Flashman and Madison's War

by Robert Brightwell

  “The bastard,” I said with feeling, although given the circumstances of my parting with Grant, I could hardly expect him to do me any favours.

  “And who is this?” asked Campbell gazing at the big man who stood awkwardly to one side watching our exchange.

  “Ah, Campbell let me introduce to you Black Eagle. Never mind the war paint, he is fine fellow. In fact the pair of you have a lot in common.”

  “We do?” queried Campbell looking sceptically at the painted warrior.

  “Of course.” I turned to Black Eagle. “Campbell here is Scottish. They have groups called clans instead of tribes and the Campbells are some of the worst cutthroats and cattle raiders in Scotland. They instil fear in all the neighbouring clans.” Campbell laughed at my description while Black Eagle looked at him with new respect. “Yes,” I continued warming to my theme and noticing several nearby officers looking on with amusement. “They howl as they go into battle, do war dances over their swords and their taste in music is even worse than the Iroquois.”

  “And do they worship the Great Spirit in Scotland?” asked Black Eagle sensing the presence of a fellow warrior.

  “Oh aye,” agreed Campbell dropping into a broad Scots accent and winking at me. Black Eagle beamed with delight, but before he could say anything Campbell continued, “We call it whisky. I have some in my tent and I cannot think of a better occasion to drink it than now.”

  While Black Eagle was initially a little confused as to what was happening, expecting some form of religious ceremony, he soon came to appreciate the Scottish ‘great spirit’. Within a few minutes he had learned the Gaelic toast of ‘slàinte’ and was enjoying the sensation of the amber fluid warming his insides.

  “I still can’t believe it,” Campbell kept saying as he looked at me. “To find you alive, and here of all places.”

  “What brings you to Canada so soon?” I asked. “I thought the first peninsular regiments were not due to arrive for another month or two.”

  “They aren’t but Wellington sent me on ahead to judge which units would be the most useful. For example, I see you don’t have much cavalry here.”

  “The forests are too thick to give them room to manoeuvre and they would be easy to ambush,” I told him. “Mind you, the Americans have got some militia regiments that fight well in a loose formation. Some dragoons might be useful with their carbines, but nothing that relies on charging in a straight line.”

  “That is exactly the information I need!” cried Campbell. “You know how we fought on the peninsula and how they have been fighting here.”

  “Well if you can get me posted home,” I told him, “I would be happy to tell the army commanders all about it.” I looked around for Campbell’s coat to see what rank he held. We had both been captains in Spain, but if he held sway with army command then maybe he could overrule the governor general’s standing orders.

  “I am a major now,” said Campbell following my gaze. “What about you.”

  “Oh I have been promoted too,” I confirmed casually. “Major in the 41st and deputy war chief to the Iroquois, although Riall thinks I am the man in charge.”

  “Well you certainly look the part,” stated Campbell, gazing at my painted face and grinning.

  “Little Father,” interrupted Black Eagle, “should we not go now and tell the general about the battle in the woods?”

  “Yes I suppose we should.” I started to get up from my stool in Campbell’s tent but he suddenly howled with laughter.

  “Little Father, why on earth do they call you that?”

  “It is a long story; I will tell you later when I am back from the general.”

  “I shall look forward to it. By the way I saw the other person that calls you Father in England just before I came to Canada.”

  “What?” I asked turning back to Campbell. “Who do you mean?”

  “Why your son, of course, Thomas Junior. I saw him in town with Louisa who was sorting out her father’s estate. Oh God,” Campbell paused and went pale at some thought, “I’m sorry, Flashman, but when we talked we both thought you were dead. She was asking if there was any hope for your survival and I am afraid that I did not give her any.”

  My mind was whirling. I had not thought about Louisa for months. We had been estranged for years after her aristocratic father had decided I was not good enough for his daughter. But one thought rattled through my brain louder than all the others. “I have a son?”

  “You didn’t know?” gasped Campbell astonished.

  “I have not seen Louisa for six years. I tried writing once but Lord Berkeley replied and told me never to try to contact his daughter again. The old bastard was intercepting her letters.”

  “Well you are the father of a bonny boy of around five. He looks the image of you in miniature. Hey wait, with Berkeley dead you are a rich man, Thomas, for Louisa has inherited the estate and she is still your wife.”

  Black Eagle gave me one of his rib-cracking slaps on the back. “See soon we will both be fathers,” he boomed in delight. “You must bring your boy to the Grand River and we will teach him to hunt with my son.”

  I sat back down on the stool in a state of shock, still trying to take everything in. “I think I am going to need another glass of whisky.”

  Chapter 32

  That afternoon I sat down to write a note to Louisa. It was not easy – what on earth do you say to someone in those circumstances? After several long and rambling attempts I decided brevity would be best. After all I had no idea how she felt about me given the years that had passed. I told her that I was in Canada and why I had been trapped there for over a year. I also mentioned that I had met Campbell, the news he had given me and that I would look to come home as soon as I could. The letter would then be sent by horse and boat to Quebec and down the St Lawrence to the coast before finally it would be sailed across the Atlantic. I was sincerely hoping that I would not be far behind it.

