Beyond Fort Mims Page 2

  The army marched to Ten Islands on the Coosa River. Here, Colonel Coffee directed that a mud and log fortification be erected. Here, too, Crockett and other scouts fanned out, seeking Indians.

  They found a small party of hostiles, surrounded them, and offered them a choice between being shot or surrendering. The leader of this band was an Indian named Bob Catala. He surrendered.

  Some six or eight miles distant the scouts found an Indian town—with a red pole. They awaited the arrival of the soldiers. Accompanying Coffee’s column now was a party of Cherokees under an Indian, Colonel Dick Brown, whose rank was legitimate. He had earned it in previous battles as an ally of the whites.

  Crockett went ahead with his scouts to make sure there were no ambushing warriors on either side of the town. Despite being a heavily timbered area, dangerous for scouting parties, no Indians were encountered.

  Colonel Coffee made his disposition, which was to divide the command with each division to move through the forests on either side, and when they met to close the surround. This was accomplished because of the densely overgrown areas around the town.

  Coffee then detached a party of rangers to move into plain sight of the town, which they did, and, when the Indians saw them, they charged the white men, yelling and brandishing weapons. The rangers retreated in loose order until they were within musket range of the soldiers in the forest on the near side of the town.

  As the rangers rode clear, the soldiers, both kneeling and standing, fired a thunderous volley. For several moments the firing line was obscured by gun smoke. As it cleared, the soldiers could see dead and dying Indians by the dozen.

  The surviving Indians fled back into their town and the soldiers tightened their surround, firing at anything that moved. Later, this would be called the Battle of Tallushatches. Army casualties: five killed and fifteen wounded.

  Davy had seen a number of warriors run into a house in whose doorway sat an Indian woman with a bow and arrows. She used her feet to steady the bow, used both hands to draw the gut string, and fired. Her arrow killed an officer named Moore.

  At least twenty musket balls hit the woman. She died in the doorway.

  Enraged soldiers charged the building, firing as they ran. Some Creeks fired back but with the door open, held in that position by the dead woman, they had limited range.

  Soldiers got in close and set the house on fire. Some Indians ran outside where soldiers shot them; others were burned to death. The total number was forty-six Indians killed, including the woman in the doorway.

  The town was captured. The dead and wounded Indians numbered one hundred and eighty-six. Women and children became captives.

  When it was over, Crockett went hunting. There was not enough food in the Indian town for the soldiers as there had been at Black Warrior’s Village, and marching men required food and lots of it.

  While Crockett was gone, an Indian arrived who wanted to speak to the commanding officer. Within a few minutes after Coffee and the Indian conferred, orders were issued to set the column in motion for another advance.

  This order was not appreciated. The men had been marching for days with insufficient food. Their shoes were wearing out; their clothing was filthy and torn; they had not profited at all at the latest Indian town. Demoralization inevitably set in, and, while they were in the very heartland of hostile Creek country, desertions occurred.

  The route of march was from the Tallushatches town across the Coosa River in the general direction of a place called Talladega, where Jackson’s element of the divided command was to meet Coffee’s party.

  Men were gaunt and tired, some had injuries, all were unwashed and unshaven. They had been unable to sleep, eat, or even to rest.

  Davy Crockett’s horse, Jeb, was wearing out; all the horses were. An occasional hatful of corn was far less than was required to maintain horses in constant use.

  Davy hunted ahead of the marchers. He, too, was haggard, stained, and gaunt.

  Where the rendezvous with Jackson was accomplished, the general directed that a fortification be erected. When it was completed, it was called Fort Strother. This was in the Ten Islands vicinity of the Coosa River.

  Jackson’s policy was to have fortifications available in his rear in the event a retreat became necessary.

  Jackson could not move until his army had been provisioned, an enterprise that throughout his campaign against the Creeks was at best tardy and wholly inadequate. He fumed, his army waited, and Davy Crockett hunted as did others. Through this source some food was provided but not enough.

