USA > Tennessee > Old tales retold; or, Perils and adventures of Tennessee pioneers > Part 13
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With all possible haste, the messenger rode the long distance between Fort Mimms and Nashville. At his journey's end he galloped into the town on the bluffs of the Cumberland, halted his tired, reeking horse on the Public Square, and shouted aloud the story of the massacre to the crowds that gathered about him. The people were horrified to hear that nearly three hundred white men, women, and chil- dren had been put to death with unusual cruelties, without a moment's warning, as they were unsus- pectingly about to sit down to dinner in that remote
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Southern stockade. Every white person within reach of the Indians had been killed. No quarter had been given to any, and few had escaped to tell of the catas- trophe. At the pitiful tale indignant cries arose on all sides. There was but one feeling, one determina- tion among the men of Nashville. The southern In- dians must be put down at once and for all time, and Tennesseeans must do it. The news leaped, as it were, through the air from town to town, almost as if there had been telegraph wires in those early days. Governor Blount promptly ordered out the militia and called for volunteers. In quick response drums were beating, fifes were screaming, and companies were forming on every muster ground in the State. Nothing was talked of, nothing of a public nature was thought of, but the Creek war.
From the place of rendezvous in Fayetteville, Lin- coln County, General Jackson was soon ready to march southward into the Indian country with two thousand militiamen and volunteers, five hundred cavalry, and two spy companies of old, trained In- dian fighters, to punish the Creeks. It was Jackson's fixed resolve, on entering the campaign, to make the southern frontiers safe for all time to come. He felt that it was necessary to teach the southern Indian tribes a lesson they would not forget. But the task he had set himself was no light undertaking; for there was a gigantic scheme on foot among the In- dians, the British, and the Spaniards to drive the Americans from the continent. The intelligent chief, Tecumseh, had visited in succession all the tribes between the great northern lakes and the gulf, and engaged the greater part of them in the plot. The
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Spaniards were to supply them with arms from Pen- sacola, and the British were to give them aid by descending upon the coast cities in various quarters while the Americans were occupied elsewhere. The war spirit raged among the Creeks after Tecumseh's visit. The blood-stained war club, called by them the "red stick," was sent from tribe to tribe, and around the council fires the older warriors stirred the younger ones to zeal by their impassioned speeches. The Indian prophets declared that the Great Spirit had promised them to keep the warriors safe from bullets in battle, and the chief prophet, Monohoe, pronounced the country around their principal village to be "holy ground" which the Great Spirit would never allow to be profaned by a white man's foot. In fact, it was to be a fanatical, relentless war against the Americans-a series of outrages, of which the horrible massacre at Fort Mimms was only the begin- ning.
Yet though the majority of the Creeks joined the "war party," a small number of their braves remained faithful to their treaties of friendship with the United States. They brought on themselves thereby the in- tense hatred of their brothers, the "Red Sticks" of the war party, and were finally driven, through the persecutions of the latter, to seek safety in joining themselves to the American forces under General Jackson. With the help of these friendly Indians, the Tennesseeans were enabled to gain a signal vic- tory in the battle of Tallushatchee. In this, their first engagement, not a single hostile Indian was left alive, though only a few of the whites had been in-
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jured by the poisoned arrows and "chewed bullets"* of the Creeks.
Another success quickly followed in the battle of Talladega, but Jackson's victories came near ending here for want of men to win victories with. Not that his soldiers had been killed in battle; not that they had lost courage at sound of the war whoops of the Red Sticks. Braver men than the Tennesseeans who fought the Creeks in that autumn of 1813 never shouldered a musket; yet they were preparing to de- sert in a body and return home. The trouble was that they were suffering beyond endurance for want of rations. The contractors who had undertaken to supply the army with food from Tennessee had failed to forward the wagon trains of provisions they had engaged to send. There was by this time little or nothing left to eat in the Indian country, and the soldiers saw starvation staring them in the face. They thought it hard indeed that they must stay with a com- mander who could not feed them, when the route was open for them to go back home. They had been told too often that the wagons were on the way to believe it any longer. In vain General Jackson entreated them earnestly not to abandon the war while there was anything whatever to sustain life in the camp. In vain did he set them the example of grit and endurance by himself living on acorns and hickory nuts. His appeals fell on deaf ears. His diet of nuts only won for him the name of "Old Hickory," while the soldiers went on murmuring just the same
*Bullets which the warriors had cut roughly out of lead with their knives and which the squaws had chewed into shape with their teeth.
