[Illustration: The Creek War 191]
If all the stories of the troubles of the early settlers of Georgia with
the Indians could be written out, they would fill a very large book. All
the whites with whom the red men came in contact in Georgia were not as
just, as generous, and as unselfish as James Edward Oglethorpe. On the
other hand, not all the Indians with whom the whites had dealings were
as wise and as honest as old Tomochichi. Consequently misunderstandings
arose, and prejudices grew and developed. This was greatly helped by
dishonest traders and speculators, who were keen to take advantage of
the ignorance of the Indians.
The controlling influence among the Indians in Georgia was the Creek
Confederacy (or nation); and this, in turn, was practically controlled
by the Muscogees.
North of the Creeks, Broad River being the dividing line, lived the
Cherokees, a nation even more warlike than the Creeks. The impression
made upon the Indians by Oglethorpe and some of his more prudent
successors, made them the strong friends of the British. Of course, the
red men were unable to appreciate the merits of the quarrel between
the Georgia settlers and King George: but, even if matters had been
different, they would probably have remained on friendly terms with the
Royalists; for Governor Wright, who was a wise as well as a good man,
took great pains, when the Liberty Boys began their agitations against
the Crown, to conciliate the Indians, and to show them that the King was
their friend. What was known as "the royal presents" were promptly
sent from England, and promptly delivered to and distributed among the
Indians. The governor sent for the chiefs, and had conferences with
them; so that when the Revolution began, the Upper and the Lower Creeks,
and the Cherokees as well, were the firm friends of the British.
During the Revolution, as we have already seen, they made constant and
unprovoked attacks on the patriots, burning their houses, carrying off
their cattle, and murdering their helpless women and children. These
raids were continued even after the Americans had compelled Great
Britain to recognize their independence, and hundreds of incidents
might be given to show the ferocity with which the savages attacked the
whites. In many cases the settlements were compelled to build stockades,
in which the people took shelter, for safety as well as defense,
whenever there was an alarm.
On one occasion shortly after the close of the war, the Indians attacked
the family of a man named William Tyner, who was living in what is known
as Elbert County. Tyner himself was absent, and his family was entirely
without protection. Mrs. Tyner was killed, the brains of her youngest
child were dashed out against a tree, and another child was scalped and
left for dead. A young boy named Noah, the son of Mr. Tyner, escaped in
the general confusion, and hid himself in a hollow tree. This tree was
for many years known as "Noah's Ark." Mary and Tamar, two daughters,
were suffered to live; but the Indians carried them off to the Coweta
towns on the Chattahoochee. These children remained with the Indians
several years. John Manack, an Indian trader, saw them there, and
purchased Mary. He then brought her to Elbert County, and afterwards
made her his wife. He returned to the Indian nation shortly afterwards,
and tried to purchase Tamar; but, as she was useful to the Indians in
bringing wood and fuel for their fires, they refused to sell her. When
Manack went away, an old Indian woman, who was fond of Tamar, learned
that the Indians, suspecting the girl was preparing to escape, had
decided to burn her at the stake. The old woman helped her to escape
by providing her with provisions and a canoe. She also gave Tamar
directions how to go down the Chattahoochee. By day the fleeing girl hid
herself in the thick swamps along the banks of the river, and by
night she floated down the river in her canoe. She finally reached
Apalachicola Bay, took passage on a vessel, and shortly afterwards
arrived at Savannah. Here she was assisted to her home in Elbert County
by the citizens. She married a man named Hunt, and no doubt many of her
descendants are still living in Georgia.
There was once an Indian village in Troup County, on the west bank of
the Chattahoochee, where the Indians who lived on the Alabama side of
the river were in the habit of meeting before and after their raids upon
the white settlements. Before the raids they would meet there to arrange
their programme; and afterwards they would assemble at the village to
count the scalps they had taken, dispose of their prisoners, and divide
the spoils. On one occasion, after a very destructive raid into the
white settlements, the Indians returned to this village, and began to
celebrate the success with which they had been able to creep upon the
settlements at dead of night, murder the unsuspecting whites, burn their
dwellings, and drive off their horses and cattle. This time, however,
the Indians had been followed by a few hundred men, under the leadership
of General David Adams, who was at that time a major in the militia,
and a scout. Major Adams had taken part in the closing scenes of
the Revolution when quite a young man. When the Creeks renewed their
depredations after the war, Major Adams, both as a scout and as a
leader, fought the Indians with such success as to win distinction.
