Among the tribes who swore allegiance to Tecumseh, none were more powerful than the Creeks, who occupied a vast stretch of country in the present states of Alabama and Tennessee. These Indians continued their warfare against the whites, long after the death of the famous leader of the Shawnees, and, under the guidance of Weatherford, did great damage to the white pioneers of this part of the country. Weatherford was an extremely handsome savage of fine face and figure. He was possessed of great physical strength and dauntless courage, but he was treacherous and merciless to those who fell into his clutches, and was never known to give quarter to a fallen enemy. For this reason he was hated and despised by the backwoodsmen and pioneers of the Mississippi Territory.

The Creeks began their depredations upon the frontier at the same time that Tecumseh's warriors were fighting against Harrison, and soon the whites of the southern country were forced to fly to the forts and stockades for protection. The Southwestern militia was called out to repel the attacks of the savages, and, under Governor Claiborne, about two hundred volunteers took station in a strong stockade called Fort Mimms, situated on Lake Tensas, Alabama, and crowded with refugees. A Major Beasley was placed in charge of these soldiers, while Claiborne left for the interior of the state in order to raise more troops. "Respect your enemy, and be always ready to meet him," said he to Major Beasley, when he was about to depart. "The Indians are crafty, and one never knows when they are to debouch from the dark recesses of the forest. Be continually upon your guard, and do not fail to have sentries at all times upon watch."

"I promise you that I will use every caution against attack," Beasley replied. "Do not fear, it will be impossible for the Indians to enter our stockade."

"Very good," the Governor answered, as he turned to go. "I will be at Fort Early, the next stockade, when the Indians advance, be sure and dispatch a runner to me so that I can send you reinforcements, if attacked." So saying, he turned on his heel and soon had mounted his horse.

Not many days later, a negro, who had been sent to a planter's house for a supply of corn, came running into Fort Mimms in great agitation. "De Injuns am comin'," he wailed. "De red men done took a feller dat was wid me an' kill him. O Lawzy, Lawzy. I'se been runnin' lak er rabbit!"

But Major Beasley scoffed at the news. "I don't believe you, Sambo," said he. "For several of my own men have been out scouting and have reported no sign of Indians."

A few days after this, three negroes, while looking for cattle which had strayed from the fort, suddenly ran upon a large body of savages in the woods. Hastily returning to the stockade, they reported the matter, with much fear and trembling. "I will send out scouts at once," said the commandant of the fort, "and will see if these reports are true." So a dozen rangers were immediately dispatched into the forest to discover signs of the Indians. They remained away for a day, and, upon their return, stated that they had seen no trace of the Creeks, and that they believed that the negro had told an untruth. Consequently he was flogged—an act of injustice which was to injure the white refugees in Fort Mimms more than they expected, or imagined.

Upon the following Monday this same negro was driving some cattle to pasture, when he saw several Indians in a cleared space, who were watching him carefully, as if it was their intention to capture him when he advanced near their position. Consequently he ran back to Fort Mimms in a great state of agitation, leaving his cattle to the tomahawks of the red men. But he did not report the near approach of the Indians, as he feared another thrashing, and so, when the shrill warwhoops of the savages soon echoed from the forest, the inhabitants of the stockade were totally unprepared to meet the assault of the red men. To the number of fifteen hundred they suddenly debouched from the fringe of forest near the fort, and made a dash for the palisade. Weatherford was in command, and, from a position slightly in the rear of the line, directed the operations of his men.

It was a hot day in August. The guard before the doorway of the fort had been relaxed, and the soldiers lolled indolently in the shade of some trees. The heavy gates were wide open. The garrison was scattered about the enclosure, little expecting an onslaught from without, while several small children were picking wild flowers near the edge of the forest. Major Beasley, himself, was occupied in one of the buildings, when loud yells and rifle shots warned him of an Indian attack. Rushing into the open, he saw, to his dismay, that the Creeks had entered the stockade through the gates which had been negligently standing ajar, and, although several men in buckskin had endeavored to close them, the onrush of the Indians swept all before them. In a moment the frontiersmen and savages were engaged in a desperate struggle. The whites, realizing that it was a death grapple, vainly strove to keep the followers of Weatherford from penetrating the stockade, and, although there were nearly three hundred men opposed to the redskins, it was soon evident that they could scarcely hold their own against the furious attack of the Creek warriors. Every officer of the American troops was killed in his tracks. Yet the remaining frontier fighters were unable to drive the Indians from the entrance, and, in spite of their well-aimed rifle shots, the savages gradually won their way into the stockade. A Lieutenant, badly wounded, was carried into a blockhouse by two of the women, but he insisted upon being taken back into the fight, and was soon again in the thick of the mÊlÉe, where he was shot through the body by an arrow and killed.

