Autumn had passed away, and winter, the stern invigorating winter of
beautiful America had already covered the earth with enduring snows, and
the waters with bridges of seemingly eternal ice, and yet no effort had
been made by the Americans to repossess themselves of the country they
had so recently lost. The several garrisons of Detroit and Malden,
reposing under the laurels they had so easily won, made holiday of their
conquest; and, secure in the distance that separated them from the more
populous districts of the Union, seemed to have taken it for granted
that they had played their final part in the active operations of the
war, and would be suffered to remain in undisturbed possession. But the
storm was already brewing in the far distance which, advancing
progressively like the waves of the coming tempest, was destined first
to shake them in their security, and finally to overwhelm them in its
vortex. With the natural enterprise of their character, the Americans
had no sooner ascertained the fall of Detroit, than means slow but
certain, were taken for the recovery of a post, with which, their
national glory was in no slight decree identified. The country whence
they drew their resources for the occasion, were the new states of Ohio
and Kentucky, and one who had previously travelled through those immense
tracts of forests, where the dwelling of the backwoodsman is met with at
long intervals, would have marvelled at the zeal and promptitude with
which these adventurous people, abandoning their homes, and disregarding
their personal interests, flocked to the several rallying points. Armed
and accoutred at their own expense, with the unerring rifle that
provided them with game, and the faithful hatchet that had brought down
the dark forest into ready subjection to their will, their claim upon
the public was for the mere sustenance they required on service. It is
true that this partial independence of the Government whom they served
rather in the character of volunteers, than of conscripts, was in a
great measure fatal to their discipline; but in the peculiar warfare of
the country, absence of discipline was rather an advantage than a
demerit, since when checked, or thrown into confusion, they looked not
for a remedy in the resumption of order, but in the exercise each of his
own individual exertions, facilitated as he was by his general knowledge
of localities, and his confidence in his own personal resources.
But although new armies were speedily organized--if organized may be
termed those who brought with them into the contest much courage and
devotedness, yet little discipline--the Americans, in this instance,
proceeded with a caution that proved their respect for the British
garrison, strongly supported as it was by a numerous force of Indians.
Within two months after the capitulation of Detroit, a considerable
army, Ohioans and Kentuckians, with some regular infantry, had been
pushed forward as with a view to feel their way; but these having been
checked by the sudden appearance of a detachment from Fort Malden, had
limited their advance to the Miami River, on the banks of which, and on
the ruins of one of the old English forts of Pontiac's days, they had
constructed new fortifications, and otherwise strongly entrenched
themselves. It was a mistake, however, to imagine that the enemy would
be content with establishing himself here. The new fort merely served as
a nucleus for the concentration of such resources of men and warlike
equipment, as were necessary to the subjection, firstly of Detroit, and
afterwards of Fort Malden. Deprived of the means of transport, the
shallow bed of the Miami aiding them but little, it was a matter of no
mean difficulty with the Americans to convey, through several hundred
miles of forest, the heavy guns they required for battering, and as it
was only at intervals this could be effected--the most patient endurance
and unrelaxing perseverance being necessary to the end. From the
inactivity of this force, or rather the confinement of its operations to
objects of defence, the English garrison had calculated on undisturbed
security, at least throughout the winter, if not for a longer period;
but, although it was not until this latter season was far advanced that
the enemy broke up from his entrenchments on the Miami, and pushed
himself forward for the attainment of his final view, the error of
imputing inactivity to him was discovered at a moment when it was least
expected.
It was during a public ball given at Amherstburg, on the 18th of
January, 1813, that the first intelligence was brought of the advance of
a strong American force, whose object it was supposed was to push
rapidly on to Detroit, leaving Amherstburg behind to be disposed of
later. The officer who brought this intelligence was the fat Lieutenant
Raymond, who, commanding an outpost at the distance of some leagues, had
been surprised, and after a resistance very creditable under the
circumstances, driven in by the American advanced guard with a loss of
nearly half his command.
