THE EMPEROR OF THE CREEKS
The McGillivrays were one of the prominent families springing from
pre-Revolutionary marriages between the white traders and backwoodsmen
and the Southern Indians. The rapid progress made by the Cherokee and
Creek nations can largely be traced to such unions, as the white stock
invariably was excellent. The descendants from such mixed marriages are
not to be confused with some of the Western squaw men’s offsprings of
later times.
The children of the Southern mixed-marriages, as in the case of
Alexander McGillivray, were sent away to seaboard cities, or to Europe,
to be educated. These returned with advanced ideas which they soon
promulgated among their mothers’ people. One result in the South was an
early introduction of schoolhouses and the importation of teachers.
McGillivray was an excellent type of the fruit of such a mixed
marriage. From his beautiful half-breed mother, Sehoy Marchand, he had
inherited the vivacity and audacity, the brilliancy and polish of the
French, and the more reserved traits of the Creeks. From his father,
Lachlan McGillivray, he received a shrewd Scottish mind and an ability
to solve complicated problems and profit thereby. He was born at Little
Talassee in 1746 and was a year younger than Sevier. Of him a President
of the United States, more than a century later, was to write—
“Perhaps the most gifted man who was ever born on the soil of
Alabama.”[1]
If he was actuated by great ambitions, he entertained them
legitimately; for his mother’s family of the Wind was very powerful; by
inheritance and tutelage he was propelled to aspire to high things. His
mental equipment, too, was that of a man licensed to dream of lasting
success and influence. If he was crafty, his need, nay, the instinct of
self-preservation, required craft. James Robertson, Sevier’s old
friend, characterized him as being—
“Half Spaniard, half Frenchman, half Scotchman, and altogether a Creek
scoundrel.”
But Robertson was biased in his judgment because of his hatred for
Spain; and there was a strain of Spanish blood in the polyglot emperor.
Others of his generation pictured him as fiend and treacherous in his
dealings. These charges are not substantiated by any known facts and
resulted from the stress and heat of the times. That he played one
power against others with consummate adroitness is a matter of historic
record—England, Spain and America. He wore the military trappings of
the British, he was fond of his Spanish uniform, and finally the
insignia of an American officer; the last after Washington made him a
brigadier general. But at the time of Chucky Jack’s visit to Little
Talassee he was all for Spain.
As Sevier faced him in the comfortable living-room of the big house it
was without the prejudices of many contemporaries. As McGillivray stood
by the table and rested the tips of his long, tapering fingers on the
polished board, his spare six feet of muscle gracefully inclined toward
his “guest,” his smooth, dark handsome face portraying only solicitude
for the comfort of his new acquaintance, Sevier knew he was in the
presence of a gentleman.
After Sevier had seated himself McGillivray tapped a bell and gave an
order to the half-breed servant. Wine and cakes were brought. All that
surrounded the man reflected the opulence resulting from a partnership
with Panton, Forbes and Leslie, whose importations yearly ran to nearly
a quarter of a million of dollars. And yet this atmosphere of
well-being contained no suggestion of the garish. The impression was
that the house of McGillivray always had enjoyed a king’s income.
Sinking into a chair across from Sevier, the emperor studied the
borderer with courteous curiosity. Then, raising his glass, he gave—
“To your good health and—discretion.”
“I thank you. The last is proven by my seeking you in a time of great
need,” said Sevier.
McGillivray’s dark eyes became luminous.
“Ha!” he softly exclaimed. “If you come for assistance you can count on
McGillivray of the Creeks to the hilt.”
“Not so fast,” restrained Sevier. “The need I speak of is yours as well
as mine.”
“I don’t understand you,” McGillivray coldly replied. “I know of no
personal embarrassment. The Emperor of the Creeks often gives aid. He
has never received any.”
“A crisis faces the Western settlements and the Creeks. Your nation can
not advance if my people go down.”
McGillivray sprang to his feet and tossed back his dark hair, snapping
his long fingers impatiently and darting angry, yet curious, glances at
the imperturbable borderer.
“What kind of talk is this for you to bring to me, a McGillivray of the
McGillivrays, Emperor of the Creek Nation?”
“It is because you are what you are that I bother to fetch my talk. I
come to the one man in the New World Spain leans on for support.
Without you Spain would fall to the ground in this Western country.”
The emperor’s irritation vanished, his fierce visage softened. Such
homage was very sweet, coming from John Sevier’s lips. He nodded
affably. He had reminded Spain of his own importance in his various
consultations with the royal governor, Don Estephan Miro.
“I believe his Majesty, Charles III, appreciates my services,” he
frankly agreed. “Our treaty of six weeks ago would seem to indicate
that much.”
“Could I have seen you before June first I would have urged you not to
sign that secret treaty.”
Leaning across the table, his face alive with resentment, McGillivray
hoarsely warned:
“Sevier, beware! Beware how you characterize any compact I sign with
Spain. You mouth the word ‘secret’ as if it were something shameful. I
tell you to heed your words, for you are in my power—and I am trying to
forget that fact.”
“To be in a gentleman’s power is to be his guest,” was the calm retort.
With a Gallic flinging out of hands and shrugging of shoulders the
emperor dropped into his chair, crying:
“You have disarmed me. Suppose we take up your reasons for coming
here—a most unusual proceeding you must admit—in view of the ‘secret’
treaty.”
Sevier’s gaze strayed to the window as if to peer forth and penetrate
the darkness.
“I have two objects,” he slowly began. “The most important is to find
Major John Tonpit. I admit I had hoped to overtake him before he
arrived here.”
“Tonpit? What the devil! It appears that all my guests come with but
one thought—to see Major Tonpit.” And McGillivray did not attempt to
conceal his exasperation. “That young man from your settlements, whom I
was forced to lock up, would hear of nothing but the Tonpits. The
Emperor of the Creeks was merely an agency through which he would find
the Tonpits. In truth, he seemed eager to tear the secret from me by
blood and violence. He seemed to believe I was hiding something from
him. My Creeks wanted to kill him on the spot, but there is much white
blood in me and I forgave him because of Miss Elsie Tonpit, who no
doubt has turned his head. So I saved him from my reckless fellows by
locking him up.”
