What guardian spirit protects the bold and mischievous has never yet been discovered; but it is a well authenticated fact that wild, harum scarum fellows like Terrence Malone seldom come to grief or disaster.

He was always the innocent lamb of the ship, whom no one would suspect of mischief. The chaplain of the ship was not more grave and sanctimonious than he. If the hammock netting were left so as to trip up the dignified captain and throw him on the deck in a very undignified manner, no one could possibly have suspected that the harmless Terrence had any thing to do with it.

The quarter-master was one day snoring in his hammock. Terrence, who was on duty scrubbing the gun deck, had a large tub filled with water, which was unconsciously left just under the head of the hammock of the quarter-master. No one could tell how it happened; but the supports were all cut save two or three, which the swaying of the hammock gradually loosened until, just as the officer went to "change sides," down he came with a frightful splash head first into the tub.

Terrence, who was near, ran to his rescue and quickly pulled him out.

"It's bastely carelessness to lave the water there," cried Terrence. "Faith, I hope the captain will give the shpalpeen two dozen as did it."

"Who cut my hammock down?" roared the quarter-master.

"Cut yer hammock, indade?"

The quarter-master was in a rage and swore like a trooper. Wiping the water from his face, he roared:

"Yes, cut down my hammock! Don't you see the netting has been cut?"

"The truth ye tell, quarter-master; some haythin has surely been cutting yer netting. Now who could have done that? I hope the culprit may be found, that's all."

And the face of the quarter-master himself did not evince more savage fury than the Irishman. He was the first to report it to the lieutenant, and in his zeal actually burst in on the captain himself and told of the disaster, volunteering his services to hunt down the culprit.

"Find him!" thundered the captain, his face white with rage. "Find him, and, by the trident of Neptune, I swear I'll see his backbone!"

No one in the whole ship was as zealous as the Irishman in searching for the culprit; but he took care never to find him.

Captains of men-of-war are fond of delicacies, and the captain had a fine fat pig, which he intended for a special feast to be given for his officers. Terrence, through his zeal, became such a favorite, that he was even permitted to superintend the cooking.

The quarter-master's favorite dog, which was as fat as the pig, suddenly disappeared the day before the feast, and Terrence had a search instituted for him without avail, and gave it out as his opinion that the dog had fallen overboard. On the same day the officers feasted on roast pig, Terrence's mess had roast pig. The officers declared that their roast pig was very tender, but that the flavor was strong and peculiar! The ship's surgeon afterward said he never saw the bones of a pig so resemble the bones of a dog. There had been but one pig aboard, and had it been known that Terrence dined on roast pig also, there might have been some grave suspicions.

Shortly after this event, there were some changes in the British navy. Captain Snipes was supplanted in command of the Macedonian by Captain Carden. Fernando, Terrence and the negro were shortly after transferred to the war-sloop Sea Shell, Captain Bones, while poor Sukey was still left aboard the Macedonian. Shortly after these changes Captain Snipes and Mr. Hugh St. Mark, the silent gunner, were transferred to the man-of-war Xenophon. Thus we see, by those interminable and inexplicable changes constantly going on in the royal navy the friends were separated. There may be some reason for those constant changes in the navy; but they are not apparent to the sagest landsman living.

Captain Conkerall had made himself so ridiculous in Baltimore, that he had been forced to quit the service in order to escape he ridicule of his fellow officers. This left Lieutenant Matson in command of the Xenophon until Captain Snipes was assigned to that duty.

Fernando Stevens felt some regrets in leaving the Macedonian. One's very sufferings may endear them to a place. But Fernando's chief regret was in leaving the friend of his childhood. Sukey and he shed manly tears as each saw the face of his friend fade from view.

Terrence soon ingratiated himself into the favor of Captain Bones, who had a weakness for punch and whist. Terrence knew how to brew the punch to the taste of the captain, and could play whist so artistically, that the captain could, by the hardest sort of playing, just win.

Terrence boasted of excellent family connection, and gave as his reason for his not having a mid-shipman's commission, that his father objected to the sea, and he had been impressed instead of entering the navy of his own accord. Bones was not as punctilious as most captains, especially when Terrence could brew such excellent punch, and Terrence soon became a favorite and came and went at pleasure in the captain's cabin. When the captain imbibed quite freely, he often hinted at a promotion for Terrence.

Fernando paid little attention to the course of the vessel. He had been in nearly all the parts of the world, and seldom asked which continent they were on, or in what waters they sailed. He was sober, silent and melancholy.

One bright August day in 1811, they were off some coast, he knew not what. All day the weather had been glorious. Toward sunset, the clouds began to gather in heavy masses to the southeast, and a little later a heavy breeze sprang up from that direction. As darkness came on, the wind increased, blowing a strong gale, and it blew all night. As morning dawned a dense fog settled down over the vessel and completely obscured everything. Soundings were taken; but the captain, who had yielded to the seductive punch of Terrence Malone, could not determine where they were. When daylight came the sea had changed color, which proved that they were in shallow water. On heaving the lead it was ascertained that they were only in twelve fathoms water.

"Wear ship!" shouted Captain Bones in a tone of thunder. The vessel was then under such small sail that she had not headway enough to stay her. As she answered to her helm and payed off, bringing the wind aft, high land was seen astern. Suddenly the fog lifted. At the same instant, the wind changed to the southwest, blowing harder. A cloud of canvas flew into the air, and, looking up, Fernando saw it was the jib. The vessel lost what little headway she had and drifted heavily to leeward. As the fog cleared toward the land, they looked early in that direction and to their dismay and horror, they saw heavy breakers beating so close to them, that there was no room to wear the ship round. The captain at once gave orders to clear away the anchors. A seaman went forward with an axe to cut the lashings of the one on the port side. As soon as the cable had been cut, the starboard anchor was sent adrift and thirty fathoms of cable ran out. The order was given to "hold on," and as it was obeyed the port cable broke. The sloop immediately swung around, bringing all her weight on the starboard cable, which, being unable to stand the strain, parted, and then they were left entirely to the mercy of the wind and sea.

The suspense was short. A tremendous sea came rolling toward the sloop, struck it with terrific force, lifted it high on its crest and carried it forward toward the breakers. In another instant the vessel was driven with a crash on the sandy bottom. At the same moment down came the foremast, taking with it the jib-boom and bowsprit, all disappearing into the sea. Wave after wave washed over them in quick succession. The mainmast was split, and the noise made by it, as it was beaten about by the gale was deafening. All the poor wretches on board the Sea Shell could do was to hold on for dear life.

The captain ordered their only life-boat lowered, and, turning to the crew, he shouted, for the roaring of the wind was terrible, that he with twelve men would set out for shore, and after landing eight with himself and officers, would send the boat back for others. The captain had no notion that so excellent a punch brewer as Terrence should be lost, and insisted that he go with the first boatload. The others had no alternative. They were compelled to submit. The captain, his lieutenants, Terrence and a dozen sailors sprang over the side, took their places and pushed off. As the little craft rose and fell in that frightful sea, it seemed doubtful if they would reach the shore.

Dumb with terror, Fernando had watched the whole proceeding. He could only hold on to a sail and, by the sheer strength of his hands and arms, save himself from being carried overboard, as sea after sea swept over them. He strained his eyes until it seemed as though they would burst, to follow the movements of that boat on which their lives depended. It seemed but a mere speck on the waves. Suddenly it rose to a surprising height, and then disappeared altogether. The next moment he saw the men struggling in the water. The boat was broken into pieces and the fragments were brought out to them. Every man for himself was now the cry throughout the ship. How far they were from the shore no one could tell. They had to take their chances. Although a strong swimmer, Fernando knew that in such a tremendous sea he would be powerless. There was, however, but the one thing to do.

Raising his hands before him and pressing them firmly together, Fernando drew a long breath, then sprang from the sloop's rail into the water beneath. When he rose to the surface he tried to swim. It was impossible, as he had foreseen. He was like a child in the grasp of a monster. The waves tossed him up like a plaything and carried him on —he could not tell how far or where. Suddenly a great black object loomed up before him. It was a part of the wreckage. He tried to ward it off; but he might as well have tried to ward off the sloop itself, for the sea lifted him up and dashed him onward, and the great mass struck him a heavy blow over the eye—a flash of lightning gleamed, then all was darkness and a blank.

How long after he could not tell, a strange sensation came creeping slowly over him. A low murmur of voices reached his ears. He was bewildered and benumbed; but soon the truth began to dawn, and he knew that, wherever he might be, he was not dead. Powerless to move, he opened his eyes and fastened them on the objects about him. He now discovered that he was lying on a bed of straw in a large barn. How he could have gotten there was yet a mystery. To his great delight, he recognized the face of Terrence Malone bending over him.

"Well, me boy, ye're not dead yet, are ye?" "Where are we, Terrence?" he faintly inquired.