Thus was the same consternation produced in the ball-room at
Amherstburg, that at a later period occurred in a similar place of
amusement at Brussels; and although not followed by the same momentous
public results, producing the same host of fluttering fears and
anxieties in the bosoms of the female votaries of Terpsichore. We
believe, however, that there existed some dissimilarity in the several
modes of communication--the Duke of Wellington receiving his, with some
appearance of regard on the part of the communicator for the nerves of
the ladies, while to Colonel St. Julian, commanding at Amherstburg, and
engaged at that moment at the whist-table, the news was imparted in
stentorian tones, which were audible to every one in the adjoining
ball-room.
But even if his voice had not been heard, the appearance of Lieutenant
Raymond would have justified the apprehension of any reasonable person,
for, in the importance of the moment, he had not deemed it necessary to
make any change in the dress in which he had been surprised and driven
back. Let the reader figure to himself a remarkably fat, ruddy faced
man, of middling age, dressed in a pair of tightly fitting, dread-naught
trowsers, and a shell jacket that had once been scarlet, but now, from
use and exposure, rather resembled the color of brickdust; boots from
which all polish had been taken by the grease employed to render them
snow-proof; a brace of pistols thrust into the black waist belt that
encircled his huge circumference, and from which depended a sword, whose
steel scabbard showed the rust of the rudest bivouac. Let him, moreover,
figure to himself that ruddy, carbuncled face, and nearly as ruddy brow,
suffused with perspiration, although in a desperately cold winter's
night, and the unwashed hands, and mouth, and lips black from the
frequent biting of the ends of cartridges, while ever and anon the
puffed cheeks, in the effort to procure air and relieve the panting
chest, recal the idea of a Bacchus, after one of his most lengthened
orgies--let him figure all this, and if he will add short, curling,
wiry, damp hair, surmounting a head as round as a turnip, a snubby, red,
_retroussé_ nose, and light grey eyes; he will have a tolerable idea of
the startling figure that thus abruptly made its appearance in the
person of Lieutenant Raymond, first among the dancers, and bustlingly
thence into the adjoining card-room.
At the moment of his entrance, every eye had been turned upon this
strange apparition, while an almost instinctive sense of the cause of
his presence pervaded every breast. Indeed it was impossible to behold
him arrayed in the bivouac garb in which we have described him,
contrasted as it was with the elegant ball dresses of his brother
officers and not attribute his presence to some extraordinary motive;
and as almost every one in the room was aware of his having been absent
on detachment, his mission had been half divined even before he had
opened his lips to Colonel St. Julian, for whom, on entering, he had
hurriedly inquired.
But when the latter officer was seen soon afterwards to rise from and
leave the card-table, and, after communicating hurriedly with the
several heads of departments, quit altogether the scene of festivity,
there could be no longer a doubt; and, as in all cases of the sort, the
danger was magnified, as it flew from lip to lip, even as the tiny
snow-ball becomes a mountain by the accession it receives in its rolling
course. Suddenly the dance was discontinued, and indeed in time, for the
fingers of the non-combatant musicians, sharing in the general
nervousness, had already given notice, by numerous falsettos, of their
inability to proceed much longer. Bonnets, cloaks, muffs, tippets,
shawls, snow-shoes, and all the paraphernalia of a female winter
equipment peculiar to the country, were brought unceremoniously in, and
thrown _en masse_ upon the deserted benches of the ball-room. Then was
there a scramble among the fair dancers, who, having secured their
respective property, quitted the house; not, however, without a secret
fear, on the part of many, that the first object they should encounter,
on sallying forth, would be a corps of American sharpshooters. To the
confusion within was added the clamor without, arising from swearing
drivers, neighing horses, jingling bells, and jostling sledges. Finally,
the only remaining ladies of the party were the D'Egvilles, whose sledge
had not yet arrived: with these lingered Captain Molineux, Middlemore,
and Henry Grantham, all of whom, having obtained leave of absence for
the occasion, had accompanied them from Detroit. The two former, who had
just terminated one of the old fashioned cotillions, then peculiar to
the Canadas, stood leaning over the chairs of their partners, indulging
in no very charitable comments on the unfortunate Raymond, to whose
inopportune presence at that unseasonable hour they ascribed a host of
most important momentary evils; as, for example, the early breaking up
of the pleasantest ball of the season, the loss of an excellent
anticipated supper that had been prepared for a later hour, and,
although last not least, the necessity it imposed upon them of an
immediate return, that bitter cold night, to Detroit. Near the blazing
wood fire, at their side, stood Henry Grantham, and Captain St. Clair of
the Engineers. The former with his thoughts evidently far away from the
passing scene, the latter joining in the criticisms on Raymond.
