of your force? I estimate only some hundreds and am surprised you did not suffer a much tougher time in reaching our gate.”

  “No, Sir. We entered with only a portion of our full strength,” Clay offered proudly. “I have many others off to the north so to thoroughly rout the last band of Canadian militia marching up from the south who attempted to halt our progress.” Clay looked about, somewhat nervously. Oliver strode over to the gun porthole and looked out over the river to where the British artillery had been positioned. Clay continued, “I expect they will soon have them swimming back to Canada upon reaching the shore of Lake Erie!”

  Oliver confirmed with his long glass the cannon that had been peppering the walls for many days had been withdrawn. No other evidence of enemy besieging the fort could be seen. Oliver inquired, “General Clay, how many of your men are yet outside the walls?”

  Clay did not appreciate the apprehension and urgency in Oliver’s voice. Oliver was, although regular army, after all a mere Major, suggesting some concern for Clay’s handling of the relief. Clay was about to offer a reproach, until Harrison, walking rather quickly to the gun port, added to the question, “And what were their orders and general direction, last seen?”

  Oliver handed Harrison his long glass, gesturing for him to confirm his observation.

  Clay offered, with just a hint of new anxiety, “Why, just more than 800; more than enough I adjudged—”

  General Harrison cut him off even while studying the north bank and surrounding countryside as could be viewed from other blockhouse portholes with Oliver’s long glass, “Gentlemen, the siege of Fort Meig
s is broken. I fear, so too, will be General Clay’s command.”

  Oliver offered to Harrison, “General, permission to take my three companies to join with these Kentucky lads and offer immediate support!”

  Before Harrison could respond, Clay joined and offered, “Certainly, if there is any concern, my remaining troops will be the first on the scene!” At that moment, the distant thunder of great guns from a mile or more to the north, together with the scattered report of small arms, assisted Harrison in reaching a most difficult decision. “Permission denied.”

  Both Oliver and General Clay objected strenuously, but the background noise reaching Fort Meigs of the ongoing battle told the story and assisted General Harrison in defending his decision, refusing Oliver’s offer of assistance.

  Lieutenant Owen Dunlap swung General Hunter to her spring lines and trained his guns upon the open field hundreds of yards to the south on the west bank of the Maumee River. Just moments before, as was expected and predicted by an adjunct sent from Colonel Proctor, two columns of American militia rushed into the open in pursuit of Canadian militia seeming to flee toward the shore of Lake Erie.

  Master and Commander Hall fired first from Lady Prevost. The other vessels joined in, but by prior order of Colonel Proctor were limited to just two rounds each. Dunlap noted that even Lieutenant Fleet upon Little Belt discharged his duty proficiently. The limitation to two rounds by the Naval forces had been given in the interest of not harming their native allies, which swept in among the American columns within minutes. The two rounds caused just enough confusion and mayhem among the American columns to break their ranks and organization, creating among them doubt, if not panic, at the thought of a well laid ambush. Before the doubt could be assessed as real, the Canadian militia which had been the bait suddenly wheeled about, formed ranks and fired a volley from the northern edge of the field. The Natives, within seconds thereafter, were upon the once confident pursuers from three sides, with the Maumee river leaving no hope of escape from the fourth.

  Colonel Proctor and other of his officers stood behind the Canadian militia in the cover of the woods. He looked out with his long glass and saw the panic take hold. He witnessed the butchery. He saw the American officers quickly ask for quarter, one even had time to wave a white cloth from his raised long rifle, before being shot or tomahawked; he could not tell which had befallen the soldier first. He did nothing but watch.

  Lieutenant Dunlap witnessed the same, having climbed several ratlines up the larboard shrouds from the rail of General Hunter. The initial relief he felt at assuring the attack was proceeding as planned and that his great guns had the desired effect soon turned to horror and shame at the scene as was unfolding before him.

  In no more than ten minutes, few victims remained to those Natives still swarming the field of butchery. Some Americans, it appeared, could swim and were making their way across the Maumee River. Some could not swim as well as perhaps they hoped and within minutes, their bodies were floating with the current down upon and among the anchored squadron.

  Tecumseth was next to Colonel Proctor on horseback. He looked to the Colonel for some sign of intervention. Colonel Proctor did not so much as glance to either side, purposefully avoiding the inquiring and increasingly uncomfortable looks from the party of officers gathered around him. He was thinking of how, after his failure before Fort Meigs, his native allies would require some reason to remain aligned with the Crown. Finally, Tecumseth, thinking yet again that Colonel Proctor was no General Brock, his slain friend, who had with his assistance just last fall captured Detroit, muttered loud enough for Proctor to hear a final protest of what he regarded as a mismanaged campaign, “Enough! It is over!”

  Tecumseth started his horse and rode out onto the field, crying in native dialects for the senseless bloodshed to cease. Those that heard him complied instantly. There was little more to do by then in any case but celebrate a victory as would constitute the final footnote of a campaign marked by frustration and failure. Fort Meigs stood intact; fully effective and occupied by a strong and capable United States Army.

