Part 3

Lovers were not then given to sentimental tokens of affection. A plug of sweet tobacco, or a bladder of snuff, for dipping, was quite the thing to show the state of a young man’s feelings. Flowers were nothing but “yarbs,” and the present of a bouquet of may-flowers or laurel-blossoms would have caused inquiry as to his sanity. The mountaineer took no more notice than the Indians of the beautiful things in nature.

A few days before the expected wedding, Davy set out, as he told his employer, for a hunt, deer being then numerous. Instead of hunting, he went to a shooting-match on the way to the girl’s home. Making a deal with another rifleman, who must have had a little money, they took chances in the shoot for a beef, and when it was over, Davy had won. After selling the prize, the partners each had five dollars, and with that in his pocket, and his head above the clouds, the boy went to claim his bride. Two miles from the girl’s home her uncle lived, and there he found her sister. As soon as he began to talk with her, he saw that something troubled her, and then the whole pitiful story came out: the girl had played with him, and was to be married the next day to another man. For a time Davy was speechless. His pride was hurt, and he turned homeward his “lonesome and miserable steps,” like a wounded animal, stricken with mortal pain. He was thought to be sick for several weeks, for he was too proud to tell his trouble, and in his story of suffering there is ample evidence of the strength of his attachment to those whom he loved.

For some time Davy was too low-spirited to care for anything, even hunting; but one day he took his rifle and set out for the woods. On his way home, he stopped at the cabin of a Dutch widow, whose daughter, he says, was “as ugly as a stone fence.” It was this girl, however, who pointed out to him how great a mistake he made in “mourning over the loss of a single fish, when the sea was full of others as good.” She told him of a pretty Irish lass who was to be at a reaping bee in a few days, and induced him to come, too. By the end of the evening the charms of Polly Finlay took possession of his thoughts and Davy found life more worth living. As in so many cases, the course of true love did not run smooth, for the girl’s mother had selected another suitor for her daughter, and she bitterly opposed Davy’s suit.

After some weeks of courting, Davy won the girl’s heart, but when he went to ask for his bride, the old lady ordered him out of the house. With the girl’s consent and the tacit permission of her father, the young man secured the services of a justice to marry him on the following Thursday, and made arrangements to have his wife received at the tavern kept by his own father. In Ellis’s story of Crockett’s life, he quotes the following from the records of Weakley County, Tennessee:

Davy Crockett, with Thomas Doggett, security, binds himself in a bond of twelve hundred and fifty dollars, to Gov. John Sevier, Aug. 1, 1806, to marry Polly Finlay.

No record of this kind really exists, as Weakley County was not organized until 1823.

We do not know what the wedding fee was in those days, but it was probably in the shape of worldly goods of small value. As all sorts of pelts were used for currency, we may imagine Davy paying the justice in coon-skins or muskrat hides.

To obtain a horse, Davy had agreed to work six months, board and lodging free. By giving up his rifle, he came into possession of the animal before the time was up, and when he went to the Finlay cabin, he was able to tell the young woman that he would come for her on the day set, with a horse, saddle, and bridle. When the day came――a Thursday――Davy went to the Finlays’, accompanied by two brothers and a sister, a brother’s wife, and some others, and found a number of neighbors there waiting for the wedding.

Mrs. Finlay was up in arms, but Davy rode up to the door, and asked the girl, if she was ready, to “light on the horse he was leading.” He was displaying his usual determination, which ended in winning the day. After the bride had taken her seat on the led horse, and the party was about to leave, a parley was brought about by the girl’s father; the old lady melted at the thought of her girl being married away from home, and the wedding took place without further opposition.

What ceremonies the outsiders observed, Davy never related. He says that they were treated as well as could be expected. They were not subjects for a charivari, but it is likely that the free use of gunpowder, liquor, and vocalized mountain air must have made the night one to be forever remembered by the two young people who were made man and wife.

