TECUMSEH'S LAST FIGHT
Tecumseh felt that the great purpose of his life was
about to fail. He had been champion not only of the rights
of the Indians, but of their very existence as a nation.
Dear to his heart was the freedom of his people, and to
achieve this had been his sole ambition. All the powers
with which he had been endowed--his superb physical
strength, his keen intellect, his powerful oratory--had
been used to this one end. But now the cause for which
he had fought so heroically in the face of frequent
disaster seemed about to be overthrown by Procter's
weakness and irresolution. Tecumseh was born to command,
and his proud spirit, naturally intolerant of control,
chafed at following the dictates of a leader who had
deceived him. The Indians had lost faith in Procter.
There were daily desertions, and Tecumseh bitterly
meditated following the example of other chiefs. But his
courageous spirit revolted at the thought of retreat: to
fly before the enemy without striking a blow seemed to
him the action not of warriors but of cowards.
Procter pointed out that the fort, which had been dismantled
to equip the _Detroit_, was open to attack from the river;
that the hospital was filled with sick soldiers; and that
starvation stared the British in the face. But the argument
which weighed most with Tecumseh was that they would be
able to find along the river Thames a place much better
suited for battle. And at last the Indian leader reconciled
his mind to the thought of retreat.
The troops were soon busily engaged in loading the baggage.
Part was stowed in boats to be sent inland by way of the
Detroit river, Lake St Clair, and the Thames; the remainder
was placed in heavy wagons to be taken overland. The
women and children, among whom were the general's wife
and his sick daughter, were sent on ahead, the squaws
trudging along bearing their papooses on their backs.
The troops set fire to the shipyards, fortifications,
and public buildings on September 24, and marched out
leaving Amherstburg a mass of flames. Tecumseh seemed sad
and oppressed; and as he gazed at the rolling clouds of smoke
he said to Blue Jacket: 'We are now going to follow the
British, and I feel well assured we shall never return.'
Procter halted at Sandwich, where he was joined by the
garrison of Detroit, now also abandoned by the British,
its fortifications and public buildings having been
destroyed. On the morning of the 27th the column moved
out of Sandwich. The lumbering wagons, encumbered with
much heavy and unnecessary baggage, made slow progress.
Procter's energy had vanished, and he displayed none of
the forethought that a commander should have in the
performance of his duty. He took no precaution to guard
the supply-boats; his men were indifferently fed, and no
care was taken for their safety. Even the bridges, which
should have been cut down to hamper the progress of the
enemy in pursuit, were left standing.
Three days after Procter's flight from Amherstburg Harrison
landed below the town from Perry's vessels an army about
five thousand strong. Finding Fort Malden a smoking ruin,
and no enemy there, he pressed on to Sandwich, with his
bands playing _Yankee Doodle_, and encamped. Two days
later he was joined by Colonel Johnson with fifteen
hundred cavalry, and on the same day (September 29) a
flotilla under Perry sailed up the river and stood off
Detroit. After taking possession of Detroit, Harrison
resolved to hasten in pursuit of the British. On October
2 he left Sandwich with four thousand men, sending his
baggage by water under the protection of three gunboats
which Perry had provided. Thus unencumbered, his troops
marched rapidly. On the morning of the 3rd they overtook and
captured a small cavalry picket of the British; and keeping
in motion throughout the day, they encamped that night not
far below the place known as Dolsen's, on the south side of
the Thames river, about six miles below Chatham.
The main body of the British had left Dolsen's just a
day in advance of the enemy, having travelled only
forty-five miles in five days. All along the route Tecumseh
had persistently urged that a stand should be made.
