The Battle at Horseshoe Bend Read online

  The Creek women and children had been evacuated before the battle when Red Eagle learned of the approaching army. Claiborne’s army of one thousand men was divided in two groups. One led by Colonel Gilbert Russell and the other one by Major Joseph Carson. When the army breached the sacred spiritual barrier unharmed, many of the Red Sticks fled as they believed the Americans had ‘big medicine.’

  The warriors that stayed and fought were aided by a large force of former slaves. After an hour, the Red Sticks began to fall back under the overwhelming American force. Once at the river, the Red Sticks found a hole in the American line and many escaped. The war chief, Red Eagle, was one of those who escaped. Surrounded, he rode his horse over a fifteen-foot bluff and into the Alabama River. The battle was not much of a victory other than capturing the needed supplies, but Red Eagle’s daring was greatly admired and was now being called ‘Weatherford’s leap.’

  Upon hearing of these battles, Moses voiced what was on everyone’s mind. “Do you think there’s any need in us going? Sounds like them soldier boys got everything under control.”

  “Most of those soldiers are sixty-day militiamen,” Lieupo replied. “Most of them will have expired enlistments soon. Then we will see who has the upper hand.”

  Chapter Six

  The Georgia sun was already blazing hot in a cloudless sky. It was a warm day for January, a very warm day. Colonel Lee had given his sons (he looked upon Moses as a son) each a fine horse for Christmas. He intended that they ride off to war well mounted. He would have given the boys, as he called Jonah and Moses, stallions, but felt geldings were better suited. Stallions would try to prove their dominance and Lord help it if somebody had a mare whose time was ripe. No, geldings were what were needed. The horses now stood at the hitching rail, pulling on the reins trying to get at some small turf that was less brown than the dead grass surrounding it. James had just brought two pack mules around, already loaded down and ready to go. Jonah’s horse was a dapple gray and Moses had a buckskin. The mules were so black they looked almost blue in the sun.

  Moses, Jonah, and Lieupo had accompanied the colonel down to the river earlier that morning. The river was used mostly by fishermen, but it was also used by various and sundry merchants and planters. The water level was high from the daily afternoon showers that they’d been having recently. The sky would cloud up and darken, then came the wind with thunder and lightning. For the next hour or so the heavens would open and the rain would fall. The river now had a muddy brown tint as it rapidly flowed toward the bay. The rain had not come today and maybe it would be clear all day, but Moses wouldn’t bet on it.

  Several black slaves were busy unloading a barge. Casks of tobacco, kegs of brandy, and barrels marked with merchants’ names on them were all being unloaded. Sweat dripped from the blacks as they unloaded the supplies, more than one cutting his eyes at Moses, wondering how he came to be so well dressed and mixing right in with the white folks. Moses had long since quit worrying about what others might think of his relationship with the Lee family. It was what it was.

  Colonel Lee had found the man he wanted and purchased a cask of tobacco and a keg of rum. Once they were loaded in the wagon, they headed home. “I couldn’t let you get on the trail without some decent tobacco and a small keg of rum that will prove its weight in gold. It’s not just for swilling,” the colonel said, smiling as he did so and causing his eyes to squint, accentuating the crow’s feet at the corners.

  A few older men loitering around the wharf spoke to the colonel or threw up their hands to wave. Some had been in the colonel’s unit back in ’76.

  As the men climbed into their saddles, a last farewell was given. Mama Lee had hugged them all, including Lieupo, but stood on the porch while Colonel Lee walked them down the steps and to their mounts.

  “Got your maps?” he asked, feeling the need to speak to his boys, yet trying to think of something to say that wouldn’t betray the emotions he felt. Mama Lee was already dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief.

  Tugging on the pack mules’ lines, the group trotted out of the yard, scattering chickens and barking dogs. The trail would take them to Woodville and on west to Milledgeville. At Milledgeville, they were to meet up with a group of Georgia militia at Fort Hawkins. From there on it would be rough going with only a few trading posts and settlements until they got to Fort Strother. At Fort Strother, Jonah was to show General Jackson his letter and, with or without his consent, attach himself much as he had with General Harrison, only this time he was to try to keep Jackson in check and not make promises or commitments the government couldn’t keep. More importantly, he was to keep Jackson from starting a shooting war with the Spanish.

