Tallapoosa

by Larry Williamson

  A very old man arose from his seat at the head of the circle. He was Tustunnuggee Thlucco, or Big Warrior, the head chief of Tukabatchi, loosely the First Chief of the Muskogi Nation, and once the most respected man of the land. He lifted both arms to chest level with palms down, signaling for quiet. Arguments trailed to silence. For nearly a minute, the only sound was the crackling of the fire.

  “These council grounds are holy,” Big Warrior began. “That is why you argue in truce tonight, though you may revert to bloodshed one against the other tomorrow. You, as your fathers did, have often thought of me as wise and have sought my counsel. I have given to you my best always. I love my Muskogi land and I cherish my Muskogi heritage. I love my people; all of them. Though I am of the Upper tribes, I have equal devotion to those of you from the Chattahoochee.

  “I have long advocated peace with the white settlers and have worked hard to achieve accord. I have trusted the American agent Hawkins, trusted him to be the bridge between the Muskogis and the Americans. Many of you, my brothers, held the same counsel, fearing that the alternative would be that our people would perish before their plows if not their guns.”

  Big Warrior paused. He cast around the circle for some expression of dissent. Dead silence; his people still valued his counsel.

  “We have disagreed for years. We have openly and foolishly fought each other since last summer. I have held Tukabatchi open to all as a sanctuary. We have accepted your women and children while you fought each other. We took in all refugees when Talisi and Atasi were overrun. We feared that we, too, might be attacked, yet we made no defense.

  “Many of you have urged me for months to declare war on the Americans. Others have advised me to accede to the Americans’ demands. I have done neither. As for myself, I still will do neither. I am an old man; I cannot fight and I will not betray my heritage. But we must recognize that we have reached a crisis. Every Muskogi must follow his heart. As for me, I must conclude from recent events that the Americans can no longer be trusted. I urge those of you that still hold them in your confidence to be very careful. They have ignored every treaty and broken each promise. Likewise, I urge those of you that think it honorable to fight the whites also to be very careful. We are at an overwhelming disadvantage. We not only stand to lose our lives, but if we do not win, we lose our nation. If they are the victors, they will show no mercy, I fear.”

  Big Warrior sat down, his movement betraying his age. The silence slowly gave way to mumbled comments, then muted discussions, and finally back to shouted challenges. Each side contended that the wise old chief supported its respective view.

  The debate continued for another two hours until a Red Stick chief, feeling that his militants were in the majority, stood for a declaration.

  “Let this council be concluded and all that would hide in their houses among their women be dismissed. Let all that will bravely take up arms to repel the invaders respect the Dance of the Lakes.”

  At that, a dozen painted warriors leaped to their feet and began the war dance of the Shawnee, learned from Tecumseh and his followers more than two years before. The dancers slowly circled the fire, enacting the hunt and the kill. They voiced the sounds of pursuit and conflict. For fifteen minutes they danced, then suddenly with a frightening whoop, they stopped and sat down. One of their number stood again and revived the ritual, this time with more animation and more voice. His solo dance evolved to a fury as he simulated stalking an enemy and gaining victory over him. As suddenly as the first phase of the dance had ended, so did this one. Then the entire troupe furiously leaped forward and, in a frenzy, urged each man in the audience to join them. For another fifteen or twenty minutes the dance continued. More than a hundred warriors rehearsed their plans to defeat the enemy; they would drive them away under waves of passion, noise, and blood.

  On the outer edge of the campfire circle, a lone warrior had sat quietly and listened intently during the entire debate. He watched the last of the Dance of the Lakes, knowing that it meant unrestricted war. He had not danced himself, but knew on which side he must fight.

  Pokkataw pulled himself to his feet and walked north through the night, up the Tallapoosa.

  27

  The Murph settlement, February, 1814

  “Anna, you are so beautiful.” Adelin sat in the yard with the baby lying face up on her lap. She cooed and made faces at Anna, trying to provoke a giggle or a squeal. She happily settled for a gurgle and what she was sure was a smile. “You are the prettiest baby in the whole Mississippi Territory.”

