University of Virginia Library

1. CHAPTER I.
ST. CLAIR'S DEFEAT.

One of the most disastrous battles for the whites ever fought on
the Western frontier, was that known by the inglorious but significant
appellation of “St. Clair's Defeat.” This took place within the
limits of what is now Dark County, on the Wabash river, in the
present State of Ohio, on the 4th of November, 1791. The facts
relating to it are briefly these:

At the period above referred to, the depredations of the Indians
had become so frequent and alarming, that the few whites who had
ventured within the precincts of the North-Western Territory, were
in danger of being exterminated. In consequence of this, General
St. Clair received orders to raise as large an army as possible, march
from Fort Washington (now Cincinnati) along the whole Western
frontier, and establish military posts at all such points as he might
think advisable, in order to awe the savages, and put a check upon
their bloody enterprises. In September, St. Clair left Ludlow's
Station, six miles distant from Cincinnati, with two thousand three
hundred troops under his command, exclusive of some five or six
hundred militia. Advancing northerly, he built Fort Hamilton, and
soon after Fort Jefferson, and then continued his toilsome and
perilous march through the wilderness.

The progress of the army was necessarily slow; for the troops
were entering a new and unexplored country, full of blood-thirsty

savages, where every inch of ground must be examined with great
caution, and roads be prepared through thick woods, and over
dangerous morasses and streams, in order to bring; on in safety
the baggage and cannon contingent upon such a body of hostile
men. Accompanying the troops was also a large number of women
and children, who preferred pursuing the perilous journey of their
husbands and fathers into the wilderness, to remaining in comparative
safety in the forts and strongholds behind. To add to the discomfiture
of the march, much of the provision of the army was
delayed in coming forward as fast as was expected, and some three
hundred of the militia, becoming alarmed and discouraged, deserted,
and returned to their homes. Fearing these latter might seize upon
the army supplies in their retreat, General St. Clair finally determined
on sending back the first regiment to bring up the provisions,
and, if possible, overtake and arrest some of the deserters. Having
put his plan in execution, he continued his march with what supplies
he had on hand, and on the third of November arrived at a
branch creek of the Wabash, on a commanding piece of ground,
where he resolved to encamp and await the return of the detachment
from below. By order of the General, the main army encamped
on the east side of the Wabash, and the militia were advanced to
a commanding point on the west side, some two hundred rods distant.
In this position the forces rested through the night—it being
the intention of the General to commence a work of defence on the
following day. In this he was disappointed: “For, (to use the
words of Judge Burnet,) on the next morning, November 4th, half
an hour before sunrise, the men having been just dismissed from
parade, an attack was made on the militia posted in front, who gave
way and rushed back into the camp, throwing the army into a state
of disorder from which it could not be recovered, as the Indians
followed close at their heels. They were, however, checked for a
short time, by the fire of the first line; but immediately a very heavy
fire was commenced on that line, and in a few minutes it was extended
to the second.

“In each case the great weight of the fire was directed to the
centre, where the artillery was placed, from which the men were
frequently driven with great slaughter. In that emergency, resort
was had to the bayonet. Colonel Darke was ordered to make the
charge with a part of the second line, which order was executed
with great spirit. The Indians instantly gave way, and were driven
back several hundred yards; but for want of a sufficient number of
riflemen to preserve the advantage gained, the enemy soon renewed
their attack, and the American troops in turn were forced to give
way.

“At that instant the Indians entered the American camp on the
left, having forced back the troops stationed at that point. Another
charge was then ordered and made, by the battalions of Majors

Butler and Clark, with great success. Several other charges were
afterwards made, and always with equal effect. These attacks,
however, were attended with a very heavy loss of men, and particularly
of officers. In the charge made by the second regiment,
Major Butler was dangerously wounded, and every officer of that
regiment fell, except three, one of whom was shot through the body.
The artillery being silenced, and all the officers belonging to it
killed, but Captain Ford, who was dangerously wounded, and half
of the army having fallen, it became necessary to gain the road, if
possible, and make a retreat.

