FOOTNOTE:[1]Lake Ontario was crossed from Toronto to the wharf at the mouth of the Niagara River in an ordinary double-scull, lap-strake pleasure-skiff, by the writer and another Argonaut—Herbert Bartlett—one unruly morning in the summer of 1872. Though a risky row, and not previously attempted, it was not regarded as a remarkable feat by the performers.
[1]Lake Ontario was crossed from Toronto to the wharf at the mouth of the Niagara River in an ordinary double-scull, lap-strake pleasure-skiff, by the writer and another Argonaut—Herbert Bartlett—one unruly morning in the summer of 1872. Though a risky row, and not previously attempted, it was not regarded as a remarkable feat by the performers.
[1]Lake Ontario was crossed from Toronto to the wharf at the mouth of the Niagara River in an ordinary double-scull, lap-strake pleasure-skiff, by the writer and another Argonaut—Herbert Bartlett—one unruly morning in the summer of 1872. Though a risky row, and not previously attempted, it was not regarded as a remarkable feat by the performers.
View of Queenston Road, about 1824
View of Queenston Road, about1824
The means for transit through Canada at this time was most primitive, and not the least of the questions which occupied Brock's thoughts was the important one of transportation. The lack of facilities for moving large bodies of men and supplies, in event of war, was as apparent as was the lack of vessels of force on lake and river.
Between Quebec and Montreal, a distance of sixty leagues, the overland journey was divided into twenty-four stages, requiring four relays of horse-caleches in summer and horse-carioles in winter. The time occupied was three days, and the rate for travellers twenty-five cents a league. This rough road—which entailed numerous ferries in summer at the Ottawa and at Lake St. Francis, except for a break of fifty miles—led by Cornwall and Prescott to Kingston, along which route United Empire Loyalists twenty years before had established themselves.
A few years prior to Brock's arrival, Governor Simcoe, with the men of the Queen's Rangers, had cut a roadway through the dense forest between Prescott and Burlington, at the head of Lake Ontario. From Ancaster, the then western limit of the U.E. Loyalists' settlement, this road traversed the picturesque region that surrounded the Mohawk village on the Grand River, where Joseph Brant, the famous warrior, was encamped with his Six Nation Indians. From this point it penetrated the rolling lands of the western peninsula, to the La Trenche (the Thames River), from whence Lake St. Clair and the Detroit outlet to the great lakes was reached by water. Another military road, also built by Simcoe, followed the old Indian trail through thirty-three miles of forest from York to Lake Simcoe. This shorter route to Lake Superior enabled the North-West Fur Company—established by Frobisher and McTavish, of Montreal, in 1776—to avoid canoeing up the Ottawa and its tortuous tributaries. The batteaux were brought up the St. Lawrence, breaking bulk at certain "carrying places," then under sail up Lake Ontario to York. From here the cargoes were hauled by horses over Yonge's military road to Lake Simcoe, thence by river and stormy Lake Huron to Fort Michilimackinac, Great Turtle Island—the Mackinaw of to-day—at the head of Lake Michigan. By this route fifty dollars was saved on every ton of freight from Ottawa to the middle north. At Mackinaw the goods were reshipped by bark canoe to the still remoter regions in the further West, where Spanish pedlars on the southern tributaries of the lower Mississippi traded with the Akamsea Indians in British goods distributed from Mackinaw.
The records of these trips through a wilderness of forest and stream, with their exhilarating hardships, had a singular fascination for Isaac Brock. It was not long before he had won, with his conquering ways and robust manhood, the allegiance of the big-hearted fur-traders in Montreal. Their wild legends of the great fur country rang in his ears, and his receptive mind was soon stored with the exploits of Radisson and Groseillers, Joliette, Marquette, and other famous pathfinders, with whoseexploits a century and a half before, aided by his fluency in French, he became wonderfully familiar.
He found the evolution of the Canadian highway a subject of absorbing interest. From his Caughnawaga guides he learned how the tracks made by lynx and beaver, rabbit and wolverine, wolf and red deer—invariably the safest and firmest ways—were in turn naturally followed by Indian voyageur and fur-trader, until the blazed trail became the bridle-road for the pack-horse of the pioneer. This, as the white settler drifted in, became the winter-road; then, as civilization stifled the call of the wild, there uprose from swamp and muskeg the crude corduroy, expanding by degrees into the half-graded highway, until the turnpike and toll-bar, with its despotic keeper, exacted its tribute from progress. This was the prelude to a still more amazing transformation, for the day soon came, though not in our hero's time, when the drumming of the partridge was silenced by the choo-choo of the locomotive as it shrieked through forest and beaver-meadow on its way to vaster tracks, further and further west, disclosing and leaving in its trail an empire of undreamed-of fertility. Then the redman, disturbed in his solitudes, was confronted with civilization, and had to accept the terms of conquest or seek another sanctuary in the greater wilderness beyond.
