USA > Tennessee > Old times in West Tennessee : reminiscences, semi-historic, of pioneer life and the early emigrant settlers in the Big Hatchie country > Part 2
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mounted, camping at the edge of the prairie, some six miles from the village. At early dawn, before the bright rays of the sun rose over the broad ex- panse of the prairie, dissipating the gray mist rising from the heavy dew upon the wide-spread waves of the tall grass, Bienville put his army in motion, Chivalry, upon their richly-caparisoned steeds, rode with glittering pomp by the side of the quick, earn- est step of the broad-shouldered grenadier, and the heavy tread of the Swiss guards. The gayly-dressed volunteers, among whom were many of the "best young bloods" of France, led by the gallant De Lassier, bearing flying banners, with cheering mot- toes, worked in gay colors by their lady-loves, in- spired by lively martial music, presented an imposing sight. With soul-stirring aspirations, they did not doubt but that it would strike terror into the hearte of the red men upon whom they were marching. Beware, invaders, beware! the red man's ideas of liberty are too deeply rooted in the soil of their "beloved prairies," under which the bones of their fathers lie, to yield without a bloody resistance. Keenly alive to the fate of the Natchez, whose vil- lages had been laid waste by the French, and their great chief, with four hundred of his brave warriors, manacled, and transported in chains to the slave markets of the islands (already were several hun- dred of the Natchez tribe, who had been driven from their homes and heritage, finding shelter in the wigwams of the Chickasaws), the two years in which Bienville had been gathering troops and fit- ting out his imposing expedition had not been kept
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a secret from the red men, whose fathers had lived in quiet dominion over their "beloved prairies" for ages before the face of the white man was seen on the continent. They were ready and prepared for the invader.
Before noon Bienville had reached a position in full view of the villages. The troops were ordered. to take refreshments. In the meantime, the scouts sent out to learn something of the whereabouts of D'Artaguettie, came in, reporting that nothing what- ever could be heard of him or his command, nor could any signs be found of his having been in the country. They reported great commotion going on in the villages during the night, but since daylight not an Indian had been seen; that the villages seemed deserted. All hopes of co-operation from his northern allies being given up, Bienville decided upon an immediate attack. By the aid of his field glass, he was enabled to locate the stronghold of the defenders of the villages. He decided to move upon it at once, appointing Chevalier de Noyan to lead the attacking column, composed of fifteen grenadiers, chosen from each company, forty-five from the volunteers, and sixty from the Swiss troops, retaining two companies of veterans, who had seen service in old France under the gallant Beauchamp. The rest of the command was to follow close in sup- port of the attacking forces. The stronghold of the Chickasaws seemed to be in a row of strongly built mud cabins on the apex of the hillock upon which the village was situated, flanked right and left, front and rear, by mud cabins, separated from
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each other equi-distant some forty paces. The attacking column moved up steadily under cover of mantelets, borne by a company of negro slaves, until they had reached within a few paces of the first row of cabins, when a well-aimed volley was fired, seemingly from the ground, not exceeding twenty paces in front of them, killing several ne- groes. Such was the first shock of the bullets, many penetrating through their pent-house forti- fication, that the negroes became panic-stricken, and, throwing down their mantelets, took to their heels. The undaunted Noyan, giving orders for the com, bined forces to press closely up in support of the attacking column, reached the first row of cabins, setting fire to the thatched roofs. Pressing. past them, he soon discovered that they were vacated, the Indians occupying them, discharging the first volley, had escaped under cover to the next or middle row, from whence there came a perfect hail- storm of bullets, putting his brave soldiers to the earth faster than their places could be filled by fresh troops, himself severely wounded. Such was the rain of leaden death that his brave troops were forced to take shelter behind the first row of cabins, The principal officers of his staff were killed. The Chevalier De Coutre, the pride of the army, lay riddled with bullets, weltering in his blood. De Mortbrum, leading the brave Swiss, fell by his side. De Juzan, im executing the order of the intrepid Noyan-trying to bring to the front the skulking soldiers from behind the cabins-fell pierced with a half-dozen balls. The Choctaws were ordered up,