“He’s in love with the girl. Why torture him? You are said to be kind
to prisoners. Why not let him see her?”
McGillivray groaned and rested his head against the back of the chair,
eying Sevier half humorously, half angrily.
“Why not let him see her?” he mocked. “I would give a thousand pounds
to see her myself.”
Sevier bounced from his chair and dropped back again.
“She has not come? Her father has not come?”
“Curse it! Are you trying to bait me?”
Sevier slumped low in the chair and glared blankly at the emperor.
“Not here,” he mumbled. “Then, where are they?”
McGillivray began pacing the room, a crafty cunning glittering through
his half-closed lids as he watched the borderer. Finally coming to a
halt before Sevier, he stared down at him and slowly inquired—
“Are you sure, John Sevier of the Nolichucky, that you don’t know where
they are?”
“If I did, would I be here?” asked Sevier bitterly.
The emperor weighed his show of sincerity and at last accepted it at
face value. His lofty brow became worried.
“Polcher said they started for here. He is much disturbed that they
haven’t arrived. You and Polcher could scarcely be called friends?”
“He’s the minor reason for my coming to Little Talassee. I’ve promised
myself the pleasure of hanging him.”
McGillivray’s lips tightened in displeasure at this bold assertion, and
his Indian blood came to the fore and he hissed—
“Be careful how you talk of hanging a friend of the Creeks in the
country of the Creeks.”
“Alexander McGillivray, Emperor of the Creeks, I do not envy you your
friend.”
“So?” purred McGillivray. “You would wish me to call James Robertson
‘friend,’—the man whom I will drive from the Cumberland if my Creeks do
not catch and burn him before he can escape.”
Sevier laughed.
“Your chances of burning, or even scaring, Jim Robertson are as good as
mine are of becoming Emperor of the Creek Nation.” Then harshly, “This
man Polcher is a murderer. He killed an old man in cold blood.”
“Meaning he intended to kill him,” corrected McGillivray with ironical
gentleness. “Just as you intended to kill the two white men back on the
Great War-Path. Probably Red Hajason by this time is proclaiming you as
a murderer. Polcher’s ‘cold-bloodedness’ proves he had a definite
purpose. If he had slain without an object I would approve of his
hanging. Polcher is very useful to me.”
“He’s a low-down dog. His usefulness has helped you none in the
settlements.”
“That remains to be seen after Major Tonpit arrives. Doubtless you
think I would do much better if I made friends with the Western
settlers. They are a very pious people.” And the emperor threw back his
head and laughed scornfully. “Let me see; it was eight years ago that
some of your settlers at Wolf Hill in Virginia ran to their fort to
escape an Indian attack. They discovered their minister of the Gospel
had left his books in his cabin. Back they went, those pious men, and
returned with the books—and eleven scalps. I am told that after a
prayer service they hung the scalps over the fort gate.”
Sevier flushed, for the emperor had recited facts.
“The war between red and white has brought out much cruel hatred. Only
with peace can kindlier feelings come.”
“When the Legislature of South Carolina offered seventy-five pounds
bounty for every warrior’s scalp I suppose the State was hungrily
seeking a permanent peace.”
“You should add that the Legislature offered even a greater bounty for
the warrior alive,” coldly corrected Sevier. “After doing that you
could talk till you’re white-headed, reviewing the horrible atrocities
your Creeks have committed even during your civilized leadership.”
McGillivray’s gaze became that of a basilisk. For more than a minute he
glared at the man so thoroughly in his power. Next, with a startling
transition, a most winning smile drove the sullen ferocity from his
haughty features and he filled the glasses, reminding:
“Such talk is useless. It makes bad friends. I confess cruelties are
practised by the red men. But you didn’t come here to tell me that.”
“I came to find Tonpit. As a side errand I desire to hang Polcher. And
I also came as the result of a talk with Old Tassel.”
“Old Tassel?” exclaimed McGillivray, spilling some of his wine.
“I called on him at Great Hiwassee,” Sevier explained.
“Great Hiwassee! Indeed!”
“Before Old Tassel arrived I had a talk with John Watts.”
“Good God! Are you sure you’re not a ghost? You talked with Watts and—”
“And lived to come here? Why not?” And Sevier smiled serenely. “I told
Old Tassel I was bringing a talk to you. He is anxious to learn how it
results.”
McGillivray played with his glass, his gaze following the light darting
through the rich depths, his astute mind seeking to unravel the true
import of the borderman’s astounding assertions. Suspicions of
double-dealing on Watts’ part came and went, more of a suggestion than
a suspicion, for he knew Watts’ implacable determination to have done
with the Western settlements. The chief of the Chickamaugas could not
change. But there was a mystery in Sevier’s living to leave the town
once he had entered it.
“I’ll admit Watts would not receive my talk as I had hoped,” Sevier
frankly confessed. “He even showed resentment.” McGillivray smiled.
“But Old Tassel was deeply impressed.”
The emperor frowned.
“Old Tassel should be called Old Woman,” he muttered. “What was your
talk?”
“I told him if he would hold his warriors back from war I would promise
to keep the whites from any further trespass on the lands south of the
French Broad and the Holston. I told him that an alliance with Spain,
through the Creeks, would surely ruin the Cherokee Nation.”
“Anything else?” whispered McGillivray, setting down his untasted glass.
“I told him if he made a war-treaty with the Creeks he would lose many
warriors and gain nothing. I told him that even if he could kill off
all the settlers he would gain nothing, as in the end the Creeks would
take his lands.”
“Mr. Sevier,” murmured McGillivray, “why are you so foolish as to tell
me all this?”
Sevier knew that while McGillivray would not countenance unnecessary
bloodshed he would never permit any one man to stand between him and
the ambition of his life. Still he continued:
“Because Watts dared me to tell the talk to you, and because I told him
and Old Tassel that I would do it. But I have more to add.”
“I am sorry for you. Go on.”
