The Battle at Horseshoe Bend

by Michael Aye

  “What a way to wind up the evening.” Hearing the comment, Jonah turned to see Jackson standing there. His permanent scowl seemed relaxed a bit with the hint of a smile. Jackson abruptly turned and walked away speaking to his friend, General Coffee as he went. “Biggest damn liar in Tennessee, that Crockett.”

  “Tennessee?” Coffee responded. “No, Andy, the world. Crockett is the biggest damn liar in the world.”

  “I hope Davy don’t hear ’em,” Moses said.

  “Why?” Henry said. “He knows it…takes pride in it, I’d say.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  The army moved out at dawn the following morning. Many of the men were grumpy, and more than a few had hangovers from the various jugs of corn squeezing that had so liberally been passed around. Jackson, it seemed, had told his officers that a tad of relaxed discipline was in order as long as it didn’t get out of hand. After traveling most of the day, they made an early camp near Hollins, and the next night, the twenty-sixth of March, camped near Pinckneyville.

  At sunset, Lieutenant Allen asked if he could fire the guns to make sure they were operating as they should be. Jackson nodded his approval but advised the young artilleryman to pass the word first. The camp that night was more subdued than usual. The men knew either from firsthand knowledge or had been told by friends and comrades that tomorrow they would reach their destination…and for some their final destination.

  -

  Behind the barricade, scouts had been regularly riding in and reporting the progress of Jackson. Where is Lumhe-Chati, Menawa wondered, thinking of Weatherford. His presence as a great war chief would certainly lift the spirits of his warriors. But they would do well without him. The barricade zigzagged across the neck of Horseshoe Bend. Pierced with loopholes, Menawa’s warriors wouldn’t even have to show themselves as they fired on the white man and his Indian allies. The soldiers would face almost certain death at the hands of his warriors. If only they had more muskets and rifles. The lack of firepower was Menawa’s biggest concern. Only about one third of his warriors were armed with firearms, the rest with bows, lances and war axes. Hopefully, it would not get to the point the lances and axes were needed. The bows would prove useful if the enemy got into range.

  It was time to speak to his braves, Menawa decided. He climbed up on the wall of the barricade and called his people to him. He spoke of the sign that had been shown to them by Tecumseh. He repeated much of what the great warrior had said when he had visited the southern tribes and preached for harmony and unity. Next, after Menawa had done all he could to inspire the Red Stick warriors, he let Monahee talk. The old prophet told how the Great Spirit had assured him that the long knives could not harm the mighty Red Sticks. Menawa couldn’t help but smile. There were too many empty lodges for him to believe that. But let the prophet talk. He wanted to be alone with his own thoughts. As he walked toward the river and his lodge, he heard Monahee’s young prophets speak.

  The prophets declared the camp to be impregnable. They had vowed the Red Sticks would be invincible to the white man’s balls. Well, they had said the same at the Holy Ground and many Red Stick braves had been slain there. Menawa had decided that he put little faith in the ranting of the prophets but it would not be wise to dispute them now. They had the young warriors all believing, so that was all that mattered.

  The sound of whoops and joyous cries was suddenly heard toward the front of the barricade. That could only mean one thing. Some of the scouts he’d sent out had located Lumhe-Chati, the Red Eagle, as he was known by the Creek, and Weatherford to all others. Such a deep man, half-white, half Indian. No wonder he was so complicated. He had too many names. It did not occur to Menawa, Emperor of the Red Stick nation, that he too was a half-breed and had been known by many names at various times. All that mattered now was that he was Menawa, and unless mad old Jackson could be defeated, the Indian’s way of life, his lands, and his very being would be gone forever. Fate had already dealt the death hand to Tecumseh in the northern lands. Would his fate be the same here? What had Weatherford said about Cholocco-Litabixee? A death trap…a death trap, but for whom? Mad old Jackson’s army, Menawa hoped. Where was he now? Was the man having the same sort of thoughts as he? Did their minds follow similar paths? Had Jackson decided to defeat the Red Sticks or die trying? He had the men and weapons. But he had to cross a killing field to reach the barricade, and then he had to breach the barricade. It couldn’t be done. The Redcoat agent who had helped with the construction said it couldn’t be done. Not under the withering fire his warriors would lay down. But if he did, there was always the river; the river and the canoes that Menawa had built. Even a badger didn’t trust himself to only one escape. And Menawa was more than a badger. He was Menawa…a Red Stick warrior.

