by Allan Eckert
Nothing of an untoward nature had occurred on his way to the mouth of the Ohio or down the Mississippi from there to New Orleans. While dazzled by the grandeur of the largest and most ornate city he had ever seen and by the creature comforts available as well as the casualness of life, he did not like it. The hordes of people made him ill at ease, and the heavy air wafting off the salt marshes fringing the Gulf of Mexico was repugnant to him.
Almost on the point of heading back to his own home territory, Wetzel stopped in a tavern and happened to meet a middle-aged Spaniard whose prematurely gray hair made him look older than his years. They struck up a conversation and introduced themselves. The Spaniard said his name was Pedro Hermoso, and he intrigued Wetzel from the onset. A former trapper, guide and Indian hunter, Hermoso spoke English quite well and told marvelous stories of a western frontier enormously different in many respects from the one with which Lewis Wetzel was familiar. The man had spent considerable time not only on the Mississippi for much of its length but also far up the Red River into the land of the Comanches, which he claimed were the most ferocious Indians in America. He had also been far up the Missouri River, and the stories he had accumulated of the Indians, trapping on the western streams, hunting on the vast plains and traveling across deserts and mountains, were fascinating. Wetzel’s own tales of fighting the Shawnees, Wyandots and other Indians in the Ohio River Valley were no less fascinating to Hermoso and, as one thing led to another, Wetzel found himself accepting an invitation to come and stay for a while with Hermoso, his wife Rosita and his two little daughters, Delores and Magdalena, in his small home not far from the city.
Wetzel did not suspect anything was amiss until he had been with the Hermoso family for a few weeks. When he began to notice that Pedro Hermoso spent considerable time in the woods behind his house, he followed him one morning and saw him go to a small windowless cabin in a tiny clearing. The door was locked with a heavy brass padlock. Intrigued, Wetzel watched from hiding as Hermoso went directly to a battered bucket lying on its side a few feet away. Rolling it a quarter turn, he picked up a key hidden beneath it, opened the padlock and entered the cabin, closing the door behind him. Hardly a minute later he emerged, locked the door, replaced the key where he had gotten it and rolled the old bucket back over it. Then he walked back through the woods to his house.
When Wetzel nonchalantly returned to the house a short time later, he found Hermoso preparing to leave. The old Spaniard told him he had to go into New Orleans but would be back the following day, and he hoped Wetzel would look after his family and home till he returned. Wetzel assured him he would.
Shortly after Hermoso left, Wetzel went back to the woodland cabin, got the key and went inside. It took him by surprise to see several neat stacks of Spanish silver dollars and a pile of unstacked coins on a table. He began to sense what was going on when he discovered a smelting pot and some bars of pewter. His suspicions were confirmed when he found several sets of dies for casting the silver dollars; only they weren’t silver, they were pewter.
Lewis Wetzel had laughed aloud when he realized that his friend, Pedro Hermoso, was a counterfeiter.
He was still chuckling when he left the place, carefully locking the door and replacing the key in its hiding place before returning to the Hermoso house. He would not have been so amused had he seen his Spanish friend step out of the bushes as soon as he was gone and enter the cabin.
Late the following day Hermoso returned, but he was not alone. Accompanying him was a captain of the Spanish guard and several soldiers. Hermoso pointed out Wetzel and identified him as the man he said had given each of his little daughters a counterfeit Spanish dollar. As proof, he gave the two bogus coins to the Spanish captain. While the soldiers bound and held Wetzel, the captain made a search of Wetzel’s small room and, in his pack, found several more of the counterfeit dollars and a pair of dies for making more. Wetzel was furious and told them about the cabin in the woods. The captain was willing to listen, and Wetzel led them there. The bucket was now standing beside the door, and the padlock was gone. Entering, they found only a chair and table. Hermoso told them this was where he skinned the animals he trapped and cleaned the fish he caught.
