USA > Tennessee > Old tales retold; or, Perils and adventures of Tennessee pioneers > Part 10
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The dreary winter seemed long in going by. At last, however, came spring, and with it a day on which Joseph Brown observed an unusual stir among the Indians. Groups of warriors were to be seen talking together here, there, everywhere he went, and he noticed that they lowered their tones and cast sig- nificant glances in his direction whenever he ap- proached. Though he could not hear a word they said, he rightly judged that they were talking of some- thing that particularly concerned himself. Within a few days he found out all that they were trying to hide from him. They could not longer conceal from him that Gen. John Sevier had lately descended on one of the Chickamauga towns and carried off cap- tive every inhabitant of the village. Since the battle Sevier had sent the Chickamaugas a strong "peace talk," in which he agreed to release his prisoners on condition that every white captive in the Cherokee nation, without exception, should be given up to him.
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"At such times he would climb to the highest point on the mountain." (Page 149 ?
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On these terms alone he said he would grant the In- dians peace. In his offers of exchange General Se- vier had made special mention of the children who had been taken from Colonel Brown's boat. Joseph Brown was rejoiced to hear of these events that seemed to have happened in direct answer to his prayers.
The Chickamaugas dared not do otherwise than ac- cept the terms offered. Meeting in council in one of the lower towns, the sentiment of all was expressed by the famous chief, Kunot Kelfig (John Watts), who said of Sevier: "The wind and the fire fight for him. From his high station in the clouds The Great Eagle sees our exposed places, and when he swoops down his hot breath blasts our cornfields and con- sumes our wigwams. His flight is like the wind; his blow like the thunderbolt. Who can stand before him?"
Runners were sent at once to bring the young white people to Coosawattee, where the principal chief of the upper towns was to meet The Breath and receive the prisoners from him. But in the meantime The Breath had become dissatisfied with what was re- quired of him, and began to grumble, saying: "Gen- eral Sevier has no right to claim any captives except those who live in his own country west of the moun- tains; and these children, as he well knows, came from North Carolina."
"That is true," replied the chief of the upper towns, "but Little John [which was one of their names for Sevier] was so mean that I could do nothing with him, although I told him so." The Breath still in- sisted that it was not fair to make him give up pris-
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oners from another country, to which the other chief replied, saying conclusively : "Little John declared that he would not set one of our people free unless he got all of the whites who are in the Cherokee Nation."
Then The Breath, seeing that Jane had not been brought in, and that only Joseph and Polly were in Coosawattee, consented to let the two go.
Young Brown, who had been listening closely to all that passed, now spoke out manfully, saying, "I will not go without my sister. Why is not Jane brought in?" a demand which put the chief of Nick- ajack to confusion. He was angry enough with the lad to have killed him on the spot, but he was too much in awe of The Great Eagle of the Palefaces to indulge his temper. Therefore, after a short con- sultation with the head man of the upper towns, he sent a swift runner to fetch the child.
The messenger was gone two days. On the third day he came back alone, and reported that the In- dian who had captured her refused obstinately to give up his slave. Joseph's heart sank within him when he heard the messenger tell the result of his errand to the chiefs in council. It now seemed probable that none of them would be set free. At this juncture a tall warrior with beetling brow and piercing eyes arose and, looking slowly around upon the assembled braves, said sententiously : "I will go to that warrior's wigwam. I will return bringing the child, or I will bring his head." True to his word, he came back in a short time with Jane in his arms upon his horse.
At last the prisoners were ready to be transferred. "Come with me," said Joseph, attempting to take his sister Polly's hand, when to his surprise the tiny
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creature ran away and threw herself impulsively into the arms of the good squaw who had nursed her and made a pet of her during the long winter months. It was painful to the lad to be obliged to unclasp the small hands from around the fond squaw's neck and take his sister forcibly away; but after he had held the child close to his own heart awhile and told her how grieved their mother would be never to see her precious Polly again, he had no further trouble in leading the little one off.
Only a few days were spent in travel before the young captives were safe in the hands of their white friends. Not long afterwards they were restored to their mother, who, with her youngest child, had been released by the Creek chief, McGillivray, through the efforts of Gen. James Robertson. George Brown was held for five years longer, as prisoner and slave, by the Creeks of Georgia.