“I wish to tell you, as I told the Cherokees, that the future of the
Creek Nation does not depend on the friendship of Spain; that your
treaty of last June is with the same people who made slaves of you in
the past. And I tell you now, Alexander McGillivray, Emperor of the
Creeks, that if you have the best interests of your nation at heart you
will cast off this intrigue with Spain and make peace with the central
Government.”
McGillivray threw back his head and laughed long and discordantly.
“A border-leader turned missionary!” he jeered. “Why, man, I was
getting angry at you! Your insolence blinded me to the absurdity of it
all. Still, I admire you for going to Great Hiwassee. But when you
mention the central Government you remind me that facts are facts. Your
Government. Where is it? What can it do? Can it sail a boat on the
Mississippi? Can it send its goods to New Orleans? Does it resent any
action of Spain’s? Or does it meekly bow the head?”
Sevier restrained himself and evenly retorted:
“We are a free people. Just now we need many things. We soon shall have
them. War has exhausted us, but we shall make up our strength
overnight. We shall never submit.”
“Bah! You submit now,” wrathfully cried McGillivray. “You are powerless
now. Why should you think you will be strong tomorrow? Does weakness
breed strength? You say the future of my people and that of the
Thirteen Fires are tied up in the same bundle. God forbid! That is what
I am trying to escape from. We want none of your future, with its
humiliations, with its bending of the knee to Spain. We are free to
sail the Mississippi. We trade with New Orleans. When Spain speaks to
us she speaks softly. Without our aid she is powerless. My friend, we
shall use Spain rather than allow Spain to use us. Her future on this
continent is bound up with the future of the Creeks.”
And he rose and extended his arms, his inner vision painting a new and
mighty empire in which McGillivray of the Creeks and allied nations
played a leading rôle.
Abruptly changing and without waiting for Sevier to speak, he became
the smiling host again and asked—
“What is it I hear about your separating from North Carolina?”
“As you heard it as soon as, if not before, we did, there’s nothing new
to tell,” Sevier replied. “We are about to set up an independent State
and be admitted to the Union.”
“So? My agents are careless fellows,” sighed the emperor, shaking his
head ruefully. “Both careless and ignorant fellows. Why, they actually
informed me that the Western settlements have been given to the central
Government as North Carolina’s share of the war-debt. They led me to
believe Carolina was paying her debts with Western land. Never a word
about the new State.”
“A month from now they’ll be telling you about the new State,” Sevier
answered.
McGillivray simulated a density of understanding and rubbed his head in
perplexity.
“I can’t comprehend it,” he sorrowfully confessed. “The wine must have
muddled my poor head. Now let me see. North Carolina owes some five
million dollars, a ninth of the national debt, plus three millions
unpaid interest. France advanced much of the money and is asking for
the interest and some arrangement that ultimately will take care of the
principal. North Carolina, not having the five millions, votes to pay
some twenty-nine or thirty million acres of land. Now, if I have
followed you correctly, the thirty million acres refuse to be
considered as the equivalent of North Carolina’s share of the debt and
insist on being created into a State. It’s very bewildering.”
“Perhaps it will be clearer if you remember there are some twenty-five
or thirty thousand settlers who won those acres and who do not intend
to be turned over along with their lands like so many beaver pelts,”
Sevier replied. “Perhaps you can perceive that the very weakness of the
central Government which you have dwelt on is an excellent reason why
thirty thousand people will determine the future of the land they alone
won and developed. How will the central Government stop us from forming
a State if she is unable to resent any insult from distant Spain?”
“I don’t think she can.” And the admission was accompanied by a smile
of genuine amusement. “It’s absolutely humorous, the whole situation. A
man owes me a thousand pounds. He makes payment. Just as I am about to
count the money it hops up and says, ‘You can’t have me as payment for
a debt. But you shall take me as a partner and share with me what you
already have accumulated.’ What could I do? Perhaps I would demand that
my debtor bring me some better behaved money. Eh? What will North
Carolina say when she finds she’s lost her land and hasn’t paid her
debt?”
“She’ll do nothing,” assured Sevier. “There will be no violence, no
bloodshed. You don’t understand the true temper of the people on both
sides of the mountains. We’re kinsmen. And your amusing little
illustrations make you forget the simple fact that a new State must pay
its share of the national debt. Our new State will make good what
Carolina owes.”
There was a pause for several minutes, each trying to read the other’s
thoughts. Then McGillivray briskly said:
“You mention August. You’re to start building your new State next
month?”
“The forty delegates will meet on the twenty-third of August.”
“That will give you scant time to visit me and get back and take part
in the good work,” regretted McGillivray.
“Oh, my presence isn’t necessary,” promptly retorted Sevier. “If I
remain here as your—guest—everything will go along nicely. I arranged
for that.”
“Then you did consider the possibility of remaining with me for a
while?”
Sevier shook his head and frankly answered:
“No. My precautions were taken because of the chance of a Chickamauga
knife or a Creek ax reaching me before I got to you. I believed that
once I had talked to you I could return—always providing I dodged the
dangers of the homeward trail.”
“Such faith! Such faith!” murmured McGillivray with a whimsical smile.
“Do you know, Mr. Sevier, I must be on my guard against the charm of
your personality? I find myself liking you. It’s like walking into an
ambuscade.”
Sevier laughed lightly, pointed to the emperor’s full glass and raised
his own, saying—
“I drink to the success which will be best for you and your people.”
McGillivray started, gazed intently across the table and slowly moved
his lips in testing the words.
“—— me!” he cried. “I can’t see any snake in the bottom of that glass!
It rings honest, even if you and I don’t agree on what ‘best success’
is. You’re an honest man, Sevier, and we’ll drink it with honesty in
our hearts. And I thank you for the spirit which prompts it.”
The glasses were emptied just as the servant glided in and passed to
his master and gave him a written message. McGillivray read it and
frowned blackly, then glanced furtively at Sevier. He hesitated and
twisted the paper about his fingers; then he brusquely commanded—
“Show him in.”
