Tallapoosa

  Soosquana patiently extracted as many details as she could from the warriors. Hours after the battle, when the brothers had regained consciousness, both badly wounded, most of the soldiers had gone. The pair escaped into the forest and worked their way north over the next two days, joining with the others one and two at a time as they happened to find each other. They decided to visit the Murph compound out of concern for their sister and, for some of the warriors, with a bent toward possible revenge.

  Soosquana learned that her mother and her sisters had fortunately been ferried across the Tallapoosa to Tukabatchi before the attack. There they supposedly remained safe with most of the other women and children of Talisi.

  Tension continued to ease as Soosquana gradually convinced all parties that they should trust each other. She stood and walked to Tolokika. She tenderly fingered his head wound, examining it carefully.

  “Saul,” she said, “we should treat their injuries.”

  Not waiting for Saul to reply, Cal stood up in one quick, fluid motion. “I’ll get the surgical pack.”

  Soosquana persuaded Tolokika and Ettepti-lopa to accept treatment. Three other warriors needed attention at least as much as her brothers, she was certain. Maybe after she successfully cared for Tolokika and Ettepti-lopa, they would not resist.

  Cal returned with a bulky canvas bundle containing the Murphs’ medical stores, consisting of cotton swabs and strip bandages, a strong poultice bartered from Turkeytown, and several herb and root extract potions boiled from native plants. The latter were concocted by Soosquana from the lore of her ancestors. She insisted that her people faithfully and successfully used these remedies. Indeed, they had seemed to work miracles on routine cuts and scrapes that Saul and Cal often suffered in their daily tasks.

  Soosquana treated Tolokika’s deep gash first. She took special pains with the part that intersected the eye socket, and she eventually fastened a neat bandage in place that should give the wound an excellent chance to heal. She informed Tolokika with a teasing smile that he could expect a prominent scar. He grinned as if that wasn’t necessarily bad. Such a vicious trophy would present an imposing facade among his peers and, more importantly, to potential enemies.

  Ettepti-lopa’s stab wound to the ribs was next. It was worse than Tolokika’s head slash. Infection already showed, but Soosquana set about cleaning the ugly hole as best she could. Though he tried mightily not to, Ettepti-lopa flinched several times from the pain.

  “Aiiiee!”

  His companions smiled as Ettepti-lopa let slip the slight yelp. His acute embarrassment only enhanced their amusement.

  Having observed the touch of Soosquana with her brothers, the other injured men finally relented. One had a wound all the way across his stomach, caused by a musket ball that came from one side, penetrated the flesh hardly more than skin deep and continued out the other side.

  A fortunate wound indeed; it could have been fatal had the shot penetrated at a deeper angle. The wound had already begun to heal, which made treating him fairly simple.

  The next warrior’s shattered shoulder was of more concern. The ball was still deep within and Soosquana knew not to try to extract it. She applied the root and herb concoctions, trying to work them as deeply as possible with a minimum amount of discomfort to the patient, and topped off the wound with a thick layer of poultice. Then she heavily bandaged the shoulder and reassured the warrior, but she knew she had not helped him very much.

  Soosquana finally turned to the last patient’s multiple wounds. His left bicep had suffered a bayonet slash, he had another deep cut on his left thigh, and there was an ugly bruise just forward of the right temple, probably from a musket butt. The head wound was the most serious, Soosquana recognized, though the absence of broken skin probably made it appear benign to the others. She dared not tell them differently, though she would confide in Saul, Cal, and Adelin later. Unfortunately, she could do less for the bruise than for the cuts.

  When she had finally finished with the medical chores, Soosquana suddenly realized that the visitors probably had eaten little for three days.

  “I will get food and drink,” she volunteered.

  “No,” offered Adelin, stopping her, “you stay here with them, Soos. I’ll get supper. We have enough roast venison to boil up a pot of stew.”

  An hour later the Indians eagerly devoured hot stew, cornbread, and strong coffee. Even then, most of the warriors kept one hand on a weapon while eating with the other.

