The Battle at Horseshoe Bend

by Michael Aye

  “You may call me William, if you like,” Weatherford said, grasping the hand in a firm but friendly handshake.

  “I’m Jonah Lee, Mr. Weatherford. It’s a pleasure to meet such a gallant foe.”

  “Good words from a man who is known not only as the president’s man but a warrior in his own right.”

  I’ll be damned, Jonah thought. How’d he know that?

  Smiling, Weatherford released Jonah’s hand and said, “We should not be enemies on a day such as this. There is no glory in freezing.”

  This time it was Jonah who smiled. “A truce, then, until the weather clears and a day has passed.”

  “Agreed,” Weatherford replied. Jonah then introduced Moses, Crockett, and Houston. Eyeing Houston, Weatherford said, “You are known as Colonneh – the raven, by the Cherokees.”

  Houston nodded. Weatherford kept his eyes on Houston for an uncomfortable minute and then spoke again, “I think you are a good man, but I must tell you, the Cherokees have made a mistake backing that crazy old Jackson. He is not the Indian’s friend. One day, he will steal their lands like he is doing ours. Mark my words, Colonneh, they will one day regret their decision.”

  Houston was silent for a moment and then said, “Hopefully not.”

  Weatherford let a faint smile creep across his face. “I see it in your eyes. You know it is true.” He then turned to Moses, “You are Lee’s brother in blood, if not in skin.” Moses nodded.

  Before any further conversation could take place, Mama Madison brought in a tray with cups of hot cider. Jonah had noticed two whites with Weatherford when they rode up. However, once they entered the tavern’s great room, they went straight to the kitchen. Apparently, they were known to the Madisons.

  After the cider was passed around and everyone, white man and Indian alike, had taken a swallow of the warm liquid, Weatherford spoke again. “It is said that you and the black warrior are the ones who killed Tecumseh.”

  “We were there,” Jonah admitted. “There was much fighting and many shots were fired. Neither Moses nor myself can say for sure who killed the war chief.” This time it was Jonah who found himself under Weatherford’s scrutiny.

  “It’s not fear that keeps you silent,” the Indian finally said. “You are not a braggart like some,” Weatherford said, casting a glance at Crockett. “No, you are an honorable warrior, Jonah Lee. I will hate to face you on the field of battle, as I would take no pleasure in killing you.”

  Jonah was moved by the man’s words but felt a response was warranted, “Nor I you.” A big grin broke out on Weatherford’s face.

  -

  The women had come back into the main room and walked to the fireplace. Their coats had been left someplace but their cheeks and noses were rosy. Thinking of some of the young ladies at home, Jonah knew the color of the women’s cheeks was not from rouge but the cold. The wind had caused the older woman’s eyes to water and her oval cheeks were streaked with tears. Even half-frozen and with rumpled clothes, it was easy to see this had once been a beautiful woman. The younger female was much like the older woman…daughter or sister? Jonah didn’t want to ask, fearing he’d offend someone.

  “This is Margaret Vaught and her sister, Mavis,” Mama Madison said, introducing the two women. “Their home burnt down, falling in on Mr. Vaught as he was trying to save some valuables. It was lucky for them Red Eagle and his band saw the smoke and chose to investigate. Otherwise, they would have frozen. He took a chance and brought them here to us.”

  “A gallant act,” Jonah said.

  “No more than you would do,” was Weatherford’s dry reply.

  -

  The remainder of the day and evening passed in polite conversation. Occasionally, one of the braves would enter the conversation, and the women rarely would make a comment. Weatherford talked about his mother, grandmother, and his Indian heritage. He spoke of meeting Tecumseh and how he was enlightened by his convictions. He spoke once or twice about his grandfather but never once mentioned his father. At the supper table, he ate with the whites while the other braves sat at another table.

  Madison entered the conversation talking about the price of skins, hogs, and how the cold was sure to have killed any chance for getting any kind of bargain from Mobile. “Vultures, every last one of them,” he swore, speaking of the Mobile merchants.

