Red Eagle and the Wars With the Creek Indians of Alabama.

It was the mission of the prophet Francis to harass this part of the country, and on the next day but one after the massacre at Fort Mims, Francis struck his first blow within two miles of Fort Sinquefield. Notwithstanding the general alarm, Abner James and Ransom Kimball, with their families, numbering seventeen souls in all, remained at Kimball's house, intending within a day or two to remove to the fort. Francis attacked the house and killed twelve of the seventeen persons. The other five escaped in various ways. One of those who escaped was Isham Kimball, a youth sixteen years of age, who survived the war, became a public officer in his county, and was living there as late as the year 1857; from his account and that of Mrs. Merrill, a married daughter of Abner James, who also was living in Clarke County in 1857, the original recorders of this bit of history derived their information with respect to details.

Mrs. Merrill's adventures were very strange and romantic, and as we shall not again have occasion to write of her, it may not be amiss to interrupt the regular course of this narrative and tell what happened to her. At the time of the massacre at Kimball's house, she, with her infant child in her arms, was knocked down, scalped, and left as one dead among the slain. She lay senseless for many hours, but during the night she revived, and with a mother's instinct began to search among the dead bodies of her kinsmen for her babe. She was overjoyed to find that it still breathed, although some member of the savage band had made an effort to scalp it, cutting its head all round, but failing – probably because the hair was so short – to finish the horrible operation. The poor mother, well-nigh dead though she was, made haste to give her babe the breast, and had the gratification of seeing it revive rapidly in consequence. Then, taking it in her arms, she made an effort to reach Fort Sinquefield, about two miles distant. Finding at last that her strength was failing rapidly, and that she could carry the child no longer, she secreted it and used the little remaining strength she had in crawling to the stockade and entreating some one there to rescue her child. This of course was quickly done, and notwithstanding the severity of her injuries both she and the child recovered under good treatment.

But the strangest, or at any rate the most romantic, part of the story is yet to be told. At the time of these occurrences Mrs. Merrill's husband was absent, serving as a volunteer under General Claiborne. The news of the butchery, including the positive information that Mrs. Merrill and her child were slain, was carried to the post where Merrill was serving, and he heard nothing of her wonderful escape. During one of the battles which followed each other rapidly that autumn, Merrill, before his anxious wife found any means of communicating with him, was terribly wounded and left for dead on the battle-field, and the report of his death was borne to his wife. Recovering his consciousness after his comrades had left the field, Merrill fell in with some Tennessee volunteers, and was sent with their wounded to Tennessee, where, after long nursing, he was finally restored to health. After several years had passed Mrs. Merrill married again, without even a suspicion that her first husband was living – believing indeed that she knew him to be dead. She was living happily with her second husband and with a large family growing up about her, when one evening a family who were emigrating from Tennessee to Texas stopped at her house and asked for entertainment for a night. They were hospitably received after the generous custom of the time and country, but they had scarcely settled themselves as guests before the head of the emigrating family and the wife of the host recognized each other. The one was Merrill and the other was his wife, and both had married again, each believing the other to be dead. After some consultation it was decided that, as each had acted in perfectly good faith, and as both the families were happy as they were, it would be the part of wisdom to let matters stand, and to live their new lives without trying to recover the old.

