ST. CLAIR'S DEFEAT
_--The first great disaster to the Federal armies brought about by the
Miamis._
The objectives of General St. Clair have already been mentioned. He was
now to take the village of Kekionga, establish a garrison there, and
erect a chain of posts stretching from the new establishment to Fort
Washington at Cincinnati.
The army with which St. Clair was expected to accomplish this task
consisted of "two small regiments of regulars, two of six months'
levies, a number of Kentucky militia, a few cavalry, and a couple of
small batteries of light guns." In all there were fourteen hundred men
and eighty-six officers. The Kentucky militia were under the command of
Colonel Oldham, a brave officer who afterwards fell on the field of
battle. The levies were "men collected from the streets and prisons of
the city, hurried out into the enemy's country and with the officers
commanding them, totally unacquainted with the business in which they
were engaged." Their pay was miserable. Each private received two
dollars and ten cents a month; the sergeants three dollars and sixty
cents. Being recruited at various times and places, their terms of
enlistment were expiring daily, and they wanted to go home. As they were
reckless and intemperate, St. Clair, in order to preserve some
semblance of order, removed them to Ludlow's Station, about six miles
from Fort Washington. Major Ebenezer Denny, aide to St. Clair, says that
they were "far inferior to the militia." On the morning of October
twenty-ninth, when St. Clair's army was penetrating the heart of the
Indian country, this disorderly element was keeping up a constant firing
about the camp, contrary to the positive orders of the day.
In the quartermaster's department everything "went on slowly and badly;
tents, pack-saddles, kettles, knapsacks and cartridge boxes, were all
'deficient in quantity and quality.'" The army contractors were
positively dishonest, and the war department seems to have been
fearfully negligent in all of its work. Judge Jacob Burnet records that
"it is a well authenticated fact, that boxes and packages were so
carelessly put up and marked, that during the action a box was opened
marked 'flints,' which was found to contain gun-locks. Several mistakes
of the same character were discovered, as for example, a keg of powder
marked 'for the infantry,' was found to contain damaged cannon-powder,
that could scarcely be ignited."
St. Clair was sick, and so afflicted with the gout that he was unable to
mount or dismount a horse without assistance. On the night before his
great disaster he was confined to his camp bed and unable to get up.
Born in Edinburgh, in Scotland, in 1734, he was now fifty-seven years of
age, and too old and infirm to take command of an army in a hazardous
Indian campaign. Besides, he had had no experience in such a contest. He
was, however, a man of sterling courage. He had been a lieutenant in
the army of General Wolfe at Quebec. He espoused the cause of the
colonies, and had fought with distinguished valor at Trenton and
Princeton. Under him, and second in command, was General Richard Butler,
of Pennsylvania. Butler was a man of jealous and irritable temperament
and had had a bitter controversy with Harmar over the campaign of the
year before. A coolness now sprang up between him and St. Clair, which,
as we shall see, led to lamentable results. The mind of General Harmar
was filled with gloomy forebodings. Taking into consideration the
material of which the army was composed and the total inefficiency of
the quartermaster and the contractors, "it was a matter of astonishment
to him," says Denny, "that the commanding general * * * * should think
of hazarding, with such people, and under such circumstances, his
reputation and life, and the lives of so many others, knowing, too, as
both did, the enemy with whom he was going to contend; an enemy brought
up from infancy to war, and perhaps superior to an equal number of the
best men that could be taken against them."
Owing to delays the army which was to rendezvous at Fort Washington not
later than July tenth, did not actually start into the wilderness until
the fourth day of October. On the seventeenth of September, a halt had
been made on the Great Miami, and Fort Hamilton erected. Twenty miles
north of this place, a light fortification known as Fort St. Clair, was
built. About six miles south of the present town of Greenville, in Darke
county, Ohio, the army threw up the works of Fort Jefferson, and then
moved forward at a snail's pace into the forests and prairies. Every
foot of the road through the heavy timber had to be cleared. Rains were
constant. The troops were on half rations and terribly impatient.
Parties of militia were daily deserting. On the twenty-seventh of
October, Major Denny entered in his diary the following: "The season so
far advanced it will be impracticable to continue the campaign. Forage
entirely destroyed; horses failing and cannot be kept up; provisions
from hand to mouth." The Little Turtle was again on the watch. A hostile
army was entering the sacred domain of the Miamis. Indian scouts and
runners were constantly lurking on the skirts of the army. In after
years, a woman heard the great chief say of a fallen enemy: "We met; I
cut him down; and his shade as it passes on the wind, shuns my walk!"
This terrible foe, like a tiger in his jungle, was waiting for the
moment to spring on his prey. It soon came. On the thirty-first of
October, a party of militia, sixty or seventy in number, deserted the
camp and swore that they would stop the packhorses in the rear, laden
with provisions. St. Clair sent back after them the First United States
Regiment under Major John Hamtramck, the most experienced Indian
fighters in the whole army. These were the men the Indians most feared.
The savage chieftain determined to strike.
Later than usual, and on the evening of November third, the tired and
hungry army of St. Clair emerged on the headwaters of the river Wabash.
