Panther in the Sky (99 page)

“Tell her the other good thing,” said Stands Firm, who was as happy as Tecumseh.

“Yes! We learned that some Redcoats and warriors have captured the American fort at Michilimackinac. Oh, yes! These Long Knives may soon be very sorry they wanted war. When more British come from the east, we will turn the Americans on their heads!”

She smiled as she tied the poultice against his thigh. “While you were gone,” she said, “a hundred more of your warriors came across the river. They came from the Illinois and said they have been seeking you since the earth shook.”

“Good! All is growing again as in the dream. Have you nearly finished mending that leg, my sister? I want to go and welcome them!”

Only Thick Water was solemn. Star Watcher knew why. She told him, “Brother, do not be angry with yourself. If you stopped every ball that is shot at Tecumseh, your beautiful wife would be a widowed woman now.”

Tecumseh turned to his bodyguard, smiling broadly. “Yes! You would be so full of holes your hide would not hold hickory nuts!”

Thick Water finally smiled.

W
HEN
G
ENERAL
I
SAAC
B
ROCK STOOD UP IN THE BARRACKS
headquarters to greet Tecumseh, his short, shining blond hair almost brushed the ceiling, and for a moment Tecumseh remembered that day nearly four decades ago when he had been awed by his first sight of a Redcoat. The Shawnee’s eyes widened at the imposing, bold look of this new ally. Brock was a hand’s
width taller than Tecumseh, brawny and big-boned and erect, and his clean scarlet coat and white breeches fit him like skin. It was his face, though, that most heartened Tecumseh: the direct, friendly blue eyes, massive brow, and resolute mouth.

Brock, who was the lieutenant governor and military commander of Upper Canada, got an equally good first impression of Tecumseh. Even though the Shawnee limped slightly from the wound in his thigh, he was as graceful and poised as any lord. And in his face Brock recognized something that others saw in Brock himself: the open amiability of one who has no weaknesses to hide.

The Indian agent Matthew Elliott, who had ushered Tecumseh in, now said, “Here, sir, is Tecumseh, chief of all our Indian allies. He wished to be presented to you right away.”

Brock stepped forward, beaming, and gripped Tecumseh’s hand strongly, saying, “The fellow who saved this fort from the Yankees! Yes! Welcome indeed!”

Brock had arrived only two hours ago, in darkness, leading a flotilla of bateaux and rowboats that had come nearly the whole length of Lake Erie to bring three hundred Redcoats of the Forty-first Regiment to this threatened part of Canada. The boats had been rowed nearly a week along the storm-beaten north shore of the lake, a grueling voyage that had sickened and weakened all the troops. But within one hour of landing, Brock had shaved, dressed in a fresh uniform, called a meeting of the officers of Fort Malden, and gone over the whole crisis with them. Here he had learned the details of Tecumseh’s astonishing upset of the American invasion.

Now he praised Tecumseh lavishly and was introduced to Charcoal Burner and Black Partridge. Having been told already of the abstinence of Tecumseh and his people, Brock did not offer them liquor, though his own officers were by now warm and aromatic with brandy in celebration of Brock’s miraculous arrival. Already flushed to the jowls was Colonel Henry Procter, the portly officer in charge of Fort Malden. Procter was one of those haughty officers whose manner revealed a contempt for savages. He had barely condescended to thank Tecumseh for saving his fort. Tecumseh did not like Procter, either, and was relieved to see a man of Brock’s caliber here at last.

Brock pointed to the large silver medallion, stamped with the profile of King George III, that Tecumseh wore hanging by a wampum string on the breast of his plain deerskin tunic and praised him for his dedication to the Crown.

But Tecumseh had not come for praise, nor to make a social call. He had come to propose something he considered necessary and to see whether the British commandant was the sort of man who would be up to doing it. His first appraisal of Brock’s strength and character was encouraging, so he went directly to the point:

“Father, it would be a very good thing to capture Detroit, and it should be done now.”

Brock’s blond eyebrows went up, but his face at once was suffused with delight.