  Campbell also wrote a letter to General Drummond, the overall army commander in Canada, insisting that my experience of battles in both Spain and Canada would be invaluable to the war office. He came as close as he could to demanding on behalf of Wellington that I be released to travel back to Britain with him. He had met both the governor general and Drummond on his way south, and was sure that the former would waive his rule if Drummond recommended it. Unfortunately Drummond was miles away and it would take at least two weeks to get a reply.

  Having been stuck in Canada for over a year this did not seem long to wait in normal circumstances, but with an American invasion in full swing, the times were far from normal. By the time a response came we could be swept from the Niagara peninsula entirely. Indeed, if the American army managed to link up with their fleet on Lake Ontario, the British position would be fatally weakened before the veterans of the Spanish campaign had a chance to make a difference.

  After our letter writing Black Eagle and I stayed in Campbell’s tent that night, drinking, telling tales and catching up over old times. We did not get a lot of sleep. The next morning the scouts reported that the American army was showing no signs of moving. I think both sides were still licking their wounds after the battle. As I had only my buckskin trousers and a borrowed shirt to wear, I was keen to go with Black Eagle back to the Indian camp. Campbell insisted on coming too so that he could see the warriors he had just heard many stories about.

  I was shocked when we finally reached the land the Indians had built their shelters on, which I had last seen two days before. Then the clearing had been full of warriors and other followers. As well as the three hundred Iroquois there had been natives from the western tribes and even some white militia units. Now there were barely more than a hundred warriors left, most of whom were wounded, but judging from a collection of empty bottles, a number were also drunk.

  While Black Eagle took Campbell off to introduce him to Morag, I looked for Norton. I found him in the corner of the clearing leaning against a tree. This normally energet
ic man looked more depressed and defeated than I had ever seen before.

  “Surely these are not all that are left?” I asked when he saw me.

  “No, many of the able-bodied warriors left yesterday. The Americans at the southern end of the peninsula are close to the mouth of the Grand River, so they want to go and protect their homes.” He gestured at a nearby group of warriors snoring loudly surrounded by empty bottles. “Most are fairly demoralised by having to fight their Indian brothers and by a British defeat so close to their villages.” He gave a heavy sigh before adding, “Many blame me for the disaster and not just the warriors. Have you seen Riall?”

  “No, I was going to yesterday but after I finished catching up with an old friend from Spain,” I gestured at Campbell across the clearing, “Fforbes told me that you had already seen him. He did not think it would be a good idea for me to see him as well; I gather that the general has not taken this reverse well.”

  “No, he was in a foul temper when I saw him, Fforbes was right to put you off. I told him that I had guided the warriors deeper into the forest to ambush the Americans and he seems to have decided that I caused his defeat. If I had lined the edge of the forest as he ordered then he thinks he would have won the battle, even though we would have been attacked from in front and behind.”

  “We will have to pull back in the next few days. Do you think we will get many Iroquois to re-join the army.”

  Norton gave a bitter laugh. “Now we will do well if many of them do not join the Americans to protect their homes.” He saw my look of surprise and then added, “Don’t worry, I will bring a few of my most loyal men, but I will struggle to get much more than a dozen now.” He pointed across the clearing. “By the way, Magda is here. She rode in this morning with more medicines for Spotty Pots, who was running out.”

  I looked over and noticed for the first time the golden hair as Magda bent over some injured warrior with the medicine woman. “I will go over and see her but in the meantime, if those warriors have left any, you should have a drink. You look like you need one.”

  As I walked over Magda got up and Black Eagle called her over to introduce her to Campbell, who blushed furiously, as he always did in the presence of a pretty woman. “What is this?” I called out as I reached them, “All of my favourite people in one place.” Magda gave me one of her dazzling smiles and I fervently hoped that Black Eagle would be discrete about the information he had learned last night. I swiftly discovered he had no idea of the concept.

  “Little Father has just discovered that he has a son living in England,” he blurted out as soon as I had spoken.

  “Really?” Magda stared at me curiously. “Have you got a girl into trouble or is there a wife you have never mentioned before as well?”

  “He has a wife too,” cried out Black Eagle excitedly before I could open my mouth. “And she is rich and they have a big cabin made of stone and lands to hunt in and… ouch, what did you do that for?”

  “I think,” said Morag wearily, “that there are things that the Little Father wanted to tell Magda himself, in his own way.”

  “It is all right,” laughed Magda. “I have always known that Thomas wanted to go home and I am pleased that he has a lot to go home to.”

  “I was estranged from my wife. I have not seen here in six years, that is why I did not mention her.” I knew the concept of marriage was sacred to Magda and suddenly it was important to me that she did not think that I was some cynical, married seducer of women.

  “It is all right, Thomas,” Magda repeated. “Spotty Pots told me long ago that you had a woman you loved back home.”

  “What?” I asked in irritation. “That toothless old biddy does not know the first thing about it…” I started before realising that if it got me out of trouble, it might be wise to concede that the crone with the colourful crockery may indeed have some powers. “Well I don’t see how she could have known,” I concluded weakly.

