Among the most successful officers of the war of 1812, was Major General William Henry Harrison. Descended from a good old revolutionary stock, and thoroughly imbued, in his boyhood, with sentiments of the most sincere and devoted patriotism, he laid the foundation, at an early age, of the fame and distinction which he acquired in maturer years. Throughout a long life,—one full of interest, and replete with important incidents,—he enjoyed a wide-spread popularity, which, in the western states of the Union, was sometimes manifested with all the fervor of enthusiasm. No one better deserved the respect and esteem of his countrymen, and there are few whose character has come brighter or purer from the ordeal, when submitted to that Areopagus of public opinion, whose decisions admit not of dispute.

He was born at Berkeley, the family seat of his father, on James river, Virginia, on the ninth day of February, 1773; being the youngest of three sons. His father, Colonel Benjamin Harrison, was a descendant of the celebrated officer of the same name, who fought by the side of Cromwell for civil and religious liberty, but, preferring a turbulent democracy to a quiet despotism, opposed the ambitious projects of the Lord Protector, with the same stubborn vehemence with which he had contended against the attempted usurpations of the tyrant Charles. But—what is of more immediate value to us as Americans—he was one of the signers of the Declaration of Independence, and “the intimate friend of Washington”!

Colonel Harrison took his seat in the Congress of the Confederation, as one of the delegates from Virginia, in 1774, and remained a member of that body, during that and the two following years. On the resignation of his brother-in-law, Peyton Randolph, the president of Congress, he was urged by a number of friends to take the vacant place, but declined the honor, and, on his nomination, John Hancock was appointed to fill the station. It is also stated, in connection with this circumstance, that when the latter manifested some hesitation about accepting the office, Colonel Harrison caught the modest patriot in his arms, and almost carried him to the chair, nolens volens. He took an active part in the discussions and deliberations that preceded the adoption of the Declaration, and was the chairman of the committee of the whole when the vote to agree to it was taken. There is an anecdote related of him at this juncture, which attests the warmth of his feelings, and the sterling genuineness of his patriotism. Although John Dickinson was openly and avowedly opposed to the separation from the mother country, his honesty and integrity were never questioned, and his conceded ability secured the respect of the other members of Congress. Upon his urgent request, he was permitted to draw the second petition to the King, which was adopted, though with considerable reluctance. After the vote was taken, Mr. Dickinson could not refrain from expressing his satisfaction, and, at the close of his remarks, said, that there was but one word which he disapproved, and that was the word “Congress.” Colonel Harrison sprang to his feet the instant Mr. Dickinson was seated, and exclaimed with emphatic earnestness—“There is but one word in the paper, Mr. President, of which I approve, and that is the word ‘Congress’!”

Colonel Harrison was afterwards, for several years in succession, a member of the Virginia house of delegates, and filled the office of speaker till the close of the year 1781, when he succeeded Governor Nelson in the executive chair of that state. On the expiration of his official term in 1784, he retired to private life, but to the time of his death, which occurred in 1791, he was known and esteemed by the ablest men in the nation, and revered and honored by all classes and parties of his fellow-citizens.

The subject of this biography, William Henry Harrison, was early placed at Hampden-Sidney college. At the age of seventeen he left the institution with his mind well stored with classical lore, and not long after, in compliance with the wishes of his father, whose liberal hospitality forbade the bestowal of large fortunes on his children, commenced the study of medicine. Having completed a short preparatory course of reading, he proceeded to Philadelphia, in the spring of 1791, to attend the lectures at the University, and avail himself of the other facilities afforded in that city for obtaining a knowledge of the profession which he had selected. He had but just arrived there and resumed his studies, when the intelligence of his father’s death reached him, and effected an entire change in his plans for the future.

Notwithstanding the earnest remonstrances of his guardian, Robert Morris, the celebrated financier, who depicted, in glowing colors, the fatigues and hardships which he would be compelled to undergo, he determined to enter the army, and with his own good sword hew out a way to distinction. Preparations were then making for another campaign against the Indians on the northwestern frontier,—the expedition of the previous year, under General Harmar, having failed of accomplishing any decisive results. This added fire to the spirit of young Harrison. Washington was applied to,—and respect for the memory of the father, and esteem for the son, whose importunities could not be disregarded, procured for the latter an ensign’s commission in the regular service. He departed immediately for Fort Washington, now Cincinnati, but, though he hurried forward with eager impetuosity, did not succeed in joining the army, then but a remnant of what it had once been, till after the disastrous defeat of the brave and honest, but unfortunate St. Clair, on the fourth of November, 1791. On joining his regiment, at Fort Washington, he learned the particulars of the sad tragedy which had just been enacted. The melancholy fate of Butler, Oldham, Hardin, and their companions, who had fallen victims to the wiles of a barbarous and cruel enemy, so far from damping his ardor, or chilling his enthusiasm, only heightened the fire of patriotic indignation that burned in his bosom, and increased his anxiety to take the field, and aid in inflicting a summary punishment upon the merciless savages.

