War 1812 (2 page)

Wayne was quick to recognize the young Lee, not only for saving his life but also for his assistance during the campaign. “Lee is a man of courage and quick action,” Wayne stated.

Thinking of the story, Madison gazed at the man standing in his travel stained clothes. It was not the soiled clothes that held his attention but the man… the hard man. His face was tanned and weathered from countless days outside in all kinds of weather. His chiseled face and rock of a jaw was scarred. His thick hair was prematurely gray, and his eyes were a cold blue. His six-foot frame seemed taller. A man most men would shy away from, but his rough masculine appearance would attract the women. He was, in short, a fighter. He would never be a diplomat.
But I don’t need another diplomat,
Madison thought.

Viewing the man before him, Madison decided,
this is just what we need, a man of courage and quick action.
He rang for a servant and soon the three men sat down to coffee and pastries. Lee was most grateful. Because what food that had been consumed lately had been done so on the fly. Maybe it was his growling belly that prompted the president to order food.

“I’ll not keep you long, Mr. Lee, I can see you are weary,” Madison stated. “I’m sure John has told you of our failures, one after another. With the British policy of intercepting American ships, impressing our seamen, and stealing the ships’ cargo we have been backed into a corner. That along with the demands of a “War Hawk Congress,” we are immersed in a war we are poorly prepared to fight.

Lee munched hungrily at the pastries and watched as Madison stood and paced about while he spoke. “Damn Hull,” he hissed. “Two blunders; two mind you. First, he included a letter detailing his plans for the invasion into Canada along with his personal baggage, heavier guns, and military stores. He knew the schooner he sent all this on had to pass Fort Malden. What was he thinking?” Madison outstretched his arms as if looking for a divine answer. After a pause, he continued, “Fort Malden is a British strong point. They captured the schooner, as one might expect along with Hull’s papers, his supplies and even his sick men. If that’s not enough, instead of pressing on, the…the damn fool laid over at the village of Sandwich, doing nothing, absolutely nothing, but let his army dwindle away that is. He had two thousand men… two thousand, mind you, when he started off. By the time Brock got there… now that’s a mover and a fighter for you. British he may be but a fighter… blast him. Where was I, John?”

Apparently, Armstrong had heard the tirade before. “You were just getting to the British General Brock’s attack, Mr. President.”

“Yes. Well, Brock, from all reports, didn’t have but maybe three hundred regulars when he arrived at Amherstburg. However, there he met up with that Indian, Tecumseh, who is chief of the Shawnee. Tecumseh had seven hundred or so warriors. The two forces teamed up, and then rounded up some four hundred militias…a sizeable force, but not one that couldn’t be dealt with. Now, to make matters worse, Hull was more worried about a supply convoy than he was about being attacked.” This Madison said looking up and rolling his eyes. “He sent about four hundred men to find a supply convoy. That left him only eight hundred and fifty or so men to defend his position when Brock attacked. But, he still held a good position. That evening… August fifteenth, I believe,” Madison said, gazing over to Armstrong, who gave a slight nod confirming the date.

Seeing the nod, Madison continued, “Brock asked Hull to surrender, which he refused. When a lucky cannon ball hit the officer’s mess, killing four men, the next morning at breakfast, Hull ran up the white flag. The coward! Not only did he surrender Detroit’s fort and town, the fool included the four hundred or so men he sent out after the supply convoy. In his report, Hull stated he feared the Indians would run rampant and slaughter his soldiers.”

Picking up a sheet of paper, Madison continued, “Hull’s surrender meant the British captured one thousand six hundred Ohio volunteers, five hundred eighty-two American regulars, thirty-three cannons, two thousand five hundred muskets, and the brig,
Adams.
”

Letting the paper fall back on top of his desk, Madison took a swallow of his coffee, paused then asked with disgust in his voice, “Mr. Lee, can you guess how many casualties were suffered?”

“No sir, Mr. President.”

“Four, sir; the four officers killed eating their breakfast. Four. The British had no casualties. Not so much as a scratch. We lose a fort, a town, and enough supplies to equip an army for months, not to mention the momentum to invade Canada. All without inflicting one single casualty. The man is a coward, Mr. Lee. I’ll see him court-martialed if we ever get him back from the British.”

Lee had remained quiet during the president’s tirade. There had been little interaction between the men as the president gave little inclination any was desired.

Madison gave a deep sigh; he appeared tired and exhausted after his comments. Picking up his coffee cup, Madison drained the remainder of the lukewarm coffee, setting the cup down so hard it clanked on the saucer. Madison remained silent for a moment as he seemed to be in deep thought. Finally, after another sigh, he continued, “I’m sure you’ve been informed about the massacre at Frenchtown, or as some are calling it, the River Raisin.”

“Yes sir,” Lee answered. “Couriers have spread the word.”

“Yes, I’m sure they have,” Madison responded dejectedly. “Bad news travels like wildfire. At least they made a battle of it at the Raisin. Unlike Hull, they fought until they ran out of ammunition. Now we’ve a rally cry. Proctor made a mistake letting the Indians butcher our people. I want to make the most of that mistake.” Madison then walked tiredly back to his desk, opened a drawer and pulled out a paper. He turned toward Lee and spoke again. “Mr. Lee, you are to see we push forward. You are a man of action and I want you to push. Push our generals to act. Push hard if need be. General William Henry Harrison has replaced Hull. He’s no coward but he’s cautious… cautious to a fault. You are to push him to act, even if it takes a swift kick in the pants. He must push forward before winter or all is lost.”

