in a bond of twelve hundred and fifty dollars, to Gov. John
Sevier, Aug. 1, 1806, to marry Polly Finlay.
No record of this kind really exists, as Weakley County was not
organized until 1823.
We do not know what the wedding fee was in those days, but it was
probably in the shape of worldly goods of small value. As all sorts of
pelts were used for currency, we may imagine Davy paying the justice in
coon-skins or muskrat hides.
To obtain a horse, Davy had agreed to work six months, board and
lodging free. By giving up his rifle, he came into possession of the
animal before the time was up, and when he went to the Finlay cabin,
he was able to tell the young woman that he would come for her on
the day set, with a horse, saddle, and bridle. When the day came――a
Thursday――Davy went to the Finlays’, accompanied by two brothers and
a sister, a brother’s wife, and some others, and found a number of
neighbors there waiting for the wedding.
Mrs. Finlay was up in arms, but Davy rode up to the door, and asked the
girl, if she was ready, to “light on the horse he was leading.” He was
displaying his usual determination, which ended in winning the day.
After the bride had taken her seat on the led horse, and the party
was about to leave, a parley was brought about by the girl’s father;
the old lady melted at the thought of her girl being married away from
home, and the wedding took place without further opposition.
What ceremonies the outsiders observed, Davy never related. He says
that they were treated as well as could be expected. They were not
subjects for a charivari, but it is likely that the free use of
gunpowder, liquor, and vocalized mountain air must have made the night
one to be forever remembered by the two young people who were made man
and wife.
The next day Davy and his bride went to the Crockett tavern for a
visit. The young wife’s going-away dress was a dark blue homespun,
and at her throat was a scarlet kerchief that had been brought from
Baltimore by her mother. She is said to have been a very pretty girl,
with warm gray eyes and a tender smile. The girl’s parents gave them
their blessing, together with two cows and two calves, and when the
kind old Quaker, John Kennedy, had arranged for a credit of fifteen
dollars at the store, they were able to get what they most needed for
the cabin they had rented in the vicinity of John Crockett’s inn. Polly
was skilled in the use of the loom, and for some years they managed to
make a living on the rented land. The homestead system was not then in
practice, and the settler was called a squatter, and seldom had any
other tenure than the pleasure of the land-owner.
About the time Davy and his wife were making their new home pleasant,
Lewis and Clark were returning to Washington from their expedition to
the Pacific coast; Napoleon was forming his Confederacy of the Rhine,
and becoming the terror of all Europe; and the alleged conspiracy of
Aaron Burr was discovered and frustrated, though Burr still had the
support of Henry Clay, who claimed him to be innocent. Two months
after Davy’s wedding, Napoleon made his triumphant entry into Berlin,
and was at the summit of his career. The insolence of English naval
officers in disregarding the rights of American seamen found fruit
in the War of 1812. Yet the most dramatic events of modern times
scarcely drew the attention of the people of the western slope of
the mountains. Only when some painted prophet from the tribes of the
north or those with whom the French or the Spanish intrigued, went
through the border-lands, leaving a trail of unrest and superstitious
passion behind him, did the pioneers think of war. The Creeks and the
Chickasaws had been peaceful for many years, but among the former tribe
and its confederates a faction of the dissatisfied was slowly gaining
ground. So little fear of the Indians prevailed that Davy Crockett
did not hesitate to move from Jefferson County, to the region about
fifty miles west of Lookout Mountain, near the Elk River, where there
were all kinds of game, though bears were not as numerous as in the
northwestern part of Tennessee. When Davy moved to this new home in
Lincoln County, in 1809, he had two boys, both under two years of age.
His wife’s father, with his own horse, helped the family in moving.
Davy again moved in 1810, this time to Franklin County, settling ten
miles below Winchester. Deer were abundant, wild turkeys were found
in every forest, and it was an easy matter to supply food for his
family. At times some of the Creeks strayed up from the Coosa country
across the Alabama line, and were always treated with courtesy. But
after Davy’s last shift, the Alabama Indians were not always friendly.
