hundred and fifty in number, were at Talladega, thirty miles away,
surrounded by a thousand hostile Indians, cut off from their
water-supply and in imminent danger of annihilation. A wily chief had
dressed himself in the skin of a large hog, and in this disguise passed
unsuspected through the hostile lines, bringing his story to Jackson
twenty-four hours later.
At that moment the little army had only one day's supply of food, but
its general did not hesitate. Advancing with all the men fit to move,
they came within hearing of the yelling enemy, and quickly closed in
upon them. When that brief battle ended two hundred of the Indian braves
lay dead on the field and Colonel Coffee with his horsemen was in hot
pursuit of the remainder. As for the rescued Indians, their joy was
beyond measure, for they had looked only for death. They gathered around
their preserver, expressing their gratitude by joyful cries and
gestures, and gladly gave what little corn they had left to feed the
hungry soldiers.
The loss of the whites in this raid was fifteen men killed and
eighty-six wounded. The badly wounded were carried in litters back to
Fort Strother, where the sick had been left, and where Jackson now fully
expected to find a full supply of food. To his acute disappointment not
an ounce had arrived, little in the shape of food being left but a few
half-starved cattle. For several days Jackson and his staff ate nothing
but tripe without seasoning.
And now, for ten long weeks, came that dread contest he had feared,--the
battle with famine. With a good supply of provisions he could have
ended the war in a fortnight. As it was, the men had simply to wait and
forage, being at times almost in a starving state. The brave borderers
found it far harder to sit and starve than it would have been to fight,
and discontent in the camp rose to the height of mutiny, which it took
all the general's tact and firmness to overcome.
Part of his men were militia, part of them volunteers, and between these
there was a degree of jealousy. On one occasion the militia resolved to
start for home, but when they set out in the early morning they found
the volunteers drawn up across the road, with their grim general at
their head. When they saw Jackson they turned and marched back to their
quarters again. Soon afterward the volunteers were infected with the
same fancy. But again Jackson was aware of their purpose, and when they
marched from their quarters they found their way blocked by the militia,
with Jackson at their head. The tables had been turned on them.
As time went on and hunger grew more relentless, the spirit of
discontent infected the entire force, and it took all the general's
power to keep them in camp. On one occasion, a large body of the men
seized their arms, and, swearing that they would not stay there to be
starved, got ready to march home. General Jackson, hot with wrath,
seized a musket, and planting himself before them, swore "by the
Eternal" that he would shoot the first man that set a foot forward. His
countenance was appalling in its concentrated rage, his eyes blazed
with a terrible fire, and the mutineers, confronted by this apparition
of fury, hesitated, drew back, and retired to their tents.
But the time came at length in which nothing would hold them back.
Persuasion and threats were alike useless. The general used entreaties
and promises, saying,--
"I have advices that supply-wagons are on the way, and that there is a
large drove of cattle near at hand. Wait two days more, and if then they
do not come, we will all march home together."
The two days passed and the food did not arrive. Much against his will,
he was obliged to keep his word. "If only two men will stay with me," he
cried, "I will never give up the post."
One hundred and nine men agreed to remain, and, leaving these in charge
of the fort, Jackson set out at the head of the others, with their
promise that, when they procured supplies and satisfied their hunger,
they would return to the fort and march upon the foe. The next day the
expected provision-train was met, and the hungry men were well fed. But
home was in their minds, and it took all the general's indomitable will
and fierce energy to induce them to turn back, and they did so then in
sullen discontent. In the end it was necessary to exchange these men for
fresh volunteers.
When the dissatisfied men got home they told such doleful tales of their
hardships and sufferings that the people were filled with dismay,
volunteering came to an end, and even the governor wrote to Jackson,
advising him to give up the expedition as hopeless and return home.
Had not Andrew Jackson been one man in a million he would not have
hesitated to obey. A well man might justly have despaired. But to a
physical wreck, his shoulder still painful, his left arm useless,
suffering from insufficient food, from acute dyspepsia, from chronic
diarrhoea, from cramps of terrible severity--to a man in this
condition, who should have been in bed under a physician's care, to
remain seemed utter madness, and yet he remained. His indomitable spirit
triumphed over his enfeebled body. He had set out to subdue the hostile
Indians and save the settlements from their murderous raids, and, "by
the Eternal," he would.
