Flashman and Madison's War

by Robert Brightwell

  Chapter 33

  A day later and Black Eagle and I were riding into Brant’s Ford. Luckily we called in first at Black Eagle’s cabin on the outskirts of the village.

  “What are you doing here?” Morag asked, looking slightly alarmed, as we entered.

  “Is that a way for a wife to greet her man when he comes home after a long journey?” asked Black Eagle sweeping her up into his arms.

  “Not you, you great lump, him, in that uniform,” she said pointing at me.

  “Am I no longer welcome, then?” I asked feeling slightly hurt. For a moment I wondered if the Iroquois had changed sides already, but surely Norton would have sent word.

  “Of course you are,” assured Morag squeezing my hand in greeting. “But not in that uniform, not today. She turned to Black Eagle. “Go and fetch his buckskins from his pack and make sure no one is watching the cabin.

  “What on earth is going on?” I asked.

  “There is a grand council meeting of the Iroquois here today. They are deciding what to do about the war. Some would be alarmed to see a British officer roaming around the village.”

  “But I am supposed to be persuading them to go back to the army and anyway, they all know that I am a British officer.”

  “The American warriors don’t,” stated Morag simply.

  “You mean there are enemy warriors here in Brant’s Ford now?” I was stunned. I had no idea that they would move so quickly, especially after they had been trying to kill each other just a week before. “Are the Iroquois changing sides?”

  “That is what they are going to discuss. No one wants to see our people fighting each other again.” At this Black Eagle re-entered the cabin with a bundle of buckskins under his arm. “Put those on,” Morag continued, “and go and see John Norton, he will know much more than me.”

  I hurriedly changed. If the tribe was determined to switch sides then I thought that there would be little that Norton or I could do to change their minds. Norton had lost nearly all of his supporters after the battle at Chippawa. For a moment I wondered if I would be safe in the village if they did decide to switch their allegiance, but then I remembered that Norton had told me once about strict rules they had to protect delegates attending council meetings. Certainly the American warriors must have thought that they would be safe visiting the home of their very recent enemies. I had lived in the village for a good while now and I thought I had enough friends here to at least guarantee that I would not be harmed. Mind you, I did gather some curious stares from those who knew me as I walked down the main street. A number looked disapproving and I guessed that they did not think that a British soldier, even out of uniform, should be in the village at a time like this.

  There were several warriors I did not know sitting outside Norton’s cabin but they did not stop me as I strolled up the path and entered. Norton was sitting on the floor opposite an older grey-haired man I did not know. They were both deep in conversation and the stranger appeared mildly irritated as I interrupted them. His look was nothing, though, to Norton’s gaze of shock and surprise.

  “Ah, Flash-man,” he called giving my name a strange Indian intonation. “Could you wait outside for a moment?”

  Before I could reply the stranger started to get up. “It is all right,” he said. “I have told you everything that I came to say. We should make our way to the council meeting.” He got to his feet smoothly despite his age and as he did so I noticed what looked to be a big silver plate hanging from a chain beneath his coat.

  “Yes indeed,” agreed Norton also getting to his feet and giving me a slight shake of the head in warning. I was unsure what he was warning me about but he solved that a moment later when he introduced me. “This is Flash-man, one of my best warriors. Flash-man, meet Red Jacket.”

  My jaw must have dropped in surprise. This was the veteran war chief of the American warriors. I was so shocked I acted without thinking and held out my hand in the European manner. “I am delighted to make your acquaintance, sir.”

  Norton looked appalled and hurriedly tried to cover up for me. “Flash-man is half Spanish; he has not lived with the Iroquois for that long and does not know our ways.” The explanation was true as far as it went; it just neglected to mention that my other half was British. But judging from the amused twinkle that appeared in Red Jacket’s eye, I don’t think we fooled this canny warrior for a moment. His glance dropped to the sword at my hip and he gave a slow nod as though remembering something.

  “I have heard my warriors talk about a fearsome Iroquois who stayed hidden when we first attacked and then killed many with a long knife.” He reached out and shook my hand that had stayed frozen in the air when I realised my mistake. “Not all of your victims died straight away and one told of how you refused to take any scalps. For that I am grateful to you.” He turned to Norton. “Several of us have also heard of a British officer that lives here with a gold-handled long knife like this one Flash-man wears. It would be better, I think, if this warrior leaves his knife in your cabin if he is attending the council.”

  “You don’t mind if he attends?” asked Norton surprised.

  “Provided he does not try to interfere in the debate,” confirmed Red Jacket giving me a warning glance, “then I would welcome it. He can report to his generals on the strength of feeling of our people.”

  Red Jacket turned towards the door. I started to step back to give him room but to my surprise he took me by the arm and led me outside with him. He stopped on the porch and spoke quietly while staring out at the villagers bustling around preparing food and getting ready for the council meeting. “My name comes from a red coat that the British gave me when I fought for them. This silver you see around my neck was a gift from George Washington; it shows the two of us shaking hands. I tell you this to prove that I know about the white man on both sides of this war. Neither really cares about the Iroquois, they each see us as a tool to attack the other. That is why the Iroquois must choose to do what is best for them.” Several more unfamiliar warriors were standing outside of the cabin as we had appeared on the porch. They were big ugly brutes and when one of them saw the sword at my hip he started for me, reaching for his tomahawk before his comrades called him back.