It was now about eleven o'clock. So many of the whites had been killed that the rest had to seek safety in one of the blockhouses, where, with both doors and windows barricaded, they endeavored to make a last resistance to the yelping Creeks. The women and children were first huddled in the centre of the building, but soon some of the women took up muskets and aided the soldiers in the defense of this last resort. The fighting was most furious at this moment, and, with a heavy bar, the Creeks endeavored to break down the doorway. Some others rolled lighted faggots against the sides of the building, and, taking fire, the miserable whites were burned to cinders. Seventeen members of the garrison broke through the line of yelping Indians and escaped, while Major Beasley, himself, was consumed by the burning embers. When night fell, all was ruin and desolation, where once had stood the strong and presumably unpenetrable fortress of the frontier, while the shrill wailing of the Indian women sounded loud above the crackling of the burning stockade which Weatherford ordered to be set on fire.

When the news of this frightful massacre at Fort Mimms reached the interior, the white settlers were roused to indescribable wrath against the Creek warriors. Steps were immediately taken to guard against a further advance of the Indians, and the sum of $300,000 was donated by the state of Tennessee for raising and equipping a number of troops to repel the invaders and, if possible, to cripple their operations. Five thousand rangers were soon collected on the frontier, and their leadership given to a then undistinguished soldier, called Andrew Jackson, who was later to become President of the United States, because of the very qualities of dauntless courage which he was to exhibit in the trying Indian campaign before him. He had not yet fully recovered from a severe wound received in a duel with pistols, but, although badly crippled, he had sufficient strength to give personal attention to the drill and discipline of the splendid body of Indian fighters under his command. Colonel Coffee, Davy Crockett, and Sam Houston, all famous frontiersmen, were among his soldiers, and, although thoroughly untrained in the European method of warfare, they were well able to handle a body of Indians of twice their strength.

After the massacre at Fort Mimms, Weatherford had dropped back into his own territory, where his followers had towns and resources. Some Georgian troops, under Colonel Coffee, marched against him, but, learning that Jackson was coming up, waited for him at Ditto's Landing, on the Tennessee. Here many of the white troops rebelled, as there was not a sufficiency of food, but, brought to terms by the conduct and oratory of the indomitable Jackson, they consented to a further advance into the territory held by the warlike Creeks.

Learning of the advance of this formidable body of rangers, many of the Creeks, including Chief Chinnaboy, gave themselves up to the whites and swore allegiance to them. An Indian runner hastened to Weatherford, urging him to capitulate without a struggle, but to this the chief replied:

"I will never give in as long as I have ten men to fight behind me. You can tell Chinnaboy that he is a traitorous coward, and that, if I meet him, I will deal with him in the same manner that I would with one of my white enemies."

The wily Creek leader also exhibited traits of excellent generalship, for, when the combined forces of Coffee and Jackson reached the vicinity of his encampment at Ten Islands, he ordered a retreat of his followers to a well-fortified town at Tallushatches (now Jacksonville, Alabama), on the Southern shore of the Coosa River. Jackson's men were suffering still from lack of provisions and many were mutinous, but the remarkable leader kept them at work with promises of future pay and honors, and, when news was brought that a large force of Creeks was besieging a friendly chief called Path Killer, he divided his army. A portion, under Colonel Coffee, was sent to attack Tallushatches, while the rest were dispatched to the assistance of Path Killer.

Colonel Coffee had only nine hundred men with him, and sent forward only a few of his soldiers to attack the Indian stockade and then to retreat. He thus hoped to entice the red men from their strong position, and his plan was entirely successful. After making a vigorous advance against the Creeks, his soldiers began to fall back, and then to run away. The Indians hotly pursued, thinking that they had the white men at their mercy. But this is exactly what Coffee wished them to do. His greater force was lying in ambuscade, and, as the painted warriors rushed, yelping, after his flying column, his other soldiers poured vigorous broadsides into their ranks.

Dismayed and terrified, the followers of Weatherford now turned to retreat, but the Americans surrounded them entirely. Then ensued a sanguinary, hand-to-hand encounter. Some of the red warriors broke through the surrounding line and ran back to their village, where they hid in the tepees. As long as they had power to move a limb, they fought like tigers at bay. But the white troops soon overcame all resistance, and killed all of those who had, such a short time before, rushed victoriously against them. Five of the Americans only were killed, and forty-one were wounded, while about two hundred Indians were put to death.

