The horses, several hundred in number, were turned out to graze on the evening of the 12th,[209] and with no delay the men retired to their tents, pitched about three feet apart, and were very soon wrapped in sound slumber, during which occurred a calamity entailing greater disaster and more suffering than the loss of a battle. In the night (12th) it is supposed a party of thieving Indians, in attempting a wholesale theft, so thoroughly frightened the animals that a stampede followed. Running furiously in a northerly direction, directly over the camp, men and munitions were crushed under foot. A call to arms followed, but the loss of arms in the darkness and confusion, the loss of bearings, and almost of reason, prevented all possibility of order and concerted action. If it had been an attack of the enemy, as was first conjectured, the bruised and confused troops could easily have been annihilated. The horses reached the Wisconsin River, where they were turned back by it, and, with the fury of the hurricane, rushed back and over the camp for the second time, bruising and crippling men and hopelessly wrecking tents and guns. The men had not recovered their senses when this second stampede drove them into the ground, and by the time the furious beasts had passed, the poor soldiers were in the saddest possible plight. Two days were consumed in repairing the wreck, recovering the horses and drawing the twelve days’ rations. The stampede at this crisis was painfully unfortunate. For thirty miles the horses ran, over ground almost impassable, which added to those already consumed in reaching the fort, ruined many and crippled others to such an extent that they soon gave out. The search for them added many miles of weary travel, wearing those used in it, going and coming, until it was considered doubtful if the men could get back to General Atkinson.