Sevier appeared indifferent, but from the corner of his eye he watched
the emperor’s sudden change of expression. Something in the note had
aroused the Indian blood in him, had caused him to entertain a
suspicion. The door opened and Polcher entered, bowing low to
McGillivray and darting a look of hatred at the borderer.
McGillivray motioned for him to advance but did not ask him to be
seated. He bluntly began:
“Your note says you have something to tell me about Mr. Sevier which I
should know at once. Why didn’t you tell it to me when you first
arrived?”
“Your Majesty, the surprise of not finding Major Tonpit here, the
surprise of finding the man Jackson here, drove it from my mind until
John Sevier came. Ever since he entered your Majesty’s home I have been
trying to get a word to you. Only now have I succeeded.”
“Very well; go on. What is it?”
Sevier eyed Polcher closely, anticipating what was coming. The
tavern-keeper gazed only at McGillivray and said:
“The man Jackson, acting under Chucky Jack’s orders, killed your Creek
messenger. He was seen to do it by a settler, who was murdered to close
his mouth. But before the witness died he told me of the crime.”
“What? What’s this?” roared McGillivray, turning to glare at the
composed face of the borderer. “What have you to say, Sevier?”
And the long hands opened and closed as if searching for a deadly
weapon or an enemy’s throat.
“Do you believe it?” Sevier quietly asked.
“You heard the charge. Answer!” thundered the emperor.
“Pardon me; but if you already believe it, it is useless for me to
answer,” Sevier replied in the same level voice.
McGillivray was nonplussed by this method of defence and finally
demanded of Polcher—
“How do you know this to be so?”
“I saw the messenger’s scalp on Sevier’s table in the court-house.”
“——! Sevier, you must speak now. Polcher either has hung himself or
you,” McGillivray bitterly exclaimed. “My messenger has not returned. I
have thought nothing of his absence because he was to guide the Tonpits
here and the woman would prevent a quick journey. Now answer the
charge.”
“A scalp of a Creek was placed on my table in the court-house by
Polcher,” the borderer slowly informed. “I had never seen it until it
was placed there by Polcher. The Creek would not have been killed if
you had sent him openly to Jonesboro. I knew nothing about him until he
was dead. You sent him by stealth—”
“You admit he was slain?” hissed McGillivray.
“Certainly. But not by Kirk Jackson, as this dog says. The scalp was
taken to Polcher by an old man crazy with drink. The old man was to get
a jug of whisky if he brought a Cherokee scalp—to Polcher.”
“He lies. —— him! He lies!” gritted Polcher.
McGillivray glanced from the flushed face to the composed one. Sevier
coolly continued:
“Your common sense will tell you there can be no question of veracity
between me and your tool. The old man who took the scalp did not,
however, kill the Creek. I am frank to admit that, although he was a
tool of Polcher’s and did as Polcher commanded—as he believed.”
“A Cherokee scalp,” mumbled McGillivray, his anger subsiding for the
moment as he recognized the advantage to his cause had a Cherokee been
killed and scalped by a Western settler.
“He lies—” began Polcher, but Sevier came to his feet and grasped a
decanter, warning—
“You say that again and I shall brain you; no matter how much I dislike
to make a scene in the home of McGillivray of the Creeks.”
“Keep your mouth closed, Polcher, until I speak to you,” the emperor
harshly commanded. “Sevier be seated—please. Now, Sevier, suppose you
enlighten me as to what you know about this.”
Sevier readily complied, omitting only the fact that he knew who had
killed the messenger.
“Jackson was in the bush and overheard Polcher’s bargain with the old
man and came and told me about it. I directed him to waylay the old man
and take the scalp from him. Polcher had demanded a Cherokee scalp for
his whisky. The old man believed he had found a dead Cherokee, and he
scalped him. Jackson believed the scalp belonged to a Cherokee; so did
I until I saw it. I did not want any scalp to be paraded at the tavern,
where Polcher and his men would make use of it in inflaming the
Indians.”
“But this Jackson fled! He didn’t wait for an investigation,” reminded
McGillivray in an ominous voice.
“If he had killed a Creek he scarcely would have fled here,” said
Sevier. “He was being chased by a tavern mob. I was away from the
village. He already knew the girl was to go to Little Talassee. He was
crazy to overtake her. That was the true reason of his leaving
Jonesboro in the night without even waiting to let me know where he was
going.”
“True, he would be a fool to come here after killing my man,” mused
McGillivray. Then with fresh suspicion, “But how did he know the girl
and her father were coming here?”
Sevier was unwilling to implicate the girl.
“From something he had learned,” he countered. “I can tell you exactly
what he learned, and how, but not in the presence of this man.”
“We still have the death of my Creek to clear up,” reminded
McGillivray, scowling blackly. “This old man found the dead body and
scalped it?”
“Believing it was a Cherokee. And I went and buried the body so it
could not be found and be made the cause of a border war,” Sevier
replied.
“But some one did kill the messenger.” With a lightning glance at the
tavern-keeper he demanded, “Will you say Polcher killed him?”
Sevier was human and the temptation was strong. The rascal was seeking
his life and would hesitate at nothing to accomplish his ends.
“No, I can’t say that. I only wish I could. Polcher didn’t kill him. He
only killed the old man he had hired to bring in a scalp.”
“Then you do know who killed him?” cried Polcher.
“You speak as if you were surprised,” growled McGillivray.
“I’m surprised he admits as much,” Polcher defended.
McGillivray nodded for the borderer to proceed.
“Not in the presence of that man,” Sevier refused.
“By heavens, Sevier, you’re taking a high hand!” the emperor
passionately cautioned. “Please remember that any man worthy to stand
in my presence is worthy to hear any explanation that involves him in a
serious matter. I demand you tell me what you know concerning the death
of one of my people.”
Polcher grinned triumphantly.
“After he leaves the room I’ll tell you who killed your Creek,”
retorted Sevier.
“You’ll tell in his hearing, or else the Creeks have forgotten their
knack of making a man talk,” rumbled McGillivray.
“Between such men as you and I that is boy’s talk,” rebuked Sevier with
a smile. “I’m disappointed in you.”
