CHAPTER III.
Marriage and Settlement.
Rustic Courtship.--The Rival Lover.--Romantic Incident.--The
Purchase of a Horse.--The Wedding.--Singular Ceremonies.--The
Termagant.--Bridal Days.--They commence Housekeeping.--The Bridal
Mansion and Outfit.--Family Possessions.--The Removal to Central
Tennessee.--Mode of Transportation.--The New Home and its
Surroundings.--Busy Idleness.--The Third Move.--The Massacre at Fort
Mimms.
David took possession of his horse, and began to work very
diligently to pay for it. He felt that now he was a man of property.
After the lapse of a few weeks he mounted his horse and rode over to
the Irishman's cabin to see his girl, and to find out how she lived,
and what sort of people composed the family. Arriving at the log
hut, he found the father to be a silent, staid old man, and the
mother as voluble and nervous a little woman as ever lived. Much to
his disappointment, the girl was away. After an hour or two she
returned, having been absent at some meeting or merry-making, and,
much to his chagrin, she brought back with her a stout young fellow
who was evidently her lover.
The new-comer was not at all disposed to relinquish his claims in
favor of David Crockett. He stuck close to the maiden, and kept up
such an incessant chatter that David could scarcely edge in a word.
In characteristic figure of speech he says, "I began to think I was
barking up the wrong tree again. But I determined to stand up to my
rack, fodder or no fodder." He thought he was sure of the favor of
her parents, and he was not certain that the girl herself had not
given him sundry glances indicative of her preference. Dark night
was now coming on, and David had a rough road of fifteen miles to
traverse through the forest before he could reach home. He thought
that if the Irishman's daughter cherished any tender feelings toward
him, she would be reluctant to have him set out at that late hour on
such a journey. He therefore rose to take leave.
His stratagem proved successful. The girl immediately came, leaving
her other companion, and in earnest tones entreated him not to go
that evening. The lover was easily persuaded. His heart grew lighter
and his spirit bolder. She soon made it so manifest in what
direction her choice lay, that David was left entire master of the
field. His discomfited rival soon took his hat and withdrew, David
thus was freed from all his embarrassments.
It was Saturday night. He remained at the cabin until Monday
morning, making very diligent improvement of his time in the
practice of all those arts of rural courtship which instinct
teaches. He then returned home, not absolutely engaged, but with
very sanguine hopes.
At that time, in that region, wolves were abundant and very
destructive. The neighbors, for quite a distance, combined for a
great wolf-hunt, which should explore the forest for many miles. By
the hunters thus scattering on the same day, the wolves would have
no place of retreat. If they fled before one hunter they would
encounter another. Young Crockett, naturally confident, plunged
recklessly into the forest, and wandered to and fro until, to his
alarm, he found himself bewildered and utterly lost. There were no
signs of human habitations near, and night was fast darkening around
him.
Just as he was beginning to feel that he must look out for a night's
encampment, he saw in the distance, through the gigantic trees, a
young girl running at her utmost speed, or, as he expressed it in
the Crockett vernacular, "streaking it along through the woods like
all wrath." David gave chase, and soon overtook the terrified girl,
whom he found, to his surprise and delight, to be his own
sweetheart, who had also by some strange accident got lost.
Here was indeed a romantic and somewhat an embarrassing adventure.
The situation was, however, by no means so embarrassing as it would
have been to persons in a higher state of civilization. The cabin of
the emigrant often consisted of but one room, where parents and
children and the chance guest passed the night together. They could
easily throw up a camp. David with his gun could kindle a fire and
get some game. The girl could cook it. All their physical wants
would thus be supplied. They had no material inconveniences to dread
in camping out for a night. The delicacy of the situation would not
be very keenly felt by persons who were at but one remove above the
native Indian.
The girl had gone out in the morning into the woods, to hunt up one
of her father's horses. She missed her way, became lost, and had
been wandering all day long farther and farther from home. Soon
after the two met they came across a path which they knew must lead
to some house. Following this, just after dark they came within
sight of the dim light of a cabin fire. They were kindly received by
the inmates, and, tired as they were, they both sat up all night.
Upon inquiry they found that David had wandered ten miles from his
home, and the young girl seven from hers. Their paths lay in
different directions, but the road was plain, and in the morning
they separated, and without difficulty reached their destination.
