Hillabee and Autossee--all fought in November, 1813, one hundred years
ago. At Echanachaca, or Holy Ground, were concentrated Weatherford's
supplies, and the women and children of his tribe. This point was located
on the south bank of the Alabama, between Pintlalla and Big Swamp Creek,
in the present region of Lowndes County. To the Indian, the Holy Ground
was that which Jerusalem was to the ancient tribes of Israel. In this
sylvan retreat, dwelt their chief prophets who had drawn a circle about
it, and the deluded savage was persuaded to believe that for a white man
to plant his foot on this consecrated ground, would mean instant death.
The Holy Ground was surrounded by a region of loveliness. For seven months
in the year the virgin soil of the prairie was carpeted with luxuriant
grasses, dashed here and there with patches of pink and crimson bloom,
while the wild red strawberry, in occasional beds of native loveliness,
lent additional charm. Enclosed by high pickets rudely riven by savage
hands, and girdled by the magic circle of the prophets, the Holy Ground
was thought to be impregnable. Here Weatherford was attacked by General
Claiborne at the head of the Mississippi militia, on December 23, 1813,
the day before Christmas eve. To Claiborne's command was attached a body
of friendly Choctaw Indians under Pushmataha.
General Claiborne began the attack with a storm. Weatherford led his
troops with consummate skill and unquestioned courage, but to little
effect. The fact that he, the notorious leader at Fort Mims, was in
command, whetted the desire of the Mississippians not alone to defeat him,
but to capture him. In spite of the false security promised the Indian by
their prophets, and in spite of the valor of their idol chief, they melted
rapidly before the deadly aim of the Mississippi backwoodsmen. Seeing that
the battle would be against him, Weatherford with skill worthy any great
commander, slipped the women and children across the Alabama, while he
still fought with ability, and while his men were piled around him in
heaps, he fought to the bitter end, and was the last to quit the field.
When all hope was gone, he mounted his noble charger and sped away like
an arrow towards the Alabama River.
He was hotly pursued by a detachment of dragoons, who almost surrounded
the chieftain before he fled the field. Down the wide path leading toward
the river, the hoofs of the horses of the pursued and the pursuers
thundered. There was no hope of escape for Weatherford, but to reach the
river in advance, and swim across. Hemmed in on every side, he was forced
to a summit overlooking the stream at the height of almost one hundred
feet of perpendicular bluff. On the precipice the bold leader halted for a
moment, like a monument against the distant sky. Splendidly he sat his
horse, as his pursuers thundered toward him, and with taunting shouts
called to him that he was caught at last. He coolly raised his rifle to
his eye, and brought down the foremost horseman, then slowly turning down
a deep defile which no one would dare to tread, he slid his horse down the
stony surface which broke abruptly off about fifty feet above the river.
Putting spurs to the sides of the beautiful animal, it leaped with its
brave rider on its back into the seething current below. Just before the
water was reached, Weatherford leaped from the horse's back. The horse
went down to rise no more, while Weatherford, still holding his rifle
aloft, with one hand, swam to the opposite side and thus escaped with
deeper vengeance against the white man than ever before. He was yet to
lead his troops in other battles, and to fight while there was hope of
success.
The world instinctively honors a brave man. This valorous chief had
withstood overpowering numbers during the day, had saved his women and
children, and now as a December night came down on that sad day of defeat,
he stood on the north bank of the Alabama drenched and cold, but nerved by
a spirit as heroic as ever had place in the bosom of man. Though an
Indian, Weatherford was an ideal hero. Fear he knew not, and while the
most daring of fighters, he was never reckless. His power of collection
was simply marvelous.
WEATHERFORD'S OVERTHROW
Weatherford met his downfall at the battle of Tohopeka. This was the last
battle ever fought by the Indians in Alabama. In a long succession of
engagements, Weatherford, though fighting bravely, had incurred defeat.
His warriors slain almost to the last man, he would rally another force,
inspire his wild troops with fresh hope and new courage; and again offer
battle to General Jackson. The limit of his resources was now in the force
which he had summoned on the Tallapoosa, where with unusual desperation
the Indians had resolved to make the last stand.