A few moments afterwards Colonel D'Egville entered the room, now
deserted save by the little coterie near the fire-place. Like Lieutenant
Raymond's, his dress was more suited to the bivouac than the ball-room,
and his countenance otherwise bore traces of fatigue.
His daughters flew to meet him. The officers also grouped around,
desirous to hear what tidings he brought of the enemy, to corroborate
the statement of Raymond. To the great mortification of the latter, it
was now found that he and his little detachment had had all the running
to themselves, and that, while they fancied the whole of the American
army to be close at their heels, the latter had been so kept in check by
the force of Indians, under Colonel D'Egville in person, as to be
compelled to retire upon the point whence the original attack had been
made. They had not followed the broken English outpost more than a mile,
and yet, so convinced of close pursuit had been the latter, that for the
space of six leagues they had scarce relaxed in their retreat. The
information now brought by Colonel D'Egville was, that the Americans had
not advanced a single foot beyond the outpost in question, but, on the
contrary, had commenced constructing a stockade and throwing up
entrenchments. He added, moreover, that he had just dispatched an
express to Sandwich, to General Proctor, communicating the intelligence,
and suggesting the propriety of an attack before they could advance
farther, and favor any movement on the part of the inhabitants of
Detroit. As this counter-movement on our part would require every man
that could be spared from the latter fortress, Colonel D'Egville seemed
to think that before the officers could reach it, its garrison would be
already on the way to join the expedition, which would doubtless be
ordered to move from Amherstburg; and as the same impression appeared to
exist in the mind of Colonel St. Julian, whom he had only just parted
from to proceed in search of his daughters, the latter had taken it upon
himself to determine that they should remain where they were until the
answer, communicating the final decision of General Proctor, should
arrive.
If the young officers were delighted at the idea of escaping the horror
of an eighteen miles drive, on one of the bitterest nights of the
season, supperless, and at the moment of issuing from a comfortable
ball-room, their annoyance at (what they termed) the pusillanimity of
Raymond, who had come thus unnecessarily in, to the utter annihilation
of their evening's amusement--was in equal proportion. For this, on
their way home, they revenged themselves by every sort of persiflage
their humor could adapt to the occasion, until in the end they
completely succeeded in destroying the good humor of Raymond, who
eventually quitted them under feelings of mortified pride, which excited
all the generous sympathy of the younger Grantham, while it created in
his breast a sentiment of almost wrath against his inconsiderate
companions. Even these latter were at length sensible that they had gone
too far, and, as their better feelings returned, they sought to assure
the offended object of their pleasantry that what they had uttered was
merely in jest; but finding he received these disclaimers in moody
silence, they renewed their attack, nor discontinued it until they
separated for their mutual quarters for the night.
The following dawn broke in, decked with all the sad and sober grey
peculiar to an American sky in the depth of winter, and, with the first
rising of the almost rayless sun, commenced numerous warlike
preparations, that gave promise to the inhabitants of some approaching
crisis. The event justified their expectation; the suggestion of Colonel
D'Egville had been adopted, and the same express which carried to
General Proctor the information of the advance of the enemy, and the
expulsion of Lieutenant Raymond from his post, was pushed on to Detroit,
with an order for every man who could be spared from that fortress, to
be marched without a moment's delay to Malden. At noon the detachment
had arrived, and the General making his appearance soon after, the
expedition, composed of the strength of the two garrisons, with a few
light guns, and a considerable body of Indians, under the Chief
Round-head, were pushed rapidly across the lake, and the same night
occupied the only road by which the enemy could advance.
It was a picturesque sight to those who lingered on the banks of the
Detroit, to watch the movement of that mass of guns, ammunition, cars
and sledges, preceding the regular march of the troops, as the whole
crossed the firm but rumbling ice, at the head of the now deserted
Island of Bois Blanc. Nor was this at all lessened in effect by the
wild and irregular movements of the Indians, who, advancing by twos and
threes, but more often singly, and bounding nimbly yet tortuously, along
the vast white field with which the outline of their swarthy forms
contrasted, called up at the outset, the idea of a legion of devils.
