of the troops, in fear and utter disorganization, hurried forward to
Fort Washington and the log huts of Cincinnati. Here they huddled in
security, cursing their ill fortune, their losses, and the Indians. An
American officer who ran into a party of thirty braves near the battle
ground a day or two after the defeat (and who was held by them until he
persuaded them that he was an Englishman from Canada), was told that
the troops under Little Turtle numbered but fifteen hundred, and that
the number of killed was fifty-six. One of these warriors dangled one
hundred and twenty-seven American scalps on a pole before his eyes,
while they had three pack horses laden with as much wine and kegs of
brandy as could be strapped to their backs. The savages were all much
emboldened by their great victory, and numerous raids upon the border
showed that they were more unfriendly to the whites than ever.
It was six weeks before the Federal authorities and General Washington
knew of this catastrophe. Denny, a young Lieutenant, carried word of
the defeat by horse to Philadelphia, where was then the seat of Federal
Government. Washington was at dinner with company when the news of the
disaster reached him, and, with an apology to his guests, left the
table to receive it. He shortly returned and resumed his chair without
any allusion to the incident. At ten o'clock the guests departed and
left the President alone with his secretary, Mr. Lear. The General
walked slowly backward and forward for a considerable length of time
in silence; then taking a seat on the sofa near the fire, he told Mr.
Lear to sit down. The latter had not noticed that the great man was
extremely agitated, when he suddenly broke out with: "It's all over!
St. Clair is defeated! routed, the officers nearly all killed, the
men by wholesale, the rout complete, too shocking to think of, and a
surprise into the bargain!" He made these remarks with great vehemence;
then pausing and rising from the sofa, he walked up and down the room
in silence, violently agitated, but saying nothing. When near the
door he stopped short, stood still for a few moments, and then again
exploded with wrath:
"Yes," he thundered. "_Here_, on this very spot, I took leave of him;
I wished him success and honor. 'You have your instructions from the
Secretary of War,' said I, 'I had a strict eye to them, and will add
but one word, _Beware of a Surprise!_ You know how the Indians fight
us. I repeat it, _Beware of a Surprise!_' He went off with that, my
last warning, thrown into his ears. And yet! To suffer that army to be
cut to pieces, hacked, butchered, tomahawked by a surprise, the very
thing I guarded him against. O God! O God!" exclaimed the agitated
President, throwing up his hands, while his very frame shook with
emotion. "He's worse than a murderer! How can he answer to his country?
The blood of the slain is upon him, the curse of widows and orphans,
the curse of heaven!"
Mr. Lear remained speechless; awed into breathless silence by the
appalling tone in which the torrent of invective was poured forth. The
paroxysm passed by, and Washington sank down upon the sofa, silent,
with bowed head, as if conscious of the ungovernable burst of passion
which had overcome him. "This must not go beyond this room," said he,
at length, in a subdued and altered tone. Then in a quiet, low voice he
added: "General St. Clair shall have justice. I looked hastily through
the dispatches; saw the whole disaster; but not all the particulars. I
will receive him with displeasure; I will hear him without prejudice;
he shall have full justice!"
Thus, in due time, St. Clair presented himself before Washington,
and, although fearful of the reception which he would receive, he
was earnestly and respectfully listened to by the President. The
overwhelming nature of his defeat had been due to his incompetence, to
his inability to teach the raw troops how to fight, Indian-fashion,
before he began his march against the followers of Little Turtle, and
to his failure to send out proper scouts.
Although deeply chagrined by the defeat, Congress did not sit idle,
and soon made preparations for another army of Indian fighters. The
chief command this time was intrusted to "Mad Anthony" Wayne, the hero
of Stony Point, and a man to whom the smell of burning powder was as
champagne. He not only loved a good fight, but he knew how to handle
men, how to gain their confidence, and how to whip raw levies into
excellent fighting material. He accepted the command only on condition
that he be given plenty of time to drill and equip his troops. The
Indians, themselves, appreciated his worth. He was called "The Black
Snake" by them, because he was supposed to possess the superior cunning
of this reptile, and to be able to creep through the forest like the
moccasin. His choice to the chief command of the army was soon to
be justified by results. Yet two years elapsed from the time of St.
