Flashman and Madison's War

by Robert Brightwell

  “Court martial… firing squad,” I repeated in stunned astonishment.

  “You didn’t think you would get away with it, did you? I sent you to liaise with the Iroquois, but while they have fought with us hard during the campaign, you were never to be seen. When I asked Norton, he came out with a string of excuses until he seemed too embarrassed to reply to my enquiries.” He gave a sneering laugh before continuing. “So I looked at the letter of introduction that came from the governor general, based on details you provided. It is patently absurd, spying on the French in Paris and escaping in an American ship. You knew full well that we could not check on those facts with the enemy. I suspect that you deserted the army in Spain and hoped to make a new life in America before this war caught you out. Since then you have been hiding, but it is getting too hot for you and so you thought you would try to bluff your way back to England.”

  “That is absurd, sir.” I began to realise that my story did sound far-fetched, but it was true all the same. Bluster was clearly not going to work with this character; I needed some supporting witnesses. “Speak to General Procter, sir, he will confirm that I was at Fort Meigs, with Barclay and at Moraviantown.”

  “General Procter has suffered some form of breakdown,” declared Fforbes ringing a small bell on his desk. “And when he recovers he will be facing a court martial of his own for his conduct at Moraviantown, so perhaps not an ideal character witness.” I heard a door open behind me as Fforbes continued. “Ah, guards, kindly relieve Mr Flashman of his sword and escort him to the cells. He is under arrest.”

  “But you can’t do this!” I shouted as I felt hands firmly grip my arms. “I was there, in Paris, Fort Meigs, on the Detroit, Moraviantown, the whole bloody lot.”

  “Come along, sir,” said a guard’s voice in my ear as I was hauled up off my feet. “You just come along quietly.”

  “What the deuce…?” I shouted. “Fforbes, you damn fool, every word I told you was true. Let me go, you great oafs or I will have you horsewhipped. Put me down… Fforbes, tell them to let me go!” Fforbes just laughed at my final appeal and gestured again at the guards to take me away.

  I spent two weeks in those damn cells at Burlington, fuming at the irony of my situation. Oh many a time I have lied about my conduct on a campaign and invariably I have got away with it. But this time every word of my implausible tale was the truth, yet it could cost me disgrace and court martial. Surely, I wondered, Procter’s wits could not be that addled. If he was asked he must be able to confirm my tale. I had no idea what other officers had survived the Moraviantown disaster, but there must be some who could confirm that a Captain Flashman had at least been there on the retreat.

  At first I did not take the threat of a firing squad seriously. If no one could confirm my presence at Moraviantown, then I would insist that they write to Wellington. He would be able to confirm my Peninsular War service and that I was sent after that fool Grant all the way to Paris. But as the days passed I began to wonder if Fforbes had just left me to rot in the gaol instead of making any enquiries at all. Your mind plays tricks on you when you have been left on your own and after a while I was beginning to doubt my story myself. The only thing I was sure about was the passage of time as there was a barred window high in the cell wall. It showed the passing of night and day and I used to mark each day on the cell wall. Actually, thinking back, I was not even certain of the passage of time as I remember having arguments with myself as to whether I had yet made that day’s mark or not. The guards, who brought food and changed the bucket, were clearly under orders to say nothing. They took a sadistic delight in ignoring my increasingly desperate pleas for information. I could have cried with relief with the cell door was eventually opened and a grim-faced sergeant actually spoke to me.

  “This way, sir,” he said gesturing back up the corridor I had arrived through. “Major Fforbes would like to see you.” I shambled after the man, noting that he had called me ‘sir’ and hoped that this first act of respect heralded some good news. Soon I was in the rarefied atmosphere of the officer’s quarters and gathering curious glances from those I passed. Then a door was opened and I was back in Fforbes’ office from where I had started my recent sojourn.

