Tallapoosa

  “Where you young fellas aiming to end up at?” asked old Ev Stang, who seemed to be a permanent fixture on the bench in front of the feed store in town. Ev had taken a liking to Saul and Cal after just two days. “You not gonna settle around here, are you?”

  “No, Ev, no, we’re not,” chuckled Saul. Ev was an amusing character but he also seemed to know a lot about the comings and goings through Knoxville. “Too crowded. We’re headed toward Nashville and figure to go past there till we find the good farm land we need.”

  Ev screwed up his whiskered face and spat a charge of tobacco juice. “Well, I tell you, fellas, if you want good land and open spaces, you’re going in the wrong direction. Oh, the land out there is fine soil all right, but all these other folks moving west are after it, too.”

  “You’re saying there ain’t much more room out there than there is here?” asked Cal.

  “’Tis now all right, or so I’m told. But won’t be long. Gov’nor Sevier been begging for people to settle west of Nashville down the Natchez Road, and they been going. Listen to old Ev, won’t be long ’fore he’s begging for some place to put all those folks.”

  “Hmmm. So you don’t think we should go to Nashville, huh, Ev?” surmised Saul.

  “Naw. Not you young fellas. I got a better idea. If it was me a heading out with what y’all want, I’d head down to Big Spring.”

  “Big Spring? Where’s that?”

  “Down south of Nashville, over into Mississippi Territory. I’m told the gov’ment is a’selling land down there and there’s lots more on past, ’specially below the river.”

  “The river?”

  “Tennessee River. That’n out there.” Ev gestured toward the river below the bluffs. “Runs south, then turns west. Some say it turns back north somewhere, but I never been out that far to see for myself.”

  “But ain’t people settling down there, too? Down there at that Big Spring?” Saul was interested but a little confused.

  “Naw, not many. Not hardly any south of the river where the best land is. Least that’s what I hear all the time. Pretty reliable tellings, too.”

  “Why not?” asked Cal.

  “Hell, that’s the bad part.” Ev spat again. “Too many Indians. Mean fellas, too, so they say. But if you can tolerate mean Indians, you two oughta do good for yourselves.”

  “Ev, you got me interested, Indians or not. We always got along just fine with the Cherokees back home. We’ll check around and see what some others think about it. We’re obliged to you for the information, friend.”

  By the next day, Saul and Cal had heard all the tales they cared to, including one trapper who told of “ . . . Indians at least ten foot tall that were eating human flesh. I seen ’em with my own eyes and I ain’t lying!”

  Ev cackled when the brothers returned to his bench and told him the story. “Warn’t no ten foot tall Indians the one time I was to down there. Didn’t see none much over nine foot tall myself.” He doubled over laughing. “Didn’t see ’em roast no people parts, either.”

  “Anyhow, Ev,” Saul announced, “Cal and me ’bout decided to do what you think we oughta, go down to Big Spring. Figure we can spend the winter there and by spring we’ll know what we want to do. If things don’t work out we can always head on back up to Nashville.”

  “I knew you would. You boys are too smart not to listen to old Ev.”

  “We reckon we’ll leave tomorrow. Do you know the best route?”

  “Shore I do, and it ain’t how most folks go. They take off down the Tennessee and stay with it. If you ain’t going by boat, that’s the wrong thing. Too many creeks and other rivers running in that you have to work across. Naw, if you listen to me you’ll follow the river south till it meets up with the Clinch River coming from the right. ’Bout thirty, forty miles, I reckon. There’s a little army outpost thereabouts somewhere. After there, find the first gap in the mountain to the west. Cross over that and you’ll be in the Sequatchie Valley. Follow that little river until you clear the mountains and run into the Tennessee again, then work your way west hugging the north edge of the river valley. You’ll run right into Big Spring ’bout sixty miles after you leave the Sequatchie.”

  A week later, the Murph brothers pulled into Big Spring, a small but busy community centered around a large natural spring near the foot of a dominating mountain.

