Brock’s arrival transformed Amherstburg. For the past week the fort and town had been quiet; now there was hubbub, bustle and preparation. By sunrise the next morning, the soldiers who had spent days huddled together in crowded bateaux were exercising on the parade ground. Stores and powder and shot were loaded onto boats to go across the river or up to Sandwich. MacLea had a quick breakfast of porridge and coffee with Macdonell, listening to the distant braying of Colonel Lawrence as he paraded his men. It was the most unpleasant dawn song either could remember hearing. ‘Why bring him?’ asked the captain.
‘We need his regiment. The Royal Americans are at least well drilled and trained. And they wear red coats. The Americans will see them and think they are British regulars.’
Macdonell filled his coffee cup. ‘Also, if we have him close by, we can keep an eye on him. There is a strong feeling that Colonel Lawrence left on his own on the Niagara frontier might cause us more damage than the Americans ever could. The general saw your letters. He wants to speak to you about them, so be ready for a summons.’
MacLea nodded.
After breakfast, he found Sergeant Murray in the barracks. ‘We’re likely to be marching very soon, Alec.’
‘Marching? The boys aren’t prepared to go on campaign, John. We need tents, blankets, cooking pots, the whole damned lot.’
‘Write out a list, and I’ll take it to the quartermaster.’ MacLea turned as Captain Glegg approached. ‘Good morning, sir. What can I do for you?’
‘Tecumseh has arrived,’ Glegg said. ‘The general is going out to the council house to meet him, and he requests you join his party.’
MacLea looked at Murray. ‘Go on,’ said the latter. ‘I can deal with the quartermaster.’
They found Brock by the gates, big and broad in his red coat with gold epaulettes and buttons, his uniform rendered even more gaudy by a brilliant blue and gold sash worn across his body. ‘Strewth,’ murmured James Boydell as he moved up beside MacLea. ‘He certainly knows how to make a show. How are you, my friend? I hear the recruits we found for you have been showing up very well. Congratulations on the affair of the President Madison.’
‘Thank you. How are things in Niagara?’
‘Quiet. Perhaps a little too quiet. We hear rumours of vast armies being arrayed against us south of the border. We have seen nothing of them yet, but… It’s a little like waiting for a storm to break.’
A horse, one of the few in Amherstburg, was brought forward for the general, and he mounted. The rest of the party – Macdonell, Glegg, Captain Givins of the staff, Colonel Procter and a couple of other officers from the 41st, Colonel Lawrence, MacLea, Boydell, Colonel Elliott and two of his Indian agents – followed behind on foot. They walked along the river towards the council house, listening to Colonel Lawrence explain why he remained irrevocably opposed to alliance with the Indians. ‘How did Tecumseh arrive so quickly?’ MacLea asked Elliott.
‘His scouts were watching the river and saw the boats,’ said the colonel, ‘and Tecumseh deduced correctly that the general had arrived. He crossed over last night and sent us a message first thing this morning. Tecumseh moves quickly, I will say that.’
‘Changed your opinion of him, have you, sir?’ The only answer was a snort of derision.
Around three dozen Indians awaited them, including Stiahta and the Potawatomi chief Webebeset, whom the French-Canadian traders called Main Poche because he had been born without any fingers or thumb on his left hand. He and his people had taken refuge in Canada after Tippecanoe the year before, and were eager to fight their way home. There were several women in the group, standing beside the chiefs and warriors and watching intently, and MacLea spotted the small figure of Miina close by her father. She saw him too, and beamed at him.
Tecumseh stood a little in front of the others. He was arrayed in his best finery: buckskins with a brilliant woollen scarf patterned with every colour of the rainbow wrapped around his body. He watched unmoving as the British officers stood to attention while their general dismounted. ‘At ease, gentlemen,’ said Brock. ‘Colonel Elliott, you will be kind enough to present me.’
The two lines, British and Indian, faced each other while the two men stood between them: Brock, big and sandy-haired in his brilliant coat, his broad face unusually serious and intent; Tecumseh, shorter and leaner, with his hawk nose and the crow’s-feet wrinkles at the corners of his unblinking dark eyes. Elliott, white-haired and ponderous, introduced them. Brock bowed, Tecumseh raised his arm in salute, and the colonel stepped back to join the others. Tecumseh turned his head and said something in his own language that made his followers smile, some nodding in agreement. Then he faced the general once again.
