Flashman and Madison's War

by Robert Brightwell

  “Henry you have creased those dresses,” she admonished, picking them up from where he had left them. “Now have you organised a second cart for our luggage? No, I thought not. Well you must get on,” she gestured dismissively to me, “I am sure that this Indian will understand.” Then she bustled out of the room without waiting for any reply.

  Procter shrugged apologetically. “The women are preparing for our inevitable retreat, Captain.”

  “Indeed, yes sir, there is no avoiding that now.” I tried to sound as though this was to be regretted but inwardly my heart soared. Ever since I had seen that wretched poster I had been harbouring the fear that Procter would choose to make some reckless last stand. “I suppose we will fall back on York?” I enquired. The headquarters of southern Canada had been re-established there after the American raid.

  “Those are my orders, although it will be difficult to slip away. The Indians will view it as a great betrayal when they find out.”

  “Slip away?” I repeated astonished. “You surely do not think we can pull the British army back without the Indians noticing? Why, we passed two Indian messengers riding to Tecumseh on our way here. They told us that you were pulling down the fort. He will know in a couple of days and I fear he will swiftly deduce what it means.”

  “But we will never be able to pull back that quickly,” cried Procter alarmed. “I have not told Warburton of the plan yet and he would need time to organise the withdrawal from Detroit.”

  “Sir I think we will need the Indians with us when we pull back. Even with your reinforcements, you will have less than a thousand men. General Harrison is rumoured to be gathering an army of three to four thousand. With those numbers they could land anywhere on the lake shore and cut us off.”

  “No,” insisted Procter stubbornly. “I will not have that damned Indian running the show again. We will retire as ordered and the Indians will have to look out for themselves.” He sat back and stared into the flames of the fire. “And anyway,” he added quietly, “if the worst should happen, Harrison is an honourable fellow. He would treat the people properly.”

  I also sat back in my chair to consider for a moment. Without the Indians the British force would be small and vulnerable, slowed by a large retinue of civilians. It would be a very tempting target for Harrison; he was bound to do all he could to capture the whole British army of western Canada. Harrison was a politician as well as a general and he would not fail to see what that could do to his career. If the army was encircled then the identity of one ‘criminal of war’ would come to light. I could not afford to take that chance. On top of that if we betrayed the Indians, there was every chance that they would turn on us instead.

  I look at Procter; his jaw was set in a resolute expression as he stared into space. He must have had bitter memories of being manoeuvred into doing things he did not want, but I had to manipulate him again. If I was to get the old fool to do what I wanted, I realised that I would have to gammon him – it was just a matter of finding the right levers to pull.

  “I am sure that this will have no bearing on your decision, sir, but I probably should tell you that while we were making our way back from where we swam ashore, we made an unpleasant discovery.” Procter looked up, his brows raised in curiosity. “We ambushed some militia men to steal their horses,” I continued, “and on one of them we found some posters headed ‘Criminals of War’. I am afraid to say that you that you featured on one of them.”

  “Good grief, what do you mean?”

  The best lies were always those that have some element of truth to them. In this case I was just changing some rather important details. “The poster condemned you for the massacre at the Raisin and the prisoners killed at Fort Meigs, sir. It called for justice to be meted out to you if you were taken.”

  “You mean…” gasped Procter not quite able to finish the sentence.

  “I fear that you will be hanged if you are taken, sir.”

  “The villains!” exclaimed Procter. “It is one thing to be killed or wounded in battle, but to be hung like a common criminal....” His hand went up to his neck, as though he could feel the rough hemp rope closing around his throat.

  “Obviously such a matter can have no bearing on your decision,” I continued, blithely ignoring the look on his face that told me that the exact opposite was true.

  “Indeed, Captain,” declared Procter straightening up. “We must do what we think is best for our command.”

  “As you say, sir,” I continued, “but there is also the matter of the women and children.”

  “What about them?”

  “Well I know that you have spent most of your career here in Canada, sir, but I have seen several military retreats in Spain. They can be particularly hard on the women and children, especially if the column is overrun.” I paused for a moment to allow time for his imagination to go to work: marauding Kentucky backwoodsmen grabbing at his wife and daughters. “Without the Indians,” I continued, “we will be outnumbered three or four to one. I don’t need to tell you, sir, that morale is low, the men have not been paid for six months and are on half rations. Why, just on the way here I saw a poster some American sympathiser had pinned up in the street claiming that Harrison will issue arrears of pay and welcome deserters into his forces. We could end up with just a small core of loyal men, overwhelmed and surrounded in the forest by thousands of Americans baying for your blood, sir. And of course they would show little sympathy for the women.”

  Procter had paled as I described his possible fate, but I decided to twist the knife a little more, dropping my voice to a whisper. “It is very likely, sir, that the American officers would lose control of their men. I have seen it happen several times before with our soldiers at places like Badajoz. You would not want the women and your girls to suffer that kind of fate would you, sir?”

  “No, no of course not,” whispered Procter in reply. Events following the siege of Badajoz were notorious in the army. Everyone knew that even Wellington lost control of the army then, with thousands of innocent civilians raped or murdered. “But how will I persuade Tecumseh to help us when he will know I was planning to run out on him?”