The next day Davy and his bride went to the Crockett tavern for a visit. The young wife’s going-away dress was a dark blue homespun, and at her throat was a scarlet kerchief that had been brought from Baltimore by her mother. She is said to have been a very pretty girl, with warm gray eyes and a tender smile. The girl’s parents gave them their blessing, together with two cows and two calves, and when the kind old Quaker, John Kennedy, had arranged for a credit of fifteen dollars at the store, they were able to get what they most needed for the cabin they had rented in the vicinity of John Crockett’s inn. Polly was skilled in the use of the loom, and for some years they managed to make a living on the rented land. The homestead system was not then in practice, and the settler was called a squatter, and seldom had any other tenure than the pleasure of the land-owner.

About the time Davy and his wife were making their new home pleasant, Lewis and Clark were returning to Washington from their expedition to the Pacific coast; Napoleon was forming his Confederacy of the Rhine, and becoming the terror of all Europe; and the alleged conspiracy of Aaron Burr was discovered and frustrated, though Burr still had the support of Henry Clay, who claimed him to be innocent. Two months after Davy’s wedding, Napoleon made his triumphant entry into Berlin, and was at the summit of his career. The insolence of English naval officers in disregarding the rights of American seamen found fruit in the War of 1812. Yet the most dramatic events of modern times scarcely drew the attention of the people of the western slope of the mountains. Only when some painted prophet from the tribes of the north or those with whom the French or the Spanish intrigued, went through the border-lands, leaving a trail of unrest and superstitious passion behind him, did the pioneers think of war. The Creeks and the Chickasaws had been peaceful for many years, but among the former tribe and its confederates a faction of the dissatisfied was slowly gaining ground. So little fear of the Indians prevailed that Davy Crockett did not hesitate to move from Jefferson County, to the region about fifty miles west of Lookout Mountain, near the Elk River, where there were all kinds of game, though bears were not as numerous as in the northwestern part of Tennessee. When Davy moved to this new home in Lincoln County, in 1809, he had two boys, both under two years of age. His wife’s father, with his own horse, helped the family in moving.

Davy again moved in 1810, this time to Franklin County, settling ten miles below Winchester. Deer were abundant, wild turkeys were found in every forest, and it was an easy matter to supply food for his family. At times some of the Creeks strayed up from the Coosa country across the Alabama line, and were always treated with courtesy. But after Davy’s last shift, the Alabama Indians were not always friendly. The United States Government had secured a right-of-way for a highway across Alabama into the Tombigbee region, into which the settlers had begun to go in great numbers. The sight of such an influx of whites had alarmed the Creeks, and Red Eagle, or Weatherford, was the leader of those who now planned to go to war, if necessary, for the preservation of their ancient hunting-grounds. Red Eagle was hardly one-fourth Indian, his father having been a Scotch trader, his mother the Creek princess Sehoy, the daughter of a Scotchman named McGillivray. Red Eagle was also known as Weatherford, after his father, Charles Weatherford.

Soon after Davy Crockett settled in Franklin County, there came to his cabin three Creeks, whose manner was not to his liking. They were evidently “spying upon the land,” and one of them, who wore a head decoration made of twenty or thirty silver florins, asked for food.

“Injun hungry, Injun heap hungry! Walk long time, no eat. White man make ’um supper!”

Davy went into his cabin, conferred with his wife, and soon reappeared with a large piece of corned beef, which he intended to boil in the kettle that hung from a tripod of stakes in front of the door. The braves took a look at the meat, held a short consultation, and their leader spoke again:

“Salt meat no good. White man eat ’um, Injun no eat ’um.” Then he pointed to a fine fat calf that was the pride of the family, and said:

“No eat ’um corn’ beef. Injun kill ’um calf. Eat ’um calf!”

Davy shook his head in refusal of the plan proposed, and reached for his rifle, which was always at hand. The Indian spokesman thereupon made another suggestion:

“Kill ’um calf: white man half――Injun half,” right hand across his body――“Injun half.”

