General Harrison followed the flying Proctor on the twenty-eighth, moving forward with as much rapidity as was possible. Many of the Kentuckians were mounted men, but they had been obliged to leave their horses on the American shore. The enemy had taken away everything of the kind, except a single horse, on which Governor Shelby was mounted; who, though in his sixty-third year, pressed forward with all the ardor and enthusiasm of twenty-one. The army reached Sandwich on the twenty-ninth instant, and General Harrison sent a detachment across the river to take possession of Detroit, then occupied by hostile Indians. On the thirtieth, Colonel Johnson joined the army with his regiment, and preparations were at once made for continuing the pursuit of General Proctor,—who, on arriving at the Thames, had proceeded up the valley of the river, with the intention of making his way to the British posts about the head of Lake Ontario.

The Americans resumed the march on the second of October,—the mounted rifles of Colonel Johnson leading the van. General Harrison was accompanied by Commodore Perry and General Cass, as volunteer aids; his whole force consisted of about thirty-five hundred men, most of whom were Kentuckians.⁠[10] From the highest to the lowest, all manifested the same eager spirit; every heart throbbed high with excitement. The time to which they had looked forward with so many anxious hopes, had arrived: Proctor and Tecumseh,—the marauders of the one, and the murderers of the other,—were before them!

General Harrison and his men pressed forward with such rapidity, that, on the first day of their march, they made twenty-six miles. On the next, they captured a British officer and eleven men, from whom they learned that Proctor had not received any intimations of their approach that he could rely upon. On the fourth instant, they were detained several hours at Chatham, seventeen miles above Lake St. Clair, at a deep creek that flowed into the Thames, the bridge over which had been partly destroyed by the enemy. While the men were engaged in repairing it, they were fired on by some Indians who appeared on the opposite bank; but the latter were quickly dispersed by the artillery of Colonel Wood, and the rifles of Colonel Johnson’s command. At this place, also, the Americans found two thousand stand of arms, and a quantity of clothing, which had been abandoned by Proctor in his flight. After crossing the creek, General Harrison continued the pursuit for four miles, capturing several pieces of cannon, and forcing the enemy to destroy three of the vessels containing their supplies. His men being considerably jaded by the march, he encamped, late at night, almost within striking distance of the allied force of British and Indians. On the morning of the fifth of October, the mounted men, marching from two to three miles in front of the infantry, discovered the enemy drawn up in order of battle, across a narrow strip of woodland on the north bank of the Thames, near the Moravian village.

The nobler aspirations of the soldier,—if, indeed, they ever existed in the breast of General Proctor,—had long since given way to cowardice and avarice. His chief anxiety now was, to escape with his ill-gotten booty. Unwisely incumbered with baggage, his army was delayed till their pursuers were close upon them. On the afternoon of the fourth instant, it became evident that he must soon be overtaken. When he halted for the night, he was still uncertain what to do. After all was still, at a late hour, Tecumseh and himself silently descended the river in a boat, and reconnoitred the American position. The former earnestly advised a night attack, but the latter dared not risk the encounter, and determined to make one more effort for escape on the morrow.

What a study would that be for the painter!—Proctor and Tecumseh on the Thames, at the dead hour of night—no moon to cheer or light them—the stars gleaming dimly over their heads—and the solemn stillness unbroken, save by the gentle murmuring of the river, the low sighing of the breeze, or, it might be, the deep, melodious notes of the wood thrush, echoing sweetly through the forest; the red warrior arrayed in all the gorgeous attire of his race, his tall frame swelling with a manly pride, and his eye blazing like the young eagle’s, as, in clear ringing tones, he thundered forth his fierce invectives on the American people, and entreated his companion to give the signal for a midnight onset; the other shrinking, like a craven, beside him, and with faltering lips expressing his fears and doubts,—his fears, lest the vigilance of Harrison had provided against a surprise, and his doubts as to the issue!

General Proctor persevered in his retreat, on the morning of the fifth, until he found that it would be absolutely impossible to make his escape. He then decided to make a stand. Ordering a halt, he prepared his men for action. His regular troops, about eight hundred strong, were formed across the road, in two lines, in open order, on a narrow isthmus covered with thrifty beeches; their left, supported by the artillery, resting on the river, and their right on a swamp Tuning parallel to the stream. The Indians, under Tecumseh, to the number of two thousand, were posted beyond the swamp, their right thrown forward, and resting on another dense morass,—thus forming an obtuse angle with the alignment of the regular troops. It was the intention of the British general, that the Indians should precipitate themselves upon the left flank of the American troops as soon as the latter were engaged with the regulars; and the ground highly favored his purpose. Had he protected his front by an abattis, or even thrown a few trees horizontally across the road, the result might have been more doubtful, but, as it was, the action was scarcely contested, so far as he was concerned, and soon became a complete rout.