It was during one of the coldest mornings in January, that this little
army bivouaced on the banks of a small rivulet, distant little more than
a league from the position which had been taken up by the Americans. So
unexpected and rapid had been the advance of the expedition, that not
the slightest suspicion appeared to be entertained by the Americans even
of its departure; and from information brought at a late hour by the
Indian scouts, who had been dispatched at nightfall to observe their
motions, it was gathered that, so far from apprehending or being
prepared for an attack, all was quiet in their camp, in which the
customary night-fires were then burning. Thus favored by the false
security of their enemies, the British force, after partaking of their
rude but substantial meal, and preparing their arms, laid themselves
down to rest in their accoutrements and great coats; their heads
reclining on whatever elevation, however small, presented itself, and
their feet half buried in the embers of the fires they had with
difficulty kindled on the frozen ground, from which the snow had been
removed--all sanguine of success, and all more or less endeavoring to
snatch, amid the nipping frost to which their upper persons were
exposed, a few hours of sleep prior to the final advance, which was to
take place an hour before dawn.
In the midst of the general desolateness of aspect which encompassed
all, there were few privations endured by the men that were not equally
shared by their officers. A solitary and deserted log hut was the only
thing in the shape of a human habitation within the bivouac, and this
had been secured as the headquarters of the General and his staff--all
besides had no other canopy than the clear starry heavens, or, here and
there, the leafless and unsheltering branches of some forest tree--and
yet, around one large and blazing fire, which continued to be fed at
intervals by masses of half-decayed wood, that, divested of their snow,
lay simmering and drying before it, was frequently to be heard the
joyous yet suppressed laugh, and piquant sally, as of men whose spirits
no temporary hardship or concern for the eventful future could
effectually suppress.
During the whole of the march, Raymond had evinced a seriousness of
demeanor by no means common to him, and although he had made one of the
party in the general bivouac, he had scarcely opened his lips, except to
reply to the most direct questions. A renewed attack at first drew from
him no comment, although it was evident he felt greatly pained; but when
he had finished smoking his cigar, he raised himself, not without
difficulty, from the ground, and began with a seriousness of manner
that, being unusual, not a little surprised them, "Gentlemen, you have
long been pleased to select me as your butt."
"Of course," hastily interrupted Captain Molineux, hazarding his pun,
"we naturally select you for what you most resemble."
"Captain Molineux--gentlemen!" resumed Raymond, with greater emphasis.
"He is getting warm on the subject," observed Middlemore. "Have a care,
Molineux, that the butt does not _churn_ until in the end it becomes the
_butter_."
"Ha! ha! ha!" vociferated St. Clair, "good, excellent, the best you ever
made, Middlemore."
"Gentlemen!" persevered Raymond, in a tone, and with a gesture, of
impatience, "this trifling will be deeply regretted by you all
to-morrow; I repeat," he pursued, when he found he had at length
succeeded in procuring silence, "you have long been pleased to select me
as your butt, and while this was confined to my personal appearance,
painful as I have sometimes found your humor, I could still endure it;
but when I perceive those whom I have looked upon as friends and
brothers, casting imputations upon my courage, I may be excused for
feeling offended. You have succeeded in wounding my heart, and some of
you will regret the hour when you did so. Another, perhaps, would adopt
a different course, but I am not disposed to return evil for evil. I
wish to believe, that in all your taunts upon this subject you have
merely indulged your bantering humor--but not the less have you pained
an honest heart. To-morrow will prove that you have grievously wronged
me, and I am mistaken if you will not deeply regret it."
So saying, he hurried away across the snow towards a distant fire, which
lighted the ruder bivouac of the adjutant and quartermaster, and was
there seen to seat himself with the air of one who has composed himself
for the night.
"What a silly fellow, to take the thing so seriously!" said Molineux,
half vexed at himself, half moved by the reproachful tone of Raymond's
address.
"For God's sake, Grantham, call him back. Tell him we are ready to make
any--every atonement for our offence," urged St. Clair.
"And I will promise never to utter another pun at his expense as long as
I live," added Middlemore.