‘I am told that you speak English, sir,’ said Brock.
‘I do,’ came the deep voice. ‘If it pleases Your Excellency, we will speak in that tongue. My nephew will translate for my own people.’ He paused. ‘You have sent me emissaries already, asking for my help. I have provided that help for you. My warriors and those of my allies have struck at the Americans twice. We have killed many. We have also blocked the road by which their wagons must travel.’
‘I am grateful,’ said Brock. ‘But this is only a beginning. The Americans have been set back, but now we must press home our advantage. We must take the war to the enemy, from Canada across to Michigan, Ohio, Indiana. We must attack their forts and settlements and drive them back as far as we can.’
‘What is your purpose?’ Tecumseh asked.
‘If the Americans are forced to send troops and supplies to the west, then some of the pressure I face in the east will be relieved. I can defend my frontier more easily. For your part, if you are victorious, you will win back the land once owned by your people. You desire, I am told, to create a free Indian state. Here is your chance to build that state, with British support.’
There was a long silence while everyone digested the implications of this. Brock had just invited Tecumseh to turn his warriors loose on American settlements in Michigan and Ohio. MacLea could see Colonel Lawrence along the line, barely able to contain himself.
‘We have had offers of support before,’ said Tecumseh. ‘I see here the representatives of your Indian Department. They have often promised us guns, powder, shot, food, money. Little has ever come to us. This time it will be the same. There will be promises, then nothing.’
‘This time it will not be the same,’ said Brock firmly. ‘This time, supplies will be provided not by the Indian Department but directly from the British Army.’ Now it was Elliott’s turn to grow red with indignation, but he held his tongue. ‘You will receive everything you need to make war. And what is more, British troops will come to fight alongside you. I will send artillery to help you breach the walls of the American forts. With their help, Tecumseh, you will prevail.’
There was excitement in the Indian ranks now, but Tecumseh himself stood immobile.
‘There is one thing I will require from you in return,’ said Brock. ‘In exchange for this support, you must control your warriors. There must be no massacres of civilians, no slaughter of prisoners. Those who surrender must be well treated and handed over to my officers. I hope I make myself clear on this.’
‘You are clear,’ said Tecumseh, and his eyes suddenly met those of MacLea. ‘But you ask much, Your Excellency. There is not a man or woman of my people who has not lost a member of their family, killed and scalped by the American settlers and militia. Men, women, the old, the very young; the Americans make no distinction between them. My people want revenge as well as land.’
‘Then make it clear that they cannot have it,’ said Brock. ‘Any massacre of innocents will turn people against you, in Canada as well as America, and I will no longer be able to support you. I say again, control your warriors. That is the price of my support.’
‘And you will send us British troops, and cannon?’ Now, at last, Tecumseh’s eyes had begun to glitter. ‘You make this promise?’
‘I promise it on my word of honour,’ said Brock. ‘You and I are both honest men, I believe. We can trust each other.’ As if on impulse, he slipped the blue and gold sash over his head and laid it across his hands, presenting it to the chief. ‘Take this from me, as a token of my respect and esteem. If I ever fail you, if I ever betray your trust, then you must return it to me. I will know then that I have been dishonoured.’
A moment passed, and then Tecumseh stepped forward and lifted the sash, admiring it for a moment before turning to pass it back to Logan. ‘A gift for a gift,’ he said, and he unfastened the brilliant scarf he wore around his body and presented it to the general. Pausing for a moment, he reached out and clasped Brock’s hands in his own.
‘Yes,’ he said softly. ‘Your emissaries spoke the truth. You are a true man, as am I. Here is my promise in return. I will not fail you. I will fight for you to the last drop of my blood, to the last breath of my body. And when we have won the victory, we shall return to this spot once more and embrace as friends, and then all men will say that the red man and the white are truly brothers.’
‘When that day comes,’ said Brock, ‘you will find me waiting here.’
The council ended, the Indians talking excitedly amongst themselves. Elliott and Lawrence still looked like thunder. MacLea went forward with the intention of speaking with Logan, but it was Miina who darted towards him and seized his hands in hers. She was wearing moccasins on her feet but otherwise looked very much as she had when they first met. Her eyes were dancing with excitement.