The navigation of the lakes and rivers at this time was limited to three types of vessel, the "snow," a three-master with a try-sail abaft the mainmast, the schooner, the batteau and the birch canoe, and, in closely land-locked waters, the horse ferry. The Durham boat, a batteau on a larger scale with false keel, had yet to be introduced. The barkcanoe, which for certain purposes has never been improved upon—not even excepting the cedar-built canoe—varied in size from nine to thirty feet, or, in the language of the voyageur, from one and a half to five fathoms. These canoes had capacity for a crew of from one to thirty men, or a cargo of seventy "pieces" of ninety pounds each, equal to three tons, exclusive of provisions for nine paddlers. In these arks of safety, manned by Indians ormetis(half-breeds), the fur-trader would leave Lachine, on the St. Lawrence, ascend the Ottawa, descend the French, cross Lake Huron—the Lake Orleans of Nicollet and Hennepin—and find no rest from drench or riffle until he reached Mackinaw, or more distant Fort Dearborn (now Chicago), on the Skunk River, at the head of Lake Michigan, 1,450 miles by water from Quebec.
The batteaux—great, open, flat-bottomed boats, forty feet long and eight feet beam, pointed at stem and stern—were not unlike the York boats used in Lord Wolseley's Red River expedition in 1870, and would carry five tons of cargo. Rigged with a movable mast stepped almost amid-ships, and a big lug-sail, these greyhounds of the lakes were, for passengers in our hero's time, often the only means of water transport between Quebec and Little York. As important factors in the transport of soldiers and munitions in the war of 1812, they deserve description.
While sailing well when before the wind, they yet, with their defective rig and keelless bottoms, carrying no weather helm, made little headway with the wind close abeam. On one occasion Isaac Brock left Lachine with a brigade of five batteaux, so that all hands could unite in making the portages. At the Cascades, the Milles Rochesand the Cedars, three-quarters of the cargo had to be portaged by the packmen. At times these lightened boats were poled or tracked through the broken water, towed by the men, from such foothold as the rocky banks afforded, by means of a long lariat tied to the boat's bow, with loops over each trackman's shoulder, one man steering with a long sweep. When this treadmill work was impossible, owing to too steep banks, and where no batteau locks existed, the crew hauled the boats across the portage on a skidway of small rolling logs, and, so journeying, Prescott was reached. Here, the wind being favourable, lug-sails were hoisted and Brock's strange fleet started for Kingston, reaching it after twelve days' toil from Lachine, then coasting further along Lake Ontario to Little York (Toronto). When wind failed, the long oars were used, the men rising from the thwarts to pull, standing. Thus, alternately sitting and rising, pulling in unison, the light-hearted voyageurs would break into one of their wild French chants, quaint with catching refrain, in which our hero soon learned to join.
At Prescott Brock sometimes took the Government schooner, paying two guineas for a trip, which might last a week, or caught one of the small "two-stickers" that carried freight between Kingston and Queenston. If much pressed for time, the batteau would be exchanged for a caleche—the stage-coach was as yet only a dream—and he would resign himself to a rude jolting over the colonization road through the forest that flanked the rugged northern shore of Lake Ontario.
These trips were a never-failing source of surprise and profit. The skill of the canoemen, the strength and endurance of the packmen, excited his admiration. What wonderful raw material! Given drill and discipline, what might not be achieved on the frontier with such craftsmen! The muscles, all whipcord, of these rugged Canadians, partcoureur de bois, part scout, amazed him. One thing was not so evident as he could have wished. Their love seemed to be more for race and language, home and wilderness, than for King and country. Perhaps, as he said, if the safety of their homes were threatened, they would develop patriotism of the highest type.
But, after all, as to kings, "Who," they naively asked him, "was their king? Surely they must be under two flags and two kings. Napoleon or George?Que voulez vous?"
As their hearts seemed to be as stout as their limbs, they would, he reflected, be unconquerable, these careless children of waste places. While Brock thus communed, he watched. There was little to choose between them—Narcisse, Baptiste, Louis, Jacques, Pierre—all strong as buffalo, all agile as catamounts.
They would lift the "pieces" from the dripping canoe and land them on the slippery rock. A minute later and Narcisse perhaps would appear, a bit bent, to keep balanced a bag of flour, a chest of tea, a caddy of tobacco and sundry packages of sugar or shot that made up the load resting on his shoulders where body and nape of neck joined. This load was supported and held together by a broad moose-hide band—a tump-line—strapped across his forehead, his upraised hands grasping the narrowing moose-hide stretched on either side of his lowered head, between ear and shoulder. Brock would watch these packmen as,thus handicapped with a load weighing from two to five hundred pounds, they set out across the rough portage, singing, and at a dog trot, following each other in quick succession. There was rivalry, of course, duly encouraged by Brock with a promise of tobacco to the first man in, but it was all good-natured competition, the last man chanting his laughing canzonet as loudly as the first.
Our hero, with his grand physique and cleverness, was not long in mastering the tricks of the carriers. He soon learned to build up a load and adjust a tump-line, after which practice made the carrying of a pack almost twice his own weight a not extraordinary performance.
These trips afforded Brock an opportunity to study Indian character. He learned much from the packman and voyageur that was destined to be of great value to him in his career on the western frontier, among the outposts of civilization.
Little escaped his notice. His faculties were sharpened by contact with these children of the wilds, whose only class-room was the forest, their only teacher, nature. As the crushed blade or broken twig were of deepest import to the Indian scout, so no incident of his life was now too trivial for Brock to dismiss as of no importance.
