Red Eagle and the Wars With the Creek Indians of Alabama.

by George Cary Eggleston

Jackson gave the order to storm the works.

Then was seen the grandest, awfullest thing which war has to show. The long line of men, pressing closely together, advanced with quick, cadenced step, every man knowing that great rents would be made in that line at every second, and none knowing what his own fate might be.

Without wavering, but with compressed lips, the Tennesseeans, in line with Colonel Williams's regulars, rushed upon the breastwork, which flashed fire and poured death among them as they came. Pushing the muzzles of their rifles into the port-holes they delivered their fire, and then clambered up the side of the works, fighting hand to hand with the savages, who battled to beat them back. The first man upon the parapet, Major Montgomery, stood erect but a single second, when he fell dead with a bullet in his brain. His men were close at his heels, and surged like a tide up the slope, pouring in a torrent over the works and into the camp. The breastwork was carried, and in ordinary circumstances the battle would have ended almost immediately in the enemy's surrender; but this enemy had no thought of surrendering. The consequences of a blunder committed so long before as the 18th of November were felt here. General White's attack upon the Hillabees when they had submitted and asked for peace had taught these men to expect nothing but cruellest treachery at the hands of Jackson, whom they confidently believed to be the author of that most unfortunate occurrence. Having no faith in his word, the Creeks believed that he and his men offered quarter only to save themselves the work of killing warriors who could yet fight. They believed that to surrender was only to spare their enemies, who, as soon as the prisoners could be disarmed, would butcher them in cold blood, paying no recompense in the death of any of their own number. Convinced of this, the men at the Horse Shoe simply refused to be taken prisoners, either in a body or singly; they would yield only to death, not to their enemies. They fought for every inch of ground. Wounds were nothing to them, as long as they could level a gun or hurl a tomahawk. Jackson's men had to drive them slowly back, dislodging them from brush heaps and felled trees, and suffering considerable loss in doing so. They had carried the works, but had not yet conquered the defenders of the place. To do that they had simply to butcher them.

It was horrible work, but it must be done. Brave men revolted from it, but whenever one of them sought to spare even a badly-wounded enemy his reward was a bullet, or a blow from the fallen but still defiant warrior's club.

Little by little the savages were driven to the river bank, where the remnant of them made a last stand under strong cover, from which even a well-directed artillery fire at short range failed to dislodge them. They were driven out at last only by the burning of the heap of timber in and behind which they had taken refuge. When their situation was most desperate, Jackson made a last effort to spare them. Sending a friendly Indian forward, he assured them of his disposition to save them alive if they would surrender, but they answered only by firing upon the messenger and riddling his body with bullets. When at last they were driven out by the flames they were shot down like wild beasts.

Night finally came to stop the slaughter of hiding warriors, but it was renewed in the morning, sixteen warriors being found then concealed in the underbrush. They refused even then to surrender, and were slain.

It was in this battle that Samuel Houston, afterward the president of the Republic of Texas, and still later a Senator in the Congress of the United States, first distinguished himself by his valor, and fell so severely wounded that his recovery was always thought to be little less than miraculous.

When the battle was ended five hundred and fifty-seven dead warriors were found upon the field, but even this was by no means the total number of the slain. Many of them had tried to escape by swimming, and for a long time Coffee's men were busy shooting them in the water, where when killed they sank out of sight.

Mr. Pickett tells us that one brave old chief, Manowa, escaped in an ingenious and wonderful way, after being literally shot to pieces. "He fought as long as he could. He saved himself by jumping into the river where the water was four feet deep. He held to a root and thus kept himself beneath the waves, breathing through the long joint of a cane, one end of which he held in his mouth, while the other end came above the surface of the water. When night set in the brave Manowa rose from his watery bed and made his way to the forest bleeding from many wounds."

Mr. Pickett conversed with Manowa many years after the war, and heard the story of his escape from his own lips.