CHAPTER XIV.
In the latter part of April, 1813, General Harrison, commander-in-chief of the Western troops, was at Fort Meigs, upon the Maumee.
War between the United States and Great Britain had been declared in June, 1812. In July, Fort Mackinaw had fallen into the hands of the English; in August, Hull had basely surrendered at Detroit, and the Americans had met defeat at the River Raisin. In the early autumn—September—the Prophet’s braves had laid siege to Forts Wayne and Harrison, but had been unsuccessful at both places. Thus had closed the year.
In the early part of 1813, the Western campaign had opened in earnest. In January, General Winchester had been defeated and captured at Frenchtown. Immediately following this battle—or massacre, rather—General Harrison had moved forward to the rapids of the Maumee, and begun the construction of Fort Meigs. Here he had assembled all the troops at his disposal, intending to recover the ground lost through Hull’s cowardice and Winchester’s incapacity. But the weather had continued unfavorable; and the commander had returned to the interior of the state, with the view of raising re-enforcements. Hardly had he set towork, however, when he received word that a large force of the enemy was marching to attack the garrison upon the Maumee. The general had returned with all possible expedition, arriving at the fort on the twentieth of April.
Fort Meigs—so named in honor of the illustrious governor of Ohio—was situated upon the south bank of the Maumee, at the foot of the rapids. It stood upon high ground, about sixty feet above the surface of the river; and its walls of earth and heavy timbers inclosed nearly ten acres. In outline it resembled an irregular “D”—the curved portion of the letter facing the stream. At each of the angles of the outer wall, was a strong blockhouse; and traverses of earth were thrown up inside of the inclosure, to protect the occupants from the shells of an attacking army. The fort was a depot of stores of all kinds, for the approaching campaign; and at the time of General Harrison’s return from the interior was garrisoned by about five hundred men—regulars and volunteers.
After his arrival, on the twentieth of April, the commander kept patrols out, watching for the enemy. On the twenty-sixth, he was apprised that the advance guard was approaching. A few hours later, a number of white men and Indians appeared on the opposite shore, and coolly and critically inspected the fortification. On the twenty-seventh, a party of savages crossed to the south side of the stream, and annoyed the garrison with a desultory rifle-fire. But little damage was done; and thegeneral and his men feverishly awaited the appearance of the main body of the enemy—which they knew was not far away.
The morning of the twenty-eighth was clear, and gave promise of a beautiful day. But the wind sweeping up from the lake was raw and chill. The soldiers within the fort were astir at an early hour. To their unbounded surprise, they could discover nothing of their enemies of the day before. Some of the officers and men were of the opinion that the Indians, discouraged by their ill-success, had gone to meet their brethren and allies and inform them the place could not be taken. But General Harrison did not harbor such belief. On the contrary, he felt that the withdrawal of the small band of savages portended a systematic attack by a large force—an attack he was not well able to withstand. So he sent Captain Hamilton and a squad of men down the river, on a reconnoitering expedition. Then drawing his cloak around his shoulders, and restlessly pacing up and down the inclosure, he inwardly condemned the niggardly and dilatory policy of the government, and prayed that re-enforcements might arrive in time to save him from an ignominious surrender.
His face wore an anxious and worried expression; but his thin lips were firmly set, his keen eyes shone with the fire of an indomitable purpose. The soldiers—every one of whom loved him and had unbounded confidence in him—looking upon him, knew that no white flag would float over FortMeigs, as long as there was a man left to load and fire a gun. And each one of them—from the highest officer to the meanest subaltern—resolved to die like a hero.
Near one of the blockhouses at the eastern extremity of the fort, stood a white man and an Indian. The former was slightly past middle age, tall, stooped, and ungainly. The latter was much younger, lithe, strong, and straight as an arrow. For some time they stood silently watching the commander, as he paced to and fro. At last the white man blew his long nose vigorously, wiped the tears from his eyes with the back of his horny hand, and, screwing his homely features into a comical grimace, said in a drawling tone:
“Injin, the sight o’ the ol’ Gener’l makes me sad—makes me think o’ him that’s dead an’ gone.”
“Ugh!” his red companion grunted stolidly. But the copper-colored face twitched; the bare and brawny chest heaved.
“Yes,” the speaker continued, “the sight o’ General Harrison calls up things I wish I could fergit—it does, by cracky! Gol-fer-socks! I can’t fergit ’em—not if I lived to be as old as Methusaler,—’r was it Nebbycaneezer? I’m a little rusty on Scriptur’, an’ liable to git mixed, somehow. But, pshaw! The past is gone—an’ gone ferever. The comrade we both loved is dead. Didn’t we see him shot through the heart? No—come to think of it—he wasn’t shot through the heart; ’cause he was shot in the right side—an’the heart’s on theleftside, inmosthuman critters. But he was dead, anyhow—killed by the danged Winnebagoes!”