The original plan of General Harrison, when he saw the advantages of the enemy’s position, was, to advance upon them with his infantry regiments; and for this purpose he had formed the division of General Henry, in three lines, on the right, with the division of General Desha, en potence, on their left. The regulars, but one hundred and twenty in number, were stationed on the margin of the river, and instructed, at the favorable moment, to advance upon and seize the enemy’s guns. But on the return of Colonel Wood, who had been sent forward to reconnoitre, the fact was disclosed, that General Proctor had formed his men, as has been mentioned, in open order; whereupon General Harrison instantly varied his mode of attack, and directed Colonel Johnson, who had urgently solicited the honor, to charge upon the British line with his regiment of mounted rifles, while the infantry should promptly follow the movement.—This order was certainly an unusual one, in military tactics,—although the regiment had been carefully drilled to charge upon infantry, especially in the woods,—and it has been severely criticised, and sometimes censured. It was, doubtless, unexpected by General Proctor; and for that reason, if no other, was the best, as it proved to be the most fortunate, that could have been adopted under the circumstances.⁠[11]⁠

Just before the trumpets sounded the attack, Colonel Johnson discovered a narrow passage of firm earth leading across the swamp on his left. He then directed his brother, Lieutenant Colonel James Johnson, to charge the British line with the first battalion of his regiment, while he crossed the swamp with the second, and engaged the Indians. At the signal, the two battalions advanced slowly, in parallel columns,—the infantry following closely in their rear.

At the first fire, the horses in front of the column led by Lieutenant Colonel Johnson, recoiled,—but it was corrected in a moment. The bugles pealed forth their cheering notes; the men plunged their rowels into their chargers’ sides; and away they all went, thundering down upon the enemy—an army of avengers—ready to smite and to slay. Bounding over every obstacle, receiving another fire almost unharmed, and riding down all who opposed, with fearful yells they dashed through and through the British columns, showering their balls on every side. In an instant they turned and delivered a most effective volley. Stupefied and disconcerted by the suddenness of the onset, and nearly hemmed in between two walls of fire, the enemy made no resistance, but threw down their arms, and begged for quarter. The brave Kentuckians—to their honor be it said—spared all who surrendered. Proctor himself, accompanied by about forty regulars and some mounted Indians, made his escape, though hotly pursued, to Burlington heights, where he was publicly reprimanded for his cowardly conduct, by the same officer—Sir George Prevost—who had commended his brutality at Frenchtown. His private carriage and papers, his sword, and all his plunder, fell into the hands of the victors.

On the left, Tecumseh and his warriors refused to fly. The advance of the column headed by Colonel Johnson was retarded by the uneven character of the ground; his horses floundered in the morass, and strove in vain to penetrate the dense thickets of underbrush. He soon found that the charge must fail, and directed his men to dismount and take cover. Darting from tree to tree, they now pressed upon the enemy, and after a short, but animated contest, broke through the line and gained their rear. The Indians quickly rallied in force, further to the left, and threw their whole weight on the column of infantry under General Desha. A slight impression was at one time made, but Governor Shelby immediately restored the line by leading up another regiment to the support of the wavering column.

Still the battle raged with great fury. The voice of Tecumseh was heard above the din of arms, and his tones rang loud and clear as the notes of a trumpet, as he called upon his gallant braves to stand firm to the last. Colonel Johnson, though severely wounded, and a number of his best officers and soldiers, had already made their way to the spot where the undaunted chieftain and his bravest warriors had collected. Here the battle was fiercely fought. In the mêlée, Tecumseh fell, as it is supposed, by the hand of Colonel Johnson.⁠[12] This determined the contest. On the fall of their leader, the Indians abandoned the ground, and with an unearthly whoop, like the wail of lost spirits, disappeared in the forest. It was the death-halloo for their leader—the most formidable enemy among the red men with whom the whites have had to contend, since the days of Pontiac. With him their cause was prostrated—with him perished their hopes, forever!

The American force actually engaged in this battle, numbered about twenty-five hundred; the enemy had eight hundred and forty-five regular troops, and there were two thousand Indians. The former lost fifty killed and wounded; of the British there were eighteen killed, twenty-six wounded, and about six hundred made prisoners. The Americans also captured a large quantity of arms, ammunition, and provisions, and six pieces of artillery—three of which were captured in the Revolution, at Saratoga and Yorktown, and had been surrendered by General Hull. But, what was of vastly more importance, the territory which had been overrun by the enemy, was recovered, and the frontiers were rescued from the depredations of the savages. By the result of this engagement, the hostile Indians were cut off from their communications with the British posts in Canada, except the remote one at Mackinaw. Previous to the battle, an armistice had been entered into with the Ottawas and Chippewas, who agreed to take up arms against the British, and shortly afterwards a similar arrangement was entered into with the Miamis and Potowatomies.