  -

  The army had made its camp. Men were going about building fires, taking care of the mules and horses, and some were pitching tents. The tents were mostly for the officers. Away from the center of the camp, Jonah could hear the river as it flowed. The Tallapoosa, so tranquil, was flowing ever so peacefully south. Tomorrow its banks would run red with the blood of opposing forces. Jonah walked down to the edge of the Tallapoosa. He’d been at the routine evening officer’s call. Nothing new, other than Jackson had laid down one law: no runners. Any man found deserting or running would be shot down where he stood. No questions asked. Well, that was not unusual. General Harrison had had a man shot for running. Thinking about it brought back other memories…Ana. That was the morning he’d met Ana. Where is she now? Is he as much in her thoughts as she in his? Did she still feel the same for him?

  A rustling sound in the cattails brought Jonah out of his reverie. Not a good place to be mooning away, Jonah thought to himself. The sound came closer. It was two men. Jonah recognized their voices right off - it was General Jackson and General Coffee. So as not to startle the men and risk getting shot, Jonah deliberately made some noise.

  “Who’s there?” Jackson called out.

  “Jonah Lee, sir,” he answered, making his way to the two generals. After a quick greeting the men stood silent.

  The wind swirled through the cattails and rattled the canebrake along the river’s edge. Jackson finally broke the silence, “Tell me, Mr. Lee, how do we match up to General Harrison’s army at the Thames?”

  Caught off guard with the question, Jonah took a moment to collect his thoughts. “Until the arrival of the thirty-ninth, I’d say General Harrison’s force was made up with more regular army and trained militia.”

  Jackson nodded, “My army, on the other hand, is made up of farmers, traders, backwoodsmen, river men, gamblers, ne’er-do-wells, and braggarts. All of which are scrappers, fighters, Mr. Lee, men who live to fight. They don’t have the discipline or shiny uniforms of the regular army, but there’s no backup in them either. We will be victorious tomorrow, Mr. Lee. The Red Stick problem will be over by the time the sun sets tomorrow.”

  “I’m sure you are right, Andy,” said General Coffee. “I don’t think Mr. Lee doubts the truth in your words. Do you, Mr. Lee?”

  “No, sir. I agree with the general about his men. Remember, sir, I’ve been in a few scraps with them already and have firsthand experience in regards to their ability.”

  Both of the generals laughed. “You have indeed, Mr. Lee, you have indeed.” The men spent the next few minutes in idle chit chat. Jackson then recommended they return to camp.

  As they headed back, General Coffee paused. “I would consider it an honor, Mr. Lee, if you and Moses would be a part of my force.”

  “Thank you, General. We will be glad to ride with your cavalry.”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Back at camp, Jonah quickly found Moses, Henry, and Lieupo. “Where’s Crockett?” Jonah asked. Since they’d left Fort Strother, the four had been together most of the time.

  “Russell sent for him, told him to bring his gear when he reported. I ’spect he’s sent him off somewhere,” Henry said.

  “W
e’re to ride with General Coffee’s cavalry,” Jonah informed Moses.

  “That makes three of us,” Henry said. “I’m to scout for the general’s horse soldiers.”

  “I’m to be held back,” Lieupo groaned. “I’m to be with General Jackson’s staff. John Reid caught me as we were leaving officer’s call.”

  Jonah nodded. He knew that while Captain Lieupo wanted to be in the thick of it, he’d be limited by his recent injury. Time would see him back in the thick of it.

  “I spoke with Sam,” Moses said. “Colonel Benton has requested for, and been given, the honor of having the U.S. 39th Infantry lead the assault on the barricade the next morning.”

  “Daft, if you ask me,” Henry swore. “Charging a stronghold packed with armed Red Sticks.” Henry paused to tap his pipe against the heel of his hand, clearing the bowl of burnt tobacco. Knowing the old scout had not finished, Jonah and Moses waited patiently. Putting the stem to his mouth with the bowl pointed toward the ground, Henry gave a quick blow. Satisfied the pipe was clear, Henry spoke again, “Was I in charge of this man’s army, I’d spread everyone out so the stronghold would be surrounded and wait ’em out. It wouldn’t take long before empty bellies would make the red devils downright docile. I’d shoot or hang Menawa, Weatherford, McQueen, and a few more and then set the rest of ‘em loose.”

