Beyond Fort Mims

by Lauran Paine

  Davy arose, left the others briefly to talk to Jesse Jones, then returned, sat down, and asked Lieutenant Lee how many soldiers were out there. Lee answered without hesitation. “Sixty-five. No volunteers.”

  One of the councilors spoke in his own language to the spokesman whose only reaction, indicating he had understood, was to sit straighter and regard Rufus Lee from unblinking black eyes.

  Davy ignored this minor distraction and again addressed the lieutenant. “Where did you come from?”

  “Back near Talladega. We was to wait there in case the Red Sticks got cranky about the new country bein’ opened up. We was to make a sweep if there was trouble.”

  Davy gestured. “You call this trouble?”

  “No. We didn’t know this place was here. Our orders was to scour around after some settlers was attacked in their wagons southeast of Talladega. Our scouts stumbled onto this place.”

  The lieutenant twisted to glance around. Warriors stood outside cabins, mostly with guns, women pounded roots, scraped hides, yelled at children. He faced back with a quizzical look. “You knew we was coming?”

  Davy nodded. Lieutenant Lee was obviously sufficiently knowledgeable about Indians to recognize the forced normality around him. He scowled slightly as he again addressed Davy. “You got Red Sticks hid in the forest?”

  Davy’s attention was caught by a small party of men approaching. Jesse Jones and his two bucks had two more captives. When he forced them to sit on the ground, Jones said, “Three run for it, but we got these two.”

  Davy answered with two words. “The horses?”

  “They run back the way they come.”

  “All of them?”

  “All but three. One for me, one each for the Indians that was with me.”

  Davy said, “Burn the saddles, bridles, everything but weapons and food. Fetch them back here.”

  Jones walked away with his same two companions. Lieutenant Lee, who had heard everything, said: “The men … Captain Houston an’ the men.”

  Davy’s reply was short. “By now they’ll have the surround in place.” He unwound up to his full height, leaned on his rifle, and said: “You ’n’ me’ll walk out in front and you’ll call to Houston that your horses are gone. Tell him the Indians’ll talk if he’s of a mind. Otherwise, they’ll kill you ’n’ the others.”

  Lee walked with Davy until they were in the open, then Davy said, “Yell to him,” and Lieutenant Lee did, repeating almost word for word what he had been told.

  For a long time there was silence. During this period the lieutenant told Davy that he had served with Houston in other places and that he knew Houston as a man who neither gave quarter nor expected to receive it.

  Davy was beginning to worry when an Indian in stained buckskin and moccasins appeared out of the forest with a rifle in the bend of one arm. He stopped, considered Davy, the lieutenant, and the motionless councilmen with their spokesman, then called his answer to Davy’s statement.

  “You come here.”

  Davy answered curtly. “You tell Cap’n Houston he needs to talk to me. I don’t need to talk to him. So he comes here.”

  The Indian again stood in long silence. Lee said, “Someone’s behind him, tellin’ him what to say.”

  The Indian called again. “Halfway. You come halfway!”

  Davy refused. “We talk where I am standing. I wait. Too much talk and you’ll lose some soldiers.”

  A lean, tall man came from the trees, ignored the Indian, and walked purposefully toward Davy. He had a strong jaw, a bold step, and without a hat showed an awry mass of uncut hair. He had a sword at his side and one pistol in his waistband. He needed a shave and his clothing was rumpled and stained. Where he halted, about fifteen feet from Crockett, Sam Houston did not blink an eye as he said, “I thought I recognized you. Have you went an’ turned renegade?”

  Davy ignored the question. He gestured. “There’s fighting Indians in every cabin. There’s others where you can’t see ’em. If I raise my arm, you ’n’ our captives will be shot.”

  If Houston was impressed, it did not show. He spoke bluntly. “What do you want?”

  Davy half turned in the direction of the spokesman, his councilors, and the captives whose backs were to him. He called to them, “Face around!”