David was now anxious to get married immediately. It will be
remembered that he had bought a horse; but he had not paid for it.
The only property he had, except the coarse clothes upon his back,
was a rifle. All the land in that neighborhood was taken up. He did
not even own an axe with which to build him a log cabin. It would be
necessary for him to hire some deserted shanty, and borrow such
articles as were indispensable. Nothing could be done to any
advantage without a horse. To diminish the months which he had
promised to work in payment for the animal, he threw in his rifle.
After a few weeks of toil the horse was his. He mounted his steed,
deeming himself one of the richest men in the far West, and rode to
see his girl and fix upon his wedding-day. He confesses that as he
rode along, considering that he had been twice disappointed, he
experienced no inconsiderable trepidation as to the result of this
third matrimonial enterprise. He reached the cabin, and his worst
fears were realized.
The nervous, voluble, irritable little woman, who with all of a
termagant's energy governed both husband and family, had either
become dissatisfied with young Crockett's poverty, or had formed the
plan of some other more ambitious alliance for her daughter. She
fell upon David in a perfect tornado of vituperation, and ordered
him out of the house. She was "mighty wrathy," writes David, "and
looked at me as savage as a meat-axe."
David was naturally amiable, and in the depressing circumstances had
no heart to return railing for railing. He meekly reminded the
infuriate woman that she had called him "son-in-law" before he had
attempted to call her "mother-in-law," and that he certainly had
been guilty of no conduct which should expose him to such treatment.
He soon saw, to his great satisfaction, that the daughter remained
faithful to him, and that the meek father was as decidedly on his
side as his timid nature would permit him to be. Though David felt
much insulted, he restrained his temper, and, turning from the angry
mother, told her daughter that he would come the next Thursday on
horseback, leading another horse for her; and that then he would
take her to a justice of the peace who lived at the distance of but
a few miles from them, where they would be married. David writes of
the mother:
"Her Irish was too high to do anything with her; so I quit trying.
All I cared for was to have her daughter on my side, which I know'd
was the case then. But how soon some other fellow might knock my
nose out of joint again, I couldn't tell. Her mother declared I
shouldn't have her. But I knowed I should, if somebody else didn't
get her before Thursday."
The all-important wedding-day soon came David was resolved to crush
out all opposition and consummate the momentous affair with very
considerable splendor. He therefore rode to the cabin with a very
imposing retinue. Mounted proudly upon his own horse, and leading a
borrowed steed, with a blanket saddle, for his bride, and
accompanied by his elder brother and wife and a younger brother and
sister, each on horseback, he "cut out to her father's house to get
her."
When this cavalcade of six horses had arrived within about two miles
of the Irishman's cabin, quite a large party was found assembled
from the log huts scattered several miles around. David,
kind-hearted, generous, obliging, was very popular with his
neighbors. They had heard of the approaching nuptials of the brave
boy of but eighteen years, and of the wrath of the brawling,
ill-tempered mother. They anticipated a scene, and wished to render
David the support of their presence and sympathy. This large party,
some on foot and some on horseback, proceeded together to the
Irishman's cabin. The old man met them with smiles, whiskey bottle
in hand, ready to offer them all a drink. The wife, however, was
obdurate as ever. She stood at the cabin door, her eyes flashing
fire, and quite bewildered to decide in what way to attempt to repel
and drive off her foe.
She expected that the boy would come alone, and that, with her
all-potent tongue, she would so fiercely assail him and so frighten
her young girl as still to prevent the marriage. But here was quite
an army of the neighbors, from miles around, assembled. They were
all evidently the friends of David. Every eye was fixed upon her.
Every ear was listening to hear what she would say. Every tongue was
itching to cry out shame to her opposition, and to overwhelm her
with reproaches. For once the termagant found herself baffled, and
at her wits' end.
The etiquette of courts and cabins are quite different. David paid
no attention to the mother, but riding up to the door of the log
house, leading the horse for his bride, he shouted to her to come
out. The girl had enjoyed no opportunity to pay any attention to her
bridal trousseau. But undoubtedly she had contrived to put on her
best attire. We do not know her age, but she was ever spoken of as a
remarkably pretty little girl, and was probably about seventeen
years old.