Brock could hardly reconcile the degree of punishment inflicted upon the soldiers, the poorly paid defenders of the Empire, with their casual offences. While he rebelled against the brutalities of some officers, he was powerless to prevent them. The sentencing powers conferred by court-martial were at that time beyond belief. A captain and two subalterns could order 999 lashes with a "cat" steeped in brine. It is on record that on one occasion a soldier was sentenced to 1,500 lashes for "marauding." And there were other modes of torture. This was close upon the heels of a period when even the slightest breaches of the civil law were punished out of all proportion to the offence. While insisting on the strictest discipline, Brock always tempered justice with mercy. Few men better realized the value of a pleasant word or had in such degree the rare tact that permitted familiarity without killing respect.
A terrible incident occurred in the summer of 1803 which tested all Brock's fortitude and conception of duty. A conspiracy to mutiny was discovered at Fort George on the Niagara River. The methods of the commanding officer had exasperated the men until they planned mutiny on a large scale. This included the murder of Colonel Sheaffe and the incarceration of the other officers. A threatening remark by a soldier of the 49th was overheard. He was arrested and put in irons. A confession by anothersoldier implicated a well-known sergeant, and a message was sent to York begging Brock's immediate presence.
Our hero landed from the schooner alone. It was dinner hour. The barrack-square, as Brock crossed it to the guard-house, was deserted. In charge of the guard he found two of the suspected ringleaders. The guard presented arms. "Sergeant," said the colonel of towering frame and commanding aspect, "come here. Lay down your pike." The order was promptly complied with. "Take off your sword and sash and lay them down also." This was done. "Corporal O'Brien," said the colonel, addressing the sergeant's brother-conspirator, "bring a pair of handcuffs, put them on this sergeant, lock him up in a cell, and bring me the key." This, too, was done. "Now, corporal, you come here; lay down your arms, take off your accoutrements, and lay them down also." He was obeyed. Turning to the right man of the guard, "Come here, you grenadier. Bring a pair of handcuffs and put them on this corporal, lock him up in another cell, and bring me the key." When this was done, turning to the astounded drummer, our hero said, "Drummer, beat to arms."
The garrison was aroused. First to rush out was Lieutenant Williams, sword in hand. "Williams!" said the Colonel, "go instantly and secure Rock"—a former sergeant, recently reduced. "If he hesitates to obey, even for one second, cut him down." Up the stairs flew Williams, calling to Rock to come down. "Yes, sir," answered Rock, "when I take my arms." "You must come without them," said Williams. "Oh, I must have my arms, sir," and as Rock stretched out his hand to seize his musket in the arm-rack, Williams shouted, "If you layone finger on your musket I will cut you down," at the same time drawing his sabre. "Now, go down before me." Rock obeyed, was placed in irons, and within half an hour Clark, O'Brien, and nine other mutineers were embarked for York on the schooner.
What a picture rises before us. The mid-day sun, the glittering barrack-square, the scarlet and white tunics and polished side-arms of the frightened soldiers, with Brock, the embodiment of power and stern justice, towering above the shrinking culprits. Expiation of the offence had yet to follow. The appetite of the law had to be appeased. The trial took place at Quebec. Four mutineers and three deserters were condemned to death, and in the presence of the entire garrison were executed. The details of this are best unwritten. Through a shocking blunder, the firing party discharged their carbines when fifty yards distant, instead of advancing to within eight yards of the victims. The harrowing scene rent Brock's heart. That the men who had fought so bravely under him at Egmont and laughed at the carnage at Copenhagen should end their lives in this manner was inexpressibly sad. After reading the account of the execution of their comrades to the men on parade at Fort George, Brock added, "Since I have had the honour to wear the British uniform I have never felt grief like this." The prisoners publicly declared that had they continued under our hero's command they would have escaped their doom, "being the victims of unruly passions inflamed by vexatious authority."
When Brock assumed command every possible privilege was extended to the troops at Fort George. For every request, however trivial, he knew there was some reason. His mind was big enough to trade in trifles.
In view of these desertions, the prospect of hostilities between Canada and the United States became a momentous one. By close study of events in France and America and intercourse with prominent United States citizens, Brock detected the signs that precede trouble.
But the grave question of desertion and the war-cloud on the horizon could not occupy our hero's attention to the exclusion of other demands upon his time. Canada's growing importance was attracting many travellers from over-seas. Notable among these was Thomas Moore, the brilliant Irish poet, who was our hero's guest at Fort George for two weeks in the summer of 1803. Every attraction that the peninsula presented was taxed for his entertainment. Of these diversions the one which probably left the most lasting impression on the versatile son of Erin was a gathering of the Tuscarora warriors, under Chief Brant, at the Indian encampment on the Grand River.
"Here," wrote Moore, in one of his celebrated epistles, "the Mohawks received us in all their ancient costumes. The young men ran races for our amusement, and gave an exhibition game of ball, while the old men and the women sat in groups under the surrounding forest trees. The scene altogether was as beautiful as it was new to me. To Colonel Brock, in command of the fort, I am particularly indebted for his many kindnesses during the fortnight I remained with him."
It was while Moore was paddling down the St. Lawrence with his Caughnawaga voyageurs, after leaving Niagara—where he saw the fountains of the great deep broken up—that he composed his celebrated boat-song:
"Faintly as tolls the evening chime,Our voices keep tune and our oars keep time.Soon as the woods on shore look dim,We'll sing at St. Ann's our parting hymn.Row, brothers, row! the stream runs fast,The rapids are near, and the daylight's past!"