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against the hardships of their situation. The time for which many of them had enlisted had already ex- pired, and the term of others was nearly out, which they thought justified them in their discontent.
The crisis came when after ten days' of gnawing hunger one entire wing of the army flatly refused to live another day on hope or fight another battle on promises.
Jackson's trusted officer, General John Coffee, brought him the startling information, saying: "The situation is deplorable, General. All the men and officers of the militia alike declare that nothing can hold them here longer in this state of starvation."
It is true that Old Hickory's heart was as gentle as a dove at times-but this was not one of the times. It has been said by the gifted historian, Col. A. S. Colyar, that on hearing the discouraging report, "his rage amounted to a cyclone in the wilderness-he was simply an organized fury." "What!" he ex- claimed with his eyes ablaze; "do they forget already that we are here to avenge the atrocities enacted by the inhuman Creeks? They must not, shall not, for- get. I swear that my army shall not bring disgrace upon themselves and their general. They shall not desert their post of duty so long as there is breath in this body! No," he cried, shaking his long fore- finger menacingly in the direction of the mutineers, "they shall not retreat until we have given the cruel Creeks cause to long remember Fort Mimms in bit- terness and tears."
"Ah!" replied General Coffee, "if only your in- domitable spirit could be infused into the untrained militia ! Reason no longer controls them. They have
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been collecting in their tents, both men and officers, talking over their grievances, and the spirit of revolt has gained such headway that they have determined to leave the camp. Indeed," he continued, "they are at this moment drawn up in marching order by com- panies, by battalions, by regiments, and brigades, with the head of the column turned toward Ten- nessee."
"Do the volunteer regiments still hold firm?" asked the commander anxiously.
"They are disposed to avoid the dishonor of deser- tion," responded General Coffee, "yet there is wide- spread dissatisfaction. The leaven is working. It is only a question of time when they too will revolt."
It was a mortifying situation for the iron-willed Andrew Jackson. Deep frowns wrinkled his brow while he pondered gloomily. Presently, turning to the officers who surrounded him, he said aloud: "The troops are unwilling to wait longer for the provision wagons to arrive. Yet should they now abandon the cause they have espoused, five thousand exasperated savages would be turned loose to imbue their hands once more in the blood of defenseless citizens."
The thin form of the commanding general was drawn erect in the saddle as he continued, vehemently exclaiming: "What! retrograde under such circum- stances? I will perish first! Here I will stay until I am ordered back by the authorities at Washington, or die in the struggle." Endeavoring to calm himself, he presently added: "I will try first, however, to save these men from themselves."
. Wheeling his horse, he spurred forward and rode toward where the troops were lined up. Approach-
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ing them, he said in an impressive voice: "Can it be that these brave men before me are about to tarnish their own reputation? Can it be said of them that they are so lost to humanity as to abandon our sick and wounded, who are unable to be moved? Will they desert their allies, the friendly Indians who have fought with us against their own tribe, leaving them to the vengeance of their infuriated kinsmen? No, my brave men, a thousand times, no! We will not give up yet. Not until the leader of the massacre of Fort Mimms is slain or conquered. Never until we have overrun the sacrilegious spot which the Red Sticks call their 'holy ground' will we turn our faces homeward. Though our wants be pressing, I do not despond. I have no wish to deceive you. Sup- plies are certainly on their way to us. Stay until they arrive. If in the meantime we suffer privations, remember they are borne for our country."
The commander cast a searching glance of appeal along the lines. Not a responsive word, not a look of assent rewarded him. On the contrary, frowns of determined resistance were seen on every face. The militia officers spoke the word, and the whole body of men were in motion to leave the camp.