"Whist, me lad, an' I'll tell ye!" said Terrence, in an undertone. Terrence first looked round to assure himself that there was no one within hearing and then said, "Safe on mother earth, me lad, and, what's best of all, American soil!" American soil!—the very announcement sent a thrill of hope and joy through his heart. Terrence then informed him that they had been wrecked on the coast of Maine, that most of the crew were saved, and the captain intended to march, as soon as the men were able, over the line into Canada. Terrence assured Fernando that, so far as he was concerned, he had no intention of leaving America; but the matter had to be handled carefully. They were on a thinly populated coast and Captain Bones had enough English marines to enforce his authority.

"Then how can we escape?" asked Fernando.

"Lave it all to me!" said the Irishman. As Fernando was incapable of doing anything himself, he very naturally left it all to his Irish friend. "Now I want ye to be too sick to travel for a week. By that time, I'll have the captain all right and snug enough."

Though badly bruised and stunned, Fernando had no bones broken. At any time within three days after the shipwreck he could have left the barn, but, following the advice of Terrence, he assumed a stupid state and refused to talk with any of the officers who called to see him. Terrence became nurse to the invalid as well as the brewer of punch for the captain. Only one other person was taken into the secret plans of the Irishman, that was the negro Job.

Job was delighted.

"Gwine ter run away!" he chuckled, "yah, yah, yah, dat am glorious! I tell yer, dis chile ain't no Britisher. I tole yer dar ain't no Angler Saxun blood in dese veins."

Job was installed assistant nurse over Fernando, and when the captain asked the negro about him, the black face became sober, and Job shook his woolly head, saying:

"Dun no, massa, spect he am gwine ter die. He am awful bad."

Captain Bones gave utterance to a burst of profanity and seriously hoped the wounded sailor would either get well or die, and be very quick about it. Fernando heard him as he lay in the barn loft and could not refrain from chuckling.

"We've got to move soon," growled the captain. "No ship will ever put into this port for us. We must march to Halifax."

"Golly! guess dis chile see himself marchin' ter Halifax," the negro murmured, when the captain had left the barn.

Captain Bones was quartered at the best fisherman's cabin in the neighborhood. It was not much of a shelter, but it was the best he could find. Captain Bones was provoked at the delay in Fernando's recovery. He knew he was an impressed American, and if he left him, he would be lost to the service, and yet he dared not much longer delay going to Halifax.

He was bargaining with a coasting schooner to take himself and crew to Halifax, when one evening Terrence came to him with a very serious face, as if the fortunes of Great Britain were in peril.

"Captain, it's bad news I have for ye," said Terrence. "The brandy is all gone, and divil a bit o' whiskey can be had for love or money." This was alarming to Captain Bones; but Terrence suggested that three miles away lived a farmer Condit, whose cellar abounded with kegs of apple jack and cider. Condit was a rabid republican and would not give a Briton a drop if he were dying for it; but, if the captain would be taken into his confidence, he had a little scheme to propose which had a trifle of risk in it, just enough to give spice to it.

His plan was nothing more than to dress in citizen's clothes, enter the cellar after night and carry away some, if not all, of the kegs of apple jack.

Captain Bones, who enjoyed a frolic, thought the plan an excellent one.

But he begged to allow the first lieutenant to become a party to the frolic. This was just as Terrence wished, for he had intended to suggest the first lieutenant himself. It was agreed that on Saturday night next, the three, dressed in citizen's clothes, were to go to the home of the farmer, enter his cellar and secure enough apple jack and hard cider to alleviate the thirst of Captain Bones, during his stay in the neighborhood.

Farmer Condit, the day before the intended burglary, received a very mysterious letter in a very mysterious manner. It read as follows:

"Farmer Condit: Saturday night your house is to be robbed. I am one of a band of robbers who are to rob you. I was forced to join them or be killed, and will have to go with them that night. Have a few constables ready to seize them. They will not fight; but let the man in tall, peaked, brown hat, white trousers and gray coat escape, for that is me. If you could let me escape and seize the others, you would set at liberty a poor fellow creature, who warns you at the risk of his life.

Your friend."

On the night in question, Terrence wore a tall, peaked brown hat, with black band. He also wore white trousers and a gray coat. The three set off in a cart which Terrence hired to bring back the treasure. It was dark before they commenced their journey, for the officers did not want the men to know of the affair.

They reached the farm house of Mr. Condit and prepared to enter it and begin operations. The cart and mule were left under some trees. It was now ten o'clock, and the house was quite dark. Slowly they crept up to it, Terrence asking himself if the farmer had heeded his warning. Like many farm-house cellars, there was a trap door opening on the outside. To this cellar door they made their way. Terrence, who was accustomed to such affairs, had provided himself with a lantern, which he was to light when they entered the cellar.

They descended the steps and had scarcely reached the floor, when footsteps were heard descending a flight of steps from the inside of the house.

"Hide behind the barrels and boxes, ivery mother's son of ye!" whispered the Irishman. The officers were concealing themselves, when suddenly the door opened and a portly elderly gentleman in his shirt sleeves, knee breeches and slippers, carrying a lighted candle in one hand and a pistol in the other descended. He saw Captain Bones and his lieutenant trying to hide behind a barrel. The captain, in his excitement, had drawn a pistol and was cocking it. Terrence at this moment escaped.

With a yell, the old gentleman dropped the candle, which lay on the floor, the thin blaze ascending upward and dimly lighting the scene. At his yell, there suddenly rushed into the cellar half a dozen stout men, armed with guns and pistols, and the supposed burglars were arrested. Next morning, Captain Bones and his chief officer were snugly reposing in the county jail, while Terrence, Fernando and Job set out across the country for Augusta. From this point they took passage in a swift coaster for New York. At New York they separated, Terrence going to Philadelphia, Job to Baltimore, and Fernando to his home in Ohio.

His journey was long and tedious. At the close of a hot day in autumn, 1811, the old stage coach came in sight of the dear old home. The past four years seemed like a terrible dream. The old familiar spot, where every tree and flower was endeared by sacred remembrances, was never half so precious as now. His gray-haired father and sorrowful mother, who had long given him up for dead, wept over him and thanked God that he had returned to again bless their home. Friends, relatives and neighbors, hearing of the sudden return of Fernando, all gathered on that evening, and the youth told the sad story of his impressment and slavery. He told all save his love affair. That secret was too sacred. When he had finished, good old Mrs. Winners was weeping bitterly, and there was scarce a dry eye in the house; for all remembered that poor Sukey was still a slave to the rapacity and cruelty of an ambitious monarch.



CHAPTER XII.

WAR.

The story of the impressment, service and sufferings of Fernando Stevens and his friends are no exaggerations. Well authenticated history shows that there were thousands of cases similar, and even worse than theirs. The conduct of England was without precedent and unbearable. Their great need of men might have been some excuse for impressment of Americans; but there was a spice of hatred in their cruel treatment of the unfortunate sailors.

We read much about the rulers moulding the destiny of the people; but in our republic the people mould the destiny of the rulers. Long before the president had dared express a thought of war, there were staid old western farmers, level-headed old fellows, who declared that war was inevitable. America is not a country to be ruled by one man. The people rule it, and every man thinks for himself, so that out of the conflict of opinions the truth is usually reached. Before even the fiery congress of 1812 had taken up the subject of hostilities, the legislatures of the several States, urged by their farmer constituency, had by concurrent resolutions declared in favor of war; but the timid president, influenced by his own convictions and the opinions of his cabinet, still hesitated. Finally a committee of Democrats waited on Mr. Madison and told him plainly, in substance, that the supporters of his administration had determined upon war with England, that the patience of the people had become exhausted at his delay, and that unless a declaration of war should soon be made, his renomination and re-election would probably not be accomplished. The president consented to yield his own convictions to the will of his political friends. Thus we see that President Madison was not moved through patriotic motives to declare war against Great Britain, but from personal ambition. Patriotic motives follow personal convictions, be they right or wrong.

On the first of April, 1812, he sent a confidential message to congress, proposing, as a measure preliminary to a declaration of war, the passage of a law laying an embargo upon all commerce with the United States for the space of sixty days. This was done on the fourth of April, and on the eighth, Louisiana was admitted into the Union as a State.

At the end of the sixty days embargo, Madison sent a message to congress in which he reviewed the difficulties with Great Britain, portrayed the aggressions of that power, and intimated the necessity of war for the maintenance of the honor and dignity of the republic. The message was referred to the committee on foreign relations, when a majority of them—John C. Calhoun of South Carolinia, Felix Grundy of Tennessee, John Smillie of Pennsylvania, John A. Harper of New Hampshire, Joseph Desha of Kentucky and Seaver of Massachusetts reported, June 3, a manifesto as the basis of a declaration of war. On the next day, a bill to that effect, drawn by Attorney-General Pinckney in the following form was adopted and presented by Mr. Calhoun:

"That war be, and the same is hereby, declared to exist between the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland, and the dependencies thereof, and the United States of America and their Territories, and that the president of the United States is hereby authorized to use the whole land and naval force of the United States to carry the same into effect, and to issue to private armed vessels of the United States commissions, or letters of marque and general reprisal, in such form as he shall think proper, and under the seal of the United States, against the vessels, goods and effects of the government of the said United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland and the subjects thereof."