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and made a desperate charge to reach the middle row of cabins, but were repulsed with great slaughter. Bienville, from his standpoint, witnessing the work of destruction going on, and fearing the fate of his whole army, sent Beauchamp, with his two compa- nies, with orders to Noyan to bring off what remained of his forces, and as many of his wounded as possible. Rapidly advancing, he did not reach the place where Noyan, though suffering from a painful wound, was rallying his troops for another charge, without losing one officer and several of his men. The Chevalier De Noyan had resolved to share the fate of his brave officers who had borne the brunt of the attack, or reach the second row of cabins. Receiving orders from Bienville to with- draw his forces, disabled and suffering, he turned the command over to Beauchamp, who, quick to comprehend the situation, ordered a hasty retreat. The noble Grondel had fallen pierced with five bullets, and was about to be left for the tomahawk, when one of his brave grenadiers broke from the line and bore him away upon his broad shoulders, receiving the sixth while being carried off the field. Thus was fought what Bienville called the battle of Ackia Village; such the leaden messengers, left by the brave young D'Artaguettie, in the hands of the Chickasaws, to inform him that he had been there -- that faithful to hu frust, obedient to his orders, he, with his little ar shad waited upon the ground of his appointment out powder and ball was all that he left him as a correcnance of his sad fate, in which we trace the history of the "leaden ball" which had
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been corroding on the soil of. the prairie for an hundred years.
The Chickasaws had given evidence of their skill in fortifying themselves against their strong enemy The walls of their cabins were built of wood and mud, covered over with the same material, and well thatched with straw and palmetto, so as to shed the rain and keep them dry. The cabins were so con structed, from one another, as to cross their fires when the enemy should press in among them. In the inside of these fire-and-bullet-proof cabins they dug out to the depth of their arm-pits, and made loop-holes on a level with the ground, from which they could fire in perfect safety. Beauchamp, in writing an account of their inglorious defeat, says: "To make an end of the Chickasaw war, it is neces, sary to have a detachment of workmen-of miners and bombardiers-with implements and instruments necessary to ferret out these savages, who burrow, like badgers, in their cabins, which are very much like ours. Bienville made a precipitate retreat to his boats, consiguing his cannon to the waters of the Tombigbee, together with two thousand heavy manacles, which were in reserve to bind the liberty loving Chickasaws, and transport them from their native prairies to the slave markets. Dispirited, with feverish disappointment, he turned his boats down stream with what remained of his shattered army, never to invade the territory of the independ- ent Chickasaws again."
What of the Chevalier D'Artaguettie, and the red allies of the Northern lakes, whose sad fate was
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unknown to the retreating and discomfited Bien- ville? The reader will recollect that we left him descending the Mississippi with his expedition to join Bienville at the Chickasaw village, on the last day of March. We next find him at a point on the Mississippi called Ecores a Trudomme, a place not marked on our modern maps .. It was most likely at the Chickasaw Bluffs, where Memphis now, in the pride of her city life and commercial prosperity, stands, as below the bluff the country on the East- ern banks of the river must have been overflowed at that period of the year to the "Walnut Hills," upon which Vicksburg now stands. Here we find him on the fourth of March, waiting for Vincennes and Montcheval, who were following him close behind, and Grampree, commanding the Arkansas on the White river. After several days' waiting, he was joined by Vincennes with forty Iroquois war- riors, and three hundred and twenty of the Illinois, Miamis and Dacotahs. In his anxiety not to disap- point Bienville, he put his expedition in motion, which then consisted of one hundred and thirty whites, three hundred and sixty red allies under Vincennes, and thirty Arkansians from Grampree's command. By slow marches he had hoped that Montcheval and Grampree would come up with him. We next find him in the heart of the Chickasaw Territory, waiting for his scouts to bring him tid- ings of Bienville. The time for them to co-operate against the village was rapidly growing near, and yet Grampree and Montcheval had not come up. His red allies were becoming restive, and provisions
