| A spy gets close | | | | around the many marshes that dotted the land, |
| April 1st, 1812 | | | | there were a lot of hiding places for an ambush. |
| Cold and damp. Lying in wait, like a big cat | | | | His newly formed unit had marched up this same |
| watching its prey, Ned was burrowed deep into | | | | road on the journey north from the muster point |
| the rain-soaked leaves of the forest floor. The | | | | in Ohio. Last but not least on the map was the |
| view offered good sight lines up and down the | | | | string of long narrow islands that seemed to fill |
| river and directly across to the Huron Indians | | | | most of the river between the Michigan Territory |
| camp. The frightening sounds of war drums | | | | and Upper Canada. Odd name he thought to |
| echoing from deep in the woods filled the air. | | | | himself, the enemy's land was the farthest south |
| A wide brimmed black hat pulled down low to hide | | | | on the map. No matter, that's where those |
| his face, felt heavy, soaked from the rains and | | | | Indians were camped out. |
| his own sweat on his brow. Nervous eyes | | | | Growing up on the farm in eastern Pennsylvania |
| scanning the enemy shore 500 yards away. | | | | before moving to Ohio, there wasn't much time |
| Adrenalin seemed to rush to his head each time | | | | to learn how to read. Ned had picked up a bit |
| something or someone moved. Over there, what | | | | here and there but he could read a map, capture |
| was that? Not sure. | | | | the image in his mind and recall things later with |
| During the last two hours activity had picked up in | | | | great detail. Quietly he studied the symbols and |
| plain view for him to observe. Four more canoes | | | | images on the rolled paper as he got his briefing |
| loaded with Indian warriors had arrived. That | | | | from the Irish officer. |
| made twenty six that he could see. Then a | | | | There was a knock at the door followed by the |
| solitary canoe pulled up having travelled the | | | | officer's command to enter. A burly sergeant |
| shoreline from the direction of the British fort. | | | | came into the room, handed Ned an extra |
| Two men jumped ashore, a white man clothed in | | | | powder horn, a small burlap shoulder sack with |
| buckskins from head to toe and an Indian brave | | | | some dried meat and two loaves of rye bread, |
| wearing a British army issue red coat. What was | | | | and a pat on the back. |
| that all about? | | | | Ned was more than a little excited by it all. First |
| Over there, more canoes. Staring through a | | | | time he had volunteered for a special duty since |
| collapsible bronzed telescope the American scout | | | | joining the Michigan Militia three months ago. He |
| tried to keep a count in his head. | | | | remembered his heart pounding as he tried to |
| Every Indian brave arrived ready for war. | | | | take it all in. The map, the officer, the mission. |
| Carrying darkened tomahawks on one hip, long | | | | Right, the mission, his orders. Clawson was the |
| hunting knives in brown leather sheaths on the | | | | scout assigned to spy on the Indian camp near |
| other, they unloaded and dragged their birch bark | | | | the British fort. Not hard to find they said, just |
| canoes ashore. Those that did not carry a rifle | | | | listen for the sound of the drums. They were |
| had a full quiver of newly feathered arrows | | | | right about that. |
| shouldered on their backs and a taught bow in | | | | Major O'Shea had thanked him with a generous |
| hand. Most headed towards the sounds of the | | | | handshake and a promise of a Kentucky long rifle |
| nearby drums and the council of war. Two stayed | | | | when he returned. |
| close to the shore as sentries. | | | | The Irish officer told him to head to the livery |
| Who was the April Fool this day Ned thought to | | | | stable where a horse would be waiting for him. |
| himself? They say never be the one to volunteer. | | | | Ten minutes later the volunteer was leading a |
| Nineteen year old Ned Clawson had a history of | | | | speckled grey by the halter towards the front |
| learning things the hard way. He hoped this lesson | | | | gate. |
| would not cost him his life. | | | | Passing the main barracks he recognised a |
| Eager to prove he belonged on the Michigan | | | | buckskin clad militia officer. His scraggly black |
| frontier, Clawson was the only one to raise his | | | | beard and bushy moustache that covered his |
| hand that morning when the new officer with the | | | | upper lip made him look older than he was. He had |
| Irish accent asked for someone to take on an | | | | been talking to some of the militia soldiers in |
| important mission. | | | | hushed voices, stopped, turned and stepped |
| Before he knew it, Ned had been hustled into the | | | | towards Ned and his horse. Their eyes met as if |