Clair's dreadful defeat before Wayne attempted to press through the
wilderness into the land of the Miamis.
During these two years numerous petty forays were made by the Indians
against the border settlements. Little Turtle was in some of these, and
in November, 1792, made a violent attack upon a detachment of Kentucky
volunteers near Fort St. Clair on the frontier. A stubborn battle was
waged all day, at the end of which, Major Marshall (who commanded the
American rangers) was driven pellmell into the fort (about half a mile)
with the loss of six killed, the camp equipage taken, and one hundred
and forty pack horses secured by the Miami and Shawnee braves. The
Indians lost but two men. Again in June, 1794, this now much-dreaded
Little Turtle was in an attack upon Fort Recovery, in which he
exhibited masterful strategy, and in which a large detachment of
American rangers, under Major McMahon, was cut to pieces and stampeded.
Repeated efforts were made by the American Government to secure a
treaty of peace with the Miami warrior, but to all overtures he turned
a deaf ear. "We will hold our own country for our own people," said he.
"Indian land is for the Indian. The white man must go away."
But the white man, as usual, would not go away. Instead, he came on
with renewed courage, resources, and determination. Little Turtle
warned his warriors that they must prepare for another struggle, and
counselled them to practice evolutions and warfare. They paid little
attention to these commands. "There are more long knives under the
Great Snake than have ever come against us before," said he. "They are
led by the best general of all the palefaces. Would it not be well if
we made a treaty of peace and lived in friendly relations to these
invaders?"
"No, no," shouted his hearers. "We will fight! Lead us again into
battle, let your heart not shrink at the numbers of the long knives. We
can defeat them! We will leave them for the wolves to feast on, even as
we left the men of St. Clair's army. We will fight!" So the far-seeing
chieftain of the Miamis had to again lead his supposedly invincible
warriors against the foe.
When the bleaching skeletons of St. Clair's men had been buried in
the dense forest, Wayne erected the fort, called Fort Recovery, and
then, pressing onward through the Indian country, he built another big
fortress, called Fort Defiance, at the confluence of the Au-Glaize and
Miami rivers. He had two thousand regulars and eleven hundred Kentucky
horsemen with him, the latter being well used to border warfare, and
excellent woodsmen. Then, the soldiers all liked the Commander-in-Chief
and had full confidence in his ability, which gave them an esprit de
corps, without which no army can accomplish anything. Wayne, himself,
was at the furthermost post when the attack was made upon Fort Recovery
by the savages, under Little Turtle, and three weeks after this he
pressed forward against the Miami towns. Determined to avoid the fate
of Braddock and St. Clair, he kept his force always in open order and
ready for the fray, while scouts hovered continually on his flanks and
front. Every night breastworks of fallen trees were thrown up around
his camps so that the savages could not "rush" the soldiers. "The
paleface takes his army twice as far in a day as did St. Clair," said
the Indian scouts who watched his advance. "He has men out on every
side and it will be impossible to ambush him. We must fight and fight
hard against this Big Serpent, for he means to win." Small parties of
friendly Chickasaw or Choctaw Indians threaded the forest miles in
advance of the marching army. White Indian fighters assisted them in
watching the Miami and other hostiles, and thus, like a huge wolf of
the woods, the army of "Mad Anthony" Wayne crept silently, stealthily,
and ominously towards the villages of the unfriendly redskins.
Wayne had sent an offer of peace to the followers of Little Turtle from
Fort Defiance, and had summoned them to dispatch deputies to meet him.
The letter was carried by Christopher Miller and a Shawnee prisoner,
and in it the American general said: "Miller is a Shawnee by adoption
whom my soldiers captured six months ago, and the Shawnee warrior was
taken two days ago. I have taken several Indians prisoner and they have
been treated well. They will be put to death if Miller is harmed."
When, therefore, these envoys arrived at the camp of Little Turtle,
the Indians were afraid to kill them, but they endeavored to delay
their answer and would not send back a reply. So the now determined
"Mad Anthony" advanced against them immediately and laid waste the
cornfields which the Miamis had planted, and which lay in the route of
his troops.
