Tallapoosa

  “We do not disagree,” said Naupti. “But we do not share your view that all whites are evil. My eldest daughter has taken a good white man as her husband. He and his people respect us. We will fight as hard as you against those who do not.”

  Seekabo turned away. He stood for a long time with closed eyes and clenched fists. “My brothers,” he finally started, again spitting anger, “you are wrong to hope further for peace on the terms of the white government or on the good will of their settlers. Though the body of Tecumseh has been killed by American soldiers in the northern war, his mighty spirit lives eternally here among his Muskogi brothers. His mother was birthed on the banks of the Tallapoosa. Though he and his brother, Tenskwatawa, the master of the prophets, led the great Shawnee tribesmen, he never forgot his Muskogi ancestry. Now that he is dead, his spirit cries out more than ever for victory over the aggressions of the white nation. I speak for Tecumseh and for Tenskwatawa and for all the shamans of the Muskogis and the Shawnees. I implore you to abandon your caution, fight for your people, and reclaim your sacred homelands.”

  “That is all well, dear friend Seekabo,” pondered Hopoithle Miko. “But we could not do such a thing alone, and the Lower towns would never join such a fight. What of the Choctaws and the Seminoles?”

  “Our Choctaw and Seminole brothers are prepared to fight. They await your leadership.”

  “We must know more. If we are forced to fight we must know which tribes and villages to trust. We will destroy ourselves and forfeit all that you beg us to protect if we act in haste and by mistake.”

  “Then I urge you to seek the alliances of those that you trust, and swiftly before it is too late.”

  “I will make a pact with you, my friend, and with our brothers from Kailaidshi. Let us drink together from the sacred waters of the Tallapoosa in remembrance of Tecumseh, and as a pledge to do whatever is necessary to protect this mighty river and all the land that embraces it, and to preserve it for the Muskogi people forever. We may exercise different cautions, but we share common goals and concerns.”

  “Agreed!” spoke Seekabo, feeling that he had finally opened a crack in Hopoithle Miko’s resistance. He waded into the river and scooped water into cupped hands, following the gesture of the old, wise chief. He drank, “In remembrance of the magnificent warrior Tecumseh. And we pledge death to all that dishonor his memory or defile the lands that he walked!”

  7

  The Murph settlement, early October, 1813

  Saul had worked the garden plots until noon, pulling up the last of the onions, then digging and storing several baskets of potatoes. There remained to be harvested an abundance of potatoes, the only major crop still in the fields.

  After dinner he turned his attention to the new cabin. Additional furniture had to be built and the fireplace was not yet fully cured. Otherwise, it awaited its tenants.

  Soosquana had already moved many items from the old structure. She worked daily getting the new cabin clean, airtight, and familiar. She also wanted to leave the other in as good shape as possible for Cal. When time became available, she spent it lovingly crafting a cradle from bent saplings for the coming little one.

  Saul labored through the afternoon on the log bridge between the cabins. It was strong and wide enough for a horse and a loaded wagon to cross safely, but it needed rails and additional gravel from the river for the approaches. Fashioning the rails had his attention this day.

  A spring-fed brook ran between the cabins. It flowed briskly over a stone bed toward the river. Saul and Cal had diverted part of the stream to form a pool at the animal pen. The excess and waste water drained south through the woods behind the new cabin to the river. The natural branch slid beneath a small foot bridge and continued on past the cabins to pour freely off a boulder. Water for drinking and cooking was collected there. The rapid flow next passed under the sturdy rail bridge and on to another rocky drop into a small reservoir, convenient for washing clothes, tools, equipment, and people. Another twenty yards and the branch plunged off the bluff to the river below as a thin but pretty waterfall.

  Saul pondered the concerns for their safety he and Pokkataw had discussed. Saul and Cal had little cause to fear the Red Sticks; Pokkataw himself was a Red Stick. But things could explode any day and could threaten the Murphs. White settlers were the root grievance among the Creeks, and he and Cal were the only whites in the region. There was no doubt some of the more excitable militants would welcome an excuse to tear into the Murphs.