  “There are a lot of things we don’t understand about Iroquois ways,” Magda insisted soothingly. “But I do know that a head wound that leaves that much blood on your bandage probably needs cleaning and some stitches. Why don’t you come with me and let that ‘toothless old biddy’ take a look at it.”

  I spent most of the day in the Indian camp and during that time virtually all of its occupants left. Norton went with them, looking as disconsolate as ever, with just a handful of loyal followers. With his wound properly dressed, Black Eagle decided to stay with me and once I was back in my British uniform, we returned to the British camp with Campbell.

  I tried to keep away from Riall for the next few days; a defeated general is always casting around for excuses and scapegoats and it seemed Riall was blaming everyone but himself for the defeat. I caught up again with Fforbes who was being blamed for not knowing that the grey-jacketed men were regulars, even though we had both warned Riall that they seemed too well drilled for militia. The whole Fort Erie garrison was being blamed for surrendering too quickly, while scouts had been reprimanded for not warning Riall that the enemy force was much larger than he expected, regardless of the fact that the enemy had been shielded by a huge expanse of forest. Finally Norton and I were being blamed for disobeying orders and going too deep into the trees. Normally I would not have given a damn but Fforbes had other disturbing news. Drummond, he said, was far too busy gathering men to repel the new invasion to worry about Campbell’s request. As Drummond had never met me, he was almost certain to forward the letter on to Riall to approve.

  I fumed as I realised that the incompetent puffed-up popinjay held my fate in his hands. Campbell was due to leave the Niagara area at the end of the month. I was determined to leave with him, even if I had to desert the army to do it. It would be much easier with Riall’s signature, though, and so I resigned myself to some serious toadying. Fforbes suggested that I waited a while to give the general time to calm down, but as time passed he warned that Riall’s temper was not showing any sign of diminishing.

  So it was that four days after the battle I staggered a little unsteadily into the general’s tent. I still had a bandage around my head, which had a large bloodstain on it. My wound was actually healing well and Riall was not to know that the gore on the cloth and sticking in my hair had actually come from a dead chicken.

  “Ah, Major Flashman, I wondered when you would have the nerve to show your face.” The general glared at me with his small piggy eyes. “Your failure to follow the simplest order has cost me and your country dearly.”

  “I am sorry, sir, I was wounded in the battle,” I croaked, weakly gesturing to my bandaged and bloody head.

  “Battle!” shouted Riall. “You were not in the battle. You were hiding in the woods when you should have been protecting my flank.” I was swiftly realising that Fforbes was not exaggerating about Riall’s temper. If anything he had only wound himself up further over the perceived failings of his command.

  “I can assure you, sir that the battle did extend into the forest. There were hundreds of enemy warriors in the trees who we had to engage with. I killed four myself before I took this wound.

  “Hmph,” grunted Riall barely bothering to hide his disbelief at my claim. “Norton told me the same story, but I saw no sign of a battle in those trees.”

  “With respect, sir, you could not see far into the forest….”

  “Did I or did I not give you an order to take your command to line the forest edge?” interrupted Riall.

  “You did, sir, but then we discovered that the enemy had hundreds of warriors who would have ambushed us from behind.”

  “Stuff and nonsense,” roared Riall. “And where is your command now, Major? From what I hear the whole bloody lot of them have gone home.”

  “Many have gone to protect their lands on the Grand River – the Americans are close to their territory,” I started to explain, but I got no further.

  “It is outrageous!” Riall barked. “I would not let any other regiment go home when they ch
ose, so why should I let your command do what it likes? Go and get them back, Major and that is an order. An order I expect to be obeyed, do you understand?”

  “Yes sir,” I replied swiftly taking my leave before I angered him any further. God knows how I was supposed to get the Iroquois back for him. It seemed that achieving this task was the only thing likely to placate him and get him to sign my release. But from what Norton had told me, if the Iroquois were to return to the war at all, there was every chance that they would be lining up in the American ranks against Riall rather than for him.

  I passed Fforbes on the way back to Campbell’s tent. “How was he?” Fforbes asked.

  “Completely unreasonable. He does not understand at all that the Iroquois see themselves as a separate nation. He seems to think that they are just another regiment.”

  “At least you can get away back to that Indian village; I am stuck with him.” Fforbes grinned ruefully. “And you can guess who is to blame when any element of his retreat goes wrong.” Despite our earlier encounters, I was beginning to like Fforbes, particularly when I saw what he had to put up with.

  “How is the retreat going?” I asked. “As he wants the Iroquois back I am guessing our general is planning to make another stand?”

  “Oh the general has never been defeated before, but then he had not fought a proper battle before either. I think he is terrified of damaging his reputation with a second defeat. So he is likely to keep pulling back until he thinks he has a clear advantage. General Drummond is our best hope. He is bringing reinforcements and will take overall command when he gets here, but that is likely to be at least two weeks away. We are lucky that the Americans are not pushing forward with greater vigour.”

  I sat morosely in Campbell’s tent for a while wondering what to do next. I did not really have a choice; I had to go back to Brant’s Ford. If Norton could persuade at least a hundred warriors to re-join the British, we could explain that a lot of the rest were wounded. Any fewer than that and Riall would be convinced that both Norton and I had betrayed him.