  -

  Jagged streaks of lightning pierced the night sky as thunder rumbled in the distance. The horses were wild-eyed and stomped about. The rain had come that evening as it had every evening for several weeks. The only difference was that it came later and lasted longer. The group had a wet camp.

  “I had hoped that we’d missed the rain,” Lieupo said as a stream of water ran off his hat, spattering the campfire and causing a sizzle.

  The rain had just started to fall when they found a leaky lean-to that had been built some years ago. The lean-to leaned far more than it was meant to and let water drip through, but it did knock off some of the wind. They tied a rope between two trees and tied the horses and mules to it. They took extra precaution and hobbled the animals as well. The packs were placed toward the back of the lean-to where it leaked less. A fire pit was left over from some previous visitor, probably a hunter, who had also left a small pile of wood. The men were appreciative of their unknown host. Soon they had a fire blazing and the smell of strong coffee filled the wet air. The wagon trail had been slippery, just as slippery as bear grease; Moses had sworn when one of the mules slipped down and the lead rope jerked him around. That was when they spied the lean-to and decided to call it a night. The heat from the fire helped, but the men ached with the weariness that comes with the wet and cold after being soaked through to the skin.

  “Where is that hot Georgia sun now?” Lieupo complained.

  “I wish I knew,” Jonah moaned, as a gust of wind drove a gush of rain into the lean-to. “Anybody want to cut the cards to see who sleeps at the back of the lean-to?”

  “Not with your deck,” Moses snorted.

  Another flash of lightning lit up the sky and a boom of thunder was heard close by. As Jonah turned toward the back of the lean-to, Moses barked, “Where are you going?”

  “To broach a keg,” Jonah answered. “If this night doesn’t call for a little swilling then I don’t know what does.”

  “I believe you’re right,” Moses replied. “It ought to warm up the coffee just fine.”

  Chapter Seven

  Fort Hawkins was one of several forts built along Georgia’s frontier to protect its settlers. Originally, it was manned by troops from Fort Wilkinson at Milledgeville some thirty miles away. At one point, Jackson had one thousand Tennessee volunteers located at the fort along with hundreds of Georgia militiamen.

  As Jonah, Moses, and Lieupo approached the fort, Lieupo commented, “Looks like a town is sprouting out of the wilderness.”

  “Macon,” Jonah replied. “It’s been here for a while, long before it was so populated. It was once nothing more than a trading post. Being on the Ocmulgee River, folks just seem to settle down.”

  “Lots of Indians about?” Lieupo asked, with concern obvious in his voice.

  “Friendly Creeks, maybe a few Cherokee,” Moses responded.

  The gates to the fort were open but two sentries stood at the heavy wooden gates. The fort’s walls were solid and much stronger than most, which were often little more than just a log palisade. The fort had barracks, storage buildings, two blockhouses, and a hospital. Its strength made it an unlikely target for attack.

  “A lot different than Fort Mims,” Jonah said as he waved at the sentry who allowed the group to pass.

>   “That was easy,” Lieupo said.

  “That’s because we look friendly,” Jonah replied, and then glancing at Moses added jokingly, “Well, some of us anyway.” When his friend didn’t reply, and in fact was looking toward a small Indian village, Jonah asked, “What are you looking at?”

  “A squaw or two, who may benefit from my protection when two such unfriendly strangers are around,” Moses remarked.

  -

  General McIntosh will see you now, sir,” the sergeant said in a formal military manner. Jonah and Captain Stephen Lieupo entered through the door being held open by the sergeant, who gave a crisp salute and departed.

  Lieupo, being in uniform, saluted the general, who more or less returned it. “So you’re headed to join up with Jackson,” the general growled. Neither Jonah nor Lieupo was sure who he was addressing.

  “I’m actually being assigned to the thirty-ninth,” Lieupo volunteered, after a brief silence.