“My thoughts exactly!” It was, indeed, something Brock had pondered that evening after hearing the summary of conditions. The dispatches and letters Tecumseh had captured gave evidence that General Hull was indecisive and terribly afraid of Indians—particularly the hordes of Lakes warriors he expected to sweep down since the fall of Michilimackinac—and that his officers had little faith in him. Brock was in command of a very small force, with a thinly populated province to protect against the enormous manpower and resources of the aggressive Americans, and therefore he had vowed to the Canadian government at the outbreak of the war that he would “speak loud and look big.” Such a bold move as the capture of Detroit had thus presented itself to his mind, but he had not yet formulated a plan for doing it, nor had he even mentioned it to his officers. But now here was this intense, audacious Shawnee chief who had perhaps a thousand warriors under his command and who had already proven himself an uncommon strategist. “Will you sit down with me, Chief, and let us talk about how we might take Detroit away from the Americans?”

Tecumseh had come to Brock not just with a vague desire to attack Detroit, but with a full-fledged battle plan in mind. He had even had Charcoal Burner bring a roll of bark, upon whose inner side Tecumseh had drawn a detailed map of the terrain and approaches around Detroit, with particular attention to defilades and cover.

The two leaders worked with growing excitement over their strategy, feeling their kinship grow stronger with every hour. Brock, unlike many British officers, did not speak condescendingly to Indians. He and Tecumseh found they could dispute each other’s ideas without getting angry with each other and accept each other’s amendments without pique. Brock also asked for the opinions of his junior officers, as an Indian chief always did in council, and this further enhanced his stature in Tecumseh’s eyes.
Only Colonel Procter was opposed to the idea of attacking Detroit, and when it became apparent that his objections were based only upon lack of boldness or imagination, his arguments were disregarded.

The success of a British and Indian attack upon Detroit would depend largely on making their forces seem bigger than they really were. “It is like the mockingbird,” Tecumseh said, remembering a lesson of Chiksika. “He sings many songs so that other birds will think there are many birds in his territory. When the American Clark took Vincennes from your Hamilton in the last war, he played mockingbird in a way that we could do.” He told how he would have his Indians pass and repass a point visible from the fort, giving the impression that he had thousands of warriors. He would also deliberately let the Americans intercept a messenger who would be carrying a bogus dispatch referring to some five thousand warriors from upper Michigan—thus playing upon the dread that General Hull had revealed in his dispatches. Brock clapped and rubbed his hands together eagerly at this ruse.

Brock likewise would play mockingbird, by dressing hundreds of Canadian militiamen and farmers in regular army red coats that the quartermaster had in abundance. Added to the real regulars, these would make a formidable-looking display for the eyes of the nervous old American general. The two leaders chuckled like schoolboys plotting mischief and looked into each other’s merry eyes with growing appreciation.

Tecumseh’s warriors would cross the river first and occupy the ground north and west of Detroit and put on their show of numbers. Brock would bombard the fort with artillery from Sandwich across the river and at dawn of the following day would transport his troops to the American shore by boat and complete the encirclement of Detroit and the fort. Both Brock and Tecumseh felt that Hull had no fighting spirit and would likely talk surrender at that point. His supply train was still stalled far down the road, and the Americans at Detroit were hungry and demoralized.

When this war-planning council ended at four in the morning, the Redcoat officers were sagging with weariness and rank with brandy, but Tecumseh and Brock were wide awake and exuberant, and Tecumseh was feeling something he had not felt for years or even believed he could ever feel again: a full, true, trusting, brotherly friendship with a white man. Here was a blue-eyed man he liked and admired as he had liked and admired Big Fish and Ga-lo-weh. And he said as he left:

“Brock, listen. After the Long Knife Wayne ran over us at the
Fallen Timbers on the Maumee-se-pe, the British officer at Fort Miami would not let the red men take refuge in his fort. For many years that memory has been bitter in my breast when I thought of British. But I feel that if that had been
your
fort, you would have had enough heart to shelter my people.”

“I would have,” Brock said, and he gripped Tecumseh’s hand firmly. “Moreover, my troops would have been beside your warriors in the fallen trees.”