“I’m quite in earnest. This man, my paid agent, makes a charge against
you—a prisoner—in your presence. You exonerate him of the killing and
confess that you know the murderer. You also admit Polcher doesn’t
know. I stand back of my men. I’ll put threats aside and appeal to your
sense of justice. If Polcher doesn’t know who killed the Creek it is
only right that you should speak before him.”
Sevier elevated his brows and stared thoughtfully at the ceiling.
Finally he said:
“There is justice in what you ask. It can’t make much difference, as he
will never dare go back to the Watauga settlements to serve you again.
I’ve decided to tell you what I know. The Creek was killed by an
Indian-hater, a man whose entire family was butchered by Indians. The
deed was done unknown to any settler; otherwise it never would have
been committed. We will cover your dead with many presents. But as you
sent him secretly into our settlements, with orders to skulk in the
bushes, thereby giving the impression to any who might see him that he
was there for mischief, I should say part of the responsibility for his
death was yours, Alexander McGillivray.
“Had you sent him to me he would have been unharmed; for then he would
have come openly, just as the Cherokee, Tall Runner, came and departed
in safety. However, your Creek is dead, and the fanatic will not be
handed over for you to kill. There’s the whole truth. Young Jackson is
as innocent of the whole affair as you are.”
“I believe you, Sevier; but you talk big when you say the Creeks shall
take no reprisal,” McGillivray bitterly observed.
“You can kill me or Jackson, but the settlement won’t turn over the
half-crazed slayer of your Creek,” Sevier calmly reiterated. “It is for
me to say that you talk big when you complain because your secret
messengers aren’t received and protected in Jonesboro at almost the
moment you hold as prisoners Kirk Jackson and myself, who came here
openly.”
“Came here to make trouble,” ventured Polcher.
Sevier directed a sleepy smile at the tavern-keeper and remarked to the
emperor:
“I’ve been thoroughly honest and above board with you. Suppose you ask
your trusted agent to be the same.”
“You can’t make his Majesty believe I’m anything but honest with him,”
defied Polcher.
“_Ku!_” grunted Sevier. “You killed a war-eagle out of season, Polcher.
It has spoiled your medicine. The Great Crystal of the Cherokees would
show you floating in blue shadows. Death is very close to you. Now tell
the emperor why your friend Red Hajason went to Great Hiwassee and took
with him the horses rode by Major Tonpit and his daughter when they
departed from Jonesboro.”
Polcher was astounded. When he could master his tongue it was to give a
shrill cry of alarm, and for a moment his smug mask of complacency
slipped and revealed the stark terror in his soul.
“Lies! Lies!” he choked.
McGillivray was fairly bewildered by the unexpected revelation and
glanced swiftly from the borderer to his henchman.
“Tonpit’s horses in Red Hajason’s hands,” he mumbled. Then fiercely,
“Polcher, look at me! So. Eye to eye! What do you know about this?”
“Nothing! Nothing! The man lies!” Polcher’s frightened voice persisted.
McGillivray swung about and for nearly a minute searched the depths of
Sevier’s steady blue eyes.
“No,” he softly concluded, “he speaks the truth.”
Raising a silver whistle to his lips, he blew two short blasts. Almost
instantly a dozen warriors glided into the room and encircled the three
men. Pointing to Polcher, the emperor ordered:
“Take this man away. Turn out the dogs.”
“I’ve served you, McGillivray—”
“What?”
“I’ve served your Majesty faithfully. I give my word of honour I will
not try to escape until after you have investigated this ridiculous
story.”
“You will come to no harm if you’re innocent; and the Emperor of the
Creeks knows how to make up for his mistakes with many presents. But if
you have played me false you will—if you are wise—cut your own throat
tonight. If you attempt to leave the grounds the dogs will get you.”
“I do not wish to leave the grounds,” sullenly replied Polcher as they
led him away.
After the warriors and their prisoner left, McGillivray remained
staring at the door, seemingly forgetful of Sevier. Black care was
worrying his handsome countenance. Speaking gently, he at last asked—
“Do you know anything about the Tonpits, besides what you’ve told?”
“I only know that the man called Hester was the man Polcher used in
communicating with Major Tonpit. Hester took orders from Polcher. He
left Jonesboro the night the Tonpits set out. The settlers have long
believed he is mixed up with Red Hajason. If he is, why not Polcher,
his master? I had supposed he went to guide the Tonpits to you, taking
the place of the dead Creek. I was surprised to find no trace of the
Tonpits on my journey here. Red Hajason had their horses. It must
follow he has the Tonpits. Polcher’s a bad one. You’re foolish to trust
him.”
“He’s always been humble enough,” muttered McGillivray.
“Humble? Why, he considers himself to be a better man than you,
Alexander McGillivray,” laughed Sevier. “And a better man than Tonpit.
In Jonesboro he played the part of tavern-keeper and played it well.
But, harkee, McGillivray of the Creeks, you’ve had dealings with no man
as crafty as he. Show him an advantage in taking your head in a basket
to any State capital, and he’ll try for the reward.”
“His ambitions fly above a money reward. He seeks a high position
under——in the new order of Western affairs. Yet what you tell me looks
bad.” And he sighed as if weary from continued disappointments. “I’ve
depended so much on Major Tonpit.”
He blew his whistle, this time but once, and two men entered. Speaking
to them in the Creek tongue, he directed:
“You will start immediately for Great Hiwassee and learn if Red Hajason
has brought horses there.” Then to Sevier, “Describe the animals.”
Sevier did so, and the description was repeated to the men. “You will
find out where Red Hajason is now. One of you will return to me with
what you have learned. The other shall remain until he has seen John
Watts. Ask him in my name if he knows anything about the white man
called John Tonpit, and about the white girl, Tonpit’s daughter. This
gives you my voice.”
And he slipped a curiously carved ring from his finger and handed it to
the elder of the two men.
As they withdrew he said to Sevier:
“We’ll drop it until I receive word from Hiwassee. I admit part of the
blame for my Creek’s death. Let that go by. I want to talk with you as
friend to friend.
