WEATHERFORD.
The fiercest and most conspicuous leader of the Indians in this war was
William Weatherford, or the Red Eagle, as the Indians called him. He is
commonly spoken of in history as a half-breed, but he was in reality
almost a white man, with just enough of the Indian in his composition to
add savage emotions to Scotch intellect and Scotch perseverance. His
father was a Scotchman, and his mother a half-breed Indian Princess. He
was brought up in the best civilization the border had, his father being
wealthy. He became very rich himself, and, despite his savage instincts,
which were always strong, his wealth, in land and slaves, made him a
conservative. At first he favored a war with the whites, but a calmer
afterthought led him to desire peace, and when he found that the
tempest he had helped to stir up would not subside at his bidding, he
began casting about for a way of escape. He was a man of unquestionable
genius; a soldier of rare strategic ability; an orator of the truest
sort, and his courage in danger was simply sublime. Such a man was
likely to be of great value to the Indians in their approaching war, and
when they began to suspect his loyalty to the nation, they watched him
narrowly. Finding it impossible to postpone the war, and not wishing to
sacrifice his fine property near the Holy Ground, he made a secret
journey to the residence of his half brother David Tait and his brother
John Weatherford, who lived among what were known as the "peacefuls,"
namely, the Indians disposed to remain at peace with the whites in any
event. His brothers, hearing his story, advised him to bring his
negroes, horses and movable property generally, together with his
family, to their plantations, and to remain there, inactive and neutral,
during the struggle. When he returned to his residence for the purpose
of doing this, however, he found that the hostile Indians had seized his
family and his negroes as hostages, and, under the compulsion of their
threat that they would kill his wife and children if he should dare to
remain at peace, he joined in the war against the whites, becoming the
fiercest of all the chieftains. He planned and led the assault upon Fort
Mims, and was everywhere foremost in all the fighting. When the Creeks
were utterly routed at the battle of the Holy Ground a month or so after
the time of which I am writing, General Jackson issued a proclamation
refusing terms of peace to the chiefs until Weatherford, whom he had
determined to put to death, should be brought to him, alive or dead.
Weatherford hearing of this, although he was safe beyond the borders and
might have easily made his escape to Florida, as his comrade Peter
McQueen did, rode straightway to Jackson's head-quarters, where he said
to the commander who had set a price upon his head:--
"I am Weatherford. I have come to ask peace for my people. I am in your
power. Do with me as you please. I am a soldier. I have done the white
people all the harm I could. I have fought them and fought them bravely.
If I yet had an army I would fight and contend to the last. But I have
none. My people are all gone. I can now do no more than weep over the
misfortunes of my nation."
Jackson was so impressed with the sublime courage and the dignity of the
man upon whose head he had set a price, that he treated him at once with
chivalrous consideration. He told him that the only terms upon which the
Indians could secure peace were unconditional submission and uniform
good conduct; but "as for yourself," he said, "if you do not like the
terms, no advantage shall be taken of your present surrender. You are at
liberty to depart and resume hostilities when you please. But if you are
taken then, your life shall pay the forfeit of your crimes."
Weatherford calmly folded his arms and replied; "I desire peace for no
selfish reasons, but that my nation may be relieved from its sufferings;
for independent of the other consequences of the war, my people's cattle
are destroyed and their women and children destitute of provisions. I
may well be addressed in such language now. There was a time when I had
a choice and could have answered you. I have none now. Even hope has
ended. Once I could animate my warriors to battle. But I cannot animate
the dead. My warriors can no longer hear my voice. Their bones are at
Talladega, Tallashatche, Emuckfaw and Tohopeka. I have not surrendered
myself thoughtlessly. While there were chances of success I never left
my post nor supplicated peace. But my people are gone, and I now ask
peace for my nation and myself. On the miseries and misfortunes brought
upon my country, I look back with the deepest sorrow, and wish to avert
still greater calamities. If I had been left to contend with the Georgia
army, I would have raised my corn on one bank of the river and fought
them on the other. But your people have destroyed my nation. General
Jackson, you are a brave man,--I am another. I do not fear to die. But I
rely upon your generosity. You will exact no terms of a conquered and
helpless people but those to which they should accede. Whatever they may
be it would now be folly and madness to oppose them. If they are
opposed, you shall find me among the sternest enforcers of obedience.
