That Dark and Bloody River

by Allan Eckert

  The Indian spies informed the Wyandot and Delaware chiefs on the upper Sandusky that the advance column of Americans had regularly been traveling no more than a few hundred yards ahead of the main force. This made the planning of their ambush easy. In the area the Indians chose to spring their trap, they would simply let the advance pass by unharmed and then strike the main body on all sides simultaneously. They harbored no doubt as to what the outcome of the struggle would be, but it was Pimoacan—the feared Captain Pipe—who put it into words.

  “We will destroy them all,” he said simply.

  [June 4, 1782—Tuesday]

  For those of the army who had never before seen the Sandusky Plains, their first view of it yesterday was breathtaking. The heavily forested hills through which they had been riding for the better part of a week had abruptly leveled out into high plains, with vast fields of grass as far as the eye could see. Their guides told them this type of terrain would continue all the way to the Sandusky towns, still some 30 miles distant: deep, thick grasses that were emerald green in their lush new growth and so high that the early morning dew soaked their horses and bathed the riders themselves to their waists. There was a deceptive sense of peace to the vista and a strong illusion that they had entered upon an expansive green sea where the surface was calm and smooth except where breezes touched down and rippled the grass in pleasant waving swaths all the way to the western horizon. The illusion of a sea was further enhanced by, here and there in the distance, great isolated groves of trees projecting above the grasses, appearing to be a series of lovely islands. So strong was this sense, in fact, that almost immediately the men referred to these groves as islands and dubbed them with colorful names based on their size or shape or color.516 Smaller groves, hazy and indistinct in the distance, loomed above the grasses like ships traversing the sea from one of the larger islands to another.

  Some of the men, however, viewed the deep grass with a rise of fear; in this sort of cover, a whole great army of Indians could lie hidden beyond detection, abruptly to rise at any given moment and pour a devastating fire into the troops. Their fear became infectious, and soon the initial serenity of the scene was replaced in the men’s minds with uneasy expectation.

  Their route since leaving the deserted ruins of Schoenbrun behind had been gradually to the northwest for some 15 miles before their guides turned them on a more directly westward course, a course they had more or less followed over the days since then. Having seen scattered individual Indians at intervals and occasional small parties of them, everyone realized that any hope of reaching the Sandusky villages and attacking by surprise had been lost. When they finally encountered one of the main Indian trails leading toward the Sandusky, they directed their course along it and the traveling became easier.

  The first casualty to the army had occurred when one of the privates who complained of not feeling well abruptly leaned sideways and flopped loosely to the ground. When his companions stopped to assist him, they found he was dead and attributed it to exhaustion. He was buried and his grave ridden over by the column of horses so it would not be found by the Indians and the body perhaps disinterred for the scalp.517

  At length the trail crossed a small stream that was meandering generally northward. Their guides, John Slover, Jonathan Zane and Thomas Nicholson, reputed to be very familiar with this country, said it was the headwaters flow of the Sandusky River. In only a few miles they encountered it again, the stream having swung back to the south and now beginning to take a more generally westward flow. From this point on, the trail they rode followed the left bank of the stream as it gradually increased in size by tributary creeks and the outflow of numerous good springs in the region. Visions of farming such a lush, richly soiled and well-watered land were strong in the minds of many of the volunteers; a seed planted and already germinating that one day, when the Indians had been driven out or destroyed, they would return here to claim land and establish their own prosperous farms.

  Just after sunset yesterday they had come to a fine spring where the water was cool and fresh and sweet. It was here that Col. Crawford ordered the army to halt and make camp for the night, warning the men to see to their weapons because the likelihood was strong that they would engage the Indians the following day; not only had glimpses of Indians been seen on their flanks, but the guides had informed him that they were, at this point, only seven or eight miles from Half King’s Town.518

  As dawn broke this morning, the army roused to find itself in the midst of a dense fog, which made the soldiers very nervous, for fear the Indians would take advantage of it to creep up close and attack them. An order to maintain silence was softly relayed through the companies, and the men squatted at their cookfires and ate their breakfasts with freshly loaded and primed rifles close at hand. Sunrise, when it came, did little more at first than brighten the fog, though they knew that as the sun climbed higher, its rays would quickly burn away the mist. But the sunrise brought something else that was chilling in its implication.

  Barely audible in the far distance to the north came the deep dull booming of cannon being fired. Maj. John Rose noted it in his journal, as did Pvt. Michael Walters, the latter writing that he heard the sound of six cannons fired.519 Hurriedly checking their rifles again, saddling their mounts and reloading their gear, the army started its march again in three columns, each with four riders abreast, while a company of light horse under Capt. William Leet, acting as an advance unit, rode a quarter-mile ahead. Shortly after this morning’s movement began, the trail they were following rounded a wide bend in the Sandusky River, and now the army moved in a more northwestward direction over the gently rolling sea of grasses. Very quickly the sense of tension among the men increased, as word was passed that they were approaching the principal target of their expedition, Half King’s Town, believed to be the major stronghold of the Wyandots.