‘Is it not marvellous?’ she cried. ‘Oh, to see two such great and brave men come face to face and make promises of friendship! Oh, John MacLea, it is wonderful!’
‘What did your father say at the beginning, that made you all smile?’
‘He said simply, “Here is a man.” Oh, and it is true! Why did you not tell me the general was so fine?’
‘Speak to your father,’ said MacLea. ‘He might offer the general your hand in marriage.’
She giggled. ‘It is a great day,’ she said. ‘Now that we are allies and friends, oh, anything is possible! We will win the war, and we will have our Indian state, and we will have peace! Our dreams will come true.’
Into his mind came the echo of Norton’s words, spoken on the deck of the schooner. The one certainty is that the Indians will lose. No matter which side is victorious, our time is over. Suddenly he felt absolutely certain that Tecumseh knew this too. But not for anything would he disillusion this excited girl, who truly believed that the future was full of promise. ‘And then you will marry and have many children, and be happy,’ he said smiling. ‘I wish you joy, Miina.’
‘And I wish you joy also,’ she said, and she stretched up and kissed him on the cheek and then ran back to her people. MacLea turned, seeing his own party withdrawing as Brock remounted his horse.
Someone was watching him. He turned suddenly to find the small, deep-set blue eyes of Colonel Lawrence fastened on him. Lawrence had clearly witnessed the entire scene between himself and Miina. There was something quite malevolent about the beefy colonel’s gaze, so much so that MacLea felt a sudden chill run down his spine. Then Lawrence turned away without speaking.
The conference that followed in Colonel St George’s office later that morning was a stormy one. Brock sat behind the desk, his officers standing before him. Before anyone else could speak, Colonel Lawrence erupted.
‘I cannot countenance this, General, I cannot countenance this! Do you realise what you have done? You have invited that savage to turn his hellions loose on defenceless women and children all along the American frontier! How many people will now be put to the slaughter, I ask you? Dozens? Hundreds? I tell you, General, the blood of those innocents will stain your hands. You will be responsible for their murders. Why, you practically gave the order for their assassination!’
The general stood up suddenly and a hush fell in the room. Even Lawrence stopped talking. ‘Those are very strong words, Colonel,’ said Brock in a conversational voice. ‘I recommend you stop and think very carefully before making such utterances in my presence again.’ Lawrence stood mute. ‘For the moment, I shall overlook your words,’ said the general. ‘But from now on, I advise you to be more cautious in the way you address your superior officer.’
He sat down again, looking around the room. ‘Your objection is once again duly noted, Colonel. But I will make you the same reply as on previous occasions. This is war. Terrible things will happen. But if that is the price for the successful defence of Canada, then I am willing to pay it.’
He looked at MacLea. ‘You have fought alongside Tecumseh, Captain. Will he keep his word?’
A vision of the scalped and naked body of Captain Sturgis came to MacLea’s mind. He dismissed it. ‘He will do his best, sir. He was honest with you; he will not always be able to control his people. But he is a man of honour, and he will do his best.’
Colonel Lawrence snorted with contempt. ‘What do savages know about honour?’
MacLea said nothing. Lawrence rounded on him. ‘Well, what about it, MacLea? Why so silent? You cannot answer because there is no answer. I repeat, they are savages, brutes to whom all concept of honour is entirely foreign. But you’ve gone soft on them. Haven’t you, Indian-lover? And I know why.’
‘I say!’ said James Boydell sharply, just as Captain Glegg exclaimed, ‘Good God! You go too far, sir!’
‘Really?’ said Lawrence. ‘You need to open your eyes, gentlemen. You clearly didn’t see our captain kissing that little redskin slut this morning. Is no white woman good enough for you, MacLea? Or will no white woman have you, now that you have soiled your hands on a savage? My God, you Scotch sicken me; why, you are as bad as the savages yourselves!’
‘No, by God,’ said Brock. ‘We will have no more of this. Colonel Lawrence, you will keep silent; that is an order.’
He looked at MacLea, who had gone rather pale but had not moved or spoken since Lawrence began his tirade. ‘Thank you for your views, Captain,’ said Brock levelly into the silence. ‘My own views remain unchanged. As long as Tecumseh is in the field, backed up by regular troops, Amherstburg and the western counties of Lower Canada are safe and I can concentrate on defending Niagara. Tecumseh is a necessary and important ally. And that is the end of the matter.’