  Here, Crockett had an interesting encounter with an Indian who paddled his canoe to the bank where Crockett was concealed. When the Indian beached his canoe, Crockett came into view, rifle in the crook of one arm. The Indian seemed to have taken root. Crockett asked if the Indian had any corn. The Indian did have some. Crockett offered him a silver coin. The Indian was unimpressed. He asked if Crockett had bullets. He offered to trade corn for ammunition. The trade was made, two hatfuls of corn for ten bullets and ten loads of powder.

  The appeals of an Indian from Talladega for General Jackson to march to the support of friendlies forted up with hundreds of Red Sticks besieging them at Talladega resulted in an order for the army to march.

  Among Jackson’s soldiers the principal reason they marched was the hope that Fort Talladega would be amply provisioned.

  Jackson’s command was a motley one, ragged, gaunt, and unshaven regulars, marching with undisciplined allied Indians of different clans and tribes and militiamen clad in whatever attire they chose. Horsemen rode scarecrow mounts, and because this was malaria country, the general’s sick list increased daily.

  Jackson’s troops had to take the fort. They were too near starvation—and destitution—to do otherwise.

  Crockett scouted in advance of the marching column. When he arrived in the vicinity of Fort Talladega, he got the shock of his life. There were no less than eleven hundred Red Sticks camped around the fort. More Indians in one bunch than he had ever seen before, and of course they knew Jackson’s army was coming.

  This was December. The ground was muddy, which made marching difficult even for strong, healthy men. For Jackson’s host it was torture. Significantly, for wheeled vehicles of any kind, but particularly heavily burdened supply wagon trains, roads were impassable.

  The Indians outside the fort tried to entice the Indians inside to come out and join in the attack on Jackson’s army. They told the forted-up Indians that Jackson’s command had many fine horses, guns enough for everyone, powder, lead, swords, and knives, good blankets, all of which they would share with the forted-up Indians if they would join the Red Sticks in the battle to come. The friendlies inside the fort said they would hold a council and decide, which they did not do and had no intention of doing. They knew the army was close. Nevertheless, when the hostiles became increasingly agitated as the army drew near, the forted-up Indians finally agreed to come out and fight Jackson as allies of the Red Sticks, but only when the army appeared. This was to be their last desperate attempt to avoid joining the hostiles.

  Davy Crockett was returning to the command when he met a friendly who offered to guide the army through the dense woodlands to the fort.

  The weather was chilly. There were dark clouds overhead. The ground was muddy from recent rains, and men bringing up the rear had a disorderly band of prisoners ahead of them. Friendlies trudged along, men, women, and children. These people in particular had reason to fear the Red Sticks, the Creek fighting men who painted themselves from head to heel with red ocher.

  Crockett rode ahead, warily now because shouts and screams could be heard ahead. Several of his scouting unit rode with him.

  No one doubted that this time there would be a big battle and fierce resistance. Red Eagle had been mustering his forces for many days. He had encouraged the whites to penetrate so deeply int
o Creek country that they would be unable to be provisioned or retreat.

  General Jackson used the same strategy Colonel Coffee had used at Talluschatches. By utilizing friendlies familiar with the area, he divided his command to effect a surround, which he could never have accomplished if there had been ambushing Red Sticks farther out through the forested countryside, but there were no such ambushers, probably because Red Eagle wanted all his fighting men in one place after he knew Jackson was getting close.

  The forted-up Indians had a good view from their parapets. They could see what was happening, which the Red Sticks outside the fort could not. They nevertheless were not without their own variety of strategy. Hundreds of them hid below a creek bank where only the friendlies on their catwalk could see them.

  Jackson’s men used up a lot of time slipping far out and around the fort on both sides. When the surround was completed, Major Russell, the father of Davy Crockett’s scouting companion, George Russell, was sent ahead to bring on the action.

  As he advanced, the Indians on the catwalks began shouting and gesticulating. Major Russell was leading his party directly toward the cutbank where those hundreds of hidden warriors were waiting.

