On the third of November the army made its last day’s march—little dreaming that it was the last or that just ahead lay the bloodiest battlefield in American pioneer history. The Thomas Irwin manuscript, previously quoted,[118] gives us a glimpse of the day that is of singularly pathetic interest. “In the afternoon of the 3d Something Broke which Caused a general halt Nearly one hour the Day was Cold us waggoners in front had a very handy way of making fire we made up a Large fire Several of the officers Collected around to warm themselves Genl St Clair was Brought and took a Seat he not Being able to walk they Discoursed on Different Subjects one was where they thought we were the general oppinion was that we had passed over the Dividing ridge Between the Miamie waters and was then on the waters of St. Marys Col Serjant Came up at the time Stated the advance gard had Chased 4 or 5 Indians from a fire out of a thicket & got part of a venison at it he Likewise stated there had Been more Indians Seen that Day than any Day previous The General observed that he Did not think the Indians was watching the motions of the army with a view to attack them other than Steal horses or Catch a person if they had a Chance We all Coincided [?] in that oppinion.” Poor St. Clair! Was ever a general more terribly mistaken? Just beyond lay Little Turtle, now closing swiftly in on the doomed army.
“The army moved about two miles,” continues Irwin, “from there Halted to Encamp at a good place But Scarce of Water an Express Came up from the advance gard give information that they had arrived at a fine running Stream of water and a good place to Encamp the army moved to Sd Creek got there a Little after Sunset. it was Between 8 & 9 oclock Before the army got fixed to Rest.” Then follows the ominous sentence: “this was on the 3d of November 1791.”
Happy it is that the bloody promontory to which St. Clair’s army hobbled late on that cold November night can forever bear the cheerful name which another and more successful campaigner—whose soldiers were not always half-famished—gave it. And still no thoughtful student can look upon the slow-moving Little Wabash from the present site of Fort Recovery, Ohio, without remembering that here Camp Destruction was pitched before ever Fort Recovery was erected. A fine high plateau or promontory thrusts itself out into the lower flats through which the river curves. At its extreme point the river approaches on the left and in front. On the right are extensive fields where the sunlight plays so tenderly that it is difficult to picture the rank swamp which lay there a century ago. Beyond the river, level flats extend half a mile and more to the foothills beyond.
Major Denny had accompanied the advance guard and quartermaster to this spot, and though “it was farther than could have been wished,” word was sent back to the army advising that the march be continued to that point. It being “later than usual when the army reached the ground this evening,” records Denny, “and the men much fatigued prevented the General from having some works of defense immediately erected.” The army camped in a hollow square on the summit of the promontory; General Butler commanded the right and front and his troops under Majors Butler, Clarke, and Patterson lay in two lines along the edge of the high ground near the Wabash. The left was composed of the battalions under Bedinger and Gaither, in the first line, and Lieutenant-colonel Darke’s troops in the second. “The army was Encamped in a hollow Square,” says Irwin, “allong the Bank of sd Creek perhaps 50 yards Between the Lines so that the rear Could go to the Creek for water.” The militia was sent forward across the Wabash and encamped about one-fourth of a mile in the bottoms. The tired men fell to work gathering wood, and soon two rows of fires were brightly blazing in the narrow avenue between the troops of Butler on the left and Darke on the right. The rain had turned to snow. Many of the exhausted men sank instantly to sleep.
As if half conscious of the doom hanging over the army, certain of the officers were given to pondering on the number of Indians seen that day. “Fresh signs,” writes Denny, “... appeared today in several places; parties of riflemen detached after them, but without success.” The Irwin MS. reads: “The advance gard Seen they Supposed about 30 Indians in the Bottom on the other Side of sd Creek [Wabash] when they arrived at it in the Evening and had Seen Considerable Sign that Day.” The premonition of disaster intensified as the camp became quiet and the blazing fires were brightly reflected in the light snow. Among certain officers the premonition took shape, and it was determined to send out a party to reconnoiter. Captain Butler at first resolved to lead the party, but soon thought it improper to leave the camp. Accordingly, Colonel Gibson went to Captain Slough of the first battalion of levies carrying a raccoon in his hand; finding Slough, he invited him to his tent to see “how to dress a racoon Indian fashion.”[119] Captain Butler joined them, and the three went to General Butler’s tent where wine was served. Slough agreed to go out with a party of volunteers, nominally to catch “some of the rascals who might attempt to steal horses.” It is plain, whatever the officers may have given as a reason for the scouting expedition, that Slough was sent to feel of the woods—to guard against surprise. His line of men paraded in the firelight before Butler’s tent before stealing out beyond the lines. Passing Colonel Oldham’s tent, Slough stopped and informed that officer of the detachment and its mission. Colonel Oldham “was lying down with his clothes on” and “requested me not to go, as he was sure my party would be cut off, for, says he, I expect the army will be attacked in the morning; I replied, that as I had received my orders I must go.”