Weatherford had selected his own ground for the final contest, and it was
well chosen. In a long loop of the river near the further end of the
entrance to which was an Indian village called Tohopeka. Across the
entrance, or neck, there was erected a bulwark of heavy, seasoned logs,
which fortification extended from bank to bank of the stream the distance
of about three hundred yards. This defense was about ten feet high, with a
double row of portholes from which the Indians could fire simultaneously,
as a part would stand upright, and the other would shoot on their knees.
Protected by the river on the flanks and in the rear, they were able to
concentrate their fire solely to the front. With a deadly aim, and
shielded by their breastworks of logs, they felt that they could pick off
the assaulting party, one by one, and thus utterly destroy the army of
Jackson.
Behind this formidable bulwark were gathered one thousand two hundred
Indian warriors from the towns of Oakfuskee, Hillabee, New Yauka and
Eufaula. These were desperate men, well armed, and each confident of
dealing a final blow to Jackson's army. Weatherford had summoned to the
occasion the principal prophets of the nation, who inspired the dusky
defenders with the belief that it was impossible for them to fall, because
in this present emergency the Great Spirit would give them the victory.
The more to inspire the troops, the prophets themselves proposed to share
in the battle, and arrayed in their blankets of red, with their heads
bearing coronets of varied feathers, while about their shoulders were
capes of brilliant plumage of red, black, blue, green and yellow, they
joined the Indian ranks. About their ankles were tiny bells of different
tones, the jingle of which they kept up during the battle, while
occasionally they would leap, dance, and howl in inspiration of the
warriors. Weatherford was too sensible a man to attach any importance to
the sacredness of their claims, but he was solicitous to elicit to the
utmost the fighting mettle of his men. To the rude and ridiculous
incantations of the prophets he would add his matchless eloquence, in
bringing his troops to the highest pitch of desperation.
The women and children had been removed from the village of huts and
tents, to the rear of the garrison, while back of the village still were
tied the canoes of the Indians on the river bank, to be used in the
emergency of defeat. But while Jackson appeared at the front, General
Coffee with a strong force appeared in the rear of Weatherford, with the
river between him and the village of Tohopeka. One of the first cares of
Coffee was to send a force to fetch the boats, by means of which he could
cross the river and assail the Indians in the rear.
Jackson received a signal from Coffee that the latter was ready for the
attack to be made at the front, when about ten o'clock on the morning of
March 27, 1814, two field pieces opened on the breastwork of logs. No
effect whatever was had on the logworks by the artillery, and Jackson
resolved on storming the fortifications. Under a raking fire the troops
marched at a double quick, and began pouring over the breastwork, many
falling in the assault of approach, and many more on the walls, and within
the fort. It became a hand to hand fight for the mastery, and the Indians
were beaten back from their works, fighting meanwhile with desperate
courage.
During the assault at the front, Coffee crossed his force over in the
boats, and added discomfiture to the Indians by firing the village in
their rear. Between a cross fire, the Indians fought with more desperation
than ever. In the roar of battle could be heard the animating voice of the
heroic Weatherford urging his troops to desperation, while in the ranks he
fought like a common warrior. When Jackson saw that all hope for the
Indians was gone, he sent a messenger with proposals of surrender. This
was treated with disdain, and the response was that no quarter was asked,
and none would be given. It was then that the American troops began with
renewed desperation, and entered on a work of extermination. From behind
brush, stumps, or other obstructions the Indians fought till the approach
of night. Many of the warriors sought to escape by jumping into the river,
but they were picked off by the riflemen, and the waters of the Tallapoosa
were reddened with their blood. A few escaped, but on the field were
counted the bodies of five hundred and fifty warriors. It was estimated
that not more than twenty-five of the army of Weatherford survived.
Among the striking incidents of the battle was that of a warrior who was
shot down in a wounded condition, in the midst of others who were killed,
and who saved his life by drawing the bodies of two others across his own,
and appeared as though dead, and was counted among the dead when the field
was reviewed at the close of the day. When darkness came on, he dragged
his bleeding body to the river, and with difficulty swam across. Another,
named Manowa, was seriously wounded, but managed to reach the river, in
which he sank his body in water four feet deep, and holding it down by
means of gripping a root of a tree, he maintained life by poking the joint
of a cane above the surface, through which he breathed. Availing himself
later of the darkness, he finally escaped. In later years he showed that
he was shot almost to pieces, yet with stoical endurance he underwent the
tortures of hours under the water, escaped, and survived.
