Capturing Fort Mackinac

By James Bacque and Peter Russell

Last summer, while four of us were planning our attack on Fort Mackinac in Lake Michigan, rumours appeared on the Internet that someone naming himself as John Cleese was plotting to restore British rule to the whole USA. The terms were to be particularly harsh. George W. Bush would be ordered to take the second letter "u" out of the purported word nucular and transfer it to all words such as humour, formerly ending in "or."

Clearly this worthy effort merited help, and we were determined to give it. In August, the authors--one retired professor and one white-haired writer--set sail with our wives Sewell Russell and Elisabeth Bacque, on a chartered 42 foot sailboat from Manitoulin towards Mackinaw Island at the northern end of Lake Michigan. We were intent on mayhem--to retake the fort, Mackinac, which had been seized and held by the British during the War of 1812, but lost during the peace negotiations. After the capture of the American vocabulary, this was to be the next step towards forcing an overall capitulation. Our morale was mixed: the men were gung-ho, the wives displaying only sceptical cooperation, rather in the manner of mothers humouring boys drunk on sunshine and holidays.

After tying up at the marina on Mackinaw Island, the site of the fort, American flags flying everywhere, but not a maple leaf flag in view, we marched along the dock to the customs/immigration shed. Well aware of the strict rules and harsh enforcement of the US Homeland Security system, we had our passports, birth certificates and various paraphernalia at the ready. Jim stood at attention in front of the chest-high security counter in the shed and said to a young uniformed man lounging back in his tilted chair, "We are five Canadians born in Canada with our passports seeking permission to enter the United States." The young man grinned, dropped his chair forward and pointed his forefingers gun-like at Jim and said, "Go for it."

As instructed we went outside to a camera phone fixed to the side of the shed, and dialled the number. The man on the other end said, "Howdy y'all, this phone dudden work? kin yew call me bayuck on youah sayull-fown?"

We were being invited to become moles, defending the US against the likes of us. It was that easy to penetrate George Bush's mighty Homeland Security system. Now even the sceptical wives realized that we stood a pretty good chance.

Since this was a Canadian expedition, we had only the most basic equipment--a no-options cell-phone without camera. This converted our weakness into a strength. Dependent on our primitive 20th century equipment, the American inspector couldn't match each face against the passport photo. Nor could our charter captain give the registration number of our boat: it doesn't have one, since Canadian charter owners do not need to register their boats until re-sale. When our charter captain was asked over the cell-phone for the engine serial number in lieu of the registration he said, "Give me a break, I'd have to hang upside down with my head down into the narrow engine box with a flashlight between my teeth trying to read a number covered with oil that hasn't been cleaned off for six years." And the freedom-loving American sighed and let us in. We were free on American soil, and the heavies in Washington knew nothing more about us than we had chosen to tell them.

Would you believe that this was all the result of our careful planning? We marched up the long rampart to the fort itself to scout out the defences. The fort was guarded by teenagers in elegant uniforms with cocked hats and muskets showing well-dressed tourists and their grandchildren around the grounds. This fort was clearly making money! Capturing it would strengthen Canada's defences against American terrorists, and pour tourist dollars into the national coffers!

Elisabeth volunteered to cycled alone round the west shore of the island reconnoitering as all 19th century British officers were required to do, making watercolour sketches of strong points and landing places. Peter, Sewell and Jim rented bicycles and pedalled out to British Landing on the north end. This was the beach where the redcoats had landed in 1813, intent, like us, on mayhem. They had marched up through the woods to the top of the island, looking down on the fort. The British commander, Captain Charles Roberts, fired one cannon shot into the fort, then sent a messenger down with a note to the American commander: "Surrender, or die." The American, Lieutenant Porter Hanks, and his many civilians and soldiers, preferred to live.

Since modern wars are begun and fought largely through the media, Peter and Jim backed their bicycles into the surf, leaned over and charged up-beach towards the reclining tourists taking in the sun, as Sewell caught us on video. The garrison was under-strength, comprising several strollers, young women on beach towels and some lean young men playing volleyball. We reached the first people prone on the beach and proclaimed our terms, "If you surrender without resistance, you will be well-treated, and all of you will immediately be given Canadian Medicare." We were glad to find that Hanks' spirit lived on, for the defenders laid down their deep-fried pickles and surrendered to a man, woman and stroller. Resistance, such as it was, collapsed right there, and we pedalled back to base with the good news. There we were greeted by a wonderful sight. The maple leaf flag, conspicuously absent from the flagpole when we sailed in, was now flying red, white and proud over the harbour entrance. Mackinac was ours.

Sailing back to Canada, we heard that Cleese had promoted Russell to Major-Generality and Bacque was now a Hot-Air Marshal.

Peter Russell is University Professor Emeritus at the University of Toronto; James Bacque is the author of Our Fathers' War.

PS You're wondering about those deep-fried pickles? There was actually a beach-shack offering them for sale, perhaps the only place in the world where these are available. No wonder they needed Medicare.