Pending these proceedings, congress sat with closed doors. The bill passed the house of representatives by a vote of 75 to 49, and the senate by 19 to 13. The president's immediate signature made it a law; and two days later, June 19, 1812, Mr. Madison issued a proclamation, in which he formally declared war against the offending government and people.

Thus began the second war with Great Britain, generally known in the annals of history as the War of 1812, though it was in reality the second war for independence. It was the war which established independence beyond the cavil of a doubt and sustained the honor of the nation.

Immediate measures were taken by congress to sustain the declaration of war. The president was authorized to enlist 25,000 men for the regular army, accept 50,000 volunteers and call out 100,000 militia for the defence of the seacoast. About $3,000,000 were appropriated for the navy.

There were very few men in the United States trained in the art of war at this time. West Point was in its infancy, having been authorized only ten years before, and as yet had not been able to accomplish anything. The older officers of the Revolution were already in their graves, and the younger ones were far advanced in life; yet to the latter alone, the government felt compelled to look for its military leaders. Henry Dearborn, a meritorious New Hampshire colonel in the continental army, was commissioned major-general and commander-in-chief. His principal brigadiers were James Wilkinson, who was on the staff of General Gates in the capture of Burgoyne, Wade Hampton, who had done good partisan service with Marion, Sumter, and others in South Carolinia, William Hull, who had served as colonel in the old war for independence, and Joseph Bloomfield, who had been a captain in the New Jersey line.

At that time, Hull was a governor of the territory of Michigan. Satisfied that the American navy could not cope with that of Great Britain, the Americans based their hopes for success largely upon the supposed dissatisfaction of the inhabitants of Canada and other British colonial possessions on their border. It was believed that the Canadians would flock to the American standard as soon as it was raised on their soil. The American people have always clung to the belief that Canadians were not loyal to Great Britain. It was the mistake of 1775, it was the mistake of 1812, and strange to say Americans still hug the delusion to their breasts that Canada favors annexation. They have reason for their belief only in the doctrine that such an annexation would be in the interests of Canada, disregarding the stubborn fact that in political matters, prejudices, rather than interests, control.

Canada was then divided into the Upper and Lower Provinces, the former extending westward from Montreal, along the shores of the St. Lawrence and Lake Ontario, to Lake Huron and the Detroit River. It included about one hundred thousand inhabitants, who were principally the families of American loyalists, who had been compelled to abandon their homes in the States at the close of the war of the Revolution, and had since lived under the fostering care of the British government. They were loyal to Great Britain from lingering resentment to the Americans, and because of the kindness of the English government.

In 1812, George, Prince of Wales, was really the monarch of Great Britain, for the court physicians had pronounced his father, George III., hopelessly insane. Great Britain was waging a tremendous war against Napoleon, having just formed an alliance with Russia against the ambitious Corsican. England's naval armament on the American stations, Halifax, Newfoundland, Jamaica and the Leeward Islands, then consisted of five ships-of-the-line, nineteen frigates, forty-one brigs and sixteen schooners and some armed vessels on Lakes Ontario and Erie, with several others building. The British land forces in the two Canadian provinces were about seven thousand five hundred, while the number of Canadian militia did not exceed forty thousand with a frontier of seven hundred miles to guard.

The governor of Michigan went to Washington City in the winter of 1812 and heard the question of the invasion of western Canada discussed. He informed the president that the success of such an enterprise depended on having armed vessels on Lake Erie, with a competent force in the northwest to protect the American frontier against the Indians. In the spring, Governor Meigs of Ohio summoned the militia of that State to rendezvous at Dayton, to meet the impending danger. Hull accepted the commission of brigadier, and late in May arrived at Dayton, Ohio, and took command of the troops at that place. Hull had under him such noted officers as Colonels Duncan McArthur, James Findlay and Lewis Cass. With these forces, he marched to Detroit, through an almost trackless wilderness. While on the march with about two thousand men, Hull was informed of the declaration of war, which news at the same time reached the British posts in Canada, and his little army was in imminent peril. The government gave Hull discretionary power for invading Canada.

General Sir Isaac Brock, Lieutenant Governor of upper Canada, was in command of the British forces. On July 12, 1812, Hull crossed the Detroit River with his whole force and encamped at some unfinished works at Sandwich, preparatory to an attack on Fort Malden near the present Amherstburg. From this point, Hull issued a proclamation, promising protection to the inhabitants who would remain at home and death to all who should side with the Indians, then gathering under Tecumseh at Malden. General Proctor was sent to take command at Fort Malden, while Brock began to assemble a force about him at Fort George. Here he was joined by John Brant, son of the great Mohawk chief with one hundred warriors from Grand River.

By his extreme caution and delay, Hull lost his opportunity to capture Fort Malden, which was soon strongly reinforced by British and Indians. Meanwhile, information reached Hull of the fall of the fort on Mackinaw. He also learned that Fort Dearborn at Chicago was invested, while a detachment under Major Van Horne, sent down to the West side of the Detroit River to escort a supply train from Ohio, was attacked by the British and Indians, and after a sharp fight defeated. Hull decided to retreat to Detroit. The order was a surprise and disappointment to the army, and drew from some of the young officers very harsh remarks concerning the imbecility and even treachery of General Hull. Sullenly the army crossed the river, and on the morning of the 8th of August encamped under the shelter of Fort Detroit. On the same day Colonel Miller and several hundred men were sent to accomplish what Van Horne had failed to do. They met and defeated the Indians under Tecumseh and a small British force near the scene of Van Horne's disaster, and were about to press forward to meet the supply party and escort them to camp, when the commander-in-chief recalled them.

On the 13th of August, Gen. Brock, a brave, energetic officer reached Malden with reinforcements. Aware of the character of Hull, he prepared for the conquest of Detroit. On the 14th, he planted batteries at Sandwich, opposite the fortress of Detroit and demanded its surrender, stating that otherwise he should be unable to restrain the fury of the savages. Instigated by his officers, Hull answered this by a spirited refusal and a declaration that the fort and town would be defended to the last extremity. The British commenced a cannonade, and Hull was greatly distressed at the number of women and children in the fort, exposed to the fire of the enemy. The more charitably inclined historian interprets his acts as the result of tender regard for the helpless and innocent, rather than cowardice, especially as his daughter and her little children came near being slain by a ricocheting cannon-ball, which almost annihilated a group of officers in front of the door of the house in which the mother and her children were. The firing continued until next day. The alarm and consternation of General Hull had now become extreme. On the 12th, the field officers, suspecting that the general intended to surrender the fort, had determined on his arrest. This was probably prevented, in consequence of Col. McArthur and Cass, two very active and spirited officers, being detached, on the 13th, with four hundred men, on a third expedition to the river Raisin.

Early on the morning of the 16th, the British landed at Springwell, three miles below the town, without opposition, and marched up in solid column toward the fort along the river bank. The troops were strongly posted, and cannon loaded with grape stood on a commanding eminence ready to sweep the advancing columns. The troops, anticipating a brilliant victory, waited in eager expectation the advance of the British. What was their disappointment and mortification at the very moment, when it was thought the British were advancing to certain destruction, orders were given for them to retire within the fort, and for the artillery not to fire. Then, the men were ordered to stack their arms, and, to the astonishment of all, a white flag was suspended from the walls, and Hull, panic stricken, surrendered the fortress without even stipulating the terms. The surrender included, beside the troops at Detroit, the detachments under Cass and McArthur, and the party under Captain Brush at the river Raisin. No provision was made for the unfortunate Canadians who had joined General Hull, and several of them were hung as traitors.

The disgraceful surrender of Detroit, excited universal indignation throughout the country. When McArthur's sword was demanded, he indignantly broke it, tore the epaulettes from his shoulders and threw himself upon the ground. When General Hull was exchanged, he was tried by a court-martial, found guilty of cowardice and sentenced to be shot; but, in consequence of his revolutionary services and his advanced age, the president pardoned him. His fair fame, however, has ever since been blasted with the breath of cowardice.

While General Hull was in Canada, he dispatched Winnemeg, a friendly Indian, to Captain Heald, the commander of Fort Dearborn, at the small trading post of Chicago, with the information of the loss of Mackinaw, and directed him to distribute his stores among the Indians, and return to Fort Wayne. Captain Heald had ample means of defence; but the order received on the 9th of August left nothing to his discretion. The Pottawatomies, however, having obtained intelligence of the war from a runner sent by Tecumseh, collected, to the number of several hundred, around the fort. Notwithstanding the evident hostile demonstration of the Indians, Captain Heald proceeded to obey his superior's orders. He distributed his stores among the Indians, excepting what was most wanted; while liquors and ammunition which they could not take, were thrown into the lake. This act enraged the Pottawatomies. On the 14th, Captain Wells arrived with fifteen friendly Miamies from Fort Wayne. This intrepid warrior, who had been bred among the Indians, hearing that his friends at Chicago were in danger, had hastened thither to avert the fate, which he knew must ensue to the little garrison, if they evacuated the fort; but he was too late; the ammunition and provisions both being gone, there was no alternative. The next day (August 15th), all being ready, the garrison left the fort with martial music and in military array.