  Soon they came to the place to which guide Thomas Nicholson said the Moravian Indians had been relocated the previous fall when forced by the Wyandots and hostile Delawares to move. He said it was called Captives’ Town. He also had heard, he said, that the Moravians, soon after learning of the massacre of their kin at Gnadenhütten, had moved to the mouth of the Auglaize River on the Maumee. They expected to find no one at Captives’ Town and were not disappointed. The level ground overlooking the Sandusky River where the Moravians had stayed throughout much of the winter was plain enough to see, but scant trace of their temporary residence remained; nothing more than a number of places where fires had been built and a few jumbles of sticks where makeshift shelters had collapsed.

  Soon afterward Col. Crawford brought the troops to a state of full-alert readiness as they approached the place where guide John Slover said the principal Wyandot village, Half King’s Town, was located. Slover said he had been there many times during the six years he had spent in captivity with the Miamis and occasionally after that, during the succeeding six years he had spent as a captive of the Shawnees. Then he had actually lived there for a considerable while after being captured by the Wyandots. No one, Col. Crawford was certain, was better qualified to guide them at this point than John Slover, and the commander was thankful to see that the grasses were less dense here, most of them only knee high or less and thus affording little cover for any kind for ambush. Nevertheless, a strong aura of apprehension overhung the whole army.

  Now, when the village itself came into sight, they saw no signs of life, apart from a single dog that quickly slunk out of sight with its tail between its legs. They advanced with care and saw there was something very strange about the place. The doors to the cabins were open or missing, the wegiwas were caving in on themselves and the whole village was unkempt, uncared for, unlived in. It was apparent to Col. Crawford that not only had this major Wyandot village been abandoned, it had been so for a considerable while. This, for many of the men in his force, confirmed their worst fears: They were expected. The commander immediately summoned the guides and asked for an explanati
on.

  “Colonel,” said John Slover, “I have no idea what’s happened here. This place was bustin’ out with Wyandots last February. I can’t imagine they’re really gone.”

  “Been a month, mebbe, since they were here, from the looks of things,” Jonathan Zane put in. “Where you figger they went, Tom?”

  Nicholson, who had spent a great deal of time among the Wyandots, shook his head and shrugged. “Dunno. Mebbe down to Lower Sandusky. Mebbe only to McCormick’s.” Lower Sandusky was in excess of 40 miles farther down the Sandusky River, just above its mouth at Sandusky Bay, and Alexander McCormick’s Trading Post was on the Sandusky about eight miles downstream from this abandoned village.

  Col. Crawford gave orders for the army to rest and drink at the fine spring here, fill their canteens and let their horses graze on the lush grasses, but he warned that all should keep themselves at the ready for instant action. He then called his officers to council.

  Immediately heated arguments erupted among the officers. Some felt that the Indians, fearful of the approaching Americans, were in flight ahead of them and should be pursued all the way to Lower Sandusky if necessary; others believed all indications underlined the fact that the Indians were aware of their approach and had now positioned themselves somewhere ahead, where the terrain was most advantageous to themselves, to ambush the American army. This latter group favored returning home immediately.

  The guides were asked for their opinion, and those three men briefly discussed the matter among themselves as the officers waited. Then both Thomas Nicholson and John Slover deferred to Jonathan Zane as their spokesman, and he turned his attention to the commander, slowly shaking his head.

  “Colonel,” he said, “I got me a bad feeling. We all do. We don’t like the looks of this at all. I don’t know what’s goin’ on, but the three of us”—he indicated Slover and Nicholson—“know there’s some more Indian towns—Wyandot and Delaware both—just a few miles ahead. The fact that we haven’t seen any Indians at all might mean they could be waiting for us in force, that all of ’em are gathering someplace ahead to hit us with maybe two, three, four times as many men as we’ve got. I—all three of us, in fact—think we ought to get the hell out of here quick-like.”

  “You mean turn back?” Col. Williamson blurted incredulously. “Without firing a gun?”

  “I mean turn back and get ourselves back to where we came from just as soon as we can,” Zane said firmly.

  Capt. John Hoagland snorted and then laughed without humor.520 “Oh, sure,” he said derisively. “We’ve just marched ten days through the wilderness to engage the Indians, and because we find an abandoned village, we simply turn around and go back. Makes sense to me.” He snorted again and then spat to one side. “For God’s sake, Colonel, let’s get on with what we came here to do.”

  “Give me fifty men of my choice,” Col. Williamson spoke up, “and let me go ahead to the town that’s supposed to be there, and I’ll burn ’em out.”

  Col. Crawford shook his head. “Permission denied. We are not going to weaken this force by sending out detachments on a whim.”

  Crawford was personally inclined to take Zane’s advice. Nevertheless, considering that the majority of the other officers seemed to agree with Hoagland, the consensus was to continue forward on the trail following the Sandusky River downstream. Col. Crawford decided that they would go onward at least until this evening and, when camp was made, the matter would be discussed again in light of what they had discovered between now and then. Allowing the troops and horses to have a little more rest, Crawford at length gave the order for the march to resume, now with Capt. William Leet’s advance light horse company hardly 300 yards ahead.

