While the yells of the Indians were intermingled with the hoarse shouts of the rangers, the rattle of deer's hoofs was heard above the din, and, at this savage signal, the redskins retreated beyond rifle range. But they were not yet defeated, and soon formed for another onslaught, while the white soldiers re-arranged their own line, fixed bayonets, and reloaded, in anticipation of a second charge. "Give the redskins a dose of lead, first," commanded Harrison, "then at 'em with the bayonets. But keep in touch all along the line, and do not allow yourselves to get split up into small parties, which the red devils can surround!" His counsel was well heeded.
In a few moments the followers of the Prophet again rushed from the underbrush upon the extended line of the American rangers, and, although the savages had now departed from their usual custom of fighting behind cover, this was to do them no good. As they ran desperately against the now well-prepared men in buckskin, they were met with a murderous fire, for day was well advanced, and the white soldiers could see their gun sights. The roar from the rifles was continuous. The redskins fell to earth upon every side. Shrieks and groans of the wounded and dying men were intermingled with the coarse shouts of battle, as the forms of Indians and whites struggled and fell, locked in a deadly embrace beneath a cloud of drifting smoke, which hung above the battle ground.
But now the moment came for an advance of the buckskin-clad rangers. As at Waterloo when Wellington cried: "Up guards and at 'em!" Harrison called: "On, men! Give them the bayonet, and no quarter!" With a wild yell of enthusiasm the rangers started forward and ploughed into the masses of the redskins with a will. With sharp bayonet thrusts they cut down all who opposed them, for they struck out savagely, and hacked away like Cromwell's Ironsides. Nothing could stand up against such an onrush. The Indians wilted. They gave in. They turned. They ran. And the first to skip headlong across the yellow prairie was the far-famed Prophet, whose courage had oozed from him like water through a sieve. His prophecies had all gone wrong; his incantations had been worthless, and his influence among the red men had forever parted.
Harrison now pressed on to Prophet's Town, and found it absolutely deserted, for the Indians had decided to abandon everything, and had left behind their corn, chickens, hogs, household furniture, and firearms. As the rangers swept onward, thirty-seven of their own numbers lay dead upon the famous field of Tippecanoe, while one hundred and thirty-seven wounded limped to the carts in their rear. The redskin loss was never known, but it must have been much larger than that of the whites. Flushed with victory, the Americans soon destroyed the Indian village, and then returned to Vincennes, well satisfied with such a complete victory. Harrison, himself, had won the admiration of his countrymen; so much so, that thirty years later he was elected President of the United States, mainly because of the fame which he won in this frontier battle. The campaign slogan of "Tippecanoe (as Harrison was called) and Tyler, too," swept over the country like fire, and roused an enthusiasm for the brave leader which has seldom been equalled. It resulted in his election to the position of Chief Executive by a magnificent majority.
Tecumseh had been away at the time of the battle, and, when he heard of the defeat of his own people, he was furious with rage. Hastening to Prophet's Town, he found only ashes and desolation where once had been stores, ammunition, arms, and houses. Filled with mortification and anger, he searched for his brother, the Prophet, and when he found him, shook him by the hair, so great was his resentment; for he had told the Indians to fight no battle during his absence. The Prophet was ever afterwards an object of contempt, and, as he would walk through the Indian village, the boys would yell and jeer at him, while the braves would turn their backs when they saw him coming.
Tecumseh wrote to General Harrison that he now desired to go to Washington and visit the Great Father, a request that was granted him. But he was told that he must go alone, and without a retinue; an answer which wounded the spirit of the proud savage so deeply that, when war broke out between the British and Americans a few years later (the War of 1812), he joined the English army in Canada, saying: "I have taken sides with my father, the King, and I will suffer my bones to bleach upon the shore of the great lakes, before I will recross the American territory to take part in any council of neutrality."
In the fighting of the War of 1812 this great chief showed that he could lead an army almost as well as a white man. His military talent was so great that he was made a Brigadier General, a position which, to my knowledge, no other American Indian has ever held among white troops, except General Ely S. Parker, who commanded a detachment of regulars in the Army of the Potomac during the War of the Rebellion. The celebrated Shawnee fought bravely at a fierce fight at Brownstown, and was also at the siege of Detroit, with about seven hundred warriors, when this city capitulated to the British. The whole American frontier was open to the ravages of the Indians and English after this event, and under General Proctor, the combined forces of redskins and redcoats swept down upon the border fortress of Fort Meigs, and here captured a number of prisoners, although they did not take the stockade.
The Indians under Tecumseh numbered about eighteen hundred in the fighting at this place, and, giving way to their instincts, they tomahawked all that they could. General Proctor made no attempt to stop them, but was looking calmly at their fiendish work, when he saw Tecumseh galloping forward at great speed. Reaching the scene of slaughter, the savage leaped from his horse, and seizing two Indians by the throat, knocked them to the ground. Then, drawing his tomahawk and scalping knife, he cried out: "He of you who injures another prisoner will be killed by Tecumseh. How dare you wreak vengeance upon defenseless men? Cowards! Begone!" Cowed by his consuming wrath, the savages slunk away, while the great chief, turning to Proctor, said: "Why, General, did you not stop this awful massacre?"
"Sir," replied the British General, "your Indians cannot be restrained."
"Begone!" thundered Tecumseh. "You are not fit to command! Go home and put on the petticoat of a squaw."