He wrote a letter to Governor Blount, eloquent, logical, appealing,
resolute, and so convincing in its arguments that the governor changed
his sentiment, the people became enthusiastic, volunteers came forward
freely, and the most earnest exertions were made to collect and forward
supplies. But this was not till the spring of 1814, and the lack of
supplies continued the winter through. Only nine hundred discontented
troops remained, but with these he won two victories over the Indians,
in one of which an utter panic was averted only by his courage and
decision in the hour of peril.
At length fresh troops began to arrive. A regiment of United States
soldiers, six hundred strong, reached him on February 6. By the 1st of
March there were six thousand troops near Fort Strother, and only the
arrival of a good food supply was awaited to make a finishing move. Food
came slowly, despite all exertions. Over the miry roads the wagon-teams
could hardly be moved with light loads. Only absolutely necessary food
was brought,--even whiskey, considered indispensable in those days,
being barred out. All sick and disabled men were sent home, and the
non-combatants weeded out so thoroughly that only one man was left in
camp who could beat the ordinary calls on the drum. At length, about the
middle of March, a sufficient supply of food was at hand and the final
advance began.
Meanwhile, the hostile Creeks had made themselves a stronghold at a
place fifty-five miles to the south. Here was a bend of Tallapoosa
River, called, from its shape, Tohopeka, or the "Horseshoe." It was a
well-wooded area, about one hundred acres in extent, across whose neck
the Indians had built a strong breastwork of logs, with two rows of
port-holes, the whole so well constructed that it was evident they had
been aided by British soldiers in its erection. At the bottom of the
bend was a village of wigwams, and there were many canoes in the stream.
Within this stronghold was gathered the fighting force of the tribe,
nearly a thousand warriors, and in the wigwams were about three hundred
women and children. It was evident that they intended to make here their
final, desperate stand.
The force led against them was two thousand strong. Their route of
travel lay through the unbroken forest wilds, and it took eleven days to
reach the Indian fort. A glance at it showed Jackson the weakness of the
savage engineering. As he said, they had "penned themselves in for
destruction."
The work began by sending Colonel Coffee across the river, with orders
to post his men opposite the line of canoes and prevent the Indians from
escaping. Coffee did more than this; he sent swimmers over who cut loose
the canoes and brought them across the stream. With their aid he sent
troops over the bend to attack the savages in the rear while Jackson
assailed them in front.
The battle began with a fierce assault, but soon settled down to a slow
slaughter, which lasted for five or six hours,--the fierce warriors, as
in the former battles, refusing to ask for quarter or to accept their
lives. Their prophets had told them that if they did they would be put
to death by torture. When the battle ended few of them were left alive.
On the side of the whites only fifty-five were killed and about three
times as many wounded.
This signal defeat ended forever the power of the Cree nation, once the
leading Indian power of the Gulf region. Such of the chiefs as survived
surrendered. Among them was Weathersford, their valiant half-breed
leader. Mounted on his well-known gray horse, famed for its speed and
endurance, he rode to the door of Jackson's tent. The old soldier looked
up to see before him this famous warrior, tall, erect, majestic, and
dignified.
"I am Weathersford," he said; "late your enemy, now your captive."
From without the tent came fierce cries of "Kill him! kill him!"
"You may kill me if you wish," said the proud chief; "but I came to tell
you that our women and children are starving in the woods. They never
did you any harm and I came to beg you to send them food."
Jackson looked sternly at the angry throng outside, and said, in his
vigorous way, "Any man who would kill as brave a man as this would rob
the dead."
He then invited the chief into his tent, where he promised him the aid
he asked for and freedom for himself. "I do not war with women and
children," he said.
So corn was sent to the suffering women, and Weathersford was allowed to
mount his good gray steed and ride away as he had come. He induced the
remaining Creeks to accept the terms offered by the victorious general,
these being peace and protection, with the provision that half their
lands should be ceded to the United States.
