Tallapoosa

  “All right. I will try.” Soosquana sighed and took a heavy breath, trying to dispel the fear in her voice and in her heart. She faced the man squarely and began talking in an easy tone, pointing to herself and then to the others. She explained further and then fell silent and waited for the man to reply. He looked her in the eye and slowly began. After a few seconds, Soosquana reacted with shock and hung her head. When the man finished, she turned and looked at the three waiting anxiously. A tear lapped over from the pool in her eyes and ran down her cheek.

  “He says that he saw Pokkataw fall. He died bravely. He knows my brothers but knows nothing of their fate. But he says that very few warriors escaped. He says that only by the Spirit of the Maker of Breath was he allowed to flee.” She choked and sobbed.

  Adelin joined Soosquana’s sobs with her own. Saul and Cal tried hard to stifle their own grief.

  Soosquana turned back to the man, but he had fallen asleep again. She cried over him as she tucked the blankets snuggly around him.

  “I’ll take the watch on the bluff,” said Saul, hurrying out the door.

  “I’ll join you,” stammered Cal.

  Saul stumbled to a stop just off the porch with his face buried in one hand. “Damn! Damn, damn, damn!” he almost screamed. Cal cursed with him.

  The two brothers walked to the bluff’s edge without further comment. They kneeled and resumed their vigil over the river, each lost in his own thoughts.

  The warrior slept through the afternoon, the pain and tension finally giving over to deep sleep. Soosquana, with a heavy burden, watched him closely while she tended to Anna and did routine household chores. Adelin looked in on her often, offering to help, but most of the day she rotated with Saul and Cal in monitoring the river. They also agreed that it was a good idea to be alert to the road from the woods and the trail from the ford.

  An hour before sundown, Saul knelt at the top of the bluff, his vigilance unwavering. Sadness and grief had dominated his emotions all afternoon. Anger welled strong and continued to grow.

  Something moved on the trail from the north on the opposite bank of the river. Moved slowly. At first, Saul only saw the wavering of the fresh growth of the spring foliage. Could be an animal. Then he caught a flash of skin. He saw it again, more this time. It was a man, an Indian, and he crawled on the trail. Saul studied him for minutes. Several times the man attempted to stand with a staff he carried but fell back each time, then crawled several more yards before trying again to regain his feet.

  Saul hustled away from the lip of the bluff several yards. “Cal!” he urged in a loud whisper. Cal looked up and Saul gestured to him. They carefully returned to the observation spot so as not to be seen by the man across the way.

  “What do you think?” asked Saul.

  “He’s hurt. Bad.”

  “He had to come from the Horseshoe. Notice how he’s painted.”

  “Yeah. Is he armed?”

  “I don’t think so. Only with that cudgel.”

  “Well, hell, let’s go get him,” resolved Cal. “Might as well fix him up, too. He’s gonna kill himself like that.”

  “Wait. We better get Soos. Let her talk to him first. Adelin can tend the cabin.”

  Soosquana ran to the bluff and studied the man for long seconds. Then she stood up in full view and yelled. Alarmed, the man scrambled for cover, hiding in a thicket behind a big tree. Soosquana continued to yell, telling him who she was and that she wanted to help.

  “He doesn’t know what to do,” Soosquana told Saul and Cal in English.

  “Tell ’em we’re coming over to help him,” Saul said. “Be sure to warn him that we are whites but are friends.”

  Soosquana resumed calling over to the man, trying to reassure him. He still hid behind the tree, and had said nothing.

  “Keep talking to him,” Saul instructed as he and Cal crept toward the path. “Don’t stop talking to him, Soos.”

  The Indian huddled in a tight ball behind the tree, attempting to blend with the brush. He brandished his staff at Saul and Cal as they approached. Saul began talking to him in an easy voice, mixing in as many Muskogean phrases as he could conjure up. After a tense ten minutes, with Soosquana continuing to encourage him, the warrior permitted them to pick him up and support him on either side. His right ankle hung at several grotesque angles, swollen to twice normal size and apparently shattered by a musket ball. He had many bruises and minor cuts, but no other serious wounds, it seemed.

