Tales, Traditions and Romance of Border and Revolutionary Times

by Edward Sylvester Ellis

The siege of Fort Meigs during the war of 1812, by a combined British and Indian force, under command of General Proctor, was attended by one of those thrilling incidents which chill the blood with horror, and which have stained the escutcheon of Great Britain with indelible infamy. It is with no desire, however, to harrow up the feelings of our readers at a tale of soul-sickening massacre, nor yet with a wish to undertake the invidious task of reprobating the course of the English Government in connection with the war, that we have introduced the following narrative; but simply with a view of presenting the character of that brave and patriotic chieftain, Tecumseh, in its true light as regarding his magnanimity, and freedom from those brutal propensities and inclinations which have conduced so strongly to stigmatize the Indians as savages.

The fort was invested on the 26th of April, and from that period up to the 5th of May, a constant fire had been kept up by the British batteries on the opposite side of the river, without serious injury to the works. General Clay, with a reinforcement of twelve hundred Kentucky militia, arrived in the neighborhood on the 4th, and received orders to detach eight hundred men to attack the British batteries while the remainder was to aid a sortie against the Indians, who had established themselves in the immediate vicinity of the fort, and who were a source of great annoyance to its garrison. Colonel Dudley was placed in command of the larger party, and, agreeably to his instructions, landed on the right bank, and completely succeeded in driving the enemy from his works, and in spiking the cannon. His orders were peremptory to return immediately to his boats on the accomplishment of this object, and repair to the fort; but his men had tasted the sweets of victory, and the rashness which follows success on the part of militia, proved their ruin. They allowed themselves to be amused by some faint attempt at resistance on the part of a small body of Indians in the woods, until the main body of the British, which was some distance in the rear, could be brought up, and a severe and bloody action soon followed. It can hardly be called an action, for the militia were in detached parties, pursuing the scattering troops, when they suddenly found themselves confronted and surrounded by a force double their number, and after a manly effort to retain the victory they had won, they attempted to retreat but found themselves cut off from the river by a force which had got into their rear, to whom they were obliged to surrender themselves prisoners of war. Out of the eight hundred who landed in the morning, only one hundred and fifty escaped massacre or captivity. Colonel Dudley was severely wounded, and afterward tomahawked and scalped. A large portion of the prisoners were marched to the British fort lower down the river, where they immediately became the sport and prey of the Indians, who commenced an indiscriminate slaughter of the unarmed men, until the entreaties of some of the more humane British officers checked it for a time. Another party were placed in charge of a Sergeant and fifty men for the purpose of being embarked in the gunboats, where it was supposed they would be safe from the attacks of the infuriated savages. Upon reaching the encampment, which at that time happened to be deserted by the troops, they were met by a band of Indians who had not been engaged in the contest at all, but, actuated by a brutal thirst for blood, and disappointed at not having a share of the plunder, to which they thought themselves entitled, they determined to satisfy their desires by murdering and stripping the prisoners before them. Perhaps they were actuated by a spirit of revenge for the loss which had been sustained by their friends in the action. Be this as it may, they each selected a victim from the ranks, and with fearful yells commenced the work of slaughter. With a magnanimity scarcely to be expected of men who had witnessed the cold-blooded murders at the river Raisin, the British guard threw themselves between the savages and their intended victims, and endeavored to dissuade, and then to coerce them from their horrid butchery. But in vain. Excited to the highest pitch of ferocity by the blood they had already shed, they were not to be deterred from their purpose; and the soldiers—after witnessing the death of one of their number, who was stabbed to the heart by a savage from whom he had snatched a prisoner—finding their interposition to be fruitless, withdrew and left the unfortunate men to their fate. Surrounded upon all sides by the savages, with no chance of escape, with none to interfere, the prisoners were huddled together; those in front striving to screen themselves behind their comrades; while those in the rear, with the love of life urging them with an equal force, endeavored to keep them from doing so, they surged to and fro, the tomahawk and scalping-knife doing its work, until forty of their number lay stiff in the embrace of death. The Sergeant in command of the guard, who had been forced to leave their charge to the tender mercies of the savages, sought for Tecumseh, and informed him of the horrid butchery which was being enacted. The eyes of the chieftain lit up with a consuming blaze, and his nostrils dilated and contracted as his breast heaved with the mighty passion which the soldier's story had roused within him. He stopped but a moment to hear the end, and then dashing his heels against his horse's sides, he darted off in the direction of the scene. Raising his voice as he approached, in thunder-tones he commanded the Indians to desist from their brutal work. A few, startled at the unexpected interference, drew back; but the majority, regardless of his authority, and drunk with passion, refused to obey. Precipitating himself between these and their prey, he forced them back, and, drawing his tomahawk, he whirled it over his head, while his face was wrought into an expression of the most fearful and scorching rage, as he threatened to cleave to the earth the first one who offered to disobey him. This was effectual with some, but there were still a few who continued their bloody work, and one after another the miserable prisoners were falling, like sheep in the shambles, before the unrelenting knives and hatchets of their executioners. None but a man destitute of fear would have dared to rush between these and their victims. It was tearing the carcass of his prey from the jaws of the lion to interfere between these ferocious fiends and their feast of blood. But, the chief knew no fear: he was wrought to such a fearful state of excitement as not to heed the dictates of prudence. Leaping from his horse and drawing his knife, he threw himself upon them with all the fury of a tigress divested of her young. Seizing one by the throat, and another by the breast, he hurled them to the ground, and thus, one after another, he beat them back with a strength which nothing could withstand. Taking his station in front of the remnant of the band which still remained alive, and raising his tomahawk high above his head, while his whole figure dilated to a greater height by the passions which raged within his bosom, he dared them, in tones which thrilled through them like electricity, to strike another blow. None were found so bold as to tempt his arm or disobey his command, and the prisoners were saved. Looking around for Proctor, he espied him as he approached, and demanded why he had not stopped the massacre. "Sir," said he, "your Indians are not to be commanded." "Begone!" replied Tecumseh, as a look of the greatest disdain and contempt swept over his swarthy visage, "you are unfit to command; go and put on petticoats!"