As may well be imagined, a triumphant reception was given Jackson and
his men on their return to Nashville. Shortly afterward came the news
that he had been appointed Major-General in the army of the United
States, to succeed William Henry Harrison, resigned. He had made his
mark well against the Indians; he was soon to make it as well against
the British at New Orleans.
_THE PIRATES OF BARATARIA BAY._
On the coast of Louisiana, westward from the delta of the Mississippi,
there lies a strange country, in which sea and land seem struggling for
dominion, neither being victor in the endless contest. It is a low,
flat, moist land, where countless water-courses intertwine into a
complex net-work; while nearer the sea are a multitude of bays,
stretching far inland, and largely shut off from the salt sea waves by
barriers of long, narrow islands. Some of these islands are low
stretches of white sand, flung up by the restless waters which ever wash
to and fro. Others are of rich earth, brought down by lazy water-ways
from the fertile north and deposited at the river outlets. Tall marsh
grasses grow profusely here, and hide alike water and land. Everywhere
are slow-moving, half-sleeping bayous, winding and twisting
interminably, and encircling multitudes of islands, which lie hidden
behind a dense growth of rushes and reeds, twelve feet high.
It was through this region, neither water nor land, that the hapless
Evangeline, the heroine of Longfellow's famous poem, was rowed, seeking
her lover in these flooded wilds, and not dreaming that he lay behind
one of those reedy barrens, almost within touch, yet as unseen as if
leagues of land separated them.
One of the bays of this liquid coast, some sixty miles south of New
Orleans, is a large sheet of water, with a narrow island partly shutting
it off from the Gulf. This is known as Grande Terre, and west of it is
another island known as Grande Isle. Between these two long land gates
is a broad, deep channel which serves as entrance to the bay. On the
western side lies a host of smaller islands, the passes between them
made by the bayous which straggle down through the land. Northward the
bay stretches sixteen miles inland, and then breaks up into a medley of
bayous and small lakes, cutting far into the land, and yielding an easy
passage to the level of the Mississippi, opposite New Orleans.
Such is Barataria Bay, once the famous haunt of the buccaneers. It seems
made by nature as a lurking-place for smugglers and pirates, and that is
the purpose to which it was long devoted. The passages inland served
admirably for the disposal of ill-gotten goods. For years the pirates of
Barataria Bay defied the authorities, making the Gulf the scene of their
exploits and finding a secret and ready market for their wares in New
Orleans.
The pirate leaders were two daring Frenchmen, Pierre and Jean Lafitte,
who came from Bordeaux some time after 1800 and settled in New Orleans.
They were educated men, who had seen much of the world and spoke several
languages fluently. Pierre, having served in the French army, became a
skilled fencing-master. Jean set up a blacksmith shop, his slaves doing
the work. Such was the creditable way in which these worthies began
their new-world career.
Their occupation changed in 1808, in which year the slave-trade was
brought to an end by act of Congress. There was also passed an Embargo
Act, which forbade trade with foreign countries. Here was a double
opportunity for men who placed gain above law. The Lafittes at once took
advantage of it, smuggling negroes and British goods, bringing their
illicit wares inland by way of the bayous of the coastal plain and
readily disposing of them as honest goods.
Not long after this time the British cruisers broke up the pirate hordes
which had long infested the West Indies. Their haunts were taken and
they had to flee. Some of them became smugglers, landing their goods on
Amelia Island, on the coast of Florida. Others sought the bays of
Louisiana, where they kept up their old trade.
The Lafittes now found it to their advantage to handle the goods of
these buccaneers, in which they posed as honest merchants. Later on they
made piracy their trade, the whole fleet of the rovers coming under
their control. Throwing off the cloak of honesty, they openly defied the
laws. Prize goods and negroes were introduced into New Orleans with
little effort at secrecy, and were sold in disregard of the law and the
customs. It was well known that the Baratarian rovers were pirates, but
the weak efforts to dislodge them failed and the government was openly
despised.
