Flashman and Madison's War

by Robert Brightwell

  “Damn your eyes, woman, I am a British officer and I am trying to save you,” I roared. “Now put that gun down before someone gets hurt.” I looked about me: two rooms opened off the central one; to my right a dark-haired girl stared out, part Indian from the look of her, while to the left a pretty blonde piece was kneeling on the floor, holding the trousers of her former client. She looked a very tidy indeed, but before I could say anything Black Eagle pushed in behind me, another arrow already strung to his bow.

  “Little Father, are you all right?”

  The madam screamed as he pointed his bow at her but I pushed the weapon down.

  “I am fine. It was just a misunderstanding, wasn’t it?” I asked of the madam who nodded in dumb agreement. I looked back outside; the two former prisoners had picked up weapons from the dead militia and were running off in search of the two that had escaped, still whooping their dreadful cries. I gave a sigh of relief – it seemed we were safe. If the surviving militia had any sense this was the last place that they would come back to. I turned back to Black Eagle. “Keep an eye on these two, will you?” I asked pointing at the madam and the dark-skinned girl. “See if you can get them to rustle up some food. I am going to have to interrogate this other prisoner.” I pointed at the blonde still kneeling on the floor.

  “What is this ‘integrate’?” enquired Black Eagle, but I was already walking into the blonde’s room and shutting the door behind me.

  “I’m five dollars if you want me,” announced the girl as she continued to search the pockets of the abandoned trousers. I bent down and pulled them out of her hand. “Hey you cannot do that they are mine.”

  “No, they are a prize of war,” I told her. “And anyway I doubt you had the chance to earn the money before your customer ran for it.” I shook the trousers and a purse jingled from one of the pockets. I swiftly found it and opened it up. A handful of silver dollar coins lay inside.

  “I am five dollars,” repeated the girl staring first at the purse and then at me. “Are you really a British officer? You sound like one, but you don’t look like one.”

  “Captain Thomas Flashman at your service, ma’am,” I declared, formally saluting in my damp deerskin clothes. “Now I recall that your madam agreed a price of two dollars with your former client. A British gentleman never pays more than an American for a woman and so that is what I will pay you, agreed?”

  The girl nodded sullenly but at that moment a shot rang out and we both heard the thud of a ball into the wall outside. I listened a moment for any more shots in case new militia soldiers had arrived on the scene. I still had no weapons and with armed men roaming about, prudence demanded going outside and finding something to defend myself with. But she was a very pretty girl and her curves reminded me how long it had been since I was last with a woman. My brain was urging me to check who was outside and arm myself, while other parts of my body were insisting that I stay and enjoy the bounties on offer. “Hell,” I muttered to myself in indecision. But then I remembered that Black Eagle was outside and anyone would struggle to get past him. “All right I told the girl, three dollars but we have to make it quick.”

  She giggled. “Men normally pay me more to take my time, mister.”

  Chapter 21

  Halfway through the bout with Sally, that was the name of the blonde girl, we heard the triumphant whoops of the Indians outside. I gathered that they had been successful in tracking down the remaining militia men. A few minutes later we heard two horses ride off, which hopefully meant that there were another two for us still tied up outside. I relaxed after that and told Sally to take her time after all. I was surprised that she did not seem the slightest bit bothered that the man who had very recently been warming her bed had probably just been killed and scalped in the forest.

  “He was mean-spirited,” she said shrugging. “I can’t care about men in this line of work. You are all just customers and if you are paying cash money so much the better. We have had all sorts here lately. British soldiers and sailors, American sailors and militia, even some Indians with money and we always get people from the town.” She explained that we were not far from Sandusky, but the respectable people of that community did not want a whorehouse on their streets. Husbands did not want to be seen visiting either and so a more remote location suited them. “We have had lots of Perry’s boys in here recently,” she told me. She raised her chin and added, “We heard the gunfire of a battle on the lake. I am guessing that as you are here in wet clothes, that means you British got your ass whipped by our boys.”

  I pulled her towards me and spanked her bare buttocks. “If there is to be any arse whipping to be done around here, I will be doing it.” As I lay back I told her a bit about the battle and the outcome.

  “What does it mean?” she asked.

  “It means that there won’t be any more British expeditions on this side of the lake for a while. In fact we will probably have to pull back from Amherstburg as we could be easily surrounded.” The town was at the end of a neck of land that could easily be cut off by a landing further down the shore.

  “The Indians won’t like that. There are thousands of them living in new villages they have just built further west. Will they stay?”

  “That was, I thought, a very good question. They would be loath to give up the territory that the British had given them, but they were reliant on supplies, particularly of ammunition from the British. They must already be in short supply and if the British were forced to pull back they would be cut off entirely. Unless they could raid the Americans for supplies, it seemed that they had little choice but to retreat north with the British or west on their own. My contemplation of the situation was interrupted by the sound of an amorous coupling in a nearby room.

  “That will be Phoebe with that friend of yours,” informed Sally. “She is partial to a big strong Indian.” From the squeals of delight coming through the thin plank wall she certainly was and the sound reminded me of the opportunities I had close to hand. I reached over and grabbed Sally, determined to make sure I had my three dollars’ worth.

