NOTWITHSTANDING the hostile spirit on both sides, the winter of
1810–1811 passed without serious disturbance on the Wabash, and the
summer of 1811 arrived before Harrison thought proper to take the next
step. Then, June 24, he sent to Tecumthe and the Prophet a letter, or
speech, intended to force an issue.
“Brothers,” he wrote,[79] “this is the third year that all
the white people in this country have been alarmed at your
proceedings. You threaten us with war; you invite all the tribes
to the north and west of us to join against us. Brothers,
your warriors who have lately been here deny this, but I have
received the information from every direction. The tribes on the
Mississippi have sent me word that you intended to murder me,
and then to commence a war upon our people. I have also received
the speech that you sent to the Pottawatomies and others to join
you for that purpose; but if I had no other evidence of your
hostility to us, your seizing the salt which I lately sent up
the Wabash is sufficient.”
Except the seizure of five barrels of salt intended for other Indians,
in June, 1811, no overt act yet showed the intention to begin a war,
and certainly no such immediate intention existed; but two white men
were at that moment murdered in the Illinois Territory, a drunken
Indian was murdered at Vincennes, and these acts of violence, together
with the general sense of insecurity, caused the government officials
to write from all quarters to the War Department that Tecumthe must be
suppressed. Tecumthe himself seemed disposed to avoid cause for attack.
July 4 he sent word that he would come to Vincennes; and to Harrison’s
alarm he appeared there, July 27, with two or three hundred warriors
for an interview with the governor. The act proved courage, if not
rashness. Harrison’s instructions hinted advice to seize the two Indian
leaders, if it could be done without producing a war, and Harrison had
ample time to prepare his measures.
Tecumthe came and remained two days at Vincennes, explaining, with
childlike candor, his plans and wishes. As soon as the council was
over, he said, he should visit the Southern tribes to unite them with
those of the North in a peaceful confederacy; and he hoped no attempt
would be made to settle the disputed territory till his return in the
spring. A great number of Indians were to come in the autumn to live at
Tippecanoe; they must use the disputed region for hunting-ground. He
wished everything to remain in its present situation till his return;
he would then go and see the President and settle everything with him.
The affairs of all the tribes in that quarter were in his own hands,
and he would despatch messengers in every direction to prevent the
Indians from doing further mischief.
Tecumthe seemed to think that his wish would prevent Harrison from
further aggression for the time. A few days afterward he passed down
the Wabash, with some twenty warriors, on his diplomatic errand to the
Creeks; but before he was fairly out of sight, July 31, a number of
citizens met at Vincennes, and adopted resolutions demanding that the
settlement at Tippecanoe should be broken up. Immediate action, before
Tecumthe should return, was urged by Harrison’s party, and by many
frightened settlers. Harrison’s personal wish could not be doubted.
The Secretary of War had already ordered the Fourth Regiment of U.
S. Infantry, under Colonel Boyd, with a company of riflemen,--making
in the whole a force of five hundred regular troops,--to descend the
Ohio from Pittsburg as rapidly as possible, and place themselves under
Harrison’s orders; but Eustis added instructions not easily followed or
understood. July 17 he wrote to Harrison,[80]--
“In case circumstances shall occur which may render it necessary
or expedient to attack the Prophet and his followers, the force
should be such as to insure the most complete success. This
force will consist of the militia and regular troops.... If the
Prophet should commence or seriously threaten hostilities, he
ought to be attacked.”
Under these instructions, Harrison was warranted in doing what he
pleased. Not even Tecumthe denied the seriousness of his hostile
threats, and Harrison had every reason to begin the war at once, if war
must be; but although Eustis spoke his own mind clearly, he failed to
reckon upon the President, and this neglect was the cause of another
letter to Harrison, written three days later:[81]--
“Since my letter of the 17th instant, I have been particularly
instructed by the President to communicate to your Excellency
his earnest desire that peace may, if possible, be preserved
with the Indians, and that to this end every proper means may be
adopted.... Circumstances conspire at this particular juncture
to render it peculiarly desirable that hostilities of any kind
or to any degree, not indispensably required, should be avoided.