David did not deem it necessary to dismount, but called upon his
"girl" to jump upon the horse he was leading. She did so. The mother
was powerless. It was a waterloo defeat. In another moment they
would disappear, riding away along the road, which wound through the
gigantic trees of the forest. In another hour they would be married.
And then they would forever be beyond the reach of the clamor of her
voluble tongue. She began to relent. The old man, accustomed to her
wayward humors, instinctively perceived it. Stepping up to David,
and placing his hand upon the neck of his horse, he said:
"I wish you would stay and be married here. My woman has too much
tongue. You oughtn't mind her."
Having thus, for a moment, arrested their departure, he stepped back
to the door, where his discomfited wife stood, and entreated her to
consent to their being married there. After much persuasion, common
sense triumphed over uncommon stubbornness. She consented. David and
his expectant bride were both on horseback, all ready to go. The
woman rather sullenly came forward and said:
"I am sorry for the words I have spoken. This girl is the only child
I have ever had to marry. I cannot bear to see her go off in this
way. If you'll come into the house and be married here, I will do
the best I can for you."
The good-natured David consented. They alighted from their horses,
and the bridal party entered the log hut. The room was not large,
and the uninvited guests thronged it and crowded around the door.
The justice of peace was sent for, and the nuptial knot was tied.
The wedding ceremonies on such occasions were sufficiently curious
to be worthy of record. They certainly were in very wide contrast
with the pomp and splendor of nuptials in the palatial mansions of
the present day. A large party usually met at some appointed place,
some mounted and others on foot, to escort the bridegroom to the
house of the bride. The horses were decorated with all sorts of
caparisons, with ropes for bridles, with blankets or furs for
saddles. The men were dressed in deerskin moccasins, leather
breeches, leggins, coarse hunting-shirts of all conceivable styles
of material, and all homemade.
The women wore gowns of very coarse homespun and home-woven cloth,
composed of linen and wool, and called linsey-woolsey, very coarse
shoes, and sometimes with buckskin gloves of their own manufacture.
If any one chanced to have a ring or pretty buckle, it was a relic
of former times.
There were no carriages, for there were no roads. The narrow trail
they traversed in single file was generally a mere horse-path, often
so contracted in width that two horses could not pass along abreast.
As they marched along in straggling line, with shouts and jokes, and
with the interchange of many gallant acts of rustic love-making
between the coquettish maidens and the awkward swains, they
encountered frequent obstacles on the way. It was a part of the
frolic for the young men to throw obstructions in their path, and
thus to create surprises. There were brooks to be forded. Sometimes
large trees were mischievously felled across the trail. Grape-vines
were tied across from tree to tree, to trip up the passers-by or to
sweep off their caps. It was a great joke for half a dozen young men
to play Indian. They would lie in ambuscade, and suddenly, as the
procession was passing, would raise the war-whoop, discharge their
guns, and raise shouts of laughter in view of the real or feigned
consternation thus excited.
The maidens would of course shriek. The frightened horses would
spring aside. The swains would gallantly rush to the rescue of their
sweethearts. When the party had arrived within about a mile of the
house where the marriage ceremony was to take place, two of the most
daring riders among the young men who had been previously selected
for the purpose, set out on horseback on a race for "the bottle."
The master of the house was expected to be standing at his door,
with a jug of whiskey in his hand. This was the prize which the
victor in the race was to seize and take back in triumph to his
companions.
The start was announced by a general Indian yell. The more rough the
road--the more full of logs, stumps, rocks, precipitous hills, and
steep glens, the better. This afforded a better opportunity for the
display of intrepidity and horsemanship. It was a veritable
steeple-chase. The victor announced his success by one of those
shrill, savage yells, which would almost split the ears of the
listener. Grasping the bottle, he returned in triumph. On
approaching the party, he again gave forth the Indian war-whoop.
The bottle or jug was first presented to the bridegroom. He applied
the mouth of the bottle to his lips, and took a dram of raw whiskey.
He then handed it to his next of kin, and so the bottle passed
through the whole company. It is to be supposed that the young women
did not burn their throats with very copious drafts of the poisonous
fire-water.
When they arrived at the house, the brief ceremony of marriage
immediately took place, and then came the marriage feast. It was a
very substantial repast of pork, poultry, wild turkeys, venison, and
bear's meat. There was usually the accompaniment of corn-bread,
potatoes, and other vegetables. Great hilarity prevailed on these
occasions, with wonderful freedom of manners, coarse jokes, and
shouts of laughter.