  Jonah smiled as he and Moses had discussed a similar action. They had even mentioned it to Sam Houston. Houston was convinced Jackson would never agree with such a plan.

  “He’ll never agree to a long siege. He’s in a hurry to go south and take on the Redcoats. Besides,” Houston said in all earnestness, “there’s no glory in conquering the enemy through siege. Jackson needs…no demands, a victory.”

  “Did you put the idea through to our leader?” Moses asked Henry.

  “No, Andy ain’t got the patience for it. Of course, we could spread everyone out like I mentioned, and then when it got good and dark we could send in a few men with a keg or two of powder placed against the wall. Before we set it off we could douse the barricade with some coal oil, so when the powder went off it’d make a big fire. Even if you just set a keg or two of oil with the powder, when the thing went off it would create a big fire. Of course, we could create a distraction somewhere so the boys sneaking in with the powder and oil kegs wouldn’t be noticed. Andy could have his cannons set so they were firing off to one side. That would keep the Red Sticks hunkering down.”

  “Damn,” Jonah swore. Henry ought to be a general.

  “His plan has merit,” Lieupo agreed.

  A silence ensued with each man reluctant to break it, all deep in thought. Henry had sat on a log. Now he stirred and was feeling in each of his pockets and finally found what he was looking for, his tobacco pouch. It was near empty. Noticing this, Moses got up and returned with four cigars he’d scrounged away in his saddlebags. Taking the offered cigar, Henry put the tobacco pouch back in a pocket and then removed his pipe from his mouth and tucked it away.

  “Store boughts,” Henry declared as he looked appreciatively at the cigar. “Don’t recall ever having a store bought, certainly not one this fine.”

  Jonah, Moses and Lieupo watched as the old scout stuck most of the cigar in his mouth and then pulled it out with a twisting motion. He reversed the cigar and repeated the maneuver with the other end. He then leaned forward and took a small burning twig from the fire. After a puff or two he had a good light.

  Sighing, Henry leaned back, “A fine cigar, Moses. Much obliged.”

  “They’re from Colonel Lee’s stock. They are a mixture of Cuban long leaf filler with a Virginia wrapper.”

  “I might have known they were from someone who knew his tobacco and not you two. You’d probably smoke rabbit tobacco.”

  Lieupo, who’d been pulling on his cigar to light it, suddenly choked on tobacco smoke as he laughed at Henry’s comment. With tears in his eyes and a smile on his face, Lieupo managed to stop coughing long enough to say, “He’s got you two pegged.” He then added more wood to the fire, and as it blazed up, the men eased back a bit.

  “Moses, you going back to Fort Strother and take up with that pretty Cherokee maiden?”

  “Not likely,” Moses muttered. “She laid down the law of when I’d have to be back. Set a timetable I’m not likely to keep.”

  “Humph,” Henry snorted. “It’s a good thing I didn’t have any set time to be back.” He paused and seemed to be in thought. Using his fingers he seemed to be making calculations. “God Almighty,” he said. “We’ve been at this six months as near as I can figure. It’s hard to see how we’ve made it this far with all the setbacks old Andy faced. No wonder he craves a big victory. Why, with all the broken promises, bickering officers, lack of food, no supplies, bad powder, and bad guts.”

  What Henry meant was dysentery, Jonah knew. He remembered the poor state of Jackson’s men when he rode in with Moses, Lieupo and the Georgia Volunteers. The army had been out hunting. What a way to run an army, he’d thought.

  “Short enlistments,” Henry was saying. “Men joined up expecting to be home in three months. Off for a lark they thought. It was hardship, not adventure, they found. It came near to having to kill one’s own kind to keep desertion at bay. It ain’t no wonder we fight tomorrow,” Henry said as he laid out his bedroll. “We got to take our frustrations out on somebody. God help them Red Sticks.”

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Jonah woke up well before sunrise. Lieupo was still in his blanket but Moses was rolling up his bedroll. Henry was gone.

  “Henry’s gone to get water for coffee,” Moses said, seeing Jonah’s gaze.