  Thirty minutes later, the three struggled to the top of the path as darkness began to set in. Soosquana’s urgings and the gentle handling of the two white strangers had by then gained a measure of his confidence.

  “Take him to the cabin,” ordered Soosquana. “We’ll treat him with the other one.”

  Saul and Cal walked the warrior to the cabin. Adelin met them at the door, her appearance shocking the man further. Soosquana directed that they seat him in a chair next to the bed of the first patient, who still slept. The man started to sit, but then stood again, startled, fighting a stab of pain. In the dim light, he leaned over to get a better view of the sleeping man. He pointed, began babbling, became very excited and animated.

  “Do you know him?” asked Soosquana in Muskogean.

  He looked at her with a wild-eyed expression. “Yes!” he replied. “He is the warrior chief of the Muskogis. The leader of the Muskogi forces at Cholocco Litabixi. He is Menawa!”

  38

  The Murph settlement, March 30, 1814

  The man’s name was Hromarii. Having experienced the kindness and concern of the Murphs, and now seeing how they had cared for the great chief, Menawa, he soon opened up to Soosquana. She found that he was from the village of Ipisoga, not far downriver on the large creek flowing from the east. He was twenty-two years old.

  “He says he was with a group of warriors counterattacking across the river to some island that the soldiers held,” Soosquana relayed as Hromarii told his story. His lower leg soaked in a kettle filled with a strong solution of rock salt and herbs dissolved in warm water. He hungrily devoured two bowls of soup with strong black coffee. “He was shot in the leg just above the ankle and fell into the river where the current was the strongest. It took him right around the island and he was able to swim with the current. He swam for two or three hours until he came to the shoals at Emuckfau Creek.”

  “Did he see what happened to Pokkataw, Ettepti-lopa, and Tolotika?” asked Saul.

  “He didn’t,” said Soosquana sadly. “I already asked him. His wound happened early in the fight.”

  “Why didn’t he get help at Oakfuski or one of the other villages on the way down the river?”

  She turned to ask him. “He says he was trying to get home to Ipisoga. Also, all the villages were on this side and he couldn’t swim across after the leg got so bad.” Hromarii resumed without further prompting. Soosquana tried to translate as fast as he talked. “He got out of the water at the rapids below Emuckfau Creek and was able to walk, using the stick that he found and broke down to size. He would walk a while and rest a while until last night. The leg got so infected he couldn’t touch it to the ground. He was so weak he could hardly stand. He’s been crawling along the trail all day today.”

  The other three grimaced at the warrior’s ordeal.

  “Shouldn’t we let the poor man sleep?” reasoned Adelin. “We can’t tell much about his leg until the swelling goes down.”

  “Yes. True,” agreed Saul. “Adelin, take Soos and Anna and all of you sleep at your cabin tonight. Cal and I will sleep here.”

  They made Hromarii comfortable in the chair, where he quickly fell hard asleep. Menawa’s condition had not changed and it was certain that he would sleep until morning and maybe longer. When they were assured that everything was well, Soosquana and Adelin took the baby and retired to the other cabin. Saul and Cal camped on the porch bu
t they slept little. One or the other checked the patients at least each hour, and both restlessly walked the perimeter of the compound in irregular intervals until the sun appeared.

  “Cal,” revealed Saul at daybreak, “I thought about this all night.” He looked tired, but even more worried. “If either soldiers or Red Sticks come, doesn’t matter which, we’re in trouble.”

  “Yeah, I was thinking the same thing. What do we do?”

  Soosquana walked across from the other cabin. “How are the men?”

  “They seem all right. Still asleep last time we checked.”

  “I will look at them and feed them more soup when they wake up. Adelin is tending to Anna.”

  While the four Murphs ate breakfast and discussed their predicament in muted voices, Hromarii awakened. Soosquana talked with him and examined his leg while Adelin prepared another kettle of soak solution. The swelling had diminished considerably but nothing could yet be determined about broken bones. He ate three more helpings of soup and drank more strong coffee, very hot.

  Saul tried to plan ahead. “Soos, if anybody comes — anybody! — check the two men and make sure they stay quiet no matter what.” Soosquana nodded. “Then show yourself with the rest of us so whoever it is won’t think we’re hiding something.”