The force under Colonel Boyd has been ordered to descend the
Ohio, ... and although the force is at the disposal of your
Excellency, I am instructed to inform you that the President
indulges the hope and expectation that your exertions and
measures with the Indians will be such as may render their march
to the Indian Territory unnecessary, and that they may remain
liable to another disposition.”
Without paying attention to the President’s wishes emphatically
expressed in these orders of July 20, Harrison passed the next month in
raising forces for an expedition to satisfy the wishes of the Western
people. No doubt was felt on the Ohio that Harrison meant to attack
the Indians at Tippecanoe; and so serious a campaign was expected that
Kentucky became eager to share it. Among other Kentuckians, Joseph H.
Daveiss, Aaron Burr’s persecutor, wrote,[82] August 24, to Harrison,
offering himself as a volunteer: “Under all the privacy of a letter,”
said he, “I make free to tell you that I have imagined there were two
men in the West who had military talents; and you, sir, were the first
of the two. It is thus an opportunity of service much valued by me.”
Daveiss doubted only whether the army was to attack at once, or to
provoke attack.
Harrison accepted Daveiss’s services, and gave him command of the
dragoons, a mounted force of about one hundred and thirty men from
Indiana and Kentucky. The Fourth U. S. Infantry, three hundred
strong according to Colonel Boyd who commanded it,[83] arrived in
the Territory at the beginning of September. As rapidly as possible
Harrison collected his forces, and sent them up the river to a point
in the new purchase about sixty-five miles above Vincennes. The exact
force was afterward much disputed.[84] Harrison reported his effectives
as a few more than nine hundred men. Some sixty Kentucky volunteers
were of the number.
The last instructions from the Department, dated August 29,[85] made no
change in the tenor of the President’s orders. When Harrison joined his
army, October 6, at the camp above Vincennes, he wrote to Eustis,[86]--
“I sincerely wish that my instructions were such as to authorize
me to march up immediately to the Prophet’s town. The troops
which I command are a fine body of men, and the proportion of
regulars, irregulars, infantry, and dragoons such as I could
wish it. I have no reason to doubt the issue of a contest with
the savages, and I am much deceived if the greater part of both
officers and men are not desirous of coming in contact with
them.”
In doubt what to do next, Harrison waited while his army built a small
wooden fort, to which he gave his own name, and which was intended to
establish formal possession of the new purchase. While the army was
engaged in this work, one of the sentinels was fired at and wounded in
the night of October 10 by some person or persons unseen and unknown.
Harrison regarded this as a beginning of hostilities by the Prophet,
and decided to act as though war was declared. October 12 he received
from Secretary Eustis a letter dated September 18, never published
though often referred to,[87] which is not found in the records of the
government. Harrison replied the next day:[88]--
“Your letter of the 18th ult. I had the honor to receive
yesterday. My views have hitherto been limited to the erection
of the fort which we are now building, and to a march, by way of
feint, in the direction of the Prophet’s town, as high, perhaps,
as the Vermilion River. But the powers given me in your last
letter, and circumstances which have occurred here at the very
moment on which it was received, call for measures of a more
energetic kind.”
With this despatch Harrison enclosed a return of the soldiers present
under his command. “You will observe,” he said, “that our effectives
are but little over nine hundred.” The rank-and-file consisted of seven
hundred and forty-two men fit for duty. Harrison thought this force
too small, and sent back to Vincennes for four companies of mounted
riflemen. Two of the four companies joined him,[89] but their strength
was not reported. These returns showed that the army, with the two
additional companies, numbered at least one thousand effectives. One of
the officers of the Fourth U. S. Infantry, writing November 21, said
that the force was a little upward of eleven hundred men.[90]
While the Americans were determined not to return without a battle,
the Indians had been strictly ordered by Tecumthe to keep the peace,
and showed the intention to avoid Harrison’s attack. As early as
September 25, the Prophet sent a number of Indians to Vincennes to
protest his peaceful intentions, and to promise that Harrison’s demands
should be complied with.[91] Harrison returned no answer and sent
no demands. October 28 he broke up his camp at Fort Harrison, and
the army began its march up the river. The governor remained one day
longer at the fort, and from there, October 29, sent some friendly
Indians to the Prophet with a message requiring that the Winnebagoes,
Pottawatomies, and Kickapoos, at Tippecanoe, should return to their
tribes; that all stolen horses should be given up, and that murderers
should be surrendered. He intended at a later time to add a demand for
hostages,[92] in case the Prophet should accede to these preliminary
terms.
