Pierre Berton's War of 1812 (35 page)

WITH ISAAC BROCK, ABOARD
the schooner
Chippewa
, Lake Ontario, August 23, 1812.

Euphoric after his capture of Detroit, the General is hastening back to his capital at York when a provincial schooner,
Lady Prevost
, approaches and fires a seventeen-gun salute. The ceremony over, her commander comes aboard and presents Brock with a dispatch—his first intimation of the armistice that Prevost and Dearborn have concluded on the Niagara frontier.

The General’s elation dissolves. He is stunned, mortified, disillusioned. He had planned to continue the relentless momentum of his victory, to roll up the entire New York frontier from Buffalo to Sackets Harbor, to hammer at the Americans while they were still off balance and poorly supplied. Now his hands are tied by Prevost, and he cannot conceal his bitterness. He does not share his superior’s optimism that the armistice is the first step towards a permanent cessation of hostilities. He is convinced that the sharp Yankees are buying time to reinforce their own position, that John Bull has been gulled by Brother Jonathan.

What he desires most of all is a quick victory, one that will allow him to leave the stifling colonial atmosphere of the Canadas and
return to Europe to serve under Wellington and to visit with his several brothers, to whom he writes regularly. Indeed, on the very day of Detroit’s fall, while plagued by a score of problems, he has managed to send them a brief dispatch: “Rejoice at my good fortune, and join me in prayers to Heaven,” adding, somewhat cryptically, “Let me hear that you are all
united
and happy.”

For there has been a family falling out, which disturbs him mightily. It springs from the collapse of the banking firm of which his brother William was senior partner, a financial blow that has all but beggared the family, including the General himself. Years before, his brother advanced him three thousand pounds with which to purchase his commission in the 49th. William Brock, who has no close relatives except his brothers, had no intention that the money should be paid back; nonetheless, it remains on the books of the bankrupt firm as a debt, and the assignees are clamouring for it, even threatening legal action. Brock has pledged his entire civil salary as governor of Upper Canada—one thousand pounds a year—to pay off the debt (“Depend on my exercising the utmost economy.… Did it depend on myself, how willingly would I live on bread and water”). Typically, he is less concerned about this loss than about the estrangement between William Brock and his brother Irving, also connected with the firm.

On September 3, after stopping at York en route to Kingston (he is never still in these last days), he finds time aboard ship to write a longer letter, making use of the example of his recent victory to heal the family rift: “Let me know, my dearest brothers, that you are all again united. The want of union was nearly losing this province, without even a struggle, and be assured that it operates in the same degree in regard to families.”

In spite of the depressing news of Prevost’s armistice, he cannot conceal his ecstasy over the bloodless victory at Detroit. He knows he has taken a desperate gamble, but “the state of the province admitted of nothing but desperate remedies.” He is irked that his enemies should attribute his success to blind luck. He believes in careful preparation, not luck. His victory has proceeded from “a cool
calculation of
pours
and
contres”
and it is his alone, for he crossed the river against the advice of the more conservative Procter, who now commands at Detroit, and other advisers. “I have,” he exults, “exceeded beyond expectation.”

The best news is that as general he will receive the largest share of the Detroit prize money. The value of captured articles is now reckoned at between thirty and forty thousand pounds and may go higher. He does not want it for himself, but if it will enable him to contribute to the comfort and happiness of his nearly destitute family, he will “esteem it my highest reward.” At the moment of victory, “when I returned Heaven thanks for my amazing success, I thought of you all; you appeared to me happy—your late sorrows forgotten; and I felt as if you acknowledged that the many benefits, which for a series of years I received from you, were not unworthily bestowed.”

His brothers will, he believes, be able to see the colours of the U.S. 4th Regiment, which he expects his aide, Major Glegg, will bring to England. He doubts, however, that his fellow countrymen will hold the trophy in much esteem. “Nothing is prized,” he writes acidly, “that is not acquired with blood.”