“The victory of Harrison,” said Langdon Cheves, alluding, on the floor of Congress, to the battle of the Thames, “was such as would have secured to a Roman general, in the best days of the republic, the honors of a triumph.” It was the first considerable action in which the American arms were triumphant, and, in connection with Perry’s success on Lake Erie, served greatly to revive the drooping spirits of the American people. The heroes of the two engagements were toasted and fêted wherever they went; salutes, bonfires, illuminations, and resolutions of thanks, attested, alike, their merits, and the gratitude of their countrymen.

Having completed the object of the expedition, and not having orders to proceed further into the enemy’s country, General Harrison commenced his retrograde march to Detroit, eighty miles distant, on the seventh of October, and arrived there on the tenth. The Kentucky volunteers were soon after conducted to their homes by the venerable Governor Shelby, and in a few days General Harrison embarked in the fleet of Commodore Perry, for Buffalo, with the brigade of General M’Arthur,—General Cass remaining with his brigade at Detroit. Harrison reached Buffalo on the twenty-fourth of October; the brigade of General M’Arthur proceeded down Lake Ontario to join the unsuccessful expedition under General Wilkinson; and there being a sufficient number of general officers already assigned to that duty, General Harrison was permitted to return home on a furlough.

While at Buffalo, General Harrison addressed a letter to General Vincent, the officer commanding the British troops in the Peninsula, in reply to one he had received from General Proctor, immediately after the battle of the Thames, requesting the restoration of the private property and papers captured on that occasion. The letter entered into a lengthy review of the course of the English government in employing the savages, the barbarities committed by their allies, and the cruel manner in which prisoners of war had been treated by both Indians and British; contrasting with the conduct of the English and their allies, the kindness and clemency which had distinguished the American officers and soldiers, during the war. While he declared that, in future, retaliation would be made for Indian outrages, he appealed to General Vincent, as a man, to exert his influence in preventing the commission of such atrocities. “Use, I pray you, your authority and influence,” said the letter of Harrison, “to stop the dreadful effusion of innocent blood which proceeds from the employment of those savage monsters, whose aid, as must now be discovered, is so little to be depended on when most wanted, and which can have so trifling an effect on the issue of the war.” The reply of General Vincent to this letter, so creditable to the heart of the writer, was evasive, although he pledged himself to join with General Harrison in attempting to alleviate the calamities to which the latter had referred.

This was the last important act of the military service of General Harrison. Shortly after the letter was written, he returned home, on a visit to his family, by way of New York, Philadelphia, Baltimore, and Washington; being received at each place on his route with the most flattering demonstrations of respect. After spending a few weeks at the capital, he continued his journey homeward, everywhere encountering the same unmistakable evidences of esteem and gratitude.

Connected with his stay at Washington, there is an anecdote on record, which shows that his gallantry towards his fair countrywomen, was fully equal to that other quality, bearing the same name, that he had exhibited on the field of battle. At one of the drawing rooms of Mrs. Madison, a handsome and highly connected lady, one of the reigning belles at the capital, informed the president that she had laid her commands on General Harrison to meet her there on that occasion.—“That he cannot do,” said Mr. Madison, in his usual bland, but positive tone; “he left Washington this morning, with his horses and attendants, and must now be some twenty or thirty miles on his way to the west.”—“Still,” replied the lady, archly, “he must be here, for I laid my commands on him, and he is too gallant a man to disobey me!”—“We shall soon see,” returned the president, “whose orders he obeys.”—After the lapse of a few moments, the question was settled by the appearance of General Harrison and his suite in full military costume, and President Madison was for once obliged to acknowledge that he was mistaken.

The military districts into which the country was divided during the war of 1812, were so extensive, that it was very often deemed necessary to transmit orders directly from the War Department to a subordinate officer, at the same time forwarding duplicates to the commander of the district. This practice frequently occasioned, as it has since done, ill-feeling and dissatisfaction. It was condemned by General Harrison as being wholly inconsistent with subordination, and similar views were afterwards taken by some of our most distinguished officers—among others, Generals Jackson, Scott, and Taylor. Harrison remonstrated against the practice in earnest terms. The Secretary of War, General Armstrong, being not well disposed towards him, a sharp and acrimonious correspondence ensued. President Madison insisted on continuing the practice, and in the spring of 1814, General Harrison tendered his resignation. The president was absent from Washington at the time the letter was received, and the resignation was accepted by the Secretary.

President Madison sincerely regretted the separation of General Harrison from the army, and in a letter soon after written to Governor Shelby, he said, that the resignation “would not have been accepted, had he been in Washington.” That his confidence in Harrison was never in the least degree weakened, is evident, from the fact that he afterwards employed him to conduct several extremely difficult negotiations with various tribes of Indians.