Harrison did not inform the friendly Indians where they would find
him, or where they were to bring their answer.[93] Crossing to the
west bank of the Wabash to avoid the woods, the troops marched over a
level prairie to the mouth of the Vermilion River, where they erected
a blockhouse to protect their boats. The Vermilion River was the
extreme boundary of the recent land-cession; and to cross it, under
such circumstances, was war. Harrison looked for resistance; but not
an Indian was seen, and November 3 the army resumed its march, keeping
in the open country, until on the evening of November 5 it arrived,
still unmolested, within eleven miles of the Prophet’s town. From the
Vermilion River to Tippecanoe was fifty miles.
The next morning, November 6, the army advanced toward the town, and
as the column approached, Indians were frequently seen in front and on
the flanks. Interpreters tried to parley with them, but they returned
no answer except insulting or threatening gestures. Two miles from the
town the army unexpectedly entered a difficult country, thick with wood
and cut by deep ravines, where Harrison was greatly alarmed, seeing
himself at the mercy of an attack; but no attack was made. When clear
of the woods, within a mile and a half of the town, he halted his
troops and declared his intention to encamp. Daveiss and all the other
officers urged him to attack the town at once; but he replied that his
instructions would not justify his attacking the Indians unless they
refused his demands, and he still hoped to hear something in the course
of the evening from the friendly Indians sent from Fort Harrison.
Daveiss remonstrated, and every officer in the army supported him.
Harrison then pleaded the danger of further advance. “The experience of
the last two days,” he said,[94] “ought to convince every officer that
no reliance ought to be placed upon the guides as to the topography of
the country; that, relying on their information, the troops had been
led into a situation so unfavorable that but for the celerity with
which they changed their position a few Indians might have destroyed
them; he was therefore determined not to advance to the town until he
had previously reconnoitred.”
The candor of this admission did not prove the military advantages
of the halt; and neither of Harrison’s reasons was strengthened by a
third, which he gave a month afterward in a letter to the Governor
of Kentucky. “The success of an attack upon the town by day,” he
said,[95] “was very problematical. I expected that they would have
met me the next day to hear my terms; but I did not believe that they
would accede to them, and it was my determination to attack and burn
the town the following night.” Daveiss and the other officers, looking
at the matter only as soldiers, became more urgent, until Harrison
at last yielded, and resolving no longer to hesitate in treating the
Indians as enemies,[96] ordered an advance, with the determination
to attack. “I yielded to what appeared the general wish,” he said in
his official report,[97] “and directed the troops to advance.” They
advanced about four hundred yards, when three Indians sent by the
Prophet came to meet them, bringing a pacific message, and urging that
hostilities should if possible be avoided. Harrison’s conscience,
already heavy-ladened, again gave way at this entreaty.[98] “I answered
that I had no intention of attacking them until I discovered that they
would not comply with the demands that I had made; that I would go on
and encamp at the Wabash, and in the morning would have an interview
with the Prophet and his chiefs, and explain to them the determination
of the President; that in the mean time no hostilities should be
committed.”
Had Harrison’s vacillation been due to consciousness of strength,
his officers would have had no just reason for remonstrance; but he
estimated his force at about eight hundred effective men, and the
Indians at more than six hundred.[99] He knew that no victory over the
Northern Indians had ever been won where the numbers were anything like
equal.[100] Before him was an unknown wilderness; behind him was a line
of retreat, one hundred and fifty miles long, and he had supplies for
very few days. He could not trust the Indians; and certainly they could
not trust him, for he meant in any case to surprise their town the next
night. Delay was dangerous only to the whites,--advantageous only to
the Indians. Daveiss felt so strongly the governor’s hesitation that
he made no secret of his discontent, and said openly not only that the
army ought to attack,[101] but also that it would be attacked before
morning, or would march home with nothing accomplished.[102] Indeed, if
Harrison had not come there to destroy the town, he had no sufficient
military reason for being there at all.
Having decided to wait, Harrison had next to choose a camping-ground.