In the course of time the Brown family took pos- session of their land in the Cumberland country. The region in which their claim was located was afterwards called Maury County. In later life Joseph Brown was greatly loved and honored as a Cumber- land Presbyterian divine in his home, three miles from Columbia.
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XIII. NIGHT ASSAULT ON BUCHANAN'S STA- TION.
IN September, 1792, Maj. John Buchanan was ex- pecting an Indian attack upon his station, a strong log fort with blockhouses at the four corners, situated about five miles from Nashville. A number of pioneer families from the surrounding country had fled to the station for protection, and the men among them were actively helping Buchanan prepare the place against assault. Some, appointed for the task, care- fully examined and reloaded the extra rifles, hung powder horns, freshly filled with powder, in con- venient places on the walls, and heaped piles of newly molded bullets where they could be found when needed; while other willing hands, wielding ax and hammer, were repairing all weak places and strength- ening the palisades in every part.
The whole of the past season had been a period of anxiety to the Cumberland settlers. Early in the sum- mer George Finalson and Jo Derogue (a half-breed Indian), both of whom were good friends of Major Buchanan, had brought him a startling piece of news. They said that they knew positively that the Indians were planning to attack the station in great force. Derogue, who had recently come back to the settle- ments after a visit to his red kinsmen among the Chickamaugas, said that when he left their country near Lookout Mountain the Indians were almost ready to go on the warpath. He had been present when the
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braves were performing the scalp dance around the council fires. Telling this, with details that were frightful to hear, Derogue said further that since the death of Dragging Canoe the Chickamaugas had found an equally ruthless leader in his younger broth- er, Chia-Chatt-Alla, called The White Man Killer, whose ruling ambition it was to destroy the Cumber- land settlements. With this intention he had gathered a large force from among his own braves, as well as the Creeks south of them, and was making ready to fall upon all the stations along the Cumberland in succession, beginning at Buchanan's, then attacking the fort at the Bluffs, and so on until the eight sta- tions should be destroyed. Derogue could not tell the exact time appointed for the raid. He could only say warningly to his friend Buchanan: "Look out for the Indians at the full of the moon."
Three moons had waxed and waned since then, during which time the white people had watched and waited in dread, yet the Indians had not come. Gen. James Robertson, at the Bluffs, had early taken pre- cautions toward protecting the whole country in case of an incursion of Indians. Companies of scouts and spies had been sent out in various directions under Captains Rains, Gordon, Maury, and Williams to pa- trol the frontier. Five hundred of the militia were stationed within two miles of Nashville in camp, un- der Colonels Winchester, Mansco, and Elijah Robert- son, in readiness to go wherever they might first be needed, and at the same time constant watch was kept around all the stations. During this trying time Gen- eral Robertson himself was said to "sleep with one eye open." When the September moon began to full
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he again sent Captain Rains out with a troop of horse- men, telling him to scour the country and to learn, if possible, when and which way the enemy were com- ing. After a thorough search Rains and his spies returned, saying that they could "see no Indian signs in any quarter." Rains also sent a man to Buchanan's with the reassuring message that "the traces of an In- dian army are nowhere to be found."
Upon this information the militia were marched back to Nashville, and disbanded on Friday, September 28. The leaders, convinced that they had been needlessly alarmed, went back to their usual pursuits.
But Major Buchanan and his sensible young wife, Sallie, were of the opinion that the danger was not over. Having full confidence in the word of their friends, Finalson and Derogue, they became more vigilant as the moon began again to increase in size. Buchanan made up his mind to send out two scouts on his own account to get still later information than Rains had brought. Coming to this conclusion on Saturday, the day after the troops disbanded, he sent out Jonathan Gee and Seward Clayton that very night with instructions to travel on the same trail Captain Rains had explored, and to be sure to go far beyond the Black Fox's Camp (a noted spring near Murfrees- boro), where Indian parties entering the settlements from the south usually stopped for rest.
