ancient history, where the greatest records of human bravery and achievement are supposed to be contained, can anything be found to surpass the deed of an unnamed soldier who, being surrounded by a circle of savage foes, drove his bayonet through the bodies of six, knocked down the seventh with his musket and then fell dead upon the bodies of his enemies.

Or what story can outshine that of the Indian father whose two sons were wounded as they were wading a stream in the face of a deadly fire, and who, picking them up in his arms, carried them to shore; set one on either side of him and then with calm and majestic mien awaited the attack before which he fell, an invincible hero.

The return of the army, both victorious and defeated, was not hailed with undivided approval. Severe strictures were passed upon General Harınar for not going to the aid of Colonel Hadin; but later investigations revealed the fact that it was impossible for him to control the actions of the militia, and he has been exonerated from all blame.

Nevertheless, the campaign as a military movement was not successful. It crippled, but did not destroy, the Indian power. The pioneers were still in bondage to their fears, and it was necessary to make a second and even more determined effort to win a decisive victory.

In order to accomplish this end, two minor campaigns were organized for the purpose of keeping the Indians occupied while extended preparations were being made for the final coup.

The first was under the command of General Charles Scott, who marched to the mouth of the Kentucky river and from thence made forays among the villages on the upper Wabash. The second, led by Brigadier General James Wilkinson, left Fort Washington, August 1, 1791, and headed for Detroit. It was gone twenty-one days and did considerable damage on its march of four hundred and fifty miles.

St. Clair.

Trivial as these two forays were in themselves, they served their purpose and gave time for the equipment of the new army, which Congress had enlarged by the addition of another regiment of regulars, and the enlistment of fifteen hundred militia. Of this really important and effective force, St. Clair (to whose disgust at the hybrid word "Losantiville" we owe the nobler name of Cincinnati), took command as major general, having General Richard Butler as second in command; William Duer as commissary and contractor, and Samuel Hodgson as quartermaster.

From the beginning everything went wrong. These two men, Duer and Hodgson, were so incompetent and dishonest that General Butler could not provision and equip his recruits with sufficient rapidity. They were not ready until the 7th of September, 1791, although they were expected to be upon the march by the 10th of July. Impatient over the delay, the authorities at Washington egged on the commander-in-chief to a premature start on the 17th, and as he departed General Harmar warned him that he was on his way to all but certain disaster. Nevertheless, he had to go and did so bravely, although everything looked dark. He was sick, himself; the time of service for the six months' men was almost

ready to expire and famine stared the army in the face. One of the remaining months of comfortable weather was consumed in the construction of two forts; the first at Hamilton and the second at Jefferson, six miles south of Greenville. The marching was bad; the spirits of the army low and discipline the poorest. Desertion became almost an epidemic and three hundred militiamen vanished mysteriously from view. Never was an invading army so illy prepared for so serious a task as this miserable aggregation, when upon the 3d day of November it was suddenly forced to fight. On that ill-starred day General St. Clair ordered the straggling horde to encamp upon a stream whose name he did not know: It proved to be the Wabash and he had accidentally chosen a situation as favorable to his vile foes as if he had selected it for the purpose of giving them all the advantage. Through the shadows of the night a thousand warriors under the leadership of Little Turtle, one of their most invincible chiefs, crept stealthily through the pathless woods and formed a circle round the camp. At the break of day they rushed upon an outpost of militia and scattered the terrified soldiery like chaff. Pursuing them as they fled, the savages stormed the main camp and turned it into a slaughter house. For four hours the battle raged, the white men fighting desperately but hopelessly, and at their close those who could escape fled wildly, leaving eight hundred and ninety-four of their companions dead, upon ‘a battlefield which consisted of no more than ten acres of ground.

The accounts of the frightful tragedy read more like those of a massacre than a battle. It seems a wonder that anyone got away alive. The commanderin-chief did so, but by the skin of his teeth. Ill and exhausted, he mounted one of the few surviving horses, and joined the miserable throngs who were crowding pell-mell over the narrow forest road. For miles and miles they poured along like a river in a freshet, and found their first relief from despair when they encountered Major Hamtrank, who was leader of a delayed detachment of the fort, to their relief.

Perceiving the utter impossibility of trying to rally this disorganized army, he turned back in the almost forlorn hope of securing Fort Jefferson (thirty miles from the field of battle) as a refuge for the shattered and scattered columns. In that he was successful; but the terrified soldiers stayed within its hospitable walls just long enough to breathe and started homeward "like a flock of frightened sheep." With a swiftness animated by terror they made their way straight to Fort Washington and arrived there, the ghost of an army.