He followed the Indians on this occasion with a few hundred men, who had
volunteered to accompany him. His pursuit was not active. The men under
him were not seasoned soldiers; and even if they had been, the force
of Indians was too large to justify an attack. Major Adams followed the
Indians in the hope that he and his men would find an opportunity to
surprise them. The Indians marched straight for the village on the west
bank of the Chattahoochee, about eight miles beyond the point where La
Grange now stands. At this village, which was the central point of the
Lower Creek nation at that time, there were many Indians--men, women,
and children--awaiting the return of the raiders. It was in the late
afternoon when they reached the village, and as the sun went down they
began the celebration of their victories; and in this they were joined
by the Indians, who had been waiting for their return.
Major Adams had halted his command a few miles from the river, where he
waited until night fell. He then advanced silently to the banks of the
stream, which was not so wide that he and his men could not see the
Indians dancing around their fires, and hear their whoops and yells. On
one bank stood the men whose families and friends had been murdered; on
the opposite shore, and almost within a stone's throw, the red murderers
danced and howled in savage delight.
For half the night, at least, the orgies were kept up by the Indians;
but at last they grew weary of the song and dance. Their fires slowly
died out, and there came a moment when the whites, who were watching and
waiting, could hear nothing but the murmur of the flowing water, as it
rippled over the shoals or lapped the bank. The time had come to strike
a blow, if a blow was to be struck. It was characteristic of Major
Adams, that, instead of sending one of his little party to find out the
position of the village and its surroundings, so as to be able to make a
swift, sudden, and an effective attack, he himself proposed to go.
[Illustration: Major Adams scouting and Indian camp 197]
It was a hazardous undertaking, and required a bold heart to undertake
it. Major Adams knew there was a ford near the point where his men lay.
The trail led into the river; but, once in the river, it was lost. He
had to find the ford for himself, and it proved to be a very narrow and
difficult one. It led in a direct line across the river nearly halfway,
and then turned down the stream in an oblique direction. A part of the
ford was over a slippery shoal. At some points the water was knee-deep,
at others it was chin-deep.
With great difficulty Major Adams reached the opposite bank in safety.
The paths leading from the ford into the swamp that lay between the
Indian village and the river were so numerous that the stout-hearted
scout hardly knew which one to take. He chose one almost at random, and,
after following it through the thick underbrush, he found that it had
led him some distance below the village. He followed the margin of
the swamp back again, and soon found himself in the outskirts of the
village. There he paused to listen. A dog somewhere in the settlement
barked uneasily and sleepily.
Pushing forward, but moving with the utmost caution, Major Adams soon
found himself in the center of the village. In every hut the Indians
were sleeping; and, in addition to these, the ground seemed to be
covered with warriors, who lay stretched out and snoring, their rifles
and tomahawks within easy reach. The brave Georgian went through the
village from one end to the other. Once a huge Indian, near whom he
was passing, raised himself on his elbow, grasped his gun, and looked
carefully in every direction. Having satisfied himself, he lay down,
and was soon snoring again. Fortunately, Major Adams had seen the Indian
stir, and sank to the ground near a group of sleeping warriors, where he
remained until he was sure the savage was asleep.
He had examined every point of attack and defense in the village, and
was returning to the river, when he saw a pony tethered to a sapling.
Thinking that the little animal would be able to find the ford without
trouble, and could thus be used as a safe guide, Major Adams resolved
to capture it. He approached the pony with that intention, but not until
too late did he discover that it had a bell hung on its neck. The pony,
frightened at the sight of a white man, broke the rope by which he was
tied, and went scampering through the village, arousing and alarming
warriors, squaws, children, and dogs with the jingling bell.
At the sound of the bell, Major Adams knew that there would be a
tremendous uproar in the village, and he made an instant rush toward
the river, but soon found himself entangled in the briers and thick
underbrush of the swamp. It was fortunate that he missed the path
leading to the ford; for a party of Indians ran in that direction,
either to catch the pony, or to find out whether they were about to be
attacked. Some of them passed within a few feet of the spot where Major
Adams stood.
In a short time the Indians returned to the village, and it was not long
before everything was as quiet and as peaceful as before the uproar.
Major Adams, instead of hunting for the path, made his way directly
to the river, slipped into the water, and swam straight across to the
opposite bank. He soon found his men, and told them of his adventure
and of the plans he had matured. Up to this moment he had been second in
command. A colonel of militia was with the party, and it was his right
to be the leader of the expedition; but now the men declared that they
would cross the river under the leadership of no one but Adams. It was
Adams or nobody; and the militia colonel, as gracefully as he could,
yielded to the demand.