Again the speaker paused long enough to blow his nose and wipe his watery eyes. Then he resumed in the same mournful, sing-song voice:
“Though I seen him dyin’ with my own eyes, Injin, sometimes I find myself thinkin’ he’s still alive—I do, by Matildy Jane! I’ve dream’d o’ him nights so much, it ’pears to me hecan’tbe dead. But, of course, heis. ’Cause why? We left him dyin’. Well, it don’t do no good to grieve. But ther’s one thing I’d like to know right smart—an’ that’s what become o’ the dog.”
“Ugh!” ejaculated the Indian, nodding. “Me heap like know where hound. Much good dog—sight big brave.”
The white man went on:
“An’ dang-it-all-to-dingnation! Here we are—jest got back from eighteen months o’ traipsin’ from one Winnebago town to another, all over God’s creation, all over the Northwest—an’ we’re right plump into another hornets’ nest. Talk ’bout jumpin’ out o’ the fryin’ pan into the fire! We’ve jumped out o’ ice water into b’ilin’ oil. Here we’ve been drug ’round fer a year an’ a half, beat and starved an’ cuffed every day in the week—an’ give a double dose on Sundays. My heart’s been in my mouth so much, I’ve chawed off one end of it an’ spit it out with my tobacker—I have, by my gran’father’s barn-door britches! An’ nowwe’ve made our escape at last—got half-way back from p’rdition to glory—we’re in another peck o’ trouble.
“As near as I can learn from the talk that’s goin’ on ’mong the soldiers, Gener’l Proctor an’ Tecumseh’s comin’ to attack this place—with not less’n three thousan’ white an’ red devils. Three thousan’ to five hundred! A purty pickle—I swear! W’y, hang-it-up-an’-take-it-down-an’-cook-it! They’ll eat us up without salt ’r pepper! ’Cause Ol’ Tippecanoe’ll never surrender—he don’t knowhow. He’s jest like ol’ Mad Anthony—they say he trained under that ol’ war hoss—an’ he’ll fight as long as he’s got an ounce of lead left, an’ a flintlock to shoot it in. Look at him now, Bright Wing. He’s ev’ry inch a soldier, ain’t he?”
“Ugh!” the imperturbable Wyandot assented. “Tippecanoe him heap sight brave. Him kill many bad Shawnees, Winnebagoes, Pottawatomies. Him fight till me, you—all dead.”
“Well,” Farley groaned resignedly, “I s’pose we can stand it, if the rest of ’em can. But the good Lord knows we’ve stood ’bout enough! Dodrot it! Sometimes I think the Lord has sent all my latter trials an’ tribulations upon me, fer growlin’ ’bout whackin’ them bulls from Fort Harrison to the Prophet’s Town—I do, by flapjacks! An’ then ag’in I git to thinkin’ my punishment is jest the natur’l result o’ the heartless way I’ve used the women folks. W’y, Injin, I used to be a reg’lar heart-breaker. I didn’t have no mercy on theunfortunates that bowed down an’ worshiped my beautiful face an’ form. I was a reg’lar Apoller in them days, I was—purty as a pictur’. But look at me now! Whackin’ bulls an’ sufferin’ Injin torment has jest ’bout ruined me. Where’s my purty hair, eh? An’ look at this nose, an’ these ears, an’ this face! Injin, my beauty’s suffered a blightin’ frost—it has, by my gran’mother’s petticoat! W’y, ding-it-all-to-dangnation! A few more hard knocks, an’ I won’t look no better’n the average man—I won’t, by ginger! An’ to think that an Injin squaw—the oldest an’ ugliest one in the whole Winnebago tribe—follered an’ tagged me from Dan to Barsheber! Follered an’ tagged me till I couldn’t eat n’r sleep—an’ the frogs inside o’ me jest natur’ly got disgusted an’ quit business. It was awful—awful! Injin, clap y’r eyes upon me an’ tell me what I’ve done to deserve such a fate.”
And Joe solemnly lifted his well-worn coonskin cap and faced his companion.
Bright Wing looked upon his loquacious and whimsical friend and smiled, while his beady eyes twinkled; but he said nothing.
Farley was indeed a comical object. His clothing hung in tatters upon his angular form; his toes peeped from his cowhide shoes. During his captivity, the Winnebagoes had essayed the hapless task of making an Indian of him. They had plucked out his scant hair, leaving his scalp bare and shiny—excepting a straw-colored tuft at the crown. They had pierced his nose and ears, and ornamented thosenecessary appendages with large shell rings. And, to complete the fantastic whole, had tattooed the totem of the clan, whose prisoner he was, in blue ink upon his forehead. He was a sight to excite mirth and commiseration at the same time.
“Well, what do you think o’ my looks, anyhow?” he asked, when Bright Wing had finished his silent inspection and was looking toward a distant part of the inclosure.
