Tallapoosa

  “Chief Menawa, I know of the whites and of their ways. They do not recognize or honor our Spirits. They will defy any curse and will happily possess the hill. It will be of much use to them. From there they can see into our numbers and can fire their muskets from a high angle. We could suffer greatly. Also, the soldiers seek high ground for their cannon. At Enitachopco Creek their cannon did us grave harm and they had not so good a position on which to mount them. They surely will place their pieces on that hill and our emplacements will lie within their range.”

  “They cannot penetrate our wall!”

  “That may be. Or maybe they can if they have guns big enough. Whatever their weapons, they have much advantage by firing on our warriors so that we do not defend the wall as well as we might. If we concede the hill, Chief Menawa, we will suffer by it.”

  “I shall trust the counsel of Monahi and the other prophets. They assure me that the Spirits will not betray us, that we cannot be defeated.”

  “Hear me, Chief Menawa, Mad Jackson’s army will number many more men than we Muskogis can gather. They have superior weapons. I tell you, as great as our warriors and our Spirits are, we will be defeated if we do not prepare every possible defense. I beg of you to enclose the hill within our ground, and to set defenses along the river.”

  “The river, Pokkataw?” Chief Menawa showed impatience. He thought he had concluded the respected warrior’s consultation. “The river is its own barrier. The army has no canoes. They cannot wade the waters. No, their soldiers can only reach us across the barricade, and that the Spirits will not permit. Never will we be defeated if the American chief Jackson’s army is foolish enough to attack us on this holy ground.” Menawa flashed anger. “The prophets have spoken, and I have spoken with them!”

  Later, a troubled Pokkataw walked the river bank the entire length of the bend, a distance of over two miles. He studied the landscape on both sides with an eye toward military tactics. The river around the peninsula was indeed deep and the current more than moderate. While its width was not forbidding, it would be difficult for the Americans to stage an invasion from the opposite shore. But the bluffs on that side might provide an advantage for their artillery pieces should they wish to mount them there, making the village of Tohopeka especially vulnerable. Jackson will surely cover the other bank, Pokkataw thought, as any good military commander would, with reserve forces even if he chooses not to attack from there. He didn’t wish to doubt a man as great as Menawa, but he feared the weaknesses in the Muskogi positions.

  Pokkataw stood pensively on the river bank at the canoe landing, located on the back side of the bend at the end of the wide flats. More than twenty canoes lined the bank. Some were heavy scooped out logs while the more servicable crafts were constructed of sapling frames with deerskin coverings sealed with pine resin. The level corridor between the river and the tableland narrowed to the north, while the flat plain of Tohopeka at the vertex of the peninsula opened before him to the east. Smoke and smells from campfires filled the air as women preparing food scurried among tents and huts. Laughing children chased each other among the trees.

  He studied the river current, for it was just past the canoe landing that it began to accelerate toward the swift eddies around the island. At the moment the water level seemed dangerously low. An enemy would have an easy time crossing, mainly because of the subdued flow. A vigorous current was mandatory for the river to serve at its maximum as a natural deterrent.

  A voice hailed from behind.

  “Pokkataw.”

  He turned to face two strong warriors. He judged from their body paint designs that they were natives of one of the towns on the lower Tallapoosa river.

  “Pokkataw, you are friend of Soosquana? I am Tolokika and he is Ettepti-lopa. We are brothers of Soosquana.”

  Pokkataw greeted the brothers warmly. He had looked for them since his arrival and, failing, he had decided that they were not there.

  “We have been hunting, gathering food for the village. You have seen Soosquana? She is well? Tell us of her little one.”

  “Soosquana is well and she is happy. She has a strong baby girl that she has named Anna. She asked me to find you and to pass on to you her devotion. Soosquana was certain you must be here. She told me of your family misfortune, for which I mourn with you. She also spoke of your anger.”

