by Allan Eckert
Col. Crawford ordered double-strength sentries for the night’s guard: two men at each assigned post along the perimeter of the woods, so that the weary guards could help keep each other awake and fire alarm shots if, under cover of the darkness, the Indians attempted to infiltrate the woods.
[June 5, 1782—Wednesday]
As the first light of dawn filtered through the island of woods, Col. Crawford’s army was not in good shape. Three of their wounded had died during the night, and three of the 19 remaining wounded were close to death. The men were haggard and hollow-eyed, few of them having gotten any sleep at all because of the sporadic whooping and shooting from the Indians during the night, each time causing the Americans to brace themselves for a full-scale attack that never developed. Morale had sunk to a low ebb and was not helped when it was discovered that sometime during the night 15 of the volunteers from Washington County had deserted and, evidently through plain dumb luck, had managed to slip unseen through the Indian lines and gotten away.536 Hearing this, Pvt. Thomas Mills quickly went to check where his big gray gelding was picketed, fearful they had stolen it, and was inordinately relieved to find the horse still there.
With the coming of daylight, the shooting picked up again, at first “by little flirts,” as Pvt. Stephen Burkarn put it, but soon on full battle scale. The situation was not good; Indians had once again infiltrated into the southeastern portion of the grove and the lack of water was critical, the lack of ammunition serious.
In midmorning Col. Crawford held a council with his principal officers, who were divided in their opinions as to what should be done at this point. Col. Williamson strongly believed that the first order of business should be to drive the Indians out of the lower end of the woods. He suggested that he lead 50 men to hit them from within the woods, while Maj. John Rose, with 150 men on the best remaining horses, simultaneously charge the Indians’ flank. Maj. Rose was agreeable to the plan but, after considerable discussion Col. Crawford vetoed the idea, declaring it to be little more than a suicide mission that, in the end, would accomplish little and would result in the loss of many good American lives.
All the while the fighting continued on the perimeter of the woodland, though without much apparent effect on either side. Volunteers hidden behind trees watched for and shot at any Indians they could pinpoint in the grasses, while return fire from the dense growth kept them constantly pinned down behind their trees. Though most of the shooting was ineffective, a few Indians were seen to be hit, and one of the Negroes who had come with the British from Detroit and was fighting alongside the Indians, was killed when a ball from one of the volunteers struck him in the left temple and blew away the whole right side of his head. A few balls from the Indians found their marks among the volunteers as well. Pvt. John Orr was one of the first to be hit this second day of the battle, a ball slamming through his right side just below the rib cage. He was carried by comrades to the knoll to be treated by Dr. Knight, who had just finished bandaging a fairly severe wound in the upper left arm of Orr’s own battalion commander, Maj. John McClelland.
“Just dropped by, Major,” gasped Orr through his pain, “to see how you were doing.” His attempted smile was largely a failure.
“I’m all right, son, and we’re going to get you home, I promise you.”
The fighting continued in a desultory manner throughout the day, but with little effect. Along about midafternoon the Indians began hurling verbal threats toward the woods. After a while the threats tapered off and the Indians, acting almost as if they were drunk, began exposing themselves to view rather recklessly, at the same time actually beginning to parley, telling the Americans that if they gave up, they would not be harmed. The volunteers scoffed at this, of course, and shouted back that they would never give themselves up to an army of Indians and slaves.
The shooting having tapered off to a large extent, many of the soldiers retired deeper into the woods and were either catching naps or baking stick bread and roasting chunks of bacon over campfires and stuffing food into their saddlebags. Many of them talked about running off during the night, as the group from Washington County had done the previous night.
The battle seemed to have become a stalemate, but that did not last long. Throughout the day small groups of Indians arrived from different quarters to aid in fighting the Americans, and along about sunset the Shawnees showed up under their war chief, Shemeneto. Some 200 strong, they were garishly painted with whirls and stripes of red, blue, white and ocher on their faces and bare chests.537 The Wyandots and Delawares greeted them with evident enthusiasm and the groups intermingled at a distance. Soon the Shawnees, trailed by some of their allies, approached the grove, waving a solid red flag and giving vent to exuberant whoopings. They aligned themselves for a considerable distance along the north flank and then began an odd ritual. One of the warriors at the far end of the line raised his gun and shot it skyward, and then others did the same in succession, with only about a second or two between shots, the firing becoming a ripple effect that went clear down the line to the other end. The volunteers had no idea what was going on, and Pvt. Angus McCoy thought it was a superstitious act—that they were firing at the sun to put it out so they could attack the Americans in the dark. Maj. Rose, however, knew that was not the case; he had seen this sort of thing before and explained:
“It is,” he said, “what the French call a feu de joie—a fire of joy—actually, something of an act of defiance. The Shawnees must have seen Frenchmen doing this at some time or another. In doing this, they are flaunting their strength, showing us they have gunpowder and lead to waste and that there is no escape for us. It is, in effect, a celebration of our impending death.”