The young men were quickly off, and spent the re- mainder of the night in hunting for "Indian signs" along the main trail and on each side of it for some distance out. Yet they did not really expect to make any discoveries until after passing the Black Fox's Camp, since Rains had so recently been over the same
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ground. Consequently they were riding at their ease on Sunday afternoon, laughing and talking in unre- strained tones, when Gee's practiced eyes detected two men approaching in the distance. "Look there!" he exclaimed under his breath, catching his companion's arm.
Clayton, who had once been a captive among the Indians and knew their ways, halted and closely exam- ined the men; then, replying with a careless laugh, said : "Don't be uneasy. Can't you see they are dressed like white men? I know them well. They are George Fields and John Walker, both of them trusty half- breeds. When they speak to us presently you will see that they are friendly."
Gee was surprised, therefore, when they drew nearer to be challenged rather brusquely with the inquiry : "Who are you?" But upon hearing the reply, "Gee and Clayton," the half-breeds advanced in a most friendly manner. Indeed, they proved to be so affable, and showed such an interest in the young men and in their journey, that the latter frankly told them where they were going and whom they were hunting. Thus the half-breeds, who were in reality advance spies for a large Indian army just behind them, held the white scouts in pleasant conversation until the main body of the savages, led by Chia-Chatt-Alla, came up and surrounded them. As the spies had already learned from them all they could tell about the defenses of the whites, there was no reason for the Indians to hold them as prisoners, so the two young men were killed on the spot. After which the army of red men, eight hundred strong, moved on rapidly toward the settlements, marching in
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three long columns. Encouraged by the informa- tion they had gained from Gee and Clayton that Buchanan's Station was defended by only twenty- one men, and confident in the skill of their chief, they eagerly advanced, as they thought, to certain victory. "For Chia-Chatt-Alla bears a charmed life," said his admiring followers. "White men's bullets cannot harm The White Man Killer." In truth, their leader had passed unhurt through many dangers, and was known throughout the Indian country as "The Great Slayer Whom All Must Fear."
The braves believed that he was able to carry out his plan to kill every paleface, put the torch to every house, and then glide back with his army in safety to the secret fastnesses of the mountains where no man could reach them. With unwearied zeal, therefore, the savages trooped on that night, through the forest to Buchanan's Station, while all at the stockade was peacefully quiet under the beams of the full harvest moon.
The people in the fort had looked in vain for the return of Clayton and Gee as the day drew to a close. Major Buchanan and his wife, with a foreboding of evil, sat up late waiting for the scouts. "Surely they will come in directly and bring us news," said the commander of the fort, trying to speak hopefully. But he waited in vain. And finally after he had once more gone round the fort and examined to see that nothing had been left undone, he and his wife retired to rest. Long ago he had sent the other men to bed, telling them to sleep while they could. In obedience to his orders every man slept with his gun close beside him. Not a few of the women also had their weapons
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handy. Even the aged mother of the commander had tucked under her pillow the ancient blunderbuss which had not been used since it was wielded by her hus- band in the battle of the Bluffs. The gun was so rude and clumsy in make and of such an ancient pattern that the soldiers laughingly called it "my grandmam- my's pocket piece." Yet though the old-fashioned weapon took four times the amount of powder that was needed for an ordinary rifle before it was fully charged, and it was doubtful if it could be fired at all, the old lady felt reasonably safe as long as it lay under her head.
Most women were brave in those days. But an ex- ception to the rule was a certain young mother who had taken refuge in the station with her children. Frequently during the day she had clung to Mrs. Sallie Buchanan's side, weeping aloud and wringing her hands in an agony of nervous dread. "Go to your room, Phœbe," said the commander's wife kindly; "go to sleep and forget your fears. The night may pass without trouble, and you will feel better in the morning."