“For that purpose a successful charge was made on the enemy,
as if to turn their right flank, but in reality to gain the road, which
was effected. The militia then commenced a retreat, followed by
the United States' troops—Major Clark, with his battalion, covering
the rear. The retreat, as might be expected, soon became a flight.
The camp was abandoned, and so was the artillery, for the want of
horses to remove it. The men threw away their arms and accoutrements,
even after the pursuit had ceased, which was not continued
more than four miles. The road was almost covered with those
articles for a great distance.

“All the horses of the General were killed, and he was mounted
on a broken down pack-horse, that could scarcely be forced out of
a walk. It was therefore impossible for him to get forward in person
to command a halt, till regularity could be restored, and the
orders which he despatched by others for that purpose were wholly
unattended to. The rout continued to Fort Jefferson, where they
arrived about dark, twenty-seven miles from the battle-ground.
The retreat began at half past nine in the morning; and as the
battle commenced half an hour before sunrise, it must have lasted
three hours, during which time, with only one exception, the troops
behaved with great bravery. This fact accounts for the great
slaughter which took place.

“When the fugitives arrived at Fort Jefferson, they found the
first regiment, which was just returning from the service on which
it had been sent, without either overtaking the deserters or meeting
the convoy of provisions. The absence of that regiment, at the
time of the battle, was believed by some to be the cause of defeat;
but General St. Clair expressed great doubt on that subject.”

The foregoing is a brief outline of this disastrous battle; but the
detail would be horrible, heart-sickening, revolting. It is impossible
to ascertain the number of killed; but it must have been very
great; for an old squaw was afterward heard to say—“Oh! my
arm, that night, was weary scalping white man.” Some estimate
of the loss to the country may be formed, when we state that not
less than forty brave officers, some of them highly distinguished, were
killed; and not less than twenty-five wounded: and of the women
there present, it has been variously estimated that from fifty to two

hundred were among the slain, besides a great number that were
taken into barbarous and hopeless captivity.

But as it is not with the general features of the battle that we have
especially to do, but rather with a certain train of incidents arising
therefrom, we shall leave the former in the hands of historians, while
we proceed to narrate the latter in the best manner consonant with
our humble abilities.

It was, then, while the battle was raging at its greatest height,
and on all sides the dead and dying were mingled in bloody confusion,
and heaped one upon the other, over which the living
forces were trampling, as they alternately rushed to and fro in their
advance and retreat, that a tall, veteran officer was riding up and
down the lines, and encouraging his men, by look, gesture, speech,
and action, to bear down upon the foe, and sell their lives as dearly
as possible. His appearance was not a little remarkable, and needs
a passing description. He was well mounted on a coal-black
charger, and sat erect, with his head bared to the breeze, and his
long gray locks streaming out behind. In one hand he held a
bloody sword, the point of which was broken, showing that its
owner had been no idle spectator; and as he swung it to and fro,
and shouted words of encouragement to his men, his lips compressed,
and his dark eye flashed a fire that would have become one
of half his years. Wherever the battle raged fiercest, and the danger
was most imminent, there this gallant officer could be seen, doing
his duty like a true hero.

So conspicuous a mark could not, of course, escape the quick
eyes of the savages, and more than a hundred Indians made him a
target. But in vain they burned their powder and spent their bullets.
All failed to bring down their intended victim, or even check
the progress of his fiery charger. Yet they did not shoot wide of
the mark. More than twenty balls passed through his clothes, as
many more penetrated the saddle on which he rode, and one even
cut a lock of his gray hair from his right temple. And still he remained
unharmed. Surely, a watchful Providence preserved him
for another destiny!

Colonel Danforth—for so we shall designate this brave veteran—
was still in the thickest of the fight, encouraging his men, now reduced
to a small number, to hold out to the very last, and die like
Spartans, when a young officer, an aid to General Butler, came
dashing up to him, on a horse nearly as fiery as his own, and cried
out:

“For heaven's sake, save yourself, Colonel Danforth, while yet
there is time! General St. Clair has ordered a retreat, and already
the men are flying in every direction, and you will soon be surrounded
and cut off!”