  Scattered drops of rain began to fall. The men didn’t seem to notice as they continued to talk of Soosquana’s baby and of making war. They climbed the near slope to the tableland and walked across to the wooded knoll that overlooked Tohopeka. The rain increased.

  “This position should also be defended,” Pokkataw contended, “even if it is well within our bounds.” The brothers did not disagree but didn’t seem to fully grasp the strategy.

  Pokkataw explained. “If we are invaded from across the river, this elevation offers clear view of the river and of Tohopeka. It would be of great advantage in repelling such an attack. And if the soldiers break through the barricade and advance from that direction, this little hill with its thick brush will be the last line of defense before the invaders reach Tohopeka. Escape into the river by the women and children might be possible if the soldiers can be delayed here.”

  “You seem to know much of the white man’s way of war, Pokkataw,” observed Ettepti-lopa.

  “I have learned much. The white soldiers fight differently from the Muskogi. Even when we have their weapons, we do not use them the same.”

  “We are not a warring people,” insisted Tolokika. “This war has been forced on us.”

  “Yes, and our failure to lay aside the differences of our peoples and join in a unified defense against the whites is to be the death of our homeland. We have yet to learn the strategies of this new enemy and I believe that we shall suffer from our ignorance.”

  The rain had steadily grown. It now came in torrents, signaling the beginning of needed spring rains. Pokkataw, Tolokika, and Ettepti-lopa walked together the grounds of Cholocco Litabixi, ignoring the downpour as they awaited deadlier storms to follow.

  31

  Fort Williams, March 22, 1814

  The rain continued. Perhaps not as heavy as overnight, but still enough to shut down most operations.

  “Damn rain!” snorted General Andrew Jackson. Water streamed from a crease in his hat. He stood with Colonel Billy Carroll watching soldiers unload the flatboats that had docked at the landing that morning. “This holds us up, I fear. I had wanted to begin the march tomorrow.”

  “At least the rain released the flatboats,” observed Carroll.

  The boats had been stranded on sandbars two miles upriver for several days on their journey down from Fort Strother. When the rain had begun yesterday morning and continued hard, the boats had loosened and finally broken free during the night. They had docked just past dawn and the process of transferring their stores to nearby tents and from there to wagons had begun immediately.

  The ferry had been moving men and goods across the river nonstop since the column had arrived yesterday morning. It was a slow process and the rain made it slower. Three thousand soldiers had to be transported, and the provisions to sustain them for a week. The ordnance to fight a major campaign also awaited conveyance over the river.

  On the east bank, teams of woodsmen had been sent to extend the road into the wilderness so that when the march did begin it would have a reasonable headstart. Companies of soldiers already ferried across camped along the road awaiting orders.

  “How much longer till they are all on the other side, Billy?”

  “Sometime tomorrow morning, sir. If the ferry holds up, that is. It’s being taxed greatly, General, and the current is increasing.”

  “Coffee’s regiment?”

  “He plans to take the rest of his men and horses across in the morning.”

  “See that he does it this afternoon, Billy. The river’s ri
sing; he doesn’t need to make it harder on the horses.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And direct him to send his companies to the end of the road that’s been cleared so far. Now, Billy, what do our numbers look like? Those for the march, I mean, not counting the garrisons we’re leaving to watch the forts.”

  “Best we can see, General, ’bout two thousand infantry. The Thirty-Ninth and the two new brigades of militia. We have joined what we already had into those. There is General Coffee’s cavalry regiment; we added the new horse soldiers to his outfit, bringing him up to about seven hundred. The Indians number six hundred, one hundred of ’em Lower Creeks. Total personnel about three thousand three hundred, sir.”

  “That’s good, Billy. I think we have adequate forces this time.” Jackson gritted his teeth at the remembrance of being stopped at Emuckfau Creek in January. “What about the spy teams we sent out last week? I know some of ’em returned. Others turn up this morning?”

  “Yes sir. Two more of the Creeks arrived about dawn. They came over on the ferry and are waiting for us in the stockade.”