Mistress Phœbe had thus been persuaded to take her little ones and retire early in the evening. It was now nearly midnight. All were asleep except the sentinels who paced the watchtower above the gate. Quiet reigned within and without the fort while Thomas McCrory and his fellow-watchman guarded the sleeping garrison and kept a sharp lookout for the enemy. East, west, north, and south they turned their searching gaze, only to see calm, moonlit fields or else the silver-fringed trees that edged the rough slope of ground which fell away from the front of the stockade
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toward the woods. The full moon had sailed upward - till it hung almost overhead, shedding light upon the open space around the walls and reflecting itself in the spring and its winding branch. Its radiance made all the blacker the shadow in a pit which had lately been dug near the gate outside. Nothing stirred. There was no sound louder than the whip-poor-will's brisk notes or the trill of tree frogs until the tall, wooden, cog-wheeled clock in the principal room of the fort made ready to strike. There was a long-con- tinued, buzzing whir of inside works, while the hands were folded together above its face, before the old clock clanged out twelve loud, metallic strokes. As the last stroke resounded through the stockade Thomas McCrory sprang to the front of the lookout, alert and watchful. "Hist! what is that?" he said, just as a herd of cattle came scampering out of the woods be- yond the stony slope, as though they had been fright- ened. The sentinels stood watching, and presently masses of shadow seemed to separate from the dark- ness of the forest and move over the rising ground to- ward the fort. No sooner had the shadowy objects come forward into the moonlight than they were seen to be three distinct columns of warriors advancing at a rapid gait. "Indians ! Indians !" shouted both watch- men in a breath, while McCrory leveled his rifle and fired to alarm the garrison. War whoops rent the air in return. The Indians, now running three abreast to take the fort by storm, did not pause in their onset, though McCrory's gun had killed one of their leaders and the other sentinel had wounded the noted half- breed chief, John Watts (Kunot Kelfig). Only in- cited by their loss to seek revenge, the Indians rushed
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forward to surround the stockade. By this time the whites were all astir. Seizing their guns as they sprang from bed, the men nimbly climbed the ladders to the portholes and began to fire at their assailants. Savages on every side were crowding so close to the walls that the defenders could scarcely get a gun to bear on them. Numbers of them were also concealed in the shadow of the partially dug cellar, where they could lie down to load and only rise when it was neces- sary to do so in order to fire. Several of the more daring Indians tried to scale the walls, and some of them stood under the overjutting corner houses and fired upward at the white men in them. But in each case the bullets, by good chance, passed harmlessly through the cracks in the floor and lodged in the roof overhead.
Success at every point was attending the pioneers, who stood at their posts faithfully carrying out the orders of their commander. The women, inspired by Sallie Buchanan's fine example, were doing equally good service in their own way, emulating her cour- age as she went here, there, everywhere helping and suggesting. One moment by her husband's side re- ceiving a communication, the next moment she would be at the top of a ladder delivering his message and seeing, too, that it was properly executed. Now sup- plying marksmen with ammunition, now giving a time- ly word of encouragement, and again on her knees by the hearth pouring molten lead into the bullet molds, she had no time to think of herself, no leisure for selfish alarm. She carried aid and cheer everywhere she went, and everywhere found men doing their duty except once, when she chanced, in her rounds, to see
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a craven fellow skulking in a corner. Her eyes kin- dled indignantly at seeing him slip from out the dim firelight and hide in the shadow of the chimney jamb as she approached. "What are you doing there, Tom?" she sternly demanded. There was no answer from the dark corner. "Why are you not fighting?" The crash of guns and sound of bullets on the roof seemed louder in the interval that followed while Tom was considering whether it were better to be shot at by the wild men outside or be scorned for cowardice by a woman. Mrs. Buchanan settled his doubts for him by saying, as she pointed a finger at him: "I'd rather be killed fighting like a man than live to be shamed of all. Go to your gun! Go to your gun this instant, for your credit's sake." He went, and tradi- tion says that there was not a better soldier in the fort from that moment than the reconstructed Thomas.
The battle went on, and Mrs. Buchanan was again busy carrying balls for the soldiers, who were now being hard pressed by the large numbers of the assail- ants. In the midst of her duties she was hailed in a loud voice by an impetuous Irishman whose senses were none the clearer for having taken a "horn too much" of whisky. His eyes were too bright for the time of night, and his spirits were full gay for the occasion as he came lurching down from his post, bawling at the top of his voice: "It's me own gun that is no account at all. Lend me the loan of 'me grand- mammy's pocket piece,' and it's Jimmie O'Conner will put the whole Injun army to rout." As he would take no denial, the old gun was finally put at O'Conner's disposal. Having rammed its quadruple load into the piece, the noisy Irishman clambered up the ladder
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and thrust the blunderbuss through the porthole. Pull- ing the trigger, he cried confidently : "It's dead ye are entirely."