  Perhaps we should be more worried, Saul mused as he buttressed an upright against a side of the bridge. Maybe Pokkataw knows much more than we do. Maybe he isn’t telling all he does know.

  Shadows had just begun to stretch and flatten when a rustling sound filtered from the woods in the direction of the road. Saul made a quick move for his musket, but after a single step relaxed at a second noise. It was the happy bray of George as the mule sensed the familiarity of home.

  Saul walked around the corner of the cabin to peer toward the woods as the first horse cleared the trees. Soosquana came and stood beside him. They marveled at the sight. Cal and a stranger rode side-by-side mounts ahead of the mule pulling a heavily laden cart. A woman. As they drew nearer, Saul recognized her as the farmer’s redheaded daughter from along the trail to Turkeytown.

  “Holy hell!” Saul exclaimed.

  Soosquana looked at Saul. “Who is she?”

  Cal halted his party in front of the cabin. “Hi there, big brother,” he greeted with a wide smile. “Hi, Soos. Miss me?”

  “Is this the young lady I think it is?” asked Saul, as he caressed the mule’s cheek and patted his neck. He laughed. “Did you kidnap her, Cal, you fool?”

  Cal’s smile changed to a happy blush. “This here’s my, my wife. This is Adelin. We got married back at her folks’ place. Adelin, I think you remember my ugly brother Saul, don’t you? And this is his wife, Soosquana. Call her Soos. You’ll like her. You’re probably gonna hate Saul.”

  Cal and Adelin dismounted. Adelin took the hand offered by Soosquana, then by Saul.

  “Welcome, Adelin,” smiled Soosquana.

  “Me, too,” offered Saul. “I can’t imagine how you got talked into this.”

  Light conversation continued as the men unhitched George. They would leave the cart in front of the cabin for easier unloading. Soos and Adelin rummaged through the cart’s contents. Saul and Cal left the women to get acquainted as they led the four animals, one with its cargo of chickens, up the path to the animal pen and shelter.

  “You finally snagged that little girl you’ve been sweet on, huh? You surprised me but, hell, congratulations.”

  “Thanks, brother.”

  The brothers walked side by side, smiling. Saul’s brown hair and mature carriage contrasted with Cal’s dark blond, unruly locks and smug grin. Scattered freckles accented Cal’s forever boyish face that conveyed perpetual enthusiasm. He stood two inches shorter than Saul’s almost six foot height. Both were lean and muscular, essential characteristics for thriving in the wilderness, but Saul carried his heft on a slightly larger frame.

  “How did you find Turkeytown? Any news from Virginia? Did you hear anything of our old friends in Big Spring?”

  Saul asked his questions rapidly, not allowing Cal a chance to answer. He paused with the Big Spring question. The Murphs had wintered there in 1810 before moving on down into the Territory that spring.

  “Only that it ain’t Big Spring no more. Word in Turkeytown is that they wanted to name it Huntsville. Already did, ’bout two years ago, I guess. After Old Man Hunt that used to claim all the land up there. Why they wanted to change the name nobody can understand.”

  “I don’t like that. Big Spring sounds right to me. Humph! Huntsville?”

  “‘Least that’s better than what loony Leroy Pope tried to name it while we were there, after he bought up all the best clai
ms. What was it, Twickersham, Trillerhan, something like that ’cause he liked the British? But no matter, how have things been here while I was gone?”

  “Fairly quiet, except for the other day when some of those young troublemakers running down the river trail raised a ruckus. Just blowing off steam, though. Nothing to it. Pokkataw came by a little later to check on us.”

  “Well, about that. That’s the other news from Turkeytown. You ain’t gonna like this.”

  The brothers went about feeding and cleaning the animals while Cal retold the stories of Burnt Corn Creek and Fort Mims and rumors of a military campaign. As the Holmans had been, Saul was horrified.

  “Damn! All this country needs is for soldiers to come nosing around down here and fighting to break out. Don’t they realize how riled up the Creeks are already?”