  When the seated captives obeyed, Captain Houston jumped his stare to the lieutenant who did not say a word, but simply nodded his head.

  Houston had recognized the horse guarding detail. Lee’s nod answered Houston’s unasked questions; their horses had been set free and run off.

  Davy did not wait for the anger he knew would be coming. He said, “Them Indians who killed settlers and took their livestock were Senecas … not no local Indians. These here is friendlies.”

  Houston’s retort was brusque. “A good Indian is a dead Indian.”

  Davy did not argue. He said, “You got a long walk, Captain. Soldiers on foot in these forests are like roosting pigeons. If you give the signal for this place to be attacked, I give you my word, there won’t be a single soldier, you included, get back to Talladega.” Before the red-faced, shaggy-headed man could speak, Davy also said, “Go back. Don’t attack no Indian you come onto. Just go back. This here is Indian land. They lived here for …”

  “This here Indian land was sold to the government!” exclaimed Houston. “They got no right here. It’s open for settlement.” He glared at Davy. “All right, we’ll go back, but, Crockett, it ain’t finished. These Indians got to move.”

  “Where, Captain?”

  “How’n hell would I know? My job is to make ’em behave an’ that’s what I do.”

  Davy turned slowly in the direction of the forest from which Houston had come. He also looked westerly, then he said, “Just one gunshot, Captain, and they’ll trail you all the way back to Talladega, picking men off one at a time until there won’t be none of you reach Talladega.”

  Sam Houston looked long and hard at Crockett before saying, “How can you fight against ’em one time an’ fight with ’em the next time? Crockett, I never would have believed it … you’re a damned renegade.”

  Davy said nothing. When Houston started back the way he had come, Lieutenant Lee would have followed him, if Davy hadn’t caught the officer by the arm and yanked him back. They stood together, watching Captain Houston until he disappeared into the yonder forest, then Davy returned to the council with Rufus Lee, explained what had been accomplished, and told the prisoners, including the officer, that, if they were praying men, now might be a real good time to pray, because if Houston did not keep his word and attacked, they would be the first to be killed.

  Jesse Jones and the dark, sulky Indian disappeared into the westerly forest. They did not return for several hours. Houston was keeping his word. Jesse and his companion had watched the unhorsed horse soldiers trudging in unhappy silence back the way they had come. The only time they stopped was when they found the place where their horse equipment, blankets, and saddlebags had been destroyed by fire.

  Beyond that point their demoralization was complete. After several miles had been covered, Houston wanted his Indian scouts to abandon their rear-guard position and go ahead of the command.

  There were no Indian scouts. Something like sixty-five sullenly angry horse soldiers on foot, who did not care much for Indians anyway, would be likely to take out their anger on any Indian they saw.

  They had a long way to go through some of the ruggedest country most of them had ever seen. They had not fought a single Indian. In fact the situation had been reversed; they had been beaten and went blundering their way through a primeval countryside like whipped curs with their tails between their legs.

  For Davy the triumph was a mixed blessing. Several days later he fell ill of the same debilitating fever from which he had previously recovered at the cabin of Jesse Jones.

 
Before it got so bad he couldn’t move, he and Jesse left the Indian village on their way back to Jones’ cabin.

  For Jones it was a harrowing trip. Davy had periods of irrationality, other periods when he would lie down and refuse to get up. But they eventually reached the cabin, and Jesse Jones got a surprise. After putting Davy to bed, he went outside in the late afternoon and found a horse in the log pen behind his house.

  It was the horse he had decided to keep when he, the big Indian, and the dark sulky one had selected animals for themselves before stampeding the army’s animals.

  He went to lean on the topmost pole stringer looking at the horse. He eventually slowly turned and studied the area as far as his clearing went and beyond where the forest began. There was no sign of either the dark Indian or the big one, but the only way they could have brought the horse to his clearing and penned it before he and Davy got back was if they had traveled the same route, which could mean they had been sent by their spokesman to make sure Jesse and Davy got safely back to the house.

