ACROSS THE SEA
Before many suns had set, this company of dusky warriors
had brought their canoes to shore near the swift rapids
which run by Montreal. The news of their coming was
received with enthusiasm by the officers stationed at
this place. Every friendly addition to the British ranks
was of value now that war had begun. Sir Guy Carleton,
the governor of Canada, was especially delighted that
these bronzed stalwarts had made their appearance. He
prized the abilities of the Indians in border warfare,
and their arrival now might be of importance, since the
local Canadian militia had not responded to the call to
arms. The French seigneurs and clergy were favourable to
the king's cause, but the habitants on the whole were
not interested in the war, and Carleton's regular troops
consisted of only eight hundred men of the Seventh and
Twenty-Sixth regiments.
No time was lost by the governor in summoning the redskins
to an interview. Chief Brant, it appears, was the leading
spokesman for the Indians on this occasion, and a sentence
or two of the speech made by Carleton has been preserved
by Brant himself. 'I exhort you,' was Carleton's earnest
request of the Indians, 'to continue your adherence to
the King, and not to break the solemn agreement made by
your forefathers, for your own welfare is intimately
connected with your continuing the allies of his Majesty.'
In reply the Indians asserted once more their ancient
pledges. 'We acknowledged,' said Brant, 'that it would
certainly be the best in the end for our families and
ourselves to remain under the King's protection, whatever
difficulties we might have to contend with.'
In order that he might render due service to the army,
Brant was put under military discipline, and was given
a captain's commission in the king's forces. He was in
Montreal when Ethan Allen, a colonial adventurer, made
an unauthorized attempt (Sept. 24, 1775) to surprise and
capture the city. Carleton had been apprised of Allen's
project; the plan miscarried, and Allen, along with other
members of his band, was sent to England as a prisoner
of war. Meanwhile General Montgomery had been advancing
from the south, and, in September, he laid siege to Fort
St John, the English stronghold on the Richelieu river.
This post was stoutly defended by Major Preston with a
force of regulars until Fort Chambly, near by, fell into
the enemy's hands, and further resistance was useless.
Whether Brant's services were employed in or about either
of these forts cannot be ascertained, but we know that
he had left the neighbourhood and was on his way to
England before Montreal capitulated on November 17.
Brant's visit to Montreal had no doubt an important
influence on his career. This was perhaps the first time
he had ever seen a sea-port. [Footnote: It is thought
possible that he had gone down the St Lawrence as far as
Montreal with Sir William Johnson in 1760.] At this time
Montreal had some five or six thousand inhabitants and
was a walled town of growing commercial importance. It
had several commodious religious houses, some large,
well-built churches, and a number of handsome residences.
As Brant stood on the river's bank, he saw a medley of
craft afloat in the current: ships of the fur traders
laden with peltry; transports coming and going with food
for the garrisons, or new men for the service;
sloops-of-war, lying at anchor with their complement of
guns, grim and menacing.
All this gripped as with an iron hand the imaginative
nature of the Mohawk chief. The spirit of romance was
aglow within him, and he had a wondering desire to see
the lands that lay beyond the ocean. He would sail upon
the high seas; he would stand in the presence of the
Great King. How beautiful was this land called England!
and how powerful were its army and navy! Doubtless Guy
Johnson and other officers at Montreal encouraged Brant
to undertake the journey which he fain would make. It
may be that it was they who first showed him how such a
journey was possible. At any rate, before the ice had
begun to lock the green waters of the St Lawrence, in
the year 1775, he had passed through the Gulf and was
tossing on the billows of the deep Atlantic. Towards the
end of the year he arrived, along with Captain Tice, in
the English metropolis. London had altered greatly since
the days of Queen Anne more than half a century before,
when his grandfather had been there. It had become a
greater market for trade, and the common people had been
elbowing their way to the parts where only fine residences
had once stood. Two kings of the House of Hanover had in
the meantime reigned and died, and now King George III,
another of that line, sat upon the throne.
On reaching London Chief Brant was escorted to a small
hostel of not very imposing appearance called 'The Swan
with Two Necks.' It was intended that he should soon be
taken to other lodgings that would be more in keeping
with his rank; but the innkeeper and others were so kind
to him that he was loth to leave, and could not be coaxed
to other quarters during his whole stay in London. In
the streets he was accustomed to dress like the Europeans
of the day, but on state occasions he wore a gala costume,
his head crowned with waving plumes and his body decked
with those fancy ornaments that pleased the proud Indian.
On the burnished tomahawk that glistened in his belt was
traced the initial 'J,' followed by his Indian title,
'Thayendanegea.'
Brant appeared at court and had audience with the king,
for whose person he felt a sacred reverence. He loved
freedom, but at the same time he always had a great
respect for authority. A story is told of the pointed
answer he made to his old instructor, Dr Wheelock, who,
thinking to draw Brant over to the side of the colonists,
or at least to keep him neutral, had written him a long
and earnest appeal. The Mohawk chief replied in a kindly
fashion, referring to the pleasant hours he had spent at
the school. He remembered especially the prayers that
were said in the household, and one prayer in particular
that had been repeated over and over again; as they bent
their heads in entreaty before the Maker of all things,
the request had ever been 'that they might be able to
live as good subjects, to fear God and honour the King.'
Not only did high officials in London treat Brant with
consideration, but men of learning, as well as of social
position, vied with one another to make his visit
interesting and pleasant. Among those who entertained
him was James Boswell, who knew all the gossip of London
society and was a man of rare talents. He took a peculiar
liking to the bronzed chief of the Six Nations and
persuaded him to sit for his portrait. The Earl of Warwick
also wished to have Brant's picture, and the result was
that he sat for George Romney, one of the most famous
artists of the day. This portrait was probably painted
at the artist's house in Cavendish Square, and we may
accept it as a good likeness of Brant as he appeared at
this time. With head erect, the strong-knit figure of
the chief stands at repose. The eyes are mild and wide-set
and about the lips a smile is playing. In the portrait
we see, too, the resolute heart, the thoughtful mind,
and the restless energy that made Joseph Brant a ruler
of the native races.
On being asked as to the help he might render to the
English arms in the New World, Brant asserted strongly
that he and his people were loyal. He said that, as War
Chief, he would lead three thousand of his warriors into
the struggle, and that they would fight manfully as
subjects of the king. He knew full well how desperate
the contest was going to be, and wishing to have some
article on his body that would identify him in case of
death, he bought from a London goldsmith a ring, in which
he had his full name engraved. This he wore through the
vicissitudes of many a long year.
Before the winter was over Brant was anxious to return
to his tribes, for he knew that when the hatchet was
whirling the wigwam was more fitting for him that the
palaces of London. Accordingly, in the spring of 1776,
he set out for his western home.