Let us now return to the regular order of events. When the tidings of the massacre at Kimball's house reached Fort Madison, Colonel Carson sent a detachment of ten men to the spot, and they at once carried the bodies of the dead persons to Fort Sinquefield for burial. On the third of September the whole body of people in Fort Sinquefield, with that inexplicable carelessness which so often marked the conduct of the whites at this time, left the fort, unarmed, and went out to a valley some fifty yards away, to attend the burial services over the bodies of their friends. The wily prophet was awaiting precisely such an opportunity as this, and while the men were filling the grave, he charged over a neighboring hill, and tried to put his force between the unarmed garrison and the gate of the fort. Luckily he had somewhat further to run than the fort people had, and so the men of the place managed to gain the gate; but, alas! the women and children were nearly all outside, and Francis's warriors were between them and the entrance to the fort. Their plight appeared to be a hopeless one, and it would have been so but for the courage and the presence of mind of one young man, whose name is given by Mr. Pickett as Isaac Heaton, but who is called Isaac Haden by Mr. A. B. Meek, a very careful writer, and one particularly well informed about this part of the field. The latter name is adopted here, as probably the correct one. This young man Haden was fond of field sports, and kept a large pack of hounds, trained to chase and seize any living thing upon which their master might set them. At the critical moment, young Haden, mounted upon a good horse and accompanied by his sixty dogs, arrived at the gate from a cattle driving expedition. In an instant he saw the situation of affairs, and with a promptitude which showed remarkable presence of mind, he resolved upon a daring attempt to rescue the women and children. With the whoop of the huntsman this gallant fellow set spurs to his horse, and charged the Indians with his trained pack of ferocious hounds. The suddenness of the onset and the novelty of the attack threw the savages into complete confusion. The fierce dogs seized the naked savages and tore them furiously, and for several minutes their attention was entirely absorbed in an effort to beat the brutes off. Meanwhile the men of the fort reinforced the dogs with all their might, and thus a road was kept open for the retreat of the women and children, every one of whom, except a Mrs. Phillips, who was killed and scalped, escaped within the gates. Young Haden narrowly escaped death as the price of his heroism – for it was heroism of the highest sort. His horse was killed under him, and when he was at last safe within the fort, it was found that five bullets had passed through his clothes, but the brave fellow was not hurt.

Francis speedily recovered from his temporary perplexity, and rallying his men he made a furious assault upon the fort; but the gates were now shut, and the resolute men behind the pickets were skilled marksmen, who delivered their fire with deadly precision. The savages were repulsed and the fort's company for the time saved, with the loss of but one man and one boy, who, with Mrs. Phillips killed outside the gates, made the total number of the slain in this assault only three persons.

The wiser members of the fort's company perceived, however, that the place was not strong enough to be successfully defended against a really determined attack by an adequate force; and accordingly, after some discussion it was resolved to evacuate the place and retire to Fort Madison, before the second and more determined attack, which Francis was sure to make, should render it too late. That night the whole company of Sinquefield silently withdrew, and after a perilous march of fifteen miles through a country infested with savages, reached their destination in safety.

About this time four men went from Fort Madison to some fields in the neighborhood for supplies of green vegetables, and while gathering these they were attacked and two of them were shot. Colonel Carson having satisfied himself that the peninsula which he was set to guard was full of Indians, and believing that Red Eagle with the victors of Fort Mims would direct his next blow at Fort Madison, resolved to call upon General Claiborne, who was now at Fort Stoddard, for assistance. A particularly bold young man, of whom we shall hear more after a while, by name Jeremiah Austill – or Jerry Austill, as he was always called – volunteered to undertake the dangerous duty of carrying Colonel Carson's despatch. Mounting his horse about nightfall, he said good-by to friends who had little hope of seeing him again, and rode away. After an all night's journey the brave young fellow arrived at General Claiborne's head-quarters, and told the general whence he had come, greatly to the surprise and admiration of that officer, who highly commended his courage and devotion to the common cause.

