Flashman and Madison's War

by Robert Brightwell

  They appeared a little less sanguine the next day when we discovered that some five hundred Kentucky horsemen had joined Harrison’s army and that Perry had sent a flotilla of boats up the Thames in pursuit of our own. The pace of the retreat suddenly increased now and more and more equipment was abandoned along the way. Still the Indians would not destroy the bridges. Warburton had sent several messages up the line telling Procter what was happening and asking him to intervene with Tecumseh to slow the American advance. According to the messengers, Procter was travelling in his carriage with his family and declared he would reply in due course. No reply was ever forthcoming.

  The following day the head of the column was due to reach Chatham. This I thought was when we would be certain if Procter was serious about making a stand or not. The line of the retreat by then straggled over several miles and the Americans were close on our heels. Late that morning a crackle of gunfire was heard on the opposite bank. A small detachment of British soldiers had been marching on that side of the river and we soon got messages back from scouts that they had been captured. Warburton and Tecumseh were sending scouts up and down the column gauging how far behind the Americans were and how soon we would reach Chatham.

  At the next bridge, after pleading from Warburton, the Indians finally agreed to cut the supports and let it fall. It would not delay the Americans for long, especially their horsemen, but Warburton hoped it would give his men time to set up their defensive positions. The Americans were too close for comfort and I told Black Eagle that we had spent long enough in the rear guard. It was time to ride on ahead and see what was happening at the fork in the river. We rode our horses steadily through the throng of people on the track; I did not want to wear the mounts out if a more desperate retreat was required later in the day. Weary civilians parted down the road as they heard us coming. Many it seemed had panicked earlier when they heard the gunfire across the river, as even more possessions had just been abandoned in the grass scrub at the edge of the trail. Eventually we rounded a bend and there was Chatham laid out before us. The land in the fork of the two rivers was indeed a strong defensive position – which made it all the more regrettable that there was not a single person defending it.

  Instead of soldiers digging trenches and gun emplacements on the triangle of land, two squirrels watched curiously from the trees as hundreds of people milled about on our side of the river. Many of the civilians who had jettisoned their belongings in their rush to get the protection of the British defensive line now slumped exhausted and confused on the ground, unclear what to do next. The biggest crowd was around four very harassed soldiers, who seemed to be trying in vain to get people to continue further along the riverside path. I rode my horse towards them and one, recognising me as an officer, pushed forward.

  “General Procter has given orders for everyone to carry on up the river, sir.”

  “Why the devil did he not stop here as planned?” I asked.

  “He heard the gunfire on the other side of the river, sir, and he did not think that he would have enough time to set up a defensive position before the Americans arrived.”

  “Do you know where he plans to stop now?”

  “I am not sure he is, sir.” The soldier looked over his shoulder to check people were not listening to our conversation and then added in a lower voice, “He set off at some pace in his carriage, sir.”

  Was I responsible for this? I wondered as I looked at the chaos all around me. I had wanted the army to pull back to safety with me in its midst, but not like this. This retreat had disaster written all over it. I was going to make damn sure I was not still around when the Americans inevitably over ran it. An angry woman with two young children was already pulling at the soldier’s sleeve and demanding to know where civilian camp was.

  “Good luck, Corporal,” I called to him. “I think you are going to need it,” I added as I wheeled my horse away.

  “Is there a better defensive position further up the path?” asked Black Eagle after I had explained what had happened.

  “No, this was the best one, but I am not sure that Procter was ever serious about making a stand here. He may have just said that to keep the Indians on board. Rations are sparse now; every step we take further along the path will see our men get weaker and more equipment will be abandoned on the way.”

  “We will lose more than a few men now,” warned Black Eagle. “Tecumseh only got the tribes this far by promising a battle. When the tribes learn that Procter has gone on, most will leave to work their way around the Americans and go back to their homelands.”

  No sooner had he finished speaking than there was a shout of alarm from back down the path and half a dozen horsemen could be seen thundering at full tilt into the clearing. As they reined up in the middle of the crowds I saw it was Tecumseh, four other Indians and Elliot. They were all staring at the empty land in the middle of the river in disbelief. Then Tecumseh stood in his stirrups and stared up at the sky while emitting the most despairing howl I have ever heard. There was a lot of shouting and raging then. Tecumseh hurled his tomahawk so hard into the trunk of a nearby tree in fury that an Indian had to use both hands to wrench it free. They would have cut the British general to pieces had he appeared at that moment and I was grateful to be wearing buckskin instead of the British red. Even Elliot was jostled by the Indians and seeing us sitting to one side of the clearing, he rode over.

  “I will not, by God, sacrifice myself to their fury,” he spluttered pointing up the track, “when that villain rides safely along in his carriage.” He turned to me, “You knew he would not stop here, didn’t you!”

  “I was not sure, that is why I asked him and he told me that he would. I told you that, remember?”

  Elliot cuffed a tear away from his eye. “It is the end, you know. There is no chance for the confederation now.” He pointed at Tecumseh. “That man has been let down by British promises time and again, but still he worked with us, expecting only honour and decency in return.” He turned away so that we could not see the tears of frustration running down his face.