Procter had promised that this should be done, first at
one place, then at another; but each time he had made
some excuse. At length, when they came to the site of
the present city of Chatham, where McGregor's Creek falls
into the Thames, Tecumseh pointed out to Procter the
natural advantages of the ground and appealed to him to
prepare for battle. The general approved of making a
stand at this point, and declared that the British would
either defeat Harrison here or leave their bones on the
field of conflict. After the leaders had completed their
survey of the proposed battle-ground, Tecumseh gazed
musingly at the swiftly flowing waters. 'When I look at
those two streams,' he said, 'they remind me of the Wabash
and the Tippecanoe.' A gentler light shone in the warrior's
eyes; his thoughts were far away among the scenes of his
Indian village--the village that he had hoped to make
the centre of a great confederacy of red men.
Meanwhile the main body of the British troops were at
Dolsen's, where they had arrived on the 1st of October.
Leaving his troops at their camp, and Tecumseh and his
Indians at Chatham, Procter set out with a guard to escort
his wife and daughter to Moraviantown, a village of the
Delaware Indians, twenty odd miles farther up the river.
He was still absent on October 3, when scouts returned
with news of the capture of the cavalry picket. Procter
had left no orders; and Warburton, the officer in command,
was at a loss what action to take. After consulting with
Tecumseh, who had come down from Chatham, he ordered a
retreat for two miles up the river; there the troops
formed up, fully expecting attack. But as the enemy failed
to appear, they proceeded to Chatham. Tecumseh desired
the troops to halt and encamp with his Indians on the
opposite side of the river. Warburton, however, desired
to continue the retreat. But Tecumseh would not yield,
and Warburton ordered his men across the stream, where
the entire force camped for the night. Next morning,
before the troops had breakfasted, scouts rushed into
the camp bringing word of the rapid advance of the enemy.
Immediately Warburton ordered his men to march, not
allowing them time even to take food. About six miles up
from Chatham Procter joined the army and took command. The
retreat continued until nightfall, when the troops encamped
about five miles below Moraviantown, on the north bank of
the Thames, where the village of Thamesville now stands.
But Tecumseh and his band had not accompanied the retreating
party; and when Harrison reached McGregor's Creek at
Chatham, he found his progress checked. The bridge there
had been destroyed, and Tecumseh with his warriors disputed
the passage. Harrison, thinking he was opposed by the
whole British force, marshalled his army and brought up
his artillery. After a slight skirmish, in which Tecumseh
was wounded in the arm, the Indians were forced to fall
back. A second bridge was similarly contested, with a
like result. Then Tecumseh and his Indians retreated and
joined Procter's forces near Moraviantown, while the
Americans pushed eagerly forward. Drifting down-stream
were seen several British boats, which had been deserted
by their occupants and set on fire.
The morning of the 5th found Harrison near Arnold's Mills,
where he overtook and captured two gunboats and some
bateaux laden with supplies and ammunition. A few of the
occupants escaped and fled overland towards the British
camp. Harrison's men then crossed the Thames, some of
them in boats and canoes and others on horseback. By noon
the entire American army had reached the opposite shore,
where, farther up, the British were bivouacked, only a
short march distant.
On the morning of the same day, while the soldiers were
waiting for their rations to be meted out, the fugitives
from Arnold's Mills arrived at Procter's camp and informed
him of the capture of the gunboats and of Harrison's near
approach. Tecumseh was sitting on a moss-covered log,
smoking and discussing the situation with Shaubena and
a few of his chief warriors, when a messenger summoned
the Indian leader to the general's headquarters. He
returned after a short absence, with clouded brow and
thoughtful mien, and silently resumed his pipe. One of the
chiefs finally asked, 'Father, what are we to do? shall we
fight the Americans?' 'Yes, my son,' slowly replied
Tecumseh. 'We will be in their smoke before sunset.'
The dark shadow of his fate stole across Tecumseh's
consciousness. He had the same strange presentiment of
death as his brother Cheeseekau, but he entered upon his
last battle just as fearlessly. 'Brother warriors,' he
said to those about him, 'we are now about to enter into
an engagement from which I shall never come out. My body
will remain upon the field of battle.' His followers
gazed at their leader in superstitious awe, as if they
were listening to a prediction that must inevitably be
fulfilled. He removed his sword, and presented it to the
Potawatomi chief Shaubena, saying, 'When my son becomes
a noted warrior, give him this.'