"Faintly as tolls the evening chime,Our voices keep tune and our oars keep time.Soon as the woods on shore look dim,We'll sing at St. Ann's our parting hymn.Row, brothers, row! the stream runs fast,The rapids are near, and the daylight's past!"
"Faintly as tolls the evening chime,
Our voices keep tune and our oars keep time.
Soon as the woods on shore look dim,
We'll sing at St. Ann's our parting hymn.
Row, brothers, row! the stream runs fast,
The rapids are near, and the daylight's past!"
In the fall of 1805 our hero was gazetted full colonel, and returned to England on leave. While he had lost none of the buoyancy of his youth, he was daily realizing the fullness of his responsibilities.
For the better defence of Canada, he submitted to the Duke of York, the Commander-in-Chief, a suggestion for the forming of a veteran battalion. He quoted the case of the U.E. Loyalists, who after the Revolutionary war, had been granted small tracts in Upper Canada; contrasting their perfect conduct with the practices of some of the settlers ten years later, whose loyalty, from his own observation, would not stand the test. Our hero, who was warmly thanked by the Duke for his zeal, was now regarded as a person to be reckoned with. His abilities and charm of manner had won him a reputation at the Horse Guards.
He returned to Guernsey to receive the congratulations of those brothers "who loved him so dearly," but had not time to tell the graphic story of his sojourn in Canada or revisit the haunts of his boyhood, for news arrived from the United States of so warlike a character that he returned before his leave expired. He overtook at Cork theLady Saumarez, a well-manned Guernsey privateer, armed with letters of marque, and bound for Quebec. Leaving London on the 26th of June, 1806, he set sail for Canada, never to return to those to whom he had so endeared himself by his splendid qualities.
Ruins of old Powder Magazine, Fort George
Ruins of old Powder Magazine, Fort George
Shortly after his return to Quebec, Isaac Brock succeeded to the command of the troops in both Upper and Lower Canada, with the pay and allowance of a brigadier.
Though no overt act had been committed against Canada by the United States, relations were strained, and he found much to occupy his time. His humanity stirred, he set about erecting hospitals, reorganized the commissariat department, and engaged in an unpleasant dispute with President Dunn, the civil administrator of Lower Canada, regarding the fortifications of the Citadel. To-day deep in plans for mobilizing the militia and the formation of a Scotch volunteer corps of Glengarry settlers; to-morrow devising the best way of utilizing an Indian force in the event of war. In June, 1807, the affair between the British gunboatLeopardand the American frigateChesapeakeoccurred. The former boarded the latter in search of deserters, and on being challenged, gave theChesapeakea broadside. While theLeopardwas clearly in the wrong, the United States Government rejected every offer of reparation made by Britain. Then came retaliation. French vessels—though France was at war with Britain—were actually allowed by the United States, a neutral power, full freedom of its harbours. The ships of Britain, a power at peace with the United States of America, were refused the same privilege.
For a proper understanding of the position we mustunroll a page of history. Napoleon, though he crushed the Prussians at Jena, could not efface the memory of his own humiliation at Trafalgar. His ears tingled. He was waiting to deliver a blow that would equalize the destruction of his fleet by Nelson. Though Britain remained mistress of the seas, surely, thought the "little corporal," a way could be found to humble her. If her sources of food supply, for instance, could be cut off, "the wings of her war-ships would be clipped."
To this end Napoleon issued an arrogant proclamation, which was of far-reaching effect. It authorized the destruction of all British goods and all colonial produce shipped to any European port by a British vessel. It allowed the seizure by France of all ships, of whatever nation, which had evencalledat a British port. To this the United States raised no objection, though it was in violation of the world's law in respect to nations which were at peace with each other. The United States' President evidently believed that British resentment at Napoleon's decree would sooner or later provide the United States with an excuse for a disagreement with Britain. He was not mistaken. Britain at once announced that she in her turn would prohibit the ships of other nations visiting French ports until they had first called at a British port. But two wrongs do not make a right. England also, being short of seamen by desertion, insisted that she had the right to search for British seamen on American vessels.
This was a questionable proceeding, and not always carried out in the most amiable manner, as theChesapeakeincident proves, and occasionally led to seizing American seamen, native-born citizens of the United States, in mistake for British-born deserters.
Meanwhile Brock found "the military and the people of Quebec divided by opposing elements of dissatisfaction." His call for one thousand men for two months to complete the defences of the Citadel was met by the Provincial Government with what was practically a refusal. He persisted in his purpose, and despite drawbacks which would have deterred a less dominant nature, he erected a battery, mounting eight thirty-six pound guns, raised upon a cavalier bastion, in the centre of the Citadel, so as to command the opposite heights of Point Levis.
Alive to the probability of invasion, and to the defenceless state of the Canadian frontier and the extreme apathy of the Quebec Government, Colonel Brock warned the War Office. He stated that, as the means at his disposal were quite inadequate to oppose an enemy in the field, with a provincial frontier of 500 miles, he would perforce confine himself to the defence of the city of Quebec. The Lower Canadians, willing to undergo training, had formed themselves into corps of cavalry, artillery and infantry, at no expense to the Government, but the Government gave them no encouragement.