  Three miles later, still not having encountered any opposing Indians, the army paused again when it came to several more fine large springs bubbling from the earth at a slight bluff. Here Crawford, more nervous than he cared to admit, called a halt and gave the order to dismount and break ranks for the noon meal, despite the fact that they had rested only a short time before.521 As the men did so, some of the more outwardly apprehensive began murmuring that, since many of them now had only five days’ provisions remaining in reserve, maybe the advice of their guides ought to be followed.

  Crawford held another council with his officers. Ever more suspicious of possible ambush, he directed his adjutant and aide, Maj. John Rose, to take a detachment of two dozen men and reconnoiter the country ahead. The main army would follow as soon as they had finished eating. Maj. Rose selected his men and set out at once.

  Through the prairie grasses the advance detachment now rode, heading directly northward toward a large island of trees looming in the distance. Their passage through the grasses on both sides of the narrow path left a clear trail for the main army to follow. The grove, three miles north of where the army had paused, turned out to be a relatively dense woodland, somewhat oval shaped, with the southeastern end squeezed together and then flaring out again, almost like the neck of a flower vase. The trail they were following passed through this grove for a quarter-mile close to its northwestern edge, where it flowed over a small knoll. Maj. Rose made a mental note that because of the timber’s elevation on this small hill, it could prove to be a vantage point from which to fight, should the Indians attack.522 Though the trees were close together and there was abundant fallen timber in various stages of decomposition, there was not a great deal of undergrowth. A short distance into the island of trees, Maj. Rose discovered a pleasant glen less densely filled with trees. Here he ordered his men to leave most of their excess baggage and continue forward as a light unit traveling fast, ready to engage a small force of Indians or to flee in the face of a larger one.

  Leaving their excess gear in the care of a four-man guard, who would await the arrival of the main army, Maj. Rose and his men rode on, soon leaving the grove and continuing through the prairie along the Indian trail now angling to the northeast. In less than a mile the trail forked, one portion turning more to the north and the other somewhat more easterly. Rose elected to follow the branching left path—the road that the guides had said led northward to Lower Sandusky and, eventually, Detroit.

  They traveled another mile and a half, with the way ahead appearing to be nothing more than a continuation of the unbroken undulating prairie to the left and a line of trees three-quarters of a mile distant to the right, which Rose correctly assumed was the growth along the Sandusky River.

  Abruptly, three Indian horsemen were sighted, who apparently saw Rose’s detachment simultaneously. They fled, and the detachment pursued. The Indians maintained a steady distance ahead of them and Rose, after a few minutes, suspecting the three were leading them into an ambush, called a halt. It was wise that he did. With startling suddenness, a huge horde of Wyandots and Delawares, led by Monakaduto, Pimoacan and Wingenund, war-painted and wearing little more than breechclouts, boiled up and out of a hidden ravine and engaged them with musket fire. The attackers split into a V-shape in an effort to encircle the detachment.523

  The Indians in the forefront of the attack were Delawares under Pimoacan and Wingenund, and Simon Girty was with them. Close on their heels were the Wyandots led by Monakaduto, accompanied by the newly arrived British force of Rangers, most of them clad as Indians, along with a number of Frenchmen and slaves, plus the Indians brought along under Capt. Matthew Elliott—Chippewas, primarily, with a scattering of Ottawas and Miamis.524

  Most fortunately for the American advance detachment, Maj. Rose had stopped them just in time. The Indians had been forced to spring their ambush prematurely, when most of the volunteers were still out of range of the Indian bows and muskets. Rose instantly sent Pvts. William Meetkirk and Cornelius Peterson galloping back to warn the main army and, with the remaining force, fought off the attack while gradually falling back through the prairie from rise to rise, pausing every so often to fire at the Indians and temporarily halt them, all the while returning toward the island of trees where they had le
ft their baggage. Rose consistently kept himself closest to the Indians during the retreat—so close, in fact, that on one occasion some of the few Indians who were mounted came close enough to hurl tomahawks at him, which he coolly dodged in a rather remarkable display of horsemanship.

  As the riders sent back to warn the army passed through the grove, they alerted the baggage guards to prepare to fight. Without pause they continued back on their own trail and in five miles met the main army, which was just beginning to come toward them from the area of the springs. Crawford listened grimly to the report Meetkirk and Peterson brought.

  Fearing for the safety both of Rose’s advance detachment and of his own men here—knowing how fatal it could become to be surrounded by the approaching enemy in this open prairie terrain—Col. Crawford immediately ordered his entire force forward at a gallop to the grove, where if necessary a more protected defensive stand could be made in the cover the timber would provide.

  Rose and his men, in the meantime, with their retreats and pauses, had finally reached the grove of trees again, an hour after the ambush had first been sprung. Taking cover behind trees and logs, they sent a more effective fire at the enemy, causing them to swing wide to the southeast and begin to enter the woods there to similarly afford themselves of cover.