  “Good man, Colonel Williams,” the general stated. “I don’t understand why General Pinckney assigned the thirty-ninth to Jackson. General Flournoy needs them in New Orleans. Of course, Pinckney feels it will take Colonel Williams and the thirty-ninth infantry to make short work of those Red Sticks. You know, Jackson is only a general of militia.”

  Jonah started to respond that regardless of Jackson’s military status, the secretary of war had placed him in overall command of the forces fighting the Indians. But thinking some things were better left unsaid, he didn’t speak his mind. Not everybody was a Jackson supporter, not even John Armstrong, for that matter.

  The general was speaking again, addressing Captain Lieupo, and ignoring the president’s man. “You are in luck, gentlemen, we have a small unit of Georgia militia from Augusta. They will be led by Henry Parrish, who knows the frontier as well as anybody. He was at Fort Mims when Weatherford’s butchers attacked. He was able to get out alive with a little girl, Amy Stuart. She saw her folks butchered and mutilated. Henry saved her life and took her to Milledgeville to an aunt. The little girl cried when Henry had to leave her. Of course, in her eyes, he’s her savior, crude as he can be. Get your horses rested and be ready to pull out at first light. Listen to Henry and you’ll probably keep your hair. The militia has already drawn supplies but if there’s anything you might need, just see the sergeant.” Turning his attention back to a stack of papers on his desk, the general had effectively dismissed the two men.

  Once outside the building, Jonah said, “He don’t care much for Jackson, does he?”

  “Naw,” Lieupo responded, “a lot of regular army officers got their noses twisted when Jackson was given command.”

  “You don’t seem to mind,” Jonah said.

  “I am not regular army,” said Lieupo with a smile on his face, making Jonah think again of his friend, Captain Hampton.

  “Are you really being attached to the thirty-ninth?”

  “More or less,” Lieupo said.

  Damn, Jonah thought, you rarely get a straight answer when talking to these damn spies. Hearing a familiar voice followed by female laughter, Jonah saw Moses in conversation with a group of squaws. “Well, he won’t be of any use to us today,” Jonah snorted.

  “Making medicine, is he?” Lieupo joked.

  “I don’t know if you could call it medicine, but I guess a release of humours could be considered balm for the soul, as well as physically beneficial.”

  -

  Henry Parrish sat under a stoop in front of the trading post smoking a pipe that was crafted by some Indian, from the look of the design. A jug sat next to him, uncorked. His buckskins were stained, and he had gray whiskers that looked to be about a week’s growth.

  “Have a good ride from the coast, did ya?” Parrish asked.

  “Wasn’t no trouble,” Jonah answered.

  “Well, you best be looking out for trouble soon. Them murdering heathens.” It was obvious Henry felt an intense hate for the Red Stick after what happened at Fort Mims. “They murdered folks they had known all their life,” he said, when Lieupo mentioned Amy and her parents. “Shucks, Peter McQueen had hunted with little Amy’s daddy, even ate off their table. How can you eat a woman’s fixings one week, and then bash in her head the next week.”

  “Do you know McQueen did it?” Jonah asked the scout.

  “Makes no difference, he did it or allowed some other brave to do it, it was did just the same. Five hundred of God’s children kilt. Weatherford was there as well. Seen him wid my own eyes shooting Major Beasley. Of course, that weren’t any loss. I did lose a good mule, though,” Parrish said as he appeared to be recalling the massacre, all the while holding his pipe in one hand and holding the jug against his leg with the other hand. “I took Weatherford hunting and fishing when he was a boy. I knew his uncle, his mama and his daddy. Good Scots they are, course his uncle is dead now, old Alexander McGillivray. Creeks called him emperor. He ruled over thousands of the buggers, lived in a fine plantation house. His sister, Schoya, had married a Scot named Charles Weatherford. William’s, or as he calls himself now, Red Eagle’s father, was given a huge plantation as a wedding gift from old Alexander. The boy had all anyone could want with an uncle rich as old King George himself and a daddy rich as all get out. The boy then went and turned Injun.”

  “I thought he was an Indian,” Lieupo said.