General Claiborne was in great perplexity, however. The Fort Mims massacre and the rapidly following depredations in other directions had produced a genuine panic among the settlers who now poured into the forts, crowding them to overflowing; and in the state of alarm which prevailed everywhere, the commanders of all the forts were convinced that their fighting forces were insufficient to defend the posts intrusted to their charge. When young Austill arrived, therefore, with Colonel Carson's application for reinforcements, it was only one of a dozen or a score of similar demands, and with the meagre force at his disposal General Claiborne was wholly unable to satisfy the requirements of his subordinates. In his perplexity he saw but one method of solving the problem, and that was to order the evacuation of some of the forts and the concentration of the fighting men at fewer points. To this course there was the serious objection, that the stockade posts were already inconveniently and unwholesomely overcrowded, and a good deal of sickness existed as a consequence; but there was no other way of meeting the exigencies of the situation. General Claiborne therefore sent young Austill back to Fort Madison with a message which has been variously represented in different accounts of the affair. It appears, however, from General Claiborne's manuscripts, that the message, as it was given to Austill, was to the effect that as there were no troops to spare for the reinforcement of Fort Madison, and as St. Stephen's was strategically a more important post, Colonel Carson should evacuate Fort Madison and retire with his garrison and the inmates of his fort to St. Stephen's, if in his judgment that course was wisest in the circumstances. In other words, General Claiborne wished Colonel Carson to use his discretion, after learning that no troops could be sent to his assistance; but either because the message was ambiguous in itself, or because young Austill delivered it inaccurately, Colonel Carson understood that he was peremptorily ordered to evacuate his fort, and the order as thus understood gave great dissatisfaction to everybody concerned. The people loudly complained that General Claiborne was abandoning their part of the country to its fate. Colonel Carson, of course, had no choice but to obey the order as he understood it, but those of the settlers who were not regularly enlisted soldiers were free to do as they pleased, and under the lead of Captain Evan Austill, the father of Jeremiah Austill, and himself a very resolute man, fifty men of the neighborhood according to one account, eighty according to another, with their families, determined to remain at Fort Madison. All the rest of the people in the fort, about four hundred in number, marched to St. Stephen's. The little band who remained were very vigilant, and managed to protect themselves effectually, until after a time Colonel Carson was instructed to return and regarrison the fort. Colonel Carson had scarcely reached St. Stephen's, indeed, before a second despatch came from General Claiborne, speaking of the former message as discretionary, and urging Carson not to abandon the fort "unless it is clear that you cannot hold it." Among the gallant little company who remained at Fort Madison was Sam Dale, who, it will be remembered, led the advance at Burnt Corn, and whom we shall see again.

CHAPTER XIII.

PUSHMATAHAW AND HIS WARRIORS

There was great anxiety felt from the beginning of the war lest the Creeks should succeed in drawing the Chickasaws and Choctaws into the conflict as allies. At that stage of affairs at which we have now arrived this fear had become a very nightmare. The few troops at Claiborne's command, together with the militia of the country, were barely sufficient to hold the forts, and even this inadequate force was liable at any time to be reduced by the withdrawal of the soldiers to assist in repelling an attack of the British, whose fleet now constantly threatened the coast; and if the forces of the Choctaws and Chickasaws should be added to Red Eagle's strength, the plight of the whites would indeed be pitiable.

About this time a Choctaw chief of influence with his people, by name Pushmatahaw, arrived at St. Stephen's, and declared that he could induce a considerable number of the Choctaw warriors to enlist in the American service, if permission were given to him to recruit among them. Eagerly grasping at this hope, Colonel George S. Gaines1 went with the chief to Mobile to secure the desired authority from General Flournoy, who was now in command of the South-western Department.

That officer, for some reason which is not apparent, declined to accept the proffered services of the Choctaws, and Colonel Gaines and his companion returned with heavy hearts to St. Stephen's, where the news they brought created the profoundest dissatisfaction. Before the friendly chief had taken his departure, however, a courier from General Flournoy arrived, bringing an order which directed Colonel Gaines to accept the chief's offer of assistance, and to accompany him to the Choctaw Nation to enlist the men.

With a single white companion Colonel Gaines went with Pushmatahaw to the nation, where, gathering the Choctaws into a council, the chief made them a speech, saying that Tecumseh, who had suggested this war, was a bad man. He added:

"He came through our country, but did not turn our heads. He went among the Muscogees, and got many of them to join him. You know the Tensaw people. They were our friends. They played ball with us. They sheltered and fed us when we went to Pensacola. Where are they now? Their bodies are rotting at Sam Mims's place. The people at St. Stephen's are also our friends. The Muscogees intend to kill them too. They want soldiers to defend them. You can all do as you please. You are free men. I dictate to none of you; but I shall join the St. Stephen's people. If you have a mind to follow me, I will lead you to glory and to victory."

