I’ve always enjoyed camping. A few days with loved ones in the solitude of the deep woods just soothes the soul. However, there is a phenomenon known as “summer camp” that contradicts all peaceful connotations attributed to camping. This weeklong adventure forces hormonally-challenged children to transform a calm chunk of woodland into a den of adrenalin-ridden, attitude-spewing creatures!

The men who camped together in Fort Meigs certainly weren’t there to hear the leaves rustle or the river ripple. They too had plenty of attitude and adrenalin, but it was funneled into achieving their purpose of protecting the frontier. Over the eight-month existence of the fort, they faced persistent battles with Mother Nature — and human nature.

It began with the bitter-cold month of February 1813 when a few hundred men began building this fortress on the high, exposed bluff overlooking the Maumee River. What trees stood to block the winter winds were soon chopped down and transformed into walls and blockhouses. Frequent deep snowfalls added to the discomfort of men who were lucky if they had a blanket or coat for warmth. Even tents were weeks late in arriving.

Initially, the spring thaw was welcomed, but weeks of soaking rains on heavily trodden ground created mud — in spots knee-deep — and fostered breeding grounds for disease. At one point half of the camp was suffering, some dying, from measles, mumps and fevers.

Late in April, General William Henry Harrison observed the British forces arrive and set up their artillery across the river — right there where the First Presbyterian Church now sits, and in what is now the Maumee neighborhood south of St. Joseph Church. Harrison ordered his men to dig long trenches with mounds of dirt lining their enemies’ side. The largest, called the Grand Traverse, was 12 feet high, 20 feet wide and 300  yards long. The enemy’s view of this action was blocked by the men’s tents, purposely pitched in front of the rising traverses. When the first enemy cannonballs flew, the tents were quickly dismantled, exposing the large dunes of dirt. Harmlessly they caught or deflected the incoming balls. Off-duty men could recuperate safely behind these mounds. It was a brilliant idea and so frustrated Tecumseh that he once exclaimed, “It is impossible to fight an enemy who lives like groundhogs!”

After the first siege in May, reasonable weather prevailed. A vegetable garden was planted and men foraged for plums, hazelnuts and dandelion leaves. To further supplement the standard issue of pork and flour, fishing was allowed, and it was abundant. One man thrust his spear into the water and pulled out three keepers! Random hunting provided the occasional venison, pigeon or squirrel dinner.

Late in July, the enemy returned and again failed, finally chased off by a horrendous thunderstorm.

Most men followed simple rules of hygiene which included shaving regularly and washing clothes every Saturday. Anyone caught using an area other than the extensive waste troughs to relieve themselves was severely punished by doing duty of tending to the pits.

As to be expected under such stressful conditions, tempers occasionally flared and crimes were committed. A court handled any offenses. Officers were cursed, food was stolen and some dipped into the whiskey barrels while guarding them. More seriously, one man boasted of his plans to blow up the ammunition depot before deserting to the enemy. He was ordered to suffer numerous discomforts including having one eyebrow and one side of his head shaved, a ball and chain locked onto his ankle for a month and finally being drummed out of camp.

Serious injuries, many of them amputations, were inadequately treated due to scarce medical supplies. Only whiskey could ease the pain and sterilize the procedures. Every time a man passed on, a solemn rifle-shot cracked the air. Belongings of the deceased were often auctioned off and the monies sent home to his family. Most bodies were placed in unmarked graves around the fort.

In spite of all the hardships, the survivors of Fort Meigs were a proud, patriotic bunch. Perhaps these “groundhogs” even sang, “I’m all right. Don’t nobody worry ‘bout me!” Well, at least they should have after outliving two major assaults which changed the course of the War of 1812 to our favor.

Frank Kuron is author of the War of 1812 book, “Thus Fell Tecumseh.” Email him at kuronpubs@bex.net

Bugle Call: Upcoming Events

• On May 3, 4 and 5, a celebration of the 200^th anniversary of the first siege of Fort Meigs will be held at the fort. Visitors can experience period military camps, musket and cannon demonstrations, battle re-enactments, hands-on activities, lectures, fife and drum concerts and more. Visit fortmeigs.com for more details.