This was the state of affairs in Quebec when Lieutenant-General Sir James Craig arrived to take office as Governor-General of the British Provinces in North America as well as Commander of the Forces. Brock soon became theconfidantof the new administrator, who was not slow to observe the exceptional capacity of our hero. The day came all too quickly for the Governor when occasion arose for the presence of a strong man to take command in Montreal, and with great reluctance he had to call upon Isaac Brock to assume the office.
Montreal—the Mount Royal of Jacques Cartier—was then in the heyday of its pioneer glory. It was the seat of government of the North-West Company, which exercised feudal sway over an empire of wilderness, lake and prairie, and whose title to monopoly was challenged only by the powerful Hudson's Bay Company. Since 1670 this older syndicate of adventurers had held the destinies of the great lone land in the farther North-West, its fruitful plains and pathless forests, in the hollow of its hand. Later, when the two companies amalgamated, their joint operations extended from Alaska to Rupert's Land, from Oregon to the Sandwich Islands, from Vancouver to Labrador, an empire embracing an area of 4,500,000 square miles.
At Montreal Brock lived with these merchant princes on terms of close intimacy. He was sensible enough, as a man of the world, to enjoy the creature comforts of life. The blazing log-fire, with its glow and crackle, in contrast to the blizzard that raged outside; the dim-lighted splendour of spacious dining-hall, with hewn rafters and savage trophies of the explorers; the polished oak floor and carved ceiling, hung with rare fur and gaudy feathers, appealed to him.
The rubber of whist over, came the fragrantperfecto—these traders ransacked the world for their tobacco—and Brock, under the influence of the soothing weed, would charm these wild vagrants into unlocking some of the strange secrets of the wilderness. From these usually silent but sometimes garrulous merchants he acquired during the long winter nights a fund of facts that greatly influenced his future actions.
Being superseded at Montreal by General Drummond, he did not relish a return to Quebec. Separation from the 49th meant actual pain, but, as he said, "Soldiers must accustom themselves to frequent movements, and as they have no choice, it often happens they are placed in situations little agreeing with their wishes." His regrets were lessened by his promotion to the rank of brigadier-general. But he prayed for active service, still trying to secure a staff appointment in Portugal, and awaited the result of his brother Savery's efforts, hoping he might yet be ordered to join "the best disciplined army that ever left England."
"Your Excellency," he said to the Governor-General, "Imustsee active service, or had much better quit the army, for I can look for no advantage if I remain buried in inaction in this remote corner of the earth, without the least mention ever likely being made of me."
Unsuspected by our hero, fate in his case was only "marking time."
Day after day Brock saw British ships weigh anchor at Quebec with Canadian timber for the building of English vessels of war. The importance of these Canadian provinces to Great Britain awoke in him dreams of a federation of all the colonies. Cargoes of timber,that would require more than 400 vessels to transport, were then lying on the beaches of the St. Lawrence. "Bonaparte," he wrote, "coveted these vast colonial areas, and desired to repossess them."
Brock's mind was busy trying to solve these problems. "A small French force of 5,000 men," he told the Governor, "could most assuredly conquer the Province of Quebec. In the event of French invasion, would the volatile Lower Canadian people, in spite of all their privileges, remain loyal?" A certain class ofhabitantargued that Napoleon, who was sure to conquer Europe, would of course seize the Canadas, encouraged by the United States. "Would Englishmen," asked Brock, "if positions were reversed, be any more impatient to escape from possible British rule than were French Canadians from the possible rule of France?"
"Blood, my good FitzGibbon," he declared to hisprotégé, "is thicker than water. You cannot expect to get men to change their nature, or the traditions of their race, through an act of parliament at twenty-four hours' notice. Old thoughts and habits die hard."
Though Brock's perceptive faculties were well developed, his forecasts, built upon the evidences of opposition among certain Lower Canadians, happily proved only in part correct. Later, when his plan of campaign was menaced by still greater disaffection in Upper Canada, he found he had not reckoned on the influence of his own example, which, added to his power of purpose, "disconcerted the disloyal." In proof of this fact Detroit and Queenston Heights were splendid examples.
It was this spirit of unrest among the people of Quebecthat moved Sir James Craig to keep Brock within easy reach until the growing discord in Upper Canada called for the presence of a man of tact and resolution, one to whom all things seemed possible—and Brock knew no such word as "impossible." On one occasion the "faithful sergeant-major" had ventured to declare that a certain order was "impossible." "'Impossible!'" repeated Brock, "nothing should be 'impossible' to a soldier. The word 'impossible' must not be found in a soldier's vocabulary."
It was while stationed in Montreal that our hero met Alexander Henry, ex-fur-trader and adventurer andcoureur de bois—then a merchant and King's auctioneer—a notable personage and leader in many a wild exploit in the far West, an old though virile man after Isaac's own heart.
From Henry he learned much of the Indian wars in the West, and the strategic value of various points on the frontier, possession of which in the event of war he foresaw would be worth a king's ransom. Not least were details respecting Michilimackinac, the Mackinaw already referred to. Nearly half a century before, Henry, a native of New Jersey, of English parents—his ambition fired by tales of the fabulous fortunes to be made in the fur trade—obtained from the commandant at Montreal a permit to proceed west as a trader. He outfitted at Albany, and the following summer set out for Mackinaw.
