A few days brought the army to a place known as Fallen Timbers,
where a tornado had piled the trunks and branches of mighty trees
in indescribable confusion. The British post was but five or six
miles distant; and there behind the breastworks which nature had
provided, and in easy reach of their allies, the Indians chose to
make their stand. On the morning of the 20th of August, Wayne,
now so crippled by gout that he had to be lifted into his saddle,
gallantly led an assault. The Indian fire was murderous, and a
battalion of mounted Kentuckians was at first hurled back. But
the front line of infantry rushed up and dislodged the savages
from their covert, while the regular cavalry on the right charged
the enemy's left flank. Before the second line of infantry could
get into action the day was won. The whole engagement lasted less
than three-quarters of an hour, and not a third of Wayne's three
thousand men actually took part in it.
The fleeing redskins were pursued to the walls of the British
fort, and even there many were slain. The British soldiery not
only utterly failed to come to the relief of their hard-pressed
allies, but refused to open the gates to give them shelter.
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