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  Without Governor Harrison’s approval, Acting Governor Gibson was reluctant to undertake any offensive battle and we have been waiting here in Vincennes for Tecumseh or Bill Harrison ever since.

  Today Governor Harrison arrived and he has told me that he intends to challenge Tecumseh and his brother. I have permission from the President to stay here in command of the regulars until this situation is resolved or I am reassigned.

  Your loving husband,

  John Van Buskirk

  November 6, 1811

  Near Prophetstown, Indiana Territory

  Yank kicked his horse to a run and raced along Burnett Creek to join Governor Harrison, who was with the color guard at the front of the column of six hundred men.

  “White flag,” Harrison said as Yank reined in. He gestured toward an approaching delegation of Indians.

  “They look like Tenskwatawa’s believers.” Yank was examining the terrain.

  “I don’t trust that bastard, or his white flag.”

  “And you shouldn’t,” Yank agreed. “Let me go parley with them for you.”

  “No.” Harrison turned in his saddle to look back at his small army. “It has to be me. And I want you out of pistol range when I meet with these people.”

  “Very well.”

  “If they shoot me down, make ‘em pay, will ya?”

  “I promise.” Yank wheeled his horse and trotted away then turned back to watch.

  The meeting lasted only a few minutes. When the Indian delegation turned back toward Prophetstown, Yank rejoined Harrison. “Well?”

  “Tenskwatawa’s requesting a ceasefire until the morning when we can hold a peace-talk. I agreed.”

  “His defenses are incomplete. He just wants time to plan an attack and to maneuver.”

  “Let him come.” Harrison pointed at a large building on a hill just ahead of them. “That’s the Catholic Mission School. There’s a steep drop-off on the east side and a broad lawn to the south where we can deploy. The creek and this slope will give us protection from the west. It’s very good ground, very good. Inform your men.”

  Yank saluted, and then ran his horse to the rear of the column where the two-hundred-fifty men of the regular infantry under his command were waiting. “Officers call,” he said to the bugler as he reined in.

  His officers, Major Joseph Daviess, former congressman Captain Benjamin Parke, and Ensign John Tipton, were riding forward before the echoes of the bugle had died.

  Yank just had time to repeat what Harrison had said when the column began to move.

  They marched north past the mission school, then crossed the bridge over Burdett Creek and turned south to climb the gradual slope to the school. Harrison stood in his stirrups to examine the terrain as he was joined by his officers. “Lovely ground, isn’t it? We don’t even need to dig in.”

  Yank gave him a look that communicated disagreement.

  Harrison ignored him. “We’ll erect the command tent here in the center and form a rectangular perimeter. Captain Spencer?”

  “Sir?” Spencer replied.

  “Your company of Yellow Jackets will defend the narrow southern slope.”

  “Yes sir.”

  “Colonel Floyd?”

  “Sir.”

  “Deploy your four strongest companies on the north between us and the school. If they come tonight, that’s where they’ll come from. Divide the rest of your militia between the east and west.”

  “Where do you want my command post, sir?” Floyd asked.

  Harrison thought a moment. “On the steep bluff on the east, facing Prophetstown.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “The regulars and the dragoons will be held in reserve,” Harrison said. “Colonel Van Buskirk, a word if you please. The rest of you are dismissed. Please place your men quickly.” He returned their salutes and watched them ride off, then looked at Yank. “What do you think?”

  “I think you should reconsider earthworks.”

  “You made that clear. I meant, what do you think about this position?”

  Yank looked around, then shrugged. “I just told you what I think.”

  “You’re a hard-headed, stubborn bastard.”

  Yank shrugged again. “Failing to dig in makes absolutely no sense to me.”

  “I need the support of the church and don’t want to destroy the school’s grass unnecessarily.”

  “Politics be damned. We need earthworks to properly defend this hill.”

  “That discussion is over, Colonel,” Harrison said sharply.

  “Yes, sir,” Yank grumbled.

  “Do you still think the cease-fire is a ploy?”

  “Of course. They’ll attack us here tonight.”

  “What makes you so sure?”

  “Our scouts told us that the fortifications at Prophetstown are still incomplete. They want to engage us before we can get there.”

  “I hope you’re right. I’d rather fight a defensive battle from this good position than try to take the town.”

  “Dig in and I’ll agree with you.”

  Harrison scowled at him, and then looked toward the east. “That bluff’s too steep. He’ll come from the north using the mission school as a screen. We’ll meet him there and destroy him.”

  Yank shook his head. “He’ll feint from there and hit us from the south.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it’s our narrowest front and we’re blind there. Sentries on the north side will see an attack well in advance.”

  “I think you’re wrong, but if you’re right, we can collapse both the east and west lines to defend the south and stack ‘em up.”

  “If I’m right they’ll punch through and have both the east and west lines hamstrung and afraid to fire for fear of hitting each other.”

  “Well, what do you suggest?” Harrison asked in obvious annoyance. “And if you mention digging in again I’m gonna shoot you.”

  “In case I’m wrong and they do hit us from the school, let me give you command of the dragoons to support the northern line.”

  “No. I want them in reserve, Yank.”