| commanding officer's quarters. The door closed | | | | fused by a blacksmith's hammer. |
| with a bang. He stood silently while the officer, | | | | "You keep your scalp long enough so you can hold |
| Major O'Shea, inspected him up and down. Being | | | | your prize one day young pup," he scowled and |
| taller than most his age, Ned easily fit in with the | | | | gave a nod. |
| older men who signed on with the Michigan Militia. | | | | "Be seein' you shortly Uncle George" replied Ned |
| His innocent and youthful gaze met that of the | | | | as he nodded to his favourite kin. |
| officer and never swayed. | | | | With that Clawson mounted up, gave a tug on |
| The 10 foot by 10 foot space doubled as the | | | | the horse's reins. A strong kick to the sides of |
| major's home and duty post. What caught Ned's | | | | the grey, Ned headed out the south gate at a |
| eye was the polished Kentucky long rifle hanging | | | | gallop. |
| on the opposite wall. His Pa had owned one of the | | | | Sentries in the elevated fort blockhouses watched |
| legendary weapons. | | | | as horse and rider crossed the open clearing |
| Clawson snapped out of his momentary trance | | | | before the trail disappeared into the woods. |
| when the major motioned for him to come over | | | | The last scout that took the trail leading south |
| to a rectangular light oak table set off to one side | | | | had not returned. What kind of trouble would Ned |
| of the room. The exchange between them had | | | | find ahead? The kind of trouble he could not yet |
| been brief. | | | | imagine. |
| O'Shea rolled out a scroll-like map and told Ned to | | | | ******* |
| commit it to memory. He traced a route with the | | | | Hidden from sight just inside the tree line, three |
| tip of a dry feather quill that had been close at | | | | Wyandot Indians watched intently as the rider |
| hand, ending at the Isle de Pierre on the southern | | | | emerged from the fort. They were here to spy |
| end of the Detroit River, tapping the quill several | | | | on the Americans. Muskingho and two others |
| times on the final destination. | | | | from his tribe were still lean from the winter hunt. |
| "This is the closest vantage point to the British | | | | These white man had taken their land, their food, |
| and those heathens" said Major O'Shea. "Get | | | | their way of life. Mud covered faces watched as |
| yourself there, observe and report back to me." | | | | the rider on the grey horse headed south. |
| Ned's dark brown eyes grew large as saucers. He | | | | With hearts full of malice towards the white man, |
| remembered focusing on the map, visually soaking | | | | they had concealed themselves here for two |
| up every line, every symbol, every marking | | | | days, waiting for a moment like this. Nervous |
| etched in ink. This was the first time he had seen | | | | hands of the younger braves twitched as their |
| one of the area and he was anxious to learn as | | | | fingers slid down the shaft of blood stained |
| much as he could. The position of Fort Detroit | | | | tomahawks wedged into leather belts. |
| just to the right of some letters the major told | | | | Muskingho saw this and placed his firm hand on |
| him spelled out Michigan Territory. | | | | the wrist of the painted warrior. To the other his |
| Ned never have much schooling. Learning to read | | | | widening and expressive eyes gave a silent |
| had not been that important working on a farm. | | | | command to stop. He brought them close to him. |
| Now he wished his new friend had had taught him | | | | Pointing at the rider with his left hand and towards |
| more than just the letters of the alphabet. No | | | | them with his right, the Indian chief silently |
| matter he would ask her when he got back. He | | | | signalled them to follow the horseman. |
| knew he had an eye for observing things and a | | | | With the back of his hand his waved them to go |
| quick mind at remembering details. Two lakes, one | | | | now. This is the one they had waited for. Without |
| to the north, a larger one to the south called Erie, | | | | a sound the two warriors shifted into crouch |
| he knew this one, or part of it where he and his | | | | positions, backs arched like cats waiting to |
| family used to go fishing. One thin line seemed to | | | | pounce, nodded to the other and moved off in |
| squiggle like a lazy worm on hot day. The River | | | | pursuit. They broke into a run as they headed to |
| Road, as the officer named it, stretched from | | | | the river. |
| where they were now in Fort Detroit southwards | | | | Muskingho stayed in his hiding spot, his eyes |
| to the Ohio Territory. | | | | turned back to the American fort. He waited for |
| Clawson could remember the inbound march just | | | | another. |
| a week after he had joined up. Weaving in and | | | | |