with a party of observation and
that he saw a force of Indians approaching the American camp, with a
view to reconnoitering it, whereupon, he hastened to the camp of the
militia and reported to their leader. "I halted my party," says Slough,
"near Colonel Oldham's tent, went into it, and awakened him, I believe
about twelve o'clock. I told him that I was of his opinion, that the
camp would be attacked in the morning, for I had seen a number of
Indians. I proceeded to the camp, and as soon as I had passed the camp
guards, dismissed the party, and went to General Butler's tent. As I
approached it, I saw him come out of the tent, and stand by the fire. I
went up to him, and took him some distance from it, not thinking it
prudent that the sentry should hear what I had seen. I also told him
what Colonel Oldham had said, and that, if he thought proper, I would go
and make a report to General St. Clair. He stood some time, and after a
pause, thanked me for my attention and vigilance, and said, as I must be
fatigued, I had better go and lie down." Fatuous and unexplainable
conduct in the face of certain peril!

At a half hour before sunrise on the morning of November fourth, 1791,
the army of St. Clair is at parade. The soldiers have just been
dismissed and are returning to their tents, when the woods in front ring
with the shots and yells of a thousand savages. On the instant the
bugles sound the call to arms, but the front battalions are scarce in
line, when the remnants of the militia, torn and bleeding, burst through
them. The levies, firing, check the first mad rush of the oncoming
warriors, but the Indians scattering to right and left, encircle the
camp. The guards are down, the army in confusion, and under the pall of
smoke which now settles down to within three feet of the ground, the
murderous red men approach the lines. The yelling has now ceased, but
from behind every tree, log and stump a pitiless fire rains on the
troops. The officers shout, the men discharge their guns, but they see
nothing. The artillery thunders with tremendous sound, but soldiers are
falling on every hand.

St. Clair is valorous, but what can valor do in a tempest of death? He
tries to mount a horse, but the horse is shot through the head, and the
lad that holds him is wounded in the arm. He tries to mount a second,
but horse and servant are both mowed down. The third horse is brought,
but fearing disaster, St. Clair hobbles to the front lines