  Three days later when Davy could sit up without breaking into a drenching sweat, Jesse told him about the horse. A week later when Davy felt strong enough to start for home, Jesse offered him the horse. Davy refused, struck out, and walked two days before finding a road. He sat with his back to a rough-barked big tree, placed his rifle across his lap, and rummaged in the parfleche pouch suspended from one shoulder by a thong, brought forth almost the last of the food Jesse Jones had given him, and waited.

  It was a long wait. Because the danger of Indian ambushes prevented everything except large parties of heavily armed travelers from using the roads, Davy did not encounter anyone until the morning of the third day when a solitary traveler on the seat of a faded green wagon came along.

  He was transporting freight between settlements, took Davy aboard, and explained why he did not fear Indians. His wife was a sister of Red Eagle. They had six children, evenly divided between three girls and three boys. His name was Amos Yardley. He was a gnome of a man, old and bent with stained teeth, sharp eyes, and a tongue that was hinged in the middle and wagged at both ends.

  Among the things he told Davy was coming around a bend and meeting seated soldiers on both sides of the road with their shoes off to ease the pain of blisters.

  They were unfriendly so he did not stop. He also told Davy of a tavern a few miles ahead where they could bed down in the loft for six cents a night, get fed for ten cents, and belly up to the bar. Drinks were five cents.

  Davy had three silver dollars, one of which had been drilled through, perhaps by an Indian to make a necklace ornament, or by a white man to make a spur rowel.

  He and Amos Yardley stopped at the tavern. They were the only visitors who had come from the north, but there were several others, teamsters and travelers who had arrived from the south and the west.

  Davy ate, bedded down in the loft, and, when Amos Yardley climbed up also to bed down and brought a bottle of popskull, Davy was beginning to feel poorly again and declined the offer as Yardley held the bottle out.

  In the morning after a hot breakfast, he left Amos Yardley and struck out on foot. It was no great distance to his home, something like thirty miles, a distance a man of Crockett’s build and stamina could make in one day, but not this day. The fever caught him near a lively small creek where he snared three fish, built a cooking fire, ate, drank water, and slept.

  The following morning to his surprise, he felt well. It was not far to his cabin but he took his time. The forest was thick, the undergrowth was tangled, and probably because he moved silently, when he moved around a large tree, he met a large brown bear. The animal was as surprised as Davy was.

  He raised his rifle and waited. He had no use for bear meat, which he did not feel strong enough to carry, so he let the bear have the initiative.

  The big animal had a purple snout from eating berries. It rocked slightly from side to side, evidently trying to make up its mind whether to attack or withdraw.

  Davy rested the gun barrel across a low limb, cocked it, and said, “You blue-nosed old son of a bitch, spit or close the winder.”

  The bear made its decision. It turned and went on its pigeon-toed way making a noise that sounded like a cross between a whine and a growl.

  Davy allowed sufficient time to pass for the animal to be out of the area then resumed walking, but for several miles he watched in all directions. From considerable experience he knew that, if there was an unpredictable animal on earth, it was a bear. They had been known to stalk a victim for miles before deciding to attack. He also knew that if any animal, two-legged or four-legged, entered an area that had been marked by a bear, that intruder would be attacked, but the farther he went the more convinced he became that the brown bear had been out foraging and had not been in his marked territory.

  When he reached the clearing and started across it, his face was so pale, and so much reduced, that it looked like it had been half soled with brown paper.

  Elizabeth was in the cabin doorway, so stiff with shock and disbelief she could not move. Months earlier, when the men he had originally left with returned with his horse, Davy’s wife and others believed he was dead. One of those earlier companions said he had helped bury Davy.

  Bess put him to bed, fed him broth, kept the children outside as well as she could, and over time, although he did not regain his lost weight, his strength returned.