  I felt sorry for the old man, but he was making Tecumseh out to be some kind of saint when in fact the chief had always been working towards his own goals. “I think you will find that he wanted powder and ball in return,” I corrected him. “No one else will give it to them and you said yourself that the Indian confederation was an impossible dream.”

  Elliot’s face whirled back to face mine, his eyes blazing in anger. “You bastard! You did not want Procter to stop here at all did you?”

  “I honestly don’t know what would have been for the best,” I told him. “If we had stopped here, well we have abandoned half our supplies on the way and could not have lasted long. Even if the Indians could have ambushed some American wagons, they could not have got the food through the American lines. The Americans would not have needed to attack; they could have starved us out. And you have seen our soldiers; half of them would have deserted if there was any kind of siege.” What I did not add was that I would almost certainly have been captured, identified and hung. “At least going on,” I continued, “we delay encirclement and stretch American supply lines further. But ultimately I think the Americans will win either way.”

  Elliot nodded slowly in understanding and then looked me in the eye. “Well I can tell you, sir, that Tecumseh will fight with us until the very end.” With that he turned his horse and walked it slowly up the path, heading further north.

  “Will we fight until the very end, Little Father?” asked Black Eagle.

  “No, my friend,” I told him. “I have other plans for us.” We were interrupted by renewed shouts of rage from the Indians as more warriors arrived. One of the Indians had ridden his horse across the river and up onto the triangle of land. It turned out that it was not completely empty. Procter had left three of his precious cannon there, just the barrels, lying uselessly in the grass. As the new warriors vented their anger at British treachery, most of the white c
ivilians decided that it would be timely to continue their retreat along the path. They were not the only ones. There seemed little benefit in staying at Chatham now and Black Eagle and I joined the slowly moving throng.

  Chapter 24

  Over the next few days the number of people on the march must have almost halved. There was a big difference between a retreat of fifty miles in the wilderness to an anticipated British stronghold, and a long aimless trek of two hundred and fifty miles, with little or no supplies. The Indians continued to mount a rear guard and fought several vigorous engagements, but their numbers dropped as first one war band and then another decided to leave. After three days the number of Indians had dropped from around twelve hundred to five hundred. But it was not just the Indians; many of the civilians, especially those with children or people unlikely to survive the longer journey, decided to take their chances with the Americans. They turned around and started to trudge slowly back the way they had come, perhaps hoping to recover things that they had abandoned days before. More than a handful of the British soldiers came to similar decisions and slipped away during the night. Not all were successful; two were caught by the Indians and brought back, badly beaten.

  By then the boats that Perry had sent up the river were overhauling ours. Several boats were sunk or captured, including the ones carrying most of the spare ammunition. The American soldiers were pressing hard on the rear guard too now. It was only a matter of time before they overran the straggling column.

  “Tomorrow we reach a settlement called Moraviantown,” I told Black Eagle as we walked our horses past two carts loaded with sick or injured soldiers. “I have seen it on a map and there is a track from there that heads east, back to the Grand River lands.”

  “It would be good to go home,” stated Black Eagle with feeling.

  “Yes, from what I hear the British and Iroquois to the east have kept the Americans bottled up on the eastern end of the Niagara peninsula, so we should be safe on the Grand River.” I thought it would be a brave or foolish American that would take on the Iroquois on their home territory. They knew the woods like the back of their hands and would ambush invaders every step of the way. “Speak to Morag,” I told Black Eagle, “and make sure she is ready to leave. We will go tomorrow night.”

  “Yes Little Father,” agreed Black Eagle beaming with delight as he swung up onto the saddle and galloped off.

  I knew he would spend the night with Morag in the Indian camp and so as the sun went down I found a group of soldiers with a good fire going and fell in with them. You know morale is bad in an army when the soldiers are too tired to even moan. Word was passed that an ox was being killed for food, but then they discovered that all the butchery saws and cooking pots had been sent on ahead and were already in Moraviantown. Normally there would be voluble cursing among the men at incompetent officers and venal quartermasters, but this time many men just seemed content to slump down quiet and hungry. We had a more resourceful corporal around my fire. He knew that it would be difficult to butcher an ox with a bayonet or a clasp knife, but as he looked around the fire he saw me, with a tomahawk stuck in my belt.

  “Could I borrow your axe, sir?” he asked. I passed it across. A short while later he returned it, still covered in ox blood, not that I minded as he also brought with him a large joint of meat that was soon roasting over the fire. We heard several bursts of sporadic fire among the rear guard that night, but they all seemed some distance off. When I awoke I silently rejoiced that this was my last day on the march. My fireside comrades were ordered into line by a sergeant and resumed their weary progress north, while I went down to the river to wash the blood off my tomahawk. I was just dipping it into the water when I heard a horse ride up behind me.