  Cider was served again, and when the sun was down, the Madisons made ready for bed. A pallet was put down in the kitchen for the Vaught women. The Indians found places on the floor around the fireplace, and Jonah’s group went back upstairs. Jonah was the last to climb the stairs, not sure why, but not wanting the evening to end.

  Finally, he reached out his hand once more, “I have enjoyed our meeting and talks.”

  Weatherford nodded, “We could be good friends, you and I. If only more were like you, we would not be fighting this lost cause.”

  Jonah felt sad for the man in front of him. “You know you have no chance of winning?”

  “I’ve known it all along,” Weatherford admitted. “We have already lost so much and so many, and still volunteers march to Jackson’s camp. We will lose, but it will be a remembered fight.”

  Jonah nodded. A useless fight, he thought. “I will speak to the President,” he said.

  “He has the Redcoats to worry about,” Weatherford said.

  “They will be defeated,” Jonah said with all sincerity.

  “Their agents think not, and the Spanish think not.”

  “What do you think?” Jonah asked.

  “I think it is better to die in battle with one’s pride than to be told where we will live, when we can hunt, and what we can do.”

  Jonah felt for the warrior in ways he couldn’t explain. Finally he said, “It was nice of you to help the Vaught women.”

  “I am human,” Weatherford responded. He paused and then added, “I regret Fort Mims. I had no intention of harming any women or children. I tried to stop it, but how do you stop something once it’s started?”

  “I understand,” Jonah said.

  “No, you think you do, but you don’t. You have no idea how many Creek women and children have been killed. We have received far worse than the whites received at Fort Mims.”

  Shaking his head, Jonah said, “There has been too much killing.”

  “There will be more,” Weatherford said matter-of-factly. “Do not join Jackson at Cholocco-Litabixee, Jonah. It will be the death of the Red Sticks, but many whites will die, as every warrior has sworn to fight to the death.”

  Jonah nodded, “It is not something I can control.”

  A faint smile and Weatherford replied, “Nor I. Go with care, Jonah Lee. You will be safe until you reach Fort Deposit.”

  Damn, Jonah thought, he even knows where I’m going. Not revealing his surprise, Jonah said, “And you travel carefully. I pray that God rides with you, friend.”

  Weatherford nodded and headed to his blanket while Jonah went upstairs. He was amazed at himself for calling Weatherford a friend. Did he mean it or was it polite speech? He wrestled with the thought until sleep finally took him.

  Moses shook him awake the next morning. “Biscuits are in the oven.”

  Jonah yawned, rose up, and looked out the window. The sky was clear and the sun was shining. He turned back to Moses, “Is Weatherford up?”

  “Up and gone before daylight,” Moses said. “He left you this with Madison.”

  “What is it?” Jonah said looking at a buckskin pouch.

  “It’s a medicine pouch,” Moses said. “It’s supposed to bring you good luck and keep evil spirits away.”

  Jonah nodded to his friend, realizing he had not just been polite last evening. He had developed a friendship with Weatherford…a friend but a foe. Would he be able to pull the trigger if he had to? That was a question he didn’t want to answer.

  PART IV

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Gunfire! Jonah’s group reined in their horses. “That’s coming from the fort
,” Houston stated. Several more shots rang out.

  “Muskets, it sounds like,” Crockett volunteered.

  The men sat still for a few minutes listening. After the initial eruption of gunfire, everything grew quiet. Off to the left, the sound of horses racing through the woods was heard and then silence again. No sound of pursuit, no shouting or war whoops, nothing.

  “It didn’t sound like an attack,” Moses said.

  “No, but I think we need to make sure we approach the fort with caution,” Jonah advised. “There’s liable to be some with itchy trigger fingers at the gate or on the walls.”

  “I will lead off,” Houston volunteered. Of the four, he was the only one in uniform. “I’m known to the garrison,” he added.

  “They know me too,” Crockett said. “But I ain’t wearing no pretty soldier’s suit, so you go ahead and get right up front.”

  While Jonah and Moses chuckled at Crockett’s comment, Houston gave Crockett a hard, cold stare. Nobody had missed the implication of Crockett’s words. If the guards did have itchy fingers, Houston would be out front and the likely target.