  Red Jacket spoke sharply to the man and then turned to me. “One of the men you killed was his brother. But do not worry, my men will not harm you. It would dishonour all of us if the truce was broken.” With that the chief gripped my shoulder in friendship and then walked away towards the council hall in the centre of the village, followed by his men.

  “Good God, Flashman,” Norton whispered behind me. “What are you doing here?”

  “I live here, remember, and why didn’t you tell me about this council?”

  “Because I did not want you here,” Norton answered honestly. “Many think I am more the servant of the British than the Iroquois. I did not want a British officer here appearing to be overseeing what I was saying in the council. Now come inside and take that sword off before you cause any more trouble.”

  “Are things that bad? Will they change sides?”

  “I don’t know, it will be a close call and much will depend on Red Jacket. He is a powerful speaker – he once gave a speech to the US Senate. I was trying to find out which way he was leaning when you came in.”

  “I am sorry. I had wanted to speak to you before this council to find out what was happening.”

  “Well we will both find out soon enough. I have to go. Speak to Black Eagle, he will show you where to sit. But for God’s sake, Flashman, keep quiet. If word gets out that a British officer is interfering then it will work against us.”

  The council chamber was organised much like the one at Amherstburg with the important people sitting around the edge of the room and the audience in the middle. Black Eagle and I managed to find some space at the back of the room where few people noticed us. Staring around I could see the women who headed the various Iroquois clans along one wall. Amongst them I was surp
rised to see Spotty Potts – she clearly had far more influence than I had realised. Then there were village chiefs and finally war chiefs, among them Red Jacket and Norton.

  I would like to be able to give you a detailed account of the debate that took place over the next hour or so, but as it was nearly all in Iroquoian, I understood very little. There were various speeches of welcome, which I half followed with my limited knowledge of the tongue. Then a hush fell over the room and I sensed that business of the day was about to begin in earnest. The first to put forward their case was a tall one-eyed warrior I had not seen before. He spoke with all the fervour of one of those Methodist preachers who stand outside taverns and implore people to turn to a life of temperance. But while those sanctimonious fools were normally pelted with insults, mud and worse, I saw an increasing number of heads nodding in agreement as his one eye roved about the audience.

  “He is one of the American warriors,” whispered Black Eagle. “He says that the Americans will win this war as they did the last time they fought the British for their independence. The Iroquois who supported the British then lost much of their land to the Americans and he says that the same will happen again if we continue to support the British in this war. He is urging them to support the Americans to protect their land.” As the man sat down there was shouts from his supporters and quite a few from the audience; they were clearly impressed with what he had said.

  Then Norton got up and waited while the hubbub died down. He looked tired and while he spoke clearly it was without the passion of his predecessor. I did not need Black Eagle to translate for I could guess what he was saying. He would be telling them how the British had given them the Grand River land, how the peninsular veterans would soon be there to change the balance of the war and how the Grand River Iroquois had a treaty of friendship with the British. One of the audience shouted out something. I did not understand it all but I caught the word for ‘gifts’. Supply problems meant that many of the gifts promised by the British for the Iroquois had not been received. Norton answered as best as he could, but it was clear that he was not carrying his audience as the first speaker had done. Many looked suspicious at his words and I noticed several now looking through the crowd at me, with similarly cynical expressions. As Norton sat down there was another rumble of debate from the floor, this time with much shaking of heads. That’s it I thought, they will change sides. Rather than bringing my ‘regiment’ back to Riall, he will see it lined up against him. Then silence fell over the floor again as Red Jacket got up to speak.

  The old chief slowly surveyed the room as the hubbub died down, in no hurry to start speaking. When he had their attention he started, not shouting, but speaking calmly and continuing to gaze across the audience as though he wanted to look everyone in the eye. It was a statesmanlike performance and even though I only followed about half of it, I felt myself warming to his argument.

  “He says the white man can come in limitless numbers from across the sea, while we are few,” summarised Black Eagle. “He says we must never fight each other as at Chippawa again, for it does not matter if the British or Americans win, the Iroquois will lose.” He obviously said much more, which Black Eagle chose not to translate. From what little I could understand, he was saying that the white men on both sides were using the Iroquois as a weapon to attack their enemies. He claimed that British and Americans asked the Iroquois to take the risks of war but offered little in the way of fruits of victory. Finally he reached a rousing conclusion which was greeted with universal acclaim from those present. “He says that we should stay out of the white man’s war,” shouted Black Eagle over the noise. “He says that we should preserve our strength so that the white man respects us and to fight for what matters to us.” It was clear from the acclaim as Red Jacket sat down that his argument had carried the day.

  It was a better outcome than I had expected. At Chippawa there had been more warriors fighting for the Americans than the British, so neutrality would hurt the Americans more than us. However I did not think that Riall would see it that way and I was in no rush to tell him.