Making Barataria Bay their head-quarters and harbor of refuge, the
pirates fortified Grande Terre, and built on it their dwellings and
store-houses. On Grande Isle farms were cultivated and orange-groves
planted. On another island, named the Temple, they held auctions for the
sale of their plunder, the purchasers smuggling it up the bayous and
introducing it under cover of night into New Orleans, where there was
nothing to show its source, though suspicion was rife. Such was
Barataria until the war with England began, and such it continued
through this war till 1814, the Lafittes and their pirate followers
flourishing in their desperate trade.
We might go on to tell a gruesome story of fearful deeds by these
bandits of the sea; of vessels plundered and scuttled, and sailors made
to walk the plank of death; of rich spoil won by ruthless murder, and
wild orgies on the shores of Grande Terre. But of all this there is
little record, and the lives of these pirates yield us none of the
scenes of picturesque wickedness and wholesale murder which embellish
the stories of Blackbeard, Morgan, and other sea-rovers of old. Yet the
career of the Lafittes has an historical interest which makes it worth
the telling.
It was not until 1814, during the height of the war with England, that
the easy-going Creoles of New Orleans grew indignant enough at the bold
defiance of law by the Lafittes to make a vigorous effort to stop it. It
was high time, for the buccaneers had grown so bold as to fire on the
revenue officers of the government. Determined to bear this disgrace no
longer, Pierre Lafitte was seized in the streets of New Orleans, and
with one of his captains, named Dominique Yon, was locked up in the
calaboosa.
This step was followed by a proclamation from Governor Claiborne,
offering five hundred dollars for the arrest of Jean Lafitte, the acting
pirate chief. Lafitte insolently retorted by offering five thousand
dollars for the head of the governor. This impudent defiance aroused
Claiborne to more decisive action. A force of militia was called out and
sent overland to Barataria, with orders to capture and destroy the
settlement of the buccaneers and seize all the pirates they could lay
hands on.
The governor did not know the men with whom he had to deal. Their spies
kept them fully informed of all his movements. Southward trudged the
citizen soldiers, tracking their oozy way through the water-soaked land.
All was silent and seemingly deserted. They were near their goal, and
not a man had been seen. But suddenly a boatswain's whistle sounded, and
from a dozen secret passages armed men swarmed out upon them, and in a
few minutes had them surrounded and under their guns. Resistance was
hopeless, and they were obliged to surrender at discretion. The grim
pirates stood ready to slaughter them all if a hand were raised in
self-defence, and Lafitte, stepping forward, invited them to join his
men, promising them an easy life and excellent pay. Their captain
sturdily refused.
"Very well," said Lafitte, with disdainful generosity. "You can go or
stay as you please. Yonder is the road you came by. You are free to
follow it back. But if you are wise you will in future keep out of reach
of the Jolly Rovers of the Gulf."
We are not sure if these were Lafitte's exact words, but at any rate the
captain and his men were set free and trudged back again, glad enough to
get off with whole skins. Soon after that the war, which had lingered so
long in the North, showed signs of making its way to the South. A
British fleet appeared in the Gulf in the early autumn of 1814, and made
an attack on Mobile. In September a war-vessel from this fleet appeared
off Barataria Bay, fired on one of the pirate craft, and dropped anchor
some six miles out. Soon a pinnace, bearing a white flag, put off from
its side and was rowed shoreward. It was met by a vessel which had put
off from Grande Terre.
"I am Captain Lockyer, of the 'Sophia,'" said the British officer. "I
wish to see Captain Lafitte."
"I am he," came a voice from the pirate bark.
"Then this is for you," and Captain Lockyer handed Lafitte a bulky
package.
"Will you come ashore while I examine this?" asked Lafitte, courteously.
"I offer you such humble entertainment as we poor mariners can afford."
"I shall be glad to be your guest," answered the officer.
Lafitte now led the way ashore, welcomed the visitors to his island
domain, and proceeded to open and examine the package brought him. It
contained four documents, their general purport being to threaten the
pirates with utter destruction if they continued to prey on the commerce
of England and Spain, and to offer Lafitte, if he would aid the British
cause, the rank of captain in the service of Great Britain, with a large
sum of money and full protection for person and property.
