St. Clair’s great and fatal mistake was in his fancied security. Instead of having a large number of experienced scouts to scour the wilderness far in advance of the main army and to warn him of danger, he marched blindly forward as if passing through friendly territory. The Indians proved themselves more circumspect, for their scouts and runners had not been idle and had brought their leaders intelligence of the whites. To check and punish what they regarded as an invasion of their territory, the Indians collected a great force and marched forward to battle with their enemies. Because of the American commander’s neglect, these dusky sons of the forest were enabled to concoct their plans without suspicion, to arrange their attack without detection, and to carry out their designs with the most terrible effect.
About half an hour before sunrise on the fourth of November, the Indians fiercely attacked the militia posted in front of the main army. The first ranks made a slight resistance and then fell back in wild disorder to the main camp. The overwhelming force of savages, led by their most distinguished chiefs, came rushing on with yells of fury, creating panic and confusion impossible to describe. Then began a desperate fight and a fearful slaughter. Though taken completely by surprise, the brave soldiers seized their arms, rallied under their respective leaders, and stood their ground like heroes. Their first regular fire checked the onset of the foe to some degree, but the Indians were too great in numbers and held too great an advantage to give way permanently. In a short time our gallant soldiers were violently assailed on all sides, and officers and men went down before the deadly rifle fire like leaves before the blasts of autumn wind. Several charges were ordered and made with great spirit. The savages at times gave way before the impetuous charges of their disciplined foes, yet it was only to rally in greater force and to press more fearfully upon some weaker point.
For three hours the battle raged with wild fury, and the ground everywhere was covered with the dead and dying. General St. Clair saw with dismay that the day was hopelessly lost. Four of his own horses had already been killed, his clothes were riddled with bullets, and nearly every officer had been cut down. Under these distressing circumstances, there was but one thing for him to do. He gave the order to retreat.
This retreat, as might have been anticipated, soon became a rout of the most terrible kind. The Indians, finding themselves masters of the field and finding their enemies flying in wild disorder, rushed after the fugitives with yells of triumph. They followed the soldiers for four or five miles, shooting, tomahawking, or scalping all they could overtake. Then the most eager of the savages, satisfied with their morning’s work, gave up the chase and returned to the battlefield to gather the scalps of the dead and dying. Nearly all of the wounded were butchered. Those unfortunate ones who had been taken unharmed were generally reserved for later tortures, and there were enough captives to provide many holidays for the different tribes.
We have thus given a brief sketch of the disaster on that woeful day. The details of that horrifying scene of conflict would fill volumes. This we cannot do. We can, however, piece together a narrative from the records of the actors in that dreadful tragedy. It is our purpose to publish the story of Robert Branshaw, a Kentuckian, who has left behind him an account of what he saw and did on that memorable day.
“The main camp was pitched in a level wood by a small stream which was one of the branches of the Wabash River; on higher ground about a quarter of a mile across this stream, the militia and a company of rangers had been on duty through the latter part of the night and were prepared for an attack by Indians whom we knew to be in front of us. We supposed them to be a mere scouting party sent out to gather information about our movements. We did not think that they planned anything more serious than to pick off some of our number and to get a few scalps if they could do so without serious risk. Certain it is, we were not prepared for what took place.
“In the gray of the morning, before objects had become distinct at any considerable distance, I was standing near one of the fires conversing with a comrade. Suddenly I saw twenty or thirty painted savages dodging around among the trees in front of us, as if they planned to attack by surprise. Supposing the ones I saw to be the entire party, and thinking it a good chance to bring down one of them and at the same time to alarm the camp, I instantly raised my rifle to my eye, took a quick aim, and dropped the nearest Indian. The smoke had not cleared away from my rifle when a terrific volley was poured in upon us. It was accompanied by appalling yells from a thousand throats. At the same instant I saw Indians springing from behind their covers and rushing down upon us in overwhelming numbers. Instantly, I turned to fly and stumbled over the dead body of the comrade with whom I had been conversing. He had been shot through the temples, and he was the first dead man I saw on that fatal day.
“As we fell back, the militiamen behind us discharged their pieces at the approaching savages; then they turned and fled in the wildest alarm through the little hollow back toward the main camp. Many of them never reached it, for by this time the Indians were firing rapidly from all sides and were following up the advantage with their murderous tomahawks and scalping knives. All the while, they were screeching with such appalling effect that I believe some of our men, who might otherwise have escaped, became bewildered, stupefied, and lost.
“As for myself, I had some very narrow escapes. Although I was a pretty good runner, I had been singled out by an ambitious young warrior, who, in a race of about two hundred yards, had almost caught up with me. With a good reach of his arm, he might have sunk his tomahawk in the back of my head. A glance over my shoulder showed him about to strike, and instinctively I threw myself down to avoid the blow. As fortune would have it, he struck his foot against one of mine and pitched headlong over me. His weapon flew from his grasp. Before he could recover himself, I was upon him, driving my hunting knife through his throat and severing his jugular vein.
“As I again sprang to my feet, I beheld three other savages close at hand, bounding toward me with yells of rage. I had no hope of escaping from them; but still I ran, straining every nerve to its utmost. Fortunately, they were not as fleet-footed as the one I had killed, and to my unspeakable joy, I found that I was outdistancing them. Each Indian carried a gun in his hand, but I had thrown mine away during my first race. This probably gave me some advantage. Seeing that they could not overtake me, they suddenly stopped; one of them took deliberate aim and fired. The ball sung loudly in my ear, the outer portion of which felt as if it were touched with a live coal. A small portion of my ear had been shot away.