  Drifts of snow were still scattered about here and there, more under the shade of the trees. However, the sun had melted most of the snow on the trail and it had turned into muck. The horses’ legs and withers were splattered and caked with the muck. The riders’ boots looked much the same.

  At the edge of the clearing, the riders pulled up and Houston called out. “Hello in the fort, Ensign Houston and a party from Fort Strother.”

  The guards on the wall at Fort Deposit were primed and ready, but an experienced sergeant laid his hand on a private’s shoulder. “Let’s not be killing off our own.” With that, the sergeant called out, “Be that old he coon with you, Crockett?”

  Houston smiled and replied, “Yes, due to misfortune, we were saddled with his ornery carcass.”

  “Come ahead,” the sergeant called and then sent the private to fetch the officer of the guard.

  As the four approached the fort, piles of dirt-stained snow were against the palisade. “Looks like they got some of the same storm we did,” Moses said.

  Jonah nodded and replied, “I’m glad we decided to hole up.”

  As the men rode through the gate, a cluster of men were gathered at the corner of the fort just below the block house. A lieutenant greeted the group. He addressed Houston as Sam, so it was obvious they were acquainted.

  “Trouble?” Houston asked.

  “Some,” the lieutenant admitted. “I was headed that way,” he said, motioning with his head to where the soldiers were gathered.

  As they approached the group, the ranking officer, a colonel, said, “You sure it was murder?”

  Another man looked at the colonel, and after a brief pause said, “Finding a guard with a bayonet protruding from his chest gives me cause to think it’s highly likely the man didn’t die from natural causes.”

  Jonah couldn’t help but snicker at the man’s comment and knew right off he’d like this fellow.

  Hearing the snicker, the colonel glared at Jonah, while the man who had spoken smiled and his eyes seemed to sparkle, finding someone who found his words humorous.

  “My apologies,” Jonah said. “I meant no disrespect.”

  Feeling the need to diffuse the situation, Houston spoke up, “Colonel Fleming, this is Jonah Lee. He is here on behalf of the president and has been assigned as an envoy to General Jackson.”

  “A spy for the president, huh? Well, we got enough spies around,” Fleming said, eyeing the man who’d been speaking. “You ought to get along well.” And then, after a pause, he added, “Not that I don’t think Jackson doesn’t need watching. Thinks he has been given a special calling by God himself and he ain’t even regular army.”

  Not a Jackson supporter, Jonah quickly decided.

  Looking at the men’s dirty boots and legs, the colonel must have decided he didn’t want Jonah’s group tracking up his quarters. “Lieutenant Seymour,” he called to the officer of the guard. “Show these men to suitable quarters so they can get cleaned up and then escort them to my headquarters.”

  Knowing Houston was an officer, and since Jonah was from the president, he knew he’d be treated as an officer, a high ranking officer, but glancing at Moses and Crockett, the lieutenant was not sure if they were to be included. “All of them, sir?”

  The colonel paused in mid stride and turned back to the lieutenant. “They’re together aren’t they, Seymour?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Alright then.” The colonel shook his head and muttered about perils of kin being under his command.

  “Nephew,” the officer who’d called the killing a murder, volunteered.

  “Ah,” Jonah said. Nepotism, something the military seemed to thrive on.

  Reaching up, the officer held out his hand to Jonah, “I’m Gregory Clark. I’m a barrister by trade, but for the duration of the war I work for John Armstrong.” So he is a spy, Jonah realized, grasping the extended hand and shaking it. “Where’s my friend, Stephen Lieupo?“ Clark asked.

  “Back at Fort Strother mending from an arrow in his arse,” Crockett said.

  Looking alarmed, Clark inquired, “Is he going to be all right?”

  Jonah dismounted, and after taking his saddlebags, allowed a private who had suddenly materialized to take the reins of his and the others’ horses and head toward the stable. Turning to Clark, he said, “It was actually an arrow in the hip that broke off some of the bone. He is on the mend, but the surgeon says he will probably always have a limp.”