T
HEY HELD AN OPEN COUNCIL IN A GRASSY FIELD NEAR
A
MHERSTBURG
at noon, to tell the plan to Tecumseh’s thousand followers. In the background towered the masts and spars and massive hulls of the British vessels in the shipyard. They were always an awesome sight to the Indians who gathered here. Just the look of them seemed an assurance of the wealth and strength of England. Brock had rested a few hours and looked splendid in the August sunlight. He had added to his uniform a shimmering, varicolored silk sash and a bicorn hat trimmed with gold braid and a cockade. His voice, words, and looks made a powerful impression on the warriors, and Tecumseh was proud and happy as he stood beside his new friend. Brock told the Indians that the Americans were now trying to take the lands of both the red men and the British, and that he was not going to sit here and wait to defend Canada but was going to cross the river and drive them out of the Indians’ land. They responded with an excited murmur of approval. Then Tecumseh spoke to Brock.

“We are happy that the father beyond the Great Salt Water has finally awakened from his long sleep and permitted his soldiers to come to the aid of his red children, who have remained steady in their friendship.

“The Americans are our enemies. They came to us hungry long ago, then they cut off the hands of the red man who gave them corn. We gave them rivers of fish, and they poisoned them. We gave them forests and mountains and valleys full of game, and in return, what did they give to our warriors and our women? They gave them rum, and trinkets, and a grave.

“The ghosts of our brothers killed at Tippecanoe can find no rest in the hunting grounds of the dead until the American enemy is destroyed! We must stay united with each other and with our allies the British until this is done!

“Brothers! The Redcoat officers here have been tight-handed until now, and have not given us enough guns. Many of us have fought the Americans with bows and clubs. But now General
Brock has come here with a bold heart, and he has ordered them to give us all good guns for our attack across the river, and he and his many soldiers will fight beside us, as they have not done since our fathers were our chiefs.” Now he turned and looked at Brock.

“Brothers!” he said, his voice carrying over the field. “This is a
man!”

T
ECUMSEH’S WARRIORS CROSSED THE
D
ETROIT
R
IVER THAT
evening in canoes and moved into the woods above the town and the fort, cutting off the roads. His scouts on the south road came and told him that about 350 mounted militiamen had just ridden out of Detroit, probably to try once again to bring up the supply convoy.

In a way this was good, Tecumseh thought. Hull would feel weaker with those men gone outside.

But on the other hand, a unit outside like that could create problems if it came back and struck at the warriors from behind. So Tecumseh sent word about it to Brock and settled his warriors for the night, to watch the town and guard the roads, particularly that south road. He told them to keep the Americans awake and nervous all night with strange animal calls and other alarms.

The next morning, while Tecumseh’s thousand warriors were making themselves look and sound like five thousand, Brock had his troops cut down a clump of oaks across the river at Sandwich, revealing a battery of cannons he had moved into position during the night. When the Americans had had time to look at the cannons for a while and count several thousand Indians crossing a road, Brock sent a messenger to General Hull demanding his surrender. When it was refused, Brock’s cannons started bombarding the fort. Tecumseh’s warriors were awed and cheered by such smoke, thunder, and fire. Most of them were too young ever to have heard cannon before. Brock had not just been talking big; for the first time in the memory of most of the warriors, the British were actually shooting cannons at the American enemy, and it did not seem possible that the Long Knife soldiers could live long in such a storm of destruction.

Then the cannons of the fort began firing back. The ear-hurting booms and clouds of thick smoke rolled through the river valley, and the shingle roofs of a few buildings in the fort began to fly apart. A building caught on fire. General Hull had all his troops in the fort where the shells were falling, except for one unit of Michigan militia that crouched near the edge of the town, facing
the Indian forces. As dusk began to darken the countryside, these militiamen began deserting.

The cannonade continued into the night, a spectacle of red-and-yellow explosions and firelit smoke that kept the warriors enchanted, even though the unaccustomed noise was giving them headaches. They were in high spirits; they were confident that the Americans would give up the next day or maybe even this night.