  “Fine. Keep them in reserve then. But they’re completely useless anywhere but the north. Half the horses would break their legs on the western slope, all of them would on the eastern bluff and the south’s too narrow.”

  “If I take the dragoons, where will you be with the regular infantry?”

  “In the center where I can go either way, but expecting to move southward to reinforce Spenser’s Yellow Jackets.”

  “Very well. Please inform Major Daviess so he doesn’t get the idea that I’m usurping your authority.”

  November 7, 1811

  Prophetstown, Indiana Territory

  Tenskwatawa raised his hand to silence the protesting voices. “I have consulted the spirits and they have advised me of what to do.” He gestured toward a black man in tattered clothes who looked decidedly uncomfortable and out of place. “Our new brother, Ben, who today deserted from the army of our enemy, will show a small raiding party where Harrison sleeps while the rest of our warriors surround the camp. When Harrison is dead we will attack and wipe out all his soldiers.”

  “They have the high ground,” a war chief replied. “Many of us will die while attacking up that hill.”

  There was a general buzz of agreement from many of the warriors.

  Tenskwatawa raised his hand again to silence the discussion. “I will cast spells to protect our warriors from harm and to confuse the whites so they cannot resist. That is all I have to say.”

  November 7, 1811

  Near Prophetstown, Indiana Territory

  The sentry behind the mission school peered into the darkness and cocked his musket. “Halt.”

  Four Indians turned and fled leaving one black man who slowly raised his hands. “Don’t shoot. It’s jus’ me. Ol’ Ben the wagon driver.”

  “Ben? I heard that you run off to join the Indians,” the sentry replied.

  �
�I done changed my mind and come back now.”

  “Sergeant of the guard!” The sentry ducked as a muzzle flashed to his right and he caught the wagon driver’s collar before the man could run. “You didn’t come back, Ben, you brung the Indians down on us. Yer gonna hang for that.”

  ~

  Yank and his sergeant major were standing outside Harrison’s tent when the Governor came out. “Did I hear gunfire?”

  “Yes,” Yank said. “There’s been some contact on the north and a little skirmish on the south. As far as I can tell we’re completely surrounded.”

  “What time is it?” Harrison asked as he buckled on his saber.

  “About 4:30.” Yank looked to the south where a crackle of musket fire had erupted again. “Sergeant Major Baker?”

  “Sir?”

  “Send Sergeant Kennedy down there to watch from a safe distance. I want to know the moment that Spencer starts to yield.”

  “Yes, sir.” The sergeant disappeared into the night as Ensign Tipton joined them.

  “It sounds like Spencer turned ‘em back,” Harrison said.

  “They’ll come again,” Yank replied. He pointed toward the north. “Major Daviess should have the dragoons mounted by now.”

  “What orders did you give him?”

  “Only to wait for you.”

  Sergeant Major Baker was back and Yank turned toward him expectantly. “Captain Spencer’s wounded bad, sir. In the head and through both legs. Four lieutenants is down. The sergeants are holdin’ the men but they’ll break soon without any officers.”

  “Ensign Tipton,” Yank barked. “Get down there and take command.”

  “Me sir?”

  “I’ll be right behind you.”

  “Yes, sir.” Tipton ran toward the sound of gunfire and passed Sergeant Kennedy who was rushing the other way, toward the officers.

  “Kennedy?” Yank asked.

  “Captain Spenser’s dead, sir. He got shot again in the chest and that finished him. Lieutenants McMahan and Berry are dead too. The other two Yellow Jacket officers is down.”

  Yank glanced at Harrison. “I have to go.”

  “Of course,” Harrison said. “Let me see if Major Daviess and I can clear out those people by the school and then we’ll come down and help you.”

  Yank ran toward the southern line and stopped to mount his horse where his four companies of regulars had been formed. The Yellow Jacket Company was breaking, even with Ensign Tipton’s shouts and threats.

  “Companies A and B,” Yank shouted. “Fix - bayonets.” He waited while the sergeants echoed the command then raised his sword. “Forward, at the ready, march.” He eased his horse forward, then turned in the saddle and shouted, “Retreating Americans and Indians are both to be treated as hostile.” He looked back to the front then cantered his horse left to cut off a fleeing Yellow Jacket and slapped the man on the shoulder with the flat of his sword. “Fall in with us now or die.”

  “Yes, sir.” The man ran back and found a place in the first rank.

  The two support companies and Ensign Tipton’s rallying cries at last turned the Yellow Jackets back to face the Indians, who were now well inside the perimeter.

  Yank waited until he had sealed the breach and reformed the line, then he ordered four musket volleys that turned the attackers away. At 7:00 AM, he rode back to the command tent leaving the company officers in charge.

  “How bad was it?” Harrison asked, as Yank dismounted.

  “Bloody,” Yank said, holding his hands toward the fire. “Almost a third of Spencer’s company.”

  Harrison cursed under his breath. “You were sure right about digging in. I should have listened to you.”

  “It isn’t too late. They won’t be coming back for a while but they’ll be coming back.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Still worried about the God damned grass?”

  “No. I really don’t believe they’ll come back.”