At this time there were no settlements of consequence north of the Ohio, except those at Kaskaskia, Vincennes, Fort Washington, and Marietta; and, on the south, between that river and the Tennessee, there were comparatively few inhabitants scattered over the territory previously known as Kentuckeè, “the Bloody Land,”—for many years the battle-ground of the Northern and Southern Indians. The protection, therefore, of the exposed frontiers, depended mainly on the regular force of the General Government, and the militia of Pennsylvania and Virginia; for, though the citizens of this remote region were ever prompt to obey the call to arms, they were too feeble in numbers, to cope, unassisted, with so powerful a foe. General St. Clair, governor of the “Territory north-west of the Ohio,” had moved upon the Miami villages with over fourteen hundred men; of this number, six hundred and thirty-one were killed in the fearful onslaught of the fourth of November, and there were two hundred and sixty-seven wounded; consequently, it was necessary to raise a large additional force, before offensive operations could be further prosecuted. President Washington immediately recommended a considerable increase of the army, and Congress adopted his suggestions.

In the then state of the country, it required no little time and preparation to fit a great body of troops for the field; numerous and unavoidable delays occurred; and, in the meanwhile, attempts were made to conclude a peace with the hostile Indians. The messengers dispatched by the Executive of the United States were treacherously murdered, and negotiation was no longer admissible, save at the point of the bayonet. In the autumn of 1793, a force of twenty-six hundred men, nearly all of whom were regulars, under the command of General Wayne, were concentrated at an encampment established near Fort Washington on the Ohio.

While these preparations were in progress, young Harrison, who had been promoted to a lieutenancy, was sedulously employed in studying his profession. His skill and proficiency as a tactician, attracted the attention of the officer selected to take command of the projected expedition, and he was designated as one of his aids. Having completed his arrangements, General Wayne took up the line of march for the Indian country, early in October. The lateness of the season rendered it impossible to accomplish anything till another campaign, and on his arrival at one of the tributaries of the Stillwater branch of the Big Miami, he established himself in winter quarters, and commenced organizing and disciplining his troops. Lieutenant Harrison was prominent among the young officers engaged in the work of instruction, and his services were flatteringly noticed by the commanding general.

In the summer of 1794, General Wayne was joined by upwards of one thousand mounted militia, and without delay set out in pursuit of the enemy, who, he learned, were in strong force at the Rapids of the Maumee. On the twentieth of August, he encountered the Indians, who had vainly attempted to draw him into an ambush, near the Roche de Bouc, on the north bank of the river, and defeated them with great slaughter. Their chief, Turkey-foot, and a large number of their best and bravest warriors, were slain; and the remainder either dispersed, or sought shelter under the guns of Fort Maumee, then occupied by a British garrison. The bravery and intrepidity of Lieutenant Harrison in this affair, were conspicuous; and in the official report of the action, his name is mentioned in terms of high commendation.⁠[8] While the army lay in the vicinity of Fort Maumee, an incident transpired, which came very near terminating, in all probability, the life of General Wayne, and that of his gallant aid.

Positive instructions had been received to demolish the fort occupied by the English troops, in utter disregard of the provisions of the treaty of 1783, and in order to enable him to decide upon the propriety of an attempt to reduce it, General Wayne, accompanied by his suite, advanced to reconnoitre. In this daring reconnaissance, the general, who possessed a constitutional indifference to danger, with Lieutenant Harrison at his side, rode within eighty yards of the fort, and within point blank range of its guns. While making their observations, with the utmost coolness, an English captain of marines turned one of the pieces upon them, and was about to apply the port-fire, when Major Campbell, the commandant of the garrison, interposed, just in time to prevent the catastrophe that would most likely have occurred. Major Campbell subsequently apologized for the unofficer-like conduct of his subordinate, and to his gentlemanly behavior the preservation of peace between the two countries may be attributed.

General Wayne did not deem it advisable to attack the post with the means at his command, and having destroyed the Indian villages within fifty miles of either side of the river, he returned to Fort Defiance, at the confluence of the Au Glaize and Maumee. The defeat which the Indians had sustained was decisive; everything remained quiet during the ensuing winter; and in July, 1795, General Wayne concluded a favorable treaty, at Greenville, with a number of chiefs representing ten different nations.

Upon the conclusion of the treaty, Harrison, now raised to the rank of captain, was placed in command of Fort Washington, and, shortly after, was married to a daughter of Judge Symmes,—a most amiable woman; distinguished for high moral worth, for her piety and benevolence; and esteemed and loved by a large circle of friends and acquaintances.