Immediately upon its conclusion, the firing at the grove broke out again from all the loudly shrieking Indians, as strongly as it had been since the beginning of the battle, and volunteers near the perimeter had to dive for cover behind trees and logs to avoid being shot as bullets smashed bark off the trees and clipped branches in showers around them. This time the grove seemed more completely encircled by the attackers, with shots coming from the grasses all around the grove except in the area of the trail to the south and in the adjacent cranberry bog quadrant to the southwest.
Pvt. William Davies’s rifle was put out of commission when a large ball struck it in the lock area and carried away much of the breech, and Davies looked in disbelief at the barrel and stock still gripped in his stinging hands. There was amazement among many of the men, as well, when 19-year-old Ben Newland abruptly appeared among them. Newland, a popular young man on the frontier, had been captured by Indians ten months earlier and was thought to have been killed by his captors long ago. Now here he was in their camp, having escaped from the Shawnee warriors who had just arrived. He brought word that those Shawnees were determined to torture to death in the worst possible ways any of the Americans who fell into their hands.538
Col. Crawford, having ascertained that the guards were still all in place and watchful for any advance of the Indians toward the woods, called a council of the officers and announced that they would continue returning the fire until dark, at which time they would kindle their fires as they had the night before. This time, however, they would gather their forces and make a sudden concerted break out of the woods and back along the trail upon which they had arrived.
“Excuse me, sir,” interrupted Brigade Maj. Daniel Leet, “but I think that is a serious mistake. The Indians are too alert. There has to be a reason why they haven’t fired from that direction. They evidently want us to make some kind of an attempt in that direction. The southern trail has to be some kind of a trap.”
“That’s possible, Major Leet,” Crawford conceded, “but it doesn’t appear we have much of a choice. Unless, of course, you have a better idea.”
“I think so, Colonel,” Leet replied. “I’ve been studying the firing. There’s been practically nothing coming from the southwest, but that’s all marsh country and it’s not likel
y we could get through there. But, other than that, directly to the west of the woods there hasn’t been much firing at all, and it’s high ground. I would suggest we launch a surprise attack in that direction and break through the Indian line.”
“That’s stupid!” David Williamson spoke up bluntly. “God Almighty, that would put us even deeper into their country and in an area we’re not familiar with. That’s a lot riskier than going south, where at least we know the lay of the land to some extent.”
“I’d have to agree with Colonel Williamson in that regard,” Crawford said. “The break will be made toward the south, not the west.”
Maj. Leet shook his head, obviously not in agreement. “Our maps tell us there’s a trail west of us about a mile called the Oak Creek Trail. We could hit that, circle around these damned prairies and bogs and go south, then cut eastward to hit Bouquet’s old war trail at the Muskingum and follow it home.”539
“I said we will go south, Major,” Crawford said sharply, “and we will. Now let’s start getting things ready.”
Disgruntled, Leet shrugged but said nothing more. Then the miller, Capt. John Hardin, spoke up brashly.
“There have got to be at least twelve hundred Indians out there!” he exclaimed. “For all we know, most of ’em are lining that road just waiting for us to walk into their trap. I think we would stand a much greater chance if the individual companies separated and each went off on its own, and made its own way back to safety.”
Col. Crawford gave Capt. Hardin a scornful look and immediately quashed that idea, then issued the direct order that the entire army would stay together as a complete unit and that absolute discipline must be maintained.
A definite sense of foreboding permeated the Americans in the grove as the twilight deepened into night and the men began making preparations for the retreat; though they were relieved that at last they would be leaving this place, they feared what lay ahead. Were the Indians, as so many suspected, lying in wait for them in great numbers along the trail by which they had arrived here? Were they at this moment silently slipping into the woods under cover of night to fall upon them as they packed their gear and readied their horses? It was 150 miles of wilderness between here and the Ohio River, in every mile of which they could be struck with a devastating force that they would not be able to counteract. Would that occur?
As Col. Crawford had directed, a large number of small fires were built to give the illusion that the army was settling into its camp for the night. Some of these fires were built on the graves of their fallen comrades to disguise the freshly turned earth and prevent the Indians from digging up dead to scalp them. Among the 23 wounded were seven who were so severely injured they could not ride; litters were made that could be suspended between two horses to carry them. Pvt. John McDonald, in severe pain from his broken thigh, was one of these. The whole body of the army was to form in four divisions, keeping the wounded in the center.
While these preparations were under way, the hard-headed Capt. John Hardin gathered together his own men and drew them off to the side. All four Hardins were together—Capt. John Hardin Sr., and his son John, Jr., as well as his illegitimate son John, called Jack, and his nephew Thomas. He whispered to his men that he was sure the army was going to ride straight into an ambush, and he had no intention of becoming a part of it. In direct disobedience of Col. Crawford’s orders, he told them he would lead his own company to safety his own way, and any among them who did not wish to accompany him was free to leave now and be cut to pieces with the main army. Only a few refused to go along, and within a few minutes Hardin and his men were quietly leading their horses toward the western fringe of the woodland, close to half a mile west of the south trail. Here the fires of the Indians were farther apart, and it seemed the men would be able to slip through the enemy lines.