The table was often a large slab of timber, hewn out with a
broad-axe, and supported by four stakes driven into auger-holes. The
table furniture consisted of a few pewter dishes, with wooden plates
and bowls. There were generally a few pewter spoons, much battered
about the edges, but most of the spoons were of horn, homemade.
Crockery, so easily broken, was almost unknown. Table knives were
seldom seen. The deficiency was made up by the hunting-knives which
all the men carried in sheaths attached to their hunting-shirts.
After dinner the dancing began. There was invariably some musical
genius present who could play the fiddle. The dances were what were
called three or four handed reels, or square sets and jigs. With all
sorts of grotesque attitudes, pantomime and athletic displays, the
revelry continued until late into the night, and often until the
dawn of the morning. As there could be no sleeping accommodations
for so large a company in the cabin of but one room, the guests made
up for sleep in merriment.
The bridal party stole away in the midst of the uproar, one after
another, up a ladder into the loft or garret above, which was
floored with loose boards made often of split timber. This furnished
a very rude sleeping apartment. As the revelry below continued,
seats being scarce, every young man offered his lap as a seat for
the girls; and the offer was always promptly accepted; Always,
toward morning, some one was sent up into the loft with a bottle of
whiskey, to offer the bridegroom and his bride a drink. The familiar
name of the bottle was "Black Betty." One of the witticisms ever
prominent on the occasion was, "Where is Black Betty? I want to kiss
her sweet lips." At some splendid weddings, where the larder was
abundantly stored with game, this feasting and dancing was continued
for several days.
Such, in the main, was the wedding of David Crockett with the
Irishman's daughter. In the morning the company dispersed. David
also and his young bride left, during the day, for his father's
cabin. As the families of the nuptial party both belonged to the
aristocracy of the region, quite a splendid marriage reception was
held at John Crockett's. There were feasting and dancing; and "Black
Betty received many a cordial kiss. The bridegroom's heart was full
of exultant joy. David writes:
"Having gotten my wife, I thought I was completely made up, and
needed nothing more in the whole world."
He soon found his mistake, and awoke to the consciousness that he
needed everything, and had nothing. He had no furniture, no cabin,
no land, no money. And he had a wife to support. His only property
consisted of a cheap horse. He did not even own a rifle, an article
at that time so indispensable to the backwoodsman.
After spending a few days at David's father's, the bridegroom and
bride returned to the cabin of her father, the Irishman. Here they
found that a wonderful change had taken place in the mother's
feelings and conduct. She had concluded to submit good-naturedly to
the inevitable. Her "conversational powers" were wonderful. With the
most marvellous volubility of honeyed words she greeted them. She
even consented to have two cows given them, each with a calf. This
was the dowry of the bride--her only dowry. David, who had not
expected anything, felt exceedingly rich with this herd.
Near by there was a vacated log cabin with a few acres of land
attached to it. Our boy bridegroom and bride hired the cabin at a
very small rent. But then they had nothing whatever to put into it.
They had not a bed, or a table or a chair; no cooking utensils; not
even a knife or a fork. He had no farming tools; not a spade or a
hoe. The whole capital with which they commenced life consisted of
the clothes they had on, a farm-horse, two cows, and two calves.
In this emergence the good old Quaker, for whom David had worked,
came forward, and loaned him fifteen dollars. In that wilderness,
food, that is game and corn, was cheap. But as nearly everything
else had to be brought from beyond the mountains, all tools and
furniture commanded high prices. With the fifteen dollars, David and
his little wife repaired to a country store a few miles distant, to
furnish their house and farm. Under these circumstances, the
china-closet of the bride must have been a curiosity. David says,
"With this fifteen dollars we fixed up pretty grand, as we thought."
After a while, in some unexplained way, they succeeded in getting a
spinning-wheel. The little wife, says David, "knowed exactly how to
use it. She was also a good weaver. Being very industrious, she had,
in little or no time, a fine web of cloth ready to make up. She was
good at that too, and at almost anything else a woman could do."
Here this humble family remained for two years. They were both as
contented with their lot as other people are. They were about as
well off as most of their neighbors. Neither of them ever cherished
a doubt that they belonged to the aristocracy of the region. They
did not want for food or clothing, or shelter, or a warm fireside.
