On the Border with Andrew Jackson

by John T. McIntyre

Jack had said that surely out of all the people inside the stockade at Fort Mims some one would be on the lookout. This was naturally to be expected—it was the very least that a military officer could do in the heart of a hostile country. Yet it was a thing that Major Beasley had not done. But to leave the stockade gate sprawling open and the fort unguarded was not the least of this officer’s offenses. A day or two before a couple of negroes, who had been sent out to watch some cattle at pasture, had rushed in and reported signs of Indians. A party had been sent out, under an officer, to scout about the country; but they had been very perfunctory in the performance of this grave duty, and returned saying that no Indians were in the neighborhood, and neither had they seen any signs of them.

At this report the negroes were lashed, in spite of their protestations, and things went on in their usual careless spirit.

For several hours the boys watched from the ravine. The advance of the circling savages had stopped; apparently they were waiting some sort of signal. Inside the stockade the women and military cooks were preparing the midday meal; the soldiers were lounging about, the children were romping in the shade of the walls. Another short space of time, and then the drum beat the mess call, telling the soldiers that their food was ready.

Apparently this was the signal. The Creeks arose from out the grass, from behind stumps, from out of hollows. Like magic, hundreds of them, smeared hideously with war paint, armed with scalping knife and tomahawk, with rifle and war club, bounded silently across the level space between them and the fort.

Major Beasley was the first of the defenders to see them.

“Injuns!” he cried as he darted toward the heavy gate. The swift-footed Creeks were also plunging toward this point; seeing that they were discovered, they cast silence aside and the air was filled with the dreaded war-whoop.

Major Beasley reached the gate and threw himself against it with desperate strength. But the savages were too swift; they gained the gateway and before the cumbersome bar could fall they had thrust the gate back, and the ill-fated commander fell before their tomahawks.

Soldiers and settlers both had sprung for their rifles at the first shout of Beasley. But before they could form for any sort of concentrated defense the Creeks poured through the wide open gate like the waters of an angry sea.

Seeing that there was no hope of withstanding the Indians at that point, the defenders, or what remained of them after this first terrible onslaught, fell back with the women and children behind a second line of wall. Here the gate was closed, and lining the wall with deadly rifles the whites began a gallant defense.

The leader of the settlers now took command; and no more gallant fellow than this half-breed ever lived. He kept his men to their frightful task with the most desperate resolution. So bitter was the defense of the settlers and soldiers that the Indians, a great number of them dead under the walls, slackened in their attack. With what booty they could lay hands on they fell back before the terrible rifles.