  In spite of cool weather, Soosquana had agreed that a few minutes of fresh air in the noonday sun would be good for Anna. Adelin bundled her up and took her to a spot near the edge of the bluff. With no wind to mind and no one else around, she soon became totally immersed in the joy of entertaining the baby.

  Adelin loved playing with Anna and caring for her, and Soosquana appreciated the breaks. Adelin never thought of herself as the motherly type, but she couldn’t remember anything quite as joyous as tending this infant. Maybe someday soon it would be her turn.

  “Look, Anna, look,” Adelin babbled as she shook a leather toy above the baby’s face. Anna’s large, bright eyes followed the toy in fascinated awe. She gurgled again and Adelin laughed.

  Something in Adelin’s peripheral vision suddenly seemed different. She looked up and rapidly scanned the compound. There, at the head of the trail leading to the river ford, stood a band of fully armed Red Sticks.

  Adelin snatched Anna from her lap, hugged her blanket tightly around her, and ran for the cabin, yelling for Cal and Saul. She laid Anna on the bed, grabbed her musket, and cocked the flint and checked the flash pan. She slowly cracked the door. The Indians had not moved.

  Cal and Saul dashed around the corner of the cabin together, muskets at the ready. Cal went to a kneeling position while Saul braced his musket against the corner post of the porch. The Red Sticks did not react, maintaining the same stance. Then the one in front raised a hand, palm forward.

  “Hold it,” said Saul in recognition, relaxing but still aiming his musket. “It’s Pokkataw. But I don’t know the others.” He lowered his musket and stepped away from the porch. “Stay here, Cal, and cover me. I’ll find out if they are friendly or otherwise.”

  As Saul started toward the group, Pokkataw separated himself from the band and walked forward. The two friends greeted each other.

  “Friend.” Pokkataw grinned. “Long time.”

  “Welcome, brother. You scared us for a moment. We weren’t expecting you.”

  “Sorry. Too quiet.”

  “Who are your friends? We haven’t seen them before, have we?”

  “From Saugahatchi. No harm. Good friends.”

  “Then they, too, are welcome.” Saul turned and signaled to Cal to relax. “We are happy to see you again after many weeks. Come over to the cabin. The others are anxious to see you.”

  The two walked together to Cal’s and Adelin’s front yard. Soosquana came from her cabin and the two Muskogi friends greeted each other warmly.

  Adelin stood waiting for the group on her porch, Anna cradled in her arms.

  “You must see our baby!” Soosquana offered. “You have not been here since she was born.”

  Soosquana received the baby from Adelin, turned, and showed her proudly to Pokkataw. He stared and smiled, then raised his eyes to Soosquana.

  “She beautiful. Your eyes. Strong baby. Name?”

  “She is Anna. That is Adelin’s other name. We named Anna for her.”

  “Pretty name. Fine baby.”

  “Would you like to hold her?” Soosquana urged.

  Soosquana placed the bundle in Pokkataw’s arms. He looked at Anna, smiled wider than before, then tenderly hugged her to him. Soosquana beamed.

  Adelin elbowed Cal in the ribs. “See, scaredy, all men aren’t afraid of babies.”
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br />   Pokkataw lingered a long time over Anna. His mood slowly turned somber and his eyes moistened.

  “Muskogi child,” he said softly. “No future. American child. Peace. Much fortune.”

  He gave Anna back into Soosquana’s arms, looking regretful to do so. His four friends all seemed puzzled by his cryptic words. He still stared longingly at the baby.

  Adelin yet stood on the porch. “Pokkataw,” she said, “ask your friends to come over.” She had noticed that they had not moved. It could be seen now that there were four of them, all sturdy young warriors.

  Pokkataw walked a few steps toward them and called out in Muskogean. One of the men answered back but none moved. Pokkataw exchanged a few more comments with them.

  “They don’t trust us,” said Soosquana to Saul. “They refuse to come closer.”

  Pokkataw returned. “They stay. Not trusting.”

  “It’s all right,” said Saul. “We understand.”