The full movement of the retreat was scheduled to begin at nine o’clock, and by sunset just about all were in readiness. Gradually the main army, under guidance of its various commanders, moved into a marching order, with Maj. John McClelland’s battalion in the lead position, ready to move the instant the order was passed in whispers through the line. McClelland glimpsed Pvt. John Orr, horseless, arms clasped snug against his bandaged side, standing ready, with several other men who had lost their horses, to move on foot with the retreat when it began. Despite the waves of pain emanating from his bandaged upper left arm, the major remembered his earlier promise to this severely injured soldier, and now he dismounted and gave Orr his own horse, helping the grateful private into the saddle.540
It was at about this juncture when word reached Col. Crawford that Capt. John Hardin was slipping off with his company, intent on finding his own way to safety. Infuriated at such flagrant insubordination bordering on desertion, Crawford placed the army in temporary command of the only officer near him, Brigade Maj. Daniel Leet, and galloped off westward from the trail to overtake Capt. Hardin’s company and order the men back to the army. Almost immediately angry murmurings rose from the men who saw him depart but did not understand his intention and presumed he was deserting them to save his own life. And because their surgeon, Dr. Knight, and their guide, John Slover, were also missing, they thought all three had fled on their own.541
Col. Crawford had traveled away from the main force on Hardin’s trail for only a few minutes when everything fell apart. Hardin’s company, several hundred yards ahead of Crawford, in the prairie darkness near the western perimeter of the woods, had spotted an extensive dark area between the fires in one location, which Capt. Hardin took to be the dividing line between the newly arrived Shawnees, whose fires arced southward and eastward, toward the marsh and the road, and the Delawares and Wyandots, whose fires arced northward and then eastward flanking the northern perimeter of the woods. Selecting that darkest spot between the Indian fires as the area where they were most likely to succeed in breaking through the Indian line, he led his men quietly in that direction. It didn’t work out; midway in its passage, the small company was detected and, in moments, a whole barrage of shooting broke the silence of the night. Only one of the volunteers was hit, and that just a minor graze across the shoulder. Hardin instantly put his force into a gallop and surged ahead, making for the darkness beyond and putting distance between themselves and their pursuers.
The burst of gunfire, however, had far-reaching ramifications. In one brief instant the men in the main army formation concluded they were being attacked by the whole Indian force, and their fear turned into abject panic. Men yelled in terrified voices, and horses screamed as they were suddenly kicked into a milling, confused welter of hooves and bodies. The Indians on the north line instantly added their voices and gunfire to the confusion and plunged headlong into the woods.
The greater part of the army was abruptly in chaotic motion, thundering madly through the darkness to the south, generally along the trail but with splinter groups breaking off here and there, their horses rearing and shrieking and filled with unbridled terror. Among those behind Maj. McClelland’s advance party but in the van of the main army was Pvt. Thomas Mills, who had vaulted into his saddle the instant panic broke out and kicked his gray gelding into a gallop at the very forefront of the tumultuous rush.
The men on foot in the advance division, including Maj. McClelland, were simply ridden over by the mass of horses behind them, and a good many were badly injured and left behind to their fate. Abandoned as well were the many volunteers still on sentry duty, especially along the northern perimeter of the woods, who had not yet even been informed that a retreat was planned. These sentries—some patrolling and others taking their turns at getting some sleep—were simply overrun by the many fiercely shrieking Indians charging into the woodland from the north. The sentries had little chance and were killed or captured at their posts, some never even awakening before tomahawks ended their lives.542
The initial pandemonium of the troops in the main army continued, and McClelland’s advance mounted battalion, fearing to be
overridden by those behind, plunged ahead even more furiously, distancing themselves from the followers and, as had been feared, surging directly into a mass of Indians, largely Shawnees and Delawares, positioned for just such an eventuality. Both McClelland’s precipitous advance and the Hardin company’s flight were providential acts that, though horribly disconcerting at first, aided the bulk of the main army immeasurably.
The Indians were not quite sure what was occurring. The chiefs were at first under the impression—bolstered by the initial breakthrough of the Hardin company—that the movements were feints to decoy them into an exposed position. That impression did not last. Their hesitation evaporated as the realization dawned that this was a panic-inspired full-scale retreat, and they immediately surged to attack in the darkness.
With Col. Crawford still gone and likely by this time either to be dead or captured, Col. David Williamson now relieved Brigade Maj. Leet and took over command of the army, assisted by Maj. John Rose. Their portion of the army was no longer so panic-stricken as before, and they were, for the most part, still together as a unit. Fortunately, Jonathan Zane was with them, and when he suggested a way he might be able to lead them through the Indian lines, the new commander listened closely. It was a reasonable plan and now, at Williamson’s orders, they veered southwest, away from the road. While the Indians were diverted into concentrating on Hardin’s company at the western prairie front and on McClelland’s advance force on the road south, the main army skirted the northern arc of the expansive cranberry bog and began moving down its western side, fortuitously getting the bog between themselves and the Indians.543 Zane, riding beside Col. Williamson, continued to guide them through the darkness.544