They had their merry-makings, their dances, and their shooting-matches.
Let it be remembered that this was three quarters of a century
ago, far away in the wilds of an almost untamed wilderness.
Two children were born in this log cabin. David began to feel the
responsibilities of a father who had children to provide for. Both
of the children were sons. Though David's family was increasing,
there was scarcely any increase of his fortune. He therefore decided
that the interests of his little household demanded that he should
move still farther back into the almost pathless wilderness, where
the land was not yet taken up, and where he could get a settler's
title to four hundred acres, simply by rearing a cabin and planting
some corn.
He had one old horse, and a couple of colts, each two years old. The
colts were broken, as it was called, to the halter; that is, they
could be led, with light burdens upon their backs, but could not be
ridden. Mrs. Crockett mounted the old horse, with her babe in her
arms, and the little boy, two years old, sitting in front of her,
astride the horse's neck, and occasionally carried on his father's
shoulders. Their few articles of household goods were fastened upon
the backs of the two colts. David led one, and his kind-hearted
father-in-law, who had very generously offered to help him move, led
the other. Thus this party set out for a journey of two hundred and
fifty miles, over unbridged rivers, across rugged mountains, and
through dense forests, whose Indian trails had seldom if ever been
trodden by the feet of white men.
This was about the year 1806. The whole population of the State then
amounted to but about one hundred thousand. They were generally
widely dispersed through the extensive regions of East Tennessee.
But very few emigrants had ventured across the broad and rugged
cliffs of the Cumberland Mountains into the rich and sunny plains of
Western Tennessee. But a few years before, terrible Indian wars
desolated the State. The powerful tribes of the Creeks and Cherokees
had combined all their energies for the utter extermination of the
white men, seeking to destroy all their hamlets and scattered
cabins.
At a slow foot-pace the pioneers followed down the wild valley of
the Holston River, often with towering mountains rising upon each
side of them. If they chanced, at nightfall, to approach the lonely
hut of a settler, it was especial good fortune, as they thus found
shelter provided, and a fire built, and hospitable entertainment
ready for them. If, however, they were overtaken in the wilderness
by darkness, and even a menacing storm, it was a matter of but
little moment, and caused no anxiety. A shelter, of logs and bark,
was soon thrown up, with a crackling fire, illuminating the
wilderness, blazing before it. A couch, as soft as they had ever
been accustomed to, could speedily be spread from the pliant boughs
of trees. Upon the pack-colts there were warm blankets. And during
the journey of the day they had enjoyed ample opportunity to take
such game as they might need for their supper and their morning
breakfast.
At length they reached the majestic flood of the Tennessee River,
and crossed it, we know not how. Then, directing their steps toward
the setting sun. they pressed on, league after league, and day after
day, in toilsome journey, over prairies and through forests and
across mountain-ridges, for a distance of nearly four hundred miles
from their starting-place, until they reached a small stream, called
Mulberry Creek which flows into the Elk River, in what is now
Lincoln County.
At the mouth of Mulberry Creek the adventurous emigrant found his
promised land. It was indeed a beautiful region. The sun shines upon
none more so. The scenery, which, however, probably had but few
attractions for David Crockett's uncultivated eye, was charming. The
soil was fertile. The streams abounded with fish and waterfowl; and
prairie and forest were stocked with game. No family need suffer
from hunger here, if the husband had a rifle and knew how to use it.
A few hours' labor would rear a cabin which would shut out wind and
rain as effectually as the gorgeous walls of Windsor or Versailles.
No jets of gas or gleam of wax candles ever illumined an apartment
more brilliantly than the flashing blaze of the wood fire. And
though the refectories of the Palais Royal may furnish more
scientific cookery than the emigrant's hut, they cannot furnish
fatter turkeys, or more tender venison, or more delicious cuts from
the buffalo and the bear than are often found browning before the
coals of the log cabin. And when we take into consideration the
voracious appetites engendered in those wilds, we shall see that the
emigrant needed not to look with envy upon the luxuriantly spread
tables of Paris or New York.
Upon the crystal banks of the Mulberry River, David, aided by his
father-in-law, reared his log cabin. It is a remote and uncultivated
region even now. Then it was an almost unbroken wilderness, the axe
of the settler having rarely disturbed its solitude.