Those who would still hold out can only be influenced by a mean spirit
of revenge. To this they must not and shall not sacrifice the last
remnant of their country. You have told us what we may do and be safe.
Yours is a good talk, and my nation ought to listen to it. They _shall_
listen to it."[1]
[Footnote 1: For these speeches of Weatherford's and for other
historical details I am indebted to a valuable and interesting book,
"Romantic Passages in South Western History," by A. B. Mull, Mobile, S.
H. Goetzsl & Co. publishers, which is now, unfortunately out of print.
The speeches are well authenticated I believe.]
Jackson was too generous and too brave a man to remain unmoved under
such a speech from a man who thus placed his own life in jeopardy for
the sake of his people. He bade the chieftain return home, and promised
peace to his people, a promise faithfully kept to this day. All this
however occurred nearly two months after the time of which I write, and
it is introduced here merely by way of explaining the things which
happened to Sam on the morning of the rash resumption of his journey.
This man Weatherford, the fiercest enemy the whites had, with a party
of about twenty-five Indians, bivouacked, the night before, in the edge
of the woods, and when Sam mounted his horse that morning the Indians
were lying asleep immediately in his path as he rode blindly out of the
thicket. The first intimation he had of their presence was a grunt from
a big savage who lay almost under his horse's feet. Coming to himself in
an instant, Sam took in the whole situation at a glance, and with the
rapidity and precision which people who are accustomed to the dangers
and difficulties of frontier life always acquire, he mentally weighed
all the facts bearing upon the question of what to do, and decided. He
saw before him the savages, rising from the ground at sight of him. He
saw their horses browsing at some little distance from them. He saw a
rifle, on which hung a powder-horn and a bullet-pouch, standing against
a bush. He saw that he had already aroused the foe, and that he must
stand a chase. His first impulse was to turn around and ride back, in
the direction whence he had come; but in that direction lay the thicket
through which he could not ride rapidly, and so if he should take that
course, he would lose the advantage which he hoped to gain from the
fleetness of his particularly good horse. Besides, in the thicket he
must of course leave a trail easily followed. Just beyond the group of
Indians he saw the open fields, and he made up his mind at once that he
would push his horse into a run, dash right through the camp of the
savages, pick up the convenient rifle if possible, and reaching the open
country make all the speed he could. In this he knew he would have an
advantage, inasmuch as he would get a good many hundred yards away
before the savages could catch and mount their horses for the purpose of
pursuing him, and he even hoped that they, seeing how far he was in
advance of them, would abandon the idea of pursuit altogether. All this
thinking, and weighing of chances, and deciding was the work of a single
half second, and the plan, once formed, was executed instantly. Without
pausing or turning he pushed his horse at a full run through the group
of savages, receiving a glancing blow from a war club and dodging
several others as he went. He succeeded in getting possession of the
rifle which stood by the bush, and reached the field before a gun could
be aimed at him. It was now his purpose to get so far ahead as to
discourage pursuit, and with this object in view he continued to urge
his horse forward at his best speed. This hope was a vain one, as he
soon discovered. The Indians, infuriated by his boldness, mounted their
horses and gave chase immediately. Sam had an excellent habit, as we
know, of keeping his wits about him, and of preparing carefully for
difficulties likely to come. The first thing to be done was to escape,
if possible, and so he continued to press his high-spirited colt
forward, while he debated the probabilities of being overtaken, and
discussed with himself the resources at his command if the savages
should come up with him. He was armed now, at any rate, and if running
should prove of no avail, he could and would sell his life very dearly.
Indeed the possession of the rifle roused all the spirit of battle there
was in him, and great as the odds were against him, he was sorely
tempted to pause long enough to shoot once at least. He remembered Tom
and Judie and Joe, however, and their dependence upon him for guidance
and protection, and for their sake more than for his own, suppressed
the impulse and continued his flight. The Indians were nearly half a
mile behind him, and, as nearly as he could tell, were not gaining upon
him very rapidly. His colt seemed equal to a long continued race, and as
yet showed no sign of faltering or fatigue. The question had now
resolved itself, Sam thought, into one of endurance. How long the
Indians would continue a pursuit in which he had the advantage of half a
mile the start, he had no way of determining, but that his horse's
endurance was as great at least as their perseverance, he had every
reason to hope.