Captain Wells, at the head of the Miamies, led the van, his face blackened after the manner of the Indians.

The garrison, with loaded arms, followed, and the wagons with the baggage, the women and children, the sick and the lame closed the rear. The Pottawatomies, about five hundred in number, who had promised to escort them in safety to Fort Wayne, leaving a little space, afterward followed. The party in advance took the beach road. They had no sooner arrived at the sand-hills, which separated the prairie from the beach, about a half mile from the fort, when the Pottawatomies, instead of continuing in the rear of the Americans, left the beach and took to the prairie. The sand-hills intervened and presented a barrier between the Pottawatomies and the American and Miami line of march. This divergence had scarcely been effected, when Captain Wells, who, with the Miamies, was considerably in advance, rode back and exclaimed:

"They are about to attack us; form instantly and charge upon them."

The words had scarcely been uttered, before a volley of musketry from behind the sand-hills was poured in upon them. The troops were brought immediately into line and charged up the bank. One man, a veteran of seventy, fell as they ascended. The battle at once became general. The Miamies fled in the outset.

The American troops behaved gallantly. Though few in number, they sold their lives as dearly as possible. While the battle was raging, the surgeon, Doctor Voorhes, who was badly wounded, and whose horse had been shot under him, approaching Mrs. Helm, the wife of Lieutenant Helm, with his face the picture of dread and despair, asked:

"Do you think they will take our lives? I am badly wounded, but I think not mortally. Perhaps we can purchase safety by offering a large reward. Do you think there is any chance?"

"Doctor Voorhes," the brave little woman answered, "let us not waste the few moments which yet remain, in idle or ill-founded hopes. Our fate is inevitable. We must soon appear at the bar of God. Let us make such preparations as are in our power."

"Oh, I cannot die! I am unfit to die! If I had a short time to prepare!—oh, death, how awful!"

At this moment, Ensign Ronan was fighting at a little distance with a tall and portly Indian. The former, mortally wounded, was nearly down and struggling desperately on one knee. Mrs. Helm, pointing her finger and directing the attention of the doctor to him, cried:

"Look at that young man; he dies like a soldier!"

"Yes," said the doctor, "but he has no terrors of the future; he is an unbeliever."

A young savage sprang at Mrs. Helm, whose horse had been shot, and raised his tomahawk to strike her. She instantly sprang aside, and the blow intended for her head, fell upon her shoulders. She thereupon seized him around his neck, and, while exerting all her efforts to get possession of his scalping knife, was seized by another Indian and dragged forcibly from his grasp. The latter bore her, struggling and resisting, toward the lake. Notwithstanding, however, the rapidity with which she was hurried along, she recognized, as she passed, the form of the unfortunate doctor stretched lifeless on the prairie. She was plunged into the water and held there, despite her resistance, with a strong hand. It soon became evident, however, that it was not the intention of her captor to drown her, as he took care to keep her head above the water. Thus reassured, she gave him a careful look and recognized him, despite his disguise, as "Black Partridge, the white man's friend." It was this friendly savage who had warned Captain Heald to beware of the march. Through the interpreter he said:

"Linden birds have been singing in my ears to-day; be careful on the march you are going to take."

The troops, having fought with desperation until two-thirds of their number were slain, the remainder, twenty-seven in all, borne down by an overwhelming force, and exhausted by efforts hitherto unequaled, at length surrendered. They stipulated, however, for their own safety and for the safety of their remaining women and children. The wounded prisoners, however, in the hurry of the moment were forgotten, and were, therefore, regarded by the Indians as having been excluded.



One of the soldiers' wives, having been told that prisoners taken by the Indians were put to terrible tortures, resolved from the first not to surrender. When a party of savages approached her, she fought with desperation, although assured of kind treatment, and, exciting the anger of the Indians, was killed and left on the field. After the surrender, twelve children in one of the baggage wagons were slain by a single savage.

Mrs. Rebecca Heald, the young captain's wife, like Mrs. Helm was mounted on a horse. She carried a rifle with which she shot a savage dead. During the massacre, an Indian, with the fury of a demon in his countenance, advanced to her with his tomahawk raised. She had been accustomed to danger and, knowing the temper of the Indians, with great presence of mind, looked him in the face and, smiling, said:

"Truly, you will not kill a squaw?"

His arm fell powerless at his side. The conciliating smile of an innocent female, appealing to the magnanimity of a warrior, reached the heart of the savage and subdued the barbarity of his soul.

Captain Heald and his wife, by the aid and influence of To-pa-na-hee and Kee-po-tah, were put into a bark canoe and paddled by the chief of the Pottawatomies and his wife to Mackinaw, three hundred miles distant, along the eastern coast of Lake Michigan, and delivered to the British commander. They were kindly received and afterward sent as prisoners to Detroit, where they were finally exchanged.

Lieutenant Helm was wounded in the action and taken prisoner. He was afterward taken by some friendly Indians to Au Sable, and from thence to St. Louis, and was liberated from captivity through the intervention of Mr. Thomas Forsyth, an Indian trader. Mrs. Helm was slightly wounded in the ankle, and had her horse shot from under her, when assailed by the savage from whom Black Partridge rescued her. After passing through many trying scenes and ordeals, she was finally taken to Detroit and subsequently joined her husband. The soldiers, with their wives and children, were dispersed among the Pottawatomies on the Illinois, the Wabash and the Rock Rivers, and some were taken to Milwaukee. In the following spring, they were principally collected at Detroit and ransomed. A part of them, however, remained in captivity another year, and during that period experienced more kindness than they or their friends had expected.

Captain Wells, the intrepid leader of the Miamies, remained with the Americans after his warriors fled and fell in the massacre. On the spot where this massacre occurred a little over two generations ago, now stands a city, whose growth is one of the marvels in the history of the progress of our great nation within the present century. It is the centre of a railway system connecting the East with the West by fully twelve thousand miles of railroad, all tributary to Chicago; and that city, which was only the germ of a small village fifty years ago, now has more than a million inhabitants, and is the great grain market of the western continent.

On the bloody sands where Captain Heald's small command fought so nobly is now (1893) being held a great international exposition, the "World's Columbian Exposition" in celebration of the discovery of the New World by Columbus.

Thus far, the war with England had not been encouraging to Americans. Within two months from the time of this declaration, the whole northwest, excepting Forts Harrison and Wayne in the Indian Territory, were in possession of the enemy. Alarm and astonishment prevailed throughout the West. The great mass of Indians, ever ready to join the successful party, were flocking to the British; but by the spirited exertion of the governors of Ohio, Kentucky and Indiana, three thousand volunteers were quickly raised and placed under command of General W.H. Harrison, for the purpose of subduing the Indians and regaining what was lost at Detroit.



CHAPTER XIII.

THE PEACE PARTY.

Terrence Malone, with all his frivolity and tendency toward ludicrousness, had a remarkable amount of shrewdness in his composition. He was a bold, harum scarum fellow, as liable to pull the beard of a king, as to kick a pauper. Though he had fared well for an impressed seaman, Terrence had no love for Great Britain. Like others of his race, he made a noble American. One can scarcely find, a more patriotic American than the Irish American, who, driven by tyranny from the land of his birth, transfers his love to the land of his adoption. America has never had a war in which the brave sons of the Emerald Isle have not been found under the star-spangled banner, musket in hand, risking their lives for their adopted country.

Young Malone had a double cause to hate England. His father had been driven from Ireland, when Terrence was but a child, by the tyranny of the British, and he had been made to give almost four of the best years of his life to the service of King George.

In January, 1812, Terrence announced to his father his intention of going to Washington City.

"What the divil be ye goin' to Washington City for, me boy?"

"To see the prisident," was the answer.

"You'd better be goin' to school, I'm thinkin'."

"School, father!" said Terrence, with an impatient shrug of his shoulders. "Faith, don't talk to me of schools and colleges, when it's a war we are goin' to have, sure. My next school will be breakin' heads."

"Be the times, you'll have yer own cracked!"

"Not before I've got even with some of the divilish Britons, methinks."

"What be ye goin' to see the prisident about?"

This interview, the reader will bear in mind, was before war had been declared.

"I am going to tell Prisident Madison to give Johnny Bull a good whippin'."

"Prisident Madison will tell yez to moind yer own business," the Hibernian answered.

"We'll see about that!"

Terrence was determined on making the journey, and he set out next day by the mail coach for Washington City. Public houses in Washington were not numerous then, yet there were a few good hotels, and he put up at the old Continental House. Terrence, with all his reckless impetuosity, proceeded carefully to his point. Where boldness won success, he was bold; where caution and prudence were essential to win, he was cautious and prudent.

He noticed a door opening into a room from the main corridor, over which was tacked a strip of white canvas bearing in large black letters the words:

"HEADQUARTERS OF THE PEACE PARTY."