Pushmatahaw finished this speech with his drawn sword in his hand. When he paused, one of the hitherto silent warriors stood up and, striking his breast with his open palm, after the manner of the Choctaws on specially solemn occasions, said, "I am a man; I will follow you;" whereupon his fellows imitated his example, and thus a considerable force of men, who might have been added to Weatherford's strength but for the friendliness of Pushmatahaw, became active friends of the whites.

But a new factor of very much greater value was now about to enter into the problem and totally change its conditions. Andrew Jackson, the sternest and most energetic of Indian fighters, was coming with his Tennessee volunteers to reverse the situation of affairs. The Creeks, who were now hunting the whites like wild beasts, were presently to become the hunted party, with Andrew Jackson upon their track.

CHAPTER XIV.

JACKSON IS HELPED INTO HIS SADDLE

Bad news travels rapidly, and the news of the terrible massacre at Fort Mims was soon known in all parts of the South and West. There were neither railroads nor steamboats in those days, and between the Tensaw settlement and the rest of the country there were not even stage-coaches running, or mail-riders on horseback. It took more than a month for the swiftest messenger from Southern Alabama to reach New York, and nearly as long to reach Washington City; but when Red Eagle had shown of what mettle he was made, General Claiborne, who in his double capacity as Governor of Louisiana and general in the field was doubly interested, became greatly alarmed, and that with good reason. The British were threatening the coast, and Weatherford now appeared to threaten Mobile. The situation was, indeed, an alarming one. It was pretty clear that Weatherford was already acting in concert, more or less direct, with the enemy without; and if he should take the town of Mobile, as he was probably able to do, securing a base of operations for a British force, he might easily turn back and utterly destroy the settlements, while the few troops within reach should be engaged with the British.

In this perilous situation of affairs it was useless for General Claiborne, or his superior officer, General Flournoy, to appeal to the government at Washington for aid. Even if the troops of the Government had not been fully occupied already in other parts of the country, the distance was so great that any assistance which the general government might be able to render must of necessity come too late to be of any avail. It would take a month for the messenger asking for help to reach Washington, another month for a force to be gathered, and perhaps two months more for it to reach the exposed point. Three or four months at least, and probably a greater time, must pass before help could come from that quarter, and it might as well have taken a hundred years, so far as all practical purposes were concerned.

The only resource, therefore, was an appeal to the people of the surrounding States. Messengers were sent in hot haste to South Carolina, Georgia, and Tennessee, carrying despatches which simply set forth the facts and the danger, and asked for help. The response was quick and generous. Georgians and South Carolinians began at once to organize forces, which soon afterward invaded the Creek country. But the most efficient aid was to come from Tennessee, a State which had already shown itself quick to answer to every demand made upon it. It had furnished its full quotas of men to the national army; and less than a year before the time of which we now write, it had sent a full division of volunteers under Jackson to reinforce the army at New Orleans. This division had been ordered to disband while at Natchez, when they were without money or provisions with which to reach their homes, but Jackson had resolutely disobeyed the order, and instead of disbanding his division had marched it back to Tennessee in a body.

There had been loud murmurs at the treatment these volunteers had received, but when the news came that the people of the Tensaw country were suffering brutal butchery at the hands of savages, and that Mobile was threatened, Tennessee hushed her murmurs, and promptly responded to the call.

On the 18th day of September, the people of Nashville assembled in a public meeting to consider the news which had just been received. General Jackson lay upon his bed, weak, emaciated, and racked with pain from a wound received in a street fight; but everybody felt that his counsel in matters of this kind was essential. Indeed, it was known that upon the question of his ability to lead the forces that were to be raised their success in raising forces at all must in a great measure depend. The meeting, therefore, did no business on the first day, except to express its members' determination to render assistance to their brethren in the South, and to appoint a committee, headed by Colonel (afterward General) Coffee, to consult with the Governor of the State and with General Jackson, and to report the result.