Again the troops, tired and hungry, were ordered to march
without being permitted to eat their morning meal. They
now numbered less than four hundred, without counting
the Indians. Many were sick; all were worn out with
marching and much disheartened. Retreat has a depressing
effect upon the best of soldiers, but in this instance
the troops, in addition, had lost faith in their leader and
entertained only slight hope of victory. The boats that
carried their ammunition had been taken--all they had
left was what their pouches contained. Five of their cannon
were at a ford behind Moraviantown, and the one remaining
gun--a six-pounder--was useless for lack of ammunition.
The British took up their position about two miles below
the village of Moraviantown, across the travelled road
which lay along the Thames some two hundred yards from
its banks. Their left flank was protected by the river
and their right by a cedar swamp. By about one o'clock
the troops were drawn up in order of battle between the
swamp and the river. A double line was formed extending
across the road into the heart of a beech wood, the second
line about two hundred yards to the rear of the first.
The six-pounder mounted guard on the road, threatening,
but useless. Procter, on a fleet charger and surrounded
by his staff, had taken up his position far back on the
road, as if prepared for flight.
Tecumseh had sagaciously disposed his thousand warriors
behind the swamp on the right of the British lines; and,
when all was in readiness, the Indian leader visited
Procter and, expressing his approval of the arrangement
of the forces, passed down the British line. All eyes
followed admiringly the familiar figure in its tanned
buckskin. In his belt was his silver-mounted tomahawk,
and his knife in its leathern case. About his head a
handkerchief was rolled like a turban, and surmounted by
a white feather. He addressed each officer in Shawnee,
accompanying his speech with expressive gestures. Whatever
doubts were in his mind, he maintained the dignity of a
warrior to the end, and endeavoured to instil courage
into the hearts of those about him. 'Father, have a big
heart,' were his last words to Procter. He then joined
his warriors and awaited the attack.
Clear and distinct sounded the American bugles through
the autumn wood, and in a few moments the enemy came into
view. As soon as Harrison caught sight of the British
formation he halted his troops, and spurred his horse
forward to consult with Colonel Johnson, one of his
cavalry leaders. It was quickly decided to break through
the British line with cavalry. Only one cavalry battalion,
however, could manoeuvre between the river and the swamp;
but Johnson was to lead another in person across the
swamp against the Indians. The order to charge was given,
and the American horsemen swept towards the British
position. A loud musketry volley rang out along the first
scarlet line, and the cavalry advance was checked for
the moment. Horses reared and plunged, and many of the
riders were thrown from their saddles. The British
delivered a second volley before the Americans recovered
from their confusion. But then, through the white, whirling
smoke, sounded the thunder of trampling hoofs. With
resistless force the American horsemen dashed against
the opposing ranks and fired their pistols with telling
effect. The first line of the British scattered in headlong
flight, seeking shelter behind the reserves. The second
line stood firm and delivered a steady fire; but the men
of the first line were thrown into such disorder by the
sudden attack that they could not be rallied. The Americans
followed up their first charge and pressed hard upon the
exhausted British, for whom there was now no alternative
but to surrender. Those not killed were taken prisoners,
with the exception of about fifty who effected their
escape through the woods. Procter and his staff had taken
flight at the first sight of the enemy.
Behind the swamp, where the Indians were posted, the
battle went no more favourably. Tecumseh and his warriors
had lain silent in their covert until Johnson's cavalry
had advanced well within range. Then the leader's loud
war-cry rang out as the signal for battle. The enemy
shouted a derisive challenge, and the Indians replied
with a well-directed volley. So destructive was the fire
of the Indians that the front line of the Americans was
annihilated. The horses were struggling in the swamp,
and Johnson, himself wounded, ordered some of the horsemen
to dismount, hoping to draw their foe out of cover, while
he and a few of the boldest soldiers led the attack.
