An hour later, after a hasty consultation with his officers, the commander sent Captain Hamilton and a subaltern up the river, to meet General Clay. They bore orders to the effect that Clay was to land eight hundred men upon the left bank of the stream, to carry the British batteries and spike the cannon; also, that the residue of the militia were to disembark upon the south shore and fight their way to the fort. It was the design of Harrison to make sorties against the enemy upon the same side of the river—whenever the Kentuckians should attack the English artillerists upon the north bank. In the gray of the early morning, General Clay cut loose his boats and drifted into the rapids. Scarcely were the unwieldy vessels under way, when a hail came from the southern shore; and Captain Hamilton and his companion appeared at the water’s edge, frantically waving their arms. They were taken aboard the craft upon which was the commander of the expedition; and there the Captain delivered his message. Word was rapidly passed from one boat to another. Soon all was animation and excitement. The soldiers—who had had nothing to eat since the evening before, and who still lay upon the decks, wrapped in their mist-dampened blankets—hastily threw off their coverings, sprang to their feet, and prepared for battle. In low tones they conversed and left messages with one another for the dear ones at home. But there was no panic—no sign of cowardice. Fixed purpose, not fear, was in each rugged face. Slowly the flats drifted into the middle of the rapids. Soon they gained in impetus and floated more and more rapidly. The water chuckled and gurgled at the bows, and danced in creamy wakes behind. Except for a crisp command, now and then, all was silence on board—the silence of determined men ready to battle to the death. Colonel Dudley was to lead the detachment against the English batteries upon the northern shore. His boat was in advance of the others. Suddenly a number of savages appeared upon the left bank, and, with hoots and yells, discharged their pieces at the advancing flotilla. One officer was wounded slightly. Then the militiamen returned the fire and the Indians fled to shelter. Silence again reigned; and the flotilla drifted onward. In a few minutes, it had reached the foot of the rapids. Colonel Dudley, detaching twelve boats and eight hundred men, steered for the northern shore, intending to land about a mile above the British batteries. General Clay, with the six remaining boats and about four hundred men, made an effort to disembark upon the southern bank, a short distance above the beleaguered fort. But wind and current were against him. Only fifty of the militiamen had got ashore, when the vessels were swept from their moorings. This little squad of Kentuckians valiantly fought their way through the horde of whooping savages that hemmed them in, and reached the fort without the loss of a man.