  After supper Soosquana took a slow, solemn walk along the bluff with Tolokika and Ettepti-lopa, mourning their father and brother and missing their mother and sisters. They talked quietly but emotionally and embraced each other several times. Saul, Cal, Adelin, and the warrior friends of Tolokika and Ettepti-lopa left them to their grief and solace.

  By dusk they were gone, but most of the nine Creek warriors yet harbored a load of suspicion and distrust. The Murphs watched them make their way down the path to the shoals, cross the rocks to the trail on the opposite bank, and disappear among the trees upriver.

  “They asked me again to go with them,” revealed Soosquana. The others looked at her. “I told them I couldn’t, I wouldn’t leave. That I belonged here, that I belonged with you.”

  Saul squeezed his wife with the arm around her shoulders. “We certainly belong with you, Soos,” he said.

  “You were a hero today, Soos,” said Adelin. “Thank you.”

  Soosquana still stared after her brothers. Another tear coursed down her cheek. After a long pause she lamented quietly and sadly, “I’ll never see them again. They will join the Red Sticks upriver. They vowed that they would avenge our people’s deaths, and would die doing it. They will, too, Saul.”

  Saul squeezed her tighter. “I know, Soos, I know.”

  16

  Fort Strother on the Coosa River, December, 1813

  “What the hell is the old fool gonna do?” asked Jeb Worthington as he stoked the fire again. “He ain’t got much of nobody left if we all go home.”

  “Who gives a damn?” answered the man standing next to him, Lester Kevenhall. Kevenhall crowded the fire as closely as its heat would permit. “Damn, it’s cold! I shore ain’t chasing no more mangy Indians around this country for him no longer than I have to. ’Specially since him and his all-fired stupid officers don’t seem to know what the hell they’re doing.”

  “Now hold on,” objected Silas Monck. “General Jackson has done what he said he’d do. He lit them savages out of Tallashatchi and Talatigi, didn’t he? Hell, all of you were there. And all them Indians down along that Hillabi Creek ain’t so tough and mighty no more.”

  “We didn’t do the Hillabi Creek raids,” corrected Worthington. “That’s what I’m talking about. These stupid generals don’t know what each other is doing. We were about to win over the Hillabis without firing a shot. Then come that blooming idiot Cocke and his thugs from up about Knoxville and killed a bunch and got ’em all fired up again. ’Cause of that we’re still stuck down here in these woods in the middle of winter.”

  “I ain’t staying, neither, past my time being up ’bout three weeks from now,” said Kevenhall. “I don’t know what made me join up when y’all came through Fayetteville in October. Stupid, I reckon.”

  “Well,” insisted Monck, “I think them damn heathens still need to be taught a lesson. They can’t go ’round murdering and scalping women and children like they done. We can’t stand for it.”

  “Hell, Silas, if we was anywhere near that Fort Mims place where all that happened, I might say that myself. But I hear Fort Mims is way down ’bout Mobile or somewheres and I don’t think we’re anywhere near that. And General Jackson told us that was what this was all about when we signed on. Hell, the Indians we’ve killed ain’t even had any white folks’ scalps on ’em.”

  “Wouldn’t be so bad, I guess, if they’d get the damn sup
ply lines going like they promised,” observed another dissident. “When’s the last time we had a decent feed? Huh? Hard biscuit and fat back ain’t my idea of a fighting man’s rations.”

  “Well, I’m staying it through,” boasted Monck. “I ain’t running from no savages.”

  “Watch your tongue, Silas. Don’t be saying nothing about nobody, you hear?”

  “You can stay if you want,” announced Worthington, “but me and my company are heading for Nashville in the morning. Our enlistment is up next week and we’re getting an early start. And I’d like to see ol’ Jackson stop us, too. He cowed down that bunch last week that wanted to leave, but we ain’t gonna stay here and freeze and starve.”

  As if reacting to the word ‘freeze’, Silas Monck threw another hickory log on the already roaring fire. “Would you boys be staying if we was fighting Indians more than we are? And, of course, if they was feeding us better?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe. That’s what we come for. But we ain’t fighting ’em and they ain’t feeding us and we ain’t staying. That’s that.”