While the Indians were making this effort at compromise, with nothing to lose in any event, Polly Crockett untied the calf, led it into the cabin, and shut the door. The three braves went scowling away.

During the year 1811 the great chief Tecumseh, acting as an agent of the British, travelled from the lake region to Florida, where he succeeded in persuading the warlike Seminoles to promise help in fighting the whites. On his way south, he visited the Chickasaws in western Tennessee, and although these Indians did not listen with favor to his plans, his visit created an uneasy feeling among the few settlers in their country. In October, Tecumseh, with thirty naked braves, marched into the Tookabatcha town, while Colonel Hawkins was holding a Grand Council for the purpose of placating the war party among the Creeks. As long as Colonel Hawkins remained, Tecumseh was silent, but after his departure, the renowned chieftain soon won the majority of the Creek nation to his side.

It was in October, 1811, that Tecumseh resumed his journey to the north, with the assurance of Red Eagle’s readiness to make war when the time should be ripe. In November, the next month, the battle of Tippecanoe was fought, and General Harrison defeated the Indians, who were commanded by Elskwatawa, the Prophet, brother of Tecumseh.

Before leaving the Creek country, Tecumseh quarrelled with the chief Big Warrior, who refused to join in his schemes. Tecumseh told him, so the tradition runs, that when he reached Detroit he would stamp upon the ground and all the houses in Tookabatcha would fall to the ground. Some writers, mentioning this threat, seem to be in doubt regarding the promised earthquake, but on the midnight of December 15, 1811, after the arrival of Tecumseh in the north, earthquakes along the Mississippi valley suddenly began. The town of New Madrid disappeared, the face of the country was much changed, and what is known as Reelfoot Lake, fifty miles long and very wide, was formed close to the main river. Of this lake there is more to tell in a later chapter.

V.

DAVY IS A SCOUT

Farmer and trapper――Tall Grass and his boys――The blow-guns of the Chickasaws――Loony Joe――Little Warrior starts trouble, and punishment follows――Davy dreams of higher things――The Spanish at Pensacola aid the British and the hostile Indians――Hurricane Ned brings news from Alabama――The Red Sticks――The massacre at Fort Mims, and the call to arms――Davy becomes a scout under Jackson――Gets his dander up――The independence of the mountaineer volunteers.

The year of 1811 was a busy one for Davy, who was then coming twenty-five. He was still boyish and rather awkward in some ways; but with the rifle, and in securing pelts of the most valuable sorts, he had few rivals.

Shot-guns, or scatter-guns, were not much used in hunting. Powder and lead were the most precious of all the pioneer’s possessions, and nothing smaller than a wild turkey was considered worth the cost of a shot. For that reason, small game was always abundant and almost fearless in the presence of the hunter.

One autumn morning Davy was talking with Tall Grass, a Chickasaw, who had two of his boys with him. They were from ten to twelve years old, and each carried a reed blow-gun nearly ten feet long. Davy had heard of these weapons of the Chickasaws, and he asked the boys to show him how they were used. They all started for the woods a mile away, where small game was plenty.

In a swampy spot the logs lay here and there across the ground, as the result of a cyclone or wind-storm in the years gone by. In the Northern States such a place would be called a “windfall”; in Tennessee it was called a “harricane.”

The boys went ahead, their reeds at tilt, like spearmen of feudal days. Each carried small darts, tipped with steel, with thistle-down tied at the opposite ends. A rabbit flashed from under a bush as they advanced, and stopped fifty feet away. The older boy slipped a dart into his reed, brought it to a steady aim, filled his lungs and cheeks, and put all his young strength into the puff that sent the twelve-inch arrow on its course. The rabbit leaped from its mound of moss, and fell struggling with the dart in its side. A partridge that perched in the limbs of a hickory came tumbling down when the younger boy tried his skill. With dignified pride, Tall Grass said to Davy:

“Some day big chiefs!”