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were getting short. Father Senac, a Jesuit priest was his comforter, yet the ardent young chevalier was filled with misgivings. While waiting, and before the return of his Indian scouts, a courier arrived in camp, bringing him a letter from Bien- ville, saying that, owing to innumerable delays and difficulties, it would be the end of April before he could reach the Chickasaw villages. Slowly reading the letter, he rose, handing it, open, to Father Senac and walked to the end of his tent, repeating: "Not till the end of April! Impossible! In the heart of a ferocious, wily enemy's territory, on a hostile expedition, with less than a fortnight's provisions impossible! impossible!" Continuing his walk, he came to the headquarters of Vincennes, with whom he took counsel. Father Senac, who regarded D'Artaguettie as the "apple of his eye," followed with Bienville's letter, joining the two brave com manders. He was welcomed as a counsellor. The three were long engaged in discussing the grave question, what to do. Just then the scouts came up. reporting that they had gone beyond the great prai ries, to the water of the Tombigbee, and no tidings of the expedition from below were to be found any where; that they had reconnoitered the villages, passing around them so cautiously that they did not think "the eye of a Chickasaw had seen them." The question was debated, whether to return to the boats on the Mississippi, then sixty leagues off or attempt the capture of some of the smaller vil lages, and secure supplies to last them until the end of April, when relief would be obtained by the
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arrival of Bienville. The scouts and their red friends advocated the latter course, reporting that they had discovered a village more isolated, con- taining not more than thirty cabins; that, from its being so quiet, it must be the village in which the Natchez refugees were dwelling; that they thought it easily surprised and taken, when plenty of provisions would fall into their hands; they could then fortify themselves and remain until the arrival of Bienville. To Artaguettie and Vincennes, the argument seemed feasible, and they adopted that course of action. Orders were given to that end, and the early morning dawned upon that brave little army in motion, in the direction of the village, offer- ing so much hope, then a day and a half march to the east. As the last rays of the sun, on the follow- ing evening, were lengthening the shadows of the tall hickories, on the high ridges bordering the prai- ries, Artaguettie, with his companions in arms, came in sight of the village, some two miles distant in the prairie. Beautifully situated on. a hillock, the cov- eted village stood; the soft mellow rays of the god of day were fast receding from the tall wood, lengthening its golden rays across the broad prairies to the east, reflecting golden hues from the straw- covered cabins of the quiet-looking village. Con- scious of being unobserved, the command fell back to a small running branch, and rested upon their arms. At midnight Artaguettie, Vincennes and the pious Father Senac met to devise the order of attack. It was arranged that, an hour before day, Vincennes, with his red allies, take a position within 2
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carbine range of the village to the east, and lay down in the tall grass and wait for the signal of attack; Artaguettie commanding his white troops to take a position to the west of the village. The hour for movement found the cautious Vincennes, with his three hundred and sixty red men, moving round to the position assigned them, so noiseless and soft the tread of the red warriors that not a blade of grass was ruffled or displaced. Arriving at the appointed place, orders, by signs, were given to.lay down, the tall grass waving over them. Arta- guettie had moved up to his position behind a large thicket of reeds, out of which gushed a bold spring, forming a murmuring brook, winding its course to the southeast of the village. The last hour of the night was hushed into silence-painful silence; not a stir came up from the village; nought was heard but the pulsations of the hundreds of anxious hearts lying in wait for the signal to attack. All was still -still as midnight sleep. Why this death-like stillness? Had the quick eye of the ever-watchful Chickasaw been drowsy? Was he asleep? Had the tiger left his lair and taken himself to better quar- ters? Daylight alone would dispel the painful stillness. At the dawn of day the signal to attack was given. Simultaneously rose from the tall grass, not an hundred yards behind where De Vincennes had taken his position, three hundred and fifty Chickasaws. With the war-whoop and yells un- earthly, they rushed with ferocious impetuosity upon the red allies, producing such wild confusion among the Miamis and Dacotahs that they took to
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flight, leaving the forty Iroquois and thirty Arkansas to receive the shock of battle. Bravely they with- stood it, fighting hand to hand; out-numbered five to one, they fought with Spartan courage until there was not one of the seventy left to tell the tale of their heroism, worthy a better fate. Vincennes was taken alive. The triumphant Chickasaws, wide awake as to what was going on in the village, pressed in through the approaches from whence the French expected their allies, with such surprising slaughter, that before the sun was fairly above the eastern horizon, the gallant Artaguettie, with fifteen of his command, were all that remained alive. X Father Senac might have made his escape, but he braved death to remain with his young friend Arta- guettie, who was severely wounded. The flying Miamis and their red friends were pursued with such terrific slaughter that but few reached the Mis- s'ssippi with their lives. The Chickasaws treated their distinguished prisoners with kind attention, dressing their wounds, and ameliorating their suffer- ings. Their fate, however, was to them full of pain- full misgivings.