He looked around the room, daring anyone to defy him. No one did. ‘I will issue orders shortly concerning the force we shall send to support Tecumseh,’ he said. ‘First, another matter claims our attention. I am speaking of General Hull and the American army at Detroit.’
The officers looked at each other. ‘What do you mean, sir?’ asked Macdonell.
‘Hull has withdrawn from Canadian soil for the moment, but so long as his army remains in being, it is a threat to us. I propose to eliminate that threat. The army will advance to Sandwich, and from there cross the river to Detroit. We shall compel General Hull to surrender, and take the town and fort into our own hands.’
The regular officers shifted on their feet. ‘Sir,’ said Colonel Procter, ‘I fear that really is not practicable. Even with Chief Norton’s Iroquois – assuming they arrive – we will have only twelve hundred men under arms. We believe Hull has twice that number, and he has superiority in artillery and the advantage of a fortified position. I do not advise an attack on Detroit, sir.’
‘Mm,’ said Brock, frowning. ‘Very well, very well… You’re right about the numbers, of course. What do the rest of you think? St George?’
‘Very risky, sir. And if we fail in the attempt, our men could be caught on the wrong side of the river. A reverse would most certainly put Amherstburg in peril.’
Macdonell was frowning too. ‘I’m not a professional soldier, but it seems Colonel St George is right, sir.’
‘You’ve a sounder head than many professional soldiers, John. And the colonel is most certainly right. The venture would undoubtedly be risky. Do all of you feel the same way?’ Heads nodded, apart from those of MacLea and Lawrence, neither of whom moved. Only Nichol, the quartermaster, spoke up. ‘They’ll be gey short o’ supplies by now, General.’
‘Exactly my thinking,’ said Brock. ‘More, we know from the correspondence captured by Captain MacLea that there is a good deal of despondency in the enemy ranks. General Hull has lost the confidence of his officers, and there is even talk of mutiny. If we are swift and decisive, we can take advantage of their disunity.’
‘I still advise against it, sir,’ said Procter. ‘The risks are too high.’
‘And you all agree?’ said Brock. There was a long pause. ‘Mm. Very well, gentlemen, you have made your views clear. I thank you for doing so, and I am pleased that my staff feel they may speak so freely before me. I have listened to your views and I take all that you have said very seriously indeed. But now, let us draw this discussion to a close. Here are my orders.
‘In exactly two hours, the army will march on Detroit. Make ready, gentlemen. You have much to do, and very little time.’
Alec Murray had not been idle in the hours since MacLea had departed for the council house. Most of their tents and gear had been collected from the quartermaster’s store, and he was issuing kit to each man as MacLea arrived in the barracks. The seventeen men appeared cheerful, evidently looking forward to whatever action might come. ‘We’ll be ready to march in about ten minutes, Captain,’ said the sergeant. Then he took a look at MacLea, whose face was very pale. ‘Good God, what happened to you?’
‘I need to talk to you,’ MacLea said. He drew Murray to one side and described the scene with Lawrence in the office. Murray’s jaw dropped.
‘You’re calling him out, of course,’ he said.
‘I thought of it.’ An attempt at a smile appeared on MacLea’s face. ‘But I then remembered someone telling me that I needed protecting.’
‘You do. That’s why I’ll be one of your seconds. Who else do you want?’
MacLea thought. Macdonell was a close friend, but he was also a senior member of Brock’s staff, and acting as second in a duel involving another senior officer would put him in a difficult position. A sudden thought occurred. ‘What about Mr Boydell?’
‘An excellent choice.’ Murray approved of Boydell, ever since the Assemblyman had been so helpful in getting the company together back in Niagara. ‘I’ll talk to him as soon as we’re finished here.’ He clapped MacLea hard on the back. ‘Go see Lawrence now. I’ll look after the company. With luck we can sort the whole thing out this evening, after we make camp.’
MacLea found Lawrence in the parade ground, fair and red-faced in his scarlet coat as he bellowed orders. ‘My apologies, Colonel, for disturbing you,’ the captain said, saluting. ‘There is a matter of some urgency that I wish to discuss with you. I will take only a moment of your time.’