  “Tell us, Pokkataw,” asked Cal, “where have you been? What has been happening?”

  Pokkataw began to relate events of the three months since he had last visited in November after the Hillabi Creek raids. Uncomfortable and still awkward with English, he quickly lapsed into Muskogean with Soosquana as interpreter. She handed the baby back to Adelin. The two Muskogi natives spent long minutes discussing new details from Talisi and Atasi, with little interpretation being shared with the others. He had news of Soosquana’s mother and sisters, and told of how the towns were recovering. He told what he knew of the American army, and related the stories of the fights at Emuckfau and Enitachopco Creeks. The Murphs had not previously learned of those incidents. They were stunned as Soosquana’s interpretation came through.

  “I was at Enitachopco,” Pokkataw told Soosquana, and she relayed it in English, “but I wielded no weapons to fight. But now I pick up my arms against the American hostiles. With my brothers.” He gestured to the four warriors.

  “What will you do?” asked Cal.

  Pokkataw stayed with Muskogean, speaking directly to Soosquana. He told of the Council of Chiefs at Tukabatchi two nights before. “We go now to the Hillabi villages to talk with friends and my kinsmen, who will join me and these men of Saugahatchi. We go from there to ally with Chief Menawa at Cholocco Litabixi.”

  “That may be where my brothers are,” offered Soosquana.

  “I have been told that is true.”

  “Cholocco Litabixi?” asked Cal.

  “Horse. Flat foot,” Pokkataw attempted to answer in English. He tried a better explanation in Muskogean.

  “Horse’s flat foot,” Soosquana relayed. “Or maybe horseshoe. That is a shape in the river a long day’s walk north. Chief Menawa is massing Muskogi warriors and building a new village. Perhaps there warriors and Muskogi families can be protected and will live in peace and safety. It is to be a refuge from the soldiers, some say. The army has already been driven from it once. Others wish it to be an alliance to drive unwelcome Americans from our land for good.”

  “Sounds to me like things have gotten worse,” said Saul. “No turning back on a bad situation unless the army decides to leave.”

  “We can only hope they will,” offered Adelin. “They should not be here.”

  “Looks like the Creeks aren’t going to give in, that’s certain,” observed Cal.

  “If you see my brothers, Tolokika and Ettepti-lopa,” asked Soosquana, “will you tell them you saw us? Tell them I love them and that my wish is for them to visit to see my baby and me. You will tell them about the baby, won’t you?”

  Pokkataw smiled and patted her shoulder. “For certain. I will tell them what a beautiful daughter you have and how fortunate they are to be uncles.”

  “And tell them to be cautious. I know they are determined to fight, as you now seem to be. All of you must take care. Spill no unnecessary blood,” pleaded Soosquana sadly and with fear in her voice. “I beg of the Spirits that no enemy will spill yours.”

  “I leave,” Pokkataw announced. “We hurry. Peace.” He shook hands with everyone, hugged Soosquana, and touched a gentle finger to Anna’s cheek and lingered there with a regretful look on his face.

  He then hurried to rejoin his Red Stick compatriots, declining the Murphs’ urging for him and his friends to stay longer and to share a meal.

  He led his party along the edge of the bluff to the trail down to the shoals. The Murphs walked to the top of the path and watched the five Red Sticks skip across the rocks to the other side of the river and disappear into the woods to the north.

  No one said it, but each Murph had the same thought. They feared they might never see their friend Pokkataw again.

  28

  Fort Strother, late February, 1814

  The edge of the clearing and adjacent woods overflowed with campsites of American soldiers. Two thousand militiamen under the command of Brigadier General Thomas Johnson had arrived at Fort Strother from Nashville. Complementing the two thousand were two thousand more brought by Brigadier General George Doherty from Knoxville two days earlier. With both contingents came sufficient supplies, arms, and rations for a month.

  General Jackson was ecstatic. With more than four thousand six hundred soldiers and six hundred Cherokees and friendly Lower Creeks in camp, he felt he could now go after the heart of the Creek Nation.