Men were coming and going from this apartment with grave and serious faces and corrugated brows, as if they had the weight of all the world on their shoulders. Terrence watched the comers and goers awhile and then halted a colored chambermaid, and, in an awe-inspiring whisper, asked who was sick in the room "ferninst." He was told no one. He thought some one must be dangerously ill, people went in and out so softly and talked in such low tones; but she assured him it was the room where the "peace party" met to discuss means to prevent President Madison and congress from declaring or prosecuting war against Great Britain. That those men were congressmen or merchants from Boston and other New England towns, who opposed war.

Terrence was opposed to peace, and he knew no better way to declare war than to begin it on the peace party. A bull was never made more furious at sight of a red flag, than Terrence Malone at the streamer of the peace party. One who knows what Terrence had suffered cannot blame him. At the very outset of the war, the government encountered open and secret, manly and cowardly opposition. The Federalists in congress, who had opposed the war scheme of the administration from the beginning, published an address to their constituents in which they set forth the state of the country at that time, the course of the administration, and its supporters in congress, and the minority opinion for opposing the war. This was fair and, if they acted on their convictions and not from political prejudices, was honorable; but outside and inside of congress there was a party of politicians composed of Federalists and disaffected Democrats, organized under the name of the Peace Party, whose object was to cast obstructions in the way of the prosecution of war, and to compel the government, by weakening its resources and embarrassing the operations, to make peace. They tried to derange the public finances, discredit the faith of the government, prevent enlistment, and in every way to cripple the administration and bring it into discredit with the people. It was an unpatriotic and mischievous faction, and the great leaders of the Federalists, like Mr. Quincy and Mr. Emot, who, when the war began, lent their aid to the government in its extremity, frowned upon these real enemies of their country; but the machinations of the Peace Party continued until the close of the war, and did infinite mischief unmixed with any good. [Footnote: Lossing's "Our Country," Vol. V., Page 1203.]

This was the contemptible Peace Party at whose headquarters Terrence Malone stood gazing. He determined to venture into the den and see what it was like. The hour for the opening of congress had arrived, and men with bundles of papers in their hands and anxious looks on their faces hurried away to the capitol building. Some were congressmen, but most of them were New England merchants. Terrence waited until all were gone, then, as the door of the headquarters stood wide open inviting him to enter, he walked boldly into the apartment.

A man about thirty-five, dressed very neatly, with glasses on, was writing at a table littered with papers.

"Good morning to yez," said Terrence entering.

"Good morning, sir," said the writer, giving him a glance and resuming his writing as if the fate of the nation depended on it.

"An' so this is the place where ye make peace?"

"It's the place where we keep peace. It's the place where we oppose the foolish and suicidal policy of President Madison," was the curt answer.

"Who are you, misther?"

"I am Ebenezer Crane, sir, secretary of the Peace Party."

"Well, Misther Ebenezer Crane," and Terrence glanced at the secretary's long legs, as if he thought the name no misnomer, "will yez answer me a few questions?"

"Certainly," and Mr. Crane threw down his pen, wheeled his chair about and looked vastly important. "What have you to ask?"

"Why do you oppose the war?"

"Why should I favor it?"

"Don't the government promise protection to its citizens? Is not the blissed stars and stripes insulted by the British? Have not they set the murdherin' haythin to killin' innocent women and children on the frontier, and have they surrendered the posts as they should?"

Mr. Crane, with one wave of his hand, swept away every objection.

"That is all nothing!" he cried.

"Nothing! howly mother, sir! do you call it nothing for Americans to be knocked down, carried aboard British ships, to be made slaves, to be flogged until they die, and shot if they object?"

"Oh, those are all senseless, sensational stories, told for effect."

"But I say they are true. I have jist returned from nearly four years service on a British man-o-war."

"But, sir, we must look to the welfare of our country. What are the lives of a few sailors—common fellows—compared to the rich commerce we enjoy with England? The wealthy men of New England would surely be ruined by war."

"Ye blackguard! do ye set up the riches of New England against the life of men because they are poor?"

"Certainly," answered Mr. Crane, taking a cigar from his case, lighting it and proceeding to smoke. "What do Drake and Smoot, whom I represent, care for sailors like yourself? Why, if England wants such wretches, let her have them. We would sell them by the hundred, if we had our way. Caleb Strong, William Palmer and Roger Griswold, three of New England's leaders, will never allow a soldier to march from their states to fight the English—oh, no!"

Terrence was now almost beside himself with rage. He vividly recalled the tyranny of Snipes, and remembered that many of his friends were still slaves aboard the man-of-war. His cheek flamed, and his eye flashed. Slowly rising, he said:

"Do yez set up yer riches aginst the poor lads, better than yerself, who are dyin' by the hundreds in British slavery? Do ye? Why, ye spalpeen, ye have no more heart than a stone!"

"I don't believe your stories in the first place, sir, and I don't care if they are true in the second. What is the life or happiness of such a low creature as yourself to the prosperity of Strong, Palmer or Griswold? I think that impudence has mounted its topmost round, when you dare enter these headquarters."

"So yer for peace?" cried Terrence, his eyes dancing.

"Yes."

"Well, I'm for war!" and with this he struck Mr. Crane a blow between his eyes which smashed his glasses, lifted him from the chair and sent him head first into a waste basket. When Mr. Crane recovered, he was at a loss for awhile to tell whether the house had fallen upon him, or he had been struck with a six pounder. Terrence disappeared from the Continental House, and on the next day applied at the white house to see the president.

"The president's engaged," said the servant. Next day, the next, and the next, he applied for admission and was always met with the same story that the president was engaged, until Terrence began to believe that the door of the administration was closed to him, while he saw members of congress constantly admitted to the inaccessible man.

At last, a gentleman who had witnessed his frequent calls, suggested that he send his card. The Irishman wrote:

"Terrence Malone, Irish American, late impressed seaman on H.B.M. ship Macedonian."

President Madison read the card and appointed a meeting with Terrence, and at the hour appointed the Irishman was at the white house. A servant told him he would have to wait a few moments until Mr. Clay and Mr. Calhoun had finished a discussion with the president. Madison finally decided to have these young members of the house hear the Irishman's story, and he was sent for. Terrence found himself in the presence of two of America's greatest statesmen, Clay and Calhoun.

"Are you the prisident?" he asked of Mr. Madison.

"Yes, sir; these are our friends, Mr. Henry Clay, speaker of the house, and Mr. John C. Calhoun."

"Are you for war or peace?" asked Terrence.

Mr. Madison, smiling, assured him they would much prefer peace, if it could be obtained honorably, but that Great Britain would have to make amends for some of the wrongs she had committed. He urged Terrence to give a detailed account of his impressment and captivity. He did so, omitting nothing from the time he was captured on the schooner bound to Baltimore to his escape. He was summoned a day or two later before a committee of investigation, and narrated the story in all its horrid details.



The indignation against the Peace Party, who, in the face of all the evidence, would protest against war, was scarcely less than the indignation against Great Britain. The governor of Massachusetts (Caleb Strong), of New Hampshire (William Plumer) and of Connecticut (Roger Griswold), refused to allow the militia of their respective States to march to the northern frontier on the requisition of the president of the United States. They justified their course with the plea that such a requisition was unconstitutional, and that the war was unnecessary.

Terrence had frequent interviews with the president. His audacity and his intense zeal won the admiration of President Madison and his cabinet, as well as many congressmen. One day, while waiting in the anteroom, he noticed a man whose features were evidently Hibernian.

"Do yez want to see the prisident?" asked Terrence.

"To be sure; but I've waited long," he answered, with just the least brogue in his speech.



"Are ye fer war or peace?" asked Terrence, leading the stranger into a far corner. The stranger looked the young Hibernian in the face for a moment and answered:

"I am not an American; but if President Madison knew what I have to say, he'd give me an attentive ear."

Terrence was shrewd enough to read the face of the stranger, and he knew he had something of great importance to communicate.

"Do yez want to see the prisident, really?" asked young Malone.

"Certainly, I do."

"Lave it all to me," the Irishman answered. Then he explained that he was on the best of terms with President Madison and could get the ear of the president, when an audience would be denied everybody else. He urged the stranger to give him an intimation of his business with Mr. Madison. One Irishman will nearly always trust another, so the two Hibernians repaired to a hotel and, in a close room, the stranger told Terrence that his name was John Henry, and that he had lived for several years in Canada. He told Terrence a story of the perfidy and treason of New Englanders; which produced many uncomplimentary ejaculations from the young Irishman.

Terrence at once sent a note to President Madison, in which he hinted that he had new and strange developments to make. Madison again admitted Terrence, and they arranged for a meeting between the president and Mr. John Henry, who had a letter from Mr. Elbridge Gerry of Massachusetts.



Late on a stormy night in February, 1812, Terrence conducted Henry to the mansion of President Madison. But little was done at this first meeting. Henry said he had some secrets to divulge which were of very great importance to the people of the United States. An interview was arranged for the next evening. Again Terrence conducted Henry to the president's mansion.