‘Yes? Get on with it.’
‘I am calling you out, sir. Mr Murray and Mr Boydell are my seconds. Be so good as to have your seconds call on them, if you will.’
There was a long silence while Lawrence’s piggy eyes stared at MacLea with growing incredulity. ‘You’re… calling… me… out,’ he repeated slowly. ‘You’re calling me out? Do you know, I think that is quite the most absurd thing I have ever heard. Quite the most absurd thing.’ He shook his head in disbelief, and then turned his back on MacLea and began to bawl more orders.
MacLea’s teeth were clenched tight together. ‘Sir,’ he said, ‘do I understand you are refusing to meet me?’
Lawrence wheeled to face him again. ‘Of course I am refusing to meet you!’ he snapped. ‘For God’s sake, do I have to spell it out for you? A gentleman, MacLea, is only obliged to answer to another gentleman. And, as must be quite clear to every person of taste, you most certainly are not a gentleman.’
They stared at each other. ‘One day, Colonel,’ said MacLea, ‘you will answer to me.’
Lawrence stared at him for a moment longer, then turned his back again. ‘Mr Shanklin! Get your platoon fell in at once, do you hear me, at once! I want a full inspection in five minutes!’ He went striding away across the parade ground, leaving MacLea standing alone in the dust.
His company were standing to arms when he returned, watching him curiously. Murray and Boydell stood to one side, talking.
‘He refuses to meet me,’ said MacLea.
Murray’s jaw dropped, again. Boydell exploded. ‘The fat, arrogant bastard!’ he said. ‘God rot him! Who in hell does he think he is, to set himself above us like this? I’d call him out myself if I thought he would meet me. But doubtless he would claim that I am not a gentleman either.’
Still fuming, Boydell departed to his own duties. Murray looked at MacLea in concern. ‘Are you all right?’
‘I am strangely sanguine. Which is not at all like me, I know. Perhaps your homily did me some good. To tell the truth, I am less angry for myself than for the insult to Miina.’
Sergeant Murray’s eyebrows rose about half an inch. ‘And who might Miina be?’ he enquired.
‘Tecumseh’s daughter. She was there today, but I met her… oh, a few days ago.’
Murray glanced around the parade ground. Troops were falling in, but there was no sign of anyone marching just yet. ‘Tell me everything,’ he instructed.
MacLea did so. It did not take long. ‘Have you fallen for her?’ asked the sergeant directly.
‘For heaven’s sake, Alec, she is barely more than a child.’ She was far more than that, but he found it safest to think of her in this way. ‘I respect her… just as I respect her father. And her people. Do you know, there is some truth in what Lawrence said. I do like these people, I always have, and maybe I do take their part.’
‘Well, there’s nothing wrong with that,’ said Murray. ‘They’re our allies now. And some of those Indian girls are really quite peachy… that was a joke. And not a very good one, I see. Ah, just in time to save me from the consequences of my own folly, here comes the general. I think we are about to be off.’
Long before the army crossed the River Canard, every man in the army from General Brock to the drummer boys of the 41st knew that Captain MacLea had called out Colonel Lawrence and that the latter had refused to meet him. Amongst MacLea’s Company – as he discovered his band had begun calling themselves – there was a great deal of high spirits. Somewhat to his surprise, MacLea discovered that he was popular with his men. They were proud of him, and proud of themselves for the capture of the President Madison, and the stories about his challenges to Stiahta and to Lawrence merely added lustre to his growing reputation. The men in turn felt the reflected glow of that reputation, and were prouder still. They marched with long strides to the River Canard.
‘Wonder how old Lawrence treats his wife,’ said McTeer, the clerk from Burlington. ‘Can you imagine their domestic life? Charlotte! Charlotte! Come here! I intend to fuck you at once! At once, do you hear? Do you hear me?’
‘Don’t be disrespectful!’ snapped Murray.
‘Yes, Sergeant. Sorry, Sergeant.’ There was a subdued spluttering in the ranks. Despite his words, Murray, marching at the head of the column beside MacLea, was struggling not to laugh.
They made camp that evening north of the Canard in open fields surrounded by forest, a mile or so from the river bank. Two officers in red coats with the dark blue facings and cuffs of the Royal Americans came through the sunset glow to speak to MacLea while his men were pitching their tents.
