To the foregoing description of the battle we extract from the narrative of Major Jacob Fowler his own personal experience in the events of that fatal day. Charles Cist published Fowler’s story in his ADVERTISER, with the following introduction:
“There was hardly a battle fought in the early struggles with the Indians in which Mr. Fowler did not participate. He is now (July, 1844) eighty years old, but his eye has not dimmed nor his natural force abated. He can still pick off a squirrel with his rifle at one hundred yards. He can walk as firmly and as fast as most men of fifty, and I cannot perceive a gray hair in his head. His mind and memory are as vigorous as his physical body.”
Major Fowler’s story is as follows:
“Excepting a single instance, St. Clair kept out no scouting parties during his entire march. We would have been completely surprised by the attack if it had not been for volunteer scouting parties from the militia who were out on the evening before the battle. The constant discharge of rifles throughout the night also warned us to prepare for the event. The militia, encamped about a quarter of a mile in front of the main army, received the first shock of the attack a little after daybreak. The camp was on the bank of a small creek, one of the upper branches of the Wabash River. The ground was nearly level and covered with a heavy growth of timber. As surveyor, I drew the pay and rations of a subaltern; but as an old hunter, I was not disposed to trust myself among the Indians without my rifle. Indeed, I found it very serviceable during the march, for the army never had more than half rations during the whole campaign.
“My stock of bullets had become low from using them for hunting; and as soon as it was daylight that morning, I started for the militia camp to get a ladle to pour some more. By this time the battle had begun, and I met the militia running into the main body of troops. I hailed one of the Kentuckians, whom I found disabled in the right wrist by a bullet; and I asked him if he had bullets to spare. He told me to take out his pouch and to divide with him. I poured out a double handful, put back what I supposed was half, and was about to leave him, when he said, ‘Stop, you had better count them.’ I could hardly resist the impulse to laugh, for the idea of counting a handful of bullets was ludicrous under the circumstances. ‘If we get through this day’s scrape, my dear fellow,’ said I, ‘I will return you twice as many.’ But I never saw him again, and I suppose he shared the fate that befell many a gallant spirit on that day. I owe the bullets, at any rate, at this moment.
“When I returned to the lines, I found that the engagement had begun. One of Captain Piatt’s men lay shot through the belly near the spot I had left. I saw an Indian behind a small tree not twenty steps away and just outside the regular lines. He was loading his piece, squatting down as much as possible to screen himself. I sighted and shot him through; he dropped as soon as I had fired, and I retreated into our lines to reload my rifle. Finding that the fire had ceased at this point, I ran to the rear line, where I met Colonel Darke leading a charge with about three hundred men. I followed with my rifle. By this movement the Indians were driven out of sight, and the Colonel called a halt to rally his men. A number of trees had been blown down near where we stood. As an experienced woodsman and hunter, I suggested to Colonel Darke that these trees would form an excellent breastwork of sufficient length to protect the whole force. We might yet need that protection, for judging by the shouting and firing, the Indians behind us had closed the gap we had made in charging. I told the Colonel that if we turned and charged the Indians at our rear, we should have them with their backs to us. No doubt we would be able to give a good account of them. ‘Lead the way, then,’ said the Colonel, as he rode to the rear to march the whole body forward. We then charged the Indians, but they were so thick that we could do nothing with them. In a few minutes they had surrounded us, and we found ourselves beside the army baggage and the artillery, which had been captured. I then climbed a tree. After firing twelve or fourteen times, two or three rods being my longest shot, I discovered that many of those whom I had struck were not brought down. I had not then had sufficient experience to know that I must shoot them in the hip to bring them down. The unprotected regulars armed with muskets could do little better than to fire at random.
While he was crawling away
“By this time only about thirty men of Colonel Darke’s command were left standing; the rest were lying around us, either killed or wounded. I ran to the Colonel, who was waving his sword in the thickest of it to encourage his men, and told him we should all be down in five minutes if we did not charge. ‘Charge, then!’ said he to the little line that remained, and they did so. Fortunately, the main army charged on the other side at the same time, and the Indians were momentarily put to flight.
“I had been partially sheltered by a small tree, but two Indians behind a larger tree fired simultaneously at me. Feeling the stream of air following the passage of their shots, I supposed myself cut to pieces; but no harm had been done. I brought my piece to my side and fired without aiming at the one that stood his ground. The fellow was so close to me that I could hardly miss him, and I shot him through the hips. While he was crawling away on all fours, Colonel Darke, who had dismounted and stood close by me, cut off the Indian’s head. By this time the cock of my rifle lock had worn loose and gave me much trouble. I told my difficulty to an acquaintance from Cincinnati who had picked up a gun from a militiaman. ‘There is a first-rate rifle,’ he said, pointing to one at a distance. I ran to get it as soon as I ascertained that my bullets would fit it.