The United States Government had secured a right-of-way for a highway
across Alabama into the Tombigbee region, into which the settlers had
begun to go in great numbers. The sight of such an influx of whites had
alarmed the Creeks, and Red Eagle, or Weatherford, was the leader of
those who now planned to go to war, if necessary, for the preservation
of their ancient hunting-grounds. Red Eagle was hardly one-fourth
Indian, his father having been a Scotch trader, his mother the Creek
princess Sehoy, the daughter of a Scotchman named McGillivray. Red
Eagle was also known as Weatherford, after his father, Charles
Weatherford.
Soon after Davy Crockett settled in Franklin County, there came to
his cabin three Creeks, whose manner was not to his liking. They were
evidently “spying upon the land,” and one of them, who wore a head
decoration made of twenty or thirty silver florins, asked for food.
“Injun hungry, Injun heap hungry! Walk long time, no eat. White man
make ’um supper!”
Davy went into his cabin, conferred with his wife, and soon reappeared
with a large piece of corned beef, which he intended to boil in the
kettle that hung from a tripod of stakes in front of the door. The
braves took a look at the meat, held a short consultation, and their
leader spoke again:
“Salt meat no good. White man eat ’um, Injun no eat ’um.” Then he
pointed to a fine fat calf that was the pride of the family, and said:
“No eat ’um corn’ beef. Injun kill ’um calf. Eat ’um calf!”
Davy shook his head in refusal of the plan proposed, and reached for
his rifle, which was always at hand. The Indian spokesman thereupon
made another suggestion:
“Kill ’um calf: white man half――Injun half,” right hand across his
body――“Injun half.”
While the Indians were making this effort at compromise, with nothing
to lose in any event, Polly Crockett untied the calf, led it into the
cabin, and shut the door. The three braves went scowling away.
During the year 1811 the great chief Tecumseh, acting as an agent
of the British, travelled from the lake region to Florida, where he
succeeded in persuading the warlike Seminoles to promise help in
fighting the whites. On his way south, he visited the Chickasaws in
western Tennessee, and although these Indians did not listen with
favor to his plans, his visit created an uneasy feeling among the few
settlers in their country. In October, Tecumseh, with thirty naked
braves, marched into the Tookabatcha town, while Colonel Hawkins was
holding a Grand Council for the purpose of placating the war party
among the Creeks. As long as Colonel Hawkins remained, Tecumseh was
silent, but after his departure, the renowned chieftain soon won the
majority of the Creek nation to his side.
It was in October, 1811, that Tecumseh resumed his journey to the
north, with the assurance of Red Eagle’s readiness to make war when
the time should be ripe. In November, the next month, the battle of
Tippecanoe was fought, and General Harrison defeated the Indians, who
were commanded by Elskwatawa, the Prophet, brother of Tecumseh.
Before leaving the Creek country, Tecumseh quarrelled with the chief
Big Warrior, who refused to join in his schemes. Tecumseh told him, so
the tradition runs, that when he reached Detroit he would stamp upon
the ground and all the houses in Tookabatcha would fall to the ground.
Some writers, mentioning this threat, seem to be in doubt regarding the
promised earthquake, but on the midnight of December 15, 1811, after
the arrival of Tecumseh in the north, earthquakes along the Mississippi
valley suddenly began. The town of New Madrid disappeared, the face of
the country was much changed, and what is known as Reelfoot Lake, fifty
miles long and very wide, was formed close to the main river. Of this
lake there is more to tell in a later chapter.
V.
DAVY IS A SCOUT
Farmer and trapper――Tall Grass and his boys――The blow-guns of the
Chickasaws――Loony Joe――Little Warrior starts trouble, and punishment
follows――Davy dreams of higher things――The Spanish at Pensacola aid
the British and the hostile Indians――Hurricane Ned brings news from
Alabama――The Red Sticks――The massacre at Fort Mims, and the call to
arms――Davy becomes a scout under Jackson――Gets his dander up――The
independence of the mountaineer volunteers.
The year of 1811 was a busy one for Davy, who was then coming
twenty-five. He was still boyish and rather awkward in some ways; but
with the rifle, and in securing pelts of the most valuable sorts, he
had few rivals.
Shot-guns, or scatter-guns, were not much used in hunting. Powder and
lead were the most precious of all the pioneer’s possessions, and
nothing smaller than a wild turkey was considered worth the cost of
a shot. For that reason, small game was always abundant and almost
fearless in the presence of the hunter.