‘Permit us to introduce ourselves,’ said one, a tall, aristocratic-looking man with an air of deep unhappiness about him. ‘I am Captain Quincey; this is Lieutenant Shanklin. Sir, we have come to offer our apologies on behalf of all of the officers of our regiment.’
‘Excepting the colonel, of course,’ said Shanklin. He was a stocky man with a freckled face and russet hair, and he spoke with the burr of an Ulsterman.
‘Gentlemen,’ said MacLea, ‘I am not aware that you have done anything to offend me.’
‘You are good to say so,’ said Quincey, bowing a little. ‘But our colonel has twice given you grave offence, in the way that he spoke to you before the general and in refusing to meet your challenge. This reflects on our honour as officers. We beg you to accept our apologies all the same.’
‘Then I do so, of course,’ said MacLea, bowing in his turn. ‘And I should apologise too. I did not intend that this story should spread throughout the entire army.’
‘It does not matter,’ said Quincey a little tiredly. ‘The colonel himself is hardly affected by the rumours. He has a great gift for simply ignoring what he does not wish to hear, and rising above it all. Captain MacLea, this may be difficult to arrange, but one day when we are certain the colonel will be absent, we would be very glad of your company as a guest in our mess.’
‘If nothing else, we would like to hear the story of the taking of the President Madison,’ added Shanklin.
They bowed again. MacLea thanked them, a little touched, and the three of them parted as friends. He walked back to the little camp, where Appleby was lighting a cooking fire. The York man looked up.
‘Captain Givins is looking for you, sir. He says you’re to attend on General Brock, immediately.’
He found Brock alone in his tent, sitting behind a portable camp desk eating boiled salt beef and bread and reading by candlelight. The paper in his hand, MacLea saw, was the letter from Captain McComb to his superiors in Washington.
‘Sit down,’ said the general, pushing away his food and laying down the letter. ‘First of all, MacLea, you did very well with these letters. I salute both your initiative and your caution. I said in Niagara that I thought I could trust you, and I have been proven absolutely correct.’
He picked up another piece of paper and passed it across the desk. ‘This is my order gazetting you as captain in the regular army. You’ll draw a captain’s pay, and be attached to my staff.’
MacLea blinked with astonishment. ‘Thank you, sir.’
‘No need to thank me. There’s something I need you to do. I want you to find the source of this treachery, and stamp it out. Quickly, before treason becomes a canker that rots this army from within.’
‘I’ve little experience of matters concerning espionage, sir.’
‘Neither do any of us. You’re competent and quick-thinking. That’s enough for me.’
‘I will do my utmost, sir,’ said MacLea after a moment.
‘Good. Now, tell me all you know, and all that you think you know, about this spying.’
MacLea told him, ending with Muir’s account of the deserter who had been shot at Maguaga. ‘I don’t think he was a casual deserter, sir. It seems certain there was at least one American agent in Amherstburg.’
‘Probably more than one,’ said the general, nodding. He leant back, folding his hands behind his head. ‘Tell me the real reason why you left the army, MacLea.’
MacLea was silent for a moment. ‘I fought a duel, sir,’ he said finally. ‘With the wrong man.’
‘Go on.’
‘It was a lieutenant from my old regiment, the Cameronians. After the Battle of Alexandria, camp followers came out from both sides and began to loot the bodies of the dead, and then to kill the wounded still on the ground, so as to plunder them too. I tried to stop it. Then I discovered one of the looters was my own officer, Lieutenant Mackintosh. We exchanged words, and he called me out.’
‘Did you kill him?’
‘Only wounded him, sir. But he came from a well-connected family, and he promised to make trouble for me. The colonel decided it would be best if I went away. He arranged for me to be paid a bounty for good service. I have to say that I was not sorry to go.’
‘You should have killed him. He’d have made less trouble for you dead, I reckon. I fought a duel once,’ the general continued. ‘Chap in the 49th, not long after I bought in. He was reckoned a deadly shot, and he was also a bully. He forced duels on people so he could kill them, an act that gave him considerable pleasure. When he called me out, I accepted on the condition that we stand face to face, a handkerchief’s distance apart. We were so close that the muzzles of our pistols rested on each other’s bellies.’
Brock chuckled. ‘He backed down, of course. I knew he would. All bullies are cowards underneath.’