  “You think we oughta challenge them?” asked Cal.

  “’Cording to who it is. We’ll just have to act on the situation. If somebody does come, Cal, you and Adelin cover me and I’ll try to talk ’em off. All right?” Saul had an important afterthought. “Oh! Everybody, we can’t let on at all that we know anything already about the fighting.”

  Each agreed and tried to see to daily chores, while watching every possible moment in every direction.

  Before noon Menawa awakened, much stronger. Soosquana and Hromarii talked with him as Soosquana tried to get soup and tea into him. She changed his bandages and applied fresh poultice. He became upset when he realized his identity had been revealed, but abated his anger when he saw it made little difference to his hosts.

  Nothing stirred until midafternoon.

  “Saul!” Cal called no louder than necessary from the end of his porch, from where he could see the head of the road. Saul came running, Adelin right after him, both with muskets ready.

  At the edge of the woods, a hundred yards away, stood a large group of horsemen. They weren’t advancing but seemed to scan carefully the entire scene.

  “Adelin, get Soos. Tell ’er to hurry over after she quiets the men.” She returned in less than a minute. Short of another minute, Soosquana arrived with Anna in her arms.

  The three armed Murphs walked around the corner of the porch and fifteen yards up the road. Soosquana stepped into full view around the porch but stopped at the corner.

  “Who are you?” Saul called.

  No answer. The horsemen started their mounts forward, very slowly, still looking to all sides. There appeared to be about twenty of them.

  “Stop there, friend!” yelled Saul. They did. The leader turned and said something to the group. Then he and one other advanced again, each with a hand controlling the reins and the other gripping a musket near its trigger with the butt of the stock braced against his thigh. Both muskets were uncocked and the muzzles pointed upward. There was something familiar about the leader. The other looked to be a Cherokee Indian.

  “It’s that militia sergeant that was here last fall,” spat Cal as he recognized him.

  “Damn!” cursed Saul. He finalized his plan, speaking softly. “You two hide yourself on either side, cock your muskets and point them at that son of a bitch’s head. And don’t take your aim off him!”

  Adelin jumped behind a wood pile on the left side of the road and Cal set up behind a large gum tree to the right. Saul searched his memory for the sergeant’s name.

  “That’s far enough, sergeant,” Saul ordered from the middle of the track. The two horsemen stopped five yards away.

  “Well, looka here!” mocked the sergeant, spitting a stream of tobacco, as filthy as the Murphs remembered from before. He wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “It’s good to see you squatter folks again.”

  Saul remembered the man’s name. “It’s Sergeant Barnes, ain’t it? We told you not to come back here.”

  “Yep. Sergeant Mordecai Barnes, East Tennessee Militia, in service to General Andrew Jackson. And I go where I please, squatter.”

  “I thought you hated General Jackson, sergeant. He wasn’t tough enough for you, as I remember.”

  “Well, maybe he changed. Turns out he wanted to kill Indians more than them other generals. Them cowards went home. Not me.” Saul didn’t respond. He could tell that Barnes had noticed the two muskets trained on him but pretended to ignore them. Barnes continued. “I’m out hunting filthy, god damn Indians. You seen any filthy, god damn Indians around here, squatter? ’Cept for that squaw back there?” He nodded toward Soosquana.

  Saul ignored the insult. “Why don’t you ride on outta here, sergeant? You ain’t welcome.”

  “Well, look at that,” chided Barnes. “You done got that greasy little Indian baby, ain’t you? Bet he stinks like all them other filthy, murdering Creeks, don’t he?”

  “Sergeant, you can’t rile us with your ignorant talk.” Saul’s voice remained calm. “We would like you to leave. You have no business with us.”

  Barnes spat again. This time he let the juice run through his whiskers without wiping. He sneered. “Oh, but we do, squatter. I told you we was looking for Indians. We killed off a big mess of ’em up the river a piece, but some of ‘em got away.”

  “You son of a bitch! Why don’t you folks go home and leave these people in peace? They didn’t attack you, did they?”