  What prevented a disaster was that several Indians jumped to the ground, ran forward, grabbed the major’s horse by the bit, and turned it back.

  Finally understanding what all the shouting and gesticulating had been about, the major halted, then began to turn back with his companions.

  Indians came from beneath the cutbank, shouting and firing muskets and arrows. Russell’s men abandoned their horses and raced for the protection of the fort.

  When the Indians left the protection of the cutbank and charged, their companions joined in a general melee. Hundreds of them charged toward an area where soldiers were not visible.

  The same thing happened at Talladega as had happened at Talluschatches. The soldiers held their fire until the Indians were close, then volley fired, a kneeling rank firing with time to reload as the standing rank behind them fired.

  The carnage was unbelievable. The Indians reversed their charge and, possibly, with some idea of escaping, charged into the withering gunfire of the other division of Jackson’s force.

  This time survivors did not run except as far as the nearest cover. They were armed with a variety of weapons, bows and arrows, old smoothbore muskets, even hand weapons, but their most formidable weapon was the bow. An accomplished bowman could keep five arrows in the air at a time while a warrior with an old musket required much more time to get his weapon loaded, charged, and ready to fire.

  The noise was deafening. Indians shouted, gunfire was constant, clouds of burned powder made targeting difficult. The forted-up Indians howled, jumped, and waved their arms.

  Finally the surviving Red Sticks came together and made a desperate charge against the center of Jackson’s line, which was being held by the militia. The volunteers fired their weapons empty, then ran in all directions. The Indians got out of the surround in this fashion and escaped—but not many of them.

  The Battle of Talladega cost Jackson’s army fifteen men killed during the fighting and two who died later of wounds. Indian losses, according to Davy Crockett, were “upward of four hundred.”

  The command rested at the fort for several days, and because no provisions had arrived before the battle, the victors depleted the fort’s stores, and, as hunger increased, scouts were sent to locate the wagons supposedly on their way. They found no wagons.

  When this became known, there was talk of mutiny. It did not help that the weather turned cold and the horses were becoming weaker by the day.

  Several officers went to General Jackson for permission to allow the sixty-day volunteers—who had already served long past that time—to go home, get fresh animals, winter clothing, food, and return.

  Jackson refused. He had no illusions about those men returning.

  Davy Crockett was a leader among the near-mutineers who were determined to leave regardless of the general’s order. In order to leave the volunteers had to cross a bridge. Jackson had a cannon, some regulars and militiamen stationed on the opposite side of the bridge.

  Crockett led the dissenters onto the bridge and started across it. Midway, with rifles primed and ready, the men advanced. On the opposite side of the bridge the regulars cocked their weapons. Crockett’s men did the same and continued across. Anything could have caused a tragedy, but nothing did. The only sound was of men crossing a wooden bridge. When they were about to leave the bridge, the regulars yielded ground, and Crockett’s party was joined by some of the opposing militiamen.

  Andrew Jackson’s blistering anger at the men who had not only allowed the defectors to pass but had in some cases joined them resulted in an order that the men who had suffered so much and who had fought so valiantly was arbitrarily to extend their enlistment six months and his calling them the damnedest volunteers he had ever seen in his life.

  It was a petulant gesture since the general did not expect the volunteers to return, and in fact many did not return.

  On their way home the defectors met a regiment of other sixty-day volunteers on their way to join the army at Talladega. This encounter was in the vicinity of Huntsville.

  Otherwise, as the ragged, gaunt frontiersmen on their leg-weary, half-starved mounts rode homeward in the midst of a countryside in fear and turmoil because hostile, vengeful Indians burned, murdered, and plundered indiscriminately, riding at will, attacking suddenly, and yet escaped the best efforts of settler bands to find them.

  The closer they got to Winchester, individual volunteers and small parties of them left the main group, heading for their homes.