  He told her all that had happened since he had left. She told him that with eight young ones she’d been about ready to give up the ghost; they needed their father, but mostly, she told him, they needed discipline, particularly the boys.

  It was a good time. These homecomings usually were. As Davy gained weight, he would take one of two of the boys hunting.

  The land was not as full of game as it had been. Settlers were clearing land, building cabins, even coming together on Sundays for hours of prayer and worship.

  They had either killed off the surplus game or had driven it out of the area. Davy, who had for years never returned without meat, bear or deer or turkey, had to go farther even to find sign of game.

  He told Bess about the country he had seen, about the abundance of game, clearings with rich grass, and probably because she recognized the signs, she became resigned to another move.

  This time to a territory she genuinely liked. It was on the South Fork of the Obion River in the Tennessee wilderness.

  There were other settlers but miles distant. The ground would grow anything planted in it. There were open places that required no clearing, and that eight half-wild youngsters could explore in all directions. It was virgin country that abounded with game.

  Davy was pleased that Bess liked the area and set about cutting logs for a house, a larger one this time, with a wide loft for the children.

  He was happy, busy, in good health, and under his wife’s solicitous care put on weight. She got him a new buckskin hunting shirt and trousers, even new moccasins. He visited a few settlements, returned with powder and lead, cloth for Bess to make dresses for the girls, and small presents. What money he had came from his wife. Rarely in his life did Davy Crockett have money for even small purchases.

  He was a dead shot. When the opportunity arose, he went to shooting matches, and while he invariably won prizes, they usually were shoats, turkeys, a half side of beef, or jugs of whiskey. Money in Crockett’s part of the nation was scarce. When it was offered, it usually was Spanish silver pieces of eight. The United States did not begin to mint its own money in any quantities for many years, so the silver of frontier America remained the Spanish piece of eight.

  People bartered, took goods and livestock in exchange for labor. Davy Crockett was only one of hundreds of people living on the frontier who never had much money. For most items essential for survival they did not need it. There was no paper currency, and, when it was eventually issued, it was scorned, calle
d “shin plasters,” and commerce and trade ignored it in favor of coinage.

  Chapter Five

  Gone Hunting

  The Obion River country provided everything a family required to survive. Davy’s passion was hunting. He kept the family supplied with a variety of meat ranging from green turtles to wild fowl and bear.

  Not everyone on the frontier was partial to bear meat. Bess Crockett devised ways of cooking it that made it palatable. Davy killed dozens of bears. Meat his family did not need he gave to others. His reputation as a hunter spread. He often took one of the boys with him, usually John Wesley. In time John Wesley also became a renowned hunter.

  Bess’ brother moved into the area. His place was six miles from the Crockett property, which was close enough.

  Davy’s bear hunting not only provided meat and hides, it also provided danger. Hunting with dogs in late spring with humidity high and the weather beginning to turn warm, he followed the sounding of his dogs into a clearing and came face to face with a huge black bear that was at bay, but, since the dogs would not attack, the bear had room to maneuver and climbed a tree. Crockett shot him. It required two bullets to bring the bear to the ground.

  Davy’s dogs went after the wounded bear that acted as though no bullets had struck him. Davy could not fire again for fear of hitting the dogs. With hounds around him, darting in to bite and jump clear, the bear roared and was too occupied with dogs to heed the man with the rifle.

  Davy waited until the huge animal was lying on its side before approaching with his drawn knife. Without warning the bear got to its feet and lunged, making a savage swipe with one paw. It then reared up to its full height and charged. Davy had left his rifle leaning against a tree. He tried to jump clear, barely eluded the massive paws, and slashed as the bear went past.

  The huge animal came around, snarling, slobbering, and was poised for another charge. Davy backpedaled toward the tree where his rifle was leaning. The bear came after him on all fours, moving deliberately, snarling as it came. Davy’s problem was that after his second shot he had leaned the rifle aside without reloading it.