The army marched on, looking for some spot on the river where wood as
well as water could be obtained, until they came within one hundred and
fifty yards of the town, when the Indians, becoming alarmed, called on
them to stop. Harrison halted his men and asked the Indians to show
him a place suitable for his purpose, which they did;[103] and the
troops filed off in front of the town, at right angles to the Wabash,
till they reached a creek less than a mile to the northwest. Next to
the town was a marshy prairie; beyond the marsh the ground rose about
ten feet to a level covered with oaks; and then about a hundred yards
farther it suddenly dropped to the creek behind, where the banks were
thick with willow and brushwood. No spot in the neighborhood was
better suited for a camp than this saddle-back between the marsh and
the brook, but Harrison saw that it offered serious disadvantages.
“I found the ground destined for the encampment,” he reported,
“not altogether such as I could wish it. It was, indeed, admirably
calculated for regular troops that were opposed to regulars, but it
afforded great facility to the approach of the savages.”
There Harrison camped. The troops were stationed in a sort of triangle,
following the shape of the high land,[104]--the base toward the
northeast, the blunt apex toward the southwest; but at no part of
the line was any attempt made to intrench, or palisade, or in any
way to cover the troops. Harrison afterward explained that he had
barely axes enough to procure firewood. The want of axes had been
discovered at Fort Harrison, and hardly excused the neglect to intrench
at Tippecanoe, for it had not prevented building the fort. The army
pitched its tents and lighted its fires for the night, with no other
protection than a single line of sentries, although the creek in the
rear gave cover to an attack within a few yards of the camp.
The night was dark, with light rain at intervals; the troops slept on
their arms, and their rest was disturbed by no sound. Many accounts
have been given of what passed in the Prophet’s town,[105] but none
of them deserve attention. During the night neither Harrison nor his
sentinels heard or saw anything that roused their suspicions. Harrison,
in a brief report of the next day,[106] said that the first alarm
was given at half-past four o’clock in the morning. His full report
of November 18 corrected the time to a few minutes before four. Still
another account, on the day after the battle, named five o’clock as
the moment.[107] Harrison himself was about to leave his tent, before
calling the men to parade, when a sentinel at the farthest angle of the
camp above the creek fired a shot. In an instant the Indian yell was
raised, and before the soldiers at that end of the camp could leave
their tents, the Indians had pierced the line, and were shooting the
men by the light of the camp-fires. Within a few moments, firing began
along the whole line, until the camp, except for a space next the
creek, was encircled by it. Fortunately for Harrison, the attacking
party at the broken angle had not strength to follow up its advantage,
and the American line was soon reformed in the rear. Harrison rode to
the point, and at the northeast angle met Daveiss and his dismounted
dragoons. Daveiss reported that the Indians, under cover of the trees,
were annoying the troops severely, and asked leave to dislodge them.
The order was given; and Daveiss, followed by only a few men, rushed
forward among the trees, where he soon fell, mortally wounded. The
troops, after forming, held their position without further disaster
till daybreak, when they advanced and drove the Indians into the swamp.
With this success the battle ended, having lasted two hours.
For the moment the army was saved, but only at great cost. Daveiss,
who held an anomalous position almost as prominent as that of Harrison
himself, died in the afternoon. Captain Baen, acting major of the
Fourth Regiment, two lieutenants, and an ensign of the same regiment,
were killed or wounded; two lieutenant-colonels, four captains, and
several lieutenants of the Indiana militia were on the same list,
and the general’s aid-de-camp was killed. One hundred and fifty-four
privates were returned among the casualties, fifty-two of whom were
killed or mortally wounded. The total loss was one hundred and
eighty-eight, of whom sixty-one were killed or mortally wounded.[108]
The bodies of thirty-eight Indians were found on the field.
If the army had cause for anxiety before the battle, it had double
reason for alarm when it realized its position on November 7. If
Harrison’s own account was correct, he had with him only eight hundred
men. Sixty-one had been killed or mortally wounded, and he had near
a hundred and fifty wounded to carry with him in his retreat. His
effective force was diminished more than one fourth, according to his
biographer;[109] his camp contained very little flour and no meat,
for the few beeves brought with the army were either driven away by
the Indians or stampeded by the noise of the battle; and his only base
of supplies was at Vincennes, one hundred and seventy miles away.