"There was a small, elevated meadow on the east banks of this stream,
while a dense forest spread gloomily all around." A light snow was on
the ground, and the pools of water were covered with a thin coat of
ice. The Wabash at this point was twenty yards wide. The militia were
thrown across the stream about three hundred yards in advance of the
main army. As they took their positions, a few Indians were routed out
of the underbrush and fled precipitately into the woods. The main body
of troops was cooped up in close quarters. The right wing was composed
of Butler's, Clark's, and Patterson's battalions, commanded by Major
General Butler. These battalions formed the first line of the
encampment. The left wing, consisting of Bedinger's and Gaither's
battalions, and the Second United States Regiment of regulars, under the
command of Colonel William Darke, formed the second line. An interval
between these lines of about seventy yards "was all the ground would
allow." St. Clair thought that his right flank was fairly well secured
by a creek, "while a steep bank, and Faulkner's corps, some of the
cavalry, and their picquets, covered the left flank." No works whatever
were thrown up to protect the army, but the great camp-fires of the
soldiers illumined the whole host. In the circumjacent forests, and a
little in advance of the position occupied by the militia, was a camp of
over eleven hundred Indians, composed of Miamis, Shawnees, Potawatomi,
Delawares, Ottawas, Chippewas and Wyandots, with a number of British
adherents from Detroit, waiting for the first hours of dawn of the
coming day.
What strange sense of security lulled the vigilance of the American
leaders will never be known. During the night the frequent firing of the
sentinels disturbed the whole camp, and the outlying guards reported
bands of savages skulking about in considerable numbers. "About ten
o'clock at night," says Major Denny, "General Butler, who commanded the
right wing, was desired to send out an intelligent officer and party to
make discoveries. Captain Slough, with two subalterns and thirty men, I
saw parade at General Butler's tent for this purpose, and heard the
general give Captain Slough very particular verbal orders how to
proceed." Slough afterwards testified before a committee of Congress,
that he was sent out during the night with a party of observation and
that he saw a force of Indians approaching the American camp, with a
view to reconnoitering it, whereupon, he hastened to the camp of the
militia and reported to their leader. "I halted my party," says Slough,
"near Colonel Oldham's tent, went into it, and awakened him, I believe
about twelve o'clock. I told him that I was of his opinion, that the
camp would be attacked in the morning, for I had seen a number of
Indians. I proceeded to the camp, and as soon as I had passed the camp
guards, dismissed the party, and went to General Butler's tent. As I
approached it, I saw him come out of the tent, and stand by the fire. I
went up to him, and took him some distance from it, not thinking it
prudent that the sentry should hear what I had seen. I also told him
what Colonel Oldham had said, and that, if he thought proper, I would go
and make a report to General St. Clair. He stood some time, and after a
pause, thanked me for my attention and vigilance, and said, as I must be
fatigued, I had better go and lie down." Fatuous and unexplainable
conduct in the face of certain peril!
At a half hour before sunrise on the morning of November fourth, 1791,
the army of St. Clair is at parade. The soldiers have just been
dismissed and are returning to their tents, when the woods in front ring
with the shots and yells of a thousand savages. On the instant the
bugles sound the call to arms, but the front battalions are scarce in
line, when the remnants of the militia, torn and bleeding, burst through
them. The levies, firing, check the first mad rush of the oncoming
warriors, but the Indians scattering to right and left, encircle the
camp. The guards are down, the army in confusion, and under the pall of
smoke which now settles down to within three feet of the ground, the
murderous red men approach the lines. The yelling has now ceased, but
from behind every tree, log and stump a pitiless fire rains on the
troops. The officers shout, the men discharge their guns, but they see
nothing. The artillery thunders with tremendous sound, but soldiers are
falling on every hand.
St. Clair is valorous, but what can valor do in a tempest of death? He
tries to mount a horse, but the horse is shot through the head, and the
lad that holds him is wounded in the arm. He tries to mount a second,
but horse and servant are both mowed down. The third horse is brought,
but fearing disaster, St. Clair hobbles to the front lines to cheer his
troops. He wears no uniform, and out from under his great three cornered
hat flows his long gray hair. A ball grazes the side of his face and
cuts away a lock. The weight of the savage fire is now falling on the
artillery in the center. The gunners sink beneath their guns. The
herculean lieutenant-colonel, William Darke, who has fought at
Yorktown, is ordered to charge on the right front. The troops rush
forward with levelled bayonets, the savages are routed from their
coverts, are visible a moment, and then disappear. As the levies advance
the savages close in behind. Darke is surrounded on all sides--his three
hundred men become thirty, and he falls back.
In the absence of Darke, the left flank of the army is now pressed in.
Guns and artillery fall into the hands of the foe. Every artillery-man
is killed but one, and he is badly wounded. The gunners are being
scalped. St. Clair leads another charge on foot. The savages skip before
the steel, disappear in the smoke and underbrush, and fire on the
soldiers from every point as they make retreat. Charge after charge is
made, but all are fruitless. The regulars and the levies, out in the
open, unable to see the enemy, die by scores. The carnage is fearful.