The Colonel reined his horse directly in front of the speaker, and
eyed him with almost savage sternness; while his men, catching

the word retreat, and seeing their comrades flying, turned and rushed
after them, leaving him and the aid for a moment alone.

“What's this?” shouted the Colonel, as soon as his astonishment
would permit him to speak. “Retreat, say you?”

The young man made no reply; but with a gesture of impatience
and alarm, he caught the bit of the Colonel's horse with one hand,
struck the animal on the flank with a sword he carried in the other,
and at the same time buried his rowels in the sides of his own gallant
charger. Both horses reared and plunged, and the next moment
were rushing away, with the speed of the wind, guided by
the bold, strong arm of the young and daring aid. At first the
Colonel was so astonished that he offered no resistance; and it was
well he did not; for a large party of Indians had nearly surrounded
them, and another minute's delay would have been fatal to their
escape. As it was, they had barely time to dart through the nearly
closed circles; and many a hatchet and ball came whizzing past
them, too close for safety, though, fortunately, both remained unharmed.

“This is sheer cowardice, boy!” cried the Colonel, at length,
tightening his grasp upon the rein, and making an effort to check
his horse.

“Your wife and daughter!” shouted the other.

“True! but are they not in safety?”

“Nothing is safe here, Colonel Danforth; but I trust they will
escape; for I sent them down the road, with an escort, as you
advised.”

“We must join them, then, with all speed!”

“So I thought, and therefore ventured on doing what I did.”

“You did right, Edward, and I was at fault. But still, I cannot
but think it is cowardly to fly and leave these poor wretches
here to the mercy of the savages. Oh, woful day! How will it
sound abroad, to say that a body of Indians defeated two thousand
white men, in an open combat? Ah! St. Clair should have kept
out spies! I told him so; but he did not heed my advice—now
will he reap his reward. The old man is brave, but he is not a
good general, or this would not have happened. Look! behold
the poor wretches flying on every side of us, and some of them
entreating us with looks, gestures, and supplications, to save them!
Oh, it is heart-rending! and were it not for my wife and daughter,
I would dismount and die with them—for the shame of this day
is more to be dreaded than death.”

Such were the remarks of Colonel Danforth, as, side-by-side, he
and Edward Allen dashed along the road, past the dead, and dying,
and wounded, and parties of flying fugitives, who were straining
every nerve to escape the horrible fate which awaited them if overtaken
by the pursuing savages. And there were women, too, and
children—mothers with infants at their breast—all flying in hopeless

despair; and in some cases these mothers dashed their tender offspring
upon the ground, to lighten themselves, and enable them to
flee faster from the shrieking and yelling horrors behind. Parties
on foot, and on horse, all doing their utmost to escape, and all
alike regardless of every life but their own, were alternately passed
with the uncommonly swift-footed steeds of Danforth and Allen.
But though our friends passed many, the road ahead was still lined
with fugitives; and the shrieks and Indian yells behind, proclaimed
that the horrible work of human butchery was still going fearfully
on in their rear.

“Oh, woful day! oh, woful day!” groaned the Colonel; “that
I should live to witness such a terrible defeat as this! Edward,
we should have died on the field of battle, along with our brave
comrades.”

“Then what would have become of those who need our protection?”

“True, true—most true—my wife and daughter. But where
are they, Edward?”

“They must be on ahead, I think.”

“You think! Suppose we have passed them?”

“Do not say that, Colonel! It makes me shudder,” cried the
young officer, turning deadly pale.

“You sent them by an escort, you say?”

“I did, as you advised.”

“Where did you direct them to stop?”

“No where short of Fort Jefferson.”

“Of how many was the escort composed?”

“A sergeant and five privates.”

“Were there any other ladies in company?”

“Ay, four—the wives and daughters of some of the officers of
your regiment.”

“God grant they may have escaped!”

“Amen! I trust we shall soon overtake them. Remember,
they have had nearly an hour the start.”

“Spur on, then—our poor beasts must do their duty now.”