Slough led his party through the militia camp and onward about a mile on the Indian trail. Here they were divided, each party hiding on opposite sides of the path. Soon a party of Indians passed each hiding company; one company opened fire. It was not long before the men realized that something extraordinary was on hand. A larger body of Indians soon came near Slough’s band on the left of the trace, paused, and coughed as if to attract another volley, and then passed on. The scouting party came together on the trail and agreed that an Indian army was advancing; a hurried march to camp followed. On the way “every fifteen or twenty yards we heard something moving in the woods on both sides of the path, but could not see what it was,” wrote Slough. It was a thrilling moment when these men heard Little Turtle’s quiet lines worming their way through the underbrush—an army making so strange a noise in the night that even frontiersmen could not recognize it. Yet an unrecognized sound brought utmost alarm; “we pushed on,” said Slough, “and gained the militia camp as soon as possible.”
Slough’s first thought was to send word immediately to St. Clair. He hurried to Colonel Oldham’s tent. “I was just going to dress myself,” says Oldham, “and go and inform the commander in chief about it; I will thank you [Slough] to inform the general that I think the army will be attacked in the morning.”
Slough hastened to General Butler’s tent, but, seeing no one but the sentry, passed on to Colonel Gibson’s tent. Here he aroused Gibson and Doctor M’Croskey, and repeated his alarming story. He asked Gibson to go with him to General Butler. Colonel Gibson was not dressed, and urged Slough to go alone and arouse Butler. He obeyed, and as he returned to General Butler’s tent the latter walked out of it and went to the fire. Calling Butler aside, that the sentry should not overhear the news, “I told him what colonel Oldham had said, and that, if he thought proper, I would go and make the 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. I went from him and lay down....” It was five days before General St. Clair heard of Slough’s scouting episode of the night of November 3.[120]
All that Slough and Oldham suspected was true and more. All night long the Indians crept around the army, ready for an attack at sunrise. The army began stirring at an early hour; some there were, it is sure, who anxiously awaited the dawn. The troops paraded under arms, as usual, before sunrise. Ranks had just been broken when a scattering fire was heard in the militia camp, and soon the Indian yell. The militia stood a moment and then fell back to the river, crossed it, and were upon Major Butler’s and Clark’s battalions, throwing the latter into a confusion that was never remedied despite the energy of those officers. The Indians were upon the heels of the militia, but were repulsed by the fire of the first line. With well-timed accuracy the Indians charged the opposite side of the square, where, too, they were at first repulsed. The American army was now practically surrounded—the savages lying hidden in the brush, forests, and high grass on the low ground which surrounded the promontory on three sides and in front. The artillery was placed at the center of the two sides of the square and here the battle raged most fiercely. For some time, it would seem, the honors of the conflict were evenly divided. But from the position of the two armies it can readily be seen that the American fire was not so effective as that of the savages whose firmness and audacity was unparalleled. From their concealed position it required little marksmanship to pick men off rapidly on the high ground just beyond and hidden only by a low-lying cloud of smoke from their own guns. The officers, hurrying back and forth, offered conspicuous targets. From St. Clair (who had to be assisted to mount his horse) down, the officers were brave and efficient. As St. Clair passed down one line, Butler passed up the other. They never met, though St. Clair frequently asked for Butler as the battle wore away.
At last it was agreed that things were going badly and that a bayonet charge, only, would dislodge the enemy, who were rapidly cutting down the efficient strength of the army—making particular havoc among the officers. Colonel Darke was thereupon ordered to turn the left flank of the enemy, which he accomplished with firmness and success—driving the savages several hundred yards. Yet soon they swarmed back, not being held where they were, and, in turn drove the troops backward. About the cannon, which the Indians were taught to dread, the battle ebbed and flowed bloodily. As fast as the gunners were shot down others took their places. Now and again the red line swept up to the guns and the piles of slain were scalped, amid the smoke, in the very face of the army. On the left flank, too, the savages were beginning to overpower and gain the summit of the promontory and enter the lines. They were charged fiercely but after each charge there was a sudden dearth of officers, and the lines returned very thin. The army was now attacked from every side, though not until late in the long three hours of conflict did the Indians take the initiative. Their settled plan was to get the troops in range, lie low, make no noise save with their guns, retire when assaulted, but follow back eagerly. Such tactics were all that were necessary. As in Braddock’s battle beside the Monongahela, so here, the white army on higher ground in plain sight could not do such fatal execution, by any means, as the Indian army strewn among the standing and fallen trees, the brush and rank grasses of the lower ground, and on the sloping sides of the promontory.