Chapter XV: Part 15

Behind this formidable bulwark were gathered one thousand two hundred Indian warriors from the towns of Oakfuskee, Hillabee, New Yauka and Eufaula. These were desperate men, well armed, and each confident of dealing a final blow to Jackson's army. Weatherford had summoned to the occasion the principal prophets of the nation, who inspired the dusky defenders with the belief that it was impossible for them to fall, because in this present emergency the Great Spirit would give them the victory. The more to inspire the troops, the prophets themselves proposed to share in the battle, and arrayed in their blankets of red, with their heads bearing coronets of varied feathers, while about their shoulders were capes of brilliant plumage of red, black, blue, green and yellow, they joined the Indian ranks. About their ankles were tiny bells of different tones, the jingle of which they kept up during the battle, while occasionally they would leap, dance, and howl in inspiration of the warriors. Weatherford was too sensible a man to attach any importance to the sacredness of their claims, but he was solicitous to elicit to the utmost the fighting mettle of his men. To the rude and ridiculous incantations of the prophets he would add his matchless eloquence, in bringing his troops to the highest pitch of desperation.

The women and children had been removed from the village of huts and tents, to the rear of the garrison, while back of the village still were tied the canoes of the Indians on the river bank, to be used in the emergency of defeat. But while Jackson appeared at the front, General Coffee with a strong force appeared in the rear of Weatherford, with the river between him and the village of Tohopeka. One of the first cares of Coffee was to send a force to fetch the boats, by means of which he could cross the river and assail the Indians in the rear.

Jackson received a signal from Coffee that the latter was ready for the attack to be made at the front, when about ten o'clock on the morning of March 27, 1814, two field pieces opened on the breastwork of logs. No effect whatever was had on the logworks by the artillery, and Jackson resolved on storming the fortifications. Under a raking fire the troops marched at a double quick, and began pouring over the breastwork, many falling in the assault of approach, and many more on the walls, and within the fort. It became a hand to hand fight for the mastery, and the Indians were beaten back from their works, fighting meanwhile with desperate courage.

During the assault at the front, Coffee crossed his force over in the boats, and added discomfiture to the Indians by firing the village in their rear. Between a cross fire, the Indians fought with more desperation than ever. In the roar of battle could be heard the animating voice of the heroic Weatherford urging his troops to desperation, while in the ranks he fought like a common warrior. When Jackson saw that all hope for the Indians was gone, he sent a messenger with proposals of surrender. This was treated with disdain, and the response was that no quarter was asked, and none would be given. It was then that the American troops began with renewed desperation, and entered on a work of extermination. From behind brush, stumps, or other obstructions the Indians fought till the approach of night. Many of the warriors sought to escape by jumping into the river, but they were picked off by the riflemen, and the waters of the Tallapoosa were reddened with their blood. A few escaped, but on the field were counted the bodies of five hundred and fifty warriors. It was estimated that not more than twenty-five of the army of Weatherford survived.

Among the striking incidents of the battle was that of a warrior who was shot down in a wounded condition, in the midst of others who were killed, and who saved his life by drawing the bodies of two others across his own, and appeared as though dead, and was counted among the dead when the field was reviewed at the close of the day. When darkness came on, he dragged his bleeding body to the river, and with difficulty swam across. Another, named Manowa, was seriously wounded, but managed to reach the river, in which he sank his body in water four feet deep, and holding it down by means of gripping a root of a tree, he maintained life by poking the joint of a cane above the surface, through which he breathed. Availing himself later of the darkness, he finally escaped. In later years he showed that he was shot almost to pieces, yet with stoical endurance he underwent the tortures of hours under the water, escaped, and survived.

But where was Weatherford? This was the question on every lip. They could not find him among the slain, and it was thought that he was perhaps among those who perished on the river in seeking to escape. But, as usual, he fought to the last, was among the latest to quit the field, when he escaped to the river on his fine charger, concealed himself till darkness came, when he floated on his horse down the river, around the bend past the American camp, and made his way into the hills to the south of the Tallapoosa River. Here he remained for some time, during which General Jackson offered a reward for him, taken dead or alive. The condition of his romantic reappearance will be told in the next article.

WEATHERFORD SURRENDERS

For some time following the battle of Tohopeka, the warriors came in and surrendered to Jackson. None of them seemed to know anything of Weatherford, for he had not shown himself since the fatal contest. Determined not to be forcibly taken, Weatherford resolved on going voluntarily to the camp of Jackson, make a plea for the women and children, and then surrender, to be dealt with as the American commander might desire.

Issuing from his solitary retreat in the hills, he mounted his fine gray, with his rifle well loaded, and turned toward the American camp. On his way, a large deer came within rifle range, which he shot, strapped it behind his saddle, reloaded his rifle, and proceeded to the camp of Jackson. His full purpose was to present himself as a prisoner, and to demand proper treatment, which if denied him, he intended to kill Jackson on the spot, and boldly take the consequences. Reaching the outposts, he politely asked the way to the tent of the commander, when the pickets chided him, without knowing who he was, and gave him no satisfaction. A gray-haired civilian being near, kindly pointed out the tent of General Jackson, who was sitting just within it, talking to some of his officers. As Weatherford rode up, Jackson spied him, but a few yards away, and rising from the camp-chair greeted him with, "Well, Bill Weatherford, we've got you at last!" This was followed by some abusive language to which Weatherford made no reply till he had finished, when he said: "I am not afraid of you, General Jackson. I am a Creek warrior, and fear no man. I am not here to be insulted, and if you undertake that, I shall put a bullet through your heart. You can't awe me, but I wish to say some things, and when I am done, you may do with me what you please, but these things you shall hear. I have come voluntarily to surrender, and you shall not insult me, sir, till I am through speaking." Jackson's eyes were flashing in anger while Weatherford spoke coolly, as he sat on his horse. Meanwhile a large crowd gathered about the scene.