In Canada he is a national hero, and he knows it. The plaudits pour in. The Chief Justice of Lower Canada hastens to send his congratulations “in common with every other subject of his majesty in British North America.” General Alexander Maitland, the honorary colonel of the 49th, dispatches a gushing note from across the Atlantic, which Brock never receives. His old friend Justice William Dummer Powell cannot contain himself: “There is something so fabulous in the report of a handful of troops supported by a few raw militia leaving their strong post to invade an enemy of double numbers in his own fortress, and making them all prisoners without the loss of a man, that … it seems to me the people of England will be incredulous …” He can hardly wait to get the news in person from Brock when he reaches Kingston.

Brock himself is a little stunned by the adulation. He has received so many letters hailing his victory that he begins “to attach to it
more importance than I was at first inclined.” If the English take the same view as the Canadians, then “I cannot fail of meeting reward, and escaping the horror of being placed high on a shelf, never to be taken down.”

He reaches Kingston on September 4, to be greeted by an artillery salute and a formal address of congratulation from the populace. As he has done at York a few days before, he replies with tact, praising the York and Lincoln regiments of militia, now at Queenston, whose presence, he declares (stretching the truth more than a little), induced him to undertake the expedition that brought about the fall of Detroit.

He praises everybody—citizens, soldiers, magistrates, officers, militia—for he intends to squeeze every possible advantage out of his victory, uniting Canadians against the invader. The change in attitude is startling; he notes privately that “the militia have been inspired … the disaffected are silenced.” People are calling him the Saviour of Upper Canada. It is an accurate title, and in more ways than one, for he has saved the province not only from the Americans but also from itself.

He cannot rest. Back he goes across the lake to Fort George on the Niagara to study the situation along the frontier. Lieutenant-Colonel Baynes has already written to him of his meeting with Dearborn, describing the mood at Albany where the Americans are convinced that the British are weak and their own resources superior, exaggerations that are both “absurd and extravagant.” But Baynes has urged Prevost to send more reinforcements to Niagara, so that if matters come to a head the British force will be superior.

Brock reaches Fort George on September 6, chagrined to discover how heavily the Americans have been reinforced during the armistice, due to end in two days. He expects an immediate attack. “The enemy will either turn my left flank which he may easily accomplish during a calm night or attempt to force his way across under cover of his Artillery.” He sends at once to Procter at Amherstburg and Lieutenant-Colonel John Vincent at Kingston asking for more troops.

There is one bright spot, the result again of the victory at Detroit: three hundred Mohawk Indians are on the ground and another two hundred on their way under the controversial John Norton of the Indian Department. Born a Scotsman, now an adopted Mohawk chief, Norton sees himself the successor of the great Joseph Brant and the arch-rival of William Claus, his superior in the service.

Brock has mixed feelings about Norton’s followers, who have cast aside their neutrality only as a result of British victories. Any form of neutrality is, to Brock, little short of treason. He cannot forgive the Mohawk, cannot understand why they would not wish to fight for the British, cannot grasp the truth—that the quarrel is not really theirs, that its outcome cannot help them. Now, he notes, “they appear ashamed of themselves, and promise to whipe [sic] away the disgrace into which they have fallen by their late conduct.” It is doubtful whether the Indians feel any sense of disgrace; they have simply been following a foreign policy of their own, which is to reap the benefits of fighting on the winning side.

Brock is a little dubious of their value: “They may serve to intimidate; otherwise expect no essential service from this degenerate race.” Has he forgotten so quickly that the great value of the Indians at Michilimackinac and Detroit was not to fight but to terrify? In his account to Prevost of the capture of Detroit, he has mentioned both Elliott and McKee by name but not Tecumseh, without whose presence the state of affairs on the Canadian frontier might easily have been reversed. For Tecumseh and the Indians are also the Saviours of Upper Canada.