Major Adams led the volunteers safely across the treacherous ford and
into the Indian town. The surprise was complete. Scarcely a warrior
escaped. The women and children were spared as far as possible, but the
village was burned to the ground. In retreating from that point, which
was the center of the famous Muscogee nation, Major Adams made long
marches during the day, and camped without fires at night, and in this
way brought his command out of the Indian country without the loss of a
man.
But Adams's excursion to the center of the Muscogee (or Creek) nation
did not settle matters. The troubles continued. The temper of the people
was not improved by the efforts of the United States Government to take
affairs into its own hands. In some instances the agents of the General
Government sought to stir up active strife between the people of the
State and the Indians, and it was their habit to belittle the State
government by speaking of it contemptuously before the Indians. In many
instances the United States stepped in between the agents of the State
and the Indians, and prevented settlements and treaties that would have
been of lasting benefit to both the whites and the Indians. This was not
due to any purpose or desire of the General Government to trample on the
rights of the State, but grew altogether out of the folly of the agents,
who wanted to put on airs and advertise their importance.
In 1796 there was a treaty of peace arranged between the Creek nation
and the United States. Three commissioners represented the General
Government, and Georgia also had three present; but the business was
conducted without regard to the wishes of the Georgia commissioners,
and, as the commissioners thought, without regard to the interests of
the State. Seagrove was the name of the agent representing the General
Government at that time, and his attitude toward Georgia was not
calculated to give the Indians any respect for the commonwealth. After
the treaty was signed, General James Jackson, on the part of Georgia,
made an eloquent speech, in which he showed that the Creeks had not
faithfully observed the treaties they had made with the State. He
exhibited two schedules of property which they had stolen, amounting in
value to $110,000, and demanded its restoration. When General Jackson
had concluded, one of the prominent chiefs of the Creeks remarked that
he could fill more paper than Jackson showed with a list of outrages of
the Georgians upon his people. There was something more than a grain of
truth in this; but on that very account the Indians and the Georgians
should have been allowed to settle their difficulties in their own way,
without the interference of the United States.
The result of the treaty at Coleraine, in 1796, was, that the Georgia
agents were offended with Seagrove (the Indian agent for the United
States), offended with the Indians, and displeased with the United
States commissioners. To these last the Georgians presented a protest
in which the Federal commissioners were accused of disregarding the
interests of Georgia. Charges were brought against Seagrove, who, it was
claimed, had influenced the Creeks not to cede the lands as far as the
Ocmulgee. A bitter controversy grew out of this. It was, in fact, very
nearly the beginning of the discussion that has continued from that day
to this, in some shape or other, over the rights of the States and the
power of the General Government. Pickett, in his "History of Alabama
and Georgia," says that General Jackson, and Seagrove the Indian agent,
became enemies, and afterwards fought a duel.
Other treaties were made with the Creeks up to 1806, but all these were
violated when the Indians became the allies of the British during the
War of 1812. It is only fair to the Indians to say that the leader in
whom they placed the greatest confidence was a man who for many years
nourished hot resentment against the United States, and especially
against Georgia. This man was General Alexander McGillivray, who became
famous as an opponent of the Americans and the Georgians in all their
efforts to come to a just, fair, and peaceable understanding with the
Creeks.
As has been stated, when the War of 1812 began, the Creeks became the
allies of the British, and the attacks they made on the unprotected
settlements were so numerous and so serious as to call for some action
on the part of the General Government. In September, 1813, Congress
called for a levy of Georgia troops, and, the State authorities ordered
3,600 men to assemble at Camp Hope, near Fort Hawkins, on the Ocmulgee
River. The ruins of Fort Hawkins may be seen to this day on the
Ocmulgee, in the city of Macon.
The men who assembled at Camp Hope were volunteers, and all eager for
service. The command of this force fell to General John Floyd, who made
haste to take charge, and endeavored to make arrangements for taking the
field at once. He found his men assembled according to orders, and all
anxious to be led against the hostile Indians. But the little army could
not march. The Federal Government had failed to supply the necessary
funds. What is called "red tape" stood in the way of prompt action. A
dispute arose. Federal officials placed the blame on the contractors
who were to furnish supplies, and the contractors placed it on the
officials, who had failed to furnish the necessary money. While this
dispute was raging, General Floyd, who was a brave and gallant spirit,
applied to the State Legislature, then in session, for a loan of
$20,000. The request was granted, and he was able to equip his troops,
procure supplies, and march into the country of the Creeks, by the
middle or latter part of November.