Captain Harrison soon became dissatisfied with the idle routine of a garrison life; there seemed to be no prospect that his serviced would be required in the field; and he longed for more active employment. Accordingly he resigned his commission, and in 1797, at the age of twenty-four, commenced his civil career, as secretary of the territory, under Governor St. Clair. His talents and many estimable qualities had already brought him into favorable notice, and the duties of his office were discharged with so much promptitude and fidelity, that he was regarded as one of the ablest young men in the territory. His popularity steadily increased, and in 1799, he was elected as the first delegate in congress. On taking his seat, in December, of that year, he was appointed, upon his urgent solicitation, chairman of the committee on the public lands,—the only instance, it is stated, in which a delegate was so distinguished.

The improvement of the existing land system had long been a favorite object with him. Many of its features were wholly inconsistent with the genius and spirit of democratic institutions, and calculated to retard the growth and prosperity of the great West. Among other provisions equally odious in their character, was one forbidding the sale of land by the government, in quantities of less than four thousand acres, except where there were fractions on the banks of large streams. Harrison had the forecast to discover, what a boundless field would be opened for the enterprising youth and industrious laboring classes of the Atlantic states, by the removal of this obstacle to the settlement of the territory, the development of the resources which nature had so lavishly bestowed upon it, and its rapid advancement to wealth and greatness. Through his instrumentality, aided by the efforts of other able members of both houses, who united with him in procuring this reform, a law was enacted, requiring one half of the public lands remaining unsold, to be divided into sections of six hundred and forty acres each, and the remaining moiety into sections of three hundred and twenty acres; the old system of forfeiture for non-payment was abolished, and payments were directed to be made, in future, one quarter down, and the remainder in two, three, and four years, with a further forbearance of one year on the last payment, if desired.

This was not all that Harrison wished to effect; but an important point was gained. Emigrants flocked into the territory by scores and hundreds, and the gratitude of the citizens, both the old inhabitants, and the new-comers, who had been benefited by his exertions, never failed to follow his footsteps as those of a benefactor and friend.—Such was the estimation in which he was held by his constituents, that he was solicited, on all hands, to take the place of Governor St. Clair. In reply to every intimation of this kind, Harrison steadily refused to permit any effort to be made, to supersede the war-worn veteran, whose only fault, if fault it be, was, that fortune had been chary of her favors to him, when her smiles, doubtless for some wise purpose, were showered upon those not more able, not more deserving, nor more prompt in the performance of every duty. The desire of Harrison’s friends was soon gratified, however, in his appointment by President Adams, in 1800, as the first governor of the newly erected territory of Indiana. Though deprived, by his position as a delegate, from taking part in the general legislation of the country, his sound judgment and sterling worth had secured him an enviable reputation, and when he left Congress, he was followed by the regard and cordial good wishes of his associates.

Shortly before his leaving the Capital, a circumstance occurred, which deserves to be mentioned, as illustrating the purity of motive, and honesty of purpose, which marked his public conduct. His father-in-law, Judge Symmes, was the proprietor of the Miami purchase; and previous to obtaining his patent, he had made a number of sales. It was doubtful whether the rights thus acquired were of any value, even in equity; but, upon the introduction of a bill in Congress providing for the settlement of the purchase, although the interests of Judge Symmes, and, indirectly, his own, were jeoparded, Harrison went before the committee having the bill in charge, and successfully urged the insertion of a clause amply protecting the claims of the purchasers.

In 1801, Governor Harrison entered upon the discharge of his official duties, at Vincennes, an old military and trading post, on the left bank of the Wabash, which was settled by the French about the year 1730. Though invested with extraordinary powers, the office to which he had been appointed was no sinecure. Besides the settlement at Vincennes, there were but two others, of importance, in the whole territory, out of which was afterwards formed the states of Indiana and Illinois, viz.; Clarke’s Grant at the falls of the Ohio, and the settlement extending along the Mississippi, from Kaskaskia to Cahokia. The white population did not exceed five thousand souls, and they were entirely surrounded, on the north and west, by numerous bands of Indians, who were either openly and avowedly hostile, or wanted but a favorable opportunity to manifest their hatred and ill-will.

