Late on the night of the fourth of May, General Clay and his relief
expedition arrived at the head of the rapids, a few miles above Fort
Meigs. Captain Oliver and a squad of men—among whom were Farley and
Bright Wing—slipped ashore and started afoot for the fort. Then—the pilot
flatly refusing to proceed farther in the darkness—the commander was
compelled to tie up his boats and wait for daylight.
Captain Oliver and his men succeeded in eluding the vigilant Indians, and
entered the fortification at two o’clock in the morning. The youthful
commissary immediately repaired to General Harrison’s quarters, and
apprised him of the near approach of the re-enforcements.
An hour later, after a hasty consultation with his officers, the
commander sent Captain Hamilton and a subaltern up the river, to meet
General Clay. They bore orders to the effect that Clay was to land eight
hundred men upon the left bank of the stream, to carry the British
batteries and spike the cannon; also, that the residue of the militia
were to disembark upon the south shore and fight their way to the fort.
It was the design of Harrison to make sorties against the enemy upon
the same side of the river—whenever the Kentuckians should attack the
English artillerists upon the north bank.
In the gray of the early morning, General Clay cut loose his boats and
drifted into the rapids. Scarcely were the unwieldy vessels under way,
when a hail came from the southern shore; and Captain Hamilton and his
companion appeared at the water’s edge, frantically waving their arms.
They were taken aboard the craft upon which was the commander of the
expedition; and there the Captain delivered his message.
Word was rapidly passed from one boat to another. Soon all was animation
and excitement. The soldiers—who had had nothing to eat since the evening
before, and who still lay upon the decks, wrapped in their mist-dampened
blankets—hastily threw off their coverings, sprang to their feet, and
prepared for battle. In low tones they conversed and left messages with
one another for the dear ones at home. But there was no panic—no sign of
cowardice. Fixed purpose, not fear, was in each rugged face.
Slowly the flats drifted into the middle of the rapids. Soon they gained
in impetus and floated more and more rapidly. The water chuckled and
gurgled at the bows, and danced in creamy wakes behind. Except for a
crisp command, now and then, all was silence on board—the silence of
determined men ready to battle to the death.
Colonel Dudley was to lead the detachment against the English batteries
upon the northern shore. His boat was in advance of the others. Suddenly
a number of savages appeared upon the left bank, and, with hoots and
yells, discharged their pieces at the advancing flotilla. One officer was
wounded slightly. Then the militiamen returned the fire and the Indians
fled to shelter.
Silence again reigned; and the flotilla drifted onward.
In a few minutes, it had reached the foot of the rapids. Colonel Dudley,
detaching twelve boats and eight hundred men, steered for the northern
shore, intending to land about a mile above the British batteries.
General Clay, with the six remaining boats and about four hundred men,
made an effort to disembark upon the southern bank, a short distance
above the beleaguered fort. But wind and current were against him. Only
fifty of the militiamen had got ashore, when the vessels were swept
from their moorings. This little squad of Kentuckians valiantly fought
their way through the horde of whooping savages that hemmed them in, and
reached the fort without the loss of a man.
The remaining three hundred and fifty—under command of Colonel
Boswell—after repeated trials and failures, finally effected a
landing upon the right bank, at a point near the western end of the
fortification. General Harrison sent a sortie to their aid; and the
combined force repulsed the Indians and Canadian militia, and marched in
triumph to the fort.
A short time afterward the commander sent another sortie against the
batteries southeast of the garrison. A stubborn engagement took place.
The sturdy Americans, though greatly outnumbered, drove the British from
their position, spiked several of their cannon, and, taking a number of
prisoners, made a safe retreat.
Fighting had commenced on all sides of the beleaguered fortification.
A ring of flame had encircled the place; the Stars and Stripes had
received a fresh baptism of blood. Now the smoke of battle lifted; and
the brave men within the walls turned their attention to their brethren
on the opposite side of the river. General Harrison, glass in hand, was
anxiously scanning the distant shore. Suddenly, he dropped his hand to
his side and groaned:
“My God! They are lost—lost! They’ve captured the batteries, but are
allowing themselves to be lured into an ambuscade. Their impetuosity will
be their undoing!”