This Proctor, the British commander, had already branded himself with indelible infamy at the battle of the River Raisin, in January of the same year. In reference to this battle, we will briefly state the object of General Harrison's campaign was to take Detroit, and expel the British from the territory of the United States—and to protect the extensive frontier; also to furnish such protection as was possible to the settlers in Ohio, Indiana, etc., from the savages in the pay of the British. The points to be defended were scattered over a vast region of country; and though the care of it fell upon General Harrison, officers in the different sections were frequently obliged to act for themselves. It was thus that General Winchester, failing to receive counter-orders sent after him by Harrison, and unaware of the full force of the enemy, was induced to make an imprudent, though brave, movement against a body of English and Indians who were coming from Malden and the Raisin to attack his camp at the rapids.

He pressed forward and found the enemy prepared to meet him at Frenchtown; they were posted among the houses, but were soon dislodged and driven to the woods. Here a short, desperate engagement took place, and the English were driven two miles before the continual charge of the brave Kentuckians, though the latter had made that day a forced march of over eighteen miles over ice. In reporting the action, afterward, General Harrison said: "The troops amply sustained the double character of Americans and Kentuckians."

Thus far our heroes were successful; instead of retiring after this brilliant affair, they determined to maintain their position; they remained in Frenchtown two or three days, part of their forces being exposed in an open field, and a part sheltered by the garden pickets of the town. During the night of the 21st of January, the British came up, unobserved, and at daylight fired bombs, balls and grape-shot from heavy pieces of artillery, at a distance of only three hundred yards. The troops in the open field were sadly injured by this fire, and soon fled across the river in the utmost confusion. The Indians gained our flank and rear, butchering our soldiers shockingly. General Winchester was taken prisoner and marched to the British camp. Colonel Lewis still maintained his position in the town, frequently repulsing the enemy, until the Indians gained his flank, when a general and indiscriminate massacre ensued. Colonel Lewis was made a prisoner, had his coat stripped off, and was conducted to the enemy's camp. Colonel Allen, being badly wounded, surrendered to an Indian. Another assailed him, whom Allen struck dead at his feet, and was in turn shot down by a third savage. Garrett, with fifteen or twenty men, surrendered, and all but himself were butchered on the spot.

Two other officers, Graves and Madison, still maintained their position within the picketing, and with their troops, behaved most gallantly. The former being severely wounded, and as he sat down, wiping the blood from his wounds, cried: "Never mind me, my boys, fight on!" Proctor, with all his British regulars and savage allies, could not subdue this band—they gave not an inch to the foe.

A flag was at last sent to Madison, with an order from Winchester to surrender. Proctor accompanied the flag, and made the demand, but Major Madison replied that he would not surrender unless the safety of his men could be guaranteed. Proctor demanded:

"Sir, do you mean to dictate to me?"

"No," returned the intrepid Major, "I intend to dictate for myself; and we prefer selling our lives as dearly as possible, rather than be massacred in cold blood."

The surrender was made on express conditions, that the officers should retain their side arms, the sick and wounded to be carefully removed, private property to be respected, and the prisoners protected by a guard. Proctor disregarded all stipulations, and handed over the prisoners to the Indians, who butchered them without mercy. Some of their bodies were thrown into the flames of the burning village, while others, shockingly mangled, were left exposed in the streets. These awful deeds were continued for several days.