On the Border with Andrew Jackson

The news of the deed of blood at Fort Mims swept along the border like fire; swift riders carried it to the hamlets of Georgia and Tennessee; and in the wake of the tidings went up a cry of vengeance.

Nowhere did the dreadful story have more effect than in West Tennessee. Governor Blount at once called for three thousand volunteers to move against the Creeks, and the hardy backwoodsmen flocked from all points to enlist.

Frank Lawrence, Jack Davis and the young Cherokee hunter, Running Elk, had ridden through the perils of the hostile Indian country and forced their way north by sheer pluck after leaving the fugitives of Fort Mims at a stockade some dozen miles away and making sure that the troops at Fort Stoddart had been notified. And now, when the borderers were pouring in to enlist in the force which was to strike a blow against the Creeks, these three young men were in the thick of the movement.

“A friend of my father, a lawyer named Andrew Jackson, is leader of the state militia,” said Jack. “Suppose we go see him; he’ll tell us what’s best to do.”

But first they consulted the elder Davis, a stout, hardy man who had, like the other farmers, rode into the city to see what was to be done. He shook his head when Jack told him of their idea.

“Of course,” said he, “you lads ought to volunteer. It’s the duty of every youngster on the border to do so. But as for Andy Jackson’s doing anything for you, I don’t think he’ll be able.”

“Why, how’s that?” asked Jack, surprised. “He’s still general of the militia, isn’t he?”

“Yes,” replied the farmer, “but just now he’s ill; in bed with the doctors attending him. A few weeks ago he engaged in a desperate personal affray with the Bentons, and was shot in the shoulder. And I hear the wound is a bad one, and he’s not mending very fast.”

However, the lads, after some consultation with Mr. Davis, made up their minds that it would be a good idea to go on to Nashville anyway.

“It may be,” admitted Mr. Davis, “that he’s taken a turn for the better since I heard from him. News travels slowly, you know.”

Next day Jack and Frank, Running Elk having departed for a visit to the lodges of his people, took horse and rode to Nashville, and went at once to General Jackson’s house. They found him upon a sunny porch in the midst of a committee which had been appointed to offer him the command of the volunteers. He was a long thin man with large bones and a frame of great natural strength. His face was long and gaunt at the best of times, but just now it was haggard from the effects of his wound, and bloodless in color. He lay back in a big chair supported by pillows, and talked to the committee in a low voice.

Frank Lawrence gave one look at the drawn, white face and gaunt frame and whispered to his friend:

“I say, do they really mean to offer this man command of an army? He looks to be dying.”

Jack nodded his head and answered in the same low voice:

“Maybe so. But that won’t make much difference to the general. Anything he sets himself to do, he does; and if he makes up his mind to lead the expedition against the Creeks, he’ll do it, no matter what his condition is.”

Frank, as they stood apart, waiting, looked with much interest at the sick man. He saw a great mop of stubborn hair standing straight up from his head; he saw the powerful jaw and the thin nose of the warrior. But above all he saw the eyes, fiery, indomitable, the eyes of one to whom death meant nothing, but to whom submission was unthinkable.

Andrew Jackson was at this period about forty years of age. He was of Irish ancestry and had been born on the border of the southwest territory. He had been a lawyer, judge, storekeeper, farmer and United States Senator. At this time he was practicing law, farming his place, the Hermitage, and acting as general of the Tennessee militia.

“What authority have you to offer me the leadership of this body of men?” asked Jackson from the depths of his chair.

“The right of citizens of Tennessee, gathered in public conference,” said the spokesman of the committee. “We cannot wait for formal action by the state or national governments; it might be fatal to do so. Even now these red fiends may be gathering for a blow at our frontier.”

The deep-set eyes of the sick man glowed; apparently this was the sort of spirit of which he altogether approved.

“Right!” said he in a voice filled with sudden deep strength. “To prepare quickly is the only way.”

“And you will accept?” asked another of the committee, eagerly.

“My wound is bad,” said Jackson, “and I shall be of less service than I should be otherwise. But, still, I will march. And if the general government will only keep hands off,” grimly, “we shall in the end have peace in Israel.”

After the committee, much elated by their success, had departed, Jack and Frank were brought to the notice of the general.

“Oh, yes,” said he, holding out one gaunt hand to Jack, “I recall you. How is your father?”

“Quite well.” Then presenting Frank, he added: “This is my friend from Virginia, Frank Lawrence.”

The general shook the boy by the hand and had his black servant bring chairs. When they were seated, he looked at them smilingly.

“You both look as though you’d been through some hard service,” said he.

“We have,” replied Jack. “A full year of it. And we’ve just returned.”

They then related to Jackson, in as few words as possible, the story of their expedition to locate the land grant. The general listened to the harrowing tale of the assault upon Fort Mims with frowning brows.

“This is the work of Tecumseh and his brother, the wonder-worker,” said he. “And to repay it means that the Creek nation must feel the weight of the white man’s power. And they shall, if it’s in my power.”

Then Jack spoke of the errand that brought them to the Hermitage, and the general nodded approvingly.

“We’ll need young men like you two, who know the country, to scout ahead of our force. If you volunteer, that shall be your work.”

The two thanked the officer, and left quite buoyantly, riding to the Davis place next day, and there accepting the call for service against the savages. The order went out that the volunteers were to assemble at Fayetteville in October; but before this time arrived the disturbing news came that the Indians were threatening Madison, in the Mississippi territory, which then took in a large portion of the present state of Alabama. From his sick room Jackson sent forward Colonel Coffee, a huge fighting man, who was related to him by marriage. Coffee’s command was but three hundred in number, and consisted of cavalry and mounted riflemen; but these hardy woodsmen had no fear, and rode toward Huntsville, in the threatened district.