Let us follow Colonel Dudley. Without difficulty, he landed upon the
northern bank of the river, a mile above the British batteries. Gallantly
his men charged the English artillerists and drove them from their guns.
Had they been content with spiking the cannon and returning to their
boats, all would have been well. But the Indians in the adjacent woods
were pouring a galling fire into the American ranks.
This the dare-devil Kentuckians could not stand. With lusty cheers, they
charged the savages and drove them pell-mell into the depths of the
forest. Colonel Dudley feared an ambuscade, and sought to restrain the
ardor of his troops, but in vain. The reckless militiamen continued the
chase, pushing farther and farther into the tangled woodland.
Presently the wily redmen rallied and essayed to outflank their pursuers.
A pitched battle took place. The rattle of firearms became a deafening
roar; the dense smoke obscured friend and foe. Colonel Dudley ordered
a charge along the whole line. It availed nothing; the Indians could
not be dislodged. Next came the order to retreat to the boats. This the
Kentuckians were ready to do. They had suffered severely—they realized
their mistake. Foot by foot, they began a retreat toward the shore,
fighting every step of the way.
In the meanwhile, the English artillerymen fled to old Fort Miami,
a short distance down the river—where General Proctor had his
headquarters—and reported the loss of the batteries. The British
commander, thinking a general attack upon his encampment was imminent,
immediately recalled a large part of his troops from the south side of
the stream, and dispatched them to the scene of conflict. They arrived in
time to fall upon the American rear, completely cut off their retreat,
and kill or capture almost the entire force. Only one hundred and fifty
of the gallant but rash eight hundred regained their boats and reached
Fort Meigs.
At the beginning of this engagement, Tecumseh, with a part of his savage
band, was in the immediate vicinity of the American fortification.
On receiving word from Proctor, the great chief swam the river and,
mounting a horse, galloped to the scene of conflict. Well he knew what
would happen were his warriors successful in the fight. But he arrived
too late. The battle was ended; the butchery had begun.
With the wailing cry—“What will become of my red brothers—what will
become of my red brothers!” he wheeled his steed and dashed along the
path leading from the battle-ground to the British encampment. The way
was strewn with the mutilated corpses of murdered Americans. At the sight
he clinched his white teeth—and spurred on. Reaching the gateway of the
encampment, he galloped through and leaped to the ground.
The butchery was still going on. General Proctor was allowing the Indians
to select their victims and kill them as they saw fit. The savages were
satiating their thirst for blood, to the fullest extent.
“Hold!” Tecumseh thundered, drawing his tomahawk and facing his half-mad
followers. “The brave who kills another defenseless prisoner dies by my
hand!”
And drawing himself defiantly erect, he fixed his piercing gaze upon the
assembled redmen.
Cowed by the commanding presence of the chief they loved and feared,
the Indians relinquished their victims and sullenly returned their
blood-stained weapons to their belts. But one stubborn Winnebago,
unheeding the command, sprang upon a prisoner standing near him. The next
instant Tecumseh’s hatchet descended—and the red fiend was a corpse.
Grunts of approval greeted the summary act.
“Listen, warriors!” the great Shawnee shouted. “I said no more helpless
captives should die. They shall _not_. I told you I would kill any
who disobeyed my commands. I have kept my word. Had I been here this
slaughter never would have occurred. For shame! Are you warriors or
wolves? Dare to disobey me—and _die_!”
He turned sadly away. Seeing General Proctor standing near, he boldly
strode up to the Englishman and demanded:
“Why have you permitted this massacre—you, a paleface?”
“Sir,” replied the general haughtily, “your Indians cannot be
commanded—controlled. They refused to obey my orders.”
“Begone!” the great chief sneered. “You are unfit to command! You are a
squaw; go and put on petticoats!”
General Proctor’s face flushed hotly, but he did not utter the sharp
retort that trembled upon his tongue. And it was well for him that he did
not.
Tecumseh folded his arms and, stalking up and down among his warriors,
kept them from further acts of violence.
The garrison of Fort Meigs, realizing the fate that threatened their
brethren upon the opposite side of the river, went wild with excitement
and anxiety. The commander and his officers repeatedly signalled the
venturesome militiamen to return to their boats and cross over to the
fort. Privates mounted the parapets and traverses—unmindful of Indian
bullets—and shouted themselves hoarse in futile endeavor to attract the
attention of the impetuous Kentuckians.
