Part 25

"Coward," shouted the Creek leader in great wrath. "I will have your blood for such treachery!" And with no more words, he struck the red man down with his hatchet.

With Jackson things were also going ill. His men grew so ill-humored with starvation that many revolted, and there was danger of the expedition being abandoned. One day, a starving soldier saw the General sitting under a tree, eating something, and going to him, said:

"General Jackson, I can stand this no longer. If you cannot furnish me with bread, I will go home, and many others with me. Men, sir, cannot fight on empty stomachs."

Jackson looked carefully at him before answering.

"You see that I am eating," said he. "I am always ready to divide with a hungry man. Here, take half of my supply of nourishment."

So saying, he reached in his pocket and extracted a handful of acorns.

"Thank you, General," replied the soldier. "If you can fight on such a diet, certainly I, myself, can." And so saying, he walked off humming a tune. The example of "Old Hickory" (as Jackson was nicknamed) was all that allayed mutiny and dispersal among the men.

Weatherford now collected a large force upon an island in the Tallapoosa River, near the mouth of Emuckfau Creek, and, in this densely wooded and swampy country, waited for the Americans to advance upon him. Fierce and vindictive in his hatred for the superior race, he determined to fight to the last ditch rather than to capitulate to the men under Jackson, Coffee, and Floyd, who headed the Georgia militia. Here he had built a rude stockade, and, confident in his ability to withstand an attack, waited for developments.

On the seventeenth of January, Jackson, with nearly one thousand men, marched for the centre of the Indian country, reinforced by Fife, a noted chief, with about two hundred red warriors. As his soldiers pushed through the rough country in the direction of Weatherford's army, scouts from the latter's forces warned the crafty chieftain of the approach of the white troops. In the early morning of the twenty-second of January, the left flank of the rangers was furiously attacked by Weatherford's advance guard. Turning upon them, the men under Old Hickory soon were engaged in a furious battle. The underbrush and saplings impeded good fighting, as they afforded good cover to the redskins, but in spite of this, the buckskin rangers did as much damage as the savages. In a half hour's time the Creeks were routed, but, as the Americans rested and re-arranged their line, the Indians returned to the fray. Led on by Weatherford, in person, they did great damage until finally driven off by a bayonet charge. As the whites withdrew, because of a shortness in their provisions, the Indians claimed this as a victory.

But Jackson only drew off to prepare for another advance, while the Creeks determined to make a last stand at the Great Horseshoe Bend of the Tallapoosa River, in the state of Alabama. Weatherford had a thousand warriors still left, although many had been killed in the recent fighting with Old Hickory. He had caused a well-fortified camp to be erected, which was built with such skill that it could only be carried by a direct assault. "We have been defeated many times," said he to his warriors, "but now we _must_ win a battle. If the whites again defeat us, we shall be lost."

Jackson was now determined to crush the Indians with an overwhelming blow. Consequently, on March 27th he reached the neighborhood of the Creeks' fortifications, with a large and well-equipped army of frontiersmen and friendly Indians. The rangers had all been under fire; many of them had lost friends and relatives in the massacre at Fort Mimms; and thus there was a strong spirit of revenge among them. As they crept silently through the forest they marched in single file, and gave the impression of a huge earthworm, wriggling through the dense undergrowth. Quietly and without noise, the friendly Indians and mounted rangers were sent across the river below the Indian encampment, so as to cut off the retreat of the red men; while a small body of expert riflemen was sent forward to set fire to several buildings. As these crackled and burned in the early morning light, the remaining troops opened fire upon the breastworks, behind which the Creek warriors were hiding.

For five hours the fighting raged. At first it seemed impossible to get into the camp of Weatherford's adherents, but eventually a number of the Tennessee rangers managed to climb over the fallen logs and timber, and to grapple single handed with the hostiles. With a rousing cheer the rest of the rangers now rushed over the barricade, driving many of the Creeks behind their houses. A desperate struggle now took place, but, seeing that they were about to be surrounded, many of the Creeks, including Weatherford, made a wild dash for freedom. Six hundred redskins were soon killed, while over two hundred captives, including women and children, were marched to the rear under a strong guard. At nightfall the pursuit of the Creeks was abandoned, and the battle of Tohopeka, or the Great Horseshoe Bend, was over. The Creeks had suffered such an overwhelming defeat that their spirit of resistance was absolutely crushed.

Weatherford escaped into the forest, and nothing was heard of him. Hundreds of his followers came to Jackson's camp and gave themselves up in the week following their defeat at Horseshoe Bend, for they realized that further resistance would be impossible. "I will accept your capitulation only on one condition," said Jackson to some of the Creek refugees. "And that is that you deliver Weatherford to me, bound by deer thongs. You must also allow me to do with him as I see fit. I know that you wish for peace, but I cannot guarantee it to you until your leader is in my hands. He is an evil man, and I do not know when he will again raise an insurrection."