“For some twenty minutes longer, the Colonel and his young
friend rode as fast as their gallant steeds could carry them, by
which time they had passed all the fugitives on foot, and nearly all
that were mounted. Not less than five or six miles now intervened
between them and the battle-ground, and yet they had not overtaken
them for whom they were in search.

“This is strange!” observed the Colonel, reining in his foaming
and panting steed, and looking eagerly around, on every side.
“Edward, they have either escaped faster than I should think it
possible for them to do, or something serious, if not alarming, has
happened them.”

“God forbid the latter!” cried the young aid, again turning

pale, and reining in his horse so fiercely as almost to throw him
upon his haunches. “It does seem strange, Colonel, I admit
Oh, heaven be merciful to them, if we have unwittingly passed
them! But that cannot be, if they kept the road. If they turned
off—Ha! what is that yonder?”

“Where? where?” eagerly demanded the other.

“Yonder—ahead—beside the road. As I live, I do believe it is
a dead soldier; and if my eyes do not deceive me—oh! the thought
is too horrible!” and burying his spurs in his horse's sides, as
he spoke, he sped away like a meteor, followed instantly by the
now really alarmed veteran officer.

A ride of less than a minute brought Edward to the object he
had espied; and again reining his horse to a halt, he uttered a cry
of horror, and placed both hands before his eyes, and bowed his
head in silence toward the saddle-bow, while his whole frame shook
with heart-rending emotion.

“What is it, Edward?—what is it?” cried Colonel Danforth,
riding up along side.

The young aid raised his head slowly, withdrew his hands from
a face of the ghastly hue of death, and pointing to the awful scene
before him, fairly gasped—

“Behold!”

“I see! I see!” returned the other, quickly; “six soldiers dead
and scalped. Well?”

“The escort!” again fairly gasped Edward Allen.

“Merciful Heaven! the escort!” groaned the Colonel. “Then
my wife and daughter are lost!”

“Lost!” echoed the other, in a hollow tone; then both remained
silent, for a moment, gazing shudderingly upon the bloody scene,
and both experiencing such feelings as alone could be felt by a
husband, father, and lover, in such a situation.

“My wife, my daughter—my daughter, my wife—death and defeat—oh!
it is too much!” groaned Colonel Danforth.

At this moment several horsemen passed our friends; but as each
was intent on saving his own life, they merely glanced at the two
officers, with inquiring looks, and rode on without speaking.

“Ha! the sergeant!—see! he moves!” cried Edward; and instantly
dismounting, he sprang to the poor fellow's side, and raised
him in his arms.

In doing this, he exposed a deep wound in his left side, some two
inches below the heart, from which the blood was slowly oozing.
He had been lying on his face, and was scalpless; but changing
his position seemed to revive him; and opening his parched and
livid lips, he gasped faintly:

“Water! water!—oh, give me water!”

By this time the Colonel was dismounted, and standing along
side.

“We must save him, if possible,” said the latter. “There is a
small stream about a mile ahead; and we must place him on one
of our horses, and bear him to it with all speed.”

As the Colonel spoke, he tore off the scarf which he wore about
his waist, and bound it around the wounded man, in order to
staunch the blood. Then placing him upon his own horse, both
he and Edward remounted, and set off at as fast a pace as was
deemed prudent for one to be carried in a situation so critical.

In a short time the party gained the stream; and having bathed
the brow and temples of the sergeant, they scooped up water with
their hands and placed it to his lips, which he drank eagerly, and
soon revived so as to be able to open his eyes, look around, and
speak distinctly.

“Who are you?” was his first question; “and why am I here?
Ah! I remember now. These are Colonel Danforth and Major
Allen—I remember all now. Don't blame me, gentlemen—I did
my best to save them.”

“And what happened to them?—Where are they now?” cried
the two officers in a breath.

“Heaven knows, I cannot answer either of your questions. Oh!
my side pains me.”

“Be thankful for that, for it shows your wound is not mortal,”
rejoined the Colonel. “But tell us of this affair, all you know, with
as little delay as possible.”

“Give me more water. There—I thank you. Ah! I feel revived
again.”