Just as he had comforted himself with this thought, a new danger
assailed him. One of the Indians, it seemed, taking advantage of a
minute knowledge of the country, had saved a considerable distance by
riding through a strip of woods and cutting off an angle. When Sam first
caught sight of him, coming out of the woods, the savage was within a
dozen yards of him, and evidently gaining upon him at every step. Sam's
horse was a fleet one, but that of the Indian was apparently a
thoroughbred, whose speed remained nearly as great after a mile's run
as at the start. Knowing the Indians' skill in shooting while riding at
full speed, Sam leaned as far as he could to one side, so that as little
as possible of his person should be exposed to his pursuer's aim. He
continued to press his horse too, but the savage gained steadily.
Finding at last that he must shortly be overtaken, Sam resolved upon a
bold manoeuvre, by which to kill his foremost pursuer. Seizing the
hatchet he had brought away from the house, he suddenly stopped his
horse, and, as the Indian came along-side, aimed a savage blow at his
head.
"Don't you know me, Sam?" said the Indian in good English, dodging the
blow. "I'm Weatherford. If I'd wanted to kill you I might have done so a
dozen times in the last five minutes. You know I don't want to kill
_you_, though you're the only white man on earth I'd let go. But the
others will make an end of you if they catch you. Ride on and I'll chase
you. Turn to the left there and ride to the bluff. I'll follow you.
There's a gully through the top. Ride down it as far as you can and jump
your horse over the cliff. It's nearly fifty feet high, and may kill
you, but it's the only way. The other warriors are coming up and
they'll kill you sure if you don't jump. Jump, and I'll tell 'em I
chased you over."
Sam knew Weatherford well, and he knew why the blood-thirsty chief
wished to spare him if he could, for Sam had rescued Weatherford once
from an imminent peril at great risk to himself, though the story is too
long to be told here. Whether or not there is nobleness enough in the
Indian character to make the savage remember a benefit received, I am
sure I cannot say, but Weatherford was _three-fourths white_, and with
all his ferocity in war, history credits him with more than one generous
impulse like that by which Sam was now profiting. The two rode on,
Weatherford pretending to be in hot pursuit, shooting occasionally and
yelling at every leap of his horse. The bluff towards which they rode
was probably a hundred feet high, and was washed at its base by a deep
but sluggish creek, on the other side of which lay a densely wooded
swamp. Through the top of the bluff, however, was a sort of fissure or
ravine washed by the flow of water during the rainy season, and where it
terminated the height of its mouth above the stream was not more than
forty or fifty feet. Down this gully Sam rode furiously, so that his
horse might not be able to refuse the leap, which was a frightful one.
Coming to the edge of the precipice with headlong speed, the animal
could not draw back but plunged over with Sam sitting bolt upright on
his back. Riding back to the top of the bank Weatherford met his
warriors.
[Illustration: THE PERILOUS LEAP.]
"Where is he?" asked the foremost.
"His _body_ is down there in the creek. I drove him over the precipice,"
said the chief with well-feigned delight.[2]
[Footnote 2: This incident of the leap over the precipice is strictly
historical, else I should never have ventured to print it here.
Weatherford himself, on the 23d of December, 1813, after the battle of
Tohopeka, escaped a body of dragoons in a precisely similar manner. A
still more remarkable leap was that of Major Samuel McCullock, on the 2d
of September 1777, over a precipice fully 300 feet high near Wheeling,
West Virginia. He jumped over on horseback, thinking such a death
preferable to savage torture, but singularly enough, both he and his
horse escaped unhurt.]
His purpose evidently, was to satisfy the warriors that Sam was
certainly killed, so that they might pursue him no further. Whether he
was yet alive or not, Weatherford himself had no means of knowing. The
last he had seen of him was as he went over the precipice, sitting bolt
upright on his horse, grasping his rifle and looking straight ahead. He
heard a splash in the water below, after which everything was still.