Wetzel was returned to New Orleans and taken before the Spanish magistrate. The trial, if such it could be called, was very brief. Counterfeiting was a very serious crime against the Spanish government itself and, with all the evidence stacked against him, Lewis Wetzel was sentenced to life imprisonment. He was taken to the prison on the outskirts of the city, and there—all his clothing but his trousers taken from him and his wrists and ankles shackled—he was confined in a damp, dim cell.
[August 1, 1791—Monday]
Maj. Gen. Arthur St. Clair was having a very difficult time putting together the army he had been ordered to assemble and lead this year against the hostile tribes. His trip east to recruit men and assemble them at Fort Pitt had scarcely had the result he anticipated. It had been gratifying insofar as his meetings with President Washington and Secretary Knox were concerned, but the promises and encouragement he received were not backed up by physical results. Not only were men failing to volunteer in the numbers expected, but his quartermaster corps continued to have grave difficulties getting the supplies requisite for such a campaign.
Toward the end of April, St. Clair had returned to Fort Pitt and placed the soldiers assembled there on flatboats and accompanied them to Fort Washington. The stops at Wheeling, Marietta, Point Pleasant and Maysville on the way down the Ohio had been disappointing, with only small numbers of young, inexperienced men eager for excitement and adventure coming forward and volunteering to serve in his forthcoming campaign. They had arrived at Fort Washington on May 15, and St. Clair, who had expected to find all the promised provisions and supplies awaiting him there, was sorely disappointed; there was practically nothing. He had expected to begin his campaign on August 1, but now that day had arrived and he was nowhere near ready to embark, nor did it appear he would be for some time to come, probably not until close to the end of October. His stream of letters to the east strongly stating the difficulties he was having elicited further promises but little else.
The Federal Board of War that had been created earlier this year for the defense of the Kentucky District had been the only real help, and now St. Clair was being forced to rely almost exclusively on the efforts of the members of that board, personally appointed by President Washington—Harry Innes, Benjamin Logan, John Brown and Isaac Shelby—to draft the men he needed. Most of those who were drafted, men such as Cornelius Washburn, were incensed at being forced to serve against their will, under penalty of imprisonment if they failed to comply. They felt it far more important that they remain in the border country, protecting their lands, families and neighbors from the continuing incursions of the Indians.
The fact that the campaign would be led by a general who had proven himself in battle, that the army was supposed to number 3,000 men and be well supplied with all their needs, including a dozen or more fine pieces of artillery, should have filled everyone with confidence. It did not. Instead, an uncomfortable aura of melancholy and foreboding prevailed that simply would not go away.
[September 16, 1791—Friday]
The assemblage of Indians who had gathered here on the Maumee at the mouth of the Auglaize was awe-inspiring to see. Many had come from hundreds of miles distant, and all were bristling with weapons, their medicine bags and paint pots filled and ready for application. There were the Shawnees and Miamis, of course, for whom this was home territory, but also there were Ottawas and Chippewas under chiefs Kasahda and Menetowa from as far north in the Michigan country as the great strait separating Lake Michigan from Lake Huron; Tarhe was here with his Wyandots from the Sandusky River and Tymochtee Creek, along with the Delawares under Pimoacan and Wingenund; Potawatomies in large numbers had come from villages on the Milwakee, the Checagou, Peoria Lake, the Illinois, Kankakee, St. Joseph and Elkhart rivers under chiefs Chauben
ee, Siggenauk, Black Partridge, Main Poche, Gomo, Mtamins and Topenebe; Kickapoos were here from the Vermilion and Embarras rivers in the south-central Illinois country; Winnebagoes had arrived from the valley of the Wisconsin River, and there were the Sacs and Foxes from Rock River and the Mississippi; even a scattering of Iowas and Sioux were on hand from west of the Mississippi, and a few Mohawks and Senecas from near the head of Lake Ontario.
British agents from both Detroit and Niagara were present as well—men such as Alexander McKee, Matthew Elliott and the Girty brothers, Simon, James and George—who encouraged the Indians in attendance with word of a strong resurgence of interest on the part of the British in helping them.