On the way he said:

"Say what you say for war. I want to meet Captain Snipes on say or shore."

When they were closeted in the president's private office, Mr. Madison asked:

"Now, sir, who are you, and what is your business?"

"I'm John Henry, an Irishman, sir," said Henry. "And I want to tell you that for two years efforts have been in progress on the part of British authorities in Canada, sanctioned by the home government, to effect a separation of the eastern States from the Union, and attach them to Great Britain."

"Can that be possible?" cried the president. It was no news to him; for he had heard the rumor before; yet he had always regarded it as groundless;—at least he had doubted the disloyalty of his opponents in the East.

"It is every word true, Mr. President, and I have the very best proof in the world of it."

"What proofs have you?"

"Can I speak freely?"

"Certainly."

"Without danger of arrest or imprisonment?"

"You can."

With this assurance, Henry said:

"I was in the employ of Sir James Craig, governor-general of Canada, in 1809, as a British spy to visit Boston and ascertain the temper of the people of New England."

"You did so?"

"Yes, sir."

"What was the temper of the people of New England?"

"At that time, sir, they seemed to be in a state of incipient rebellion, because of the passage of the embargo act. I was satisfied that the New Englanders were ripe for revolt and separation."

"Well, was any action taken on your report?" asked the president.

"No, sir. My performances in the matter so pleased Sir James, that he promised to give me lucrative employment in the colonial government; but I waited and waited for the fulfillment of that promise, and in the meanwhile Sir James died. I went to England last year to seek remuneration for my services from the home government. I was flattered and cajoled for awhile, and introduced into the highest circles of society; but what did I want of society? I wanted money, and money I must have."

"Did they not pay you?"

"Not a cent."

"What did you ask?"

"I demanded thirty thousand pounds sterling and not a farthing less. I had done the odious duty of a spy for my government. I had risked my fortune, my liberty and my life in the service of England, and she requited me with empty promises."

"They made you no offers?"

"None. I offered to take a lucrative position in Canada."

"And they offered you none?"

"No. At last they seemed to grow weary with my demands, and hinted very strongly that the disaffection in New England toward the government of the United States was nothing more serious than a local partisan feeling, and, as a polite way of dismissing me and getting rid of my demand, they referred me to Sir George Prevost, the successor of Sir James Craig."

"And have you called on Sir George?" asked Mr. Madison, coolly.

"No, sir; I have had enough of their delaying and dallying, and instead of sailing for Quebec, I sailed for Boston, determined, if the government of the United States would pay me for it, to divulge the whole secret of British perfidy to this government."

"We'll pay ye, won't we, Misther Madison?" put in Terrence, with his characteristic impertinence.

"What proofs have you of the perfidy of Great Britain?" asked the president.

"I have letters, sir, and official documents which would make any honorable man blush."

"No doubt of it, yer honor," put in Terrence.

"Have you those papers with you, Mr. Henry?" asked the careful president.

"Some of them."

"Will you produce them, so I may judge what they are?"

"Yes, the prisident and mesilf want to get a squint at the dockymints," put in Terrence.

The very impertinence of Terrence was his success. Mr. Madison could not repress a smile.

Henry laid before the president the strong documentary evidence, which clearly proved that Great Britain, while indulging in the most friendly expressions toward the United States, and negotiating treaties, was secretly engaged in efforts to destroy the young republic of the West, by fomenting disaffection toward it among a portion of the people, and intriguing with disaffected politicians with an expectation, with the aid of British arms, to be able to separate New England from the Union and re-annex that territory to the British dominions.

Madison, who was just about to declare war against Great Britain, was well satisfied of the importance of Henry's disclosures. Examining them carefully, he asked:

"What do you ask for these papers?"

"Lave that all to me, Misther Madison," said Terrence with an earnestness which caused the grave Mr. Madison to smile; but Mr. Madison was not inclined to leave so important a matter with Terrence. He again asked Henry how much he asked for those papers.

"I want one hundred thousand dollars."

"It's too much, Misther Madison; we can't give it," declared Terrence.

Madison, glancing at the impetuous Irishman, said that he could not pass on such an important matter without consulting his cabinet and taking their advice in the matter, and consequently he dismissed his visitors for the present, assuring Mr. Henry that he would give the matter of purchasing his documents serious consideration, and in the course of three or four days at most hold another conference with them. The secret service fund was at the disposal of the president, and he determined to purchase the documents with this fund, if his cabinet would so advise. The advice was given, and he sent a proposition to Henry, offering him fifty thousand dollars for his documents, which consisted chiefly of the correspondence of the parties to the affair in this country and in England.

Henry accepted the offer and was paid the sum for his papers.

Terrence obtained an interview with the president and said:

"Misther Madison, why the divil did yez pay him such a price? If ye'd 'a' left it all to me, I'd won the papers in three games of poker."

The president thanked him and assured him that the government of the United States could well afford to purchase such valuable documents.

"And now, Misther Madison, I am about to lave ye for awhile," said Terrence, "and I want to ask ye a very important question!"

"What is it?"

"Mind ye, if ye say yes, I'm goin' to stand by ye through thick and thin." Mr. Madison assured him that his time was very much taken up, and begged that he would be as brief as possible.

"Are ye going to declare war, Misther Madison? Now ye needn't do any of the fighting yersilf. All I ask is that ye just turn me loose. I've got a frind, poor Sukey, who is still on board the English ship, and I just want permission to go and bring him back."

President Madison assured him that the public would be notified in due time what course the administration would pursue, and that it was his intention to maintain the honor and dignity of the nation to the last extremity.

Terrence left the president and went over to the Continental House to see how Mr. Crane, the worthy secretary, looked with a rotten apple bandaged over each eye. Terrence was arrested for assault and battery, plead guilty, and the patriotic Democrats took up a collection and paid his fine.

The disclosures of the documents procured from Henry, when made public, intensified the indignation of the Americans against Great Britain. The inhabitants of New England were annoyed by the implied disparagement of the patriotism of their section of the Union. Both parties tried to make political capital out of the affair. The Democrats vehemently reiterated the charge that the Federalists were a "British party" and "disunionists," while the opposition declared it was only a political move of the administration to damage their party, insure the re-election of Madison in the Autumn of 1812, and offer an excuse for the war. The acrimony caused by these partisan feelings was at its height, when the New England governors refused to send their militia to the frontier; and the British government, in declaring the blockade of the American coast, discriminated in favor of that section. That the British, mistaking partisan feeling for unpatriotic disaffection, hoped to carry out their plan for disunion, there is no doubt; but the suspicion that the New England people contemplated disunion and annexation to the English colonies was probably without foundation.

Terrence Malone remained in Washington City during the fierce contest between the Peace Party and the War Party. He was a constant thorn in the side of the peace faction, and more than once came to blows with some of the members. When war was declared, he sent the word to president that he was ready to set out at once, and shortly after took command of a privateer, which his father fitted out.

While New England was halting in its support of the war, the people of the South and West were alive with enthusiasm in favor of prosecuting it with sharp and decisive vigor. They had already suffered much from the Indians under British control, and the massacre at Chicago kindled a flame of indignation not easily to be controlled by prudence.

The government resolved to retrieve the disaster at Detroit, by an invasion of Canada on the Niagara frontier. For this purpose, a requisition was made upon the governor of New York for the militia of that State. He patriotically responded to the call, and Stephen Van Rensselaer, the last of the Patroons and a patriotic Federalist retired from public life, was commissioned a major-general and placed in command of the militia. The forces were concentrated at Lewiston on the Niagara River, Plattsburgh on Lake Champlain, and at Greenebush, opposite Albany.

The British had, meanwhile, assembled a considerable force on Queenstown Heights, opposite Lewiston. At midsummer, hostile demonstrations had been made on Lake Ontario and on the St. Lawrence frontier. Both parties early sought to get control of those waters, and the preparation of armed vessels on them was vigorously begun.

An armistice was concluded by General Dearborn. This armistice enabled Brock to concentrate forces at Detroit and compel Hull to surrender.

On the morning of the 13th of October, just after a heavy storm, Colonel Soloman Van Rensselaer passed over the river near Lewiston with less than three hundred men. They routed the British there, who fled toward Lewiston pursued by Captain John E. Wool, who, though wounded, did not relinquish the pursuit.

General Brock and his staff at Fort George hastened to the scene, but were compelled to fly, not having time even to mount their horses. In a few minutes, the American flag was waving over the fort.

Brock rallied his forces and, with fresh troops, pressed up the hill after the Americans, but, after a terrible struggle, was driven back and mortally wounded. General Sheaffe, who succeeded Brock, rallied the troops. Only two hundred and forty Americans were on the heights. Lieutenant-Colonel (afterward Major-General) Winfield Scott had passed over the river to act as a volunteer. At request of General Wadsworth he took active command. The Americans, reinforced to six hundred, were assailed by a horde of Indians under John Brandt. Scott led a charge against them and drove them to the woods; but overwhelming forces of British poured in on the Americans, and Van Rensselaer, who had gone to send over militia, found they would not cross the river, their excuse being that they were not compelled to serve out of their own State.