Deep in the tangled forest, word was brought to Weatherford of the wish of Old Hickory.

"I will never submit to being bound," cried the Creek chieftain, "but I will surrender myself of my own free will, if this is the only way in which peace can be assured. Were you people not cowards, I could yet defeat this boasting General Jackson."

Not long afterwards the American commander was sitting in his tent, dictating some dispatches, when a tall and stately Indian suddenly stalked inside. As Jackson, in amazement, gazed at him, the intruder said:

"I am Weatherford, the chief who led the attack upon Fort Mimms. I have come to ask for peace for my people, who desire it."

Jackson looked at him with no cheerful gaze. "I am surprised," said he, "that you should come into my presence, for I know of your inhuman conduct at Fort Mimms, for which you deserve death. I ordered that you should be brought to me bound, and should you have been brought to me in that manner, I should have known how to treat you."

Weatherford smiled. "I am in your power," said he. "You can do with me as you please, for I am a soldier. I have done the whites all the harm that I could. I have fought them and have fought them bravely. If I had an army, I would yet fight; I would contend to the last; but I have none. My people are all gone. I can only weep over the misfortunes of my nation."

Old Hickory was himself a brave man, and could not help admiring the boldness of this handsome Indian chieftain. A smile lighted his countenance, as he said:

"I will take no advantage of you; you may yet raise a war party and fight us. But if you are captured, you shall receive no quarter. Unconditional surrender is the only safe measure for you and your people."

Weatherford drew himself up in a dignified manner, and replied:

"You can now safely address me in such terms. There was a time when I could have answered you; there was a time when I had a choice; I have none now. I have not even a hope. I could once animate my warriors to battle, but I cannot animate the dead. My warriors can no longer hear my voice. Their bones are at Talladega, Tallushatches, Emuckfau, and Tohopeka. I have not surrendered myself without thought. While there was a single chance for success, I never left my post nor supplicated for peace. But my people are gone, and I now ask it for my nation, not for myself. I look back with deep sorrow, and wish to avert still greater calamities. If I had been left only to contend with the army from Georgia, I would have raised my corn on one bank of the river, and fought them on the other. But your people have destroyed my nation. You are a brave man. I rely upon your generosity. You will exact no terms of a conquered people but such as they should accede to. Whatever they may be, it would now be madness and folly to oppose them. If they are opposed, you shall find me among the sternest enforcers of obedience. Those who would still hold out can be influenced only by a mean spirit of revenge. To this they must not, and shall not sacrifice the last remnant of their country. You have told our nation where we might go and be safe. This is good talk, and they ought to listen to it. They _shall_ listen to it."

"Go," answered Jackson, "if you so will. I shall not hinder you. But, if you rouse further strife, beware of me and my men. We shall deal with you, next time, with no careful hand."

The great leader of the Creeks thus departed, as proudly arrogant as he had come, and soon his form was lost in the shadows of the forest.

BLACK HAWK: CHIEF OF THE SACS AND FOXES AND LEADER OF THE BLACK HAWK REBELLION

Step by step the whites were fighting their way across the country, and in 1832 had frontier settlements in the territory between the Illinois and the Mississippi rivers. The Sacs and the Foxes here had their towns, their principal leader being Black Hawk, a man of splendid physique and noble bearing. He was not only a warrior, but was also an orator of distinction and ability, many of his speeches possessing a poetical eloquence which is remarkable. Personally he was a brave man, but he showed no special generalship in handling his forces, and, although at first successful in attacking the whites, he soon was overwhelmed by the superior ability and prowess of the men of another race.

In 1830 the Sacs and Foxes, through a chief named Keokuk as negotiator, sold much of their land to the United States and agreed to move to the west of the Mississippi. Black Hawk was not consulted in this matter, and became very indignant when he learned what had transpired. Finding that a considerable number of Indians were dissatisfied with the treaty, he offered to place himself at their head and to rebel against Keokuk. But open rebellion did not occur, because of difficulties with the whites, which soon turned the vindictive spirit of Black Hawk against them, and not against the men of his own race. The act which led to hostilities was peculiar.

One of the Sacs found a beehive in a hollow tree, and carried it to his wigwam. Some of the white squatters claimed that it was theirs and made the Indian give it up. But not content with this, they now plundered the savage's wigwam of all the skins which he had collected by hunting in the winter. When the Indian protested, they laughed at him, and thus ill-blood was aroused between the whites and the redskins, which finally culminated in open warfare. "We must have war," said Black Hawk in the council chamber, "or else we shall be driven into the far West, without lands, horses, or shelter. Those of you who are cowards may follow Keokuk, but those of you who wish to maintain your own against the aggressions of these whites, must take up your tomahawks with me."