He looked at MacLea. ‘That’s why Colonel Lawrence won’t fight you. You can press it, but he will always have an excuse not to meet you. Once again, I know my man, you see. There are two things you need to know, Mr MacLea. You need to know your enemy, and you need to know yourself. Learn how to do that, and you will do well in life.’
The general lowered his hands and leant forward again, suddenly brisk. ‘If you were a spy in this army looking to send a message across to Detroit, how would you do it? There are no boats apart from the bateaux carrying our supplies and artillery, and those are heavily guarded.’
‘The river here is not wide, sir. A strong man could swim across without difficulty.’
‘I thought as much.’ Brock picked up his quill, dipped it in ink and wrote hastily on a sheet of paper. ‘These are your orders,’ he said, dusting the page. ‘Get your men down to the river bank as soon as it is dark and conceal them. If anyone challenges you, show them this order. If anyone tries to swim the river, you are to apprehend them at once. If they resist, shoot them.’
‘And if they do not resist, sir?’
‘Shoot them anyway,’ said Brock. ‘I want an example made, to show people what happens to traitors in my army. Goodnight, Captain MacLea. Report to me in the morning.’
The sunset glow faded and a moonless night fell. By the light of the stars and the reflected glow of campfires, MacLea’s Company moved quietly across the fields. At first they headed north, but then, once out of sight of any watching eyes from the camp, they circled back towards the river to the west. They passed through the fields almost soundlessly, and MacLea realised that even Hill was giving a good impression of a woodsman.
He had briefed them quickly and quietly at the camp while they made a hasty dinner of beef and bread, letting on that their task was to prevent deserters from crossing to the American side and giving away their position to the enemy. ‘Why does the general want to keep quiet about our march to Sandwich?’ asked McTeer. ‘Surely he wants the Yankees to see us coming, try and shake them up.’
It was a reasonable point. ‘But he does not want the Americans to know how few we are,’ said MacLea, ‘or that there are only three hundred regular troops in the army. If the general is right, and I think he is, someone in our midst wants the Americans to know the truth. If they learn how weak we really are, they could prepare a hot reception for us further north. So keep quiet about this, understood? All our lives could depend on it.’ They had nodded, serious and sober.
Reaching the river, MacLea deployed his men at intervals along the bank. The river was overlooked by a line of ancient oaks, which gave them plenty of shadow in which to hide. ‘Stay quiet,’ he told them. ‘No lights, no smoking, and not a sound.’
They nodded again. ‘Just like shootin’ duck,’ said Miller cheerfully. ‘Reckon I’ll build me a blind and all.’
MacLea left him doing exactly that, pulling together reeds and dry branches to form a low breastwork and then crouching down behind it. He took up his own post a little further to the south, sending Murray to the north, and settled in the shadows, leaning back with his musket resting beside him primed and ready.
For a long time, nothing happened. The stars moved slowly in the brilliant night sky. Back at the camp, the glow of fires began to dim. They heard the sentries relieved at ten o’clock, and again at midnight. Mosquitoes whined around them, targeting exposed flesh. MacLea heard Schmidt the German swear under his breath as one of them found a particularly sensitive area, and hissed at the man to be quiet.
Cramped and cold, they continued to wait. Despite his discomfort, MacLea found himself slipping into a doze. His mind wandered. Suddenly he was back in Niagara, stepping out of the path of a wagon and turning to confront the intent gaze of a Creole woman in a dark gown. Lafitte, that was it, Josephine Lafitte… He pictured her in his dream and then woke up sharply as another mosquito bit him.
Why had he been thinking about her? he wondered. He recalled brooding about her on the deck of the Marie-Anne, but she had not been in his thoughts since; too much else to do, he reflected. There was a mystery there, though, to be sure…
He dozed again. More time passed. At two in the morning the sentries were relieved once more. Five minutes, ten minutes drifted by. Then, suddenly, in the darkness not far away, a sharp popping sound punctuated the stillness of the night; the sound of a dry branch breaking as someone trod on it.
He froze, willing his company to do the same. Not a sound came from the shadows. From the direction of the broken branch came a voice whispering, then another answering, words indistinguishable. Now MacLea could see dim shapes in the starlight, two of them moving slowly towards the river. As they came closer they whispered again, and now he could hear the words. ‘How far is it across?’