  “Good. We need to know more than we do now.”

  “Two more teams out. They could’ve been caught.”

  “Let’s see what these two savages can tell us. Find an interpreter for us, Billy.”

  The two Indians did indeed have information to add to the intelligence already collected. It was known that the Creeks’ fortress lay approximately fifty miles due east on a horsehoof-shaped bend of the Tallapoosa. Its natural landscape made it easy to defend. It would be difficult to rout the defenders, according to the spies, especially now that the Creek warriors had grown to a thousand or more. That was approximately twice the number they had expected to encounter there in January.

  “What of their leadership?” asked Jackson through the interpreter. The previous spy teams had not been certain who was in charge at the Horseshoe.

  “It is Menawa,” the interpreter relayed, “and . . . .”

  “Who’s he?”

  The interpreter didn’t have to ask the Creek spies. He already knew of Menawa, so he answered the question himself. “Chief Menawa is an important warrior chief of Oakfuski town. He has long been a militant among the Red Sticks. He is a disciple of Tecumseh . . . .”

  “Oh, Christ! One of those blood-soaked weasels.”

  “And he counsels with the Spirits and listens to the prophets.” The interpreter returned to the scouts’ intelligence information. “He has several prophets with him and it is thought that one named Monahi is his chief aide and adviser.”

  “Do we know anything about the terrain of that Horseshoe place?” asked Colonel Carroll. “We also need to know of their arms, and their ammunition supply. Have they gotten hold of any of the new weapons the British are pouring in at Pensacola?”

  “Also,” added Jackson, “we still need to know more about the wall they’ve built.” He turned back to the interpreter. “Can they say more of that?”

  The spies could only add minor new details beyond what they first reported. And, no, they knew nothing of the two spy teams not yet heard from.

  “Would that rogue Crockett were still here,” complained Jackson. The master scout David Crockett had returned home after the skirmishes at Emuckfau and Enitachopco, but had promised to return straightway. “He’d get more out of these sorry fellows that call themselves scouts. They can’t even spy decent on their own kind.”

  “Crockett weighed that he would be back by now,” explained Carroll, “but he still wasn’t at Fort Strother when the last of us pulled out. Guess he got held up back in Tennessee.”

  Colonel Carroll toured the post to relay General Jackson’s orders. He personally inspected the ferry and carefully instructed the lieutenants and engineers in charge about the importance of preventing trouble. Breakdowns requiring lengthy repairs could not be tolerated, he stressed.

  “That doesn’t come from me, gentlemen,” he hammered at the officers. “That’s General Jackson talking!”

  Carroll continued on to General Coffee. Aware of the friction between the scout Crockett and Coffee, he told of Jackson’s lamentation about Crockett’s absence.

  “Hell, we don’t need that bastard,” spat Coffee.

  “I knew you’d like that,” laughed Carroll.

  Coffee always became angry at the mention of Crockett’s name. They had feuded since October when the army first approached Ten Islands. Crockett reported an abnormal number of Indians crossing the river and Coffee discounted his alarm as unimportant. But when a militia major observed the same thing the next day, Coffee treated his report seriously and acted on it. The snub infuriated Crockett and he loudly voiced his complaint. Crockett already distrusted military command, and the incident only accelerated his venom. He and Coffee still had no confidence in each other and avoided contact whenever possible.

  “He’s a bragger and a liar,” continued Coffee. “And very probably a coward. He had a month left on his enlistment, this campaign came up, he paid some poor slob to finish his term, and he took out again for Tennessee. Not the first time he’s done that, either. He scrams in the face of most every action.”

  “He was with us at Emuckfau and Enitachopco,” reminded Carroll.

  “I’ve heard him brag about that. I don’t think he did half of what he claimed.”

  “Perhaps not.”

  “Can’t prove by me he was even there. I don’t remember seeing him at all. Maybe he hid behind one of those big trees.”