  “You’ll be mighty welcome to use old Josh’s cabin for the winter,” offered the first resident they asked concerning temporary living quarters. “He ain’t been back here in a couple years now. Somebody needs to use the place.”

  “Well, that’s very neighborly of you,” Saul responded, “Much obliged. I think we’re gonna like it here.”

  “Y’all look like nice folks, so we’re glad to have you. The cabin is about a half mile south of the spring, toward the river. You can’t miss it. Make yourselves at home.”

  Saul and Cal soon realized that everything around Big Spring was not so nice and friendly. They had arrived in the midst of a bitter controversy.

  The previous year the legislature of the Mississippi Territory had created Madison County and the governor had put up the land at auction. Leroy Pope, a wealthy newcomer, and a British sympathizer at that, bought most of the prime parcels surrounding the spring and the nearby mountain for twenty-three dollars and fifty cents an acre. No one else could afford such an outlandish price, not even John Hunt himself.

  John Hunt had built the first cabin at Big Spring in 1805, had opened the settlement, and invited any and all to join him in developing a thriving, congenial community. Now he couldn’t afford to bid for his own property, and neither he nor anyone else in Big Spring could pay Pope’s asking price.

  Leroy Pope had petitioned the Territorial legislature to name the settlement, which had been selected as the county seat, after the home of his favorite English poet, Alexander Pope. Thus the new official name for Big Spring was Twickenham, which the majority of the residents despised. They had immediately clamored for the legislature to reconsider, but since Leroy owned most of the land, they had not been successful.

  The argument raged, not only about the name but also about Leroy’s greed. Residents accused him of wanting to make Big Spring and Madison County a sanctuary for the British. They were convinced that Leroy was related to this Alexander Pope, but Leroy insisted that the name was a coincidence. New stories and rumors circulated every day, none favorable to Leroy Pope.

  Saul and Cal Murph dared not concern themselves with local politics and so passed a pleasant winter of 1810. They talked to many people about the surrounding region and collected much information and advice. Sorting it all out by the first of March, they had decided to go south in search of their dream locale.

  The best place to settle, some told them, would be somewhere east of the Coosa River. “But don’t you go too far south,” they warned, “and certainly don’t wander nowhere near the Tallapoosa River. That’s Creek Indian lands and them savages don’t welcome whites. They’ll have your scalps quicker’n lightning.”

  Three days into March found Saul and Cal following a faint trace through the wilderness. They read it as old wagon tracks but didn’t understand why they were there. Then, peering past a clearing ahead, Saul stopped short.

  “Hell, Cal, look at that. I can’t believe it.”

  They had stumbled on a large, thriving farm located dozens of miles from the last sign of white settlement. The farmer’s name was Daniel Holman. He, his wife, and three children—two grown but young daughters and a younger son—welcomed them.

  “Why don’t you boys stay with us for a few days?” urged Daniel Holman. “We would be mighty pleased with your company.”

  Mrs. Holman and the siblings echoed the invitation and left them no choice but to accept. The kids lavished loving, skilled care on James, Tom, and George and fed them daily with double rations of oats. Daniel insp
ected and strengthened the cart and greased the wheels. Mrs. Holman fed them the finest food they had tasted since leaving Virginia, which coincidentally was also the homeland of the Holmans.

  “Clinch River Valley,” confirmed Mr. Holman. “We were practically neighbors of your folks before we left six years ago. We hated to leave Virginia, but we sure are glad we came here. This has to be the richest dirt on the planet.” Daniel walked Saul around his fields and mesmerized him with tales and tips of successful planting.

  The boy, Zack, marveled at the Murphs’ tales of adventure on the trail. But the girls, Adelin, the oldest, and Bess Marie, were more interested in the towns the men had visited and the people in them.

  “Mr. Murph,” asked Bess Marie, directing the question to either of them, “how big has White’s Fort become by now?”

  “Oh, you mean Knoxville,” remembered Saul. “It ain’t been White’s Fort for quite a while now.”