Tecumseh's keen eye singled out the American leader. He
rushed through his warriors to strike him down. Johnson
levelled his pistol. Like lightning Tecumseh's tomahawk
gleamed above his head. But before it could whirl on its
deadly flight, there was a flash and a report. Johnson,
weakened by the wound he had already received, but still
clutching the smoking weapon, reeled from his saddle.
Tecumseh's tomahawk dropped harmless to the earth, and
the noblest of red patriots, the greatest and truest of
Indian allies, fell shot through the breast. The Indians
lost heart and fled into the depths of the forest, leaving
many of their bravest warriors dead on the field.
Sunset faded into darkness. The body of Tecumseh lay on
the battlefield in the light of the American camp-fires.
Like spectres his faithful followers stole swiftly through
the wood and bore it away. On the dead face still lingered
the impress of the proud spirit which had animated it in
life. But silent was the war-cry that had urged his
followers to battle; stilled was the silver eloquence
that had won them to his purpose.
Tecumseh was no more; but his memory was cherished by
the race for whose freedom he had so valiantly fought.
In the light of the camp-fire his courageous deeds were
long extolled by warriors and handed down by the sachems
of his people. Many an ambitious brave felt his heart
leap as he listened--like Tecumseh when as a boy he drank
in the stories of the heroic deeds of his ancestors.
The white men respected Tecumseh as the Indians revered
Brock. But how different the obsequies of the two heroes!
For Brock flags floated at half-mast. He was borne to
the grave to the sound of martial music, followed by a
sorrowing multitude. His valour was the theme of orators.
A stately monument perpetuates his memory and attracts
pilgrims to his burial-place. The red hero fell fighting
for the same flag-fighting on, though deserted by a
British general in the hour of direst need. But no flag
drooped her crimson folds for him. A few followers buried
him stealthily by the light of a flickering torch. No
funeral oration was uttered as he was lowered to his last
resting-place. Night silently spread her pall; softly
the autumn leaves covered the spot, and the wind chanted
a mournful requiem over his lonely grave. No towering
column directs the traveller to Tecumseh's burial-place;
not even an Indian totem-post marks the spot. The red
man's secret is jealously guarded and to no white man
has it ever been revealed.
BIBLIOGRAPHICAL NOTE
The principal books dealing with Tecumseh are Drake's
_Life of Tecumseh_, Eggleston's _Tecumseh and the Shawnee
Prophet_, and _The Story of Tecumseh_, by Norman S. Gurd.
The last mentioned is a vividly written, interesting book.
The following general books on the Indians contain short
sketches of, or reference to, the subject of this story:
Thatcher's _Indian Biography_; Drake's _Indians of North
America_; Hodge's _Handbook of American Indians_; White's
_Handbook of Indians of Canada_ (based on Hodge); Roosevelt's
_Winning of the West_; Trumbull's _Indian Wars_; Brownell's
_The Indian Races of North and South America_; and Tupper's
_Life and Correspondence of Sir Isaac Brock_.
All works dealing with the War of 1812 contain matter
essential to the student of the career of Tecumseh. Chief
among these are: David Thompson's _War of 1812_;
Richardson's _War of 1812_ (the edition edited by A. C.
Casselman (1902) contains many valuable notes); Coffin's
_1812: The War end its Moral; a Canadian Chronicle_;
Auchinleck's _History of the War_; Hannay's _War of 1812_;
Lucas's _Canadian War of 1812_; Roosevelt's _Naval War
of 1812_; and Adams's _History of the United States during
the Administration of Jefferson and Madison_.
The life and character of Tecumseh have formed the subject
of three somewhat ambitious poems: Richardson's _Tecumseh_;
Jones's _Tecumseh_, a tragedy in five acts; and Mair's
_Tecumseh_, a drama.
END