The boys soon secured all the game they could carry, Tall Grass not offering his aid, and the party started to return. Suddenly a terrifying yell rang through the woods, startling the Indians until they saw a grin on Davy’s face. The noise of feet was heard, and there soon appeared what was intended to represent a warrior in full attire, with paint, turkey-feathers, bow and arrows, scalping-knife, and moccasins. As the strange creature came closer, the Indians saw that it was a white boy, evidently half-witted. He had trailed them all the way, and had sounded his war-cry in what seemed to him the fittest spot for dark and bloody deeds. Tall Grass gave him a disgusted glance and turned away.

“Heap fool!” was all he said.

The boy was allowed to go back with them, and was shown the use of the blow-gun. He afterwards made one, and became of some use in hunting small game, but he never could get rid of the notion that he was an Indian warrior. He was known as Loony Joe.

Some weeks later the Creek chief, Little Warrior, who had gone north with Tecumseh, returned to Alabama with his thirty braves, of the war faction of their nation. In the Chickasaw country, not far north of where Davy lived, they murdered several families of settlers in cold blood. The leaders of the Creek nation, which was at peace with the whites, answered the demands of the United States Government by hunting down and killing the whole party. Justice was satisfied, but the war faction of the Creeks grew fiercer and angrier with each rising sun. The Alabamas, an associated tribe, became especially truculent, and killed one of the mail-carriers employed by the Government. When Big Warrior sent a Creek messenger to the same tribe, inviting their chiefs to a council, they murdered his envoy, and a desultory war began.

The danger of an Indian uprising became imminent during 1812, and after the United States had formally declared war against Great Britain, on June 18th, every pioneer looked to his rifle and supply of ammunition. While Tecumseh’s messengers were distributing the calendars of red sticks to the Creek chieftains, the British warship _Guerrière_ was taking New England sailors from the decks of American vessels in sight of New York City. England was landing supplies and agents at Pensacola, for use among the restless Indians, the Spanish acting as go-betweens. Uncle Sam was surrounded by the growling dogs of war, without a friend in the world.

While thus the clash of arms drew near, Davy still hunted and farmed and trapped on Bean’s Creek, adding to his fame as a rifleman, and, as he said when he had become known in Congress, “laying the foundation of all his future greatness.” We should not blame him for his overestimate of his own importance, when the flattering attentions of great men, who were equally great politicians, had been thrust upon him. If he at one time seriously thought that he might become President, only his lack of education made his imaginings unjustifiable in a nation that has so often chosen its leaders from the humble cabins of the poor.

Every day the two parties among the Alabama Indians became more truculent, and frequent encounters ended in bloodshed. In the spring of 1813, the prophet Francis (made to order and ordained by Tecumseh), Peter McQueen, and High-Head Jim began a predatory warfare upon the peaceful Indians and half-breeds, who had good houses and farms. With more than three hundred followers, the hostile leaders set out for Pensacola with their plunder. Under Colonel Caller, assisted by so many lieutenant-colonels, majors, and captains, that his force was like Artemus Ward’s regiment of brigadier-generals, a force of two hundred American volunteers overtook the Indians at Burnt Corn, sent them flying, and proceeded to divide the plunder left by the enemy. Before they had finished this, the Indians attacked them in turn, having rallied when no longer pursued, and the volunteers were driven back and dispersed. As they are not known to have lost more than two of their number, they do not seem to have been very desperate fighters.

When Hurricane Ned, an old hunter of Hurricane Fork, brought the news of this to Franklin County, he predicted an attack by the Creek war party, who were being urged by British agents to paint themselves for battle. Red Eagle would have temporized with his chieftains, but they seized his children and his negro slaves as hostages while he was away from home, so he prepared, perforce, to strike a decisive blow at the progress of civilization. The red sticks were thrown away day by day, until but few were left. When the last was gone, and the tom-toms were beating, the frenzied braves smeared themselves with vermilion till their naked bodies were like flames of fire. The white settlers and the friendly Indians flocked to the various forts, hastily built of logs. In Fort Mims three or four hundred men, women, and children, with about two hundred volunteers sent as a garrison by General Claiborne, came together in the middle of August.