The troops have fought for about three hours, and the remnants of the
army are huddled in the center. The officers are about all down, for the
savages have made it a point to single them out. Butler is fatally
wounded and leaning against a tree. The men are stupefied and give up in
despair. Shouts of command are given, officers' pistols are drawn, but
the men refuse to fight. The wounded are lying in heaps, and the
crossfire of the Indians, now centering from all points, threatens utter
extermination. There is only one hope left--a desperate dash through the
savage lines, and escape. "It was past nine o'clock," says Denny, "when
repeated orders were given to charge towards the road. * * * Both
officers and men seemed confounded, incapable of doing anything; they
could not move until it was told that a retreat was intended. A few
officers put themselves in front, the men followed, the enemy gave way,
and perhaps not being aware of the design, we were for a few moments
left undisturbed."
[Illustration: Another view of the Wabash, a land of great beauty.
Photo by Heaton]
In after years it was learned that Captain William Wells was in charge
of a party of about three hundred young Indian warriors, who were posted
behind logs and trees, immediately under the knoll on which the
artillery stood. They picked off the artillery-men one by one, until a
huge pile of corpses lay about the gun wheels. As the Indians swarmed
into the camp in the intervals between the futile charges of the
regulars, the artillery-men were all scalped. Wells belonged to a
Kentucky family and had been captured by the Miamis when a child twelve
years of age, and is said to have become the adopted son of Little
Turtle. He had acquired the tongue and habits of a savage, but after the
battle with St. Clair he seems to have been greatly troubled with the
thought that he might have slain some of his own kindred. Afterwards
when Wayne's army advanced into the Indian country he bade the Little
Turtle goodbye, and became one of Wayne's most trusty and valuable
scouts. After Fallen Timbers he returned to his Indian wife and
children, but remained the friend of the United States. In General
Harrison's day he was United States Indian agent at Fort Wayne, but was
killed in the massacre of Fort Dearborn, in 1812, by the faithless bands
of Potawatomi under the chief Blackbird.
The retreat of St. Clair's army was very precipitate. "It was, in fact,
a flight." The fugitives threw away their arms and accouterments and
made a mad race for the walls of Fort Jefferson, twenty-nine miles away,
arriving there a little after sunset. The loss of the Americans was
appalling, and recalled the disaster of Braddock's defeat on the
Monongahela. Out of an army of twelve hundred men and eighty-six
officers, Braddock lost seven hundred and twenty-seven in killed and
wounded. St. Clair's army consisted of fourteen hundred men and
eighty-six officers, of whom eight hundred and ninety men and sixteen
officers were killed or wounded. The slaughter of officers of the line
had been so disastrous, that in the spring of the next year, Anthony
Wayne, the new commander, found it extremely difficult to train the new
troops. He had first to impart the military tactics to a group of young
officers. "Several pieces of artillery, and all the baggage, ammunition,
and provisions, were left on the field of battle, and fell into the
hands of the Indians. The stores and other public property, lost in the
action, were valued at thirty-two thousand eight hundred and ten dollars
and seventy-five cents." The loss of the Indians was trifling. As near
as may be ascertained, they had about thirty killed and fifty wounded.
The field of action was visited by General James Wilkinson about the
first of February, 1792. An officer who was present relates the
following: "The scene was truly melancholy. In my opinion those
unfortunate men who fell into the enemy's hands, with life, were used
with the greatest torture--having their limbs torn off; and the women
had been treated with the most indecent cruelty, having stakes, as thick
as a person's arm, drove through their bodies." In December, 1793,
General Wayne, having arrived at Greenville, Ohio, sent forward a
detachment to the spot of the great defeat. "They arrived on the ground,
on Christmas day, and pitched their tents at night; they had to scrape
the bones together and carry them out to make their beds. The next day
holes were dug, and the bones remaining above ground were buried; six
hundred skulls being found among them."
The whole nation was terribly shocked by the news of the defeat. The
bordermen of Pennsylvania, Virginia and Kentucky were immediately
exposed to a renewal of Indian attacks and the government seemed
powerless. St. Clair came in for severe censure, more severe in fact,
than was justly warranted. The sending back of Hamtramck's regiment, the
unfortified condition of the camp on the night before the attack, the
posting of the militia in advance of the main army, and the utter lack
of scouts and runners, were all bad enough, but on the other hand, the
delay and confusion in the quartermaster's department, the dereliction
of the contractors, and the want of discipline among the militia and the
levies, were all matters of extenuation. To win was hopeless. To
unjustly denounce an old and worthy veteran of the Revolution, who acted
with so much manly courage on the field of battle, ill becomes an
American. A committee of Congress completely exonerated him.
The administration itself and the department of war, were sharply
criticized. But the representatives of the people themselves were more
to blame than the government. Thousands had deprecated the attempt of
the President to protect the frontiers and to sustain the arm of the
western generals. The mean and niggardly support accorded the
commander-in-chief, was largely instrumental in bringing about the
lamentable result. The jealous and parsimonious states of the east, had
regarded only their own selfish ends, to the utter exclusion of the
national interest.