Language can scarcely exaggerate the despair that settled down upon Cincinnati at sight of their shattered legions and the accounts of their terrible defeat. Indeed, a stouter heart than theirs is said to have quailed, the heart of Washington himself.

The news of the disaster was carried to the commander-in-chief at the national capital by Lieutenant Drury of the regular army. He knocked at the door of the president's home in Philadelphia, then the seat of government, and urgently requested an immediate interview. Being informed that the president was at dinner, he insisted that his errand was too important for delay, and the president came out, at last, in response to his impetuous demands. To the terrible story he listened with that self-command by which he was enabled to endure so many and such oft-repeated shocks; went back to his company and passed the evening

in apparent tranquility and happiness. But when the guests had departed and he was alone with his wife and secretary, he gave vent to his pent-up emotion:

"It's all over. St. Clair's defeated, routed! The officers nearly all killed, the men by wholesale; the rout complete-too shocking to think of and a surprise in the bargain. Yes! Here on this very spot I took leave of him; I wished his success and honor. 'You have your instructions,' I said, 'from the secretary of war. I had a strict eye to them and will add but one word-beware of surprise.' I repeated it, 'beware of surprise you know how the Indians fight us.' He went off with that as my last solemn warning thrown into his ears. And yet!! To suffer that army to be cut to pieces, hacked, butchered, tomahawked by a surprise the very thing I warned him against! O God! O God! It's worse than a murderer! How can he answer for it to his country! The blood of the slain is upon him—the curse of widows and orphans-the curse of heaven!"

The giant frame of the great Virginian quivered with emotion, and as he threw himself upon the couch, the two spectators regarded him with pity and astonishment.

The storm passed, at length, and in an altered voice the president said: "This must not go beyond this room." (a long pause and then) "General St. Clair shall have justice; I looked hastily through the despatches, saw the whole disaster; but not all the particulars; I will receive him without displeasure; I will hear him without prejudice; he shall have full justice." A promise honorably and perfectly fulfilled.

The first unfavorable reports were followed by others which modified them not a little, and Washington concluded (as have all impartial students) that General St. Clair was the victim of an impossible situation rather than the author of an inexcusable disaster. But disaster it was, and upon a colossal scale, considering the possible consequences.

That backwoods struggle seems a trifling affair to those of us who look back upon the vast number of soldiers engaged in the "Civil," "Franco-Prussian" and "Russo-Japanese" wars. The conflict between a thousand white men and as many Indians in an almost forgotten corner of an almost inaccessible wilderness appears more like a neighborhood scrimmage in a back alley than an engagement upon which the destinies of two races appeared to the people of that day to hang. But to millions of people, in that young nation, it seemed as if the powers of hell were about to be let loose. The thoughts of an Indian invasion with all its horrors became a sort of nightmare through regions hundreds of miles away from the spot where the defeat was suffered.

What then must have been the emotions of the pioneers themselves, the people on the firing line? They felt themselves to be upon the very brink of despair, and for a time they could do little else but recount the stories of individual heroism and suffering which made up the narrative of the great disaster, and prognosticate the evils which were sure to follow. They discussed the responsibility of the tragedy with bitterness, and took sides with or against the unfortunate general and the cowardly soldiers. They followed, in imagination, the march of the little army that was dispatched in January, 1792, to the battle ground to give an honorable burial to the dead.

This force was under the leadership of General Wilkinson and consisted of one hundred and fifty men who volunteered for the purpose. It was an under

taking full of dangers, and prompted by love and heroism. The winter was severe and the Indians defiant; but the small contingent made its way bravely to the scene of carnage, and overpowered by emotions of horror and sympathy, committed the bodies of the dead soldiers to the earth, with all the rites of Christian burial.

Wayne's Campaign, 1792.

As a matter of course this victory over General St. Clair's army excited among the Indians the highest hopes of being able, at last, to drive the white men out of the great central portions of the continent. The enthusiasm kindled by this hope diffused itself in ever widening circles and constantly included new tribes. Depredations multiplied. The attacking parties became larger and larger. Their resources, crippled by previous struggles, were reinforced by the British. traders who secretly but persistently endeavored to maintain the hostile feelings of the Indian, in order to keep their trade and perhaps eventually regain the region for the crown.