To provide for the security of the settlements in the territory, however remote, or widely separated; to overawe the savages, or hold them in check; to encourage immigration; and to promote, in all things, the happiness and welfare of the inhabitants,—were the objects to which Governor Harrison unremittingly devoted his time and attention. In addition to his other duties, he acted as commissioner of Indian affairs, in which capacity he concluded fifteen treaties, and extinguished the title of the aborigines to more than seventy million acres of land—then, for the most part, an unbroken wilderness, but now dotted all over with the abodes of wealth and contentment, and teeming with a thriving and industrious population. Frequent journeys were performed by him, along the wild forest paths, and miserable traces, which led from one station or settlement to another. Dangers were fearlessly encountered; fatigue never disheartened him. He cheerfully shared the privations of the settlers; partaking with them of the rudest cheer, or, seated on a hewed block before a roaring fire, listening attentively to tales of trial and hardship, and offering the kind word of sympathy and encouragement. Wrapt in his blanket, or enveloped in the folds of a bear skin or buffalo robe, he slept, too, as soundly and sweetly on the bare earth in the hunter’s lodge, or the puncheon floor of a log cabin, as upon the beds of down in his father’s mansion.

In 1802, Ohio was admitted into the Union as a state, and Wayne county,—afterwards the territory, and, still later, the state of Michigan,—was then attached to the territory of Indiana. The duties of Governor Harrison were thus rendered still more arduous. He was relieved from this additional care, however, in 1805, when Michigan was erected into a separate territory. The country filled up so rapidly, that it became necessary, in a few years, to relieve him yet further, and in 1809, a territorial government was formed for Illinois.

Many years elapsed after the conclusion of the treaty of peace, in 1783, before Great Britain entirely abandoned her expectations of reëstablishing, at some future, and not very remote day, her authority over her revolted American colonies. It was customary for her writers and politicians to underrate the importance, and sneer at the pretensions of the young republic, till they saw, in the rapidly-extending commerce and growing prosperity which followed the restoration of peace and tranquillity, unmistakable indications that the daughter would soon be no mean rival of the mother country in the race of nations. To check these germs of greatness, ere they should bud and blossom, was now the favorite object of English statesmen. As no pretext existed for open hostilities, resort was had to the low arts of diplomacy—to intrigue and cunning; and amid the moral and political corruption, which, at that era, polluted the atmosphere of St. James, plans were concocted, whose atrocity must ever stand out in bold relief on the page of impartial history.

Disregarding the provisions of the treaty of 1783, the British authorities retained possession of the military posts northwest of the Ohio, and to these, and similar establishments in the Canadas, agents were sent, to suborn, and tamper with, the savages on the northern frontiers of the American Union, and incite them to commit acts of hostility upon the persons and property of the settlers who had found their way into the rich valley of the Mississippi. It was the policy of Washington,—and, after him, of Adams, Jefferson, and Madison,—to purchase the lands belonging to the Indian tribes, required by the increasing white population of the country, at a fair equivalent; to furnish them the means of civilization; to provide for them the restraints of well-ordered and wholesome regulations; to enkindle new desires, and implant new motives in their breasts; to enlighten their minds and Christianize their hearts. England, on the contrary, forgetting the eloquent and indignant denunciations of her Chatham, and careless how she sullied the national escutcheon, already stained by many a foul blot, supplied them with arms and ammunition,—with blankets, tobacco, and “fire-water,”—not to induce them to cultivate harmony and good-will with their neighbors, the citizens of the United States; but to minister to their most depraved appetites, and arouse the most vindictive passions of their natures. She asked them, not to lay aside the implements of death, and engage in the pursuits of peace; but invited them to continue their barbarous warfare, and glut their vengeance, to the full, with the tomahawk and scalping-knife!

Under the auspices of Simcoe, and other agents of Great Britain, immediately after the peace, a combination was formed among the Northwestern Indians, the object of which was to prevent the Americans from extending their settlements beyond the Alleghanies. The border inhabitants were constantly harassed by the irruptions of the savages; scenes of bloodshed and murder were of frequent occurrence; and when efforts were made to chastise the perpetrators of these outrages, they found in England a fast and firm friend, whose assistance, though not openly rendered, proved of essential service to her allies. Her influence was felt in the defeat of Harmar and St. Clair, and when the mounted volunteers under the gallant Wayne scattered the savages in confusion, on the banks of the Maumee, they fled for protection beneath the guns of a fortress over which floated the red cross of St. George.

The defeat of the Indians by Wayne was a severe lesson, and it was long remembered. Fortunately, too, for our country,—who needed only a season of peace, and repose from “war’s alarms,” to advance with rapid strides to the high destiny before her,—the revolutionary spirit had, at this time, crossed the Atlantic, and the watch-fires of liberty were blazing on the continent of Europe. Alarmed for the stability of her institutions at home, England had no time to spend in courting the favor of the North American savages, even though her machinations promised to terminate in the restoration of “the brightest jewel of her crown.” In November, 1794, three months after Wayne’s victory, Mr. Jay concluded his commercial treaty, in which it was stipulated that the western posts should be surrendered by the first of June, 1796, which was accordingly done; and in the summer of 1795, as we have seen, the treaty of Greenville was made with the Indian tribes.—The quiet thus restored was deceitful, and temporary in its duration.

