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 imperturbable, 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, and in safety reached Fort Montgomery, which was
distant about two miles from Fort Mimms.