  Later that day, after the British had withdrawn and the squadron weighed anchor, Oliver’s companies reconnoitered the countryside, including the scene of the carnage. General Clay was in shock; Oliver appalled. General Harrison was outraged but thankful that he had heeded his instincts, otherwise the carnage would have been much worse. There would have been no time for the relief of the misguided Kentucky militia. The attack, they fathomed from the gunshot reports reaching the fort, was over in just a few minutes.

  Oliver thought of Trove and his tales of the slaughter at Fort Dearborn the previous August. Harrison thought of Winchester and the butchery on the River Raison the previous January. Everyone within the fort sobered to the realization that their victory in breaking the siege was now but a challenge to their honor; a cause to avenge still another massacre. There was no celebration for what had been a well executed, victorious defense.

  General Clay calculated that nearly 650 Kentucky militia were slain; many little more than murdered. Some that reached the safety of Fort Meigs told of the British officers standing on the edge of the woods watching the massacre. A few witnessed a native chief calling for mercy, but their accounts were quickly forgotten among the horrified and outraged survivors of the siege of Fort Meigs.

  As men were loading boats and bateaux at Perry’s overall direction and as assisted by Captains Lee and Dobbins, William was having difficulty concentrating upon the task at hand. Perry told him of the account from Harrison, mentioning a successful defense of Fort Meigs, marred by a native massacre allowed by the British of hundreds of American defenders. Perry did not know or did not offer details. William was of course worried that Oliver was among the fallen.

  Just before dawn, more than a hundred boats were loaded and the squadron readied to take up the positions indicated by buoys visible at first light. Scott lead the first wave of marines and soldiers to the beach, while Perry, William and Daniel handled groupings of small boats.

  The first element of defense soon became apparent. Just as the marines and soldiers made the beach, Perry observed British soldiers emerging from a well concealed ravine at the base of the bluff. They moved forward to meet the Americans on the beach.

  “Captain Lee! Captain Dobbins!” Perry called out. “Send off the boats as planned, I must be off!” Perry took a small boat with Tiffany and others rowing. As he made his way amid the squadron and the great guns spat sparks, flame and smoke, he called out, “Mr. Smith, if you please…” He shouted to Asp, “Mr. Osgood, closer to shore, cover our troops!” He offered the same exhortation to the commander of Scourge as his small boat rowed amid so many others comprising the invasion. Drawing and gesturing with his dirk, he gained the attention of still another commander, “Lieutenant Pettigrew of Conquest, Sir, anchor Sou’east of that battery!” Perry directed and advised according to his observation of British tactics, all while rowing toward Hamilton. He boarded quickly and suggested to Lieutenant MacPherson where precisely to direct his fire, requesting and being granted permission to take personal charge of the guns, immediately switching to grape and canister.

  Perry reached Hamilton not a moment too soon. Scott had made the beach with a first wave of 400 men. He was met with well formed lines and the cold steel of bayonets. Quite vulnerable before the second wave landed to assist, Perry could not let Scott stand alone. Hamilton’s guns swept the defenders with a withering fire and allowed the marines and soldiers that critical initial foothold.

  As Scott was climbing the bluff, he stumbled and General Dearborn, observing through a long glass aboard Madison, along with Chauncey, thought he had lost his best field commander. But Scott was afoot within moments and the British lines began to bend, suggesting a break was inevitable, if only those naval guns continued to cover and the balance of the men in small boats landed very soon.

  Chauncey’s squadron, as directed by Perry from a small boat, did not disa
ppoint. Nor did Colonel Scott. Hearing that the British had lit a fuse in the powder magazine, he with some others from the 2nd Artillery rode into the fort abandoned by its defenders just moments before and was met with the concussion of a blast, knocking him from his horse and breaking his collarbone. Realizing this was not the main magazine, he continued on and was able to extinguish the fuse, allowing Fort George to fall into American hands largely intact.

  As the British fell back to the west, the several hundred troops strung out to the south along the Niagara River all the way to Fort Erie had no choice but to evaporate as the American invasion force swelled and expanded. Just before noon, with the fighting nearly over, Perry rowed amid the few boats remaining in the river, searching for his junior officers. Locating William and Daniel amid the smoke from the last of the broadsides, Perry called out, “Captains Lee and Dobbins, quickly, follow me back to the eastern shore!”

  Daniel called out to William, not quite certain he had heard correctly, nor that he would ever hear well again, “Did Captain Perry just direct us back to shore?”

  William confirmed, “Indeed,” his tone revealed his surprise. “With not a moment to lose!”

  Perry could be heard in the distance over the diminishing din of a battle already won, while quickly rowing from whence that morning they came, “Our work this day is just beginning!”

  More than two weeks later, Captain Daniel Dobbins rowed from Ohio with Captain William Lee setting out in a similar ship’s boat, with muffled oars, from, ironically, his former command, Contractor, now renamed Trippe. Their destination was the same. They had been summoned by Perry to meet aboard Caledonia.

  They moved slowly, quietly. Whispering and gesturing, they risked no sound. The weather was thick, visibility poor. Thick fog was unusual in mid-June. This weather reminded William far more of late August. He wished it would hold; at least another day.