Weatherford was not with this division of his forces, but, with a more powerful contingent, was besieging the friendly Path Killer at Fort Talladega. Jackson hurried to the relief of this place, and, because of very swift marching, arrived there much sooner than the Creeks had expected. But Weatherford was not taken by surprise, and hurled his warriors against the militia with such fury that they gave away. Jackson quickly brought up some mounted rangers, who charged the oncoming redskins with a will. In spite of Weatherford's example and exhortations, his red warriors now broke and ran. Three miles off was a range of densely wooded mountains, and to this the Creeks hastened as fast as their nimble limbs would carry them, while the Americans followed in hot pursuit. Fully a thousand savages fell before the onrush of the men in fringed buckskin, while but fifteen of the American riflemen were killed.

As the Creeks, weary and disgruntled, rested in the security of the mountains, a warrior approached Weatherford, and said:

"Great Chief, I see that we can do nothing against these whites. They will conquer us, no matter how long we resist. I, for one, am going to give myself up. As for you, you can continue the war if you so will, but it will be useless."

"Coward," shouted the Creek leader in great wrath. "I will have your blood for such treachery!" And with no more words, he struck the red man down with his hatchet.

With Jackson things were also going ill. His men grew so ill-humored with starvation that many revolted, and there was danger of the expedition being abandoned. One day, a starving soldier saw the General sitting under a tree, eating something, and going to him, said:

"General Jackson, I can stand this no longer. If you cannot furnish me with bread, I will go home, and many others with me. Men, sir, cannot fight on empty stomachs."

Jackson looked carefully at him before answering.

"You see that I am eating," said he. "I am always ready to divide with a hungry man. Here, take half of my supply of nourishment."

So saying, he reached in his pocket and extracted a handful of acorns.

"Thank you, General," replied the soldier. "If you can fight on such a diet, certainly I, myself, can." And so saying, he walked off humming a tune. The example of "Old Hickory" (as Jackson was nicknamed) was all that allayed mutiny and dispersal among the men.

Weatherford now collected a large force upon an island in the Tallapoosa River, near the mouth of Emuckfau Creek, and, in this densely wooded and swampy country, waited for the Americans to advance upon him. Fierce and vindictive in his hatred for the superior race, he determined to fight to the last ditch rather than to capitulate to the men under Jackson, Coffee, and Floyd, who headed the Georgia militia. Here he had built a rude stockade, and, confident in his ability to withstand an attack, waited for developments.

On the seventeenth of January, Jackson, with nearly one thousand men, marched for the centre of the Indian country, reinforced by Fife, a noted chief, with about two hundred red warriors. As his soldiers pushed through the rough country in the direction of Weatherford's army, scouts from the latter's forces warned the crafty chieftain of the approach of the white troops. In the early morning of the twenty-second of January, the left flank of the rangers was furiously attacked by Weatherford's advance guard. Turning upon them, the men under Old Hickory soon were engaged in a furious battle. The underbrush and saplings impeded good fighting, as they afforded good cover to the redskins, but in spite of this, the buckskin rangers did as much damage as the savages. In a half hour's time the Creeks were routed, but, as the Americans rested and re-arranged their line, the Indians returned to the fray. Led on by Weatherford, in person, they did great damage until finally driven off by a bayonet charge. As the whites withdrew, because of a shortness in their provisions, the Indians claimed this as a victory.

But Jackson only drew off to prepare for another advance, while the Creeks determined to make a last stand at the Great Horseshoe Bend of the Tallapoosa River, in the state of Alabama. Weatherford had a thousand warriors still left, although many had been killed in the recent fighting with Old Hickory. He had caused a well-fortified camp to be erected, which was built with such skill that it could only be carried by a direct assault. "We have been defeated many times," said he to his warriors, "but now we must win a battle. If the whites again defeat us, we shall be lost."

Jackson was now determined to crush the Indians with an overwhelming blow. Consequently, on March 27th he reached the neighborhood of the Creeks' fortifications, with a large and well-equipped army of frontiersmen and friendly Indians. The rangers had all been under fire; many of them had lost friends and relatives in the massacre at Fort Mimms; and thus there was a strong spirit of revenge among them. As they crept silently through the forest they marched in single file, and gave the impression of a huge earthworm, wriggling through the dense undergrowth. Quietly and without noise, the friendly Indians and mounted rangers were sent across the river below the Indian encampment, so as to cut off the retreat of the red men; while a small body of expert riflemen was sent forward to set fire to several buildings. As these crackled and burned in the early morning light, the remaining troops opened fire upon the breastworks, behind which the Creek warriors were hiding.