Overwhelming numbers compelled the Americans to surrender. All the prisoners were marched to New Ark, where Scott came near having an encounter with two Indian chiefs.

On the 13th of October, 1812, the Americans lost, in killed, wounded and prisoners, about eleven hundred men. General Van Rensselaer left the service in disgust and was succeeded by Alexander Smythe of Virginia, who accomplished nothing of importance during the remainder of the season. The situation of the Americans at the close of 1812 was this: The army of the northwest was occupying a defensive position among the snows of the wilderness on the banks of the Maumee River; the army of the centre, under General Smythe, was resting on the defensive on the Niagara frontier, and the army of the north, under General Bloomfield, was also resting on the defensive at Plattsburgh.

So far, the advantages had been altogether with the enemy, who were no more gratified than the Peace Party, with their excellent excuse for saying, "I told you so!"



CHAPTER XIV.

FERNANDO SEES SERVICE.

The trump of war stirred two passions in the heart of Fernando Stevens, revenge and patriotism. One was a noble and the other a very human but ignoble passion; but Fernando was only a common mortal with mortal weaknesses. When he reflected on the wrongs he had suffered; when he remembered the death of poor Boseley, slain to gratify the malice of Captain Snipes, and poor Sukey still the slave of the British monarch, he could not be other than revengeful.

"Mother," he said one day, shortly after they had heard of war. "I am going to enter the army."

The mother, who was plying her needle, sat for several moments in silence. She was not surprised at the declaration. For several days, she had watched her son with the care and anxiety of a mother. She had noted that he read the papers regularly. He pored over any news which hinted of war and was an eager listener to the latest rumor which his father brought from town. The parents had talked the matter over frequently, and Captain Stevens, himself a veteran, said:

"I can't blame him; no, I can't blame him. Poor boy, he has suffered enough to know the wrongs done to our flag."

"But would it be for the flag, or revenge?" said the mother.

"Both," answered the practical father. "He is only human, wife, and human hearts can't endure what he endured without human resentment."

The mother hoped it was more patriotism than revenge, for she was a Christian lady, and while war might be proper, even for Christian people, she thought it should be purely a conflict of principle and not of revenge.

"Fernando," said the mother laying aside her knitting and taking off her glasses and wiping them, "do you really mean to go?"

"Yes, mother. My country needs my services. There are thousands of unfortunate Americans, still in bondage. I seem to hear their pitiful cries calling on their country to send brave men to their rescue."

"I have expected this," sighed Mrs. Stevens, and tears gathered in her eyes.

"Mother, would you have me stay?"

It was hard for a mother to say it; but she had to do so. She was patriotic, and she answered:

"No."

"Then I will go."

"When?"

"They are beating up for volunteers at town, and I am going there to enlist in a day or two. First I must help father drain the flat and clear off a few timber patches."

It soon became rumored all over the neighborhood that Fernando was going to enlist. Many friends came to see him, bid him good-by and wish him God-speed. The day before he went away, he was chopping wood, when he saw a large man riding a large bay mare followed by a large colt, cross the old bridge a few hundred paces below and ascend the hill toward the house. The visitor was Mr. Winners. He had grown older and stouter, and the mare was older and heavier, and this was her fourth colt since he had come over to talk with his neighbor about sending his son to college with Fernando. The kind, good face of the old farmer expressed sadness, and his eye, always dull, seemed melancholy.

He rode slowly up the hill to where Fernando was chopping wood. Fernando saw him coming and laid down his axe, for it was quite evident that Mr. Winners wanted to speak with him. The old man, drawing rein close by Fernando, said:

"Mornin', Fernando, how's all?"

"We are all well, Mr. Winners. How are yourself and family?"

"Oh, we are just middlin' like."

"Won't you alight and come into the house?"

"No; I ain't got time, Fernando. I just came to see you, that's all. Fernando, I hear as how you're goin' t' ther war."

"I am, Mr. Winners. I am a young man with no wife or children. My country just now stands in need of young men."

"Ya-as, it does, an' I don't come t' blame ye for it,—mind ye, I don't blame ye fur it. I'm sometimes tempted to go myself, old as I am."

"No, no, Mr. Winners, there is no occasion. Let the younger men do the service."

"I don't blame ye, for goin', Fernando; but I hope ye won't furgit one thing."

"What?"

"My Sukey's on t'other side. Now that fightin's begun, he'll have to light his own flag; but he won't do it with a very good grace, lem me tell ye. No, he won't. Now, Fernando, I don't want to ask ye to ease down on the British a bit; but when ye come to the crowd that Sukey's with, won't ye kind a shoot easy?"

Fernando promised to do all he could to aid Sukey to escape, and assured him that, when once he was free, the cruel masters should pay for their tyranny. The old man seemed partially satisfied, and, as he rode away, he twisted himself half way round in the saddle to say:

"Now, Fernando, if ye meet Sukey's crowd, I want ye to remember to shoot easy."

"I will not harm Sukey, if I can help it," Fernando answered. Next morning, he bade his parents farewell and, with his clothes tied up in a little bundle, set out on his way to the town.

A flag was streaming from a long pole, and Fernando heard the roll of the drum and the shrill notes of a fife. The company was more than half made up when he arrived. He enlisted at once and four days later the company was ready to march.

As yet the armies of the United States were not organized, and for some time Captain George Rose was at a loss what to do with his volunteers. They were riflemen, ready for any detached service to which they might be assigned. The militia forces raised were, of course, to serve in their own respective States; but the volunteers were allowed to attach to any regiment they chose. For some time, it was doubtful whether Captain Rose would be sent West under Hull and Harrison, or to the North to act under General Jacob Brown.

The latter course was at last decided upon, and they hurried to the northern frontier of New York. But small preparations had been made for the defence of this portion of the frontier. From Oswego to Lake St. Francis, an expansion of the St. Lawrence, General Brown's forces were scattered. The length of this territory was about two hundred miles. There was only one American war-vessel (the Oneida) on Lake Ontario. This was commanded by Lieutenant Melancthon Woolsey; while the British, in anticipation of difficulties, had built at Kingston, at the foot of the lake, a small squadron of light vessels-of-war. Brown and Woolsey were authorized to defend the frontier from invasion, but not to act on the offensive except in certain emergencies.

About the 20th of July, Fernando's company joined the regiment of Colonel Bellinger at Sackett's Harbor, at the eastern end of Lake Ontario. Nine days later, the British squadron composed of the Royal George, 24 guns, Prince Regent, 22 guns, Earl of Moira, 20 guns, Simcoe, 12 guns, and Seneca, 4 guns, appeared and bore down on the American forces there. Fernando was sleeping when the discovery was made, but was soon roused and saw soldiers hauling in the Oneida so as to lay her broadside to the approaching enemy. Colonel Bellinger's militia were many of them raw recruits, and the approach of a fleet unnerved a few of them; but the majority were cool as veterans.

"Take that thirty-two pound gun up on the bluff," commanded the colonel, pointing out an old iron cannon down by the shore.

Fernando assisted them to drag it to the rocky bluff, and the whole battery was placed in charge of Captain Vaughn, a sailing master in the navy. Slowly the fleet bore in, the Royal George, having the heaviest guns, coming ahead of the others. A wreath of smoke curled up from her forecastle, and a ball, skipping over the water, struck the sandy beach.

Captain Rose and his company of riflemen took up their station on the high bluff, where, should the troops attempt to land, they might do effective work. Fernando had been promoted to sergeant in the company and was quite popular with both officers and men.

For two hours, a cannonade between the Royal George and the big guns on shore was kept up, with very little effect, when a 32 pound ball from the former came over the bluff and ploughed a furrow near where the riflemen were standing. Fernando ran and caught up the ball and, running with it to Captain Vaughn, said:

"Captain Vaughn, I've been playing ball with the redcoats, and I have caught them out."

"That will just fit our gun," said the captain. "Hand it to the gunner."

Fernando did so. The gunner said:

"Captain, it fits better than our own balls. The shot we have been firing were all too small."

"Send it back to them," said Captain Vaughn.

The gun was trained and fired. The heavy boom rang out over the bluffs and water. The ball went through the Royal George from stern to stem, sending splinters as high as her mizzen topsail yard, killing fourteen men and wounding eighteen.

This ended the bombardment. The squadron, alarmed, sailed out of the harbor.

Eight merchant schooners were at Ogdensburg, being converted into American war vessels, and, immediately after being repulsed at Sackett's Harbor, two of the British armed vessels started to Ogdensburg to destroy them. The American schooner Julia was armed and, with sixty volunteers from the Oneida and Fernando's company of riflemen in a boat, set out to overtake the British. They caught up with them among the Thousand Islands, on the 31st of July, fought for three hours with the enemy, and then, in the shadows of an intensely dark night, relieved occasionally by flashes of lightning, reached Ogdensburg in safety before morning.

During the armistice which was granted shortly after this, the Julia and her consort and the six schooners made their way to the lake, where the latter were converted into vessels-of-war.