But where was Weatherford? This was the question on every lip. They could
not find him among the slain, and it was thought that he was perhaps among
those who perished on the river in seeking to escape. But, as usual, he
fought to the last, was among the latest to quit the field, when he
escaped to the river on his fine charger, concealed himself till darkness
came, when he floated on his horse down the river, around the bend past
the American camp, and made his way into the hills to the south of the
Tallapoosa River. Here he remained for some time, during which General
Jackson offered a reward for him, taken dead or alive. The condition of
his romantic reappearance will be told in the next article.
WEATHERFORD SURRENDERS
For some time following the battle of Tohopeka, the warriors came in and
surrendered to Jackson. None of them seemed to know anything of
Weatherford, for he had not shown himself since the fatal contest.
Determined not to be forcibly taken, Weatherford resolved on going
voluntarily to the camp of Jackson, make a plea for the women and
children, and then surrender, to be dealt with as the American commander
might desire.
Issuing from his solitary retreat in the hills, he mounted his fine gray,
with his rifle well loaded, and turned toward the American camp. On his
way, a large deer came within rifle range, which he shot, strapped it
behind his saddle, reloaded his rifle, and proceeded to the camp of
Jackson. His full purpose was to present himself as a prisoner, and to
demand proper treatment, which if denied him, he intended to kill Jackson
on the spot, and boldly take the consequences. Reaching the outposts, he
politely asked the way to the tent of the commander, when the pickets
chided him, without knowing who he was, and gave him no satisfaction. A
gray-haired civilian being near, kindly pointed out the tent of General
Jackson, who was sitting just within it, talking to some of his officers.
As Weatherford rode up, Jackson spied him, but a few yards away, and
rising from the camp-chair greeted him with, "Well, Bill Weatherford,
we've got you at last!" This was followed by some abusive language to
which Weatherford made no reply till he had finished, when he said: "I am
not afraid of you, General Jackson. I am a Creek warrior, and fear no man.
I am not here to be insulted, and if you undertake that, I shall put a
bullet through your heart. You can't awe me, but I wish to say some
things, and when I am done, you may do with me what you please, but these
things you shall hear. I have come voluntarily to surrender, and you shall
not insult me, sir, till I am through speaking." Jackson's eyes were
flashing in anger while Weatherford spoke coolly, as he sat on his horse.
Meanwhile a large crowd gathered about the scene.
Continuing, Weatherford said: "It is plain that I can no longer fight you.
If I could, I would. It is not fear that leads me to surrender, but
necessity. My brave warriors are dead, and their war-whoop is silent.
Could I recall them, I should fight you to the last. I come to ask nothing
for myself. I am now your prisoner. I am indifferent about what you shall
do to me, but am not about the women and children of my dead warriors.
These helpless ones are now starving in the woods. Their fields and cribs
have been destroyed by your people, and they are wanderers in the woods,
without an ear of corn. All that I now ask is that you will send out
parties and bring them in and feed them. I know that I am held responsible
for the massacre of the women and children at Fort Mims, but I could not
stay the fury of my warriors there, though I sought to do so. However,
take what view you please of that, I am no longer concerned about myself.
I am done fighting, but these helpless women and children in the woods are
my chief concern. They never did you any harm, but I did all I could, and
only the lack of men prevents me from continuing the struggle. I have done
my best. Would have done more if I could. I am now in your hands, and if
it is the wish of the white people, you may kill me."
The crowd, roused by his defiance, rushed about him with cries, "Kill him!