  Jonah got up and moved into the woods to relieve himself. His body gave a sudden shiver from the early morning chill. Always coldest just before sunup, he’d learned. When he walked back to the fire, Henry had the coffee going and Lieupo was sitting up. Not up, not out of his blankets, just sitting up.

  Yawning, Lieupo said, “I guess I better get up and get in uniform. Our general will expect me to be in complete uniform today.”

  The coffee had come to a boil and cups were being poured. “Don’t fill them full,” Jonah said, digging down into his bags. He pulled out a shirt. Unrolling the shirt, he produced a small flat bottle of brandy. “A little something for the coffee,” he said.

  Henry stared up at Jonah as he poured a healthy libation into each of the four cups. “What else ya’ll got hidden away in them bags?” he asked.

  “That’s it, I’m afraid,” Jonah admitted.

  -

  A thread of sunlight was peeping over the horizon. Jonah could hear the thirty-ninth taking roll call. The sergeant calling roll was a big, beefy Irishman who’d found a home in the army. No more starving in Ireland’s barren potato fields. Standing behind the sergeant were the thirty-ninth’s officers. Colonel Benton stood at the center of the group with Major Montgomery at his side, and there on the edge of the group was Sam Houston.

  “Good morning, Mr. Lee, Moses,” Colonel Benton called out. “Make sure you remember us when you next speak to the president.”

  “I’m sure he will hear of the thirty-ninth’s brave exploits long before I see him, sir, but I promise I will pass along how you spear headed today’s fight. Indeed, I will consider it an honor, sir.” This caused a sudden cheer to go up in the infantry’s ranks.

  “Well said, sir,” Colonel Benton exclaimed as he took a step forward and shook Jonah’s and Moses’ hands.

  “Keep your eye on Houston, sir. I hear there are a lot of lovely maidens beyond the barricade. He might prove hard to restrain.”

  Another cheer went up with a few hoots and howls. Houston’s prowess among the Indian maidens was well known.

  “You devil,” Houston responded but with a smile on his face.

  The artillerymen were hitching up the two small cannons to a brace of horses, and the supply wagons with the powder and balls were being hitched to two teams of mules. John Reid was busy with Jackson’s aides.
They were striking his headquarters tent. It would be moved and a new command post set up, probably on the rise overlooking the barricade. The cannons would be set up near there as well.

  General Coffee was at General Jackson’s side and the two appeared to be in private conversation. Jonah and Moses halted at a respectful distance to allow the two friends to complete their conversation in private. Finally, with a handshake and a pat on the shoulder, the men turned.

  Spotting Jonah and Moses, Jackson said, “Here are your volunteers, John.”

  “Good morning, General Jackson, General Coffee.”

  “And to you, as well,” Coffee replied. Using an extended arm and hand with a pointing index finger, Coffee said, “We are forming up over that way a piece. You can go on over. I will be right there.”

  Coffee’s horse was being held by one of the Indian allies. “Cherokee,” Moses whispered as the two headed toward Coffee’s cavalry. Passing Lieupo, they paused. They had established a solid, hopefully long-lasting friendship with the lanky captain.

  “Watch out for Jackson,” Moses said. “He’ll likely need a good guard before the day is over with.” Moses couldn’t explain the feeling he had. He had no great love for Jackson’s high-handed ways toward the red man, but he didn’t want to see harm come to him either. He was suddenly glad Captain Lieupo would be close at hand.

  “I wonder where Crockett got off to,” Jonah remarked.

  “He ain’t going to like missing this fight while off doing Russell’s errands,” Henry said.

  Moses replied, “I agree. He ain’t going to like missing the big one.”

  “Maybe he’s about,” Jonah said.

  “Doubt it,” Moses replied. “You don’t hear him, do you?” It was a chuckling duo that turned the bend in the path and came upon Coffee’s cavalry.

  The first to greet them was Henry. “You finally got around to moving, I see,” the scout growled good-naturedly. Jonah and Moses were introduced to a few of the officers. “This is Eli Hammond. He is in charge of the rangers, and this is Colonel Gideon Morgan, who is in charge of our Indian friends.” Turning to another man who had walked up, Henry said, “This is John Ross. He’s Colonel Morgan’s adjutant. Men, this here’s Mr. Jonah Lee and Moses. I don’t recollect Moses’ last name,” Henry said, somewhat embarrassed.