  They finished the chores and walked back toward the cabins. The setting sun painted the hazy sky in orange and golden splendor.

  “I guess me and Soos better move into the new cabin tonight, huh? You and Adelin need your space.”

  “Yeah. We’ll help you move after supper.”

  “Hey!” Saul pulled up short, suddenly realizing an absurdity. “Cal, since you knew about all the trouble, and that we very well could catch hell, how come you brought that gal down here? Are you daft?”

  Cal half smiled. “Brother, you just don’t know. Seems that once I stepped in it, I had really stepped in it! She wasn’t gonna let me step out of it, either, and she wouldn’t take no stuff from me or her daddy on the matter.”

  Saul snorted. “You really tried to talk her out of coming?”

  “Yeah, we did, honest, but wasn’t no stopping her. Can’t say I was disappointed, though.”

  “Did you tell her how things might get here?”

  “She knows the situation, but she was coming anyhow. She’s one tough filly, brother.”

  “Not a good idea to rile her, huh?”

  “Yeah.” Cal smiled. “She just might chew both of us up.”

  Saul laughed out loud. “Couldn’t stop her, you say?” Cal appeared puzzled at his big brother’s sudden amusement. “Doesn’t that remind you of someone else about four years ago?”

  A broad grin slowly creased Cal’s face as he remembered . . . .

  8

  Four miles west of Roanoke, Virginia, August, 1809

  Henry Murph gazed across the bean field where his oldest son weeded the crop. Another two weeks and the beans would be ready for first picking.

  Henry knew Saul had become restless. He was twenty-three years old and more than ready for a place of his own. Saul had developed into a master farmer, equal to Henry himself, and capable of operating alone a farm the size of the Murph place. Henry had more than half of his thirty acres planted in apples and grapes, with just enough acreage devoted to vegetables and lifestock to support the family. His other four children would be more than sufficient help, so he could afford to let Saul go. It would be unfair not to give his blessing.

  “Thank you, Father,” said Saul after Henry brought up the subject and revealed his feelings. “I’ve wanted to tell you for a while but I didn’t know if you would agree to the idea.”

  “Son, you’ve done your share for your mother and me and your brothers and sisters. You have your own life to live and it’s time you got on with it.”

  “Well, Father, there is something else.” Saul hesitated. His father might not be so agreeable to the remainder of his idea. “I don’t think I want to stay around here, in the Roanoke area. These mountains are my home; I’ve never known anywhere else. But . . . ”

  It was true; Saul had lived his entire young life thus far on the Murph farm. He had been born a year after Henry and his bride Mary, a beautiful young lass from outside Petersburg, had broken the land. Henry had claimed the stake as his promised payment for honorable service with George Washington against the British on Yorktown Peninsula. Saul had remained an only child for six years until brother Callister was born, then sister Pauline two years later. Brother Nathan followed the next year, and finally sister Mary in another three years. Five children in all and they were growing fast, too fast to be confined for long on thirty acres.

  “ . . . but I just feel real strong that I don’t want to settle around here. I think I need to go where there’s lots of land.”

  Henry paused in currying one of the horses he and Saul were feeding and cleaning after another long day in the fields and orchards. “There’s plenty of land here, son. No need to go very far adrift.”

  “No, Father, there ain’t land here. Not for long, for certain. There are people coming down the Shenandoah Valley and over the Blue Ridge Mountains every day. It’s getting crowded here.”

  “What do you have in mind then?”

  “I think I want to go west.”

  “Eh?”

  Saul wiped sweat and mud from leather harness. “I’m smart enough to know that most of the tales of easy riches in the west are not true. I don’t think stories of bloodthirsty, vicious Indians and monstrous animals are either. But the land is there and I hear it’s good dirt, the kind a hard-working farmer can make a fine living from. Too, I’ve heard they are begging for settlers in Tennessee.”