Kill him!" While Weatherford bowed his head, with his rifle still in front
of him, Jackson strided forward with indignation, and in a stentorian
voice commanded silence, and then in severe rebuke said: "Any man who
would kill as brave a man as this, would rob the dead." The crowd was
sternly ordered to disperse, and Jackson, subdued by the eloquence of the
brave chief, as well as by his courage, invited him into his tent, and
extended to him all the civilities due a distinguished guest. The horse
was given in charge of an orderly, and the brave men sitting face to face
forgot the strife of the past, and were now friends. A prolonged interview
followed, in which a treaty was entered into, and the war between the red
and white races was over in Alabama. Jackson arranged to provide for the
women and children of the Indians, and when all was duly settled,
Weatherford kindly presented to General Jackson the buck which he had
shot, and they shook hands, when Weatherford mounted his horse and rode
away. Jackson and not Weatherford became concerned about the safety of the
other, for he knew the temper of the people and the vengeance which they
bore toward Weatherford. In truth, Jackson was charmed by the spirit of
the chief, and resolved on saving him from the fury of those who had
suffered by reason of the Fort Mims massacre.
Weatherford now sought his home at Little River, in Monroe County, where
his brothers had kindly divided their effects with him, and established
him comfortably on a good plantation stocked with negro slaves. Gen.
William Henry Harrison having resigned as major general in the regular
army was disbanded, and the troops returned home. him. The war with the
Indians being over, the Tennessee troops were mustered out of service, the
army was disbanded and the troops returned home.
In the southern part of the state, the Mississippi militia was still held
in organization, a large body of which was located at Fort Claiborne, on
the Alabama River. This was about one year before the battle of New
Orleans was fought. As this does not come within the compass of this
narrative, we lose sight of General Jackson here, excepting as he will
appear in the succeeding article in a new relation to Weatherford, who did
not find his surroundings the most congenial in the outset of his
residence at Little River. Of the hazards which menaced him in that
quarter we shall see in the article next succeeding this. With the
presentation of that article, Weatherford will vanish from the narrative.
But that which follows, reflects the spirit which animated both
Weatherford and Jackson to the end.
WEATHERFORD'S LAST DAYS
The presence of William Weatherford at Little River, as a permanent
citizen, was not appreciated by the residents in that quarter. It was not
far from this place that the terrible tragedy of the massacre had occurred
only about two years before, and grief over the butchery of loved ones was
still keen, and sensitiveness was raw. While with Weatherford, all was
over, not so with those whose cherished ones were murdered, and soon
rumors became rife that violence would be visited on the head of the
ex-chief.
As a means of protection he was advised to repair to Fort Claiborne, some
distance up the river, till the fury was passed. Thither he repaired, was
kindly received by the commander, and placed in a tent near his own,
around which was posted a cordon of soldiers. Still the fury would not
down, and rumors were of such a nature of the intention to kill him, as to
awaken the gravest apprehension of his safety. He remained here about two
weeks, when he was summoned into a quiet conference with the commander,
the result of which was that, on the night following, Weatherford was
escorted to the outskirts of the camp by a single guard, with a note to
the officer of the outpost, Captain Laval. On the receipt of the note,
Laval quietly took the arm of Weatherford, and through the pitchy darkness
conducted him to a certain tree where a good horse was found hitched, and
Weatherford was told to mount it, and flee for his life. He shook hands
with Laval, saying, "Good-by, God bless you," and vaulting into the
saddle, sped away through the thick gloom like an arrow. Laval stood and
listened to the rattling of the horse's feet till the chief was fully a
mile or more away.
Weatherford sought the camp of Jackson, on the eve of his return to
Tennessee, and Jackson assured him of his protection. To the Hermitage,
General Jackson took his erstwhile adversary, cared for him with the
utmost hospitality, and when assured that it was entirely safe for
Weatherford to return to Little River, sent him thither. The bearing of
these heroes toward each other was equally creditable to both.
Weatherford returned to his plantation in the quietest way possible, and
throughout his later life was one of the most exemplary citizens of the
county. As a neighbor, there was none better. He rapidly won the
confidence of the community, then the esteem, and all rancor rapidly
subsided.