“You imagine me to be a blind tool of Spain’s. You couldn’t make a
greater mistake. I hold and intend to hold this Southern country. I
welcome Spain so long as Charles III helps me to strengthen my grip on
it. Spain knows that if she tries unfairness with me she loses what she
now holds. Spain has fleets and needs the fur trade. Her day has passed
in Europe. What she gets she must get over here. She will pay well for
what she gets. We have something to sell. She is willing to buy. What
is there wrong in that?
“If your Western settlements could sell what you raise, you would be
very powerful. But you are hemmed in. The thirteen States are satisfied
with the Atlantic coast. That is all they have cared for. They have no
sympathy with over-mountain development. They are not strong enough to
combat Spain, and they know their Western country can amount to nothing
so long as Spain holds the Mississippi. Spain holds the Mississippi.
Now she asks the Western settlements to form a Government under her
protection. The thirteen States will not try to stop you from doing
that.
“You say you won’t put on the yoke of Spain. Spain doesn’t ask you to
wear a yoke. She knows she can’t win what she must have—our trade—by
force. To stop the intrigues of France and England she does want a
Government over here—a new republic will answer perfectly—that will be
in sympathy with her and favour her in trade. Outside of a commercial
advantage, Spain asks nothing from you or me. It only means Spain’s
backing while the new Government west of the Alleghanies gets on its
feet. Once the new Government stands alone and needs no European help,
Spain would retain her trade advantage because of her just and kindly
treatment of us during our development.”
He paused and Sevier shot in—
“What do you get out of such a combination?”
With great dignity McGillivray promptly answered:
“I should still be Emperor of the Creeks. I should retain a monopoly of
the Creek trade and, very probably, should have a voice in the affairs
of the Cherokee Nation. No, no. Don’t misunderstand me. I shall not
interfere with the rights of the Cherokees. John Watts and others are
convinced of that. My influence would always be to knit the two nations
firmly together. Once that is accomplished we will be invincible.”
“Against whom?”
“Why, against any trespasser,” McGillivray slowly replied.
“Possibly against Spain?”
“If she attempted any injustice, yes. And we’d whip her, too. For she
would have to bring the fight to us or lose all she has over here.”
“Invincible against the new Western republic?”
“If the Western settlements treated us wrongly. Certainly.”
“What if you should decide we were treating you unjustly, when, as a
matter of truth, we were treating you fairly?”
“Spain would easily adjust any such differences.”
“But, knowing you could defy Spain, would you permit her to settle
disputes in our favour?”
For the first time during their interview McGillivray completely lost
control of himself. Leaping up, he struck the table and overturned the
wine. Kicking over his chair, he began raging from one end of the room
to the other, his dark face furious with passion. Sevier replaced the
decanter and rescued a book from a puddle of wine. Gradually
McGillivray’s emotion subsided. Returning to the table, he righted his
chair and sank into it, staring gloomily at Sevier.
“Do you know,” he softly began, “you have been in great danger. You
have the quality of making men like you to an unusual extent. You also
have the knack of maddening men. For the moment my Creek streak told me
to kill you. I am glad I did not give in to it.”
“So am I,” said Sevier, pulling a pistol from the breast of his
hunting-shirt. “For I should have acted on an impulse, perhaps, and
defended myself.”
McGillivray’s eyes half closed as he watched Sevier twirl the pistol.
“You came in here to have wine and cakes,” he murmured. “And you
brought a deadly weapon with you.”
“You have a long knife inside your coat,” smiled Sevier.
“What do you propose doing?”
“Make up for my part in our bad manners,” laughed Sevier, taking the
pistol by the muzzle and handing it across the table.
McGillivray’s eyes flew open. He smiled graciously and murmured:
“A gallant gentleman. I meet you half way. Wine and weapons do not go
well together.”
And pulling a knife from inside his coat he tossed it and the pistol on
a couch at the side of the room.
Speaking sorrowfully, he said:
“Sevier, I have just shown you a wonderful world and you interrupted to
ask silly questions. God knows you nearly drove me out of my reason. I
can’t bear to have commonplace objections thrown at me when I am
painting a picture of new kingdoms. I took you up where you could see
yourself as one of the great men of America and you didn’t seem to
sense it.”
“If you showed me the whole world from the top of a mountain it
wouldn’t tempt me any, Alexander McGillivray, so long as I knew misery
and injustice dwelt at the foot of the mountain.”
“Will you go with me to Governor Miro at Pensacola?”
“Only as your prisoner—by force.”
“But Miro is a friend of your friend, of the man who hates me, James
Robertson.”
“Miro has been friendly with Jim; but Jim understands that Miro never
lets courtesy or friendship interfere with his master’s orders. If
Charles III says for Miro to do a thing, Don Estephan Miro does it,
regardless of whom it hits or hurts.”
McGillivray bowed his head and sighed, and said:
“Then I must go beyond what I expected would be necessary, beyond my
own inclination; for it is not according to my best judgment. But so be
it. You are a stubborn man, John Sevier. I will agree with you that we
can form no allegiance with Spain. Say the word and I will inform Don
Miro to that effect.”
“What is that word?”
“That you will form an independent Government out of the Western
settlements.”
“No!”
“The central Government will not oppose you.”
“That makes no difference.”
“The West is ripe for the move.”
“The move will not be made.”
“You will have twenty thousand riflemen. I will pledge you twenty
thousand Indians. You shall have supreme military command. Together we
can laugh at Spain, oust her from the Mississippi and bury the ax so
deep there shall be no more burning of cabins, or of prisoners at the
stake. It will mean the absolute end of Indian warfare, and a
prosperity such as men never dreamed of.”
“Once for all, McGillivray of the Creeks, I will form no alliance with
Spain. I will work to establish no separate Government, as that would
dismember the Union. There is one thing I will do, whether we create a
new State or fail.”
“Well?”
“I will protect the Western settlements against the Indians, be they
Creek or Cherokee.”