  The man himself was behind his desk and he looked up, wrinkling his nose in distaste when he saw me. I must have looked and smelt pretty ripe after that long in the cells. But then he forced a smile across his face, stood and walked towards me. “Ah, Captain Flashman, do come in and take a seat, here by the fire, while I get you some brandy.”

  “So you have found out that I was telling the truth, then?” I asked truculently, standing in the middle of the room. If the bastard thought he could just blithely brush away my incarceration he could think again. “I have been in those bloody cells for two weeks because you refused to believe the word of a British officer and gentleman,” I fumed. “I should call you out and bloody thrash you.”

  “I offer you my most sincere apologies,” said Fforbes holding out a large brandy. “Please take this and a seat by the fire.” I allowed myself to be guided to a large chair as he continued. “As you must know your tale is quite remarkable; I am sure no other officer has had an experience quite like it. I wrote at once to General Procter seeking confirmation that you were at Moraviantown. To test his sanity I asked if he could verify that I was at the battle too. He attested that we were both present. So I sent a message to Colonel Warburton, but he was away on the Niagara frontier and it took some time to receive his reply.”

  “And he proved my story,” I offered more as a statement than a question.

  “Not only that, he informed me that it was you who helped him call Procter to account and to make a stand to defend the honour of British arms. He also confirmed that you and an Indian were the only ones to escape capture when Barclay’s fleet was taken.”

  I took a sip of the brandy. “I hope this means that you will now help me to get a berth on a ship to Britain. You must see that I have done my duty here.”

  “I do indeed,” agreed Fforbes putting down his glass and giving me what he probably hoped was his most earnest expression. He looked more like a sermonising parson with wind and I realised that bad news was coming. “But I regret that if I were to give you leave it would be revoked by the standing orders from the governor general: no fit soldiers are to be allowed home. You would then be placed on new duties of the governor’s choosing. But I do have some good news for you.”

  “I hope so,” I growled while I took in what he had told me. I had a pretty comfortable billet with Magda and the Iroquois. The last thing I needed was the governor general putting me where he was most pressed for reinforcements, which was bound to be some near-suicidal posting.

  “Yes the news from Europe is excellent. You will have heard of Bonaparte’s defeat in Russia last winter, well now the allies are pressing him from all directions. As well as the Russians, Prussia, and Austria are fighting the French in the east and Lord Wellington is at the Pyrenees. There is talk of peace terms – the war there cannot last much longer.”

  “But how does that help me?” I asked irritably.

  “Soon some of Wellington’s troops will be spared for this theatre, which will change the balance here too. Peninsular veterans will go through their militia like a hot knife through butter.” I opened my mouth to repeat my question but Fforbes held up a hand to forestall me. “Which means,” he continued, “that as the war turns in our favour some of the deserving troops here can be released to return home. I have already put your name at the top of the list of those overdue for leave.”

  It was something, but it was not enough. “You mean you want me to just sit around waiting for the tide to turn? That could take years. I want to speak to the general. There must be some quicker way off this wretched continent.” I glared at Fforbes. “And I will be telling him how you have treated me too.”

  For the first time Fforbes looked alarmed. I guessed that the general knew nothing about my detention and
would not be best pleased when he did find out about it. “I have already told you that even if the general did grant you leave, it would only be overruled by the governor general’s standing order. There are no exceptions to that. But if you are willing to go back to the Iroquois and wait just a little longer then I can offer you something else. I could get the general to sign off your promotion to the rank of major. Given what you have achieved so far, it would be well deserved.”

  I sat back and considered the offer. I had often thought that I was overdue advancement, but with most promotions being purchased, a rise in rank to major would have cost a small fortune. Now I could have one for nothing. If there really was no way around the governor general’s edict, then warming Magda’s bed a little longer was not a bad way to wait out the war. Naively, I did not see the yawning chasm of danger that was opening up in front of me. Instead as Fforbes looked anxiously at me I decided to try to take him for every penny I could. “If the promotion and pay is backdated to when I arrived in Canada, then I accept.”