An incident in his life fully illustrates the spirit of the man. At a
private sale held in the county, at which sale every element of society
was, two bullies took advantage of an old citizen, named Bradberry, whose
son had been a lieutenant in the army, was in the battle of Burnt Corn,
and was finally killed in battle. These two bravados having provoked a
difficulty with the venerable Bradberry, one of them broke a pitcher over
his head, while the other ran up and stabbed him in the back of the neck,
and the old man fell dead at his feet. Weatherford witnessed the scene
throughout. His Indian nature came to him anew, his blood was on fire, and
he found it impossible to restrain himself. He was the more exasperated
when the brace of murderers took their stand on the public square, and,
defiantly brandishing their revolvers, dared anyone to approach them. A
justice of the peace being present, called on the crowd to arrest the
perpetrators of the deed, but no one ventured to approach them, for their
names had long been a terror in the region. Standing near the magistrate,
Weatherford said, "Maybe this is the white man's way of doing things, but
if there was a drop of Indian blood in that dead man's veins I should
arrest these fellows at the risk of my life." The justice then told him to
arrest them. Weatherford quietly drew out his pearl-handle dagger, while
he shifted his heavy hickory stick to his left hand, and moved upon the
murderer of Mr. Bradberry. The murderer warned him to stand back, but with
firm step, Weatherford coolly approached him, commanded him to give up his
weapons at once, when the murderer did as he was bidden. Then, clutching
the murderer's throat with the grip of a vise, Weatherford called for a
rope, and securely tied his hands behind him and turned him over to the
officer.
The other continued clamorous, swearing that he would kill any man who
sought to arrest him. Without regard to his threats, Weatherford now
turned to him. As he came near, the fellow said, "I didn't mean you,
Billie Weatherford," to all of which Weatherford paid no attention, and,
taking his weapons from him, he clutched him likewise and quietly tied him
and gave him over to the officer.
When asked why he dared venture in the way he did, Weatherford gave
explanation in a way that is really philosophic. He explained that it is
not the noisy man that is to be feared, but the cool man. Then he wished
to know which was the noisy and the cool in that transaction. The bravado
when confronted by courage, wilts. Weatherford's idea was that the man who
is always going to fight will never fight without an advantage. He seeks
to impress others with his courage, but not till he gains undue advantage
over an adversary will he fight.
This made Weatherford a hero in the section in which he lived. By his
conduct as a neighbor and citizen he became increasingly popular, and
succeeded in transmuting the bitterness against him into love. For twelve
years he lived in the Little River community with increasing popularity.
He was a prosperous planter, shared in all that concerned the weal of the
community, never flinched in the discharge of duty as a citizen, and when
he died, his death was universally regretted. In a fatiguing bear hunt in
the swamps along the river, he overtaxed his strength, and died in 1826.
Throughout his life he deplored the precipitate tragedy at Fort Mims, and
no doubt his subsequent reflection led him to insist that it was not his
wish that the women and children should perish. Descendants bearing his
name still live in that quarter of the state, esteemed for their worth as
quiet and worthy citizens.
AARON BURR IN ALABAMA
Than Aaron Burr there has scarcely been a more striking, not to say a more
startling, figure in the public life of America. Reared in the highest
circle of society, greatly gifted by nature, enjoying the best possible
advantages in education, a brave officer in the Revolution, Vice-President
of the United States, and coming within a scratch of being President, and
the grandson of the great philosopher, Jonathan Edwards, this favored son
of fortune was a fugitive with a reward offered for his apprehension.
Sides so varied rarely appear in the life of anyone. Aaron Burr was
arrested, brought to trial, and was finally acquitted, and yet such was
his private life, and so deep was the suspicion against him, that his
former friends forsook him, and on one occasion Henry Clay declined to
take his hand, when offered.
The story of Burr is too long to be undertaken here, even in brief
outline, though it is thrilling throughout, and to this day his movements
remain wrapped in mystery, because Burr in his dying hour disclaimed any
purpose of the dismemberment of the Union, which was one of the chief
charges urged against him so long as he lived. That he had deep designs,
however, is not a question, and with proclamations containing offers of
reward for his arrest circulated, and his effort to leave the country, the
doubt of his guilt and of his complicity in some nefarious scheme is at
once dispelled. He was well on his way to Pensacola in his flight, when he
was checked in the Tensas settlement, in this state, which event led to
his trial.