War 1812

War 1812: Remember the Raisin

Published by Boson Books
An imprint of Bitingduck Press
eISBN 978-1-938463-10-5
© 2013 Michael A. Fowler
All rights reserved
For information contact
Bitingduck Press, LLC
Altadena, CA 91001
http://www.bitingduckpress.com
Cover image by Dena Eaton
Image from “Tecumseh’s death at the Battle of the Thames, with Colonel Richard M. Johnson and the Kentucky mounted volunteers.” Lithograph by William Emmons, 1833.

In memory of Tom, who was the catalyst for this trilogy

Author’s Note

This book is a work of fiction with a historical backdrop. I have taken liberties with historical figures, ships, and time frames to blend in with my story. Therefore, this book is not a reflection of actual historical events.

Books by Michael Aye

Fiction

The Reaper
, Book One, The Fighting Anthonys

HMS SeaWolf
, Book Two, The Fighting Anthonys

Barracuda
, Book Three, The Fighting Anthonys

SeaHorse
, Book Four, The Fighting Anthonys

Peregrine
, Book Five, The Fighting Anthonys

Non-Fiction

What’s the Reason for All That Wheezing and Sneezing

Michael A. Fowler and Nancy McKemie

It’s Your Heritage

Went to the courthouse, had to pay my tax

Flowing in the wind, I saw our country’s flag

Suddenly I felt a change, a ghost within my soul

I was taken away, to a place I didn’t know

…I heard the cannons roar

…Saw the soldiers stand

…Battle smoke filled the air

…Then I felt his hand

Take these colors, hold em high

Don’t let ’em hit the ground

Gave my life protecting them

Don’t you let ’em down

They’ve been shot and battle scarred

I think they’ve even bled

Carry them with pride, son

It’s your heritage

Michael Aye

Prologue

T
hey’re dead, every last
soul. Kilt by the red devils. The Redcoats promised we’d be treated right if we surrendered but they let the injuns go plum wild. The red devils butchered every defenseless man, wounded or not. I barely survived. They were so busy scalping and tomahawking all the wounded soldiers that I was able to slip clean away. The British said they’d send wagons to collect all of us at one time; they lied. Instead, they let the injuns murder the lot of us, every loving mother’s son. Most tried to get away but they couldn’t. We didn’t have no weapons to fight back with, they had been taken so the savages had easy pickens; like lambs to the slaughter. Kilt over a hundred I know. Most of the dead were fellow Kaintucks.”

Letting the man take a break to catch his breath, the major, commanding the small outpost, handed him a tankard of ale. The man was thirsty and hastily downed the liquid, nearly strangling as he did so. Then with tears coming to his eyes, he said, “Lost a lot of good friends, I did.”

When the excited man calmed down, the major said, “Settle down, you are safe here. Now start over from the beginning. Tell me who you are.”

The battered and ragged little man sat erect and seemed to get control of his emotions. “I’m Sergeant Monroe, sir. I was with General James Winchester’s group; two thousand strong we was, when we started out from Kaintuck. Ain’t many left now, I don’t reckon. We was going to retake Fort Detroit. We were all part of General William Harrison’s army. We retook Frenchtown. But the British General Proctor had about six hundred redcoats and eight hundred or so savages. During the night they flanked us. At sunrise, they attacked. That was January 22nd… I remember the date, cause it’s my son’s birthday.” Pausing to take another sip of the ale, Sergeant Monroe cleared his throat, and then continued, “Our General Winchester weren’t much a soldier. He didn’t put out near enough guards so there weren’t no warning. Before we knowed it they were right on top of us. Chief Roundhead stripped the general naked and handed him over to the British.” Shivering suddenly, Monroe seemed to be reliving the battle. “We fought till we plum give out of powder and ball. Major George Madison was the senior officer after Winchester got took. Proctor, the redcoat general, gave his word that if we surrendered, we’d be protected and our wounded taken care of decently. We, us Kaintucks, said we’d rather fight to the death. I wish we had, but someone sent up a white flag so that ended it… for the time being. I had an arrow in my wing and my noggin was creased by a ball so I got left behind with the wounded,” Monroe said, emphasizing the bandages on his head and shoulder. “If me leg had been wounded where I couldn’t have run and hid I wouldn’t be here now. I’d be dead like the rest of ’em… God rest their souls. I reckon there were only about five hundred of us left able to fight anyway. Them that could walk were taken away as prisoners. Proctor was a’feard General Harrison would come back, so he up and left with the prisoners, and that is when the injuns started their devilish ways, robbing and tormenting our wounded. Soon they was killin’ ’em outright, the bloodthirsty varmints. They’s a trail strewn with American bodies where the red devils would finish butchering and scalping one, then run to another defenseless soul. Some of the wounded were burnt up in buildings the savages set afire. If I’d had a weapon, I’d done for a few of ’em, I would of. Don’t ever trust them heathens, Major. Them Redcoats neither. If you get to thinking kindly toward the bunch, remember the River Raisin. Remember the massacre at the River Raisin.”

Chapter One

H
e was a tall,
bespectacled man with thinning hair combed over to hide a balding pate. It was a poor attempt. He was also a secretary to President James Madison. One would never expect this timid appearing man to speak with such a deep baritone and commanding voice. “The President will see you and… ahem, the gentleman now, Mr. Armstrong.”

John Armstrong was a personal friend of the president. The man with him was Jonah Lee. Lee with Moses, his lifelong friend and protector, had ridden hard for several days, traveling from Georgia to arrive at this meeting with the president. He had arrived in Washington just in time to get into the coach with John Armstrong. The time of the meeting had not allowed Lee to freshen up or change his clothes. His three day growth of beard, rough appearance, and smell was reason for the secretary’s ahem. What was it Moses had said, “I’d rather be down wind to a gut wagon than closed up in a room with you right now.”

“John, how are you?” President Madison said in greeting to his friend.

“I am well, Mr. President. May I present Mr. Jonah Lee?”

“It’s nice to meet you,” Madison replied, shaking the extended grimy hand, his nostrils flaring in spite of his attempt at politeness.

“I apologize for my appearance, Mr. President,” Lee started, but the apology was waved away.

“Nonsense, my good man, the needs of the nation outweighs niceties. John has convinced me you are the man to get things on track, so time is of the essence.”

“I’m not sure I can meet the expectations that have been placed on me, sir, but I will give my all.”

“I have no doubt,” Madison responded. He liked the man right away. He could see why Lee had come so widely recommended by John Armstrong. His record with General Mad Anthony Wayne was almost a legend. Lee had been with Wayne at the Battle of Fallen Timbers. Though a youth of eighteen, Wayne placed a great deal of trust in Lee as a scout and advisor. During the battle Lee was said to have jumped between General Wayne and a Shawnee who was about to club Wayne from behind with a tomahawk. His rifle spent, Lee used it to block the Indian’s chopping attack; and then he clubbed the savage with the butt plate. Another Indian was drawing back on his bowstring and Lee shot him with his pistol. The struggle was soon hand to hand but the Shawnee leader, Blue Jacket, realized the battle was lost and retreated with his braves.

Hoping for protection from Wayne’s army, the Indians sought protection at Fort Miamis. With Lee and the other scouts leading the way, Wayne’s army soon reached the fort. Fearing the American army, the British commander refused refuge for the Indians. The Indians soon realized that they were at a serious disadvantage fighting the Americans and a treaty was soon negotiated.