  When Davy was passing through a wild, uninhabited area of forests and creeks, his horse twice raised its head to look backward. The first time it did this, Davy paid no attention. In primeval forests there were always strange scents, but the second time the horse did it, Davy changed course, rode into the timber and underbrush, dismounted, and watched his back trail.

  Two painted warriors, one with roached hair, were tracking him.

  He stood with one hand poised to clamp down on the horse’s nostrils in case it attempted to nicker or move.

  Once the Indians paused to study tracks and confer. Both had muskets, and carried ammunition pouches, knives, and tomahawks. Both were painted for war.

  Davy watched them confer where his tracks abruptly turned in the direction of his hiding place. While they were stationary, Davy rested the barrel of his rifle in the crotch of a tree and aimed. As the warriors broke off talking and looked in the direction the tracks would lead them, Davy fired. One warrior dropped in his tracks. The other one sprinted toward the forest on Davy’s left.

  He hastily lowered the rifle to reload, was tamping in the charge when the surviving warrior charged with his tomahawk held aloft. His timing was excellent. Crockett was still tamping in his charge when the Indian ran toward him.

  Davy had no time to remove the ramrod. He barely had time to raise the gun and cock it. The Indian was large and muscular. When Davy fired, the warrior was close. The ramrod pierced the Indian. It would probably have exited in back if it hadn’t struck the breastbone.

  Momentum carried the Indian to within five feet of Crockett. This was the warrior with the roached hair, which normally would have made a fine trophy, but Davy had another concern. The noise of gunshots would certainly bring other hostiles. He reloaded, listened, and watched. Eventually satisfied his victims were a pair of coursing Indians unaccompanied by comrades, he left the Indians where they lay and continued on toward home.

  Chapter Three

  One War Ends

  Davy’s wife and children were delighted to see him crossing the clearing toward the cabin on an exhausted horse, soiled, stained, and gaunt.

  While he rested, gained some lost weight, was cared for by his wife, and played
with the children, news of sporadic Indian attacks, killings, burnings, and ambushes reached him, as it also reached all frontier settlements and outlying homesteads. While Davy enjoyed his respite from events and persons he did not much care for besides General Jackson, he was aware of the dearth of provisions for the soldiers and horses. He was convinced that the war would not end soon, so he reenlisted.

  During his absence from the fighting there had been changes. General Jackson and most of his army had been ordered southward where the British, in addition to supplying the Indians with arms, appeared to have some plan of carrying their war with the United States as far south as the settlements in the Louisiana country.

  Left in command after Jackson’s departure was Colonel Coffee who pushed as far into hostile territory as the Tallapposa River. It was January; the weather was unpleasant. Both wars, the Creek War and the War of 1812 between the United States and Great Britain had now been in progress two years. Coffee’s contingent of the divided command consisted of about eight hundred men, including allied tribesmen and volunteers.

  At a place called Horseshoe Bend, because the river turned back on itself, Davy, accompanied by allied Indians and old friends of Major Russell’s rangers, found fresh and abundant sign of hostiles in large numbers. When the scouts returned, Crockett reported what had been found and the number of guards was increased. The bivouac was in a swale surrounded by forests.

  The arrival of provisions from Mobile put the command in high spirits. Some spirits were unusually high since the supplies included cases of whiskey.

  After so much hardship the soldiers rested, ate well, recovered some of their earlier enthusiasm, eventually bedded down near the fires to offset the cold, and slept like the dead until a couple of hours before dawn when musket fire awakened them. The guards ran back, shouting the alarm. Men were instantly alerted. Wood was heaped on dying fires to provide light for riflemen to see the attacking Indians, but at Talladega as well as through other encounters the Indians had learned their lessons well. They did not charge into the firelight but remained hidden. Both sides had little more than muzzle blasts as targets. Russell’s men used every bit of cover they could find. As appeared to be customary with Red Sticks, this fight ended about dawn when the Indians abruptly withdrew, carrying their casualties with them. This engagement cost the command four dead and about a dozen wounded.