  It was dawn when we were awoken by the madam hammering on the wall. “Come on, git up, my girls have got chores to do,” she yelled. It had been a much more pleasant night than I had anticipated when I was chewing on that disgusting root. But a rumbling stomach reminded me that while one appetite had been satisfied, my need for food was stronger than ever. I got dressed leaving Sally’s coins on the bed and went into the central room. Black Eagle was just emerging from the far room. The girl Phoebe was visible over his shoulder, still lying on her bed appearing sated and grinning like the cat that had the cream.

  “I have integrated with the other prisoner,” the big Indian announced proudly.

  “I think you mean interrogate,” I corrected and then looked over his shoulder at the girl lying exhausted on her back. “On second thoughts, perhaps you are right. She looks like you have been trying very hard to integrate with her.”

  “You owe me another two dollars for Phoebe,” demanded the madam, with a face so sour it could have curdled milk.

  There were still plenty of coins in the purse and so I offered three if she provided breakfast. While she cooked I went outside. The former Indian prisoners had left us two muskets, a good pistol and some ammunition, while a pair of horses remained tied to the rail where the militia had left them. There were two militia bodies sprawled near the house, but I did not look at those then to avoid ruining my appetite. I was hungry and soon we were sitting down to a plate of pancakes and syrup with half a dozen eggs boiling in a pan for us to take with us. It was good to have full bellies again.

  “Do you know,” I pronounced between mouthfuls, “that we are probably the only crew members from the entire British fleet that are still at liberty. Procter might have heard the gunfire but he will only know the battle has been lost when none of his ships return.”

  “Where will we go?” asked Black Eagle.

  “We have no choice but
to ride west along the shore of the lake. Hopefully we will not find any more militia. We must reach the Indian lands soon and then we cross the Maumee River and ride on to Detroit. We can cross the water there and ride on to Amherstburg. It will be around seventy-five miles and should take two or three days.

  “I have never ridden a horse so far,” mused the Indian.

  “Well it will be useful to keep the horses because I suspect we will be retreating further north once we reach Amherstburg.”

  Having eaten our fill we went outside. Black Eagle picked up the wampum bead necklace that the American had been trying to buy the girl with and put it around his neck. I found my tomahawk still lying in the dirt next to the man it had killed. The man’s pockets had already been turned out, probably by the madam hunting for more coins, and some discarded papers lay in the folds of his coat. I was just getting up again when my brain registered that the word ‘Flash’ had appeared at the folded edge of one. I bent down for a second look. I picked up the yellowed leaflet and unfolded it only for my blood to chill in my veins.

  The paper was headed ‘Criminals of War,’ and denounced four white men who were known to fight with Indians and ‘indulge in their most bestial practices’. John Norton was listed together with John Brant and Dickson the Redhead, who had brought extra warriors for Tecumseh. I knew all of these men, they all had some Indian blood in them, but not the man who was given top billing.

  ‘British officer known by the name of Flashman,’ I read. ‘Said to have been a chief amongst the Iroquois at Queenston, where many American prisoners murdered and scalped. Witnessed threatening American prisoners with massacre and scalping. Also to have allowed the drowning of American prisoners through overloading of boats. Justice to be meted out when apprehended.’

  It was a monstrous defamation. Yes I had threatened the prisoners with the Indians, but I would not have allowed their murder. As for the drowning, the threats had been made specifically to avoid the boats being overloaded. I sat back stunned for a moment as things began to fall into place. It certainly explained the ensign’s strange reaction at Fort Stephenson. I wondered if that was why they had put up such a strong defence – perhaps they thought that only death and mutilation at the hands of the notorious Flashman awaited them.

  I almost brought my breakfast back up when I thought what this meant for me. There I was behind enemy lines and I was now a marked man. Any ‘justice’ I could expect on capture was likely to be swift and fatal.

  “Look at this!” I cried waving the paper at Black Eagle.

  “I cannot read, Little Father, what does it say?” I was about to tell him when I noticed the madam staring suspiciously at me from her porch.

  “Never mind, I will tell you later. Let’s get rid of these bodies and get on our way.”

  Black Eagle picked up the two corpses that were lying outside the house and dropped them into the nearby trees so that they were out of sight. The madam was shouting that we should give them a Christian burial, but we had no the time for that.

  “Get a Christian to dig them Christian graves,” growled Black Eagle as he nervously eyed his horse and started to lower the stirrup straps as far as they would go.

  I picked up one of the muskets and the pistol before walking my horse out to the middle of the little crossroads. Anxiously I looked up the road and the track but they were empty in all directions. I could not leave soon enough, but as Black Eagle got ready to mount up, to my surprise, both the girls seemed sorry to see us go. They ran up and threw their arms around us in farewell. I should have been more suspicious as it was hours later before I discovered the razor cut at the bottom of the empty purse tied to my belt.

  We pulled free of their embraces and mounted up. Black Eagle appeared very uncomfortable on his horse, which he struggled to control.

  “Have you ridden much before?” I asked, anxious now to get moving.