Tags: 1812 bicentennial, Fort Meigs, Frank Kuron, Perspectives of the 1812 Era, War of 1812

This entry was posted on Friday, May 3rd, 2013 at 1:54 pm and is filed under 1812 Bicentennial.
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Usually, I try to begin these columns with some clever anecdote from my life, which hopefully relates somewhat humorously to the 1812 subject at hand. But on today’s topic, with recent news still fresh in mind, I find little to make light of. Like you, I’m still reeling from the tragic events at Sandy Hook Elementray and other similar mass murders. Irrational episodes like these are labeled a “massacre” in our society and unfortunately they have occurred throughout history. In 1813, the country was rattled by one that took place in nearby Monroe, Mich.

On Jan. 22, 1813, the Americans battled the British/Indian alliance along the River Raisin. Today, less is remembered about the battle than of the events afterward. This is evident by the fact that historically the event is referred to more often as the River Raisin Massacre, rather than the River Raisin Battle.

Along this river, where grapes grew in abundance, a small French community had developed. In January 1813 a British contingent appeared and made camp near the town. Unnerved by this presence, the civilians solicited help from the American troops approaching from the south. Gen. James  Winchester, second in command of the Northwest army, sent troops and secured the Frenchtown area.

At Fort Malden, just 30 miles away across the frozen Detroit River, word of the conflict reached the British commander, Gen. Henry Procter. Immediately, additional troops were sent to the Raisin. After their victory, the Americans should have retreated to the Maumee rapids where Gen. Harry Harrison was amassing more troops for an assault on Fort Detroit, but Winchester decided to stay. Four days later, a superior British and Indian force attacked. Though they made a fight of it, a reluctant American surrender was agreed to on Winchester’s order — issued while he was a captured prisoner.

The British did not have enough sleds to transport the many severely wounded American POWs and so Winchester’s surrender came with one critical condition — that Procter provide British guards over the POWs left on-site until additional sleds arrived. Fresh in Winchester’s mind was news of a massacre at Fort Dearborn (Chicago) just a few months earlier. There, Indians had ambushed Americans, brutally killing defenseless women and children. He would not tolerate anything like that potentially happening here, where ruthless Indians were known to conspire. Procter promised the protection, and then he reneged.

Prisoners able to walk were herded off to Malden while the seriously wounded were left alone nervously awaiting those promised sleds. They never came. The helpless POWs survived the night without incident, but suddenly, about mid-morning, insanity arrived in the form of several inebriated warriors. They looted any goods they could find and abducted any men still healthy enough to be worth something in trade. The rest of the men, deemed worthless, became sport for these possessed ghouls.

From one house rose the stench of burning flesh, the home having been torched while full of wounded men who had no ability to move and hence no recourse. A few were seen inching desperately to a doorway only to finally succumb to the flames.

Other injured men were dragged out of houses screaming in agony. They were repeatedly kicked and thrown about the grounds for amusement before finally being scalped, tomahawked and left for the roaming wild hogs to feast upon their bodies.

One survivor recalled a startling moment during this affair that occurred while talking to a fellow prisoner seated directly across from him. With no warning or apparent cause, a Native American casually walked up to the man and planted an ax in his skull.

Wounded prisoners who faltered on the march to Malden were not tolerated. Dozens were left where they fell and slowly died in the snow. Stretched over several miles, their bleached bones were found by American troops months later.

Most of these mutilated men were actually boys — only a few of them older than 18 and most were from Kentucky. It’s nearly impossible to find good coming from massacres like this, but the horror witnessed here stirred the country, and the Kentuckians in particular, to contribute fiercely to the war effort. Their resolve to be victorious reached new heights and henceforth their battle cry and sentiment was “Remember the Raisin.”

Upcoming Events

• The River Raisin National Battlefield Park will commemorate the Bicentennial of the Battle of the River Raisin on Jan. 19-20. Several ceremonies and presentations are scheduled throughout the weekend. Visit their website for more information at www.nps.gov/rira/index.htm
• Fort Meigs will host the next presentation in a monthly Bentley Lecture Series on Jan. 17. Martin Land, a Fort Meigs volunteer, will speak on “The March to Fort Meigs”. The presentation is free and meets in the Fort Meigs Visitor Center, 29100 W. River Road in Perrysburg at 7:30 p.m.

Frank Kuron is author of the War of 1812 book, “Thus Fell Tecumseh.” Email him at kuronpubs@bex.net.

Tags: Battle of the River Raisin, Frank Kuron, Perspectives of the 1812 Era, War of 1812

This entry was posted on Saturday, January 12th, 2013 at 9:00 am and is filed under 1812 Bicentennial.
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