He was sure he had done great execution, though he had heard no report, a circumstance he accounted for by the uproar that was going on all around. He scrambled down the ladder and demanded another load. Four times in succession he came down for ammuni- tion, and each time he put into the gun the full amount of powder it required. In the belief that he had al- ready dealt death to the savages with each shot, he pulled the trigger for the fifth time as he exclaimed : "Hurray! This will finish the row!" The gun went off. A streak of fire that seemed a yard long to Jim- mie's astonished eyes flashed from the muzzle with a loud bang that shook the stout buildings and drowned every other noise. O'Conner, kicked backwards by the recoil, went rolling down eight feet to the ground floor. "My grandmammy's pocket piece" had ex- ploded for the first and only time, discharging all of the five heavy loads at once with a shock that sent the unsteady Irishman sprawling on his back. "Be jabbers," he cried, with a good-natured grimace, "I gave it to 'em, but she gave me a tremendous pounce."
In reality the old weapon had been the means of help- ing the pioneers win the battle. The Indians who were already getting somewhat discouraged felt quite disheartened when they heard (as they believed) the report of a cannon from the walls. They stood in awe of the white men's "big guns," and the sound of the explosion unnerved them to such a degree that they relaxed their efforts and acted with a hesitancy that the pioneers were quick to see and profit by. The In-
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dian leaders also saw their braves falter. They grew desperate, and determined to fire the walls. Soon a number of blazing pine knots were seen trailing through the moonlight toward the fort. But several of the torchbearers were shot down as they ventured too near, and the others hung back, irresolute. Not a man among them appeared willing to repeat the at- tempt until one, more hardy than the rest, leaped for- ward suddenly and gained the wall in safety. Agile as a monkey, he began to climb, pine torch in hand. As his dark form scaled the corner of the blockhouse numbers of the sharpshooters focused their aim upon him, and being unused to failure in firing, they were amazed to see that he was still untouched. The dusky army outside began to cry exultantly: "White man's bullets cannot harm him. It is Chia-Chatt-Alla, The White Man Killer. See him go to the top !"
In truth his hands were already clutching the pro- jecting clapboards, and instantly, with a pantherlike bound, he sprang upon the roof. The white marks- men were bewildered to see their well-aimed bullets whiz harmlessly past the audacious chief, as he ran with perfect ease along its sloping side, then bent his supple body and held the torch close against the dry wood. The roof, as they knew, would soon flame up, and the white men grew frantic in their efforts to dis- able the incendiary, in the next second, before the mischief should be done. A rain of bullets fell harm- less around the stooping, half-naked figure. "He is safe!" shouted his followers, boastfully. "White man's lead is harmless to Chia-Chatt-Alla."
That instant a bullet hit him, barely in time to save the fort. The roof had not yet been ignited, when his
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body and the blazing torch rolled together, over and over, down to the eaves and off to the ground. But a short distance from the wall lay Chia-Chatt-Alla in the agony of a mortal hurt, yet his spirit was still un- conquered. He dragged himself a few feet nearer, close enough to thrust the burning brand under the bottom log of the blockhouse, in a last effort to fire the building. He blew the failing torch with his still more rapidly failing breath, and summoned his remaining strength to call aloud to his warriors, saying: "Fight , on like brave men. Never give up till you have taken the fort."
Before he had succeeded in reviving the blaze the touch of another bullet ended his life. When the warriors found that their chief was dead, they turned and fled into the woods in utter rout, leaving behind them the bodies of all who had fallen in the fight.
While all this was going on, Mistress Phœbe had remained hidden in her room, with her fingers in her ears to keep out the sounds of battle. The firing of guns, the baying of excited bloodhounds, and the yells of savages had almost driven her distracted. Pres- ently a wild plan took shape in her mind. Lest the warriors should burst in upon them to tomahawk her children and herself, she resolved to go outside and give themselves up as captives to be led away into the Indian nation. With this desperate purpose apparent in her eyes, she caught her little ones by the hands and led them through several deserted rooms and pas- sages until she came to a large central apartment where the people were gathered, rejoicing over the victory of which she had not yet heard. Seeming not to see any one in the gloomy light shed over the room by an iron
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