As has been shown, all this was vain. Then the soldiers within the walls
demanded that they be led to the rescue of their friends. This General
Harrison wisely refused to permit. But he asked for volunteers to cross
the stream and recall Dudley and his men from the pursuit of the savages.
Lieutenant Campbell offered his services. But when he reached the British
batteries on the other side, Colonel Dudley and his men had disappeared
in the thick woods. The Lieutenant immediately recrossed to the fort and
reported the fact to his commander.
General Harrison was almost beside himself with rage and grief. Striding
up and down in front of his tent, he wrung his hands and groaned:
“When _will_ my countrymen learn to obey commands! Foolhardiness is as
bad as cowardice—and leads to as grave results. Colonel Dudley and his
command will be cut to pieces; every man will be killed or captured. And
I dare not send troops to his aid. My hands are tied!”
A light breeze, sweeping in from the lake, rippled the surface of the
river and brought to the ears of those within the garrison, the rattling
crash of firearms in the distance and the cheers and whoops of the
combatants. The smoke of the conflict rose above the tree-tops and
drifted lazily toward the fort. With the smell of burning powder in their
nostrils, the soldiers were hard to restrain. They ran from one part
of the inclosure to another, brandishing their arms, and grumbling and
cursing angrily.
“Ding-it-all-to-dingnation!” Joe Farley bellowed, gripping the stock of
his rifle and panting hard with excitement. “Injin, we’d ort to be over
there—we had, by Jerushy! Dang the hard-headed Kaintuckians, anyhow! The
idee of ’em pokin’ the’r noses into a hornets’ nest, like that! They
hain’t got a bit o’ gumption. But somebody’s got to go to the’r help, ’r
ther’ won’t be a man of ’em left to tell the story. An’ what’s worryin’
me—Ross Douglas is among ’em. That youngster don’t more ’n git out o’ one
diffikilty, till he’s plump into another one. He’ll be in the thick o’
the rumpus, too, you can jest _bet_. An’ he’ll git his everlastin’ this
time—’r I miss my guess. Dodrot the luck, anyhow! What’re we goin’ to do?
Jest listen to that, now! They’re havin’ it hot an’ heavy—an’ no mistake.
We’ve had fightin’ all ’round us an’ all over us this mornin’. Me an’
you’s been in two purty little brushes ourselves. But, dang it, this is
worse an’ more of it! Say—I can’t stand it no longer! Ross is over there
in danger. I’m goin’ to him, if I have to swim the river to git there.
What do you say, Injin?”
“Ugh! Me go, too,” the Wyandot replied calmly.
“Come on, then!” Joe cried recklessly. “It don’t make no differ’nce who
says we can’t go—Gener’l Harrison ’r anybody else—we’ll go any——”
He ended abruptly and fixed his gaze upon the opposite shore. The Wyandot
followed his example. A body of men had emerged from the woods, and were
running toward the boats on the shore. Others quickly followed them—and
still others. From the fort, it could be seen that many of them were
without hats or guns. Pell-mell they rushed to the boats, and hastily
pushed off.
“A rout and a slaughter!” General Harrison moaned as he entered his tent.
“Here comes a part of ’em, anyhow,” Farley muttered grimly; “but it
’pears to be a mighty _small_ part of ’em. Gol-fer-socks! I only hope
Douglas is amongst ’em. If he ain’t, he’s knocked under fer sure _this_
time. Well, it seems ther’ ain’t nothin’ to do but wait, an’ watch, an’
pray—it does, by ginger!”
And, folding his arms, the lank and sorrowful-looking woodman sullenly
watched the fugitives frantically poling their craft across the river.
Now all was bustle and confusion within the garrison. One of the gates
was thrown open; and soldiers hurried down to the shore, to receive and
protect the terrorized fugitives. Soon all were safe within the walls;
but still the hubbub continued. Hundreds crowded around the survivors,
to hear the story of their dreadful experience. General Harrison called
one of the surviving officers into his tent, and there learned the
particulars of the ambuscade and awful slaughter.