One autumn morning Davy was talking with Tall Grass, a Chickasaw, who
had two of his boys with him. They were from ten to twelve years old,
and each carried a reed blow-gun nearly ten feet long. Davy had heard
of these weapons of the Chickasaws, and he asked the boys to show him
how they were used. They all started for the woods a mile away, where
small game was plenty.
In a swampy spot the logs lay here and there across the ground, as the
result of a cyclone or wind-storm in the years gone by. In the Northern
States such a place would be called a “windfall”; in Tennessee it was
called a “harricane.”
The boys went ahead, their reeds at tilt, like spearmen of feudal
days. Each carried small darts, tipped with steel, with thistle-down
tied at the opposite ends. A rabbit flashed from under a bush as they
advanced, and stopped fifty feet away. The older boy slipped a dart
into his reed, brought it to a steady aim, filled his lungs and cheeks,
and put all his young strength into the puff that sent the twelve-inch
arrow on its course. The rabbit leaped from its mound of moss, and fell
struggling with the dart in its side. A partridge that perched in the
limbs of a hickory came tumbling down when the younger boy tried his
skill. With dignified pride, Tall Grass said to Davy:
“Some day big chiefs!”
The boys soon secured all the game they could carry, Tall Grass
not offering his aid, and the party started to return. Suddenly a
terrifying yell rang through the woods, startling the Indians until
they saw a grin on Davy’s face. The noise of feet was heard, and there
soon appeared what was intended to represent a warrior in full attire,
with paint, turkey-feathers, bow and arrows, scalping-knife, and
moccasins. As the strange creature came closer, the Indians saw that
it was a white boy, evidently half-witted. He had trailed them all the
way, and had sounded his war-cry in what seemed to him the fittest spot
for dark and bloody deeds. Tall Grass gave him a disgusted glance and
turned away.
“Heap fool!” was all he said.
The boy was allowed to go back with them, and was shown the use of the
blow-gun. He afterwards made one, and became of some use in hunting
small game, but he never could get rid of the notion that he was an
Indian warrior. He was known as Loony Joe.
Some weeks later the Creek chief, Little Warrior, who had gone north
with Tecumseh, returned to Alabama with his thirty braves, of the war
faction of their nation. In the Chickasaw country, not far north of
where Davy lived, they murdered several families of settlers in cold
blood. The leaders of the Creek nation, which was at peace with the
whites, answered the demands of the United States Government by hunting
down and killing the whole party. Justice was satisfied, but the war
faction of the Creeks grew fiercer and angrier with each rising sun.
The Alabamas, an associated tribe, became especially truculent, and
killed one of the mail-carriers employed by the Government. When Big
Warrior sent a Creek messenger to the same tribe, inviting their chiefs
to a council, they murdered his envoy, and a desultory war began.
The danger of an Indian uprising became imminent during 1812, and after
the United States had formally declared war against Great Britain, on
June 18th, every pioneer looked to his rifle and supply of ammunition.
While Tecumseh’s messengers were distributing the calendars of red
sticks to the Creek chieftains, the British warship _Guerrière_ was
taking New England sailors from the decks of American vessels in sight
of New York City. England was landing supplies and agents at Pensacola,
for use among the restless Indians, the Spanish acting as go-betweens.
Uncle Sam was surrounded by the growling dogs of war, without a friend
in the world.
While thus the clash of arms drew near, Davy still hunted and farmed
and trapped on Bean’s Creek, adding to his fame as a rifleman, and, as
he said when he had become known in Congress, “laying the foundation of
all his future greatness.” We should not blame him for his overestimate
of his own importance, when the flattering attentions of great men, who
were equally great politicians, had been thrust upon him. If he at one
time seriously thought that he might become President, only his lack
of education made his imaginings unjustifiable in a nation that has so
often chosen its leaders from the humble cabins of the poor.