  “Yes, son, I’m aware of that. Your mother and I will hate to see you go so far away, but if you must, you must. We understand and we’ll give our support. Or you might consider heading down Georgia way. I hear there is new land opening up down there. And if that didn’t work out you could keep on going to the south of the Mississippi Territory. I understand there is a new road being cut through from Milledgeville in Georgia to Mobile and New Orleans.”

  “Ah, I don’t know about that. That don’t sound like our kind of farming. I’m a mountain farmer. I think I might just continue down the Blue Ridge range and see what I can find.”

  So the Murphs agreed, though reluctantly, to cut big brother Saul loose to explore the west and settle a piece of it. He would leave when the harvest was far enough along for the rest of the family to easily complete it, but early enough to travel ahead of mountain snows. Saul figured he could make it to somewhere in Tennessee by winter and be ready to stake a claim in early spring, perfect timing to clear and plant. Henry would award him the younger mule, George, a small cart, and a modest supply of basic farm tools and seeds to go with Saul’s own saddle horse, James. That would be a fine start to developing a nice little farm.

  As late September approached, one member of the Murph family began to see a flaw in Saul’s plan. Seventeen-year-old Cal thought it should include him as well.

  “But, Saul, you could use some help,” he reasoned. “You know that. Admit it, you’d like me to go with you, wouldn’t you?”

  “Even if I did, Mother and Father would never allow it.”

  “Of course they would if you asked them yourself.”

  “Well, I’m not asking. Mother would slap my nose off my face for asking such a thing.”

  “So what if I asked and told them it was all right with you? That you would like for me to go with you?”

  “Maybe. No promise. But they ain’t gonna let you go; might as well forget it.”

  Cal didn’t forget it. That same night around the supper table he shocked his parents with his request. “And Saul says he would welcome me along,” he finished.

  Every eye turned to stare at Saul. His mother, deliberately and scoldingly, inquired, “You said that, Saul?”

  “Well, no, ma’am, not exactly.”

  “What, exactly? Your brother is only seventeen.”

  “I know, Mother. I told him I wouldn’t stop him if he could convince you and Father.” Everyone’s eyes rotated back to Cal, but Saul had something to add. “But if he truly wants to go, I would indeed welcome him along. Father, you know Cal is already as good a woodsman as either of us, and a better hunter than we are.”

&nbs
p; “Yes, he is that,” Henry Murph acknowledged, sounding as if he argued with himself.

  Saul continued as Cal smiled proudly and hopefully. “Cal may never be a natural farmer, but he’ll make his way. If you let him, I would like for him to go west with me.”

  “Harrumph!” snorted Henry. “Well, we still have plenty of time. We’ll talk more about it later.”

  They did. Every day. But Cal could not be shaken. Mary and Henry Murph tried every argument while Saul stayed neutral. He said nothing else in Cal’s behalf, leaving little brother to fight the battle for himself. If Cal could win over his parents to agree to such a huge turnover in their lives, and in Cal’s, then Saul figured his brother could surely make it in the wilderness with him.

  When it was time for Saul to leave, Cal stood firm and his parents reluctantly gave their blessing. They could work the farm with the help of the remaining siblings, and they knew that soon they would have to cut Cal loose anyway. They trusted their sons and since the two had always been close, they concluded that traveling and living together had to be best for both. Thus, Saul and Cal Murph left their native Virginia behind to find the rest of the world.

  After only one day the two adventurers crossed the New River and began the climb of the Blue Ridges to the mountain divide and down the other side. In less than a week they stood on a high ridge overlooking the Holston River.

  “If we follow this valley,” announced Saul, “we should make it to Knoxville in a few days. Least ways, that’s what I’ve been told.”

  “Let’s get going then,” prodded Cal, still enthusiastic, as he urged his horse, Tom, down the slope. He tugged on the lead rope to George, who faithfully pulled the cart. The mule occasionally voiced, with a happy bray, his pleasure to be traveling.

  Less than a week later, the Murph brothers pulled into Knoxville, a growing town high on the bluffs above a bend in the Tennessee River, and the capital of Tennessee, a state for only thirteen years. They decided to stay a few days to rest the animals and to gather as much information as possible about prospects west.