Colonel Dudley had been tomahawked; many of the officers were dead. And
of the gallant eight hundred less than one-fourth had escaped. It was not
war; it was butchery—annihilation!
Joe Farley and Bright Wing moved among the survivors, and eagerly scanned
each face. But the man they sought was not there. Suddenly the Wyandot
uttered a grunt of surprise and exclaimed:
“Dog Duke!”
“Where?” Farley demanded sharply.
Ere the redman could make reply, the hound saw them and bounded toward
them. Dropping upon the ground at their feet, he tragically rolled his
blood-rimmed eyes and whined beseechingly. His coat was soiled and
roughened, and his muzzle was smeared with blood.
“He’s been in the scrimmage, as sure’s you live!” was Joe’s muttered
comment. “You can see that, Injin. Look at his nose—all stained with
blood. He’s give some ’tarnal Shawnee ’r other red devil his final
sickness—he has, by Caroline! But if he’s here, his master _must_ be
here. I never knowed ’em to be far apart, if they could help it. Le’s
look ag’in.”
They renewed their search, the dog following them, panting and whining.
But they did not find their friend. Joe made numerous inquiries. All the
answer he received from anyone was a sad shake of the head. Discouraged
at last, he murmured sadly:
“’Tain’t no use, Injin. Ross Douglas is among the missin’. An’ in this
case, that means he’s dead; ’cause the whole thing’s been a reg’lar
butcher’s job. I wish the dang Winnebagoes had killed me when they had
the notion—I do, by Kizzier! I’m sorry I ever lived to see this day. Jest
found him to lose him ag’in—an’ ferever. We made an awful mistake, Injin;
we ort to ’ave stayed with him, ’stid o’ comin’ back here with Cap’n
Oliver.”
Bright Wing nodded sadly.
“Duke, you’re a pow’rful smart animal, in more ways ’n one. I wish to
glory I could make you understand what I want to know. Wher’s y’r master,
purp? Wher’s Ross Douglas?”
The hound lifted his nose and howled dolefully.
“Jest as I thought—jest as I ’xpected!” Farley said chokingly. “He’s
dead. That’s what you mean, ain’t it, purp?”
Duke, as if in reply to the question, started toward the gate he had
entered, casting backward glances over his shoulder as he went.
“Le’s foller him an’ see what he wants,” Joe whispered. “The poor brute’s
’bout as near crazy as we are.”
On reaching the gate, the dog scratched upon it, telling as well as he
could that he desired them to follow him without the walls.
“Poor critter!” Farley said feelingly. “You want us to go with you an’
hunt y’r master, don’t you, purp?”
Duke bayed loudly, and scratched the earth in a frenzy of delight at
being understood.
“Ugh! Duke him want find master,” Bright Wing observed sagely.
Again the dumb brute manifested his joy.
“’Tain’t no use, purp!” Joe sobbed softly, stooping and patting the dog’s
head. “If y’r master’s over in them woods, he’s dead—’r a pris’ner, which
is a dang sight worse. If he’s dead, we can’t do him no good; an’ if he’s
a pris’ner, we hain’t no chance o’ rescuin’ him this time. The redskins
is buzzin’ ’round over there thicker’n flies ’round a dead carcass.
’Tain’t no use, purp! We’ll keep you—me an’ the Injin will—an’ treat you
well, fer y’r own sake an’ y’r master’s. But he’s gone—an’ we can’t bring
him back. Dodrot war, anyhow! It’s an awful—awful thing!”
The homely face underwent a spasm, and the pale eyes were wet.
Regaining control of himself, he continued musingly:
“Yit I may be wrong; I was wrong once before, when I saw him dyin’ with
my own eyes. He was jest wounded that time—an’ that may be the trouble
now. He may be layin’ over there in the woods, lollin’ his parched tongue
an’ moanin’ fer a drink o’ water. Dogs knows a heap; an’ this purp is
tryin’ hard to tell us somethin’. Dang-it-all-to-dingnation! Why _can’t_
a dog talk?”
Then to the Wyandot:
“Injin, I say we’d better take the dog an’ go over there an’ look fer
Ross Douglas.”
“Ugh!” assented Bright Wing, explosively.