‘Ain’t far. And the water’ll be warm. Don’t fret none.’
‘Looks pretty far to me. Will they be waitin’ for us?’
‘That’s what the lieutenant said.’ The two men reached the river bank and sat down to pull off their boots.
‘Now,’ said MacLea.
A blast of flame split the shadows; that was Miller, firing from no more than a dozen feet away, and one of the two men pitched over onto his side and lay still. The second leapt to his feet; Carson fired with another flare of flame and missed, but Moses Crabbe came running down from his own position and made no mistake, shooting the man through the back so that he pitched down beside his comrade.
The crash of musketry was still echoing in the trees and MacLea heard shouts of alarm from the camp. He ran to the scene himself, the rest of the company gathering too. Both men were quite definitely dead. ‘Search them,’ he said.
Murray and McTeer knelt to do so, and found what they were looking for almost at once. Each man had a sealed oilskin packet sewn into a belt around his waist. The enemy had been careful to send two couriers in case something happened to one of them.
‘Strike a light,’ MacLea said.
A tinder box sparked and flared into life. In the dim glow MacLea cut one packet open with his clasp knife and read the letter within. It was short and simple; a detailed list of the British troops marching on Sandwich, together with a note that Brock had only three hundred regulars and was short of artillery.
‘All right,’ said MacLea. ‘We’re done here. Let’s get back to camp. Bring the bodies.’
Dragging the two dead men behind them, they set off back across the field to the camp, which thanks to the shooting was now thoroughly awake. Halfway there they were challenged by a patrol from the 41st come to investigate, and the sergeant in command held up a torch so they could see clearly who the two dead men were.
‘Oh Christ,’ said Alec Murray.
These were no militia deserters. They wore the red coats with royal-blue facings and cuffs of the Royal Americans.
‘Come with us,’ said MacLea grimly to the sergeant. ‘I want you as witnesses.’
The redcoats fell in behind as they marched through the sentry line and back into the camp. Soldiers and camp servants stood and stared at the grim-faced militiamen dragging the corpses through the dust. They came to the lines of the Royal Americans. Shanklin, the pleasant Ulsterman, gazed at the bodies, his freckled face set like stone. Captain Quincey strode up to MacLea.
‘What is the meaning of this?’
‘We caught them trying to swim the river, sir,’ said MacLea.
‘They were deserters,’ said Quincey sharply. ‘They should have been returned to us for court-martial.’
‘They were more than deserters, sir.’ MacLea handed over the letter and Quincey read it quickly and then looked up, his long face full of anger and utter humiliation. By morning, the entire army would know that the Royal Americans had been harbouring traitors. His eyes burned as he stared at MacLea. Somehow I don’t think I will be receiving that invitation to dine at their mess, MacLea thought.
Then Lawrence arrived, pompous and bellowing as he shoved through the men who had gathered to watch the scene. He looked down at the two dead men, then wheeled on Quincey.
‘Well? Well? What is this?’
‘Captain MacLea caught them trying to desert, Colonel,’ Quincey said stonily. ‘They were carrying messages to the enemy.’
He held out the letter MacLea had given him. Lawrence did not even look at it. He took a fast step towards MacLea, heavy fists clenched at his sides.
‘Damn you,’ he said. The bluster was gone now; there was simply cold rage in his voice. ‘You shot my men. You will pay for this.’
‘I acted on General Brock’s personal orders, Colonel.’ MacLea handed over Brock’s letter; and for a moment he thought the colonel would tear it to pieces. Lawrence glared at MacLea, and the malevolence seen yesterday at the council house was back, but stronger and more open. Lawrence was making no secret of his hatred.
‘You will pay for this,’ the colonel said again. ‘You will suffer for this, MacLea.’ Then he turned on his heel and strode away, and after a while Quincey and the other officers did the same. MacLea stood still for a moment, hearing Murray call to a sergeant of the Royal Americans and ask him to take charge of the bodies. The latter did so, unwillingly. Even though it was a warm night, MacLea felt cold.
Colonel Lawrence was an arrogant boor. But he was not a fool. He had been humiliated twice by MacLea and he would not forgive or forget. MacLea was in no doubt that he had made a very dangerous and very powerful enemy.