  Carroll laughed again, left Coffee to start his cavalry across the treacherous Coosa, and continued his rounds.

  The rain slackened at noon and stopped completely by midafternoon. The morale of the men heightened as their clothes dried and the chill disappeared beneath a bright sun that came out to finish the day. The troops quickly regained the itch to fight. The work pace increased though the river continued to rise.

  “Gentlemen,” addressed General Jackson at a staff meeting just before sundown. “We march at dawn day after next. Spend tomorrow organizing your units, seeing them to their sharpest, and preparing your equipment and your ordnance. See that each man is amply supplied with shot and powder and that his musket and bayonet are of good service. Supply your men with field rations for several days’ campaign.

  “We should arrive at our objective after three days of cutting through the wilderness, hopefully less if the rain hasn’t made the going too soft. There are no roads, not even trails, where we venture. I hope, gentlemen, to face the enemy with the dawn on the twenty-seventh.”

  The patter of soldiers and the hustle of preparing for war resounded clearly from beyond the walls of the Fort Williams stockade. Dozens of fires burned bright on both sides of the Coosa River, to dry and warm men and clothing as much as to cook the supper meal. Trails of wood smoke wafted into a slight breeze, which ushered it to the river channel and turned it downstream into a blanket of fog.

  After riding the ferry across the river, Private Virgil Tom Ottis propped his clothes and equipment on sticks before a fire. They would dry in a half hour if he turned or rearranged them often, he thought. He checked to be certain he had properly laid out every item, then picked up the small parcel of leather oilskin next to his pack and sat down on a nearby log.

  Virgil Tom gingerly unwrapped the soft buckskin from around his letters. Elsa would love to have these, he thought; I wish I could get them to her. He unfolded a page and read silently, then returned it to the packet and took out another.

  I must find time to write again tonight, he vowed. A long one this time, because we leave tomorrow and I may not get another chance for days.

  Virgil Tom refolded the letter and stacked it with the others. He carefully rewrapped the oilskin around the treasures, wiped the mist from his eyes, and rose to tend the fire.

  Good-spirited goading and cursing broke out as dark set
tled in, and gambling, and laughter. Crude songs rang above the din. More laughter. More cursing.

  Andrew Jackson stood in the gate of the stockade listening, a coffee mug in his hand. He liked what he heard. His army was happy to be finally going to war. We might end it this time, he thought, and open this fine, rich land for our good Tennessee settlers.

  32

  The Murph settlement, late March, 1814

  Baby Anna gurgled with delight as Soosquana wrestled with her in the shallow, swift part of the brook. Soosquana attempted to bathe the naked infant, a task that had developed into an intricate game for both of them. Nearby, in the wash pool of the little stream, Adelin scrubbed clothes and cooking pots.

  “Soos,” laughed Adelin, “you’re having more fun than Anna.”

  “She is such a funny baby, is she not?”

  “How is Saul doing with her?”

  Soosquana giggled. “I make Saul get up and rock Anna at night when she cries. He loves it. He fusses, but he loves it,” she repeated.

  “Wonderful. I knew he would come around.” She got up and began to stretch articles of clothing across tables and chairs to dry.

  “When are you going to give Cal a little one to rock at night?” teased Soosquana.

  “Ha!” scoffed Adelin. “Cal hasn’t learned to handle Anna yet. He’s still afraid of her. But truth is, Soos, I’m less ready than he is. Maybe soon, I keep saying. Maybe.”

  “What do you three ladies gossip about?” Saul walked over holding up a string of fish to show off, having just climbed up from the shoals.

  “You!” both women chimed, and smiled at their unison.

  “And Cal,” added Soosquana. She wrapped Anna in a blanket and began rubbing her dry. “Nice fish. Make a good supper. You clean them,” she ordered, and laughed again with Adelin.

  “Fine. And what if I eat all of them, too?”

  “You not that big a pig!” declared Soosquana. They all laughed again.