Land of the Free (48 page)

December 23,
1813

Eccanacnaca, Alabama
Territory

Claiborne’s army was arrayed
on the banks of the Alabama River, a short distance from a
fortified Creek village on the bluffs. A steady drizzle of freezing
rain was making fire building impossible. General Claiborne and
Yank were sheltering under a piece of tent material that was
stretched between two pine trees. Claiborne was marking the
location of the town on his map with a pencil and Yank was staring
out into the rain.

“Have you seen these?”
Claiborne asked, holding up the pencil for Yank to see.

“That must be a trick
question,” Yank replied.

“This is no ordinary
pencil.”

Yank grunted.

“If you wet the tip, it
writes like a pen. They call it indelible pencil. You can use them
instead of pen and ink to make notes or mark up maps.”

“They also turn your tongue
black.”

“No.” Claiborne stuck out
his black tongue.

“Yes.” Yank
chuckled.

“Truly?” Claiborne took off
his glove and licked the back of his hand, then looked at Yank.
“Not really.”

“Really.”

“Oh damn.” He swept off his
hat, stuck out his tongue and stepped out into the rain.

“Your map’s getting
wet.”

“Damn.” Claiborne came back
in and tried to wipe the raindrops off the map but succeeded only
in smearing the ink.

“You also looked like a
lunatic standing in the rain with your ugly black tongue hanging
out.” Yank chuckled. “That’s a hell of a thing for a great leader
of men to do. Especially on the eve of what might be his greatest
battle.”

Claiborne gave him an
unfriendly look and closely examined his new notations on the map.
“What’s it mean, anyway?”

“Lunatic? I think it means
touched by the moon, as in crazy.”

“I know what lunatic means,”
Claiborne grumbled. “I was talking about the name of that
settlement up there on the bluff. I can’t even say it.”

“Eccanacnaca,” Yank
pronounced slowly. “It means
Holy
Ground
. The Alabama holy men have cast a
spell on it so that any white man that steps on it will be killed
by the great spirits.”

“Guess we better shoot ‘em
from a distance then.”

“The cannons won’t elevate
that high.”

“It was a joke.”

“I know. But I thought I
better mention it in case you were planning a
bombardment.”

“How many houses up
there?”

“Two hundred. Maybe a few
more.”

“You say that there are two
more towns just like this?” Claiborne asked.

“No,” Yank replied. “I said
that each of the three bands of the upper Creeks built their own
fortified settlements last summer. This is the one that the
Alabamas built.” He pointed into the rain. “The Tallapoosa
settlement is near Autossee and the Abeika’s is at the Horseshoe
Bend of the Tallapoosa River. All three are different. They’re not
at all alike.”

“Well after we burn this one
we’ll burn the other two and that will be the end of
that.”

“Burning a town is a
difficult task in the rain.”

“It can’t rain
forever.”

“It doesn’t have to rain
forever, just for a month when Carson’s Mississippi volunteer’s and
your militia’s enlistments expire. As near as I can tell we’ll have
about fifty men left after that.”

“You’re a cheery
sort.”

“Look up there.” Yank
pointed at the town. “Weatherford’s moving out his women and
children.”

“I guess he doesn’t believe
the witch doctor’s magic is going to work.”

“No. But many will believe
it. Especially the runaway slaves from Fort Mims.”

“Why do we care?”

“Because they’ll lose their
courage when they see we’re not struck down by magic.” Yank stepped
out from under the shelter, then back under it. “The clouds are
beginning to thin. If the rain stops, let’s do this.”

Claiborne stepped out to
check for himself.

“Your map, General.” Yank
pointed.

“Damn.” Claiborne came back
in and wiped the map, smearing more ink.

“You didn’t answer me,
General.”

“If the rain stops soon,
we’ll attack.”

“Do you have a battle
plan?”

“Not exactly. But I was
thinking that we would attack en masse from the other side. The
grade won’t be so steep that we’ll be impeded by mud. When we get
within musket range, a third will go left and a third will go right
to surround them on there sides.”

“What about the bluff
side?”

“That bluff must be fifteen
or twenty feet high. Too high to climb, anyway.”

“Yes, maybe it is too high
to climb up, but it’s certainly not too high to climb down. We’ll
need to position at least two battalions along the bottom or half
of the Indians will get away. I was in the opposite situation in
Canada. When we were pressed we went down that cliff like it was
nothing.”

“Our men are tired, wet,
cold and hungry. The only advantage we have is superior numbers.
I’ll not commit two battalions to prevent Indians from jumping off
a cliff and give away our numerical advantage.”

~

The battle had been underway
for nearly an hour when the sound of firing dropped off quite
suddenly.

“They must be surrendering.”
Claiborne was trying to see through his telescope but the rain had
started again, rendering it nearly useless.

“They’re not surrendering,
they’re retreating,” Yank said. “They’re sliding down the bluff and
running toward the river.”

Claiborne lowered his
telescope and looked. “If you say ‘I told you so’, I’ll shoot
you.”

“Let’s go look at the town
before the Choctaws pillage and burn it.” Yank mounted his horse
and waited for Claiborne. “At least our casualties are light.” He
pointed to a white tent down the hill. “It looks like there’s only
one fatality and a handful of seriously wounded.”

Colonel Gilbert Russell, who
commanded the Third Infantry, rode out of the village to meet them
and saluted. “Weatherford got away. He rode his horse right down
that bluff. Damndest thing I ever saw.”

“How many casualties?”
Claiborne asked.

“We had four men wounded bad
enough to send them back. I think Major Carson had a few more and
one killed. His side of the hill is rocky. He came up too fast and
made contact before we could get up through the mud to help
him.”