Every day the two parties among the Alabama Indians became more
truculent, and frequent encounters ended in bloodshed. In the spring
of 1813, the prophet Francis (made to order and ordained by Tecumseh),
Peter McQueen, and High-Head Jim began a predatory warfare upon the
peaceful Indians and half-breeds, who had good houses and farms. With
more than three hundred followers, the hostile leaders set out for
Pensacola with their plunder. Under Colonel Caller, assisted by so many
lieutenant-colonels, majors, and captains, that his force was like
Artemus Ward’s regiment of brigadier-generals, a force of two hundred
American volunteers overtook the Indians at Burnt Corn, sent them
flying, and proceeded to divide the plunder left by the enemy. Before
they had finished this, the Indians attacked them in turn, having
rallied when no longer pursued, and the volunteers were driven back and
dispersed. As they are not known to have lost more than two of their
number, they do not seem to have been very desperate fighters.
When Hurricane Ned, an old hunter of Hurricane Fork, brought the news
of this to Franklin County, he predicted an attack by the Creek war
party, who were being urged by British agents to paint themselves for
battle. Red Eagle would have temporized with his chieftains, but they
seized his children and his negro slaves as hostages while he was away
from home, so he prepared, perforce, to strike a decisive blow at the
progress of civilization. The red sticks were thrown away day by day,
until but few were left. When the last was gone, and the tom-toms were
beating, the frenzied braves smeared themselves with vermilion till
their naked bodies were like flames of fire. The white settlers and the
friendly Indians flocked to the various forts, hastily built of logs.
In Fort Mims three or four hundred men, women, and children, with about
two hundred volunteers sent as a garrison by General Claiborne, came
together in the middle of August.
About the 27th of the month, a badly scared negro returned to Fort
Mims from a hunt for stray cows. He had seen the woods full of
Indians, apparently covered with blood. Their red skins being ominous
of trouble, Major Beasley, who was in command, sent out scouts to
the place where the negro had been. The scouts failed to find Red
Eagle and the thousand braves with him, and the negro had a close
escape from being flogged for lying. Two days later two other negroes
claimed to have seen the Indians, and were whipped. One of them was
still triced up when the bell called the people of the fort to dinner.
As they went their way, Red Eagle and his savages crept from their
hiding-places, and were within a hundred feet of the gates before
they were discovered. Then it was found that the gates were blocked
by drifted sand and could not be closed. For some hours the battle
raged, and before sunset all but twenty or thirty of the people in
the fort had been killed and scalped. A few had escaped through the
stockade, and some had been spared as slaves. After in vain trying to
stop the fury he had fanned to action, Red Eagle rode away from the
scene of butchery, and when he returned, on his fine black horse, more
than five hundred lay dead and mutilated within the fort. No half-way
position was now possible, and until the end of the war he was active
and aggressive.
The whole western slope of the mountains now awoke to the danger.
Calls for men were answered by North and South Carolina and Georgia,
and Tennessee, whose volunteers for the defense of New Orleans had
recently been recalled from Natchez, also took up the gage of battle.
All her people agreed that Andrew Jackson should be the one to lead
the volunteers into Alabama, but he was in bed, suffering from a wound
in his left shoulder, caused by two slugs from the pistol of Thomas H.
Benton, in a free-for-all fight. The two men were afterwards reconciled
and became friends, but Jackson could never wear one of his heavy
epaulets for any length of time.
While Jackson is generally spoken of as a great Indian fighter, he was
not at this time entitled to such a reputation. A few years before he
had been chosen Major-General of Volunteers, but most of his actual
fighting had been with his personal and political foes. He had killed
Charles Dickinson in a duel for slurs upon Mrs. Jackson, and had
ridden full tilt at Governor Sevier with the intention of running over
him.
Before Jackson could take the saddle, a rally was held at Winchester,
ten miles from Davy Crockett’s. As Davy there enlisted as a volunteer,
it will be worth while to hear what he had to say upon the subject.