Meanwhile the Indian allies, under control of the great Pontiac, were fighting immigration and civilization. Between Fort Pitt—Pittsburgh—and the Fox River, in Wisconsin, the home of the Sacs and Foxes, they had captured nine out of thirteen military posts, and were secretly planning the downfall of Fort Mackinaw. This was regarded as an impregnable post and vulnerable only through strategy—in Indian parlance another name forduplicity. Fort Mackinaw, as Brock well knew, was the most important tradingentrepôtwest of Montreal. It served a territory extending from the Missouri in the west to the far Kissaskatchewan in the north.
On Henry's arrival his friendship was sought by an Indian chief, Wawatam. Between these two men a remarkable attachment developed. They became brothers by mutual adoption. At this time the fort was garrisoned by ninety British regulars. One day, outside the walls on the surrounding plateau, several hundred savages were encamped, ostensibly for purposes of trade, some of them killing time by playing the Indian game of ball—thebaggatiwayof the red-man,la jeu de la crosseof the voyageur. Henry, acting upon a veiled warning by Wawatam, suggested to the officer in command extra precaution.
"I told him," said he, while Brock drank in every word, "that Indian treachery was proverbial." Now this recital was of the deepest interest to our hero, for Mackinaw, then in the possession of the United States, held the key to the Michigan frontier and control of the upper lakes. While the huge log fire that roared in the chimney cast light and shadow on polished wall and the oak beams of the big dining-hall, Brock puffed away at his hugepartiga, weighing every word that fell from the bearded lips of the trader.
"Major Errington," continued Henry, "while thanking me, laughed at my forebodings. Then Wawatam urged me, as his adopted brother, to depart for Sault Ste. Marie. But I delayed and once more sought Errington, who still ridiculed my fears. While I was yet expostulating with him we heard the louder shouts of the Indians. They had rushed through the fort gateway into the enclosure within the palisades in pursuit of a lost ball. This was but a ruse to gain admittance, for in a moment the laughter and shouts changed to wild yells and warwhoops. The guard was overpowered in a flash, and in the attack that followed almost the entire garrison was tomahawked and scalped."
"Ah!" said Brock, "so British lethargy and self-complaisance succumbed to Indian duplicity."
Then his thoughts turned to Niagara. He saw the open portals of Fort George, and Tuscarora youths playing the Indian game of ball in the meadows of the Mohawk village.
"Those who escaped massacre at Mackinaw," said Henry, refilling his stone pipe and resuming his story, "were preserved for a worse fate. Pontiac's allies—and you, Colonel, know something of these matters from the tales told you by the officers of the North-West Company—entered on a carnival of blood. From a garret, where a Pawnee Indian woman had secreted me, I saw the captured soldiers tomahawked and scalped, and some butchered like so many cattle, just as required for the cannibal feast that followed."
"Tortured?" interrogated Brock.
"Tortured!" repeated Henry. "Why, the diabolical devices that those men resorted to to inflict acute physical agony were inconceivable—unutterable, Colonel." He paused.... "After all, no worse, perhaps, than the tortures that have been inflicted by civilized fanatics in Europe."
There was silence for a moment. Both men were burieddeep in thought, the one living in the past, the other striving to forecast the future.
"Through the intercession of Wennway, another friendly Indian," continued Henry, "my life was spared. Preparations were made for my secret departure. As I shoved my canoe into the water,en voyagefor Wagoshene, the prayers of Wawatam rang in my ears as, standing on the yellow beach with outstretched arms, he invoked theGitche Manitou, the Great Spirit, to conduct me in safety to the wigwams of my people."
"Surely, Master Henry," commented Isaac Brock, "with all the latent qualities for good that seem to underlie the outward ferocity of some redmen, firmness and kindness are alone needed to convert them into faithful friends."
"An Indian, or Indians collectively," said Henry, pausing before he answered,—"I speak from personal experience only—are faithful so long as you keep absolute good faith with them. In this particular they are no different from white people; but never deceive them, even in trifles, and never subject them to ridicule. Then, if you treat them with consideration, you can reasonably depend upon their individual loyalty. They expect a lot of attention. Yes! an Indian is naturally grateful, probably far more so than the ordinary white man, and seldom forgets a kindness. Should you come into closer contact with the redman, Colonel, as I have a presentiment you will before long, never forget that an Indian, by right of his mode of life, is deeply suspicious and painfully sensitive. He has a keen sense of humour, however, and is quick to discern and laugh at the weak points of others,which, until you understand his language, you will be slow to suspect. On the other hand, he won't stand being laughed at himself or placed in a foolish position. For that matter, who can? Occasionally you will meet a savage with strangely high principles. Among the redskins there is a proportion of good and bad, as there is in all races, but less crime, under normal conditions, than there is among the whites. So, summing up his vices and virtues, the North American Indian, allowing for heredity and surroundings, differs little from ourselves."
"They are brave," interrupted Brock.
"Oh, yes," said Henry, "splendidly reckless of life. The courage of the fatalist I should say. You see, they are so constantly on the war-path that fighting is a compulsory pastime."
"Still," said Brock, "with what daring they fight for their homes."