Handing Lee the paper, Madison said, “This document signed by me requires everyone to extend whatever support you may require. I’d prefer you not flourish it about, as that would cause jealousy and hard feelings by some. However, should the need arise, use it. Use it and I’ll stand by you.”

Seeing Madison gaze at a clock, Armstrong and Lee recognized their time with the president was over. As they made ready to leave, Madison spoke again, “Mr. Lee, this war needs strong leaders if we are to win. I, above all, recognize that. Just as John places an extreme confidence in you, I also place that same confidence in him. I tell you this so you will not be surprised when you hear that he will soon be made Secretary of War.”

Lee smiled, finally feeling the freedom to speak openly, and said, “A wise choice, if I may say so, Mr. President… a wise choice.”

Chapter Two

T
he gathering room was
full of men in heated conversation about the war. Some were blaming Madison and the Congress for getting “us” into this war. While others gave the war staunch support… “We cannot tolerate such high-handed ways. Specially, after the way Proctor let our men be slaughtered by those heathens at the River Raisin. We have got to give ’em war.”

Outside, a cold east wind blew as raindrops pattered on the tavern’s front windows. Jonah Lee and his fellow traveler, Moses, made themselves comfortable in a corner of the tavern at a table situated not far from the fireplace. It was a snug place and the promise of a room upstairs with a “passable” bed was enough to keep the men holed up for the night. Moses had caused more than one of the men to take a look at him as they warmed themselves at the fireplace.

The tavern keeper had considered telling Moses that he’d have to sleep in the stable but a quick glance at Jonah Lee was enough for the man to hold his tongue. Anyone else who didn’t like the arrangements…well they were free to bring it up with Mr. Lee. A few glared but no one spoke.

The country was sparsely settled, and those who settled rarely traveled out of the county. To see a man of color was strange indeed. Moses was what some would call a mixed breed. His father had been a runaway slave, and his mother a Creek Indian. He’d been named Moses by his father after hearing where the biblical Moses had led his people out of bondage to the promised land.

Moses would probably have been raised as an Indian had not the village people all died from the smallpox. Moses bore the scars of the disease on his face to this day. He was twelve summers, half-starved and dehydrated when Jonah’s father found him. He’d taken the boy home, nursed him back to life and he’d lived with the family ever since. Jonah had been seven then and amazed by the sudden addition to the family. Moses’ skin color was that of a light-skinned black but his hair was straight like his mother’s people. He had been able to grow a scraggly beard which helped to cover the scars on his face. The beard was now salt and pepper as shades of gray crept into it. So far his hair, which was shaggy but didn’t reach his shoulders, was still black. Until the tragedy of the smallpox wiping out his village, Moses had been raised to be a warrior. His grandfather had taken particular interest in his upbringing. That interest had paid off well over time. Through the years, Moses had imparted a lot of his knowledge to Jonah. Raised together as boys, they’d been inseparable as men. Moses had been with Jonah as one of General “Mad” Anthony Wayne’s scouts.

After the war, things had gotten to the point of being monotonous when Jonah had been summoned by his friend, John Armstrong. They had just returned from a trip down into Florida when the letter had been delivered by an old soldier delivering mail astride a swayback mule. The grizzled toothless old pensioner spit a stream of tobacco juice that hit one of Lee’s barking cur dogs on the head. The dog ran off a piece, turned and started barking again until Jonah quieted him.

“Got cha a letter here from Washington,” the man offered as he handed down the mail. “Spec you’ll be gallivanting off somewhere soon. Wished I was younger, I’d jine up and put a lickin’ on them redcoats like we did last war.” Jonah and Moses couldn’t help but smile at the fire in the old man’s voice.

After a few days of rest in Washington, Jonah and Moses had resumed their journey, this time to meet up with General Harrison. They were now entering the Ohio frontier.

The smell of cooked beans and pork filled the air in the tavern and Jonah’s stomach growled. A group of men dressed in buckskins sat at a large center table. They had their pipes lit and were drinking rum like there was no tomorrow. One of the men seemed to stand out from the others. He wore the same buckskins and moccasins, but he was different. It finally dawned on Jonah… it was his speech. His speech was that of an educated man. It was not long before one of the men addressed him as captain. These are Kentuckians, Jonah realized. He’d met others like this group before. Hard drinking, hard fighting men who had a gift for telling you a tall-tale in a second. Their tales were so outrageous, they’d break down in laughter before the tale was finished. But they were also woodsmen and deadly shots with their weapons. Jonah doubted that they could be equaled when it came to marksmanship. These brawling, swaggering men carried long rifles so accurate that they could hit a nail’s head as far as it could be seen. They were only a dozen or so of them but they’d make an impact regardless of their number.

A bowl of steaming hot beans and a platter of pork with fresh baked bread and a pot of molasses were set at their table. Jonah ordered more ale for the two of them and as he and Moses dug in, he decided that he would talk to the Kentucky leader in the morning. It might be they were headed in the same direction and could travel together. But tonight, it was food and then bed.

“Think we ought to crack a window?” Moses asked as the door was closed on their room.

“Why,” Jonah responded. “It’s a terrible night out.”

“I just don’t want it to be a terrible night in,” Moses replied. “Those beans are sure to start working on your innards.”

“Well, if they do, there’s no cause for concern because my gas smells like roses.”

“Yeah,” Moses said, cutting his eyes and opening the window a crack. “They smell like roses…dead roses.”