  In General Jackson’s command lodge inside the stockade, Colonel Billy Carroll asked, “General, D Company from Nashville says they’re heading out tomorrow; we gonna let ‘em go?”

  “Mutineers!” spat Jackson. “Damn ’em! They still have a week left on their militia enlistments. We’ll hold them here till then if we have to shoot some of them, but after that I reckon we’ll have to let them leave if they want.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Jackson had initiated his campaign with a call to arms in Nashville on September nineteenth. He ordered his standing cavalry militia to active status and began the recruitment of additional horsemen and infantry. Hundreds of volunteers responded with three-month enlistments, reacting to news of Fort Mims and wild rumors of Creek atrocities in its wake. By September twenty-fourth Jackson had gathered his forces at Camp Good Exchange near Nashville and made ready to march.

  Colonel John Coffee, Jackson’s cavalry commander and the husband of his favorite niece, had assured his general that the campaign would be short and victorious and glorious. Jackson promoted Coffee to brigadier and directed him and his regiment to ride straight to Huntsville in the Mississippi Territory.

  Jackson’s infantry marched south through Columbia to Fayetteville, recruiting more men at every junction, reaching Camp Blount near Fayetteville on October seventh. He pushed on to Huntsville on the tenth upon hearing a false report of great numbers of Creeks attacking on all frontiers.

  Another four day trek brought the full army to the southernmost extent of the Tennessee River. They crossed to the south bank and established Fort Deposit, which was to be Jackson’s supply base for the campaign. Not a single hostile Indian had been encountered to that point.

  From Fort Deposit Jackson had to cut a wilderness trail through virgin forests, finally arriving at Ten Islands on the Coosa River about November first. He had operated since from Fort Strother, which he had ordered built on the site. It was there that he lamented his plight on this cold December night.

  “Can’t really blame ’em, though, I guess,” General Jackson conceded about the impending departure of most of his three-month recruits. “Goddamn food’s lousy, it’s cold as hell, and we’re pinned down here with no battle provisions, thanks to those damn fools we left in charge back at Fort Deposit. Besides, we ain’t seen a hostile Creek in a month.”

  “Yes, sir,” countered Colonel Carroll, “but we have had some nice victories. The Creeks haven’t attacked any settlers lately, not since we’ve been here.”

  “Hell, Billy, there ain’t no settlers around here for them to attack! Not east of the Coosa anyhow. But don’t tell that to the men.”

  “What about the family that one of General Cocke’s sergeants says he ran across squatting down on the Tallapoosa?”

  “Hell, that soldier is a drunk and a braggart. You saw what a damn fool he is, didn’t you? He’s lying. We’ve heard rumors about all kinds of things down here. There ain’t no settlers on that part of the Tallapoosa. Ain’t no white man that stupid, Billy. Or that brave.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “All the business about Indians attacking settlers is going on farther south. All the big incidents, anyhow.” Jackson’s already hostile mood turned even darker. “Don’t matter, though. The blood-thirsty vermin around here would lift your scalp in an eye blink if you turned your back. We can’t trust ’em.” He paused, scowled, changed the subject. “Goddammit! First light send a runner on the trail north to find out where that damn supply train’s got to. They better get their asses here like Governor Blount keeps promising or we’re gonna lose our whole garrison.”

  “Yes, sir, I’ll see to it. Right away!”

  “And have General Coffee get a cavalry detachment out and surround D Company. I don’t want them leaving till next week, if at all.”

  17

  The Murph settlement, December, 1813

  “What are they doing in there?” asked Cal again. “They’re up to something.”

  “Just have to be patient,” laughed Saul. “They said it was a secret and we weren’t supposed to know until they said we could know. Just leave ’em be. You can’t figure out women.”