More than two thousand pounds of powder, twelve thousand bullets and many guns fell into the hands of the Chickasaws, which, two months later, was skillfully and effectually used against Bienville and his grand army. But what of the white flint arrow- head? May it not have been hurled from the strong bow of the undaunted Iroquois, cut from their na- tive chalk cliffs on the Great Lakes in the north ? Who will say that the white flint arrow-head shall
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not share with the red men of the north the glories of the first battle of Ackia Village?
We return to Artaguettie and his brave compan- ions. A grand council was called, its decision taken, and preparations rapidly going on for its execution. On a hillock near the village "busy life " was seen during the day, after the meeting of the grand coun- cil. Stalwart men were seen carrying huge loads of finely split wood, others were driving stakes in the ground, around which several hundred Indians- men, women and children-had collected. It had been decreed, according to a long-established cus- tom of the Chickasaws, to make a triumphant sacri- fice of their captives by burning them at the stake. When the evening began to grow nigh, the sun, through the purplish, sombre clouds, flitting across the western horizon, reflecting its blood-red rays upon the clear sky in the east, all eyes were anx- iously turned toward the village, from whence a grand procession was moving. In front, the hand- some young Chevalier D'Artaguettie, who had braved death in every form; by his side, the pious Father Senac; following close behind, the noble De Vin- cennes and fifteen other victims, escorted by several hundred painted warriors. On the procession moved, ascending the hillock-the same, most likely, where Bienville stood two months later, when he sent his faithful Beauchamp to bring off his shattered army. The moment was hushed into painful silence; the victims were marched to the circle of stakes, one by one. There were seventeen stakes, and yet there were eighteen victims. One by one were tightly
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bound until the seventeenth stake had its victim. Alone stood by the great chief a brave young sol- dier of not more than sixteen years. He was re- werved to be returned to his white-faced chief, to inform him and his people of the fate of his com. rades. In the center of the circle of stakes finely- split wood was piled up as high as the heads of the victims; circling the stakes was a high pile of fag- gots. Everything being ready, the faggot-master ordered the fire, when an hundred torches were ar- plied, and the triumphant dance began, war-songs and yells most hideous. The last rays of the setting sun inade lurid the ascending smoke from the savage funeral pyre, and the crackling flames, rising high above the surrounding wood, took the place of the god of day, and the wild chant and frantic dance went on. Thus perished the first attempt of the white man to plant the "iron heel" of despotism upon the native soil of the Chickasaws.
Leaving our beautiful camping-ground on the margin of the prairie, my father directed his course toward the village to redeem his promise-to eat with the chief. The country was an open hickory barren, and but few obstructions were found to im- pede travel. We arrived at the village by noon. The chief, with his escort, mnet my father at the edge of the village, conducting him and the entire train in front of his place of dwelling, which was on a broad street running through the center of the village east and west, studded on each side with antiquated looking china-trees, giving quite the ap- pearance of civilized life. A big dinner had been
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prepared, and everybody, black as well as white, participated in the great chief's regal hospitality.
The chief and his braves talked much of the Big Hatchie country, calling it their hunting-ground, exhibiting many bear and panther skins procured in that region. The chief showed my father great kindness, sending several of his best hunters along with us to kill game and pilot the best route to Bolivar, then an Indian trading-post. Leaving the village an hour before nightfall, we camped at a fine spring. Resuming travel the next morning, it was continued without interruption, our Indian guides bringing in a venison or fat gobbler every day, arriving at Bolivar the last week in February, having been in the wilderness forty days and nights.