  “Oh yes, I forgot. Well?”

  “How big? Well, I suppose there’s three or four hundred folks there. Maybe more.”

  “Whew, that’s huge! How about Big Spring?”

  “Big Spring has at least a hundred people. We just came from there. We spent the winter with those good folks.”

  “Mr. Murph,” began Adelin, looking directly at Cal, “why did you want to leave Virginia and come south?”

  “Oh, oh, I,” stammered Cal, “I don’t rightly know how to say it. I just wanted to see the country and I decided it would be a good idea to follow my brother.”

  “Are you glad you did?”

  “Yeah, I, I believe I am. I think we’re gonna like it wherever we finish up.”

  “I think you will, too,” Adelin encouraged him. “Maybe it’ll be close around here.”

  With the weather brightening each day, Saul decided it wouldn’t be wise to extend their stay any longer.

  “How much farther you plan to go?” asked Daniel Holman.

  “Till we find land to our liking, I reckon,” said Saul. “It seems that this land is wide open and we can choose where we please.”

  “Pretty much,” agreed Daniel. “But make sure you get along with the Indians.”

  “What’s your reckoning on the Indians, Mr. Holman? We never had any crossings with the Cherokees back home, but we’ve heard all kinds of stories and warnings about the Indians down here.”

  “Well, son, these Indians ain’t Cherokees. They’re Creeks. Most of ’em ain’t too neighborly toward whites, but we’ve got on with ’em just fine. I’ve found that if you treat ’em fair and treat ’em as equals, they’ll regard you the same.”

  “Are any of the stories about Indian attacks true?”

  “Naw. Leastways not like those trappers and hunters we see once in a while make it sound. Oh, the Creeks have their hotheads, so be sure to stay away from them if you can. Most of the Creeks are all right, though, if you respect the land and respect their ways.”

  For three days after leaving the Holman farm, Saul and Cal skipped from ridge to ridge not knowing where they were and having nothing to illuminate the trail but their woods skills and sharp instincts. They didn’t know they were near a river until one afternoon they stood atop a hill and through the trees saw the water several hundred yards away.

  “Where you reckon we are?” asked Cal. “What river is this?”

  “Can’t be the Coosa,” Saul reasoned. “We’re too far east. It can only be the Tallapoosa. There ain’t no other around here.”

  “Sure is pretty,” said Cal. “Maybe we should settle here.”

  “Maybe so,” Saul agreed. “We’ll camp here for now and search for possible sites in the morning.”

  The brothers explored the river for three more days and found their home on a bluff overlooking a shoal from the west bank. The bluff stretched away from the river across level ground for many hundred yards, enough for a large field for crops and ample room for a compound of a cabin, an animal shed and corral, smokehouses, and other out buildings.

  “All right, we agree,” announced Saul. “This is the place. First thing to do is clear a small patch of land and get a crop going. Then we build a cabin. Little brother, we have a summer of hard work ahead of us.”

  In the following days the two felled a couple dozen trees, burned the stumps, turned the soil, and planted corn, beans, and potatoes from their supply of seed stock. They stripped the logs and dressed them for use on the cabin. They collected large stones to build pillars, for which they dug footings at a prime location about forty yards from the lip of the bluff.

  A small brook rushed past the cabin site to drop off the bluff to the river below. Saul and Cal diverted part of it into a reservoir for the animals near a spot they selected for the livestock shed. From there a small drainage ditch directed waste water to the river downstream from the compound. Drinking water was taken from the main channel of the little stream near the cabin.

  Weeks passed. Not an hour of daylight was wasted. The river yielded a bountiful harvest of fish. Cal shot a deer for a supply of venison. Plants poked through rich garden soil and appeared green and strong. The cabin’s solid stone foundation, held together with a hard compound of dried mud, supported a frame, a floor, and part of a roof.

  Saul, working on a corner support of the cabin, and Cal, on the roof, were both too busy to notice the man standing thirty yards away at the edge of their clearing.