  “Then I request permission to take the dragoons on a recon in force to confirm your belief.”

  “Granted.”

  November 8, 1811

  Near Prophetstown, Indiana Territory

  Yank dismounted, gave his horse to an enlisted man and gratefully accepted a cup of tea from one of Governor Harrison’s servants. “You were right,” he said to Harrison. “We rode all the way to Prophetstown. The town’s been abandoned. Everyone’s gone.”

  “All of them?” Harrison asked.

  “All of them except for one old woman who was too sick to travel. I brought her back and left her at the school with the surgeons. She told me that many warriors are accusing Tenskwatawa of being a false prophet and that he’s blaming his wife.”

  “His wife?” Harrison chuckled. “That sounds like a hard sell.”

  Yank grinned. “Something about her desecrating his medicine. The old woman says that the warriors aren’t buying it.”

  “What’s all that smoke?” Harrison pointed to the east, toward Prophetstown.

  “I confiscated anything of value, smashed all their cooking implements and burned the village. They’re going to have a very hard winter.”

  Harrison looked at the smoke for several seconds. “Some governor I am, burning my own towns.”

  “Prophetstown was never your town, Bill.”

  Harrison turned to face Yank. “I guess you’ll be writing an after action report to Secretary Eustis.”

  “Yes. As you will.”

  “Do you have to mention that I didn’t fortify the camp?”

  “Tell me how to avoid it and I won’t.”

  “Just don’t mention it.”

  “Have you ever written an after action report that didn’t clearly describe the positions of both sides?”

  “The ground was so good that I didn’t think it needed any additional fortification.”

  “I can say that in exactly those words, if you want.”

  “That’s what I’ll be saying. You better just stick to the facts but I’d appreciate it if you didn’t crucify me.”

  “I’ll be as gentle as possible.” Yank looked around the camp. “Are you going to release the militia?”

  “Yes. After we get the wounded back to Fort Harrison.”

  “What about me?”

  “I’d like you to stay a while longer.”

  “How much longer?”

  “A few weeks. Why? Are you missing your family?”

  “Of course I am, but that’s not why I’m anxious to go.”

  “Why then?”

  “Tenskwatawa is likely to go south now. I want to make sure Andrew Jackson realizes what he’s facing.”

  “Well.” Harrison looked into the fire. “You have a better reason for going than I have for keeping you here. I’d appreciate it if you’d stay with us until we get back to the fort.”

  “Certainly.”

  November 28, 1811

  Nashville, Tennessee

  Andrew Jackson met Yank at the bottom of the gangway, shook his hand enthusiastically then gestured toward the paddle-wheeled steam boat. “How was your trip?”

  “Loud but very fast,” Yank replied. “These boats and the new canals are going to open up America.”

  “If we can keep the British and Tecumseh from establishin’ their danged neutral zone to stop westward expansion.”

  “Is he here? Tecumseh?”

  Jackson shook his head. “If he is, I sure don’t know where. After I got your letter, I sent scouts out all over the state.”

  “There’s a rumor that he’s with the Alabama,” Yank replied.

  “That’s one I hadn’t heard. How much truth to the rumor that the English are supplyin’ Tecumseh up north?”

  “That’s no rumor, that’s one’s a hundred percent true. At Tippecanoe, Tenskwatawa’s people were better armed than we were.”

  “We need to jerk a knot in their English tails.”

  “Yes. I agree.” Yank watched the men unloading the baggage from th
e steamboat. “It’s going to take me longer to get my kit than it did to get here from Celina.”

  “What’s it gonna take to convince Madison to declare war on the British?”

  Yank shrugged. “I don’t think the problem is convincing President Madison. New York and New Jersey have threatened to secede from the Union if we go to war with Britain and most of New England agrees.”

  “Those are the bankers and rich traders tellin’ the politicians what to say. They want to keep doin’ business with England. All Madison needs to do is get the people behind him and the politicians’ll fall in line.”

  “That may be why he keeps sending me to find proof that the British are supplying the Indians.”

  “Well sounds like after Tippecanoe he has all the proof he needs.”

  “Except the New York newspapers have reported the battle as a defeat,” Yank said, shaking his head. “Those that reported on it at all, that is.”

  “I don’t suppose that many New York newspapers have even heard of Tenskwatawa,” Jackson replied. “Maybe if Tecumseh had been leadin’ the attack they’d have paid more attention.”

  “I think the battle was written up as defeat or ignored because our casualties were higher than the Shawnee. If the papers only knew that British muskets and powder were the reason, attitudes might change. I’m going to try to make that happen.”

  Jackson looked dubious. “Do you know some powerful New York editor that will take your word as gospel?”

  Yank shook his head. “From here I’m heading down toward Pensacola to collect some solid proof.”

  “The Spaniards have turned Pensacola over to the English.”

  “I know. But a very reliable source told me that the Creeks and Seminoles get chits from British agents for weapons and ammunition that they redeem in Pensacola. If I could get one of those chits…”

  Jackson was shaking his head. “They’re not chits; they’re just letters of introduction that say how many warriors are in the bearer’s village. The armory at Pensacola gives ‘em one musket per man and a bag of powder.”