  I had already thought of the answer to that one. “Offer him powder and ammunition. His people are now desperately short and they will need it if they are to stand any chance of defending their homelands. Tell him he can have as much as his men can carry if he accompanies us to York. After all, there must be a stockpile there of the powder that they have not been able to send us down the lake.”

  “You don’t know that damned Indian, Flashman. I tell you if we involve him and his Indians then he will find a way to have us dancing to his tune. He will not give up his wretched confederation that easily.” Procter stared once more into the flames of his fire. “I appreciate your loyalty, Captain, and I will think on what you have said. Naturally I would be grateful if you would keep what you have told me to yourself, especially about the posters. We do not need others knowing about that.”

  “Of course, sir,” I agreed watching the play of emotions across his face. There was fear all right, but it was hard to say if he was more frightened of Tecumseh or the Americans.

  “In fact, given your experience of military retreats, it might be useful if you helped prepare for ours. It may be that we might need to send at least the women and children away with very little warning. Please include my carriage in those preparations; Mrs Procter prefers to travel in it. Oh and there is no need to keep Colonel Warburton informed. Between ourselves, I do not trust that man, I suspect he would pass on to the Indians any information he receives on our plans. Now, I must not keep you from your new duties ….”

  With that I was shown from the house and soon found myself standing in the street outside. Black Eagle ambled over from where he had been waiting.

  “What did he say?” asked the Indian. “Why is he pulling down the fort?”

  I tried to get my thoughts in order before replying. Being a craven cowa
rd myself I can easily recognise cowardice in others, but it was not that driving Procter. While I do my utmost to avoid unnecessary danger, I am mindful of protecting my reputation as well. But if I was right then Procter was planning to run and leave his command behind; protecting his neck and his family without consideration for the disgrace and ignominy that would follow. “I rather think the man’s nerve has gone,” I told Black Eagle. “I think he is planning to slide out on us all.”

  I had campaigned with some pretty rum fellows in my time, but this beat all. Dowlat Rao Scindia had gone to war high on opiates and concubines; John Downie had dressed his men like a Shakespearian theatre troupe; while General Erskine was insane, with certificates from the asylum to prove it. But all of those men had been outwardly brave leaders. Now here was Procter, a man just promoted to major general in the British army no less, who seemed determined to leave me covering his retreat while he raced ahead of his army and left most of his allies and possibly his second in command in the dark about the fact he was leaving at all.

  Chapter 22

  Over the next few days Amherstburg and the nearby town of Sandwich were turned into a hive of activity for at least some of the British – those who knew what was happening. Every river boat that could be found was gathered, loaded with people and supplies and sent up the Detroit River to Lake St Clair and the mouth of the Thames River. The Canadian Thames River went roughly along the route of our march and so it would be much easier to transport supplies by boat. But on the southern shore of Lake Erie the British garrison in Detroit and elsewhere was in blissful ignorance of the departure plans being made. Colonel Warburton only found out that the fort at Amherstburg was being demolished when he received enquiries from the Indians. When he wrote urgently for an explanation from Procter, he received a reply to the effect that the general had the right to issue whatever secret orders he liked.

  Tecumseh could not be fobbed off so easily. Like many of his warriors, he was furious at what seemed clearly an act of treachery and betrayal. With some three hundred of his men he rode to Amherstburg and demanded a council meeting with Procter. Black Eagle mixed with the warriors and told me that he had never seen the Indians so angry with the British. Some were threatening to join the Americans and fight us instead, while others wanted nothing more to do with the treacherous white man. Ironically it was the fact that Warburton and several other British officers were also clearly in the dark about what was happening – and just as furious – which kept most of the venom directed at Procter and not the British as a whole.

  For the next two days Procter kept seeking updates from me on the evacuation plans. It was two hundred and fifty miles to York and over half of the civilian population would want to join with the army when it left. Most of the local garrison was now employed in the preparations, but it would still be at least a week before sufficient boats, carts, animals and supplies had been gathered. I am not sure whether Black Eagle talked to some of his Indian friends, but Tecumseh seemed to have got the idea that Procter might depart in advance of the evacuation. Camps of warriors appeared on the roads leaving both Amherstburg and Sandwich and the Indians did not bother to hide who they were looking out for.

  As the days passed, Procter’s evasions began to wear thin. Some warriors threatened to drag him from his house and carry him to the council by force. Even Procter could see now that he was cornered and had little choice but agree to a meeting with Tecumseh and all of the senior British commanders and local officials. The council was held in a hall within the now partially demolished fort at Amherstburg. The half broken down walls served to remind everyone of Procter’s perfidy. As the colourful Indian party gathered in the middle of the room and British officers around the outside, the mood was tenser than a drawn bowstring. I made a point of sitting well away from Procter when he arrived; it was not beyond the realms of possibility that a tomahawk or some other weapon would be thrown at him if the mood turned ugly.

