“Excepting a single instance, St. Clair kept out no scouting parties during his entire march. We would have been completely surprised by the attack if it had not been for volunteer scouting parties from the militia who were out on the evening before the battle. The constant discharge of rifles throughout the night also warned us to prepare for the event. The militia, encamped about a quarter of a mile in front of the main army, received the first shock of the attack a little after daybreak. The camp was on the bank of a small creek, one of the upper branches of the Wabash River. The ground was nearly level and covered with a heavy growth of timber. As surveyor, I drew the pay and rations of a subaltern; but as an old hunter, I was not disposed to trust myself among the Indians without my rifle. Indeed, I found it very serviceable during the march, for the army never had more than half rations during the whole campaign. “My stock of bullets had become low from using them for hunting; and as soon as it was daylight that morning, I started for the militia camp to get a ladle to pour some more. By this time the battle had begun, and I met the militia running into the main body of troops. I hailed one of the Kentuckians, whom I found disabled in the right wrist by a bullet; and I asked him if he had bullets to spare. He told me to take out his pouch and to divide with him. I poured out a double handful, put back what I supposed was half, and was about to leave him, when he said, ‘Stop, you had better count them.’ I could hardly resist the impulse to laugh, for the idea of counting a handful of bullets was ludicrous under the circumstances. ‘If we get through this day’s scrape, my dear fellow,’ said I, ‘I will return you twice as many.’ But I never saw him again, and I suppose he shared the fate that befell many a gallant spirit on that day. I owe the bullets, at any rate, at this moment.