The Indians could return in greater numbers, but his own force must
steadily grow weaker. Harrison was naturally a cautious man; he felt
strongly the dangers that surrounded him, and his army felt them not
less.[110]
The number of Indian warriors engaged in the night attack was estimated
by Harrison at six hundred.[111] The law of exaggeration, almost
invariable in battle, warrants belief that not more than four hundred
Indians were concerned in the attack. The Prophet’s Indians were few.
Tecumthe afterward spoke of the attack as an “unfortunate transaction
that took place between the white people and a few of our young men
at our village,”[112]--as though it was an affair in which the young
warriors had engaged against the will of the older chiefs. Tecumthe
commonly told the truth, even with indiscretion; and nothing in the
American account contradicted his version of the affair at Tippecanoe.
Harrison’s ablest military manœuvre had been the availing himself of
Tecumthe’s over-confidence in quitting the country at so critical a
moment.
Although Harrison did not venture to send out a scout for twenty-four
hours, but remained in camp waiting attack, no further sign of
hostilities was given. “Night,” said one of the army,[113] “found every
man mounting guard, without food, fire, or light, and in a drizzling
rain. The Indian dogs, during the dark hours, produced frequent
alarms by prowling in search of carrion about the sentinels.” On the
morning of November 8, the dragoons and mounted riflemen approached
the town and found it deserted. Apparently the Indians had fled in
haste, leaving everything, even a few new English guns and powder.
The army took what supplies were needed, and set fire to the village.
Meanwhile every preparation had been made for rapid retreat. The wagons
could scarcely carry all the wounded, and Harrison abandoned the camp
furniture and private baggage. “We managed, however, to bring off the
public property,” he reported. At noon of November 9 the train started,
and by night-fall had passed the dangerous woods and broken country
where a few enemies could have stopped it. No Indians appeared; the
march was undisturbed; and after leaving a company of the U. S. Fourth
Regiment at Fort Harrison, the rest of the force arrived, November 18,
at Vincennes.
The battle of Tippecanoe at once became a point of pride throughout
the Western country, and Harrison received the official applause and
thanks of Kentucky, Indiana, and Illinois; but Harrison’s account of
his victory was not received without criticism, and the battle was
fought again in the press and in private. The Fourth Regiment more than
hinted that had it not been for their steadiness the whole party would
have been massacred. At Vincennes, Harrison was severely attacked.
In Kentucky criticism was open, for the family and friends of Joseph
Daveiss were old Federalists, who had no interest in the military
triumphs of a Republican official. Humphrey Marshall, Daveiss’s
brother-in-law, published a sharp review of Harrison’s report, and
hinted plainly that Daveiss had fallen a victim to the General’s
blunders. With characteristic vigor of language, Marshall called
Harrison “a little, selfish, intriguing busybody,” and charged him with
having made the war without just cause, for personal objects.[114]
These attacks caused the Western Republicans to sustain with the more
ardor their faith in Harrison’s military genius, and their enthusiasm
for the victory of Tippecanoe; but President Madison and Secretary
Eustis guarded themselves with some care from expressing an opinion on
the subject.
Whatever his critics might say, Harrison gained his object, and
established himself in the West as the necessary leader of any future
campaign. That result, as far as it was good, seemed to be the only
advantage gained at Tippecanoe. Harrison believed that the battle had
broken the Prophet’s influence, and saved the frontier from further
alarm; he thought that in the event of a British war, the Indians
would remain neutral having “witnessed the inefficacy of British
assistance;”[115] he expected the tribes to seek peace as a consequence
of what he considered the severest defeat they had ever received since
their acquaintance with the white people;[116] and the expectation
was general that they would deliver the Prophet and Tecumthe into the
hands of the American government. For a time these impressions seemed
reasonable. The Prophet lost influence, and the peace was not further
disturbed; but presently the Western people learned that the Prophet
had returned to Tippecanoe, and that all things had resumed their old
aspect, except that no one could foresee when the Indians would choose
to retaliate for Harrison’s invasion.
Toward January, Tecumthe returned from the South, and sent word that
he was ready to go to Washington. March 1, 1812, a deputation of some
eighty Indians visited Vincennes, and told Harrison that the whole
winter had been passed in sending messages to the different villages to
consult on their future course, and that all agreed to ask for peace.