But Brock urgently needs to bolster the loyalty of the Indians on the western frontier in Michigan Territory, which the British hold. That loyalty has been badly shaken by Sir George Prevost’s armistice; the natives, who have been suspicious of British intentions since the gates of the fort were closed to them after the Battle of Fallen Timbers, are growing uneasy again. Brock has ordered Procter to dispatch a force to invest Fort Wayne on the Maumee—the kind of aggressive move that is totally opposed to Prevost’s wishes and intentions. He explains to Prevost that he has done this with the hope
of preserving the lives of the garrison from an Indian massacre. This humanitarian motive is overshadowed by a more realistic if cynical objective. Brock wants to preserve the Indians’ allegiance, to keep the native warriors active and at the same time demonstrate an aggressive policy on the part of the British against the Long Knives. If Tecumseh’s followers desert him “the consequences must be fatal,” and to preserve their loyalty he has pledged his word that England will enter into no negotiation with the United States in which the interest of the Indians is not consulted. He reminds Prevost of this and Prevost reminds Whitehall. The Governor General, who seems to believe that peace is just around the corner, revives the old British dream of an Indian buffer state—a kind of native no man’s land—separating British North America from the Union to the south.

But Prevost still believes that the path to peace lies in being as inoffensive as possible with the enemy. He wants to evacuate Detroit and indeed all of Michigan Territory—a possibility that appalls Brock, for he knows that it would cause the Indians to desert the British cause and make terms with the Americans. “I cannot conceive of a connexion so likely to lead to more awful consequences,” he tells Prevost.

The Governor General backs down, but relations between the two men are becoming increasingly strained. Brock is prepared to attack across the Niagara River, is, in fact, eager to attack, convinced that he can sweep the Americans from the frontier and make himself master of Upper New York State, even though “my success would be transient.” But Prevost has him shackled. Even after the armistice ends on September 8 Sir George clings to the wistful fancy that the Americans will come to terms if only the British do nothing to annoy them. This is fatuous. American honour has been sullied, and nothing will satisfy it but blood. It is psychologically impossible for the Americans to break off the war after the ignominy of Detroit. Thus far the only bright spot in America’s abysmal war effort has been the defeat and destruction of the British frigate
Guerrière
by the
Constitution
off the Grand Banks on August 19.
This naval encounter by two isolated ships will have little effect on the outcome of the war, but it does buoy up America’s flagging spirits and makes a national hero of the
Constitution
’s commander, Isaac Hull, at the very moment when his uncle William has become a national scapegoat.

Sir George makes one telling point in his instructions to his frustrated general: since the British are not interested in waging a campaign of conquest against the United States but only in containing the war with as little fuss as possible while battling their real enemy, Napoleon, it surely makes sense to let the enemy take the offensive “having ascertained by experience, our ability in the Canadas to resist the attack of a tumultuary force.”

There is a growing testiness in Prevost’s correspondence with Brock—more than a hint that he is prepared, if necessary, to write off the Niagara frontier. Sir George berates Brock obliquely for weakening the line of communication along the St. Lawrence between Cornwall and Kingston: by moving troops from those points to Niagara he has encouraged predatory raids by the enemy. Between the lines can be seen Prevost’s fear of giving his impetuous subordinate too many troops lest he make an overt move that will upset the fine balance with which Prevost still hopes to conciliate the Americans.

But Brock has not been a soldier for the best part of three decades without learning to obey orders: “I have implicitly followed Your Excellency’s instructions, and abstained, under great temptation and provocation, from every act of hostility.” To his brother Savery he pours out his frustrations: “I am really placed in a most awkward predicament.… My instructions oblige me to adopt defensive measures, and I have evinced greater forbearance than was ever practised on any former occasion. It is thought that, without the aid of the sword, the American people may be brought to a full sense of their own interests. I firmly believe that I could at this moment sweep everything before me from Fort Niagara to Buffalo.…”

At last he has some officers he can trust. These come not from the 41st, which he finds wretchedly officered, but from his old regiment, the 49th, six companies of which he has brought to Fort George
from Kingston: “Although the regiment has been ten years in this country drinking rum without bounds, it is still respectable.…”