“Joe him very much pretty—heap nice sight,” the Wyandot chuckled gutturally. “Him Winnebago now—big chief.”
“That’s it—that’s it!” Farley moaned lugubriously. “I knowed it—my beauty’s gone ferever! I’ll never dare to peep in a lookin’-glass ag’in—the shock ’ld be too much fer my delicate constertution to bear. By King David’s cross-eyed wives! But my punishment’s too great fer mortal man to stand! Drivin’ oxen an’ bein’ the human habitation of a colony o’ frogs wan’t enough; the Winnebagoes had to have a whack at me. An’ they’ve finished the job——”
Then, with sudden animation:
“But what’re you lookin’ at, Injin?”
Bright Wing silently pointed toward the commander’s quarters on the southern side of the inclosure. General Harrison was just entering the door of his tent, and, hurrying toward it, were an officer and a number of soldiers.
“That’s Cap’n Hamilton an’ his squad,” Joe cried excitedly. “They’ve jest got back from the’rscoutin’ trip down the river. Now we’ll know what’s comin’. Le’s mosey out that way.”
Captain Hamilton, leaving his men outside, entered the commander’s tent and stood at attention.
“Well, Captain,” Harrison remarked calmly, “you’re back soon. What’s your report?”
The inferior officer saluted and replied:
“Three miles down the river we came upon the main body of the enemy, rapidly advancing in this direction.”
“Who’s in command?”
“General Proctor.”
“And Tecumseh commands the savages?”
“He does, General.”
“Is their force as large as reported?”
“I judge from what I saw that they have a force of fully three thousand men—British regulars, Canadian militia, and Indians.”
“Are they well supplied with heavy artillery?”
“I think they are, General. At any rate, they have some heavy pieces.”
“Is that all you were able to learn?”
“It is, General.”
“The enemy will be here in a few hours at the most,” Harrison remarked. “They mean to invest us—to storm us, if necessary. Their force is six times that of ours. But we must repulse them. To surrender means to lose all for which we have planned and fought—and to court death at the hands of the savages. If General Clay and his Kentuckians were only here——”
Then with fiery energy:
“But we must bestir ourselves. Captain, go and give the order that the gates be tightly closed at once—after a supply of water, sufficient to last several days, has been brought from the river.”
The captain saluted and withdrew. Turning to an orderly standing near the door, the commander said briskly:
“Find the field commissary, Captain William Oliver, and send him here.”
A few minutes later Captain Oliver put in an appearance. He was young and beardless, but strong, active, and courageous.
By this time, a number of officers had gathered at the commander’s quarters and were holding animated conference with him. All looked up at the young Captain’s entrance. Harrison broke off in the middle of a sentence and, advancing, took the newcomer’s hand.
“Captain Oliver,” he said solemnly, “you know the strait in which we’re placed. If re-enforcements don’t arrive within a few days this place, with all its stores, will inevitably fall into the hands of the British. Such an event would be an incalculable disaster. It mustn’t happen. But we must have help. General Green Clay is on his way hither, with a regiment of Kentucky militia. I have received word that he’s coming by way of the Auglaize. At the present time he must be near Fort Winchester. I’ve decided to senda dispatch to him, apprising him of the condition of affairs and urging him to hasten to our aid; and I’ve chosen you to perform the perilous mission. Your brother officers approve my plan—and my choice of messenger. Are you willing to venture upon the hazardous undertaking, Captain Oliver?”
The assembled officers craned their necks, and listened breathlessly for the young commissary’s reply. It was not long in coming. Firm and clear his voice rang out:
“I’ll go, General—willingly and gladly. I’ll deliver your dispatch into General Clay’s hands—or die on the way.”
“Thank you, Captain,” Harrison murmured, his voice soft with emotion.
Then quickly:
“How soon can you start?”
“At once, General.”
“Very well—the sooner the better. You should be beyond reach of our enemies before they invest the fort. Make your preparations and return in a half hour. I’ll have the dispatch ready for you. By the way, how many men do you want?”
“One, General—a guide.”
“Hadn’t you better take a score?”
“They’d be of no use to me, General—and you need them here,” was the firm reply.
“True,” the commander returned reflectively. “Well, come back in half an hour. I’ll have everything in readiness.”
Captain Oliver bowed and withdrew. Just outside of the tent he encountered Farley, Bright Wing, and a number of soldiers. Awkwardly lifting his cap, the whimsical Joe stepped forward and asked:
“Are we goin’ to have a brush with the Britishers an’ redskins, Cap’n?”
“More than a brush, I imagine,” answered the commissary, edging his way through the crowd.
“An’ what’re we goin’ to do?” Farley inquired.
“Fight,” was the curt response.
Joe was nettled.