  “Agreed,” he cried a little too easily and I wondered what more I could have got out of him.

  Fforbes disappeared for a while after that to make the arrangements, but he was as good as his word. After giving me some time to wash, shave and change into a fresh uniform, Major Thomas Flashman was introduced to General Riall, who congratulated me on my promotion. My new commission was in the 41st regiment but Riall had clearly been briefed that I had been fighting with the Indians.

  “Fforbes here tells me that you have been doing an excellent job,” boomed the general as he pumped my hand. “Well with those new fellows coming from Spain we will show those Americans a real fight, eh?”

  “Indeed, General,” I agreed, “and with reinforcements we can allow some leave; I have not been home in four years.” It was clumsily done but I wanted to make sure that Fforbes really had put me on the list for leave. But it seemed the adjutant was keeping true to his promise.

  “Ah yes, Fforbes has told me of your extraordinary adventures. Rest assured that I will let you go when I can. But in the meantime what do you make of that Norton fellow? He is half Indian, ain’t he? He fought well with me on the raids over the river, but the Indian Agency says he is not reliable.”

  “He is a good man, sir,” I replied. “He may be seen by some warriors as too close to us but I would trust him.

  “Mmm,” mused Riall. “Well in case he does become tempted to show that his loyalties lie elsewhere, Fforbes here has cleverly backdated your commission before his so that you are the senior man.” Fforbes smiled encouragingly behind the general – this was evidently how he had persuaded Riall to sign off on the backdated promotion. “I will look to you to keep those warriors ready and bring them when I need them. Come the summer we will all go on the warpath again, what?”

  “You can count on me, sir.” I could not help grinning slightly at the thought that Iroquois warriors would take any notice of a date on a commission. They chose their own war chiefs, not Riall, it just showed the British lack of understanding of their ways. But I was not concerned as I was sure that Norton would do exactly what they wanted anyway.

  “I am sure I can,” agreed Riall showing me to the door. “Good luck to you now.”

  So there I was walking back through Burlington in a smart new uniform, with my old buckskins tucked under my arm. ‘Major Flashman’ had a nice ring to it. But as I headed back to the stables for my horse I began to reflect that with rewards come responsibility. Norton would remain the war chief as far as the Iroquois were concerned, but Riall would look for me to take some responsibility for their actions. I needed to keep the general’s favour if I wanted to remain on the list for early leave. That meant at least giving the appearance of leadership. So the next time the Iroquois went campaigning I could not sit things out in Magda’s bed. I would have to go too.

  Chapter 29

  Norton congratulated me warmly on the second epaulet for my uniform. I never did tell him that my promotion was backdated, as far as he was concerned, he was still the undisputed leader of the Iroquois war band. For a day or two I paraded myself around the village in my new duds, but marks of rank meant little to warriors who judged each other on deeds. So soon the red cloth was put away and I returned to my buckskin. I resumed my place in Magda’s bed too, explaining to her that I would now be one of the first to get leave home. She seemed pleased to have me back, but I sensed that she would be equally happy to see me head for Britain’s shores.

  For a while it looked like I would not have long to wait. As winter turned into spring, crops were sown and the news from Europe was as sweet as the maple syrup harvest. The French were being beaten on all fronts and then as spring turned into summer news came that allied armies were entering Paris and then that the French emperor had abdicated. The war in Europe was over and the first advance parties of Wellington’s Peninsular War veterans were already crossing the Atlantic.

  I thought that there could be only one outcome to Madison’s war now and if the man had any sense he would be suing for peace before it was too late. Every time a rider came from Burlington I would seek out information on what was happening in Europe and check if they carried a letter for me containing orders for my leave. All I got for my trouble was one two-month-old newspaper. In fact the only current news came indirectly from Morag. One morning, beaming with delight, Black Eagle called for me to go on one of our regular hunting trips. He announced that his woman had just told him she was with child. I did my best to feign surprise as Magda had given me this gossip a week earlier with a warning not to tell the big warrior before Morag broke the news to him. Black Eagle was full of himself, sure that the child would be a boy and even talking about us teaching him to hunt in the years ahead. I was beginning to wonder if I would indeed still be at Brant’s Ford when the lad was old enough to shoot.