General Harrison continued to discharge the duties of governor of the territory of Indiana, until it was admitted into the Union as a state, in 1816, when he retired to his farm at North Bend, a few miles below Cincinnati, in Hamilton county, Ohio. In the same year he was elected a member of the House of Representatives of the United States. He afterwards represented the district in which he resided in the State Senate, and in 1824 was chosen a Senator in Congress. As a legislator, General Harrison was distinguished for his practical common sense. Though he spoke but rarely, he was considered an efficient debater. His views on all subjects were regarded with respect, and those having reference to the reörganization of the army, and the peculiar interests of the western states and territories, were listened to with especial deference.

In 1828, at his solicitation, he was appointed by President J. Q. Adams, Minister Plenipotentiary to the Republic of Colombia. The distracted condition of the country prevented his accomplishing anything of importance, though his brief residence there was signalized by a letter addressed to Bolivar, replete with good advice, and full of noble and manly sentiments. “To be esteemed eminently great,” said he, “it is necessary to be eminently good. The qualities of the hero and the general must be devoted to the advantage of mankind, before he will be permitted to assume the title of their benefactor; and the station which he will hold in their regard and affections, will depend, not upon the number and splendor of his victories, but upon the results, and the use he may make of the influence he acquires from them.”—Trite and common-place as these sentiments may at this day seem to the American reader, had they but formed the rule of the public conduct of Bolivar, he would now be remembered only as the Liberator, not as the Dictator.

On the accession of General Jackson to the presidency, in 1829, as the views of General Harrison in regard to the Panama question differed from those of the new administration, he was recalled, and again returned to the avocations of private life. Though he had had numerous opportunities of amassing wealth in the various offices which he had filled, he was still in moderate circumstances. In 1834, on the almost unanimous petition of the citizens of Hamilton county, he was appointed prothonotary of the county court, the duties of which he discharged, in person, for several years. In 1836, he was supported, in some of the states, though with no expectation of being elected, for the office of President, and received seventy-three of the electoral votes.

He was still leading a happy and contented life in his retirement at North Bend,⁠—

“A simple husbandman, in garments gray,”—

when he was nominated as the candidate of the Whig party for the presidency, in December, 1839. In the following year, he was elected to the office, over his competitor, Mr. Van Buren, by an overwhelming majority,—receiving two hundred and thirty-four out of two hundred and ninety-four electoral votes. On the fourth of March, 1841, he took the oath of office, and delivered his inaugural address, amid a large concourse of spectators. Selecting as his cabinet advisers, some of the most distinguished statesmen of the country, from the party to which he belonged, he entered on his administration under the most flattering prospects of success.

One brief month terminated his earthly career, and marred all the bright hopes of those who had elevated him to that high station. Instead of the brilliant cortège that accompanied him on the occasion of his inauguration, another procession—without the joyous salvos of artillery, or the lively strains of martial music—but clothed in the habiliments of mourning, with banners shrouded in crape, with weeping plumes, with arms reversed, and muffled drums, followed his remains to the Congressional Cemetery.

A few days after his arrival at Washington, the president caught a severe cold, which, in connection with the unaccustomed excitement, and the harassing nature of his new duties, soon prostrated him on a sick bed. In spite of the utmost efforts of his medical attendants, he rapidly grew worse. His system had received a fatal shock; and on the fourth day of April, 1841,—in the same mansion where, nearly thirty years before, he had attended the gay soiree of Mrs. Madison—he died, expressing, with his latest breath, as his spirit gathered its pinions for its eternal flight, his anxious desire, that the constitution of the country should, in all things, be the guide of those upon whom his official duties were about to devolve.

General Harrison was simple and frugal in his habits, and, until his last fatal illness, enjoyed good bodily health. He was tall and slender in person, and his dark eyes gleamed with intelligence. An analysis of his character presents few marked, or striking points. The qualities of his heart were probably more conspicuous than those of his head. He was liberal and friendly, social and generous in his disposition. “His heart,” says Governor Metcalfe, “was expanded, and always in the right place”:—it was brimful of kindly affections—overflowing with benevolence and love.

He possessed a happy combination of mental faculties; he was a plain, practical man,—a man, not of pretence, but of action. His voluminous correspondence, as governor of Indiana Territory, his speeches in Congress, his official dispatches, and his inaugural address, indicate a sound judgment, strong good sense, and a well-cultivated mind. His integrity was of that sterling character which is proof against temptation. As a soldier, he was usually successful, because he was not rash or impulsive, but cautious and prudent. He was patient in adversity, and never easily disconcerted; he was calm, collected, and resolute—and therefore always fitted for an emergency, how trying soever it might be. But, what was still worthier and better, throughout his life, even to the closing hour of his existence, he was cheered and sustained, by the hopes of the patriot, and the consolations of the Christian.