  There was a feast on the night of the council meeting but I spent the evening alone in my cabin. I did not want to meet any vengeful American warriors; there was always a chance that drunkenness could outweigh the diplomatic restraint of the truce. Red Jacket’s party returned home the next morning and I felt safer, but I still attracted curious stares from some who evidently thought it was time for me to leave the village. I was in full agreement with them there. Word came through that the Americans were advancing past Queenston and it looked like the British would be trapped at Fort George in the corner of the Niagara peninsula. I was damned if that was going to happen to me. I was not going to be taken prisoner, especially if I was still a wanted man. I was going to go home and see my son, whatever the cost. So instead I hatched a plan to travel north as a civilian. If necessary I would work my passage in a merchantman across the Atlantic and then appeal to Wellington for help when I was back in Britain.

  Several more days passed and then came news that the Americans were retreating again, back towards Chippawa, due to a shortage of supplies. General Drummond the British commander, ordered Riall to follow the Americans while he brought up a fresh army of his own. They were all to meet on a muddy little track known as Lundy’s Lane. The place is forgotten by most today, but anyone who was there will never forget it. With the sound of the Niagara Falls roaring in our ears, blood was spilt, reputations were made and scores were settled.

  Chapter 34

  “What is that you say?” General Riall asked Norton, his eyes boggling in disbelief. Norton looked at me to see if I could explain the situation more clearly.

  “The Iroquois have had a council and have agreed to stay out of the war, on both sides,” I confirmed. “We have only brought a handful of loyal warriors with us today, but as there were more Iroquois fighting for the Americans at Chippawa than for the British, this will hurt the Americans more.”

  Norton had asked me to come with him to see Riall. He wanted me to help him confirm the strength of feeling among the Iroquois. We both had known it would be a difficult discussion, but Riall was struggling to comprehend even the basic facts.

  “Are you both telling me,” he croaked, struggling to get his thoughts together, “that you have had a meeting with enemy forces and agreed a truce with them?”

  “It was not our meeting, it was an Iroquois council,” Norton tried to patiently explain again. “Our people live on both sides of the border and—”

  “Do you mean to say that you have been in the same room as emissaries from their notorious chief, what is his name,” he paused as he searched among papers on his desk, “ah here it is, Red Jacket and you have not arrested them?”

  “Red Jacket came himself, sir,” announced Norton as I winced at this unhelpful honesty. “I had a meeting with him, but we could not arrest him as we were all covered by a truce for the council.”

  “This is infamy,” roared Riall. “It is more than that, it is treason. Red Jacket’s warriors have been raiding our towns and you had him in your power on British soil and you let him get away. By God you will pay for this, the pair of you.”

  “It was Iroquois soil,” Norton corrected, “and as I explained we were covered by a truce.”

  “Truce be damned,” thundered Riall. “If I did not need every last man I would arrest the pair of you now. But rest assured I will raise your conduct with General Drummond when he gets here.” He gave us an ominous smile before adding, “He knows how to deal with traitors: he hangs them. Now get out of my sight.” We had both started to march out of Riall’s campaign tent when he called me back. “Oh, Flashman, I have here a paper from Drummond seeking your release to Britain. You can rest assured that the only way you will see Britain again is in chains!”

  “Well I think that went pretty well, don’t you?” I said sarcastically to Norton as I stepped out into the sunshine. “I am not sure he really cared tha
t much about the strength of feeling amongst the Iroquois.” I kicked at a stone in frustration. “Why is everyone on this wretched continent so keen on getting a rope around my neck?”

  “Don’t worry, Flashman, I have met Drummond and while he is harsh, he is fair. More importantly he was born in Canada and understands the Iroquois. He will be pleased that Red Jacket and his men are going home.”

  “Well I do not care any more. I have my bags packed and as soon as Campbell is ready to leave I am going with him. I will damn well stow away on the ship if I have to.”

  Over the next couple of days both Campbell and Fforbes tried to convince me to put my faith in Drummond. Both offered to speak to him on my behalf and were confident that with their joint testimony of my service in Spain and in Canada, they could outweigh any vitriol from Riall. I was not so sure; generals were inclined to support each other and Drummond would surely think twice before antagonising his second in command. But I agreed to stay with the army for a while longer as Campbell was not due to leave before the end of the month.

  The Americans were still south of the Chippawa River and Riall had taken a position a mile or two north on the crest of a hill. We were very close to the Niagara Falls and a couple of times I rode over to look at them. While others commented on their majesty and power, I used to imagine pitching Riall into the rapids at the top and watching as he was drawn over the edge – it would be nothing more than the bastard deserved. But instead of loitering dangerously close to the edge of the river, Riall spent his time gathering men to form a defensive position should the Americans start to move north again.

  Properly defended, the hill he had chosen would form a significant obstacle. The land in front of it was largely clear of trees for some six hundred yards, with just a few patches of scrub. A track, called Lundy’s Lane ran east to west along the top of the hill. This joined with a portage road running along the river bank, forming a crossroads on the left flank of the British position. At the very top of the hill was a small cemetery, which seemed somewhat ironic given that the ground was being prepared as a battlefield.