Famous Indian Chiefs / Their Battles, Treaties, Sieges, and Struggles with the Whites for the Possession of America

by Charles H. L. Johnston

But Major Beasley scoffed at the news. "I don't believe you, Sambo," said he. "For several of my own men have been out scouting and have reported no sign of Indians."

A few days after this, three negroes, while looking for cattle which had strayed from the fort, suddenly ran upon a large body of savages in the woods. Hastily returning to the stockade, they reported the matter, with much fear and trembling. "I will send out scouts at once," said the commandant of the fort, "and will see if these reports are true." So a dozen rangers were immediately dispatched into the forest to discover signs of the Indians. They remained away for a day, and, upon their return, stated that they had seen no trace of the Creeks, and that they believed that the negro had told an untruth. Consequently he was flogged—an act of injustice which was to injure the white refugees in Fort Mimms more than they expected, or imagined.

Upon the following Monday this same negro was driving some cattle to pasture, when he saw several Indians in a cleared space, who were watching him carefully, as if it was their intention to capture him when he advanced near their position. Consequently he ran back to Fort Mimms in a great state of agitation, leaving his cattle to the tomahawks of the red men. But he did not report the near approach of the Indians, as he feared another thrashing, and so, when the shrill warwhoops of the savages soon echoed from the forest, the inhabitants of the stockade were totally unprepared to meet the assault of the red men. To the number of fifteen hundred they suddenly debouched from the fringe of forest near the fort, and made a dash for the palisade. Weatherford was in command, and, from a position slightly in the rear of the line, directed the operations of his men.

It was a hot day in August. The guard before the doorway of the fort had been relaxed, and the soldiers lolled indolently in the shade of some trees. The heavy gates were wide open. The garrison was scattered about the enclosure, little expecting an onslaught from without, while several small children were picking wild flowers near the edge of the forest. Major Beasley, himself, was occupied in one of the buildings, when loud yells and rifle shots warned him of an Indian attack. Rushing into the open, he saw, to his dismay, that the Creeks had entered the stockade through the gates which had been negligently standing ajar, and, although several men in buckskin had endeavored to close them, the onrush of the Indians swept all before them. In a moment the frontiersmen and savages were engaged in a desperate struggle. The whites, realizing that it was a death grapple, vainly strove to keep the followers of Weatherford from penetrating the stockade, and, although there were nearly three hundred men opposed to the redskins, it was soon evident that they could scarcely hold their own against the furious attack of the Creek warriors. Every officer of the American troops was killed in his tracks. Yet the remaining frontier fighters were unable to drive the Indians from the entrance, and, in spite of their well-aimed rifle shots, the savages gradually won their way into the stockade. A Lieutenant, badly wounded, was carried into a blockhouse by two of the women, but he insisted upon being taken back into the fight, and was soon again in the thick of the mêlée, where he was shot through the body by an arrow and killed.

It was now about eleven o'clock. So many of the whites had been killed that the rest had to seek safety in one of the blockhouses, where, with both doors and windows barricaded, they endeavored to make a last resistance to the yelping Creeks. The women and children were first huddled in the centre of the building, but soon some of the women took up muskets and aided the soldiers in the defense of this last resort. The fighting was most furious at this moment, and, with a heavy bar, the Creeks endeavored to break down the doorway. Some others rolled lighted faggots against the sides of the building, and, taking fire, the miserable whites were burned to cinders. Seventeen members of the garrison broke through the line of yelping Indians and escaped, while Major Beasley, himself, was consumed by the burning embers. When night fell, all was ruin and desolation, where once had stood the strong and presumably unpenetrable fortress of the frontier, while the shrill wailing of the Indian women sounded loud above the crackling of the burning stockade which Weatherford ordered to be set on fire.

When the news of this frightful massacre at Fort Mimms reached the interior, the white settlers were roused to indescribable wrath against the Creek warriors. Steps were immediately taken to guard against a further advance of the Indians, and the sum of $300,000 was donated by the state of Tennessee for raising and equipping a number of troops to repel the invaders and, if possible, to cripple their operations. Five thousand rangers were soon collected on the frontier, and their leadership given to a then undistinguished soldier, called Andrew Jackson, who was later to become President of the United States, because of the very qualities of dauntless courage which he was to exhibit in the trying Indian campaign before him. He had not yet fully recovered from a severe wound received in a duel with pistols, but, although badly crippled, he had sufficient strength to give personal attention to the drill and discipline of the splendid body of Indian fighters under his command. Colonel Coffee, Davy Crockett, and Sam Houston, all famous frontiersmen, were among his soldiers, and, although thoroughly untrained in the European method of warfare, they were well able to handle a body of Indians of twice their strength.

After the massacre at Fort Mimms, Weatherford had dropped back into his own territory, where his followers had towns and resources. Some Georgian troops, under Colonel Coffee, marched against him, but, learning that Jackson was coming up, waited for him at Ditto's Landing, on the Tennessee. Here many of the white troops rebelled, as there was not a sufficiency of food, but, brought to terms by the conduct and oratory of the indomitable Jackson, they consented to a further advance into the territory held by the warlike Creeks.

Learning of the advance of this formidable body of rangers, many of the Creeks, including Chief Chinnaboy, gave themselves up to the whites and swore allegiance to them. An Indian runner hastened to Weatherford, urging him to capitulate without a struggle, but to this the chief replied:

"I will never give in as long as I have ten men to fight behind me. You can tell Chinnaboy that he is a traitorous coward, and that, if I meet him, I will deal with him in the same manner that I would with one of my white enemies."

The wily Creek leader also exhibited traits of excellent generalship, for, when the combined forces of Coffee and Jackson reached the vicinity of his encampment at Ten Islands, he ordered a retreat of his followers to a well-fortified town at Tallushatches (now Jacksonville, Alabama), on the Southern shore of the Coosa River. Jackson's men were suffering still from lack of provisions and many were mutinous, but the remarkable leader kept them at work with promises of future pay and honors, and, when news was brought that a large force of Creeks was besieging a friendly chief called Path Killer, he divided his army. A portion, under Colonel Coffee, was sent to attack Tallushatches, while the rest were dispatched to the assistance of Path Killer.