An old residence of the tribe was the Sac village, situated upon a point of land at the confluence of the Mississippi and Rock Rivers, which had been occupied by them for over a century and a half. As this spot was in the limits of the ceded territory, the Americans demanded the evacuation of the village, but Black Hawk convinced Keokuk that his cession of land was illegal and made him promise to open a negotiation with the Americans, and to have the village restored. With this expectation the Indians still kept possession of the village, until the autumn of the year 1830, when they went into the deep forests, as usual, for their winter's hunt after furs. No sooner had they departed than the whites occupied the tepees and houses in the village, and when the Indians returned, they found that hundreds of white men and women were in their own wigwams. These refused to leave, claiming that the village rightly belonged to them, and so angered the savages by their obstinacy that the chiefs of the allied tribes of Sacs and Foxes determined to drive them out by force.

The white settlers were not in sufficient numbers to oppose the savages, and, realizing their weakness, offered to compromise by living in company with the tribe. Strange as it may seem, the Indians agreed to this, but soon regretted their bargain, as the whites appropriated all the best planting lands, crowded the red men out of their homes, and at length told them that they must leave the village. Many complied, but Black Hawk and a number of warriors refused to move; a fact which led the whites to complain to the Governor of Illinois of the "encroachments of the Indians, and unfair dealings of the Sacs and Foxes."

"I will immediately send the militia to your assistance," wrote the Governor to the complaining citizens. "I furthermore proclaim that the state has been invaded by foreign enemies. The soldiers are for the public defense. They will remove the Indians, dead or alive, to their proper position across the Mississippi River." Seven hundred militiamen began an immediate advance upon the settlement, but General Gaines, the commander of the United States troops in that section of country, foreseeing that this movement would provoke the Indians to open hostilities, hurried to Rock River in order to mediate between the soldiers and redskins. He arrived before the Illinois militia had reached the ground, and, by means of a long harangue, persuaded about a third of the Indians to peacefully retire across the river. The rest, including Black Hawk, refused to leave the place, the women imploring their husbands to fight rather than to abandon their homes.

Seeing that he would have to use his best powers of persuasion, Gaines held a council with Black Hawk on the seventh of June, and there argued for peace for over an hour. The savage leader was painted and armed for battle, and was surrounded by many of his best warriors. "I am not afraid of the Americans," said he, "and I will not remove from my rightful possessions. I am fully able to make war against your soldiers, and to drive them into the sea, if necessary. Let your men come on. I am ready to receive them." Notwithstanding their proud boasts, as soon as the militia came up on the twenty-fifth, the followers of Black Hawk abandoned their position without firing a gun. Two days later, Black Hawk made his appearance again, with a white flag, and demanded another parley, after which a treaty was agreed upon, whereby he and his malcontents relinquished their claim to the territory under dispute. Satisfied with this turn of affairs, the militia withdrew.

Peace was to be of short duration, for the Indians still retained their feelings of exasperation caused by the treatment which they had received, and the Americans did not live up to the terms of their treaty. As usual, they scoffed at the requests of the redskins, and told them that their demands were unjust, when they asked for a supply of corn which had been promised them. Black Hawk's men grew bold and surly. Early in 1831 they attacked a band of peaceable Sioux, encamped near an American fort at Prairie du Chien, and killed twenty-eight. This exasperated the white settlers, and a demand was made for the murderers. Black Hawk refused to deliver them up. "This is an affair between two Indian tribes, independent of the authority of the Great White Father," said he. "I will not give up my people, because of this. You can do what you like about it." As the murdered men were, at the time of the killing, under the protection of the United States Government, the Indian chief was, of course, in the wrong.

It was now the spring of the year 1832, and Black Hawk had collected a force of Sacs, Foxes and Winnebagoes amounting to about a thousand warriors. Crossing the Mississippi, the redskins marched upon the frontier settlements, burning and scalping with a ruthless hand, and driving the white inhabitants before them in alarm. Farms were abandoned; remote settlements were left to their fate; while forts and stockades were crowded with refugees. The Governor of Illinois ordered out a brigade of militia, and, under General Atkinson, the soldiers marched for the scene of hostilities. Regular troops soon joined with the state militia, so that three thousand four hundred men were marching towards the arrogant chief of the rebellious Indians. Black Hawk saw that he could not cope with such a force, and so withdrew from the open country into the swamps, from the protection of which he sent out marauding parties against the settlements. The country was in the greatest fear and alarm.

