my wounded were to be put, I was shown a ruinous fabric, built of logs, called Butler’s Barracks, from having been built during the revolutionary war by Butler’s Rangers for their temporary accommodation. Nothing could be worse constructed for an hospital for wounded men — not that it was open to every wind that it blew, for at midsummer in Canada that is rather an advantage; but there was a great want of room so that many had to be laid on straw on the floor, and they had the best of it, for their comrades were put in berths one above another as in transport or packet, where it was impossible to get round them to dress their wounds, and their removal gave them excruciating pain.[23]
One can barely imagine what horrors were endured by the wounded as they were loaded hastily onto the wagons side by side and transported those fifteen long miles from the battlefield to Niagara under a hot July sun. Many of the men had open abdominal, chest, or head wounds or bloody, mangled limbs dangling by fragments of skin, muscle, and tendon. As the creaky wagons bounced, lurched, and jolted over the rough, dusty country roads, blood curdling screams, curses, whimpering cries, and agonizing groans were heard from fellow wounded. There was the gut-wrenching stench of acrid gunpowder, vomitus, oozing bowels, bladder wounds, fetid breaths, and sweaty body odours. For many soldiers the last gasps of life transpired before the wagons even pulled up to the old Rangers’ Barracks.
Meanwhile, Dunlop was informed the regimental surgeon “had gone to Scotland” and the other assistant surgeon was “of a delicate constitution” and too “exhausted”[24] to assist. Dunlop lamented:
Waggon after waggon [sic] arrived, and before mid-day I found myself in charge of two hundred and twenty wounded, including my own Regiment, prisoners and militia, with no one to assist me but by my hospital serjeant [sic], who, luckily for me, was a man of sound sense and great experience, who made a most able second; but with all this the charge was too much for us, and many a poor fellow had to submit to amputation [without anaesthesia] whose limb might have been preserved had there been only time to take reasonable care of it”[25]
In what has become one of the most famous quotes in military medicine, Dunlop recounted the horrors of the week to follow in the old log Rangers’ barracks.
I never underwent such fatigue as I did for the first week at Butler’s Barracks. The weather was intensely hot, the flies were in myriads, and lighting on the wounds, deposited their eggs, so that maggots were bred in a few hours, producing dreadful irritation, so that long before I could go round dressing the patients, it was necessary to begin again; and as I had no assistant but my serjeant [sic], our toil was incessant. For two days and two nights, I never sat down; when fatigued I sent my servant down to the river for a change of linen, and having dined and dressed, went back to my work quite refreshed. On the morning of the third day, however, I fell asleep on my feet, with my arm embracing the post of one of the berths. It was found impossible to awaken me, so a truss of clean straw was laid on the floor, on which I was deposited, and an hospital rug thrown over me; and there I slept soundly for five hours without ever turning.[26]
Dunlop related one particularly poignant story that perhaps better than any other sums up the futility of the War of 1812. A stoic American farmer, possibly a militia man or camp follower, was brought in with a smashed thighbone and a severe penetrating injury. His wife arrived from across the river under a flag of truce and while trying to console her husband who was lying on a truss of straw and writhing in great agony, she suddenly exclaimed:
O that the King and President were both here this moment to see the misery their quarrels led to — they surely would never go to war again without a cause that they could give as a reason to God at the last day, for thus destroying the creatures that He hath made in his own image.[27]
Eventually, all of Dunlop’s surviving patients were transferred elsewhere and Dunlop’s skills were tested once again at Fort Erie. Presumably, the vestiges of the old building that had served so many purposes were torn down shortly after the war. The land remained part of the Military Reserve but was enjoyed by the townsfolk as their common lands until it was sold off years later. Meanwhile, construction began on a new Butler’s Barracks on the Military Reserve, one mile to the west where it would hopefully be out of range of the guns of Fort Niagara.
Some believe there were actually two separate Butler’s Barracks built during the American Revolutionary War, one being at the site of the “new” barracks erected after the war. However, to date there is no firm evidence to substantiate such a theory. As we will see in a subsequent chapter, all the surviving buildings at the new site are post-War of 1812.
Chapter 7
The British Indian Department and the Covenant Chain of Friendship
Originally, the Board of Trade and Plantations in London was responsible for promoting profitable trade and maintaining the loyalty of the indigenous people of North America to the royal cause. Partly in response to the alarming French incursions into the Ohio Valley on the eve of the Seven Years’ War, a more focused and influential British Indian Department received royal approval in 1756. This was a civil agency within the British government representing the Crown in its dealings with the Native peoples of North America. Superintendents of Indian Affairs were appointed for the Northern and Southern areas of the continent east of the Mississippi River.
Sir William Johnson, artist unknown, miniature watercolour on ivory. As northern superintendant of Indian Affairs, Johnson (1715–1774) worked tirelessly to shine brightly the covenant chain of friendship between the British government and His Majesty’s Native Allies. Library and Archives Canada, C-083497.
The first Northern Superintendent of Indian Affairs was the charismatic Sir William Johnson, whose prime responsibility was to maintain the “covenant chain of friendship,” which was a symbol of the friendship and mutual understanding that existed between the British government and His Majesty’s Indian Allies. The Dutch and Mohawks were the first to refer to this covenant metaphorically as a steel chain of friendship that required constant polishing to keep it shining brightly. After the British replaced the Dutch in the Hudson Valley of New York, they assumed the Covenant but now referred to the silver chain of friendship, as silver was more valuable and could be polished more brightly. Through skillful negotiations and calculated interpersonal relationships with Natives and non-Natives alike, Sir William and his family would have a long-lasting influence on Native affairs in British North America and, in particular, Upper Canada.
In the summer of 1764, just after Pontiac’s nearly successful Indian Uprising, Sir William summoned all the First Nations to a Grand Council at Fort Niagara to burnish once again the chain of friendship. On at least one occasion he symbolically crossed over to the west side of the Niagara River to confer with Natives encamped there on the plain opposite the fort.[1]
During and after the American Revolutionary War, the British Indian Department at Niagara was based in “The Bottoms.” This was a collection of ramshackle buildings physically and symbolically outside the bastions of Fort Niagara on the edge of the Niagara River. During the war, the quasi-military Indian Department was permitted by the British Army to grant commissions within the Department.[2] These officers, who often led Native warriors in action, were on the same footing as those fighting in other provincial corps.[3] Most of the men in the Department, known generally as rangers or foresters, eventually became Butler’s Rangers after Butler received his “Beating order” in September 1777. With the disbanding of the Rangers in 1784, Lieutenant Colonel John Butler served ably as Deputy Agent for Indian Affairs at Niagara.
In his “Instructions for the good Government of the Branch of the Indian Department,”[4] Sir John Johnson (who inherited his father’s baronetcy and eventually assumed the position of superintendant), encouraged the Deputy Agent of Indian Affairs at Detroit,