That struggle shaping up was the reason these 3,000 Indians had come here. All knew by now of the singular victory of a relative handful of Indians against the ten-times-larger force of Americans under Gen. Harmar and how the Indians, against such terrible odds, had thoroughly humiliated the Americans and killed so many of them. And, just as they were charged with excitement over that tremendous achievement, they were angered over the recent sneaky invasions of more American forces under Gen. Scott and Col. Wilkinson, who had lured the warriors away so they could make war upon the women and children and old men left behind in the villages on the Wabash and its tributaries.
They had come to fight the Americans, all these red men, but their first order of business in this great council was to select those who should lead them against the army of Gen. St. Clair, which was now poised at Fort Washington to move against them. With all the notable chiefs on hand, it was no easy task, since many aspired to the reputation and influence that would be acquired by being named to such command.
For days the discussions had continued and, little by little, the field of those who should have the exalted role of command was narrowed. Finally it had come down to a choice between the Miami and Shawnee chiefs who had so masterfully beaten Gen. Harmar’s army, Michikiniqua and Wehyehpihehrsehnwah—Little Turtle and Blue Jacket. Try as they might, they could not break the deadlock of choice between the two, and so, for the first time in the memory of any of them, they chose them both to serve equally as co-commanders. Tarhe was named as next in command, followed by Pimoacan and White Loon.
With the selections having been made, the British agents were given the opportunity to speak. Alexander McKee and Matthew Elliott orated at length on the recent division of Canada into what would hereafter be called Lower Canada and Upper Canada. Upper Canada—that area including the Great Lakes and westward, was now under command of a new white chief, Lt. Gov. John Graves Simcoe, who had already professed his interest in helping to repair the injuries the Indians had received at the hands of the Americans. In line with this, Simcoe had ordered construction of a new British post up the Maumee a little distance from Lake Erie, at the foot of the extensive Maumee Rapids. That post, in honor of the tribe that had so long lived on the Maumee, was to be called Fort Miamis—a post where there were arms and ammunition in abundance in the King’s Store and a strong garrison of soldiers within its walls. It was to be built close to the ruins of the original old French fort of the same name. And though the British agents never really came out and said it in so many words, the strong impression was given that these materials and soldiers would be put to use to aid the Indians in their forthcoming struggle against the Americans. The agents commended the Indians on their decision to join hands as brothers in the looming struggle, yet they continued to skillfully skirt the matter of active British involvement. When it came Simon Girty’s turn to speak, however, he was brief in the extreme.
Standing silently before them for a moment, he suddenly reached into his pocket and withdrew an egg which he held up for all to see.
“This egg,” he said loudly, holding it aloft, “will tell us where we go from here. Its whiteness represents the Americans at Fort Washington. The dark of my fingers represents the tribes gathered here. What will be the outcome when they meet?”
His grip on the egg tightened abruptly, and the egg was crushed in his grasp. The roar of approval from the assembled Indians lasted for a long time.
[November 4, 1791—Friday]
That Maj. Gen. Arthur St. Clair would have led his army out of Fort Washington at all, considering the circumstances, was little short of incredible. Everything indicated it was a huge mistake, a march that positively should not be undertaken. But the biggest mistake was the one that propelled the army into motion—the mistake of pride. Arthur St. Clair had always taken pride in carrying out the orders of his superiors, and those superiors wanted results, not excuses. Besides, in his book of conduct, it was only the most worthy of commanders who could carry out orders despite hardships.
Very little that had been promised to him, or that he had expected, had come to fruition. The force he started out with, instead of numbering 3,000 men, of which four-fifths should have been regulars, turned out to be only 1,400 men, with only 710 seasoned officers and men, the remaining 690 being volunteers with little or no experience. So few provisions had arrived that it had been necessary, on the first day of the march, to place the entire army on half-rations until an expected supply train could overtake them.
