The garrison, with loaded arms, followed, and the wagons with the baggage, the women and children, the sick and the lame closed the rear. The Pottawatomies, about five hundred in number, who had promised to escort them in safety to Fort Wayne, leaving a little space, afterward followed. The party in advance took the beach road. They had no sooner arrived at the sand-hills, which separated the prairie from the beach, about a half mile from the fort, when the Pottawatomies, instead of continuing in the rear of the Americans, left the beach and took to the prairie. The sand-hills intervened and presented a barrier between the Pottawatomies and the American and Miami line of march. This divergence had scarcely been effected, when Captain Wells, who, with the Miamies, was considerably in advance, rode back and exclaimed:
"They are about to attack us; form instantly and charge upon them."
The words had scarcely been uttered, before a volley of musketry from behind the sand-hills was poured in upon them. The troops were brought immediately into line and charged up the bank. One man, a veteran of seventy, fell as they ascended. The battle at once became general. The Miamies fled in the outset.
The American troops behaved gallantly. Though few in number, they sold their lives as dearly as possible. While the battle was raging, the surgeon, Doctor Voorhes, who was badly wounded, and whose horse had been shot under him, approaching Mrs. Helm, the wife of Lieutenant Helm, with his face the picture of dread and despair, asked:
"Do you think they will take our lives? I am badly wounded, but I think not mortally. Perhaps we can purchase safety by offering a large reward. Do you think there is any chance?"
"Doctor Voorhes," the brave little woman answered, "let us not waste the few moments which yet remain, in idle or ill-founded hopes. Our fate is inevitable. We must soon appear at the bar of God. Let us make such preparations as are in our power."
"Oh, I cannot die! I am unfit to die! If I had a short time to prepare!--oh, death, how awful!"
At this moment, Ensign Ronan was fighting at a little distance with a tall and portly Indian. The former, mortally wounded, was nearly down and struggling desperately on one knee. Mrs. Helm, pointing her finger and directing the attention of the doctor to him, cried:
"Look at that young man; he dies like a soldier!"
"Yes," said the doctor, "but he has no terrors of the future; he is an unbeliever."