“Any fool’d know that,” he muttered; “’specially if he’d been in the fight o’ Tippecanoe with the ol’ Gener’l——”
Captain Oliver stopped suddenly and, wheeling around, interrupted:
“You were with General Harrison at Tippecanoe, my friend?”
“I was,” Farley answered proudly. “Me an’ Bright Wing, here, was both there.”
“From your dress and general appearance, I judge you are a woodman—a hunter.”
“I am—what ther’ is left o’ me, which ain’t very much sence the danged Winnebagoes sp’iled my beauty.”
“You’ve been a prisoner among the Indians?”
“Yes—both of us, ever sence the battle o’ Tippecanoe. We jest escaped—jest got in here yisterday.”
“Does the commander know you?”
“He used to—but I don’t s’pose he would now. The danged Winnebagoes——”
Captain Oliver impatiently interrupted:
“I’m going on a journey. Would you and your red friend like to accompany me?”
“That d’pends,” was the cautious reply. “If it’s toward the Winnebago country——”
“Please step this way,” said the Captain, plucking Joe’s ragged sleeve.
When they were beyond earshot of the others, the officer explained:
“I’m going on a perilous mission. I want someone to accompany me as guide—someone acquainted with the woods——”
“Well, where’re you goin’?” Joe persisted.
“I’m going to meet General Clay, who is coming by way of the Auglaize.”
“An’ you want me an’ the Injin to go with you, as guides?”
“That’s it. You’re an American?”
“Did you take me fer a Britisher?”—indignantly.
“And you’re acquainted with the country up and down the valley?”
“I know it as well as I know the road to my own mouth; so does the Injin—he’s a Wyandot, an’ true as steel. When do you want to start?”
“Immediately. Will you go with me?”
“Yes.”
“And the Indian?”
“Of course.”
“How soon can you be ready?”
“We’re ready now—if we only had guns an’ ammynition. You see, when we got away from the Winnebagoes we hadn’t nothin’ but the clo’es on our backs—which ain’t much to speak of.”—And Joe glanced ruefully at his tattered garments.—“We lived on roots an’ barks, on the road here. Give us guns an’ ammynition, an’ we’re with you.”
“You shall have what you want,” was the decided reply. “Call your friend and come with me.”
A half hour later, Captain Oliver and his chosen guides passed out at the western gate of the fort, and disappeared in the dense woods upon the southern bank of the river.
An hour after the departure of the brave dispatch-bearer and his two comrades, the enemy put in an appearance upon the opposite shore of the stream. General Harrison pushed the work upon the grand traverse. This was a wall of earth and timbers, running through the center of the inclosure, the full length of the fortification. It was nine hundred feet long, twenty feet wide at the base, and twelve feet high; and was intended to serve as a protection against the shells of the British. Anticipating the fact that the enemy would erect powerful batteries on the opposite shore, the American commander ordered that numerous excavations be made in the south side of the grand traverse, to which his men could retreat in time of danger from exploding missiles.
All the afternoon, the Indians annoyed the soldiers of the garrison with a desultory rifle-fire; but as they fired at long range, their shots did little except to cause the Americans to reply in like manner. Late in the evening, two or three boat-loads of savages landed upon the south bank of the river, and, taking up positions among the neighboring trees, poured a more effective fire upon the fort. The soldiers answered briskly; and the fusillade was kept up until nightfall.
In the meantime, the Americans had trained two eighteen-pounders upon their enemies across the river, causing them to retire to cover; and the British had succeeded in crossing the stream and throwing up earthworks for the protection of their fieldpieces, a short distance from the southeastern angle of the fort. The place was completely invested. Preparations were active, on the one side, to storm the garrison; on the other, to repel the most vigorous assault.
On the morning of the twenty-ninth, General Harrison issued a general order, appealing to the patriotism of his men.
All day the rifle-fire was continued by both sides. Several of the Americans received serious wounds, and a number of the enemy were killed.
On the morning of the thirtieth, the condition of affairs was much the same. Within the fort, the grand traverse was nearing completion; and the British were placing their heavy siege guns in position on the opposite shore.
The Americans were well supplied with food, but they suffered much from want of water. They were digging a well within the inclosure; but, in the meantime, they had to procure their supply from the river at night—a hazardous proceeding.
On the following day, the British had a number of their cannon in position, and began a bombardment. The Americans returned shot for shot; and a number of men were killed upon each side.
For the next four days there was little change in the situation. Both armies were on the alert to take an advantage of the other, but none offered. General Harrison had removed all his tents and paraphernalia behind the traverses; and the enemy had nothing to shoot at but the bare earthen walls. The soldiers within the fort and the savages without kept up an incessant rifle-fire; and the great guns on both sides thundered. But the American commander’s supply of shot and shell was running short.
Apparently, the enemy had abandoned all idea of storming the fort and had settled down to take it by siege.