  Since their arrival, Saul and Cal had not seen a single Indian. That worried them somewhat for they thought that surely the natives knew of their presence and probably watched them constantly. Thus, when Cal looked up and saw a man standing erect and motionless with his arm raised in a sign of peace, he yelped in surprise.

  “Saul!” Cal reached for his musket but didn’t cock it or raise it.

  “Hold on, Cal,” cautioned Saul. “Let’s see what he wants.”

  Both men cradled their weapons across their arms and stepped cautiously toward the Indian, their own arms held similarly to the visitor’s. They stopped five yards before him.

  The man wore leather moccasins, deerskin leggings from the waist to a tight gather at the ankles, and a long deerskin shirt, cinched tightly at the waist with a crude belt. On the belt hung a long bone-handled knife and a pouch which probably carried ball and powder for the long-barrel musket at his side. A wrap of a coarse cloth tightly encircled his head above the brow. Colorfully dyed beads and tiny shells decorated his garments.

  “Hello,” greeted Saul. “Welcome.” The man lowered his arm and nodded behind a quizzical look, obviously understanding no English. Saul pointed to himself and then to Cal. “I’m Saul Murph. This is my brother Cal.”

  The Indian pointed to Saul. “Saw?” Then to Cal. “Cow?”

  Saul smiled and using his finger again as a pointer, enunciated carefully. “Saul. Cal.”

  “Saul. Cal.” The man smiled in self-congratulation when Saul nodded approval. He then pointed to himself. “Pokkataw. Pokkataw,” he repeated slowly.

  “Poke Atall,” guessed Saul.

  “Pokletaw?” was Cal’s version.

  Pokkataw patiently repeated the name several times until the brothers got it right, upon which event the three dissolved into laughter.

  Through sign language and physical props, each learned a few words of the other’s language that day and more in the following weeks. Pokkataw learned faster and better and so halting English became the official tongue of the friendship.

  Over the remainder of the spring and the length of the summer, Saul and Cal developed a cordial and beneficial relationship with the Creeks. They offered food, farming and hunting tips, and a few tools to Pokkataw and his compatriots. In return, the Creeks shared native pottery, advice on fishing techniques, and Indian seeds for the field. Several times the Murphs invited Creeks for supper, Pokkataw always serving as the emissary. Saul and Cal found it esp
ecially interesting that the Indians enjoyed American coffee, the stronger the better.

  Pokkataw and his friends pitched in to help complete the cabin, learning something of the white man’s construction methods. From them, Saul and Cal learned to better seat and seal the split-pine shingles on the roof, and to make tables, chairs, other furniture items, and frames for stretching and curing animal skins. Soon the cabin was finished and attention shifted to the livestock shelter. Timber for the structures was cut from the area Saul wished to till for his crops, and thus he was able to put in a late planting for a good fall harvest.

  When leaves began to turn and the wind gained a bite in late October, Saul and Cal Murph had happily established their dream settlement. As a bonus, they had become good friends with some of the best neighbors they had ever known.

  9

  The Murph settlement, early November, 1813

  Adelin, the newest Murph, adjusted well to her new surroundings as the remainder of October passed easily into November. Periodic heavy rains meant there would be moderate flooding downriver.

  “Will raise the water level,” reasoned Saul. “Oughta wake the fish up. Bring some of them big mudcats up off the bottom.”

  Both Murph cabins underwent changes, became homes. The new mistress of each fussed to transform her respective abode to her own tastes. Soosquana decorated her walls and shelves with utensils and clay pots marked with Muskogi tribal designs in bright earth colors. Adelin captured some of the flavor of her Holman farm home with personal and household articles she had brought with her. The husbands preferred to work outdoors, but rain often trapped them into doing the wives’ bidding within the cabins.

  The new goods from Turkeytown and the Holman farm were safely stored. Tom, George, Okra, and the nanny goat relished a long, leisurely recovery from the trip north. They worked at getting fat off newly harvested feed corn and sweet hay cut from the fields.