Claiborne was watching his
army. “What about enemy casualties?”

“I don’t have a count yet,”
Carson replied. “Twenty to thirty dead I’m guessing.”

“That’s all?”

“It’s just a guess,
sir.”

“What are the Choctaws so
upset about?”

“They found scalps from the
Fort Mims massacre that they think are Choctaw. I don’t have any
idea how they’d know that.”

“How about food and
provisions?” Yank asked.

“From what I saw there’s
enough here to last us until our term is up next month.”

Claiborne glanced at Yank
then kicked his horse. “Let’s see.”

March 24, 1814

The Tallapoosa River,
Mississippi Territory

General Coffee pushed open
the flap of Andrew Jackson’s tent. “Look what I found sneakin’
around out there in the woods, General.” He held the flap open for
a bearded, muddy and tattered man.

For a moment Jackson looked
confused but then a grin of recognition split his face and he
jumped to his feet. “By God, I thought you were dead.” He pumped
Yank’s hand vigorously.

“I thought I was too,
General, but then I realized I was in Mississippi and not really in
Hell.” Yank caught himself before he slapped Jackson on the back.
“How’s that arm, General?”

“Still a bit of trouble.” He
pointed to a field chair. “Sit a minute and tell us what you’ve
been up to.”

Yank looked out of the tent.
“Did I smell coffee?”

“I resent that,” Coffee
replied with a grin. “I ain’t half as rank and nasty as
you.”

“Sergeant, would you fetch
us all a cup of coffee?” Jackson asked.

“Right away,
General.”

Jackson sat down at his
field desk and smiled at the two officers as they too took seats.
“Well. The prodigal has returned. Things are definitely looking
up.”

“He probably wouldn’t even
have dropped in for a visit if he hadn’t tangled with our scouts in
the woods behind the fortress,” Coffee said.

“I’ve been chasing you all
over the country since Eccanacnaca,” Yank protested. “I tried to
join you at Enotochopco but got caught on the wrong side of your
artillery. You shot my last horse out from under me and I got
captured by a band of Upper Creeks. They were planning to burn me
in their fires but I talked my way out of it. Then when they
brought me here, I escaped during the big celebration when Menawa
showed up. Whisky may be the white man’s most potent
weapon.”

“How did you talk them out
of burning you?” Jackson asked.

“There was a Shawnee
delegate of Tecumseh’s among them,” Yank replied. “I speak the
language reasonably well and he wasn’t aware that Tecumseh was
dead, so it gave me an opportunity to do some talking. After I
mentioned to him that I was a blood brother of Black Hoof and that
my wife is an Indian, he convinced the Creeks that I deserved a
more noble death like running a gauntlet.”

“What were you doin’
sneakin’ around in the woods?” Coffee asked.

“Well, they know you’re here
so they didn’t bother looking for me after I escaped. I figured
that since I was behind their lines I should do a little scouting
before I reported in.” He accepted a steaming tin cup from the
sergeant. “Thank you.”

“So you confirm that this
Chief Menawa is in command?” Jackson asked.

“Yes, sir.” Yank warmed his
hands on the cup and sipped gratefully. “He’s got between a
thousand and fifteen hundred people in there. Three quarters of
them are blooded warriors. The British engineers that helped them
build the fortifications are gone now. I’m not sure when they
left.”

Coffee and Jackson exchanged
a glance.

“Have you seen their
defenses up close?” Yank asked.

“Only from a distance,”
Coffee said, “and I didn’t know there were any British with
them.”

Yank sipped his coffee and
nodded.

“It strikes me as odd that
the British would advise these people to assemble all their forces
in one place where we can destroy them with a single blow,” Jackson
said.

“The Creeks see it from an
opposite point of view,” Yank replied. “They believe that they can
defeat us with one blow by bringing all their villages
together.”

“I’d be interested to know
more about the fortifications,” Coffee said.

Yank nodded. “I’ll draw you
a map and a diagram, but essentially, across the top of the
peninsula they have parallel zigzagged log breastwork with
loopholes. At the bottom, by the river, they have the village.
Every house is built like a log blockhouse. Inside the perimeter,
they’ve collected big piles of logs and bush. I’m unsure of the
purpose. Perhaps they plan to build redoubts or maybe they’ll just
leave them as they are to prevent us from attacking them from
formation with volley fire. In any case it will be a tough nut to
crack.”

“We have the ability to
besiege them if necessary,” Jackson said. “We’ve built our own
flatboats to bring supplies down the Coosa and the flow is steady
and dependable. We can hold out until they starve.”

“We have over two thousand
men out there,” Coffee replied. “There won’t be any need for a
siege, General.”

“We’ll see,” Jackson said.
He looked at Yank. “You look like you could use a good meal,
Colonel. While you’re eating I’ll see what I can do about finding
you a uniform and a razor.”

March 27, 1814

The Tallapoosa River,
Mississippi Territory

Jackson was encircled by his
officers as he drew a large letter “U” in the sand. “Yesterday
evenin’ Colonel Van Buskirk commented that this would be a tough
nut to crack. I thought about what he said last night and decided
that we’ll crack this nut usin’ the tried and true method of
applyin’ extreme pressure on two sides. General Coffee will attack
across the river here and storm the village.” He drew a curve along
the bottom of the “U”. “The main body will attack the breastwork
here after an artillery barrage.” He drew a line closing the top of
the “U”. “We’ll position General Bean’s Militia on this little
island to pour flankin’ fire onto their breastworks.” He looked up.
“Captain Bradford’s field pieces will be here on this little hill
about eighty yards from the fortifications.” He looked around.
“Questions? Very well. Godspeed, gentlemen. A decisive victory
today could well put an end to this business.”