About the 27th of the month, a badly scared negro returned to Fort Mims from a hunt for stray cows. He had seen the woods full of Indians, apparently covered with blood. Their red skins being ominous of trouble, Major Beasley, who was in command, sent out scouts to the place where the negro had been. The scouts failed to find Red Eagle and the thousand braves with him, and the negro had a close escape from being flogged for lying. Two days later two other negroes claimed to have seen the Indians, and were whipped. One of them was still triced up when the bell called the people of the fort to dinner. As they went their way, Red Eagle and his savages crept from their hiding-places, and were within a hundred feet of the gates before they were discovered. Then it was found that the gates were blocked by drifted sand and could not be closed. For some hours the battle raged, and before sunset all but twenty or thirty of the people in the fort had been killed and scalped. A few had escaped through the stockade, and some had been spared as slaves. After in vain trying to stop the fury he had fanned to action, Red Eagle rode away from the scene of butchery, and when he returned, on his fine black horse, more than five hundred lay dead and mutilated within the fort. No half-way position was now possible, and until the end of the war he was active and aggressive.

The whole western slope of the mountains now awoke to the danger. Calls for men were answered by North and South Carolina and Georgia, and Tennessee, whose volunteers for the defense of New Orleans had recently been recalled from Natchez, also took up the gage of battle. All her people agreed that Andrew Jackson should be the one to lead the volunteers into Alabama, but he was in bed, suffering from a wound in his left shoulder, caused by two slugs from the pistol of Thomas H. Benton, in a free-for-all fight. The two men were afterwards reconciled and became friends, but Jackson could never wear one of his heavy epaulets for any length of time.

While Jackson is generally spoken of as a great Indian fighter, he was not at this time entitled to such a reputation. A few years before he had been chosen Major-General of Volunteers, but most of his actual fighting had been with his personal and political foes. He had killed Charles Dickinson in a duel for slurs upon Mrs. Jackson, and had ridden full tilt at Governor Sevier with the intention of running over him.

Before Jackson could take the saddle, a rally was held at Winchester, ten miles from Davy Crockett’s. As Davy there enlisted as a volunteer, it will be worth while to hear what he had to say upon the subject.

“I, for one, had often thought about war, and had often heard it described; and I did verily believe that I couldn’t fight in that way at all; but my after experience convinced me that this was all a notion. For, when I heard of the mischief that was done at the Fort, I instantly felt like going, and I had none of the dread of dying that I had expected to feel. In a few days a general meeting of the militia was called, for the purpose of raising volunteers; and when the day arrived for the meeting, my wife, who had heard me say I meant to go to the war, began to beg me not to turn out. She said she was a stranger in the parts where we lived, had no connections living near her, and that she and our little children would be left in a lonesome and unhappy situation if I went away. It was mighty hard to go against arguments like these; but my countrymen had been murdered, and I knew that the next thing the Indians would be scalping the women and children all about there, if we didn’t put a stop to it. I reasoned the case with her as well as I could, and told her that if every man would wait until his wife was willing for him to go to war, we would all be killed in our own houses; that I was as able to go as any man in the world, and that it was a duty I believed I owed to my country. Seeing that I was bent on it, all she did was to cry a little, and turn about to her work. The truth is, my dander was up, and nothing but war could bring it right again.”

When the militia was paraded at Winchester, volunteers were called for, and Davy was one of the first to step forward. In a short time a company was raised, officers were chosen, and they arranged to make a start on the Monday following. The company were all mounted, and when the day came Davy said farewell to his wife and his little boys, and rode away to the rendezvous. From there the command went to Huntsville, Alabama, forty miles south, then on to Beaty’s Spring, where they were joined by other mounted men, until they mustered thirteen hundred. Davy’s company was one that stuck together, under the same leader, Captain Jones, until they returned to Tennessee. Jones was later sent to Congress.