Atkinson halted for reinforcements and dispatched a Major Stillman with two hundred and seventy men to make a reconnoissance in the direction of Black Hawk's hiding place. Learning of their approach, the chief sent out three of his warriors with a flag of truce, and an invitation to the officers to visit his camp. The white soldiers paid no attention to the flag, took the Indians prisoners, and killed two other Winnebagoes who came up to look for their first party, when the emissaries did not return. This was not the boasted method of warfare which the white man prided himself upon, and it naturally enfuriated the followers of Black Hawk. There were but forty in the camp, as the rest were out hunting, and, when the whites pressed forward to the attack, these armed themselves for the fray, and quietly waited for the rangers to approach. The latter advanced in much disorder, crossed a narrow creek, and were confidently pushing towards Black Hawk's camp, when they were fiercely assailed by the savages. Although outnumbering the redskins, they were no match for them, and soon were thrown into great disorder. Their situation finally became so desperate that the retreat was sounded on the bugle, and they ran away in great confusion. It was a signal triumph for the savages.

More troops were ordered to join with Atkinson. Five companies of artillery made a rapid march of eighteen days from Fortress Monroe, on the Chesapeake, to Chicago, on Lake Michigan, but were attacked by cholera on the route, so that all were unfit for service before they even reached the seat of war. Only nine were left alive in one entire corps. Many men already at the front deserted. Some died in the woods, and their bodies were devoured by wolves. Others straggled into the settlements with their knapsacks on their backs, staggering from faintness and wounds. They were shunned by the inhabitants as the source of a mortal disease, and were left to shift for themselves. General Scott, who was advancing with reinforcements, directed Atkinson to pursue the campaign without waiting for him, as his entire force was knocked out by the dread scourge, so the American leader determined for an immediate advance upon the warriors of the now much-feared leader of the Indian forces.

As the frontier soldiers scoured the country in the endeavor to drive the savages from their lurking-places, Black Hawk began to retreat. Abandoning a camp which he had formed at the Four Lakes, he moved towards the Mississippi, having been assured by the tribes who lived in this quarter that they would not only join his party, but would also furnish him with plentiful supplies and provisions. He was to be grievously disappointed. No allies joined him, no provisions were brought to his camp, and scouts told him that the Americans were close upon his trail. As he was about to cross the Wisconsin River, about forty miles from a frontier fortress, called Fort Winnebago, he was attacked by an advanced body of the Americans, under General Dodge. The fight began just at dusk, and, although sixteen of the red men were slain, the rest escaped across the stream. Many of the women and children were captured by the white soldiers as they attempted to run down the river in canoes, and many of them were drowned, as their frail barques were sunk by the fire of the frontiersmen.

The once boastful Indian chief was now terrified by the advance of his despised enemies, and his vaunted courage had ebbed with the decay of his fortunes. Had he been a Tecumseh, or a King Philip, he would have made one last desperate stand against the whites, and would have died at the head of his rebellious warriors. He had suffered no wrong from the white settlers beyond that of personal insult, and, although he had been driven from the home of his forefathers, it had been only after a treaty with members of his tribe. Yet, it is hard to restrain our sympathy for him and his people, for now, surrounded on three sides, his one thought was of safety, and he was bent solely on the means of escape for the remnant of his fighting force.

On August 1st, as he was attempting to cross the Mississippi, he was interrupted by an armed steamboat, called the _Warrior_, the Captain of which has written the following account of the engagement which then took place:

"I was dispatched with the _Warrior_ alone to Wapashaw's village, one hundred and twenty miles above Prairie du Chien, to inform them of the approach of Black Hawk, and to order down all the friendly Indians to Prairie du Chien. On the way down we met one of the Sioux band, who informed us that the Indians (under Black Hawk) were on Bad Axe River, to the number of four hundred. We stopped to cut some wood and prepare for action. About four o'clock on Wednesday afternoon (August 1st), we found the _Gentlemen_ where he stated that he had left them. As we neared them, they raised a white flag and endeavored to decoy us, but we were a little too old for them, and, instead of landing, ordered them to send a boat on board, which they declined. After some fifteen minutes' delay, giving them time to remove a few of their women and children, we let slip a six-pounder, loaded with canister, followed by a severe fire of musketry, and if ever you saw straight blankets (Indians running) you would have seen them there. I fought them at anchor most of the time, and we were all very much exposed. I have a ball which came in close by where I was standing and passed through the bulkhead of the wheel-room. We fought them for about an hour or more, until our wood began to fail, and, night coming on, we left and went on to the Prairie. This little fight cost them twenty-three killed, and, of course, a great many wounded. We never lost a man, and had but one wounded--shot through the leg. The next morning, before we could get back again, they had the whole of General Atkinson's army upon them. We found them at it, walked in and took a hand ourselves. The first shot from the _Warrior_ laid out three. I can hardly tell you anything about it, for I am in great haste, as I am now on my way to the field again. The army lost eight or nine killed, and seventeen wounded, whom we brought down. One died on deck, last night. We brought down thirty-six prisoners, women and children. There is no fun in fighting Indians, particularly at this season, when the grass is bright."