Soon the ever-ready frontiersmen burst through the woodland near the
Maumee rapids, only a few miles below a British fort, called Fort
Maumee, well garrisoned and well supplied. A rough breastwork was
constructed to protect the American stores and baggage, and scouts were
sent forward to view the position of the followers of Little Turtle.
Between fifteen hundred and two thousand warriors with seventy rangers
from Detroit, composed of French, English and refugee Americans, were
in force near the walls of the English stockade. The Indians were
Shawnees, Wyandots, Ottawas, Miamis, Pottawattamies, Chippewas and
Iroquois. They lay in a place called Fallen Timbers, because the wind
had here blown down the trees of the forest and had piled them up in
dense rows. It was an excellent place for defense, and Little Turtle
had shown his sagacity in selecting it. With confidence the painted
warriors waited for the attack, as they knew that their position was a
good one, and despised the Americans, whom they had so signally routed
under St. Clair. Their line was about two miles in length and all were
well armed.
As General Wayne scanned the Indian position, he quickly made up his
mind how to attack it. "The dragoons will advance upon the right
flank," he directed. "The regular cavalry will move up on the left
flank near the river. The infantry will form in two lines in the
centre, and will first fire, and then charge the red vermin with the
bayonet. The mounted volunteers will move over far to the left and will
turn the right flank of the savages. As soon as all are ready, attack
and wipe out St. Clair's ignominious rout!" The subordinate officers
received his orders with enthusiasm and when all were prepared, in
extended order, the whole line moved out for the fray.
In the centre of Wayne's troops was a small force of mounted
volunteers--Kentucky militiamen--and they were well in advance of the
two lines of infantrymen. With a wild yell, a mass of savages jumped
up from the protection of the fallen trees, rushed upon the oncoming
riflemen, and soon drove them back into the advancing infantry. But
this success was not lasting. A volley of well-aimed bullets checked
their howling advance, and, with a dogged persistence, the rangers
crept on upon the savages, reserving their fire by strict orders from
their beloved "Mad Anthony." As they came forward, the Indians leaped
up to deliver their fire, and, when they did so, the Americans poured
a galling volley into their ranks, then, fixing bayonets, rushed
precipitously upon them before they had time to load. As they charged,
the cavalrymen, with hoarse cheers, galloped their rawboned steeds
into the left flank of the Indian line. Their horses jumped across the
fallen logs, and in an instant they were in the midst of the naked
braves, slashing to the right and left with their keen swords, and
cutting down all who stood in their way.
"Hah!" exclaimed General Wayne, rubbing his hands. "They give! They
fall back! They run! The day is ours!" As he spoke a galloping aide
came panting to his side. "Captain Campbell is killed," said he, "and
Captain Van Rensselaer is down, but Lieutenant Covington is leading the
dragoons, and they are driving the redskins before them like a crowd of
sheep."
He spoke only too truthfully, for unable to stand up against the
slashing charge, the red men broke and fled before the enthusiastic
troopers of "Mad Anthony" Wayne. When the painted and half-naked braves
attempted to make a stand, they were knocked down with ease. The second
line of infantrymen did not cross the fallen timber in time to get a
shot at the disappearing warriors of Little Turtle. On the left flank,
the horse-riflemen had nothing to charge when they galloped into the
thickets, for the unvaliant red warriors had vanished. About a hundred
braves lay dead and dying upon the field. Mixed in among them were a
few of the white renegades who had joined them. The action had lasted
but forty minutes, and the defeats of Harmar and St. Clair had been
forever vindicated.
For two miles the now excited Americans rushed after the vaunted
warriors of the frontier, who had adopted the ancient motto: "He who
fights and runs away will live to fight another day." The fugitives
dashed up to the walls of the British fort and implored admittance,
but the garrison greeted their request with curses, and bolted the
doorway in their faces. So they were forced to rush off into the dense
woodland. "Burn everything up to the walls of the fort," commanded
General Wayne. "Cut down the crops of the Indians, destroy their
villages, level the houses of the British agents and traders to the
sod. I want to give this Little Turtle and his men a lesson which
they will never cease to remember!" The British commander in Fort
Maumee vigorously protested against this, but Wayne summoned him to
abandon his stockades, which he, of course, refused, and, not daring to
interfere, saw the homes of his Indian allies soon blazing and covered
with a pall of thick, black vapor. The work of destruction was quickly
over, and the victorious American army was on its way back to Fort
Defiance.
