July 1812

Matthew Elliott

Sarah was wantin' me to use the big office in the front of the house and spend less time in the little room off the kitchen, but it suited me here where the table was solid and the chairs were rough; where the back door used by the Indians was close; where merchants came and went carryin' food and gossip; and where sweet fragrances seeped in from the kitchen. Far as I was concerned there couldn't be a better office. Since I married sweet Sarah, I'd run my farm and my Indian trade from that room and become pretty damn rich in the process.

It sure as hell wasn't in my plans for this office to turn into what was fast becomin' a war room.

Alone, I put my feet up on the table, tilted my chair back, sipped my brandy and stared at the blurred vision of myself in the window. There I was, Matthew Elliott, who, not of my own choosin', had become "Lieutenant Commander, Chief of Indian Affairs." 'Twas a glorious title for an Irishman who had just completed his 72nd year, and in spite of not wanting it, didn't it pleasure me to know how it must stick in the craw of every English officer hereabouts? 'Course, I damned well deserved it, havin' devoted the best years of my life to livin' and workin' with the Indians in the Ohio and Upper Canada regions, but I wasn't stupid; I knew that were it not for the threat of war and the need for a man of my talents, the fekin' British would have had me out on my ear before my next piss.

Alexander, my son, disturbed my reverie when he came in with a letter in his hand. "A soldier delivered this to the front door. Looks like it's from

Lieutenant Colonel Procter. Should I open it?"

I sighed and nodded my head. "Sure ta hell it's some kind of complaint!"

I watched Alexander as he tore open the letter. This son was my pride—the man who would take the Elliott name from a rough-and-tumble reputation to one that would be looked up to in Canadian society. He was small-like, and like me no beauty, havin' my sharp cheekbones and receding hairline, but his skin was white like mine, which was fortunate. If he'd had the skin colour of his brother, Boy, and his mother, Love, my beautiful Indian first wife, 'twould have damaged the future I'd planned for him.

I had sent him East for many years, first to study and later to become a lawyer, and here he was back, dressed in frock coat and leggings, every bit the gentleman. Now we would have time to get to know each other again.

Alexander read the note slowly. "It is from Procter. There's a covering note: It says, `Elliott, because you have repeatedly ignored my orders, I'm forced to send this letter to Quebec.'" Alexander put aside the cover letter and read through the several pages of the official missive.

I was in no big hurry to hear.

"Says here that you are suspected of peculation, that you clash with the military authorities and that you are secretive about the affairs of the Indian department and careless about the department's accounting. Quite a damning document, Da!"

I slammed my feet to the floor and started for the door. "Tear the damned thing up! I'm going to see the snot-nosed son of a bitch and tell him how things get done in this part of the world."

Alexander followed me out. "Procter's the man with the gold on his shoulders, Da. We'd best try to smooth things over."

"That son of a bitch is doin' this because he can't stand the sight of me and this is his way of lettin' me know it."

We kept at it while we waited for a servant to bring our horses up. In frustration, Alexander thrust his fingers through his thick mane of black hair. "You have to own that you don't help matters. When he's in the room, you're worse than a hissing cat!"

I mounted my horse. "Can't help it, my boy. The idjit is girdled by the fekin' `military rules' and can't see that they don't work with the Indians! Are you coming with me?"

We usually went from my farm to Fort Malden by canoe along the Detroit River, but it was a blustery day and the Indians would be paddling against the wind. Anyway, a gallop into the wind best suited my mood.

The soldier guarding the palisade gate waved us through, and we walked our horses directly to Procter's headquarters.

Alexander took the reins of my horse and tied both animals to the hitching post. "Watch your temper please, Da."

He was right, but men like Procter, weak men with a lot of power, were dangerous human beings who always left a man like me growling with helplessness.

Procter did not look up from his paperwork when we were shown in. All we could see was his receding hairline, long nose and drooping jowls. "I deduce you received my note, Elliott." He continued signing papers, moving each one aside after it had received his venerable signature.

"I did that, sir, and am here to ask you to explain yer complaints."

He stopped writing and looked up but kept his pen poised. "There's really no need to go into it all, Elliott, as you'll not be with us much longer, but as long as you're asking I'll tell you. I ordered you to keep weapons out of the hands of the Indians until we were ready to have them fight. You've disobeyed me and not gone by the book. That's enough for a court-martial right there."

I chewed on my anger. Alexander elbowed me lightly. "Soldiers don't understand how the Indian Department has to be run. Jaysus, God almighty!" Alexander cleared his throat to get my attention, but I ignored him. "Indians have never heard of `the book,' and there's no way in hell I'll be able to keep them happy by doing things your way!"

"I could have you arrested for speaking to your commanding officer like that."

"You, sir, are not my commanding officer. You've given me a title because you need me to keep Tecumseh under wraps until you're ready to have him fight. And I know that to succeed, not only must we feed the Indians, we're going to have to arm him and his men." I leaned on the desk and stared right into the face of the mealy-mouthed bastard. "And do somthin' more concrete than hollow words about our promises of land on this side of the Great Lakes."

He leaned over and opened a drawer, from which he pulled what I figured was the famous document, and then he pushed his bulk out of the chair and waved the document in front of my face, stepping too close to me. "An officer has gone over the financing for Fort Malden, and it shows that your Indian Department is spending far more than can be easily explained. Quebec will be very interested in your peculations."

I did not retreat from his fat face. He was not going to frighten me. "You go right ahead and send it! We'll see whether Quebec values my services enough to ignore your unproven accusations."

His face blossomed in furor, but he did not back off a single inch. "I was born in Ireland; my father was a surgeon in the British army. I know about men like you, Elliott. You can't resist skimming off the top."

Aha! Then I understood! A Brit who grew up in Ireland! 'Twas sure he'd never be able to tolerate the likes of me. "Do as you see fit, Lieutenant Colonel. Just don't forget that I'm the man who can lead a force of Indians, and without them Indians you're banjaxed before you start."

"You're right, I need the Indians, but I don't need you, Elliott." I could smell his rotten breath, he was that close. "I'll do my level best to relieve you of your position and find someone who is willing to do things by the book. I'll hold on to the...