  “Gentlemen,” he announced at an evening staff meeting, “spring will soon arrive. We must be ready. We have little time to settle on correct strategies and join together our units. We will push forward with plans to establish an outpost farther south on the Coosa. We have the manpower to send down a construction crew and protect and supply them.”

  “General, have you determined a site?”

  “We have. We’ve selected a location about fifty miles down, on the west bank. That will place our forces only another fifty miles, by dead reckoning, from the Creeks’ fortress on the Tallapoosa. That fortress, gentlemen, remains our objective.”

  “Why the west bank, sir?”

  “Same as for here, General Doherty. The hostiles lie to the east, very few to our west. The river provides a natural defense. Why not place it between us and the enemy? I’ve also selected a name for the outpost. It will be Fort Williams. Colonel Williams and his regiment have been on the field for just a few weeks; they’ve made a difference. The Thirty-Ninth will be at the point of our offensive to the Tallapoosa. It’s fitting that we honor Colonel Williams this way.”

  At the far edge of the clearing one soldier, no more than twenty years old, sat alone on a stump, balancing a small writing board on his lap. The stubby quill between his fingers moved with a scratchy sound across the coarse paper pinned to his board.

  Dearest Elsa— I cannot help myself but to address you once again. You never leave my thoughts. I know that you forever share my love. I rue the day and the hour that I took leave of your sweet arms. But I felt then as I do now that I must answer the call of our country and our state. General Johnson has brought us to the service of General Jackson. They promise a timely end to this campaign, an adventure that I know we shall be most proud of. But such a promise pales to the promise of returning to you and our life together. Once again I beg your forgiveness for leaving you only a month after our wedding . . . .

  “Writing another letter, Virgil Tom?” asked another young militiaman as he strolled up. “That little wife of yours must be awful special. You’re always writing to her.”

  “I do miss her, Ethan. Very much.” Private Virgil Tom Ottis instinctively patted the packet of papers in the oilskin wrapper under his jacket. “I wish I had some way to post my letters. The couriers will only carry official dispatches from officers.”

  “Never you mind. We’ll be through with this business and away from here soon and back in Nashville. Your lucky lady will be purring in your ear again.”

  Virgil Tom smiled at Ethan’
s sentiment. He lost himself in a momentary daydream as Ethan walked on, then dipped the quill in his small vial of ink made from blueberry juice and spirits. He resumed writing.

  . . . My friend Ethan also thinks we shall quickly finish this war. My love, I pray so daily. This wilderness is a beautiful place but a terrible one without you at my side. I miss you every minute. Be well, dearest, and keep me always in your thoughts. Dream of me each night as I do of you. Your loving husband, Virgil Tom.

  The next morning Private Virgil Tom Ottis remained behind as a detachment of several hundred militiamen set off south. They carried tools and equipment to clear land and build a small stockade. Three companies of cavalry accompanied them, dropping off patrols at strategic points to secure the route. A hundred more soldiers were assigned to build flatboats to float supplies down the Coosa to Fort Williams.

  Tactical drills with combat troops began in earnest and continued until sunset each day. The tentative scheme called for General Coffee’s cavalry regiment to be used in a reserve or support role, the nature not yet determined. Horsemen, it was supposed, would be of limited value in a direct attack on a river wilderness emplacement. Colonel Williams and the Thirty-Ninth would center any direct assault, with General Doherty’s militia infantry on one flank and General Johnson’s on the other. General Jackson himself, along with his adjutant, Colonel Billy Carroll, would oversee Lieutenant Armstrong’s cannoneers. Officers calculated that the two light artillery pieces could be pulled overland to the battlefield. The cannon offered limited firepower but Jackson hoped they could splinter the Red Stick barricade before he had to send the infantry to the fore.

  Jackson’s confidence was tempered only by the lack of sufficient intelligence. Cherokee and friendly Creek scouts would have to be dispatched ahead of the column when the march began. The general thought it imperative that he have the layout of the Creek fortress and the lay of the land and nature of the river adjacent to it. He also needed an assessment of the Creek garrison and their weaponry.