The treaty of Mr. Jay provided, among other things, for compensation for British spoliations on American commerce, growing out of the war with France; yet the ratifications of that instrument had scarcely been exchanged, when outrages of the same character, but greater in degree, were committed. Taking advantage of the distracted state of affairs on the continent, the enterprising citizens of America had extensively engaged in the carrying trade; and their commerce had increased with so much rapidity, that the jealousy of England was again awakened. Large quantities of American provisions were also shipped to Europe, and especially to France, and to her possessions in the West Indies, the prices paid for which, during the continuance of hostilities, afforded handsome profits; but this interfered, very materially, with the determination of England, by means of her maritime supremacy, to starve the French people into an abandonment of their republican notions, and to prevent it, she caused blockades to be declared, which were enforced by no suitable naval power, and orders to be issued, in defiance of the law of nations, requiring neutral vessels to be seized though not carrying articles contraband of war.

Remonstrance on the part of the authorities of the United States, was of no avail. The example set by England was followed by France—every act of injustice on the one side being succeeded by a still more odious one on the other. The treaty of Amiens, in 1802, afforded the Americans a brief respite; but, on the renewal of the war, in the following year, seizures and condemnations of our vessels became more frequent than ever. England joined the coalition formed to establish Continental despotism on a firmer basis, and restore the Bourbon dynasty to the throne which they had disgraced; and she stopped at nothing to accomplish her purposes. Not content with watching the ports of France, she sent her privateers and vessels of war, under her pirate flag, to hover on our coast, and plunder our commerce. Her navy having been seriously reduced, in men, by the long continued warfare in which she had been engaged, she likewise resorted to the impressment of American seamen, to fill up the complements of her crews. Large numbers of sailors were taken from our merchantmen; and, to conclude these high-handed offences, the frigate Chesapeake was despoiled of a portion of her crew, on the twenty-second of June, 1807.

In the meantime the emissaries of Great Britain had been busy among the savages on the Northwestern frontier. So complete and irrefragable were the proofs furnished to Congress of this fact, that, in 1797, a law was passed to prevent the tampering of foreign agents with the Indians, which imposed severe penalties and punishments. This law was easily evaded, and it was therefore ineffectual. The Indians were invited to the British posts; they were flattered and caressed, and loaded with gifts and favors; their minds were soured; and no means were left untried to keep up a constant strife between them and the settlers. It has often been said, that the interference of British agents in this particular existed only in imagination, and that the Indians were provoked to hostilities by acts of violence committed by the Americans. Doubtless, there were isolated cases of wrong and injustice, which cannot, and should not, be palliated or excused; but it is idle to suppose, that the settlers generally would have so causelessly endangered their own security, and so recklessly jeoparded the lives of those who leaned on them for protection, and looked up to them for sympathy and love.

Governor Harrison was not an indifferent, nor, from his position, an uninterested spectator, of these events. The movements of the British emissaries did not escape his attention; he repeatedly cautioned his government against their designs, and labored incessantly to counteract them. He endeavored in every way to conciliate the savages, but his efforts were often frustrated by the unseen power so long felt in these border troubles. When the attack on the Chesapeake was made known in the United States, it excited a general sentiment of indignation. He shared deeply in this feeling, and embraced the first public opportunity to make known his opinions. In his speech delivered on the eighteenth of August, 1807, before the General Assembly of Indiana Territory, at their regular session, he referred, in emphatic terms of condemnation, to the conduct of the British agents who were secretly instigating the Indians on the frontier, and, avowing himself in favor of immediate hostilities, alluded to the affair of the Chesapeake, as being necessary, perhaps, to arouse the American people from their lethargy, and awaken them to the importance of teaching other countries and governments, that “a nation of freemen,” to quote his own language, “are not to be insulted with impunity”!

France, at length, ceased her unjust and oppressive measures; but England refused to abandon her position. Embargo and non-intercourse were tried in vain. The commercial relations of the country suffered more and more. Jefferson and Madison both desired peace; yet, notwithstanding their pacific inclinations, affairs daily grew worse, and war seemed inevitable. While matters were fast verging towards the crisis, the agents of Great Britain were actively engaged among the Northwestern Indians. Governor Harrison watched their movements with a vigilance that never slumbered, and sought by every means in his power to defeat their plans and combinations, and, at least, to prevail upon the Indians not to take up arms in favor of either party, in case hostilities should commence between England and the United States.

In the winter of 1810–11, crowds of Indian warriors collected around the British posts in Upper Canada,—their war-plumes streaming from their scalp locks, and their checks disfigured with the war-paint; and when the sweet notes of the blue robin, the welcome harbinger of spring, were heard echoing through the western forests, they went forth upon their bloody mission. Nature’s hymn of melody was hushed, as their shrill war-whoop resounded through valley and woodland, and the heavens became resplendent with the glow of blazing ricks and cabins.