Bolivar was then a small trading-post, poorly sup- plied with goods, wares and merchandise, except such as were profitable in trading with the In- dians. My father crossed the river Big Hatchie, and turned down it, following a blaze, digging down hills and making pole ridges until he reached the vicinity where Denmark, in Madison county, now stands. Here we came to a "three-notched" road, which had just been cut out, leading from Jackson to Brownsville. Taking the west end, running in the direction we were traveling, we ar- rived at the latter place in the afternoon of the following day. Brownsville had just been laid off and established as the county site of Haywood county. It contained not a dozen houses. The court-house and jail were being built of logs. Our place of destination was still some twenty odd miles
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further west, in the heart of the wilderness. My father, having provided himself with correct maps and surveys of the country, was enabled to work his way to the tract of land upon which he designed settling. Spring opening upon us, he was anxious to find the end of his road-making, and pushed on "to find rest. Finding a newly-blazed way, showing now and then that wagon-wheels had gone over it, leading in the direction we were going, my father availed himself of it for the distance of seven or eight miles. Coming to a large creek, impassable without bridging at that season of the year, tents were pitched for an indefinite number of days. Every one that could use an ax, hatchet or hoc was called into requisition making roads and build- ing bridges, Three pretty good-sized creeks and numerous branches intervened between our camp and the place of destination. The direction being north of west, the compass was non-available in finding the course. To obviate this difficulty, my father would ride ahead in the proper direction as far as the sound of his big horn could be heard, and blow, the negroes to be guided by the blowing of the horn, blazing the way until they came up to him. In this way he obtained quite a straight line to follow in cutting out the road. After many days of toil the road was cut, bridges made and hills dug down. Monday, of the second week in March, tents were struck and rolled up, never to be used again in traveling. That night we arrived on the bank of the beautiful creek mentioned in the opening of this chapter, making the trip in forty-eight days.
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In a virgin land, teeming with nature's richest verdure, unknown to the ruthless tread of oppres- sion, preserved for countless ages as the chosen hunting-ground of the red men, civilization had come to exercise dominion over it-to found its places of abode. Little did the pioneer settlers think that in less time than man's ordinary span of active life, the march of improvement, the progress of the age, would so soon cover its broad acres. It is not of the present that we would write, but of our country in its infant days, when the ax was a stranger in its giant forests; when the plow-share and the grubbing-hoe was first made bright and dull in preparing-in making it ready for enjoying civilized life-when its greatest need was man. The woods had already given signs of the opening of an early spring; the hickory was budding, and dog- wood blossoms were whitening the forest-sure signs that the last frost had made its appearance. Dependent for "the staff of life" upon the growing of a crop of corn, everything was under strain to get through building and go to clearing. My father had selected his building site on a high level, or bench, fronting on the bluff, under which was the noted "Bluff Spring;" the land to the south and west slightly undulating, heavily wooded with pop- lar, black walnut, ash, oak and hickory. Before the end of the month we were all comfortably housed in a double log-house (of course), front gallery, with shed-room behind; the garden spot selected, cleared, grubbed (grubbing was the hardest work, the spot being a hazle-nut thicket) and planted, and all hands
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in the new ground. By the 1st of June eighty acres were cleared, under fence and planted in corn, with a small patch of cotton for domestic use. The gar- den teeming with every variety of early vegetables, the woods overrun with wild pea-vines (the delight of the cow), we had milk and butter in abundance, with good hog prospect. But the hogs-the great- est trouble was to keep the bear off them; they required to be constantly watched during the day, and driven up at night. I remember an occurrence that happened one day, while we were all in the new ground, chopping, cleaning up, and burning brush, worthy to be related as a bear-hog story. The hogs were driven out in the new ground, where the hands were at work, that an eye could be kept upon them. Late in the afternoon, when the clear ring of the ax, and the crackling fire, looming up from the brush-heap, was attracting every one's attention, we were startled by the sharp squeal of a hog, not more than one hundred yards off. The cry arose from many voices, "The bear-the bear has got a hog; it's the old big sow. I know her squeal-call the dogs. Here, Dash, here! Here, Sound, here, here ! Send for master, with his long gun." In the mean- time Jim, an athletic negro man, ran with all his might to herrelief (it was the old big sow, sure enough, a huge sow with saddle-skirt ears) with his ax. So intent was bruin in securing his bacon that he did not heed the coming up of the negro man, who, intent upon dealing a death-lick, approached within easy striking distance. With ax raised high in air he let drive-his foot slipped-sprawling he went, his
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