“I, for one, had often thought about war, and had often heard it
described; and I did verily believe that I couldn’t fight in that
way at all; but my after experience convinced me that this was all a
notion. For, when I heard of the mischief that was done at the Fort,
I instantly felt like going, and I had none of the dread of dying
that I had expected to feel. In a few days a general meeting of the
militia was called, for the purpose of raising volunteers; and when
the day arrived for the meeting, my wife, who had heard me say I meant
to go to the war, began to beg me not to turn out. She said she was a
stranger in the parts where we lived, had no connections living near
her, and that she and our little children would be left in a lonesome
and unhappy situation if I went away. It was mighty hard to go against
arguments like these; but my countrymen had been murdered, and I
knew that the next thing the Indians would be scalping the women and
children all about there, if we didn’t put a stop to it. I reasoned the
case with her as well as I could, and told her that if every man would
wait until his wife was willing for him to go to war, we would all be
killed in our own houses; that I was as able to go as any man in the
world, and that it was a duty I believed I owed to my country. Seeing
that I was bent on it, all she did was to cry a little, and turn about
to her work. The truth is, my dander was up, and nothing but war could
bring it right again.”
When the militia was paraded at Winchester, volunteers were called
for, and Davy was one of the first to step forward. In a short time
a company was raised, officers were chosen, and they arranged to
make a start on the Monday following. The company were all mounted,
and when the day came Davy said farewell to his wife and his little
boys, and rode away to the rendezvous. From there the command went
to Huntsville, Alabama, forty miles south, then on to Beaty’s Spring,
where they were joined by other mounted men, until they mustered
thirteen hundred. Davy’s company was one that stuck together, under the
same leader, Captain Jones, until they returned to Tennessee. Jones was
later sent to Congress.
Davy’s experience as a scout now began. Major Gibson, who was about
to go into the Coosa country to get information about the Indians,
asked Captain Jones to let him have two men who could be relied
upon as woodsmen and riflemen. The Captain called Davy, who was now
twenty-seven, and strong and healthy, with a full beard. Davy expressed
his willingness to join the scouting expedition, if he might choose
his own mate. This being granted, he picked out a friend named George
Russell. When Gibson saw Russell he said he hadn’t beard enough to suit
him; he wanted men, not boys. At this Davy’s dander was up, and he told
the Major that by this rule a goat would have the call over a man; that
he knew what sort of a man Russell was, and that he was not likely to
be left behind on a march. Seeing Davy’s warmth, the Major relented
and took them both.
The temper of the Western volunteers recalls Maclay’s story of the
backwoodsman who took part, on board of the _Hyder Ally_, in Cape May
Roads, in the fight with the _General Monk_. He stood near Lieutenant
Barney in the action, picking off the enemy with the same deliberation
with which he reloaded under a sharp fire. His Buck County blood was
up, but his curiosity was not asleep; twice he turned to Barney to ask
the same question:
“Say, Cap, who made this gun I’m using?”
Resenting such a breach of naval decorum in a marine, Barney answered
him roughly, ignoring the question. But as it was again asked, he
sharply inquired his reason for wanting to know.
“W-a-al,” replied the man, with the drawl peculiar to the mountaineers,
“this ’ere bit of iron is jes’ the best smoothbore I ever fired in
my life.” With the mountaineers’ independence, Andrew Jackson had
strenuous dealings before the end of the Creek War.
VI.
FOLLOWING INDIANS
Scouting in the Cherokee country――The Red Sticks on the move――A
scared darky comes into camp on the run――Davy makes a sixty-mile
ride――Colonel Coffee shows scant appreciation of Davy’s efforts――Old
Hickory in command of a hungry army――Burning Black Warrior’s town――The
cane-brake and the hogs――More news of the Red Sticks――The Battle of
Tallushatchee――One hundred and eighty-five Indians slain――A squaw kills
Lieutenant Moore with an arrow.
Evidently in those days there was no superstition about the number 13,
for the party with which Davy set out the next morning was of thirteen
men, including Major Gibson. The first day they reached and crossed
the Tennessee at Ditto’s Landing, and camped seven miles south, guided
by an Indian trader. The next day the Major took seven of the men,
giving Davy charge of those remaining, with orders to meet him at
night fifteen miles beyond the house of a Cherokee named Brown. On
the way Davy induced a half-breed, Jack Thompson, to follow the party
and come to the place where the Major was to meet them. They travelled
through a rather barren country, sometimes across prairie-like land
where wild flowers were abundant and beautiful. In the low places were
cane-brakes, often fifteen to twenty feet high. The scouts avoided the
open spaces, fearing both Indians and snakes, which sometimes crippled
or killed a horse.