The letters read, Lafitte left the room, saying that he wished time to
consider before he could answer. But hardly had he gone when some of his
men rushed in, seized Captain Lockyer and his men, and locked them up as
prisoners. They were held captive all night, doubtless in deep anxiety,
for pirates are scarcely safe hosts, but in the morning Lafitte appeared
with profuse apologies, declaring loudly that his men had acted without
his knowledge or consent, and leading the way to their boat. Lockyer was
likely glad enough to find himself on the Gulf waters again, despite the
pirate's excuses. Two hours later Lafitte sent him word that he would
accept his offer, but that he must have two weeks to get his affairs in
order. With this answer, the "Sophia" lifted anchor, spread sails, and
glided away.
All this was a bit of diplomatic by-play on the part of Jean Lafitte. He
had no notion of joining the British cause. The "Sophia" had not long
disappeared when he sent the papers to New Orleans, asking only one
favor in return, the release of his brother Pierre. This the authorities
seem to have granted in their own way, for in the next morning's papers
was an offer of one thousand dollars reward for the capture of Pierre
Lafitte, who had, probably with their connivance, broken jail during the
night.
Jean Lafitte now offered Governor Claiborne his services in the war with
the British. He was no pirate, he said. That was a base libel. His ships
were legitimate privateers, bearing letters of marque from Venezuela in
the war of that country with Spain. He was ready and anxious to transfer
his allegiance to the United States.
His sudden change of tone had its sufficient reason. It is probable that
Lafitte was well aware of a serious danger just then impending, far more
threatening than the militia raid which had been so easily defeated. A
naval expedition was ready to set out against him. It consisted of three
barges of troops under Commander Patterson of the American navy. These
were joined at the Balize by six gunboats and a schooner, and proceeded
against the piratical stronghold.
On the 16th of September the small fleet came within sight of Grande
Terre, drew up in line of battle, and started for the entrance to
Barataria Bay. Within this the pirate fleet, ten vessels in all, was in
line to receive them. Soon there was trouble for the assailants. Shoal
water stopped the schooner, and the two larger gunboats ran aground. But
their men swarmed into boats and rowed on in the wake of the other
vessels, which quickly made their way through the pass and began a
vigorous attack on its defenders.
Now the war was all afoot, and we should be glad to tell of a gallant
and nobly contested battle, in which the sea-rovers showed desperate
courage and reddened the sea with their blood. There might be inserted
here a battle-piece worthy of the Drakes and Morgans of old, if the
facts only bore us out. Instead of that, however, we are forced to say
that the pirates proved sheer caitiffs when matched against honest men,
and the battle was a barren farce.
Commander Patterson and his men dashed bravely on, and in a very short
time two of the pirate vessels were briskly burning, a third had run
aground, and the others were captured. Many of the pirates had fled; the
others were taken. The battle over, the buildings on Grande Terre and
Grande Isle were destroyed and the piratical lurking-place utterly
broken up. This done, the fleet sailed in triumph for New Orleans,
bringing with them the captured craft and the prisoners who had been
taken. But among the captives was neither of the Lafittes. They had not
stood to their guns, but had escaped with the other fugitives into the
secret places of the bay.
Thus ends the history of Barataria Bay as a haunt of pirates. Since
that day only honest craft have entered its sheltered waters. But the
Lafittes were not yet at the end of their career, or at least one of
them, for of Pierre Lafitte we hear very little after this time. Two
months after their flight the famous British assault was made on New
Orleans. General Jackson hurried to its defence and called armed men to
his aid from all quarters, caring little who they were so they were
ready to fight.
Among those who answered the summons was Jean Lafitte. He called on Old
Hickory and told him that he had a body of trained artillerymen under
his command, tried and capable men, and would like to take a hand in
defence of the city. Jackson, who had not long before spoken of the
Lafittes as "hellish banditti," was very glad now to accept their aid.
We read of his politely alluding to them as "these gentlemen," and he
gave into their charge the siege-guns in several of the forts.
These guns were skilfully handled and vigorously served, the Baratarians
fighting far more bravely in defence of the city than they had done in
defence of their ships. They lent important aid in the defeat of
Packenham and his army, and after the battle Jackson commended them
warmly for their gallant conduct, praising the Lafittes also for "the
same courage and fidelity."