Meanwhile the hostile Creeks had already challenged Georgia and begun
their attack. On the 30th of August, seven hundred and twenty-five
Creek Indians attacked Fort Mims on the Chattahoochee. The attack was as
sudden as it was unexpected. It was made at twelve o'clock in the day,
and the inmates of the fort were taken entirely by surprise. The savages
massacred nearly three hundred men, women, and children in the most
cruel manner. This horrible outrage spread consternation on the
frontier, and aroused indignation in all parts of the country. Hundreds
of frontier settlers fled from their homes, and sought safety in the
more thickly settled regions.
It was owing to this massacre that the troops commanded by General Floyd
were called out. This active and energetic leader began his campaign
by building a line of forts and blockhouses from the Ocmulgee to the
Alabama River, and in this way completely protected the northern part of
the State from invasion by the Creeks. General Floyd accomplished this
work in spite of the failure of the United States officials to supply
with provisions and transportation the troops they had called out.
He completed his line of defense by building Fort Mitchell. Leaving a
sufficient garrison in this fort, General Floyd placed himself at the
head of nine hundred and fifty men, and marched on Autossee, one of the
most populous towns of the Creek nation, situated on the left bank of
the Tallapoosa River, and near the town of Tallassee, which was nearly
as large. The distance from Fort Mitchell to Autossee was sixty miles,
and General Floyd made it by forced night marches, resting his troops
during the day. He was accompanied on this expedition by General William
Mcintosh, the famous Indian chief, who led four hundred friendly Creeks.
Arriving at Autossee and Tallassee at daybreak on the 29th of November,
1813, General Floyd arranged and ordered a simultaneous attack on both
towns. By nine o'clock the Indians had been defeated and driven from the
towns, and their houses burned. Four hundred houses were burned, with
all the provisions and stock. Two hundred Indians were killed, including
the kings of both towns. The pipe which the old chief of Tallassee had
smoked at a treaty forty years before, was taken and presented to the
governor, who placed it in the executive office of the State Capitol.
Eleven whites were killed, and fifty-four wounded; among them, General
Floyd himself, who had received a ball in the knee early in the fight.
He refused to have his wound dressed, and continued on horseback,
directing his troops, until after the battle was over. He never entirely
recovered from the effects of this wound. After the towns had been
entirely destroyed, the troops returned to Fort Mitchell, having marched
a hundred and twenty miles in bitter cold weather, and fought a severe
engagement on five days' provisions.
In January, 1814, General Floyd heard that the Upper Creeks had
collected in great force at the Indian town of Hothlewaulee. By that
time his wound had so far healed that he was able to ride a horse,
and he determined to make an attack on the town. For this purpose he
detached from the troops at Fort Mitchell a force of fifteen hundred
men. The weather was cold, and the winter rains had so obstructed the
roads that the troops found the march a weary and a difficult one; but
they pressed on, nevertheless, cheered by the energy and enthusiasm of
their gallant leader. They marched to within fifteen or twenty miles of
the town, and there encamped. Between midnight and day a large body
of Indians, led by the warrior Weather-ford and Colonel Woodbine, an
English officer, attacked General Floyd's camp. His troops were taken by
surprise, but they were not demoralized. They had been fighting for six
months, and were seasoned to all the dangers of Indian warfare. Above
all, they had a leader who possessed in a wonderful degree a genius for
war.
No sooner had the alarm been sounded than General Floyd rallied his
little army, formed it in a square, the baggage in the center, and held
the savages at bay until daylight. There was no faltering in any part
of the line or on any side of the square. The dauntless courage of Floyd
himself seemed to control every man, down to the humblest private. When
day dawned, a charge was sounded, and Floyd's troops drove the Indians
before them at the point of the bayonet. Within a quarter of an hour
after the charge was made, the battle was won. The loss of the Indians
was never discovered, as they had an opportunity to carry off their
killed and wounded up to the moment the charge was sounded. Seventeen
Georgians were killed, and a hundred and thirty-two wounded. Floyd's
camp was known as Camp Defiance, but in the official report the fight is
called the battle of Chalibbee. The attack was made on Floyd in order
to prevent a junction between his troops and those of General Andrew
Jackson, who was fighting the Indians in the lower part of Alabama. The
result of the fight made a junction unnecessary; and shortly afterwards
the term for which Floyd's Georgia troops had enlisted expired, and they
were discharged.
In 1814, when peace was declared between the United States and Great
Britain, the Creeks remained quiet for some time.