At the same time he shouldered his gun, thus intimating that he was ready
to start.
“Well,” Farley continued, “we’ll have to git a permit from somebody,
I s’pose; that’s ’cordin’ to army rules. If we don’t, they may take a
notion to shoot us fer deserters, ’r fer disobeyin’ orders ’r somethin’.
I don’t know much ’bout such things—an’ I don’t want to. Howsomever,
we’ll jest go to Ol’ Tippecanoe, like we done before, an’ git his
p’rmission. Come on, le’s not waste a minute. It’s noon now.”
A few quick steps brought them to the entrance of the commander’s tent.
The place was swarming with officers. Around the door was a noisy throng
of excited subalterns and privates. Joe and Bright Wing elbowed their way
through the mass and gained the doorway, Duke closely following them.
Just within, were two orderlies on guard. Without so much as a nod,
Farley crowded between them.
“Stop! You can’t come in here,” one of the orderlies cried sternly,
seizing the woodman by the arm.
“But I _am_ in,” Farley replied, a broad grin puckering his cheeks.
“Go out instantly!” blustered the orderly, as he whirled the intruder
around and shoved him toward the door.
Farley’s ire rose rapidly—reached fever heat in an instant.
“Take y’r hands off o’ me, an’ git out o’ my road, ’r I’ll break ev’ry
bone in y’r slim, little body!” he growled savagely.
The other orderly came to his comrade’s assistance. The two threw
themselves upon the angular giant and sought to eject him from the place.
Bright Wing’s hand flew to the heavy hatchet in his belt—a weapon he had
picked up since his arrival at the fort. Duke crouched for a spring and
growled sullenly. But Farley needed no help. His heavy fist shot out; and
one of the soldiers dropped to the ground. Quickly turning upon the other
and catching him by the collar, Joe threw him half-way across the tent.
Then the enraged woodman bellowed hoarsely:
“Take that, you cowardly, little whippersnappers! Jump onto a feller, two
at a time, will you? I’ll learn you better manners—I will, by the Queen
o’ Sheby! Come on ag’in, if you want to—I can trounce a _dozen_ like you!
I come in here to see Ol’ Tippecanoe; an’ I’m a-goin’ to see him, ’r die
a-tryin’. If you two whinin’ babies gits in my road ag’in, I’ll pin back
y’r ears an’ swaller you—I will, by Mary Magdalene!”
“What’s the matter there?” rang out in clear, even tones.
And General Harrison, rising to his feet, looked toward the scene of
disturbance.
“These men have forced their way in here, and we are trying to put them
out,” explained one of the orderlies, who stood brushing his soiled
uniform and feelingly rubbing his bruised face.
“Who are they?” the commander impatiently inquired.
“I don’t know, General——”
Farley strode forward and interrupted:
“Gener’l Harrison, you ort to know us, whether you do ’r not. Me an’ the
Injin was with you at Tippecanoe—the dog was, too, fer that matter.”
“Ah! You were with me at Tippecanoe?”
“Yes, Gener’l, we was there—an’ right in the hottest o’ the scrimmage.”
“Your names?”
“Joseph Peregoy Farley an’ Bright Wing, the Wyandot. I whacked bulls fer
you, clean from Fort Harrison to the Prophet’s Town; an’ the Injin an’
the houn’ scouted with Ross Douglas. Ding-it-all-to——”
Joe’s voice was drowned by an explosive roar of laughter from the
assembled officers. Even the dignified commander smiled; and the two
orderlies grinned in a sickly manner. When quiet was restored, Harrison
said quickly:
“Your names sound familiar. Who was it with whom your red comrade
scouted?”
“Ross Douglas.”
“Ah!”—With animation.—“I remember you well now. You are the two men who
went to his rescue, after he was captured by the Prophet’s band.”
“We are, Gener’l; an’ we’ve come to ask y’r p’rmission to go to his help
ag’in.”
“Explain.”
Farley did so—in his loquacious, rambling way. Deep silence reigned in
the tent, as the simple-minded fellow told his moving tale and begged to
be allowed to go to the aid of his friend. When he had finished, tears
were in many eyes.
“To whose command do you belong?” Harrison inquired in tremulous tones.