  “Only once,” he admitted, “and that was a mule, not a horse like this. They are hard to make go.”

  His mount, aware it had a novice on board, was being awkward. I was about to give him some pointers on horsemanship, but the big Indian solved the problem in his own way. Black Eagle leaned back in the saddle and gave the animal a tremendous slap on its haunch. It was a blow that would have stunned an ox and the startled beast sprang forward. The warrior only just managed to stay in the saddle, but after that he seemed to have little trouble ‘making it go’.

  We went back down the track, riding towards the west and for the first couple of miles we went at a fair pace. Partly because Black Eagle’s horse was too frightened to stop and partly because I wanted to put some distance between us and that woodland brothel. As we went I told Black Eagle about the contents of the flyer I had found on the militia corpse. Then, having been caught out before by having incriminating documents on my person, I tore the thing into tiny fragments and scattered them to the wind as we rode.

  “If you are caught you must give a false name,” said Black Eagle. “As long we do not encounter any Americans who know you, or other prisoners who could give you away, you should be fine.” He was right, very few Americans knew me by name and in my buckskin clothes I was far less recognisable as the British officer than I had been at Queenston. Still I was more than a bit relieved to find we had reached Indian territory at the end of the first day’s ride, having not seen another American on our journey. We spent the night at one of the new Indian villages, built on land Tecumseh had secured as a reward for helping the British drive the Americans back to Fort Meigs.

  I had already agreed with Black Eagle that we would explain that we were scouts and not mention the fate of the British fleet. I thought that we should give that news to Procter first. While the villagers had heard the gunfire of the naval battle and asked if we had any news of the big canoes, they did not seem unduly concerned. The women were out in the fields tending the crops as though they had every expectation of still being there at harvest time.

  The nearest sizeable American force was at Fort Meigs and the local warriors seemed confident that they could keep the garrison bottled up there – provided the British could keep them supplied with ammunition. I casually enquired if they had enough ball and powder at the moment, but was told that the latest shipment of gifts had been delayed. The local chief was not worried, though; he had been assured by the local Indian Agency representative that the next shipment would be double to make up for the shortfall. Whether the Indian Agency man had any understanding of the real situation or was just passing on promises made to him, it was hard to say. But as we rode through one village after another, the situation was the same in each one: complete ignorance of the precarious situation they were in.

  Things were little better in Detroit. Judging from the surly looks from the American citizens, they had not received any news of Perry’s victory either; nor had they heard the gunfire, being that much further west. At least the population was not hungry as supplies were getting through from farms in the area. In fact some stores were being transported over the Detroit River into Canada, where with more Indian mouths to feed, rations were now close to starvation levels. We took the ferry over the river and rode on to Amherstburg. We were halfway there when we came across two very excited warriors riding in the opposite direction.

  “The British general has gone mad,” they shouted at us as they rode past. “He is destroying his own fort.” They were racing for the ferry, keen to bring this news to Tecumseh and the other Indians on the southern shore of the lake. I suspected that the peaceful complacency of the villages we had just ridden through was about to be rudely shattered.

  “But the Americans will never be able to fight their way through Tecumseh’s men,” pointed out Black Eagle. “There is lots of forest. They would be ambushed every step of the way.”

  “They won’t need to fight through them, they can go round them. They will join Perry’s fleet at Sandusky and sail across the lake. Then they will have the Indian villages surrounded and can
make sure that no more ammunition reaches them.”

  “Most of the tribes will look to make peace if that happens,” said Black Eagle gloomily. “Will the big canoes take long to repair?” he asked scanning the horizon as though their top sails could appear at any moment.

  “The Lawrence will, but the Niagara won’t and Perry now has the British vessels to add to his fleet. He has more than enough to ship Harrison’s army. They could be here in two weeks.”

  When we got into Amherstburg we found a group of redcoats half-heartedly working at knocking down the fortifications. They were, I saw, new, younger soldiers. These were the reinforcements that Procter had been pressing to receive for the last year. Ironically they had arrived just as retreat seemed inevitable.

  I went in search of our general and discovered he was at his house in town. Having given my name to a scowling housekeeper, I was shown into his office to wait. Male and female voices could be heard arguing from the floor above and the British commander in western Canada eventually entered the room flustered and carrying three women’s dresses. For a man facing impending military disaster, he seemed to have his priorities slightly out of kilter.

  “Good God, Captain Flashman,” he exclaimed when he saw me. “You did sail with Barclay, didn’t you? Did one of our ships escape after all?”

  “No sir. My Iroquois companion and I had to swim ashore. We commandeered some horses and have just ridden around the western end of the lake. I take it you have heard that the fleet was captured, then?”

  “We heard the sound of battle and before he left Barclay assured me that he would send word after an engagement, even if he had to send a ship’s boat to do it. When no word came, I assumed the worst. Now let me put these dresses down and get you a drink. Then you can tell me what happened.” Procter draped the clothes over the back of a chair and poured two glasses from a nearly empty decanter. As he put the glasses down on a side table, the door burst open and Mrs Procter glared at her husband disapprovingly.