  “Flashman, is that you?” I turned and there was Colonel Warburton staring down at me. He saw what I was doing and grinned. “Have you been fighting with your Indian friends in the rear guard? From the gore on that tomahawk you must have taught at least one of our American friends a lesson in manners, eh?”

  “Well I do what I can,” I said diffidently. “I am not the sort to run without putting up some kind of a fight, you know.”

  “Yes I heard you had a fighting reputation while you were in Spain and then you fought with the Indians at Queenston and Fort Meigs. You and your Indian friend were the only ones to return from Barclay’s battle on the water too. I can easily imagine how wretched you are finding this retreat.” He peered around to check we were alone. “Some have urged me to take command from Procter, but between ourselves we are in such a pickle I think it is too late to save the situation.”

  “You may be right,” I told him washing the last of the blood from the tomahawk. As I straightened up I lifted my chin and tried to look like a man brave enough to fight with Indians all night and march all day. “But I have never before been in a British army that has run headlong from the enemy without putting up a fight.”

  Warburton puffed himself up at that – whether he thought I was criticising him as well as Procter I am not sure. “You are right, Captain Flashman, by God you are right indeed!” With that the colonel spurred his horse forward along the track. I grinned as I watched him go. He was doubtless off to harangue Procter about the need to protect Britain’s military reputation or some such call to patriotism. But if Procter would not stand at Chatham, his ability to stand was infinitely worse now. No, I thought, they could struggle on, but they would do so without me. A few hours more and then I would be long gone. I would reappear in a few months with some tale of struggling through the wilderness to escape whatever fate befell the column. I took my time getting ready to move and the first of the rear guard was just appearing down the track when I finally mounted up and rode off. I had barely covered half a mile when Warburton was back beaming with delight.

  Captain Flashman, your wish has been granted,” shouted Warburton. “We are finally making a stand, just a few miles ahead at a place called Moraviantown.” He laughed. “You should see your face. It is the very picture of astonishment and surprise. But it is true and it is largely down to you. I spoke to Procter after our discussion earlier and he has agreed.”

  Heaven knows what the fool Warburton had told Procter or what possessed Procter to agree, but I am pretty sure that the look on my face would have been worth seeing. I was beyond dumbfounded. I was stupefied in my astonishment, my mind struggling to take in what had happened. Of all the damned luck, just as I was about to make my move. To add insult to injury it seemed I was the catalyst for an uncharacteristic show of backbone by our commander. Well I wasn’t done for yet, I thought, I could still slide away. But Warburton was not going to let me go that easily. “Come, Captain, the general wants to see you. We will need everyone to help prepare our defence.”

  If I had been depressed about our prospects for success at Chatham, I was positively appalled when I saw the battleground Procter had deemed suitable. It was mile or so before the town and instead of a fork in the river, Procter had chosen some open land on the north-west bank of the Thames. He planned to defend a narrow strip of boggy ground bordered by the river on his left flank and a large swamp to his right. There were no Indians in sight and just four hundred redcoats being drawn up in two loose ranks on either side of a waterlogged patch of ground in the middle of this strategic masterpiece.

  “Captain Flashman,” called Procter when he saw me. “I hear from Warburton that you have called us to our duty. You are quite right and I am grateful to you. It is here we will make our stand,” he announced sweeping his arm around his pathetic defences.

  “But sir where are the rest of our men?”

  “Apart from a few stragglers still coming in, this is all we have left fit to fight. The others are sick or wounded and some have been captured. I don’t need to tell you that we have also lost some to desertion.” He looked at me. “Oh I know it is a meagre force but for Britain’s honour we must make some defence and look, we still have a cannon.” He pointed to a solitary six-
pounder in the middle of the line being lashed to a platform made of logs.

  “But this is madness, sir. I know I said something about making a stand but I had no idea how few men we had.” I was desperate now, I had inadvertently talked us into this mess and now I had to get us out of it. “There are three thousand infantry and some five hundred cavalry coming towards us. We cannot possibly hope to win.” I looked around to check we were alone before I played my trump card. “And sir, think of what will happen to you and your family if we are caught. I have been foolish, sir, in suggesting a stand and I sincerely apologise. I could not bear to have your life and particularly the fate of your wife and daughters on my conscience.”

  “Calm yourself, Captain. I know you are a man of honour and integrity and I do not hold you accountable for my family’s fate, which is my responsibility alone. They are back at Moraviantown and have guards who will help them get away should the worst happen. As for myself, I am prepared for whatever fate awaits me.” Subconsciously he moved his hand up to loosen the collar about his neck. “We will try to check the Americans here. Their supply lines are stretched and if we can hold them, perhaps they will settle for the territory they have gained to date and let us retire in peace.”

  Procter looked away as he spoke and I don’t think that even he thought that this was a remote possibility.

  “Where are the Indians, sir? Are they not joining us?”

  “Oh they are to our right in the woods behind the swamp; they form a line at right angles to our own. They refuse to fight out here in the open and so will attack the flank of the Americans if Harrison comes for us first. If he goes for the Indians, we will attack the American flank. Now,” he beamed at me, “we should find a position for you to command: my left flank or my right?”