  The British general had been the last to enter the council chamber, to a roar of disapproval from the Indians. He was pale-faced and clearly nervous as he took his chair at the head of the room. I looked along the line of British officers present – most were not bothering to hide their amusement at their commander’s discomfort. To open the meeting Tecumseh rose to his feet in a leather tunic with an ostrich feather in his head band. The warriors almost instantly stilled their noise, highlighting the commanding dignity of their chief. Tecumseh slowly let his gaze roam around the room, his dark eyes searching out those of every one of the British and Canadian officials sitting around the edge. Some looked away but when his eyes met mine, I raised my chin and looked squarely back. Finally he looked at Procter. Elliot, the old grey-haired translator, got to his feet beside him.

  It was a powerful speech, reminding the British commander that the Indians had risen to support the redcoats at their request. The British had promised to protect their families and help recover their lands if the Indians fought alongside them. General Brock had promised that the British would never give up Canadian soil, but now the British were tearing down their forts and preparing to run without sight of the enemy. There was no news of the battle of the big canoes on the lake and no American soldiers within a hundred miles. He looked directly at Procter when he continued. “We must compare our father’s conduct to a fat animal that carries its tail upon its back, but when affrighted, drops it between its legs and runs off.”

  There were howls and hoots of laughter at that remark and not just by the Indians in the middle of the room. Procter sat red-faced on his chair glaring angrily back at the Indian as he finished his speech. Tecumseh declared that Procter was welcome to go provided he left the arms and ammunition sent by the King Across the Sea for his red children. He concluded by saying, “Our lives are in the hands of the Great Spirit. We are determined to defend our lands, and if it is his will, we wish to leave our bones upon them.”

  The Indians rose as one after that, waving their tomahawks in the air and demanding that their powder horns be filled. In the end Tecumseh had to rise to his feet again to demand silence so that Procter could make a reply. The general was a far less inspiring leader than the Indian commander, nervously licking his lips with eyes darting about for signs of any support. Clearing his throat he announced what he had known for nearly a week: that the British fleet had been completely destroyed and that the Americans had total command of the lake. Warburton looked furious that he had not been informed of this already and dashed an earthenware cup he had been drinking from to the floor in disgust. I suspected that this overly theatrical gesture was partly intended to convince the Indians that he had not been party to this secret.

  Procter waited for the hubbub that followed his announcement to die down before he continued. “This council twice decided to attack Fort Meigs when we could have attacked the American fleet in its anchorage.” He looked sadly at the warriors, silently reminding them that it was he who had argued for the attack on the fleet. “But now we must address the situation we find ourselves in. Each day,” he told the Indians, “we eat fourteen cattle and seven thousand pounds of flour. This is more than the surrounding farms can deliver and now no more supplies will reach us down the lake. For the last few weeks ships have not been able to deliver the gunpowder and ammunition sent by the King Across the Sea – supplies are running low. The American control of the lake changes things. They will not fight their way towards us from Fort Meigs. They will come by ship and land behind us if we stay in Amherstburg.”

  A new burst of conversation broke out amongst both the Indians and the British and Canadians. A warrior stood up in the middle of the room. “You want to run like a frightened hen from an enemy so far away that you cannot even see it. Let the Americans come and we will kill them and take their supplies.” This was greeted with a huge roar of approval from the warriors present.

  Procter held up his hand for silence again. He had been weighing up the mood of his audience as he had been speaking and I
think he must have judged that a retreat all the way to York would not wash with the Indians. So he looked Tecumseh squarely in the eye, holding his gaze as though that would convince the Indian of the veracity of what he was about to say. Then he told the chief what I was sure was a blatant lie. “We will just retreat a little way up the river to a point where the Americans cannot easily surround us.”

  “Where exactly will we make our stand?” asked Tecumseh getting to his feet again.

  Procter looked momentarily alarmed at this request for detail. He had evidently not even looked at his map with a view to making a stand and had no idea where to suggest. He had no choice but to stall for time. “I will decide in the next two days,” he announced before turning and leaving the council hall before any more questions could be asked.

  Half an hour later Procter had ridden out of Amherstburg, heading for Sandwich while Colonel Warburton was complaining loudly of having just been handed written orders from the general. He was required to ‘square things away’ with the Indians. “I will be damned if I will,” he fumed. “How can I convince Tecumseh of a plan our general has not even had the decency to share with me?”

  The next two days were not any easier as the last supplies and the few guns left in the fort were transported by boat to the mouth of the Thames. The Indians watched their abandonment with growing discontent, while messengers rode back and forth from their villages reporting that there was no sign of Americans marching towards us. It was not just the Indians that were verging on open revolt. Warburton and others openly questioned Procter’s plan, with some astutely voicing the opinion that beyond headlong flight he had no strategy at all.

  I kept my own council, although some looked suspiciously at me, thinking I was one of the few in Procter’s inner circle of cronies that did know what was happening. I just went about my business of ensuring that we took with us everything that we might need on the retreat and left nothing of value for the Americans. I had been several days at this work when I suddenly remembered that my gold-hilted sword was still in the town store vault. I had spent so long dressed in buckskin with my tomahawk in my belt, that it seemed strange to have the weapon back at my hip.