It was not unexpected that such a situation should have developed. As the summer dwindled away, week after week had passed without the expected men or provisions arriving and with the season for such a campaign to be initiated growing dangerously short. St. Clair’s urgent dispatches to the east seemed to have little effect in hurrying things along, and the August 1 target date for the beginning of the campaign came and went while the army marked time. Delays continued, and St. Clair had finally decided that, come what may, he would set the army into movement on September 17. When that day came and the quartermaster had not come through, the army marched.
They had, in accordance with St. Clair’s instructions from President Washington, paused first at the crossing of the Great Miami River 23 miles north of Cincinnati. Here the general ordered construction of the first of the string of forts he was to erect—this one to be named Fort Hamilton.740 At this point, however, serious discontent had risen in the army, largely because of the near 500 camp-followers clinging to the army’s coattails. Despite St. Clair’s orders that they return to Cincinnati and wait there for the army’s return, these wives, children and unattached women of the militiamen remained close. Since they had no real supplies of their own, they had to ask for handouts from their husbands, fathers and lovers who were already on half-rations. St. Clair’s refusal to increase the rations to allow for this greatly enraged the draftees.
Building the new Fort Hamilton had consumed valuable time. It was garrisoned with a detachment of 23 men, and the northward march continued in weather growing progressively colder. Almost every day small numbers of Indians were seen observing them from a distance, but no skirmishes occurred. Nevertheless, the feeling grew among the men that if the Indians could scrape together even 500 warriors with which to engage them, this army could be in serious trouble.
After a march of 44 miles more, the army stopped at the junction of two inconspicuous little streams and, on October 21, began construction of a second fort in the string, this one to be called Fort Jefferson.741 It was erected with greater speed than had Fort Hamilton, and the army was once again put into movement, leaving a garrison of 20 men behind. But then a major disaster struck. In a carefully concerted maneuver during the midst of the night, 300 of the militia deserted, and their absence was not reported to Gen. St. Clair until dawn, when they had been gone for six or seven hours. They had taken with them some 200 of the camp-followers. It meant that 500 very hungry people were on their own. Should they encounter the expected supply train St. Clair believed was attempting to overtake the army, it was likely they would ransack it of the goods destined for the army. Reluctantly, St. Clair ordered a detachment under Maj. Francis Hamtramck in pursuit, with instructions to arrest as many of the deserters as possible and escort the supply train to the army. Having lost 43
men in the garrisoning of the new forts, 300 in desertion and Hamtramck’s pursuing detachment of 137 men, the army had been reduced to 920 men as it resumed its northward march.
At the same time, far to the north and east in their huge camp at the mouth of the Auglaize, the confederated Indians, bundled up in their blankets and heavy buffalo robes or greatcoats over their usual winter garb, awaited the command from Michikiniqua and Blue Jacket to begin their move against the Americans. Most expected they would be intercepting the army either farther up the Auglaize or just below the rebuilt Kekionga, depending upon what direction the American army chose to march. They were about to find out for sure. A council was called under threatening skies, and the 55-year-old Michikiniqua addressed them.
“My brothers,” he said in a voice that rang clear in the crisp air, “our British brother, Simon Girty, told us a short while ago that he has seen many armies of brave warriors before, but never one so large and courageous as ours. To that I would add, never one so determined to crush the Shemanese who invade our lands and take away our women and children!”
A roar of approval erupted, and Michikiniqua let it die away before continuing. “In these weeks past,” he went on, “we have sent out eyes to watch the movements of the Shemanese chief called St. Clair. Because of the courage and skill of the young Shawnee warrior Tecumseh, son of Pucksinwah, we have known each move of the Shemanese and their strengths and weaknesses. The protective hand of the Great Spirit has covered Tecumseh, for he walked among them, read their words and listened to their secret meetings without detection. He sent runners flying to us with all he learned, and we have been able to plan to meet the enemy. Now he has flown to us himself with the best words yet brought. He sits among us now, there”—he pointed toward the Shawnee contingent—“with his chiefs, Catahecassa and Wehyehpihehrsehnwah, and I would ask him now to stand before you and tell you what he has learned and what we should now do, with which I am in full agreement.”