"True, Colonel," retorted Henry, "but when it comes to fighting for home, a hummingbird will defend its nest. Their peculiar traits are largely the result of a nomadic life and tribal strife, hence, their duplicity. Superstition influences them greatly, as it does all savage races. In one respect they are at least superior to some of our own people—I refer to their treatment of their children. Their lovingkindness is pathetic. Contact with civilization, as you may discover, develops at first all their bad qualities, for they are apt imitators, so when the pagan Indian meets a trader without a conscience—and there are some, you know—why, he is not slow to adopt the bad Christian's methods."
Brock's Cocked Hat
Brock's Cocked Hat
In common with most great men, Brock found distraction in trifles. For weeks prior to leaving Quebec all kinds of gayety prevailed. A visit from Governor Gore of Upper Canada, and the arrival of the fleet from Guernsey and two frigates from Portsmouth, gave a fillip to society. Races, water-parties and country picnics were the order of the day. Our hero's contribution consisted of a banquet and grand ball. He had his own troubles, however, that even the versatile Dobson could not overcome, and he roundly scolded his brother Irving for not sending him a new cocked hat.[2]
"That cocked hat," he said, "has not been received; a most distressing circumstance, as from the enormity of my head I find the utmost difficulty in getting a substitute."
His departure for York weighed upon him. In Quebec he had the most "delightful garden imaginable, with abundance of melons and other good things"—these,together with his new bastions and forts, he had to desert. Being somewhat of a philosopher, he said that since fate decreed the best portion of his life was to be wasted in inaction, and as President Jefferson, though he wanted war, was afraid to declare it, he supposed he should have to be pleased with the prospect of moving upwards.
Brock had been but a few weeks at Fort George—a "most lonesome place," as compared with Quebec, Montreal, Kingston, or even Little York, from which latter place he was cut off by forty miles of lake, or more than a hundred miles of dense forest and bridgeless streams—when he decided upon a flying trip to Detroit, where, during the Frenchrégime, the adventurous Cadillac had landed in 1701. He would inspect the western limit of the frontier now under his care and obtain at first hand a knowledge of the peninsula. "For," as he remarked to Glegg, his aide, "if I can read the signs aright, the two nations are rushing headlong into a military conflict."
Two routes were open to him, one overland, the other land and water. He chose the latter. A vast quantity of freight now reached Queenston from Kingston. Vessels of over fifty tons sailed up the river, bearing merchandise for the North-West Company. Salt pork from Ireland and flour from London, Britain being the real base of supply—the remote North-West looking to Niagara for food and clothing—the return cargoes being furs and grain. To portage these goods around Niagara Falls kept fifty or more farmers' waggons busy every day during the summer. A team of horses or oxen could haul twenty "pieces," of one hundred weight each, for a load. The entire length of the portage from Lake Ontario toLake Erie was practically a street, full of all the bustle and activity that a scattered country population of 12,000 conferred upon it. Two churches, twenty stores, a printing house, six taverns and a scholastic academy supplied the varied wants of Niagara's 500 citizens who overfilled its one hundred dwellings.
From Lake Ontario, Newark, as it had been called, presented an inviting appearance. The brick-and-stone court-house and jail and brightly painted Indian council-house and cottages rose in strong contrast against the green forest. On the river bank was Navy Hall, a log retreat for seamen, and on Mississaga (Black Snake) Point a stone lighthouse flashed its red signal of hope to belated mariners. Nearer the lake shore, in isolated dignity across a mile of common, stood Fort George, a dilapidated structure with wooden palisades and bastions. Half-acre lots in the village were given gratis by the Government to anyone who would build, and eight acres outside for inclosures, besides a large "commonty" for the use of the people. A quite pretentious wharf lined the river, and from this, on any summer afternoon, a string of soldiers and idle citizens might be seen—among whom was Dobson—casting hook and troll for bass, trout, pickerel and herring, with which the river swarmed. On one occasion Brock helped to haul up a seine net in which were counted 1,008 whitefish of an average weight of two pounds, 6,000 being netted in one day.
Side-wheel ferries, driven by horse-power, plied between the river's mouth and the Queenston landing. The paddle-wheels of these were open double-spoke affairs, without any circular rim. A stage-coach also ran between Queenston and Fort Erie, the first in Upper Canada. For one dollar the passenger could travel twenty-five miles.
At Fort Erie, at the head of the Niagara River, Brock embarked in mid-August in a government schooner. He wished to familiarize himself with the upper water-ways. He made the long trip from Quebec to York, and thence to Niagara, Amherstburg, Detroit, Sandwich and return overland to Fort George, within two months—record time. Dobson accompanied his master. Brock was silent as to his impressions, but admitted he was convinced that the water route for a military expedition was the only practical one, and that Mackinaw, held by the United States, was the portal and key to the western frontier in case of invasion. He crossed overland through the "bad woods" and open plains to the Point of Pines, where batteaux and canoes awaited him. From thence he proceeded along the north shore of Lake Erie until abreast of the Miami, a confluent of the Ohio River, on the south shore, then turned northward up the Detroit River, twenty-five miles farther, reaching Amherstburg—called Malden by the Americans—250 miles from Fort Erie. Here, after consulting with Colonel St. George, he inspected the battery at Sandwich, and with little ceremony visited Detroit—the old military post of Pontchartrain—on the opposite side of the river, later notorious as an emporium for "rum, tomahawks and gunpowder." From Amherstburg, a small village with an uncompleted fort and shipyard, he sent messengers to the remote post of St. Joseph, an island, fifty-five miles from Mackinaw, below Sault Ste. Marie, and started homewards overland.