Meanwhile Governor Harrison had succeeded in partially conciliating the Kickapoos, and some other tribes, and had effected the purchase of a large tract of land from them. It was the anxious desire of the General Government, to secure, at every hazard, the neutrality of the Indian tribes, in the event of a collision with Great Britain. This was regarded as of paramount importance; for the sad experience of the past had shown how much they were to be feared and dreaded, particularly when the military strength and resources of the nation should be employed in a contest with a powerful opponent. Governor Harrison faithfully reflected the views, and carried out the wishes of those whom he represented, and in the summer of 1811, a council was held at Vincennes, for which extensive preparations were made, and at which the leading, and most influential chiefs, of the Northwestern tribes, were present, by his invitation. The object of this assemblage was, to conclude a more general treaty, and complete the efforts which had been made to induce the Indians to remain neutral.

Among the forest warriors who came to Vincennes, in pursuance of the summons of Governor Harrison, was Tecumseh, the Shawano chief,—conspicuous, then, for his tall and manly frame, his earnest and thrilling eloquence, his hostility to the whites, his boldness, bravery, and sagacity, and his feats of daring in the chase and valor on the war-path; and afterwards celebrated, for the ascendancy he acquired over his red brethren, and for his steadfast devotion to the English cause. Deep rankling in his heart there had long existed a feeling of inveterate hatred towards the American people, which had been carefully nurtured and cherished. Several years previous, he had formed the project of uniting the tribes, north, south, and west of the United States, in a combination, to refuse to sell any portion of their remaining lands, to resist every effort to dispossess them, and, if possible, to drive back the white settlers from the Mississippi valley. Motives of ambition may have been mingled with his aspirations, and it is not improbable, that he looked forward to the day when a grand native confederacy should be established beyond the Alleghanies, with himself as its leader and head.

The project of this “forest-born Demosthenes” was a vast one, and he devoted himself with untiring zeal and pertinacity to its accomplishment. His exertions were powerfully seconded by his brother, Tensquataway—so well known as the Shawnee Prophet, or Impostor. The latter was blind of one eye, and lacked the oratorical powers of Tecumseh; but, claiming to receive direct revelations from the Great Spirit, which, though always possessing a singular resemblance to the public harangues of his brother, he imparted to his savage hearers,—and availing himself of that superstitious reverence, that, in a rude and uncultivated people, renders them so impressible, so credulous, and so easy to be governed and directed, by the practice of rites and incantations which are said to have thrilled and terrified the hearts of those who witnessed them—he acquired an influence second only to that of the chieftain whose ambitious designs he hoped to further. Tecumseh had already visited most of the Northwestern tribes, and was only waiting for the anticipated war with England, to marshal his bands and lead them out under her banner, hoping with her assistance to accomplish the great object he had so much at heart; and he now appeared in the council held at Vincennes, not to bury the tomahawk and smoke the calumet of peace, but to remonstrate against the purchase from the Kickapoos and other tribes, and hurl the gauntlet of defiance.

What excited the indignation of Tecumseh, more than all, was the claim of the white man to superiority, and the arrogance, as he termed it, evinced in calling the Indians his children. Upon the opening of the council, Governor Harrison kindly handed him a chair, saying, at the same time, in a courteous, yet dignified tone, “Your father offers you a seat.” “My father!”—exclaimed the chief, while he drew his form up to its full height, and his eye flashed with the fire of insulted pride—“My father!—the Sun is my father, and the Earth my mother; she gives me sustenance, and I will rest on her bosom!” Thus speaking he seated himself upon the ground, with as lofty and commanding an air, as if the green sward beneath him had been the throne of the Cæsars.

After the preliminary business of the council was disposed of, Tecumseh rose, and in a strain of impassioned eloquence, which has rarely been equalled, and never, perhaps, surpassed, by any native orator, reviewed the conduct of the whites, and the wrongs of the Indians, from the time when the former first disembarked on the Atlantic coast, to that moment—insisting that the land was given by the Great Spirit to the red men in common, and that no portion of it could be sold without the consent of all. His speech was well calculated to inflame the prejudices, and arouse the passions, of his savage listeners, and when he had concluded, Governor Harrison commenced a reply. While the latter was speaking, Tecumseh, carried away by his emotions, sprang to his feet, and, grasping his tomahawk, boldly charged the governor with having uttered a falsehood. Twenty or thirty of the warriors followed the example of the chief, and instantly arrayed themselves in a hostile attitude.