But before Henry Grantham, who had been a pained and silent witness of
the scene, and who had already risen with a view to follow the wounded
Raymond, could take a single step on his mission of peace, the low roll
of the drum, summoning to fall in, warned them that the hour of action
had already arrived, and each, quitting his fire, hastened to the more
immediate and pressing duties of assembling his men, and carefully
examining into the state of their appointments.
In ten minutes from the beating of the _reveillé_--considerably shorn of
its wonted proportions, as the occasion demanded--the bivouac had been
abandoned, and the little army again upon their march. What remained to
be traversed of the space that separated them from the enemy, was an
alternation of plain and open forest, but so completely in
juxtaposition, that the head of the column had time to clear one wood
and enter a second before its rear could disengage itself from the
first. The effect of this, by the dim and peculiar light reflected from
the snow across which they moved, was picturesque in the extreme, nor
was the interest diminished by the utter silence that had pervaded every
part of the little army, the measured tramp of whose march, mingled with
the hollow and unavoidable rumbling of the light guns, being the only
sounds to be heard amid that mass of living matter. The Indians, with
the exception of a party of scouts, had been the last to quit their rude
encampment, and as they now, in their eagerness to get to the front,
glided stealthily by in the deep snows on either side of the more beaten
track by which the troops advanced, and utterly without sound in their
foot-fall they might rather have been compared to spirits of the wilds,
than to human beings.
The regiment having been told off into divisions, it so happened that
Raymond and Henry Grantham, although belonging to different companies,
now found themselves near each other. The latter had been most anxious
to approach his really good-hearted companion, with a view to soothe his
wounded feelings, and to convey, in the fullest and most convincing
terms, the utter disclaimer of his inconsiderate brother officers, to
reflect seriously on his conduct in the recent retreat--or, indeed, to
intend their observations for anything beyond a mere pleasantry. As,
however, the strictest order had been commanded to be observed in the
march, and Raymond and he happened to be at opposite extremities of the
division, this had been for some time impracticable. A temporary halt
having occurred, just as the head of the column came within sight of the
enemy's fires, Grantham quitted his station on the flank, and hastened
to the head of his division, where he found Raymond with his arms folded
across his chest, and apparently absorbed in deep thought. He tapped him
lightly on the shoulder, and inquired in a tone of much kindness the
subject of his musing.
Touched by the manner in which he was addressed, Raymond dropped his
arms and grasping the hand of the youth, observed in his usual voice;
"Ah, is it you Henry--Egad, my dear boy, I was just thinking of you--and
how very kind you have always been; never quizzing me as those
thoughtless fellows have done--and certainly never insinuating anything
against my courage--that was too bad, Henry, too bad, I could have
forgiven anything but that."
"Nay, nay, Raymond," answered his companion, soothingly; "believe me,
neither Molineux, nor Middlemore, nor St. Clair meant anything beyond a
jest. I can assure you they did not, for when you quitted us they asked
me to go in search of you, but the assembly then commencing to beat, I
was compelled to hasten to my company, nor have I had an opportunity of
seeing you until now."
"Very well, Henry, I forgive them, for it is not in my nature to keep
anger long; but tell them that they should not wantonly wound the
feelings of an unoffending comrade. As I told them, they may regret
their unkindness to me before another sun has set. If so, I wish them no
other punishment."
"What mean you, my dear Raymond?"
"Egad! I scarcely know myself, but something tells me very forcibly my
hour is come."
"Nonsense, this is but the effect of the depression, produced by fatigue
and over excitement, added to the recent annoyance of your feelings."
"Whatever it proceed from, I had made up my mind to it before we set
out. Henry, my kind good Henry, I have neither friend nor relative on
earth--no one to inherit the little property I possess. In the event of
my falling, you will find the key of my desk in the breast pocket of my
coat. A paper in that desk appoints you my executor. Will you accept the
trust?"
"Most sacredly, Raymond, will I fulfil every instruction it contains
should I myself survive; but I cannot, will not, bring myself to
anticipate your fall."
"Move on, move on," passed quickly in a whisper from front to rear of
the column.
"God bless you, Henry," exclaimed Raymond, again pressing the hand of
the youth--"remember the key."
"We shall talk of that to-night," was the light reply. "Meanwhile, dear
Raymond, God bless you," and again Grantham fell back to his place in
the rear of the division.