On October 4th Jackson was not able to stand on his feet, much less mount a horse, and so was not able to join his command upon the day named. However, three days later, like a gaunt ghost, he rode into camp, his will alone keeping him in the saddle.

Scarcely had he taken command when a rider from Coffee’s column dashed into the camp at Fayetteville with a dispatch saying that the colonel’s small command was in danger of attack by a huge force of Indians. Camp was broken and the Tennesseeans moved forward. In spite of the fact that they had a disabled commander they marched thirty-two miles that day; the end of it found the force near Huntsville, and the news then came that Coffee’s danger was not as pressing as supposed, so Jackson at once went into camp.

Next day he crossed the Tennessee River near Huntsville, and joined Coffee’s little force of horsemen. The first thing to be done now was to find a well located place to be used as a depot of supplies. Under the guidance of Jack Davis, who knew the country like a printed page, they moved up the river to Thompson’s Creek and laid out a work which the commander named Fort Deposit.

While at Fort Deposit preparing for the plunge into the wilderness, the boys one night while reclining upon a blanket outside General Jackson’s tent heard the commander and Colonel Coffee going over the plans for the campaign against the Creeks.

“Right here,” said General Jackson, as he lay weakly back upon a sort of couch of boughs covered by a bearskin, “we have a depot at the most southerly point of the Tennessee River. All our supplies can be sent down to us in boats without trouble. The first thing to do is to open a military road through the forest and over the mountains to the Coosa River, and there establish a second depot. The great idea is to create a permanent communication between East Tennessee and Mobile. Once we reach the Coosa that will be easy, as the Alabama River can be used for the remainder of the way.”

“But in opening this way you’ll encounter many hostile Indians.”

“We’ll destroy all armed bands,” spoke the general. “And not only the bands, but their villages as well.”

At first the boating of the army’s supplies down the Tennessee River met with unforeseen obstacles because of the inexperience of the contractors who had this most important work in charge; then the cutting of a road through the dense forests, the bridging of streams and the continuing the way over the Raccoon and Lookout Mountains to the Ten Islands of the Coosa was a grim labor for even these hardy borderers. However, on about the first of November they reached the Coosa; and here another work was constructed, which was given the name of Fort Strother.

Here there was more trouble and delay by the contractors; but Jackson grasped the situation in his own ready hands, impressed all the horses and wagons in the settlements roundabout, and so the army’s requirements were much relieved.

The military force, as it had progressed into the hostile country, had been joined at different points by small bands of Cherokees. These Indians had long been upon a friendly footing with the whites, and as they were the natural foes of the Creeks they readily consented to join with Jackson against that nation. By the time the fort upon the Coosa was completed the Cherokees numbered some hundreds of young warriors, led by enterprising and warlike chiefs. On the second night at Fort Strother a fresh band of Cherokees came up, and both Jack Davis and Frank Lawrence were delighted to see Running Elk among them.

“How?” said the young hunter, as he threw himself from his horse and shook hands with them, a wide smile upon his face.

“Good,” replied Frank. “And you look quite fresh and lively yourself, Running Elk.”

“Glad to see you,” spoke Jack, who had a great regard for the young brave. “That’s a good sized war party you’ve ridden in with.”

“Much want fight Creeks,” stated Running Elk. “Creek bad medicine. Make big war. All die like wolf.”

The Creek town of Tallushatchee was no great distance from Fort Strother, and this last band of Cherokees, so it seemed, had passed quite close to it in the night.

“Heap Creek warriors at Tallushatchee,” said Running Elk to the two boys, after a time. “Great dance. Council of warriors and chiefs. White chief must be careful.”

As this seemed to be a piece of important information, Jack Davis went to the general’s tent and informed the sentry that he had some important news to communicate.

“The general will see you,” said the sentry, a few moments later as he returned.

Jack entered the tent. He found a number of officers present; among them was Colonel Coffee, the giant leader of the cavalry. The youth saluted General Jackson and upon being asked what he had to say, told of Running Elk’s story of the Creek village. When he had finished, Jackson’s eyes went to Coffee’s face.

“It’s just as you said, colonel,” said he. “They are making ready an attack.”

Coffee nodded, and spoke in a deep voice.

“They’ll attack us within a week,” said he.

But General Jackson shook his head and replied, grimly:

“You are wrong in that, at least. We’ll not await an attack. Take one thousand men and strike at Tallushatchee as hard as you can.”

Coffee sprang alertly to his feet, and pulled his sword belt a hole tighter.

“Now?” he asked eagerly.

“Within an hour,” answered Jackson.

The Creek town lay some thirteen miles to the east, across the Coosa; and the energetic Coffee immediately began getting his men together, horse and foot, for the advance.

As the backwoodsmen and militia were eagerly responding and falling into line, the colonel turned to Jack.

“Do you know that country across the river, Davis?” he inquired.

“Very well,” said Jack. “I’ve hunted it many a time.”

“Then I’ll depend upon you to lead us by the best way,” said Colonel Coffee, “and to give me some notion of the lay of the country in order that I may make my plans for this little job.”

Before the force under the giant colonel forded the river, its commander had a very clear idea of the natural formations; moreover, Jack and Frank, with Running Elk and a scouting party of young Cherokee braves, were riding ahead.

“Looks like a piece of sharp work,” said the young Virginian to his friend.

“Yes,” replied Jack. “We’ll reach Tallushatchee before morning; and if the Creeks are in the frame of mind Running Elk reports, there will be a piece of fighting such as this border hasn’t seen for many a day.”