They blamed the Prophet for the affair at Tippecanoe, and asked leave
to visit Washington to obtain peace from the President. Harrison gladly
assented, for a delegation of Indians sent to Washington was a guaranty
of peace during the time of their absence. He expected them to appear
at Fort Wayne in April, ready for the journey.
The Indian hesitation was probably due to doubt whether war would take
place between the United States and England. The whole influence of the
British agents was exerted to unite the Indians and to arm them, but to
prevent a premature outbreak. The British Indian agent at Amherstburg
sent Tecumthe a message blaming the attack on Harrison. Tecumthe
replied:[117]--
“You tell us to retreat or turn to one side should the Big
Knives come against us. Had I been at home in the late
unfortunate affair I should have done so; but those I left at
home were (I cannot call them men) a poor set of people, and
their scuffle with the Big Knives I compared to a struggle
between little children who only scratch each other’s faces. The
Kickapoos, Winnebagoes have since been at Post Vincennes and
settled the matter amicably.”
The situation was well understood. “If we have a British war, we shall
have an Indian war,” wrote the commandant from Fort Wayne.[118] “From
the best information I can get, I have every reason to believe we shall
have an Indian war this spring, whether we have a British war or not.”
Harrison must himself have felt that the campaign to Tippecanoe could
only add to his dangers unless it was followed up. After April 1,
1812, illusions vanished; for Indian hostilities began all along the
border. April 6 two settlers were murdered within three miles of Fort
Dearborn, at Chicago; several murders were committed near Fort Madison,
above St. Louis, on the Mississippi; but the warning which spread wild
alarm throughout Indiana was the murder of a whole family early in
April within five miles of Vincennes, and April 14 that of a settler
within a few miles of the Ohio River. Another murder a few weeks
afterward, on the White River, completed the work of terror.
Then a general panic seized the people. The militia dared not turn out;
for while they collected at one spot, the Indians might attack their
isolated cabins. Even Vincennes was thought to be in danger, and the
stream of fugitives passed through it as rapidly as possible on their
way southward, until depopulation threatened the Territory.[119] “Most
of the citizens in this country,” reported Harrison, May 6,[120] “have
abandoned their farms, and taken refuge in such temporary forts as
they have been able to construct. Nothing can exhibit more distress
than those wretched people crowded together in places almost destitute
of every necessary accommodation.” Misled by the previous peaceful
reports, the Government had sent the Fourth Regiment to Detroit; not
even a company of militia could be procured nearer than the falls of
the Ohio; and Harrison called for help in vain.
Fortunately, Tecumthe was not yet ready for war. Six weeks after
the hostilities began he appeared at a grand council, May 16, at
Massassinway on the Wabash, between Tippecanoe and Fort Wayne. His
speech to the tribes assembled there was more temperate than ever.[121]
“Governor Harrison made war on my people in my absence,” he
said. “It was the will of God that he should do so. We hope it
will please God that the white people may let us live in peace;
we will not disturb them, neither have we done it, except when
they came to our village with the intention of destroying us. We
are happy to state to our brothers present that the unfortunate
transaction that took place between the white people and a few
of our young men at our village has been settled between us and
Governor Harrison; and I will further state, had I been at home
there would have been no bloodshed at that time.”
He added that the recent murders had been committed by Pottawatomies
not under his control, and he offered no excuse for them.
“Should the bad acts of our brothers the Pottawatomies draw on
us the ill-will of our white brothers, and they should come
again and make an unprovoked attack on us at our village, we
will die like men; but we will never strike the first blow....
We defy a living creature to say we ever advised any one,
directly or indirectly, to make war on our white brothers.
It has constantly been our misfortune to have our views
misrepresented to our white brethren. This has been done by
pretended chiefs of the Pottawatomies and others that have been
in the habit of selling land to the white people that did not
belong to them.”
This was the situation on the Wabash in May and June, 1812. Not only
was Tecumthe unwilling to strike the first blow, but he would not even
retaliate Harrison’s invasion and seizure of the disputed territory. He
waited for Congress to act, but every one knew that whenever Congress
should declare war against England, war must also be waged with the
Indians; and no one could doubt that after provoking the Indian war,
Americans ought to be prepared to wage it with effect, and without
complaint of its horrors.