In returning, he skirted the great tributary marshes,alive with water-fowl of every description, whose gabble and flapping wings could be heard at a long distance. He camped in the vast hardwood forests that covered the western point of the peninsula that extends west from Lake Ontario to the river connecting Lake Huron with Lake Erie. He shot big bustards and wild turkeys in the bush, where wolves and deer were as thick as rabbits in a warren, and tramped the uplands, teeming with quail and prairie chicken. Continuing by Delaware and the Government road at Oxford on the Thames, and by the "Long Woods" over the Burford Plains to Brant's Ford, he reached the Grand River, and then by Ancaster and the head of the lake to Burlington, when he followed the Lake Ontario southern shore road to Niagara.
Many of the settlers whom he met were from the Eastern States. These were the original Loyalists or their descendants, patriots to the core. Other more recent arrivals—perhaps two-thirds of the whole—came from Pennsylvania, New York and New Jersey, attracted by the fertility of the soil and freedom from taxation, or to escape militia service. These latter he quickly realized were not the class to rely upon in event of war, but he gave no public sign of distrust. It was from the pick of the first-mentioned stalwarts that Brock formed his loyal Canadian militia, his gallant supporters in the war of 1812, who made a reputation at Detroit and Queenston that will never die.
He was more than ever sensible of the resources of the country. This glimpse of the west enamoured him. To his "beloved brothers"—our hero always thus addressed them—he described it as a "delightful country, far exceeding anything I have seen on this continent." The extent of the Great Lakes amazed him, as did their fish. From these deep cisterns he had seen the Indian fishermen take whitefish, theahtikameg(deer-of-the-water), twenty pounds in weight; maskinonge—matchi-kenonje, the great pike—more than twice that size, and sturgeon that weighed two hundred pounds and over, and in such quantities that he hesitated to tell his experiences on his return.
Henry's stories of five hundred whitefish taken with a scoop net at the rapids of Sault Ste. Marie in two hours were no longer questioned. The size of the red-fleshed land-locked trout (the quail-of-the-water), of pickerel and bass, astounded him. His travels had broadened his views. The chatter of his Iroquois and Algonquin friends was now easier of interpretation. The riddles of the wilderness were more easily read. He now realized how possible it was, in this continent of unsurveyed immensity, to journey for weeks, after leaving the white man's domain hundreds of miles behind, and then reach only the rim of another kingdom of even far greater fertility. He also realized that beyond these laughing lands lay a rugged world of desolation, bounded in turn by the rasping ice-floes of the Arctic.
If Brock's mind had expanded, so had his body. He was, as he expressed it, as "hard as nails." The close of 1811 found "Master Isaac" a grand specimen of manhood. Inclined to be a little portly, he was still athletic. His face, though a trifle stern, had grown more attractive, because of the benevolent look now stamped upon it. He was still fair and florid, with a broad forehead, and eyes though somewhat small, yet full and of a grayish blue,a charming smile and splendid white teeth. Always the same kindly gentleman and always a soldier. His life at Fort George had been one of great loneliness. He read much and rapidly, and would memorize passages from the books that had left the deepest impression. History, civil and military, especially ancient authors, was his choice, and maps his weakness. Over these, with his devoted aides, he would pore late into the night, until he knew the country almost as well as his friend the Surveyor-General. For variety he feasted upon the robust beauties of Pope's "Homer," ever regretting he never had a master "to guide and encourage him in his tastes."
With Lieutenant-Governor Gore, formerly a soldier in Guernsey, our hero was on intimate terms. When the grind of duty let him, he would travel "the worst road in the country—fit only for an Indian mail-carrier—in order to mix in the society of York." He periodically returned these hospitalities by a grand ball at Niagara—always the event of the season. Brock, while fond of women's society, preferred brain to beauty. Had his old Guernsey friends been present on these occasions they would not have recognized in the soldier, resplendent in a general's uniform, now dancing a mazurka, the handsome stripling who only a few years since had waltzed his way into the hearts of all the women of St. Peter's Port.
The unrest of the Indians at Amherstburg troubled him. He had seen over eight hundred in camp there, receiving rations for a month while waiting presents of blankets, powder and shot from King George. They asked British support if they took the warpath against the Americans—the Long-knives—Gitchi-mokohmahn, their sworn enemies.Tecumseh, a Shawanese chief, had demanded from the United States the restoration of violated rights. This demand had not been complied with. The position was critical. Great tact was required to retain the friendship of the Indians, while not complying with their request.
In Lower Canada there was still discord among the French Canadians. The Governor, Sir James Craig, in a dying condition, relinquished office. In answer to Brock's application for leave, still hoping for a staff appointment in Portugal, the Governor-General implored him to remain.
"I must," he told him, "leave the country in the best state of security I can; your presence is needed here. I am sending you as a mark of my sincere regard my favourite horse, Alfred." This was a high-bred animal, and our hero's charger in the war that followed.
It was not, however, until war was regarded as unavoidable, and not until after he was promoted to be a major-general and appointed President and Administrator of Upper Canada, as successor to Governor Gore, that Isaac Brock became reconciled to life in Canada, and with set purpose assumed the duties of his high calling.
Our hero had passed histhirdmilestone.