In the meanwhile, the English artillerymen fled to old Fort Miami, a short distance down the river—where General Proctor had his headquarters—and reported the loss of the batteries. The British commander, thinking a general attack upon his encampment was imminent, immediately recalled a large part of his troops from the south side of the stream, and dispatched them to the scene of conflict. They arrived in time to fall upon the American rear, completely cut off their retreat, and kill or capture almost the entire force. Only one hundred and fifty of the gallant but rash eight hundred regained their boats and reached Fort Meigs. At the beginning of this engagement, Tecumseh, with a part of his savage band, was in the immediate vicinity of the American fortification. On receiving word from Proctor, the great chief swam the river and, mounting a horse, galloped to the scene of conflict. Well he knew what would happen were his warriors successful in the fight. But he arrived too late. The battle was ended; the butchery had begun. With the wailing cry—“What will become of my red brothers—what will become of my red brothers!” he wheeled his steed and dashed along the path leading from the battle-ground to the British encampment. The way was strewn with the mutilated corpses of murdered Americans. At the sight he clinched his white teeth—and spurred on. Reaching the gateway of the encampment, he galloped through and leaped to the ground. The butchery was still going on. General Proctor was allowing the Indians to select their victims and kill them as they saw fit. The savages were satiating their thirst for blood, to the fullest extent. “Hold!” Tecumseh thundered, drawing his tomahawk and facing his half-mad followers. “The brave who kills another defenseless prisoner dies by my hand!” And drawing himself defiantly erect, he fixed his piercing gaze upon the assembled redmen. Cowed by the commanding presence of the chief they loved and feared, the Indians relinquished their victims and sullenly returned their blood-stained weapons to their belts. But one stubborn Winnebago, unheeding the command, sprang upon a prisoner standing near him. The next instant Tecumseh’s hatchet descended—and the red fiend was a corpse. Grunts of approval greeted the summary act. “Listen, warriors!” the great Shawnee shouted. “I said no more helpless captives should die. They shall _not_. I told you I would kill any who disobeyed my commands. I have kept my word. Had I been here this slaughter never would have occurred. For shame! Are you warriors or wolves? Dare to disobey me—and _die_!” He turned sadly away. Seeing General Proctor standing near, he boldly strode up to the Englishman and demanded: “Why have you permitted this massacre—you, a paleface?” “Sir,” replied the general haughtily, “your Indians cannot be commanded—controlled. They refused to obey my orders.”