  “Don’t matter. They’re in our way. We figure we got a right to defend ourselves and our country. Now, you god damn Indian lover, you hiding any of them cowardly Red Sticks that run away from us the other day?”

  Saul tensed. “No! We ain’t seen nobody, ’cept you guys, in a long time.”

  Sergeant Barnes looked at the Cherokee and sneered again. “Well, I think I’ll just have a look around for myself.”

  “I don’t think so, sergeant, unless you wanta get shot.” Saul raised his musket to port arms, but didn’t cock it. “You’ve surely noticed two muskets aimed right at your sorry nose. And I promise you, both of these good people are expert shots.”

  Sergeant Barnes hesitated. He looked first at Cal, then at Adelin. He looked back at Saul, standing square in the road with feet apart and staring him down, before turning to the Cherokee. He said something to him and the Indian grunted. Barnes reached over and accepted the man’s reins and musket from him. The Cherokee dismounted and walked toward the cabin, ignoring Saul and meaning to walk past him. Saul stepped in front of him.

  The Cherokee scowled, retreated one step, and drew back the thick, short leather whip in his right hand. Before he could unleash the stroke toward Saul, Saul’s musket butt hit him solid in the face, knocking him backward off his feet. The Indian skidded on his back in the dust, blood spurting from his nose. Sergeant Barnes started to raise his musket, then realized the two weapons aimed at him had not wavered. The ranger squad back up the road made a tentative move toward their leader.

  “Sergeant, keep your men away!” barked Saul. He cocked his musket and pointed it at Barnes. “If they approach, you die! Now, get this one back on his horse and get back down that road.” Barnes, visibly shaken, flipped his head at the Cherokee to gesture him to remount. “And this time, don’t come back! Not ever again, or we might shoot you on sight.”

  Barnes and the Cherokee reined their horses around and casually trotted them back to their squad. Glancing behind him, Barnes saw that all three weapons were still targeted at his head.

  The group of horsemen all pulled around to ride back into the woods. Saul relaxed. Cal and Adelin stepped f
rom their shelters. They watched the riders swallowed up into the trees, one by one.

  Suddenly, an angry tirade burst from the militia squad.

  Sergeant Barnes had reined around and yelled another string of curses. He steadied his horse and quickly raised his musket. The pan flashed and the muzzle spat flame and smoke in a loud report.

  “What the hell?” exclaimed Saul. “Damn fool!” he shouted.

  Adelin screamed. Turning around, Saul and Cal saw Soosquana sprawled on her back and Anna on the ground two yards behind her. Soosquana writhed in shock and pain, obviously hurt bad.

  Saul ran to Soosquana, and Adelin to Anna, who was spattered with blood. Cal turned and fired a futile shot after the last militiaman fleeing at a gallop into the woods. He then ran to help Saul with Soosquana.

  Adelin picked up Anna and hugged her. She frantically examined the crying baby to determine if she had been injured by the fall or nicked by the shot. She hadn’t. The blood was Soosquana’s.

  Soosquana had taken the musket ball in the throat. Blood gushed in a stream from the large, ugly wound. She gurgled, looked at Saul, tried to speak, gurgled again, and collapsed.

  Saul shook her as Cal tried desperately to stem the bleeding.

  “Soos!” screamed Saul. “Soos! Damnit! Soos, Soos!”

  “No use, Saul,” said Cal, conceding defeat. “No use. She’s dead.”

  “Oh, my god!” wailed Saul, tightly hugging the lifeless body.

  Adelin, seated on the ground where she had retrieved Anna, hugged the child to her and cried. Cal stood up and walked to the nearest tree and buried his head in his arms against it.

  The galloping hoofbeats through the woods had faded completely. The only sounds now heard were the constant rush of the shoals on the Tallapoosa River and the grief of a pioneering family.

  39

  The Tallapoosa River, March, 1815

  Spring rains have filled the Tallapoosa River. Swollen waters spill in torrents over the shoals, covering most of the rocks and rushing downriver past sandbars and rapids and falls to join with other streams in a mighty network coursing to the Gulf of Mexico. Adjacent to the shoals are a worn path paralleling the river on one side and a high bluff on the other. A tall ancient oak tree peeks over the lip of the bluff.