  “Only a tad, about an eighth, I heard. Regardless, half the folks he murdered he knew as friends. Some even had family connections and such to a lot of those devils. Of course, I do hold the Redcoats and Dons at fault, as well.”

  “Dons?” Lieupo asked.

  Henry nodded, “Yep, them Spaniards in Pensacola got a little blood on their hands to my way of thinking.” Rising stiffly, Parrish yawned. It was just getting dark so the man shouldn’t have been that tired and sleepy. Maybe the contents, or lack thereof, in the jug caused Henry to yawn. “Get yore possible together and see to yore animals, then get some shut eye. I aim to leave early to meet up with old Andy. We got us a heap of killin’ to do,” Henry said, stifling another yawn as he ambled off.

  “I wouldn’t want to be on his bad side,” Lieupo whispered.

  “Me neither,” Jonah answered. “Let’s keep Moses close until Henry gets to know him.”

  “Should we go look for him now?” Lieupo asked.

  “Not if you want to keep your hair,” Jonah answered, smiling.

  Chapter Eight

  For a week the small group of riders rode steadily toward the Alabama border. Each night, Henry held a captive audience with his tales of living with the Creeks. One night he was asked by a young corporal with the group of Georgia militia why the Creeks were called Red Sticks.

  Henry eyed the young man for a moment and then, taking his pipe from his mouth, he bumped it against the sole of his boot, knocking the cold burnt ash from it. He picked up his cup that was sitting on the ground beside him and reached out toward the coffee pot. The corporal grabbed the pot and quickly filled the grizzled old scout’s cup. “They ain’t all called Red Stick,” Henry said, as he blew on the hot coffee before taking a timid sip. “The hostiles are called Red Sticks. Red Eagle, Menawa, and Peter McQueen’s group; they are Red Sticks. Got that moniker from the war clubs they carry. The friendly Creeks are called White Sticks, by some.”

  “Did you know Tecumseh?” another young militiaman asked.

  “I see’d him, heard him talk, didn’t know him. He was looked at as big medicine by some until these here fellows filled his carcass with lead.”

  The talk then went to the Battle of the Thames. After a brief summary, the corporal asked why Tecumseh was so all set to side with the Redcoats.

  “Land, son,” was Henry’s short answer. “We keep growing as a nation. As we grow, we push the Indians off the land they’ve lived on for hundreds of years. Tecumseh felt the only way to save the civilized tribes was to join King George. The Redcoats promised to keep the Indians on their land.” Shaking his head, Henry repacked his pipe and, taking a burn
ing stick from the fire, lit it.

  Moses gently nudged Jonah. The Georgia boys appeared mesmerized by Henry, waiting patiently for him to light his pipe. Once a good glow could be seen in the bowl, Henry exhaled a cloud of smoke and gave a sigh.

  “If it weren’t for the massacre at Fort Mims, I might have been camping with old Menawa’s bunch.”

  “Why?” someone asked.

  “Well, young sir, they always seem to get the worse of it. They fought with the French and lost. They fought with the Redcoats in 1776 and lost, and now we’re set to whoop ‘em again.”

  “You’d think they’d have learned,” the corporal said.

  “No…no, they know their way of life is changing. We keep pushing and pushing. It’s the only chance they got to keep their sacred land.”

  “What did you mean by civilized tribes?” This time it was Captain Stephen Lieupo.

  Henry eyed the captain and replied, “I thought you were a learnt man.”

  “Not in the ways of our noble Redman, I’m afraid.”

  Henry nodded and said, “I see, at least you admit to your shortcomings. There are some that don’t.” Draining the little remaining coffee, Henry leaned over and sat the cup on a rock next to the fire. “I don’t rightly know about any of those northern tribes, but in the southeast the Creeks, Chickasaw, Cherokee, Choctaw, and Seminoles are all considered civilized. Most live better than white folks. They got vast sums of land, good farmland it is, and a bunch of ’em got slaves to work their fields. Until this war and old Tecumseh stirred them up so, they was plumb friendly. There were lots of interracial marriages, and lots of little half-breeds running around.”