Undaunted by their disaffection, Jackson ordered the volunteer regiments to form in line across the pathway of the mutineers. The artillery was placed in readiness to fire, and Capt. John Gordon with his spies (who could always be relied upon) was hur- ried forward. "Spare the effusion of blood, if pos- sible," said Jackson to Captain Gordon, "but do your duty in any event."
The rebellious soldiers were dazed by Jackson's
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audacity. . In bewilderment, they paused. They saw that their general was in earnest. Rather than have to fight their comrades, they gave way under his un- bending will, and returned quietly to their tents. Nor did they think less, in doing so, of a leader whose resolution was stronger than their own. Jackson's boldness and firmness of purpose were openly praised throughout the camp by the very men he had defied. Boasting that night around the campfires of the cour- age he had displayed in opposing a whole army of rebels, they loudly cheered "Old Hickory," and the name took on a new meaning as his followers de- clared that hickory wood was not harder than his un- yielding spirit, nor its fiber stronger than his own will.
The militia were still in fine spirits the next day. Seeing that they could not get away, they were mak- ing the best of the situation by amusing themselves with games and athletic sports, and without complaint were cooking for their dinner the only meat they had, the refuse portions of spoiled beef. In the midst of such peaceful pursuits the mutineers of the day before were suddenly ordered to arms. They were called upon by their general to put down mutiny elsewhere in the camp. The volunteers had in their turn become disaffected. As the term for which they had enlisted was nearly out, they argued among themselves that it would be a useless sacrifice for them to stay in camp, suffering and inactive, during the few days that remained of their time. With this flimsy excuse the volunteers determined to move off in a body, imag- ining from the discontent of the rest of the army that Jackson would have no means of compelling them to stay. But they "reckoned without their host" in sup-
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posing that Andrew Jackson would tamely submit to their revolt. To their astonishment, when they began the move, they found an army of resolute men drawn up in line of battle across the road by which they were retreating. With grim delight the militia were giving them tit for tat. With set faces, they stood grasping their rifles in front of the very men who had turned them back not twenty-four hours before. The volunteers looked at each other in foolish embar- rassment, uncertain what to do. While they hesitated Old Hickory rode to the front, indignantly demand- ing of the disobedient troops: "Why did you quit your homes and come into the enemy's country ? Was it to abandon your standard? was it to return to your families as mutineers and deserters? I say to you that you shall not succeed in your mad enterprise but in passing over my dead body. The heart of your general has been pierced. The first object of his mil- itary affection was the volunteers of Tennessee. But I have done with entreaty. It has been used long enough." The guns of the militia were cocked. The match was prepared for the cannon. Bolt upright in the saddle the inflexible commander sat, rigid as steel. The determination in his eyes was a strong argument to the mutineers. They began to talk among them- selves of submitting. As if an echo of the affair of the day before had lingered in the air, the words, "Let us return," passed along the line, after which the offi- cers came forward and pledged themselves that their men would return to their post of duty. To see the volunteers retiring meekly before the militia would have been laughable had not the whole situation been deeply tragic for the brave, devoted general.
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For it was easy to foresee that unless provisions should come at once discontent would break out into mutiny again. It was not long before the trouble came. Jackson had pledged his word that if the wagon trains did not arrive within two days he would march the army back home. The time was out, and the wagons had not been heard from. Murmurs arose in every quarter at once. The soldiers insisted, militia and volunteers alike, that the promise must be kept. They claimed it as their right to be sent back to the settlements.
The general was sorely perplexed. It would be im- possible to conquer the Indians if both wings of his army failed him; yet he had given his word, and he could not stoop to plead with his men again. His stout heart was failing under its load of care. With his head dropped upon his chest, he sat in his tent thinking of his gloomy prospects. Full ten minutes had passed since he had spoken a word. His lips were drawn close, and not one of the officers who had gathered about him ventured to interrupt his silent meditations. They could only look sadly at their gen- eral and wonder if his indomitable will was at last broken. There sat the hope of the people apparently in utter dejection. If his spirit were really crushed, the loss to the nation would be greater than could ever be estimated. While his friends were anxiously watching his countenance the great man rose and be- gan to pace to and fro with long strides. Evidently he was agitated by strong feelings. Suddenly he stopped. Facing his officers and throwing up his hands he exclaimed in a ringing voice: "If only two
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men will stay with me, I will never abandon this post."