The troops went into winter quarters at Greenville, while the Indians
were severely disheartened by their defeat. Their anger was intense
against the British, for these people had goaded them on to war, had
given them material aid, and, as soon as the fortune of battle went
against them, had abandoned them to their fate. Starvation and hunger
were rampant, as their homes, crop and stores of provisions had been
completely destroyed. Their cattle, and even their dogs, had died,
and, as the British in Fort Maumee would give them no food, they
sent envoy after envoy to the Americans to exchange prisoners, and to
promise that, in the spring, they would make peace. All the leaders
now recognized that it was time to make terms with Wayne, and many
now appreciated that they should have listened to the counsel of
Little Turtle, before the exasperating defeat at the Fallen Timbers.
On February 11th, the Shawnees, Delawares and Miamis entered into
a preliminary treaty with General Wayne, and in the summer of 1795
made a definite peace at Greenville. "Elder Brother," said a Chippewa
chief, "you asked me who were the true owners of the land now ceded to
the United States. In answer I tell you, if any nations should call
themselves the owners of it they would be guilty of falsehood; our
claim to it is equal; our Elder Brother had conquered it."
Thus another step westward was made by the whites, and another war
had added thousands of square miles of territory to the people of the
United States. The survival of the most fit was evident, for, had the
red men possessed the same mental characteristics which the whites
possessed, they would have beaten not two armies, but three armies.
This small difference of ability had made them the submitting nation,
while the powerful Anglo-Saxons now pushed their civilization into the
unbroken forest, soon killed off all the game, built smoky cities,
railroads, and steamboats; cut down all the timber, grew corn, oats and
potatoes, and utilized the resources of the soil to its utmost capacity.
Little Turtle settled on Eel River about twenty miles from Fort Wayne,
where the American troops built him a comfortable house. He made
frequent visits to Philadelphia and Washington, and was made much of
by the agents, who appreciated his worth. But this destroyed, for a
time, at least, his influence among the people of his own color, who
suspected his honesty and envied his good fortune. He, therefore,
often opposed the desires of the United States Government in order to
regain his popularity with his red brethren. No prisoner had ever been
tortured by his warriors, as he opposed this brutal practice. Nor would
he allow captives to be burned at the stake. With energy he devoted
himself to the spread of temperance among the members of his own tribe,
for he saw the awful results which bad whiskey had upon the once
warlike braves. "These white traders strip the poor Indians of skins,
gun, blanket, everything, while his squaw and the children dependent
upon him be starving in his wigwam," said he. "My people barter away
their best treasures for the white man's miserable firewater."
Greatly respected and deeply interested in the problems among his own
people, Little Turtle spent his declining years. When asked one day why
he did not live in Philadelphia instead of in his cabin on the Wabash,
he replied: "I admit that you whites live better than do we red men,
but I could not live with you because I am as a deaf and dumb man.
I cannot talk your language. When I walk through the city streets I
see every person in his shop employed at something. One makes shoes,
another makes hats, a third sells cloth, and everyone lives by his
labor. I say to myself, 'Which of these things can you do?' Not one. I
can make a bow or an arrow, catch fish, kill game, and go to war, but
none of these are any good here. To learn what is done in Philadelphia
would require a long time. Old age is coming on me; I should be a piece
of furniture among the whites, useless to them, useless to myself. I
must return to my own country."
What he said of old age coming on was only too true. Not long
afterwards he came to his death on the turf of the open camp, and with
the composure which characterizes his race. He was buried at Fort Wayne
with all the honors of war, and, it is said, was about seventy years of
age at the time of his departure to the Happy Hunting Grounds: those
fields of elysian bliss of which the old Indian poets have told in song
and story. Courageous, kind, far-seeing, eloquent, well-balanced, the
memory of Little Turtle yet stirs the hearts of his few descendants,
who look back upon his career with satisfaction and high regard.