Governor Harrison was no “weak-heart;”⁠[9] nor was he to be intimidated by menace. Anticipating a sudden outburst of ill-temper, as he had discovered some unfriendly indications, he had posted a guard of soldiers within call. At the signal, they darted forward to take part in the threatened struggle. But Tecumseh was as politic as he was brave; he saw that the time had not yet come for him to strike; and he wisely avoided a conflict. The council was broken up, however; and all hope of securing the neutrality of the Indians was abandoned. The savages returned to their homes in the wilderness, and shortly after renewed their outrages, murdering the frontier settlers, plundering and burning their homes, and destroying or carrying off large quantities of property.

Governor Harrison’s decision was soon taken. Having obtained permission from the government to march into the Indian country with a military force, he made his preparations with his accustomed promptness and energy. Orders were sent to Colonel Boyd, of the 4th infantry, then at Pittsburgh, to join him forthwith with his regiment, and a strong militia force, part of whom were mounted, were imbodied in Kentucky and Indiana—the citizens gladly responding to the call of patriotism—and marched to Vincennes. Leaving that place at the head of about fourteen hundred men, considerably less than one half being regulars, the governor moved up the Wabash. About fifty miles above Vincennes he constructed a stockade fort, afterwards known as Fort Harrison, and then directed his course, without loss of time, to Tippecanoe, the Prophet’s Town, which lay on the west bank of the Tippecanoe river, not far from its junction with the Wabash.

On approaching the Indian town, on the sixth of November, Governor Harrison proceeded slowly and cautiously; as the enemy’s warriors were frequently seen flitting through the woods in advance of the army, and their scouts were discovered posted on the hills in every direction. Within a short distance of the village, he was met by the principal chiefs—Tecumseh himself being absent on a mission to the southern tribes—who, in reply to Harrison’s demand of satisfaction for the outrages which had been perpetrated, proposed that an amicable conference should be held on the following morning, and that, in the interim, neither party should commit any act of hostility. During the day he had made repeated efforts, without success, to bring the Indians to a parley, and he still distrusted their sincerity; but, being willing to grant them favorable terms of peace, if his demands were complied with, he acceded to their request.

Orders were now issued to encamp for the night. Majors Clarke and W. Taylor were sent forward to select a suitable position, and on their report Governor Harrison marched his command to an elevated knoll of dry oak land, rising in the midst of the open prairie, about one mile northwest of the village. The horses were picketed, the guards posted, and every preparation made for the bivouac. Having partaken of their evening meal, the Americans lay down upon the bare earth, to refresh their wearied limbs. From his long acquaintance with the character of Indian warfare, Governor Harrison was familiar with the arts and devices of the savages; and apprehending treachery, and knowing, that, if attacked at all, it would be under cover of the darkness, he required his men to sleep on their arms, and directed that the order of encampment should be the order of battle.

The troops were arranged in two columns, separated on the left, one hundred and eighty yards, and about half that distance on the right. The front line consisted of the first battalion of the 4th infantry, under Major Floyd, flanked, on the right, by two companies, and on the left by one company, of the regiment of Indiana militia, under Colonel Bartholomew; and the rear line was composed of the second battalion of the 4th infantry, under Captain Baer, flanked by four companies of the Indiana militia, under Lieutenant-Colonel Decker. Two companies of Indiana and Kentucky rifles, under General Wells, were thrown out to cover the left flank, and Captain Spencer’s troop of Indiana rifles was posted on the right. Two troops of dragoons were stationed in rear of the left flank, and one in rear of the front line, under Major Daviess. The left front and left rear angles,—that flank being the most exposed to an attack,—were turned by a portion of the regular troops. A strong guard was also detailed, each man of which was instructed to be prompt and vigilant. In the event of an assault, the different corps were ordered to maintain their respective positions till they were relieved; and the cavalry were directed to parade on foot, with their swords and pistols, and wait for orders.

These dispositions being completed, Governor Harrison lay down among his men, having his horse near him, saddled, and in readiness for him to mount at a moment’s warning. Hour after hour went by in silence. The camp fires gleamed brightly in the distance till long after midnight, when they were suffered partially to die away. The cold chilling wind moaned dismally as it swept through the encampment, gently lifting the locks of many a tired sleeper who had looked for the last time on the setting sun, and fanning into a brighter glow the smouldering embers of the watch-fires. The beams of the young moon struggled almost vainly to pierce through the thick veil of clouds, from which a drizzling rain descended that hissed and sputtered as it fell on the heated ashes. The hour of darkness which precedes the dawn had nearly passed, when the governor rose from his rude couch, and ordered the réveille to be beaten. He then sat down before the fire, and commenced a conversation with some of his officers. While thus engaged, the stillness was suddenly broken, by the sentinels discharging their pieces, on the left of the encampment, and a fierce and hideous yell that roused every man from his slumbers.