“We don’t belong to nobody’s command,” was the prompt reply. “We jest
got away from the dang Winnebagoes—after bein’ pris’ners a year an’ a
half—an’ come here. We hain’t ’nlisted yit. All the duty we’ve done was
to go with Cap’n Oliver, to meet Gener’l Clay.”
“You were Captain Oliver’s guides?”
“We were, Gener’l.”
“You’re brave and true men,” the commander said kindly. “You’ve not
hesitated to risk your liberty and your lives in the service of your
country—not once, but many times. I appreciate your patriotism and your
devotion to your friend. I’m very sorry to know he was in that—that
dreadful fight across the river. But I can’t grant you permission to
throw away your lives to no purpose. If your friend be dead, you can be
of no service to him; if he be wounded or a prisoner, he has been removed
to the British encampment, ere this. You can’t aid him. If he be alive,
he will be exchanged in due time. Now I must bid you good-morning—I’m
very busy. But, believe me, I sympathize with you more than you know.
I remember your friend, and grieve to know that such misfortune has
befallen him. Good morning.”
Farley and Bright Wing shook hands with the commander and quietly
withdrew, followed by the pitying glances of the officers.
On reaching the open air, Joe heaved a deep sigh and remarked:
“Well, that settles it, Injin; we can’t go. An’ I wouldn’t wonder Ol’
Tippecanoe’s right, after all. We’d only lose our scalps by goin’—an’ do
no good. The Gener’l used us mighty kind, anyhow.”
“Ugh!” rumbled up from the Wyandot’s deep chest. “Tippecanoe him all much
good heart—no bad.”
“Well,” Farley sighed in return, “as I said before, all we can do is to
wait an’ watch, an’ hope an’ pray. Le’s go an’ hunt somethin’ to eat. I’m
pow’rful hungry; an’ the purp must be ’bout starved. This life’s a kind
o’ tangled snarl anyhow—it is, ’r my name ain’t Joe Farley!”
On all sides the battle was ended. The heavy guns had ceased to belch
flame; the querulous voices of the rifles were silent. The powder smoke
had lifted and disappeared; the groans of the wounded and dying no longer
fell upon the ear. The sun shone brightly; and the birds in the adjacent
forest sang gleefully.
Shortly after noon, a small boat was seen crossing the river. In the
stern sat a British officer bearing a flag of truce. One of General
Harrison’s aides met him at the landing, and inquired:
“Who are you, and why do you come?”
“I’m Major Chambers of his Majesty’s service,” was the reply; “and I’m
sent by General Proctor, to demand the surrender of this fort.”
“You’ll have your labor for your pains,” answered the aide. “However,
I’ll blindfold you and conduct you to General Harrison.”
Ushered into the American commander’s presence, Major Chambers said:
“General Proctor has directed me to demand the surrender of this post. He
wishes to spare the effusion of blood.”
General Harrison smiled blandly, as he replied:
“The demand under present circumstances is most extraordinary. As General
Proctor didn’t send me a summons to surrender, on his first arrival, I
had supposed that he believed me determined to do my duty. His present
message indicates an opinion of me that I’m at a loss to account for.”
Major Chambers’ face flushed as he hastened to say:
“General Proctor could never think of saying anything to wound your
feelings, sir. The character of General Harrison, as an officer, is well
known. General Proctor’s force is very respectable, and there is with him
a larger body of Indians than has ever before been embodied.”
General Harrison drew himself stiffly erect. His keen eyes flashed as he
answered:
“I believe I have a very correct idea of General Proctor’s force; and it
is not such as to create the least apprehension for the result of the
contest, whatever shape he may be pleased hereafter to give to it. Assure
the General, however, that he will never have this post surrendered to
him, upon any terms. Should it fall into his hands, it will be in a
manner calculated to do him more honor, and give him larger claims upon
the gratitude of his government, than any capitulation could possibly do.”
Major Chambers did not push the matter further, but, after an arrangement
for an exchange of prisoners had been made, bowed and withdrew.
The afternoon passed quietly; hostilities were not renewed. No further
communication was held between the opposing forces; and at nightfall
Bright Wing and Farley had heard nothing of their absent friend.
[Illustration]