A suitable spot for the cabin was selected, and a space of about
fifteen feet by twenty feet was marked out and smoothed down for the
floor. There was no cellar. Trees near by, of straight trunks, were
felled and trimmed, and cut into logs of suitable length. These were
piled one above another, in such a way as to enclose the space, and
were held in their place by being notched at the corners. Rough
boards were made for the roof by splitting straight-grained logs
about four feet long.
The door was made by cutting or sawing the logs on one side of the
hut, about three feet in width. This opening was secured by upright
pieces of timber pinned to the end of the logs. A similar opening
was left in the end for the chimney, which was built of logs outside
of the hut. The back and jambs of the fireplace was of stone. A hole
about two feet square constituted the window. Frequently the floor
was the smooth, solid earth. A split slab supported by sticks driven
into auger-holes, formed a table. A few three-legged stools supplied
the place of chairs. Some wooden pins, driven into holes bored in
the logs, supported shelves. A bedstead was framed by a network of
poles in one corner.
Such was the home which David and his kind father reared in a few
days. It will be perceived that it was but little in advance of the
wigwam of the Indian. Still it afforded a comfortable shelter for
men, women, and children who had no aspirations above a mere animal
life; who thought only of warmth, food, and clothing; who had no
conception of intellectual, moral, or religious cravings.
The kind-hearted father-in-law, who had accompanied his children on
foot upon this long journey, that he might see them settled in their
own home, now bade them adieu, and retraced the forest trails back
to his own far-distant cabin. A man who could develop,
unostentatiously, such generosity and such self-sacrifice, must have
possessed some rare virtues. We regret our inability to record the
name of one who thus commands our esteem and affection.
In this humble home, David Crockett and his family resided two
years. He appears to have taken very little interest in the
improvement of his homestead. It must be admitted that Crockett
belonged to the class of what is called loafers. He was a sort of
Rip Van Winkle. The forest and the mountain stream had great charms
for him. He loved to wander in busy idleness all the day, with
fishing-rod and rifle; and he would often return at night with a
very ample supply of game. He would then lounge about his hut,
tanning deerskins for moccasins and breeches, performing other
little jobs, and entirely neglecting all endeavors to improve his
farm, or to add to the appearance or comfort of the miserable shanty
which he called his home.
He had an active mind, and a very singular command of the language
of low, illiterate life, and especially of backwoodman's slang.
Though not exactly a vain man, his self-confidence was
imperturdable, and there was perhaps not an individual in the world
to whom he looked up as in any sense his superior. In hunting, his
skill became very remarkable, and few, even of the best marksmen,
could throw the bullet with more unerring aim.
At the close of two years of this listless, solitary life, Crockett,
without any assigned reason, probably influenced only by that
vagrancy of spirit which had taken entire possession of the man,
made another move. Abandoning his crumbling shanty and untilled
fields, he directed his steps eastwardly through the forest, a
distance of about forty miles, to what is now Franklin County. Here
he reared another hut, on the banks of a little stream called Bear's
Creek. This location was about ten miles below the present hamlet of
Winchester.
An event now took place which changed the whole current of David
Crockett's life, leading him from his lonely cabin and the peaceful
scenes of a hunter's life to the field of battle, and to all the
cruel and demoralizing influences of horrid war.
For many years there had been peace with the Indians in all that
region. But unprincipled and vagabond white men, whom no law in the
wilderness could restrain, were ever plundering them, insulting
them, and wantonly shooting them down on the slightest provocation.
The constituted authorities deplored this state of things, but could
no more prevent it than the restraints of justice can prevent
robberies and assassinations in London or New York.
The Indians were disposed to be friendly. There can be no question
that, but for these unendurable outrages, inflicted upon them by
vile and fiend-like men, many of whom had fled from the avenging arm
of law, peace between the white man and the red man would have
remained undisturbed. In the extreme southern region of Alabama,
near the junction of the Alabama River with the almost equally
majestic Tombeckbee River, there had been erected, several years
before, for the protection of the emigrants, a fort called Mimms. It
consisted of several strong log huts, surrounded by palisades which
enclosed several acres. A strongly barred gate afforded entrance to
the area within. Loop-holes were cut through the palisades, just
sufficiently large to allow the barrel of a musket to be thrust
through, and aim to be taken at any approaching foe.