For five hours the fighting raged. At first it seemed impossible to get into the camp of Weatherford's adherents, but eventually a number of the Tennessee rangers managed to climb over the fallen logs and timber, and to grapple single handed with the hostiles. With a rousing cheer the rest of the rangers now rushed over the barricade, driving many of the Creeks behind their houses. A desperate struggle now took place, but, seeing that they were about to be surrounded, many of the Creeks, including Weatherford, made a wild dash for freedom. Six hundred redskins were soon killed, while over two hundred captives, including women and children, were marched to the rear under a strong guard. At nightfall the pursuit of the Creeks was abandoned, and the battle of Tohopeka, or the Great Horseshoe Bend, was over. The Creeks had suffered such an overwhelming defeat that their spirit of resistance was absolutely crushed.

Weatherford escaped into the forest, and nothing was heard of him. Hundreds of his followers came to Jackson's camp and gave themselves up in the week following their defeat at Horseshoe Bend, for they realized that further resistance would be impossible. "I will accept your capitulation only on one condition," said Jackson to some of the Creek refugees. "And that is that you deliver Weatherford to me, bound by deer thongs. You must also allow me to do with him as I see fit. I know that you wish for peace, but I cannot guarantee it to you until your leader is in my hands. He is an evil man, and I do not know when he will again raise an insurrection."

Deep in the tangled forest, word was brought to Weatherford of the wish of Old Hickory.

"I will never submit to being bound," cried the Creek chieftain, "but I will surrender myself of my own free will, if this is the only way in which peace can be assured. Were you people not cowards, I could yet defeat this boasting General Jackson."

Not long afterwards the American commander was sitting in his tent, dictating some dispatches, when a tall and stately Indian suddenly stalked inside. As Jackson, in amazement, gazed at him, the intruder said:

"I am Weatherford, the chief who led the attack upon Fort Mimms. I have come to ask for peace for my people, who desire it."

Jackson looked at him with no cheerful gaze. "I am surprised," said he, "that you should come into my presence, for I know of your inhuman conduct at Fort Mimms, for which you deserve death. I ordered that you should be brought to me bound, and should you have been brought to me in that manner, I should have known how to treat you."

Weatherford smiled. "I am in your power," said he. "You can do with me as you please, for I am a soldier. I have done the whites all the harm that I could. I have fought them and have fought them bravely. If I had an army, I would yet fight; I would contend to the last; but I have none. My people are all gone. I can only weep over the misfortunes of my nation."

Old Hickory was himself a brave man, and could not help admiring the boldness of this handsome Indian chieftain. A smile lighted his countenance, as he said:

"I will take no advantage of you; you may yet raise a war party and fight us. But if you are captured, you shall receive no quarter. Unconditional surrender is the only safe measure for you and your people."

Weatherford drew himself up in a dignified manner, and replied:

"You can now safely address me in such terms. There was a time when I could have answered you; there was a time when I had a choice; I have none now. I have not even a hope. I could once animate my warriors to battle, but I cannot animate the dead. My warriors can no longer hear my voice. Their bones are at Talladega, Tallushatches, Emuckfau, and Tohopeka. I have not surrendered myself without thought. While there was a single chance for success, I never left my post nor supplicated for peace. But my people are gone, and I now ask it for my nation, not for myself. I look back with deep sorrow, and wish to avert still greater calamities. If I had been left only to contend with the army from Georgia, I would have raised my corn on one bank of the river, and fought them on the other. But your people have destroyed my nation. You are a brave man. I rely upon your generosity. You will exact no terms of a conquered people but such as they should accede to. Whatever they may be, it would now be madness and folly to oppose them. If they are opposed, you shall find me among the sternest enforcers of obedience. Those who would still hold out can be influenced only by a mean spirit of revenge. To this they must not, and shall not sacrifice the last remnant of their country. You have told our nation where we might go and be safe. This is good talk, and they ought to listen to it. They shall listen to it."

"Go," answered Jackson, "if you so will. I shall not hinder you. But, if you rouse further strife, beware of me and my men. We shall deal with you, next time, with no careful hand."

The great leader of the Creeks thus departed, as proudly arrogant as he had come, and soon his form was lost in the shadows of the forest.