“By ——! You throw a red ax. Then this is the ax I hurl back to you,”
snarled McGillivray. “My treaty with Spain will stand. I shall surely
win over the Cherokees. The Chickasaws, who now cling to Robertson’s
hand because of their chief’s friendship for him, shall join us or be
stamped out. We will blot out the Western settlements. The Ohio and
Northwestern tribes are eager to join us. If you remain alive to see
the border cabins in flames you will remember the offer I made to you
in all friendliness. Then will you decide whether you followed a
straight or a crooked trail.”
“If it must be so,” sighed Sevier.
McGillivray tapped the bell and rose. Sevier also stood. The servant
entered and made a low obeisance.
The Emperor of the Creeks stared moodily at the borderer, hospitality
struggling against resentment. Almost sullenly he said:
“If you will give me your promise you will not attempt to escape from
the village during the night, I shall be pleased to have you shown to a
guest room. The bed is better than what we furnish in the cabins.”
“I have no desire to leave the village tonight. I promise. But I would
like to know if my horse—”
“Your horse has been brought in and has received excellent care. I take
your promise to save you from a disagreeable death. It is impossible
for you to escape. The dogs are out. See here.”
Stepping to the window, he leaned out and whistled shrilly on his
fingers.
A wild chorus of baying answered the signal, and in the faint moonlight
Sevier beheld a dark patch swerve from between the cabins, running
close like wolves. They swept up to the house with two men behind them.
Halting beneath the window, they leaped up to caress their master’s
hand. For a minute or two McGillivray called them by name and stroked
the heads of the milling mass. They were gaunt, tawny brutes, one being
more than a match for any man unarmed.
Stepping back from the window, McGillivray remarked:
“It would be hard for one to escape my pets. They are a special breed.
A streak of the mastiff, and the rest is pure devil. They’re trained to
touch no one in the village; but woe to the man who goes out of bounds
against my orders. Give me a thousand such and I’ll chew up the foolish
Chickasaws and never lose a warrior.”
Sevier shuddered and followed the servant. His room was on the first
floor and at the end of the building. It was large and comfortably
furnished. The furnishings were what one would expect in the homes of
the seaboard rich but with perhaps more of the Spanish mode than would
be found in the North. On a shelf in the corner was a row of books, but
Sevier was not overfond of books and gave them scant heed. What did
arouse his interest was a wall decoration formed of hunting-knives,
arranged so as to suggest the rising sun, the polished blades being the
rays. In the collection were home-made weapons of sturdy strength and
the more gracefully shaped pieces of European origin.
The windows were open and there was nothing to prevent Sevier from
stepping out on to the grass ground. After the servant had left him he
remained at the window and looked across the silent, empty grounds to
where Jackson was imprisoned in the cabin. How surely had the young
Virginian answered to the call of love, even to entering a deadly trap.
Such was the drawing-power of love for a maid. Such should be the
whole-souled quality of a man’s love for his country.
And where tonight were the Tonpits? Were they alive, and if so, in Red
Hajason’s camp? It sickened him to think of the girl in that rough
environment, her austere father powerless to protect her. If Jackson
hadn’t been captured and could have known of their plight he could have
rallied some riflemen—but that was as useless as wishing for last
year’s sunshine.
“Oh, for a few days of liberty and fifty of my riflemen!” groaned
Sevier. Then came the wild, fantastic thought of calling on McGillivray
and offering to go and bring the Tonpits to Little Talassee. He
believed McGillivray would gladly take him at his word. He would object
to the riflemen being employed but he would willingly furnish a hundred
or more Creeks.
However, that would be playing McGillivray’s game, Spain’s game, the
devil’s game. If Jackson could get back to the Nolichucky and arouse
the men—the inspiration thumped against his mind like a blow. If only
Jackson could escape and run the Creek and Cherokee gantlet! The
Cherokees would be on the alert to prevent Chucky Jack’s return; Chief
Watts would see to that. A man must need have wings to escape the
ferocious dog-pack. Still such chances were created for men to take and
laugh at. There could be no doubting the young Virginian’s zeal for the
business; nor his woods cunning in putting it through.
Stepping to the book-shelf, Sevier tore a blank page from one of the
volumes. On a table in the corner was a quill and a horn of ink; for
McGillivray of the Creeks handled a quill as readily as did any of his
white contemporaries and kept much writing material easily accessible.
The borderer wrote a few hurried lines to Stetson, explaining his fears
and exhorting the settler to raise enough men to make the raid a
success.
He refrained from speaking of his own plight and simply said the raid
on Red Hajason’s camp could be made without any fears of an Indian
attack during the riflemen’s absence from Jonesboro. Sanding the note,
he carefully examined the fan of knives on the wall and selected four
of extra length, stout of haft and keen of edge.
This done, he extinguished the candle and returned to the window. The
problem of the dogs remained. They ran in a pack and kept patrolling
the edge of the extensive grounds. Sevier assumed from what McGillivray
had said that he would not be attacked while inside the grounds. But to
be discovered would be to spoil his plans. He leaned far out the window
and looked and listened. The slave-quarters were on the other side of
the house. The pack had gone in that direction when McGillivray
dismissed it.
Slipping out the window, the borderer stole to the corner of the house
and waited until he glimpsed a shadowy mass passing behind the slaves’
cabins. Then retracing his steps, he bowed low and ran swiftly, keeping
to the shadows of the outbuildings as much as possible. The light was
faint and barely sufficient for him to distinguish one cabin from
another, but his sense of location carried him to the window with the
iron bars. Gliding up to this, he whispered Jackson’s name.
“Who is it?” Jackson murmured, cautiously approaching the window.
“Sevier! Here are four knives and a message. Put two knives under your
bed. I will remove the bar from the door. When you hear me whistle,
look out and see if the dogs are making for the big house. If they are
you must make for the corral and mount a horse and ride for your life.
Give the message to Stetson. It orders him to raise some riflemen to go
with you to the camp of Red Hajason, an outlaw. I believe you will find
the Tonpits prisoners there. Take them back to Jonesboro and hold them
even if you have to make Major Tonpit a prisoner. On no account is he
to reach this place. The note explains all—”
“But you? Can’t you come with me?” pleaded Jackson.