Five minutes later, and the troops were finally brought up in front of
the enemy. A long line of fires marked the extent of the encampment,
from which even then, the "all's well" of the sentinels could be
occasionally heard. Except these, all profoundly slept, nor was there
anything to indicate they had the slightest suspicion of an enemy being
within twenty miles of them.
"What glorious cannon work we shall have presently," whispered Villiers
to Molineux, as they were brought together by their stations at the
adjacent extremities of their respective division. "Only mark how the
fellows sleep."
"The devil take the cannon," muttered Villiers, "the bayonet for me, but
you are right, for see, there go the guns to the front--hark there is a
shot; the sentinels have discovered us at last; and now they are
starting from before their fires, and hastening to snatch their arms."
Whist, whist, whist, flew three balls successively between their heads.
"Ha, here they begin to talk to us in earnest, and now to our duty."
The next moment all was roar, and bustle, and confusion, and death.
The sun was in the meridian; all sounds of combat had ceased. From the
field, in which the troops had commenced the action, numerous sledges
were seen departing, laden with the dead--the wounded having previously
been sent off. One of these sledges remained stationary at some distance
within the line, where the ravages of death were marked by pools of
blood upon the snow, and at this point were grouped several individuals,
assembled round a body which was about to be conveyed away.
"By Heavens, I would give the world never to have said an unkind word to
him," observed one, whose arm suspended from a sling, attested he had
not come scatheless out of the action. It was St. Clair, whose great
ambition it had always been to have his name borne among the list of
wounded--provided there were no broken bones in the question.
"As brave as he was honest-hearted," added a second, "you say, Grantham,
that he forgave us all our nonsense."
"He did, Molineux. He declared he could not bear resentment against you
long. But still, I fear, he could not so easily forget. He observed to
me, jestingly, just before deploying into line, that he felt his time
was come, but there can be no doubt, from what we all witnessed, that he
was determined from the outset to court his death."
Captain Molineux turned away, apparently much affected--Middlemore spoke
not, but it was evident he also was deeply pained. Each seemed to feel
that he had been in some degree accessory to the catastrophe, but the
past could not be recalled. The body, covered with blood, exuding from
several wounds, was now placed on the sledge which was drawn off to join
several others just departed, and the lingering officers hastened to
overtake their several companies.
When the action was at the hottest, one of the small guns in front (all
of which had been fearfully exposed), was left without a single
artilleryman. Availing themselves of this circumstance, the enemy, who
were unprovided with artillery of any description, made a movement as if
to possess themselves of, and turn it against the attacking force, then
closing rapidly to dispute the possession of the breast work which
covered their riflemen. Colonel St. Julian seeing this movement, called
out for volunteers to rescue the gun from its perilous situation.
Scarcely had the words passed his lips when an individual moved forward
from the line, in the direction indicated. It was Lieutenant
Raymond--Exposed to the fire, both of friends and foes, the unfortunate
officer advanced calmly and unconcernedly, in the presence of the whole
line, and before the Americans could succeed in even crossing their
defences, had seized the gun by the drag rope, and withdrawn it under
cover of the English fire. But this gallant act of self-devotedness, was
not without its terrible price. Pierced by many balls, which the
American riflemen had immediately directed at him, he fell dying within
ten feet of the British line, brandishing his sword and faintly shouting
a "huzza," that was answered by his companions with the fierce spirit of
men stung to new exertion, and determined to avenge his fall.
Thus perished the fat, the plain, the carbuncled, but really
gallant-hearted Raymond--whose intrinsic worth was never estimated until
he had ceased to exist. His fall, and all connected therewith, forms a
sort of episode in our story, yet is it one not altogether without its
moral. A private monument, on which was inscribed all that may soothe
and flatter after death, was erected to his memory by those very
officers whose persiflage, attacking in this instance even his honor as
a soldier, had driven him to seek the fate he found. Of this there could
be no question; for, brave as he unquestionably was, Raymond would not
have acted as if courting death throughout, had he not fully made up his
mind either to gain great distinction or to die under the eyes of those
who had, he conceived, so greatly injured him. It is but justice to add
that, for three days from his death, Middlemore did not utter a single
pun, neither did St. Clair or Molineux indulge in a satirical
observation.