Disgruntled general rose to occasion

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Soldiering today is tough enough. Going to war in the early 19th century must have been a profoundly traumatic experience, especially if you were a British redcoat and, more specifically, if you were a redcoat in North America.

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For Canada, the years 1812-14 were a crucial time in forming the nation. For England the focus for the last decade had been on keeping Napoleon at bay. The little corporal had threatened to conquer everything from Russia to London until “General Winter” saw him fleeing a flaming Moscow and enduring a nightmare march back to the relative safety of Europe.

Napoleon had dreamed of leashing the British bulldog before tackling the Russian bear and gathered barges along the French coast. It wouldn’t happen of course but, as the Duke of Wellington, who would vanquish the Monster of Europe at Waterloo in 1815, said “It was a damned near-run thing”.

Canada was a forgotten front, a backwater where the Brits stationed a couple of regiments of regulars and a few cannon to stiffen the backs of militia troops lest the Americans become troublesome and, being more of a hassle than we were worth, left us to fend for ourselves.

So we fended. We fended so well that the Americans, when they did come for us found that they had bitten off more than they could chew and retreated to their side of the Niagara River and haven’t been back since, at least not yet.

With COVID-19, the Russian army attack on Ukraine and with a president who always looks badly in need of a nap, the U.S. is apt to be busy for some time, as are we all.

Be that as it may, there we were in 1812, little Canada staring down the American eagle, good thing for us that the eagle lacked sharpness of claw and keenness of eye. Which didn’t stop them from declaring war on England; aware that the Brits were tied up with old Napoleon.

They knew England couldn’t mount a mass defence of a colony that they more or less cared nothing about.

The American army was in a shambles when President Madison threw down the gauntlet.

They lacked the same things we did:  arms, powder and shot, proper uniforms and everything else it took to put together an invasion.

Then, as they are wont to do, they got their stuff together and produced a reasonably effective war machine in a short period of time and the scrap was on.

The one thing Canada had going for it was a disgruntled general named Isaac Brock and he would make all the difference.

Brock hated Canada, hated the fact that he had been seconded to a sideshow of a war instead of being with Wellington where the real action was, in Spain against Bonaparte, but when the Americans made their move he rose to the occasion magnificently, running bluff after bluff to keep them guessing.

When they did come across the Niagara in force he raced to the heights at Queenston and led the charge to dislodge the Yanks from the crest when a sharp-eyed Kentucky lad put a ball through his breast.

Canada had its first martyr.

gordchristmas@outlook.com