On the 8th of November, Chauncey appeared in those waters with a fleet of seven armed war-schooners and, after a short cruise, disabled the Royal George and blockaded the British harbor of Kingston. Fernando, meanwhile, was at Ogdensburg under General Brown, who had about fifteen hundred troops, including the militia. On the 1st of October, the very day of General Brown's arrival, a large flotilla of British bateaux, escorted by a gun-boat, appeared at Prescott, on the opposite side of the river. This flotilla contained armed men, who, on the 4th of October, attempted to cross the river and attack Ogdensburg, but were repulsed by the Americans. Eight days later, Fernando was with Major G.D. Young when he captured a large portion of a British detachment at St. Regis, an Indian village on the line between the United States and Canada. Fernando was close at the side of Lieutenant William L. Marcy (afterward governor of New York), when he captured a British flag, the first trophy of the kind taken on land in the war.

While lying at Ogdensburg, Fernando heard of the daring feat of Lieutenant Jesse Elliott, who, with a picked party of seamen and riflemen, had at Black Rock, under the British heavy guns, captured the war-schooner Caledonia and burned the Detroit. While these many stories of the bravery of Americans were thrilling the hearts of patriots, the cowardice of the pompous General Smythe at Buffalo caused much ridicule and humiliation.

Despite all his boasts and threats to invade Canada, he remained on American soil. He was finally dismissed from the service, and, in a petition to congress to reinstate him, he prayed for permission to "die for his country." His petition excited much ridicule, and, at a public celebration of Washington's birthday, a wit proposed the following:

"General Smythe's petition to congress to die for his country. May it be ordered that the prayer of said petition be granted!"

Early in January, 1813, Fernando Stevens' company, being Ohio volunteers, was for some reason, he never knew what, transferred to the army of the West. General William H. Harrison had succeeded Hull in command of this army. Historians do not accord to General Harrison the distinction of greatness, though he was one of the successful generals of the last war with England. It was under him that first victories were gained over the British in the Northwest. Though his name goes down to posterity connected with the battle of the Thames, Colonel Richard M. Johnson was the real hero of that conflict. Johnson's Kentucky riflemen fought and won the battle, though Harrison received the credit. Harrison was even more honorably remembered for his Indian wars, and, as the hero of Tippecanoe, gained a fast hold on the public heart; but Tippecanoe was only a skirmish and, viewed in the light of a battle, could hardly be considered a great victory. The American losses were probably as great, if not greater than the Indians, and it was only an accident that Harrison was not surprised. Tippecanoe was fought by the soldiers, and to their coolness and courage belonged the victory. Critically speaking, General Harrison was inferior in military genius to both Jackson and Brown. He wanted the terrible energy, the almost reckless bravery which characterized these two leaders. He belonged to a different school altogether. His was a policy of Fabius rather than of Marcellus, and this not from necessity but for choice. The bent of his mind was to be prudent, economic of means, willing to listen to advice, a very excellent qualification for a general or a statesman.

The dispute between Harrison and Winchester had been settled before Captain Rose with his company reached the army and joined General Winchester, then on his march to the Raisin, January 21, 1813. As Winchester's volunteers were mostly Kentuckians, Fernando found many friends among them. Some had formerly lived in Ohio. On the same evening, they reached Frenchtown, where they found Colonel Lewis, who, with Allen and six hundred men, had defeated and routed a force of British and Indians under Major Reynolds.

The troops were in the highest spirits, and all were anxious to press on to drive General Proctor from Malden.

The day had been cold, and Fernando was wearied with long marches through snow, ice and mud. The ground was covered with snow which had but a thin frozen crust over it, and the soldiers frequently broke through, especially in the swampy regions they crossed. Their second lieutenant was sick; the first lieutenant, being wounded, was left behind, and the management of the company fell upon Captain Rose and his orderly sergeant, Fernando Stevens.

Captain Rose, though a brave man, loved his ease and comfort, so the most irksome duty fell upon the orderly. He saw that quarters as comfortable as were possible were made for the men. Boards, canvas, brush and everything possible to make a shelter were provided. The wintry sky was clear, and when night came on the stars came out one by one. The moon shone on the snow-covered earth, so soon to be crimsoned with patriotic blood.

Fernando Stevens and Captain Rose were quartered in an old shed building, with a roaring fire in the broad fireplace. Their quarters were quite comfortable, and, after having made all the necessary arrangements for the company's comfort, Fernando partook of a light supper and, wrapping himself in a blanket, lay down on the left side of the broad fireplace to sleep. Corporal Mott entered and told Captain Rose, who sat smoking his pipe, that Colonels Wells and Lewis were having some trouble about their positions.

"Why should they quarrel over that?" asked Captain Rose taking his pipe from his mouth.

"Wells, who is colonel of regulars, claims to outrank Lewis, and demands to be posted on the right."

"That's in an open field."

"Yes; Lewis thinks that, in case of an attack, Wells should be posted in some gardens on the left."

"Lewis knows more about it than Wells or Winchester either," growled Captain Rose.

"Yes; but Winchester decided in favor of Wells. There is also a rumor that Proctor is on his way from Malden to attack us."

"I hope it is so," said Captain Rose. "If he will come here and take his whipping like a man, it will save us going to Malden to give it to him."

Then they wondered what General Harrison was doing and when they would join him; but Fernando left off listening to their conversation and gazed into the glowing fire before which he lay stretched on his blanket.

His mind was busy with his own sad life. All through the long years of trying events, he had never forgotten Morgianna. Her sweet face had haunted him while a slave on the British war-ship. In the camp, or on the battle field, she was ever near him. A thousand times he had said to himself:

"Oh, why can I not forget her? Morgianna is nothing to me. No doubt, long ere this she has married Lieutenant Matson and is happy. May God bless her in her happiness, and may Heaven spare her husband."

It never once entered his mind that she could possibly care for him. She had been so cool, so careless, and seemed so unconcerned on the night of their parting, that he thought she must be glad that he was away and had ceased to annoy her.

Yet her face, as he remembered it that night, lying gazing into the fire, half asleep and half awake, was lovely, and she was blameless. To him, she was a goddess to be worshipped, one incapable of wrong. If she had rejected him, it was right. If she had loved the lieutenant, it was perfectly right; yet he could not crush her image out of his heart. It was indelibly stamped there, and had become a part of his existence.

The bleak northeast wind swept through the woods and howled about the rude shanty, rattling the boards and causing the sentries to shiver, as they drew their cloaks about their shoulders. Fernando felt almost comfortable in this retreat, and the fire burned low, still giving out a generous heat.

Two officers from another company came to their quarters, and the last Fernando remembered was hearing them talking of the disposition of the troops and the probability of meeting the enemy and sharing the glory which Lewis and Allen had won but three days before.

Their voices were low and indistinct and finally became mingled with his dreams of the past, forming a mass of events, sights and sounds which at first had no meaning. At last the scene changed. The officers ceased talking, the firelight disappeared, and his dreaming fancy, which had been struggling with these realities, was freed to take what course it chose.

He was once more on the sands of Mariana. He saw the great white stone house on the hill and the form of Morgianna descending toward the seashore. He knew he had been gone for years, was conscious that their parting had been unpleasant, and yet her appearance seemed to inspire his heart with hope. The sun's golden rays fell upon the bright, fairy-like being as, with a glad smile she hastened toward him.

"You have come at last," she said, with a happy smile. "I have waited so long, oh, so long, that I feared you would never come."

"Morgianna!" he cried, starting forward and clasping her in his arms. "Are you pleased to see me?"

"I am happy, Fernando, oh, so happy——"

Then he was partially awakened by some one throwing logs of wood on the fire, and he had an indistinct impression of hearing a soldier say:

"It's four o'clock and has begun to snow a little. We'll have it cold as blazes by morning."

As the fire roared, and the wind whistled about their miserable barracks, he sank away into dreamland again. He had hardly been sufficiently awakened to break the thread of his dreams. His mind however was disturbed by the entrance of the officer, and though he wooed back the gentle dream, it had lost much of its charm and brightness.

He saw Morgianna no longer wreathed in sweet smiles; her face was expressive of distress and agony. The joy and sunlight had given place to sorrow and gloom. What had occasioned this change?

"Morgianna, do you not love me?"

She bowed her head and wept.

"What is amiss?"

She pointed to her once beautiful home, and he discovered that it was in flames. Painted demons, whose yells seemed to make the earthquake, were dancing about the blazing, crackling building. Then wild cheers came from the ocean, with the boom of a cannon.

He saw British marines, headed by Captain Snipes and Lieutenant Matson, leap from boats and rush toward them as they stood on the beach.

"Fly! Morgianna, fly!" he cried.

She turned to run, and Fernando, all unarmed as he was, wheeled to face the foe. Suddenly there came a rattling crash of firearms. He saw Morgianna throw up her arms, and he sprang toward her, as she fell bleeding at his feet. He uttered a cry of horror and became conscious of some one shaking his shoulder.