  Finally at the end of June a message from Riall did arrive. For a moment I almost cried with relief – after four long years I would at last head home. Then I really did cry, not from joy but frustration. For it was not the long promised leave at all, but a request to bring the Iroquois war band to the Niagara. American forces had been seen gathering on their bank of the river and another invasion of the Niagara peninsula was anticipated.

  I have always found the Americans to be a stubborn breed. Later in my career I had the privilege of hiding behind mud battlements with some of the best of them, and no matter what the odds, they all struggled to abandon a lost cause. Madison must have been no different, for despite the fact that the balance of the war seemed to be turning against him, he seemed determined to continue the conflict.

  “Why the devil won’t they just give up?” I fumed at Norton. “They must see that they cannot succeed now. All they will achieve is killing hundreds of their people and ours.”

  “They will probably want to take as much territory as they can before the veterans arrive,” suggested Norton. “Then they will be in the best position when negotiations start to end the war. By the way, why do you think Riall wrote to you about this rather than me?”

  “Oh it was probably because he saw me most recently,” I said airily. Then to change the subject, “When do you think we should leave?”

  “We will need a couple of days to gather the war band and supplies. We should be able to attract around three hundred warriors and there will be some women and other camp followers that will want to come along. We will want Spotty Pots with us; do you think Magda will come too?”

  “I doubt it. She is still something of a pacifist from her Mennonite upbringing.” I was right, Magda wanted no part of the war and with Spotty Pots away she had a chance to use her fast growing healing skills with those that remained. But she did help me pack. I travelled in my buckskin clothes but took the new uniform as well. She even hung a charm around my neck of shells and a piece of rabbit skin that she insisted the old women thought would protect my spirit. I preferred to put my faith in cold steel but I was grateful and kisse
d her fondly farewell. She was certainly very different now from the fervent Christian I had first seen on that boat.

  It took two days to reach Queenston. We had to travel at a slow pace as there were so many mules and even some oxen bringing supplies with us. One, I noticed with surprise, was being led by Morag, with the proud father-to-be walking alongside.

  “Shouldn’t you be resting rather than going to war?” I asked her.

  She actually smiled; motherhood was changing her as well. “And leave you two fools on your own? I want to make sure that my child still has a father when it is born.”

  Black Eagle grinned indulgently at her. “She forgets we are both great warriors, Little Father, who have vanquished many enemies.”

  Morag gave a snort of derision. “You would both starve if there was no game and neither of you can build a shelter that could withstand the wag of a dog’s tail.”

  “It is summer,” I cried gesturing to the sky, which had at least patches of blue visible between the clouds. “We don’t need shelters and we can find game anywhere.”

  “I have seen you hunt, remember?” And at this she actually laughed along with others in the column. “You could not find a bear if it broke wind behind you!”

  I spurred my horse down the path and realised that I felt strangely comfortable with this band of warriors and their followers. You know you are accepted into a group when they can laugh and banter with you. Oh, don’t get me wrong, I still wanted to go home, desperately. But I knew I would miss those hunting trips with Black Eagle and Smoke Johnson and the evenings smoking our pipes by the fire while talking of the big deer that got away.

  The following day I was feeling more melancholy as I stood on the Queenston Heights looking over the river to the American shore. There was not much activity to be seen; the American army was thought to be further south, but for me the war seemed to have come full circle. We stayed on the heights for a day and then headed south to camp near the majestic falls, with me fervently hoping that even at this late hour the Americans would see sense and call off their invasion. Then on the morning of the 3rd of July we heard distant cannon fire from the south and I realised that my hopes were dashed.