Captain Gordon, prompt in action, frank in speech, sprang forward, placing his hand upon his breast as he said: "You have one, General; I'll stay with you, and die with you in the wilderness. Let us look and see if we cannot find another." So saying, he hur- ried from the tent and mingled at once among the troops to make a search for heroes. He was not with- out success, for his loyal example was as convincing as his words were persuasive. In a short while he found one hundred and nine men who agreed to stay as long as their country should need them. Jackson was deeply touched by the faithfulness of the few who were willing to stand by him. For their sakes he yielded so far to the wishes of the army as to march them all back a short distance toward Tennessee to meet the provision wagons, which this time really came.
Trouble with his untrained troops did not end here, however. On still another occasion, after they had been supplied with food, the army determined once more to return to Tennessee. News reached the gen- eral that they were already partly on their way. Al- most a whole brigade had put itself in motion to go off forcibly. Jackson determined to take no middle ground. He would prevent them or die. He pursued the retreating troops on horseback, and coming up with them rode to the front and drew up alone, facing the advancing column. "Halt!" he cried. One arm hung wounded in a sling. With the other he seized a musket and resting it on the neck of his horse he pointed it at the head of the moving brigade, and
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again cried "Halt !" "Do not come one step farther," he called out, "on peril of your lives. I will shoot the first man who attempts to pass."
The column was sullen and silent. In this crisis Gordon and the faithful one hundred and nine once more came to the rescue. No one being bold enough to advance over the line they formed across the road, the mutineers again returned to their camp. There were other trying scenes for Jackson to pass through before the war was over, but in every crisis the cap- tain of the spies and his faithful few were by his side showing steady opposition to sedition and mutiny. They were in front in every fight, always in the place of danger throughout the brilliant campaign which began with the battle of Tallushatchee and ended with the battle of the Horseshoe.
It was soon after the battle of Tallushatchee, when his troubles were thickest around him, that General Jackson one day rode off from headquarters unat- tended, to seek relief in solitude. He made a wide detour about the camp that he might in silence com- mune with his Maker and rest his mind in repose on the wisdom of an overruling Providence. Uncon- sciously, he neared a point where the Indian allies were encamped. Opposite to him stood the tent of Shelocta, the son of Chinaby, the Path-Killer, a pow- erful chief among the friendly Indians, who had joined the white army to fight against the Red Sticks. Jack- son was arrested, in the act of passing, by a command- ing yet courteous gesture from the chief, who came forward from his tent to speak with him.
The general saw that some grave matter was on Shelocta's mind, and listened attentively while the
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chief spoke saying: "My white brother knows that the warriors of my tribe joined this war against our own countrymen that the treaty entered into a long time ago with our Father Washington might not be broken. To his friendly arm we hold fast. We will not break that charm of friendship we made together. When the Red Sticks sent around their war clubs, following the path Tecumseh trod to arouse the southern In- dians, we refused to join the war party. We were for peace. General Jackson's eyes have not been shut since that time. He has seen the son of Chinaby fight in battle side by side with his white brothers against his own people. He knows that Shelocta hates the Red Sticks, and that it is not because he loves the war party that he asks him now to take pity on a nestling from their evil brood. Listen!" said the chief, pausing and softly lifting a finger. The faint wail of a suffering, exhausted infant reached Jack- son's ears from a tent not far away. "It is the young Lincoyer," explained Shelocta, "the same babe who was found on the battlefield of Tallushatchee pressed to his dead mother's cold bosom. Though through accident the mother's life was taken while the white soldiers were fighting their way through the village, should the child for that cause be left to starve ? Does the brave General Jackson make war on women and children?"
"God be my witness that I am innocent of such in- tention, Shelocta," answered the General, earnestly. "Until this moment I supposed that the infant was well cared for by the women of his mother's tribe who were taken prisoners at Tallushatchee. It was believed that he was being nourished by one of the captive squaws."