“Would that we had a surgeon here!” said Colonel Danforth,
putting his hand upon the sergeant's side, and finding it still continued
to bleed.

“Your wish is granted,” rejoined Edward, looking up the road,
where a horseman was descried approaching. “Here comes Dr.
McAllister, one of the best in the army, were it not for what I call
his selfish, cold-hearted eccentricity.”

As the doctor approached the party, Colonel Danforth stepped
forward, and briefly informed him what had happened.

“Umph, wife and daughter gone, eh? Sorry. Sergeant wounded,
eh? Sorry. So-ho, Thibault—so-ho, nag. Umph! Bad place
for surgery. Indians about, Colonel. Can do nothing here. Must
take him on to the fort. Terrible day, Colonel. Plenty for us men of
science to do. Rare sport, if it was'nt for the danger. Can't do
any thing for that fellow here, Colonel.”

“You can at least look at the man. Come, come, doctor, his
life may be as valuable as yours or mine—so dismount and see
what can be done.”

“Bother!” rejoined the eccentric doctor, slowly complying with
the Colonel's request.

The surgeon as we have intimated, was both a man of talent and

eccentricity; and it were difficult to say which he prided himself
most upon, his skill in his profession, or his oddity. He was a Scotchman
by birth, but spoke English very smoothly, and only with a
slight brogue. His costume was a compound of the old English
and backwoods' hunter. He wore a broad white scarf around his
neck, and ruffles around his wrists, which latter were now not a
little soiled by labors in his profession. His velvet breeches and
buckles were mostly covered with deer skin leggins; and his small
grey eyes, and sharp, bony, wiry countenance, had a rather comical
look under his heavy white wig and small three-cornered hat.

Having examined the sergeant's wound with a haste occasioned
by his fears of being overtaken by the Indians, Dr. McAllister gave
it as his professional opinion, that the man should be taken forthwith
to Fort Jefferson, where he, the said doctor, would guarantee
to save his life, by means only known to men of his scientific
calibre.

“Then you must take him there, Doctor,” said the Colonel;
“for Major Allen and myself are about to set off in search of my
wife and child.”

“Nonsense, Colonel—can't find them; and if you did, what
could two of you do against two thousand. Stuff! So-ho, Thibault,
nag. Excuse me, I am afraid my horse will depart;” and the
little doctor waddled off to secure the bridle of his beast, which
was standing very quietly in the road.

“I think, Colonel Danforth,” said the wounded man, “it is useless
to search for your friends now. They are undoubtedly prisoners,
and time must elapse ere they can be recovered, if ever. As
soon as I am able, I will gadly accompany you; and in the meantime,
you can perhaps collect a band of old hunters, who understand
Indian stratagem and manæuvres better than ourselves. If
you attempt any thing now, you will be likely to lose your own
lives, without rendering them any assistance.”

“What think you, Edward?” asked the Colonel.

“Alas! sir, I fear it is as Sergeant Bomb says. We must wait
and take our chance.”

“Oh, it is terrible!” groaned the Colonel.

“But tell me, Bomb, how it happened!”

“All I know, sir, is, that we were set upon by about twenty howling
devils, and were despatched as fast as rifles, tomahawks, and knives
could do it. I saw two or three of the enemy fall, before I fell
myself, and I saw the women hurried away, and that's all I know
about it.”

“Here come fugitives on foot, and Indians behind them,” yelled
the Doctor; and remounting Thibault, with all haste, he put spurs
to the animal, and dashed away without any further ceremony.

“There goes a man, whose own life is of more consequence to
him than all the rest of the world,” observed Colonel Danforth, his

lip curling with contempt, as he gazed for a moment after the retreating
surgeon.

“Well, we must follow,” returned Edward; “for the forts are
coming up rapidly, and the Indians may be close behind. We
must take care of our own lives now, in order to save those near
and dear to us.”

“Right, Major—let us mount and away.”

A minute or two later, Colonel Danforth and Major Allen were
dashing down the road, bearing the sergeant with them; while
hundreds behind, in wild disorder, came panting after, straining
every nerve to escape the horrors they had so recently witnessed.