This committee went to Jackson's chamber and told him the story of Fort Mims, and of the need there was for him to lead the Tennessee volunteers. They assured him also that if they could give his name to the people as the leader who would head them, the volunteers would flock to the standard of the State at once.

Jackson replied that he was recovering, although he was still confined to his bed, and that he thought he should be well enough to mount his horse by the time the troops could be got ready to march. In that event he promised to take command.

With this news the committee went to the clergyman who was chairman of the public meeting, and that patriotic man, dismissing all thought of his regular church services, called the meeting together again the next morning, which happened to be Sunday. The voice of the meeting and of the people of the State was unanimous. Mr. Parton, in his Life of Andrew Jackson, writes:

"The news of the massacre produced everywhere in Tennessee the most profound impression. Pity for the distressed Alabamians, fears for the safety of their own borders, rage against the Creeks, so long the recipients of the governmental bounty, united to inflame the minds of the people. But one feeling pervaded the state. With one vow it was decreed that the entire resources and the whole available force of Tennessee should be hurled upon the savage foe, to avenge the massacre and deliver the southern country."

There was unfortunately no law of the State under which anybody was authorized to call out the needed men, and although Governor Blount was ready to approve and actively to encourage the gathering of Tennessee's strength and its use in this way, he had no legal authority to promise pay or support to the troops. This defect was repaired by the Legislature within a week. That body passed a bill authorizing the Governor to enlist three thousand five hundred men for this service, voting three hundred thousand dollars for expenses, and pledging the State to support and pay the men, if the general government should refuse or neglect to accept the force as a part of its volunteer army.

Meantime, from his sick bed, and without waiting for the processes of law, General Jackson called for volunteers. He published an address, in which he said to his Tennesseeans:

"The horrid butcheries perpetrating on our defenceless fellow-citizens near Fort Stoddard cannot fail to excite in every bosom a spirit of revenge. The subjoined letter of our worthy Governor shows that the general government has deposited no authority in this quarter to afford aid to the unhappy sufferers. It is wished that volunteers should go forward, relying on the justice of the general government for ultimate remuneration. It surely never would be said that the brave Tennesseeans wanted other inducements than patriotism and humanity to rush to the aid of our bleeding neighbors, their friends and relations. I feel confident that the dull calculations of sneaking prudence will not prevent you from immediately stepping forth on this occasion, so worthy the arm of every brave soldier and good citizen. I regret that indisposition, which from present appearances is not likely to continue long, may prevent me from leading the van; but indulge the grateful hope of sharing with you the dangers and glory of prostrating these hell-hounds, who are capable of such barbarities."

Jackson was in a hurry. Every day at such a time was precious, and hence he was determined to waste no time coddling his worn and wounded body. He issued his addresses and his orders from his sick-bed; concerted measures with General John Cocke, who was to command the troops from the eastern half of the State, and made arrangements for provisions. On the 26th day of September, just one week after the Sunday when the public meeting had been held, he sent Coffee forward with the advance of his army a body of horsemen numbering somewhat more than five hundred. Coffee received volunteers at every cross-road, and by the time he arrived at Fayetteville, Alabama, the appointed place of rendezvous, his five hundred men had increased to one thousand three hundred.

Jackson had to be helped on his horse when he set out to join the army he had raised so speedily. His arm was still encased in the surgeon's wrappings, and carried in a sling. He could put but one arm into his coat-sleeve, and he was so weak that it was with difficulty that he could ride at all; but there was that in his composition which had already gained for him his nickname, "Old Hickory;" it was the tough hickory of his nature which supplied the place of physical strength, and enabled him to march. Everywhere he issued his proclamations and addresses, couched in strong, vigorous, though not always graceful, English: a practice for which he has been laughed at sometimes, but one which was wise, nevertheless. He knew his Tennesseeans, and adapted his measures to their character. They were an impulsive race of men, full of warm blood, which was easily stirred by such appeals as Jackson made to them, though they would not have been moved by a colder species of address.