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"The squaws have one and all refused to have anything to do with the young Lincoyer," answered Shelocta. "'Let him die,' they say. 'It is the will of the Great Spirit. All his people are dead. Why should he live? There are none left to care.' Many times I urged them, and many times they answered : 'The tree is hewn down, let the branches wither.' Come, your own eyes shall tell you if I speak the truth."
Tall Shelocta's plumes stooped in the doorway as he lifted the flapping curtain to allow the general to enter the tent where the young child lay. No sooner had Andrew Jackson's glance fallen on the wasted form of the unfortunate infant than his keen, steel blue eyes were dimmed with tears. Together the white and the red chief bent over the tiny piece of copper-colored hu- manity. Neither spoke. Jackson was thinking of his own homeless infancy and recalling the cruelties he had suffered in childhood at the hands of Tarletan, the British conqueror of his own people in South Car- olina. His strong language toward his disobedient soldiers may have been at times suggestive of the "wisdom of the serpent," but now, certainly, the ten- derness of the dove softened the stern soldier's voice as he said: "I will take the child under my own pro- tection from this time on. See to it, friend Shelocta, that he is brought to headquarters at once. And as for his future, that shall be attended to. I will re- ceive the poor waif into my own household, and have him carefully reared under my own eye."
The promise was faithfully kept. In a short time the little Lincoyer was sent to the settlements with other prisoners, under escort. When the guard ar-
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rived at Nashville they took the child out to Jackson's home, the Hermitage, as 'directed. Here, under the roof of the conqueror of his tribe Lincoyer grew up to manhood under the care of General Jackson and his gentle wife, Rachel Donelson Jackson, but died of consumption at the age of eighteen years. For though this wild shoot had been transplanted into kindly soil, its savage nature wilted under the culture of civilization.
Success, full, complete success finally crowned Jack- son's arms. The war party among the Creeks was ut- terly broken up. At the battle of Tohopeka (the Horseshoe) in the heart of their "holy ground," the dead bodies of the false prophets who had claimed to be proof against white men's bullets were found strewn over the field. Monohoe in particular was a ghastly object. The bushy feathers that grotesquely covered his head were draggled in dirt and blood and his face was disfigured with the cannon shot that caused his death. The rattle of his fierce little drum had ceased forever. He no longer danced and howled cantations to animate the warriors to still greater cruelties.
Weatherford himself at last surrendered and sued for peace. Historians tell us how eloquently he pleaded for the safety of his people, and how mag- nanimously the terms he craved were granted. We have often read that when it was satisfactorily proved that he had not been concerned in the massacre of Fort Mimms, Jackson overlooked his part in the war, and saved him from the wrath of the white soldiers who would have killed him on the spot. These things have been repeatedly told, but it is not so well known that the conqueror took the fallen chief back to Ten-
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nessee with him and entertained him for nearly a year as an honored guest at the Hermitage.
Through the varied incidents of the Creek war one may form an idea of the passions that swayed the heart of Andrew Jackson. Whether those of piety or profanity, tenderness or fury, his feelings were at all times strong. It is not strange then that such a man should have been overpraised by some of his biog- raphers, while others, who could not understand, mis- represented the fiber of Old Hickory's character.
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XIX.
A RECKONING WITH THE SPANIARDS .*
AT the close of the Creek war General Jackson made a treaty of peace with the southern Indians at their "holy ground." He next turned his attention to those Europeans in America who had stirred up the Red Sticks to hostilities against the frontier people. He wished to get information as to the true state of affairs in West Florida. Pensacola, which was at that time occupied by the Spanish Governor Manquerez, was, Jackson felt sure, the center from which had emanated much evil influence over the Indians. He was confident that the town was still used as a place of aid and comfort to the English, with whom our country was then at war. But he had not sufficient proof of the facts to warrant an attack on the fort that guarded the city and harbor; and there was no way to find out what it was essential for him to know except to send a remonstrance to the governor by a messenger who was at once discreet, fearless, observ- ant, and intelligent. The man to undertake the er- rand must go alone, over a hundred miles, through a country inhabited by lately hostile Indians, and at the end of his journey he must risk the well-known treachery of the Spaniards. To deal to advantage
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