[Illustration:
Courtesy of the Bureau of American Ethnology, Smithsonian Institute.
TECUMSEH.]
TECUMSEH, "THE SHOOTING STAR":
CELEBRATED SHAWANOE DIPLOMAT, ORATOR AND SOLDIER
When Little Turtle and his army were battling with "Mad Anthony" Wayne
at Fallen Timbers, one warrior--a Shawanoe--was present, who was
subsequently to play an important part in the struggle between the
whites and redskins for the possession of America. This was Tecumseh,
or "The Shooting Star," a Shawanoe, or Shawnee warrior who was born
on the Mad River in Ohio, in 1768, and whose father was killed in the
fierce battle of the Great Kanawha. His twin brother, Elsk-wata-wa, the
Prophet, was to become a man of note among the Western Indians, just as
he was, himself, to obtain fame and notoriety.
The people of the tribe to which this celebrated man belonged were
noted for "much talk" as well as for hard fighting, and Tecumseh was
never at a loss for words. His appearance was always noble, his form
symmetrical, his carriage erect and lofty, his motions commanding, and,
under the excitement of his favorite theme of driving the American
invaders from the lands of the Indians, he became a new being. When
speaking upon the subject, his countenance would light up with fiery
and haughty pride; his frame would swell with emotion; every posture
which he assumed, and every gesture, would be eloquent with meaning. At
the same time, his language would flow with glowing eloquence, as it
spoke the passionate thoughts of his very soul. His manner, too, was
never coarse, nor was there any show of cruelty in his disposition. He
was a man of mark among the many Indians who opposed the advance of the
whites into the country watered by the slow-moving Ohio.
When the treaty of Greenville was signed, this eminent redskin was
about twenty-five years of age, and, secluding himself in the forests
of his own country, he there lived the existence of a hunter and
trapper. There is no evidence that he was in the numerous Indian
forays which took place upon the frontier at this time. In fact,
various stories have come down to us that exhibit his friendliness to
the whites whom he met in the forest. A band of roving Shawnees often
hunted with him, and, because of his ability to sway their spirits with
his words and because of his prowess in hunting, he was elected chief
of this small body of woodland rovers.
One day a number of Shawnees wagered Tecumseh that each of them could
kill as many deer in three days of hunting as he, himself, could. "I
accept your challenge," said the great chief, "and I will return here
within the period with twice as many deer as any of you." So making the
proper preparations that evening, he departed next morn at daybreak
into the forest. Three days elapsed before any of the huntsmen came
back, but at dusk of the third day since their departure all returned
with their shoulders burdened with the game which had fallen by their
skill. "Ugh! Ugh!" said one, "I have killed twelve. I have good my
boast!" "And I thirteen," cried another. But, as he spoke, Tecumseh
came into the light of the fire, staggering beneath a load of peltries.
"Here are thirty deerskins," said he, depositing his bundle before the
other hunters. "The carcasses are in the woods and I will go to get the
haunches tomorrow."
Shortly after this the Shawnee chief entered the cabin of a white
pioneer upon the frontier. This borderer was friendly to him and would
often hunt with him in the dark recesses of the forest. So Tecumseh
stalked in without introduction, and, with much gravity, seated himself
in a rough hewn chair. A fat Kentuckian was sitting in the cabin. When
he saw the noted warrior, he began to shake and tremble with fear, a
fact which seemed to amuse the celebrated Indian. With a meaning glance
at the owner of the cabin, Tecumseh remarked: "I have just returned
from a night hunt against the palefaces. Thirty scalps hang in my
wigwam, which I have secured in this expedition. But I am looking for
just one more." Here he laid his hand upon his tomahawk. "And I must
have this scalp before the setting of the sun," he thundered.
The Kentuckian was now ghastly pale and was trembling with fear. This
seemed to please the famous Shawnee, and, walking over to him, he
placed his hand upon his broad and shaking shoulder. "You are scared,
are you not?" said he. "But there is no reason for it. Ugh! Ugh! I am
just playing with you. I would not hurt a hair upon your head." As he
spoke, his host burst into a hearty laugh, which showed the frightened
borderer that an Indian could joke as well as a white man.