The space within was sufficient to accommodate several families, who
were thus united for mutual protection. Their horses and other
cattle could be driven within the enclosure at night. In case of a
general alarm, the pioneers, occupying huts scattered through the
region for miles around, could assemble in the fort. Their
corn-fields were outside, to cultivate which, even in times of war,
they could resort in armed bands, setting a watch to give warning of
any signs of danger.
The fort was in the middle of a small and fertile prairie. The
forest-trees were cut down around, and every obstacle removed which
could conceal the approach of a foe or protect him from the fire of
the garrison. The long-continued peace had caused vigilance to
slumber. A number of families resided in the fort, unapprehensive of
danger.
One evening, a negro boy, who had been out into the forest at some
distance from the fort in search of cattle, came back saying that he
saw far in the distance quite a number of Indians, apparently armed
warriors. As it was known that the Creek Indians had been greatly
exasperated by recent outrages inflicted upon them, this
intelligence created some anxiety. The gate was carefully closed. A
guard was set through the night, and some slight preparations were
made to repel an assault, should one be made.
Thus several days were passed, and there was no attack, and no signs
of Indians being near. The general impression was that the timid
negro boy was the victim of his own fears. Many jokes were
perpetrated at his expense. With wonted carelessness, all
precautions were forgotten, and the men sallied thoughtlessly forth
to disperse through the fields in their labors.
But after several days, the boy was again sent out into the woods
upon the same errand as before. He was a timid little fellow, and
had a great dread of the Indian. Tremblingly and cautiously he
threaded the paths of the forest for several miles, keeping a
vigilant lookout for any signs of the savage foe, when his eye fell
upon a sight which appalled him. At but a short distance, as he
stood concealed by the thickets through which he was moving, he saw
several hundred Indian warriors, plumed and painted, and armed to
the teeth. They had probably just broken up from a council, and were
moving about among the trees. His fears magnified their numbers to
thousands.
Terror-stricken, he turned for the fort, and with almost the
fleetness of a deer entered the gate with his tidings. Even his
black face was pallid with fright, as he breathlessly told his
story. "The Indians," said he, "were as many, and as close together
as the trees. There were thousands." The alarm was sounded in the
garrison. All the outsiders were called in. The sun shone serenely,
the gentle breeze swept over the fertile prairie; not a sight was to
be seen but what was peaceful, not a sound came from the forest but
the songs of birds.
It was generally believed that the silly, cowardly boy had given a
false alarm. They cross-examined him. He was so frightened that he
could not tell a straight story. The men, indignant at being thus a
second time duped, as they supposed, actually tied the poor boy to
the whipping-post and commenced whipping him. But a few lashes had
left their bloody marks upon his back when the uplifted arm of the
executioner was arrested.
The awful Indian war-whoop, the precursor of blood and flame and
torture, which even the boldest heart could seldom hear without
terror, burst as it were simultaneously from a hundred warrior lips.
The wary savages had provided themselves with sharpened sticks.
Rending the skies with their yells, they rushed forward from the
gloom of the woods upon the totally unprovided garrison, and very
speedily plugged up the loop-holes, so that not a musket could be
discharged through them.
Then with their hatchets they commenced cutting down the palisades.
The bewilderment and consternation within was indescribable. A few
of the assailants hewing at the barricades were shot down, but
others instantly took their places. Soon a breach was cut through,
and the howling warriors like maddened demons rushed in. There was
no mercy shown. The gleaming tomahawk, wielded by hundreds of brawny
arms, expeditiously did its work. Men, women, and children were
indiscriminately cut down and scalped. It was an awful scene of
butchery. Scarcely an individual escaped.
One athletic boy, after having seen his father, mother, four
sisters, and four brothers tomahawked and scalped, pursued by the
savages, with frantic energy succeeded in leaping the palisades.
Several Indians gave chase. He rushed for the woods. They hotly
pursued. He reached a sluggish stream, upon the shore of which,
half-imbedded in sand and water, there was a mouldering log, which
he chanced to know was hollow beneath. He had but just time to slip
into this retreat, when the baffled Indians came up. They actually
walked over the log in their unavailing search for him. Here he
remained until night, when he stole from his hiding-place, aud in
safety reached Fort Montgomery, which was distant about two miles
from Fort Mimms.