  Soosquana and Adelin had been holed up in the new cabin all morning working on what they called a secret project. Saul and Cal, in spite of the cold, sat in front of the old cabin trimming poles and saplings and shaping them to dry. They would fashion chairs and tables and other pieces of furniture from them later in the winter. One or the other of the women emerged occasionally and pranced by with a smug expression, but spoke not a word. Cal, especially, could hardly stand the teasing.

  “Getting colder,” observed Saul, looking up at dark clouds rolling in fast from the southwest. “Could be some snow.”

  “Naw, too early. Might rain, but no snow. Ain’t snowed in December since we come here.”

  “Don’t mean it can’t.”

  They began thinking back and tallying. This was their fourth winter on the Tallapoosa and they had seen snow only a few times.

  “Five,” concluded Saul, “counting only the times it stuck.”

  “I only get four. And just one of those amounted to anything. Three inches or so two years ago, was it?”

  “I think so,” Saul laughed. “Sure different from in the mountains back in Virginia, huh? We had it up to our chins all the time back there out from Roanoke, remember?”

  Adelin strutted by again and flashed another flirtatious smile. She said nothing. Cal gnashed his teeth.

  Soosquana still mourned her father and brother and her home village, but the hurt had begun to heal. She made heroic efforts to attend to her chores and to involve herself with her husband and her in-laws. Despite the intense pain of her losses, her cheerful, busy, confident personality had reemerged, and she had taken charge again of preparing for the birth of her baby. She glowed with excitement more each day as the time drew closer.

  Finally, late in the morning, Soosquana called out. “Come over. We’re ready for you.”

  Saul and Cal dropped their work and walked to the cabin, stopping in the yard. The women were still inside.

  “Ready?” Soosquana asked from behind the door. “I come out.”

  She stepped from the door in full ceremonial Muskogi dress, resplendent despite her enormous bulge. She had not looked quite so elegant or so native since her wedding, thought Saul. She stopped on the porch and smiled.

  “Gorgeous!” said Cal.

  “My! Soos, that’s beautiful,” declared Saul. “So that’s what y’all been doing all morning.”

  “Only part of it. You not seen best thing yet. Adelin?”

  Soosquana stepped aside as the door opened again. Out strode Adelin, and what a sight! She wore a dazzling Creek dress made of fine deerskin. Her moccasins were topped with colored bead
tassles. The belt around the wrap-around skirt was tipped with more brilliant beads. A cloth and bone sash crossed her body from one shoulder; the small bones, uniform in size, were dyed red, blue, yellow, and white. More beads and tips of hawk feathers were woven generously through her auburn hair, combed long and flowing. Several tiers of beaded necklaces encircled her neck and looped to her breasts.

  The Murph brothers stood speechless, mouths open. “Wow,” Cal finally managed. “I mean, wow! Adelin!” He stammered. “Wow!” he repeated.

  “You like it?” asked Adelin with a bat of her eyes at Cal.

  “I must say you girls surprised us,” said Saul. “You are both something. Absolutely beautiful!”

  “Is Adelin not pretty?” asked Soosquana, gesturing proudly. “She very pretty. Adelin real Muskogi woman now. She is my sister.”

  When the women finished parading and the men overcame their amazement, the next surprise was a special feast of fried chicken for dinner, and the promise of venison steaks for supper.

  “No special occasion,” explained Adelin. “We just wanted to do it.”

  Worsening weather didn’t dampen the festive mood, even though light rain began in the middle of the afternoon and the temperature continued to drop rapidly. The thick cloud cover brought darkness earlier than normal, and with it the drizzle turned to sleet.

  By the time supper was finished and Adelin and Cal walked to their cabin, the precipitation had become equal parts of rain and sleet with a few flakes of snow showing. The wind had lessened somewhat but still blew from the southwest.

  A half hour later, before preparing for bed, Cal opened a shutter to check again on the weather. “Uh oh. Look, Adelin. How about this?”

  The rain had given over completely to snow. It fell steadily in medium flakes. The wind had died completely so that the only sound aside from the familiar rush of the shoals was the soft rustle of snow falling through the trees. White patches had already begun to stick around the yard.