These serious facts were not permitted by the settlers to remain unknown or unconsidered in the national capital. Judge Symmes and all the other promoters and speculators protested and petitioned, until at last steps were taken which resulted in the final elimination of the danger of Indian depredations.

It may seem strange, but there were not a few nor unimportant American citizens (mostly at points farthest removed from the danger zone) who did not believe it worth while to spend the scant wealth of the infant nation upon an effort to retain its hold upon the great northwest. "Let the Indian have it," they said, "or at least secure it by peaceful means. It is not worth its cost in human life."

In order to conciliate these remonstrants (and to fulfill their manifest duty to exhaust all other measures before continuing the war) several important embassies were sent out by Congress in the summer of 1792 to counsel with the Indians.

Everywhere they encountered the settled determination on the part of the savages to repudiate any proffers of peace that did not recognize the Ohio river as the boundary over which the white men should not pass.

They did agree, however, to hold a conference to discuss the general situation, and this conference, after long delays, took place in Detroit. Benjamin Lincoln, Beverly Randolph and Timothy Pickering represented the government, and many days were spent in discussion of the great questions involved; but the Indians were immovable in their determination and inexorable in their demands.

On the 16th of July they gave ultimatum which was signed by sixteen nations, the substance of which was summed up in these words: "Brothers, we shall believe you mean to do us justice if you agree that the Ohio river shall remain the boundary between us."

The commissioners retired at once, of course, and hastily forwarded notice of their failure to General Washington. The issue did not surprise that astute president nor catch him napping. He had foreseen the result, as had all the best informed observers, and been busily engaged in making preparations for a final struggle. In fact, Congress had, in the midst of these pacific movements, au

thorized the appointment of "Mad Anthony Wayne" as major-general of the army, and that gallant officer had accepted, upon condition that he should be given ample time and means for the hazardous enterprise of utterly subduing the stubborn Indians. He would have no six months' men, he said, for it would require (he believed) two years for drilling his army.

While the negotiations were in progress he had gone resolutely to work in the formation of his now famous organization, which was known as "The Legion," and which when fully completed consisted of five thousand infantry artillery and cavalry. None were enlisted but Americans and they were drilled with the utmost care in the use of all arms; but particularly the bayonet, and taught to convert themselves into lines and hollow squares and to meet the wily foes by every method known to frontier fighting.

The recruiting and drilling were begun in and near Pittsburgh, and the work went forward so rapidly that by April, 1793, the thoroughly compacted little army descended the Ohio to Cincinnati, and while the four companies of cavalry (the sorrels, grays, chestnuts and bays) were sent over to Kentucky for their quarters in "Bellerophontia" the infantry and artillery went into camp on the outskirts of Cincinnati which "because it was located in the only available place" was christened "Hobson's Choice."

The gay humor displayed in the choice of names was not indicative of lively but of grim determination. General Wayne felt his responsibility profoundly. He knew what issues hung upon success or failure, and left no stone unturned to insure a final triumph. This sense of the gravity of their business, he succeeded in infusing into his soldiers, who caught their leader's spirit to such a degree and responded so enthusiastically to his appeals for perfect discipline that when they set forth upon their great enterprise they composed an army as fit for its business as ever went to war.

These features in the military preparations and plans of General Wayne have excited the admiration of all who understand the art of war. In the first place he completed the academical training begun in camp by actual evolutions in the wilderness (not far from Fort Jefferson). In the second place he organized a group of scouts and spies composed of the most famous Indian fighters to be found, whose exploits became the pride of the army as they have been the wonder and delight of subsequent generations. In the third place he bewildered his foes by construction of roads in so many directions that they found it utterly impossible to decide over which of them all the wily general meant to move. So great was the admiration and so profound the respect which the great strategist excited in the minds of his enemies that before the battle the Indians dubbed him "Black Snake" and afterward "Big Wind" on account of the craft of his tactics and fury of his assault.

Engaged in these maneuvers and in road building, the winter was profitably passed by the little army, and in December, about Christmas day, a detachment was sent forward to the battle field which had witnessed the slaughter of St. Clair's army, for the purpose of erecting a fortification to which the name Fort Recovery was given because the ill-fated spot had come once more into the possession of the government. In June, 1794, believing themselves capable of overpowering the diminutive garrison, Little Turtle, an Indian chief, attacked their stronghold with a large force of his own people accompanied, as was believed,