Wistful and inquiring glances were at once turned towards the quarter from whence the alarm proceeded; the cry, “To arms!—To arms!” was raised on every side; and the wild slogan of the savage bands, rising higher and higher as the conflict deepened, was echoed far down the valley of the Wabash. For a few moments the encampment presented a scene of confusion; but the active exertions of Governor Harrison, Colonel Boyd, and other officers, soon restored order and discipline.

At first the attack was partially successful. The stealthy approach of the enemy was not observed until they were in the immediate vicinity of the pickets. It was their intention to creep up to the sentinels as close as possible, and then to spring upon them, and kill them, before they could fire; but, on finding that they were discovered, and the alarm given, they gave a deafening yell, rattled their deer hoofs—by which their movements in battle were guided—and rushed furiously on the guard posted on the left flank. The latter gave way almost instantly, and the whole brunt of the onset was sustained by Captain Barton’s regulars, and the mounted rifles of Captain Guiger, who occupied the left angle of the rear line. In every other part of the encampment the fires had already been extinguished, in obedience to the directions of Governor Harrison;—but, on this flank, there was not sufficient time, and the troops were exposed to the murderous aim of the Indian warriors, without even the protection afforded by the darkness. Nevertheless, they held their position gallantly, amid the storm of bullets that whistled incessantly through their ranks, till they were reinforced by two companies from the centre of the rear line, ordered to their support by the governor.

Such was the desperation evinced by the savages, at the outset of the action, that a number of them forced their way into the centre of the encampment. Here, for a brief space, the contest was foot to foot, and man to man. Fire brands were hurled, and rifles and muskets clubbed. The scalping knife glistened momentarily, as it cut the air in its descending course; and a dull crashing sound was heard, as the tomahawk sank into the quivering brain of some unfortunate victim. Louder and louder rang the Indian war-whoop; but the American soldiers—their confidence now regained—returned shout for shout, and yell for yell. Vengeance was not long deferred. Not one of the enemy who had entered within the lines was suffered to escape:—all were cut down, uttering, as they fell, in shrieking tones, their bitter and unrelenting curse upon the white man.

A short distance in front of the American left, there was a small group of sturdy oaks, which afforded shelter to a number of the most skilful marksmen among the assailing band, who poured a galling and intense fire, mingled with rapid flights of arrows, from their concealment. Major Daviess instantly requested permission to charge upon the cover with his cavalry. Governor Harrison granted the request, and the major ordered his bugles to sound the charge. His manly tones rung cheerily out on the night air, as he called upon his men to follow. Nobly did they second him. The charge was made, and the Indians scattered like the leaves of the forest before the fury of the autumn blast; but it was the last bold stroke of him, whose eloquence is yet remembered, and whose memory is still carefully treasured, among the people of the West. By his side, too, fell Colonel White, of the Indiana militia, like him, mortally wounded, in that sanguinary fray. Disheartened by the loss of their leader and many of their comrades, the cavalry fell back, and the Indians recovered the ground, opening a still more destructive fire on their opponents. As the dragoons retired, Captain Snelling promptly led forward his company of the 4th infantry, and again drove the savages from their shelter with the bayonet.

In the meantime, a heavy fire had been opened on the companies of Captains Spencer and Warwick, on the right of the line. The former, and his two lieutenants, were killed, and Captain Warwick was mortally wounded. All immediate danger being over on the left flank, Governor Harrison hastened to the right, to encourage the men to remain firm, and maintain the ground till daylight. At the first alarm, he had fortunately mounted the horse nearest him, without waiting for his own to be brought up, which was well known to the enemy. The dark eyes of many a red warrior glared fiercely, as they were turned hither and thither through the encampment, in search of the favorite steed of the governor. As he dashed to the right, he was accompanied by his aid, Colonel Owen, who rode a horse similar in color to that on which he had been mounted the previous day. A shower of rifle balls fell around them. Colonel Owen was killed, and the governor’s cravat was pierced by a bullet, that chanced not to injure his person.

In passing to the right flank, the governor found the company of Captain Robb, which had fallen back at the commencement of the attack, in the centre of the camp. Leading them to the support of Spencer’s and Warwick’s companies, he strengthened this part of the line, and by his presence encouraged the men to more animated exertions. A warm fire was now kept up till the early dawn, in front, on both flanks, and partly in rear of the encampment; the sharp crack of the rifle, and the prolonged rattle of musketry, mingling with the shouts and cheers of the American soldiers. Governor Harrison well knew, as the great father of the English drama had written years before, that “advantage is a better soldier than rashness,” and he did not hazard the safety of his command, though suffering severely from the heavy fire, by any offensive movement, till the light of day enabled him to ascertain the position and numbers of the enemy.