  “I see,” Clark responded, concern in his voice. “Lieupo is a good man.”

  Nodding, Jonah said, “He spent Christmas with Moses and me at our family home in Thunderbolt. We have become very good friends.” Jonah then introduced the rest of the group to Clark.

  After the introductions, Clark placed his hand on Jonah’s shoulder and spoke in a quiet voice. “We have a mutual friend, a Captain Hampton. He asked me to share with you that though we don’t have anything definite, we have reason to believe Ana and the river men passed through Memphis and are likely headed to New Orleans.” Jonah was suddenly excited. “Don’t get your hopes up,” Clark cautioned. “Hampton doesn’t want you to go traipsing off on some wild goose chase. He has things in order and will keep you posted.”

  Jonah couldn’t help but feel excited. However, he knew Hampton would do as he stated and notify him should the lead prove correct. Looking at Moses, his friend smiled as he placed his hand on Jonah’s shoulder. No words were spoken. None were needed.

  -

  What about this murder?” Houston asked as the men washed the mud and trail grime off and finished dressing.

  “British agent we’d captured,” Clark said. “That’s why I’m here. He was captured after a skirmish with the Red Sticks. His horse was shot and fell on the man’s leg, so he couldn’t run off. Colonel Fleming’s man knew right off the man was British from his heavy accent and clothing. It was like nothing you’d get around here, so they locked him up and I was sent for. After interrogating the man, there was little doubt who he was or is. How he escaped is the question. He must have had some money stashed and bribed a guard, likely the one who had the bayonet in his chest.”

  “Serves ’im right,” Crockett snarled.

  “Yes, but he wasn’t alone. There was a horse and at least two Red Sticks waiting for him at the edge of the forest. I believe he is here to assist Menawa.”

  “Maybe he’s the one who enticed the Indians to build a barricade and make a stand at Horseshoe Bend,” Moses said.

  “I think he was likely the engineer,” Clarke admitted but didn’t know for sure.

  Is this what Weatherford had hinted at when he said Horseshoe Bend would prove to be a death trap? Jonah wondered. He’d also said it would be a remembered fight and encouraged Jonah not to be there. Thinking it over, Jonah was sure he was right.

  Delivering the dispatches to Colonal Fleming
’s office, Jonah told of their group being closed up with Weatherford at the tavern. The colonel listened and then said, “Well, with the women there, it was little you could do without endangering them.” He missed the whole point, Jonah thought. That night Jonah found sleep elusive. The comments about it being a death trap and a remembered fight kept coming back to him, but as sleep finally took him, his last thoughts were on Ana. Did they have a real chance of locating her? Was she safe? If only he could know.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  The buck pawed at a patch of green that was partially covered by melting snow. A few icicles still hung from the long leaf pines, but they too were melting as the early morning sun grew higher and brighter. Ice still gathered at the edges of a narrow creek, and the frost-covered ground still crunched underfoot in places as the hunter moved as quietly as possible to position himself for a better shot.

  Jonah, Moses, Crockett, and Houston had left Fort Deposit the previous day after lunch and had again stopped at the Raccoon Mountain Trading Post. The Madisons seemed truly happy to see the group, as were Margaret and Mavis Vaught. At supper that evening Mama Madison had said she was tired of hog meat. “That’s all that is left in the smokehouse,” she complained to Mr. Madison.

  For his part, Mr. Madison seemed to ignore his wife. He heated up a poker in the fireplace and when the tip was fiery red, he then stuck it in his tankard of cider to mull it. Jonah watched as a tiny blue flame danced at the top of the tankard and the poker was shoved home. As soon as the liquid sizzled, the poker was removed and laid back on the hearth of the fireplace. The mulling left a faint odor that drifted across the room. Waiting on his mulled cider to cool, Madison lit up his pipe. He puffed away and, once he had a cloud of smoke drifting up, leaned over and spat into the fireplace, causing another sharp sizzle.

  Settling in his chair and lifting his tankard, he responded, “So, its fresh meat you want, is it, Ma? Well, if Weatherford or some of his bunch come by, I’ll make a trade if they have any game.”