“I must stay. I’ve given my word. Remember, when I whistle. If the dogs
don’t come to me then you must decide for yourself how much risk you
can take. Don’t try it unless you believe you can make it; as that
wouldn’t help Miss Elsie any. To be caught by the dogs may mean death.
Look out for the Cherokees if you get through. Good-bye.”
Retreating in the shadows of the buildings, he beheld the pack trotting
toward the big house. They were just getting clear of the
slave-quarters and Sevier ran for the window, knowing it was a matter
of seconds. He gained the low sill without the pack sounding an alarm
and noiselessly vaulted into the room and let out his pent-up breath in
a deep sigh of content.
“And you gave your word!” spoke up a harsh voice.
Peering about, he sought to pierce the darkness but was baffled. He
knew it was McGillivray but he could not see him.
“I thought I saw a slinking figure outside. I couldn’t believe it was
you. I felt ashamed to come down here to make sure. I believed I was
insulting you by coming. Now I find you’ve broken your promise.”
It was on the tip of Sevier’s tongue to deny the accusation hotly, but
that would arouse the emperor’s suspicions as to the truth.
“A man may walk about the village without breaking his promise not to
leave the village,” he sullenly replied. “Where the devil are you?”
“Walking in the village!” bitterly derided McGillivray. “You started to
escape and became frightened at the dogs.”
Sevier said nothing. McGillivray repeated under his breath:
“Frightened at the dogs? Hah! You’ve been trying to find Polcher.”
Still Sevier made no answer. McGillivray opened a door and secured the
lighted candle he had left outside. Holding it high, he strode up to
the borderer and scanned him closely.
“Your eyes gleam as if you had succeeded in something. Did you find
Polcher?”
Sevier smiled, refusing to speak. McGillivray made to set the candle on
the table, and his keen gaze at once noticed the absence of the four
knives. He leaped to the wall and a glance told him they had been
hastily wrenched from their fastenings.
His right hand plucked a pistol from inside his coat. Levelling it he
demanded—
“Where are those knives?”
“Ask Polcher,” defied Sevier.
“If you have harmed Polcher I will kill you,” promised the emperor.
Still keeping an eye on his “guest,” he stepped to the window and
sounded his whistle. Up raced the pack in answer to the familiar call,
with the two keepers trotting behind them. Scrambling and crowding, the
brutes leaped up until their red eyes glared into the room. Without
shifting his gaze from Sevier, McGillivray extended a hand and fondled
whatever head came within reach. To the keepers he said:
“One of you stay with the dogs. The other run to Polcher’s cabin and
see if any harm has come to him.”
The order was promptly obeyed and Sevier’s spirits rose as he observed
the man was making off in the direction of the slave-quarters.
“You still refuse to talk?” demanded McGillivray.
“I prefer to wait,” was the calm reply.
The dogs continued leaping up at the window; their master kept up his
blind caresses. The one guard stared stupidly at the tableau of the two
men, one with arms folded and counting the precious minutes, the other
with a pistol ready in his hand and frowning heavily.
At last there came a patter of feet, and McGillivray straightened and
brought the pistol to bear on Sevier’s deep chest.
“If the verdict is against you I have decided to shoot you here,” he
grimly informed.
“I reckon I wouldn’t deserve it. I never promised not to harm Polcher.
I’ve told you several times I fully intend to hang him.”
“Good heavens! You couldn’t have hung him—alone!” cried the emperor.
Up dashed the messenger and sagged against the window-sill and waited
for his master to turn and address him. But McGillivray would not
remove his gaze from Sevier and commanded over his shoulder:
“Speak, you fool! The man is waiting to know if he lives or dies.”
“The man Polcher was asleep,” panted the man.
“Asleep? You mean he is dead?” cried the emperor, beginning to contract
his trigger-finger.
“No, your Majesty,” faltered the man, fearing a rebuke for stating the
truth. “I found him asleep. He woke up and cursed me. I told him I was
obeying your Majesty’s orders. At that he sprang from his blankets and
began dressing.”
“Alive!” exclaimed McGillivray, slowly lowering his pistol.
“If your Majesty please, I hear some one coming,” spoke up the second
keeper.
In another moment Polcher stood outside the window, blinking at the
candle and impatient to learn what it all meant.
“I am sorry to have disturbed your rest,” McGillivray harshly informed.
“But my guest has been roaming about the village, and four of my knives
are missing from the collection. It seems it was a false alarm.” Then,
wheeling on Sevier, he shouted, “—— it, man! Why don’t you speak? It’s
dangerous to play tricks on McGillivray of the Creeks.”
“I wish to remind his Majesty that he has done me the dishonour of
accusing me of breaking my word and of having killed a sleeping man.
When I execute Polcher he will be wide awake,” Sevier haughtily
replied, fighting for more time.
“If the All Powerful would tell me what has happened perhaps my poor
wits might put it together and guess the truth,” meekly suggested
Polcher, inwardly raging with impatience.
McGillivray, deeply irritated, briefly narrated the fact of Sevier’s
theft of the knives and of his absence from his room and his return to
it.
Polcher, standing shoulder-deep among the dogs, gripped the
window-sill, his eyes flaming as he sensed the truth.
“He took the knives to use against your pets. But he returns without
them. So he must have taken them to some one else. Perhaps to the man
called Jackson. I advise—”
With a shout of rage McGillivray leaped through the window and ran
toward the cabin, the pack at his heels. The emperor’s passion subsided
as he saw the cabin door was closed; then flared high as a closer
approach revealed it was unfastened. He tore the door open and Polcher
leaped inside and kicked about the narrow confines and swept his hands
over the rought pallet of straw.
“He’s gone!” shouted the tavern-keeper as he bounded over the threshold.
A guard, who had run to one side, now sounded a second alarm.
“The horses are loose!” he screamed.
“To the woods with the dogs! To the woods! Take command, Polcher! Let
the dogs have him if they catch him! Arouse the warriors! That man must
not escape!”
-----
Footnote 1:
Roosevelt’s “Winning the West.”
------------------------------------------------------------------------