The sign of the prophet

by J. B. Naylor

In a few minutes, it had reached the foot of the rapids. Colonel Dudley, detaching twelve boats and eight hundred men, steered for the northern shore, intending to land about a mile above the British batteries. General Clay, with the six remaining boats and about four hundred men, made an effort to disembark upon the southern bank, a short distance above the beleaguered fort. But wind and current were against him. Only fifty of the militiamen had got ashore, when the vessels were swept from their moorings. This little squad of Kentuckians valiantly fought their way through the horde of whooping savages that hemmed them in, and reached the fort without the loss of a man.

The remaining three hundred and fifty—under command of Colonel Boswell—after repeated trials and failures, finally effected a landing upon the right bank, at a point near the western end of the fortification. General Harrison sent a sortie to their aid; and the combined force repulsed the Indians and Canadian militia, and marched in triumph to the fort.

A short time afterward the commander sent another sortie against the batteries southeast of the garrison. A stubborn engagement took place. The sturdy Americans, though greatly outnumbered, drove the British from their position, spiked several of their cannon, and, taking a number of prisoners, made a safe retreat.

Fighting had commenced on all sides of the beleaguered fortification. A ring of flame had encircled the place; the Stars and Stripes had received a fresh baptism of blood. Now the smoke of battle lifted; and the brave men within the walls turned their attention to their brethren on the opposite side of the river. General Harrison, glass in hand, was anxiously scanning the distant shore. Suddenly, he dropped his hand to his side and groaned:

“My God! They are lost—lost! They’ve captured the batteries, but are allowing themselves to be lured into an ambuscade. Their impetuosity will be their undoing!”

Let us follow Colonel Dudley. Without difficulty, he landed upon the northern bank of the river, a mile above the British batteries. Gallantly his men charged the English artillerists and drove them from their guns. Had they been content with spiking the cannon and returning to their boats, all would have been well. But the Indians in the adjacent woods were pouring a galling fire into the American ranks.

This the dare-devil Kentuckians could not stand. With lusty cheers, they charged the savages and drove them pell-mell into the depths of the forest. Colonel Dudley feared an ambuscade, and sought to restrain the ardor of his troops, but in vain. The reckless militiamen continued the chase, pushing farther and farther into the tangled woodland.

Presently the wily redmen rallied and essayed to outflank their pursuers. A pitched battle took place. The rattle of firearms became a deafening roar; the dense smoke obscured friend and foe. Colonel Dudley ordered a charge along the whole line. It availed nothing; the Indians could not be dislodged. Next came the order to retreat to the boats. This the Kentuckians were ready to do. They had suffered severely—they realized their mistake. Foot by foot, they began a retreat toward the shore, fighting every step of the way.

In the meanwhile, the English artillerymen fled to old Fort Miami, a short distance down the river—where General Proctor had his headquarters—and reported the loss of the batteries. The British commander, thinking a general attack upon his encampment was imminent, immediately recalled a large part of his troops from the south side of the stream, and dispatched them to the scene of conflict. They arrived in time to fall upon the American rear, completely cut off their retreat, and kill or capture almost the entire force. Only one hundred and fifty of the gallant but rash eight hundred regained their boats and reached Fort Meigs.

At the beginning of this engagement, Tecumseh, with a part of his savage band, was in the immediate vicinity of the American fortification. On receiving word from Proctor, the great chief swam the river and, mounting a horse, galloped to the scene of conflict. Well he knew what would happen were his warriors successful in the fight. But he arrived too late. The battle was ended; the butchery had begun.