Continuing, Weatherford said: "It is plain that I can no longer fight you. If I could, I would. It is not fear that leads me to surrender, but necessity. My brave warriors are dead, and their war-whoop is silent. Could I recall them, I should fight you to the last. I come to ask nothing for myself. I am now your prisoner. I am indifferent about what you shall do to me, but am not about the women and children of my dead warriors. These helpless ones are now starving in the woods. Their fields and cribs have been destroyed by your people, and they are wanderers in the woods, without an ear of corn. All that I now ask is that you will send out parties and bring them in and feed them. I know that I am held responsible for the massacre of the women and children at Fort Mims, but I could not stay the fury of my warriors there, though I sought to do so. However, take what view you please of that, I am no longer concerned about myself. I am done fighting, but these helpless women and children in the woods are my chief concern. They never did you any harm, but I did all I could, and only the lack of men prevents me from continuing the struggle. I have done my best. Would have done more if I could. I am now in your hands, and if it is the wish of the white people, you may kill me."

The crowd, roused by his defiance, rushed about him with cries, "Kill him! Kill him!" While Weatherford bowed his head, with his rifle still in front of him, Jackson strided forward with indignation, and in a stentorian voice commanded silence, and then in severe rebuke said: "Any man who would kill as brave a man as this, would rob the dead." The crowd was sternly ordered to disperse, and Jackson, subdued by the eloquence of the brave chief, as well as by his courage, invited him into his tent, and extended to him all the civilities due a distinguished guest. The horse was given in charge of an orderly, and the brave men sitting face to face forgot the strife of the past, and were now friends. A prolonged interview followed, in which a treaty was entered into, and the war between the red and white races was over in Alabama. Jackson arranged to provide for the women and children of the Indians, and when all was duly settled, Weatherford kindly presented to General Jackson the buck which he had shot, and they shook hands, when Weatherford mounted his horse and rode away. Jackson and not Weatherford became concerned about the safety of the other, for he knew the temper of the people and the vengeance which they bore toward Weatherford. In truth, Jackson was charmed by the spirit of the chief, and resolved on saving him from the fury of those who had suffered by reason of the Fort Mims massacre.

Weatherford now sought his home at Little River, in Monroe County, where his brothers had kindly divided their effects with him, and established him comfortably on a good plantation stocked with negro slaves. Gen. William Henry Harrison having resigned as major general in the regular army was disbanded, and the troops returned home. him. The war with the Indians being over, the Tennessee troops were mustered out of service, the army was disbanded and the troops returned home.

In the southern part of the state, the Mississippi militia was still held in organization, a large body of which was located at Fort Claiborne, on the Alabama River. This was about one year before the battle of New Orleans was fought. As this does not come within the compass of this narrative, we lose sight of General Jackson here, excepting as he will appear in the succeeding article in a new relation to Weatherford, who did not find his surroundings the most congenial in the outset of his residence at Little River. Of the hazards which menaced him in that quarter we shall see in the article next succeeding this. With the presentation of that article, Weatherford will vanish from the narrative. But that which follows, reflects the spirit which animated both Weatherford and Jackson to the end.

WEATHERFORD'S LAST DAYS

The presence of William Weatherford at Little River, as a permanent citizen, was not appreciated by the residents in that quarter. It was not far from this place that the terrible tragedy of the massacre had occurred only about two years before, and grief over the butchery of loved ones was still keen, and sensitiveness was raw. While with Weatherford, all was over, not so with those whose cherished ones were murdered, and soon rumors became rife that violence would be visited on the head of the ex-chief.

As a means of protection he was advised to repair to Fort Claiborne, some distance up the river, till the fury was passed. Thither he repaired, was kindly received by the commander, and placed in a tent near his own, around which was posted a cordon of soldiers. Still the fury would not down, and rumors were of such a nature of the intention to kill him, as to awaken the gravest apprehension of his safety. He remained here about two weeks, when he was summoned into a quiet conference with the commander, the result of which was that, on the night following, Weatherford was escorted to the outskirts of the camp by a single guard, with a note to the officer of the outpost, Captain Laval. On the receipt of the note, Laval quietly took the arm of Weatherford, and through the pitchy darkness conducted him to a certain tree where a good horse was found hitched, and Weatherford was told to mount it, and flee for his life. He shook hands with Laval, saying, "Good-by, God bless you," and vaulting into the saddle, sped away through the thick gloom like an arrow. Laval stood and listened to the rattling of the horse's feet till the chief was fully a mile or more away.

Weatherford sought the camp of Jackson, on the eve of his return to Tennessee, and Jackson assured him of his protection. To the Hermitage, General Jackson took his erstwhile adversary, cared for him with the utmost hospitality, and when assured that it was entirely safe for Weatherford to return to Little River, sent him thither. The bearing of these heroes toward each other was equally creditable to both.

Weatherford returned to his plantation in the quietest way possible, and throughout his later life was one of the most exemplary citizens of the county. As a neighbor, there was none better. He rapidly won the confidence of the community, then the esteem, and all rancor rapidly subsided.

An incident in his life fully illustrates the spirit of the man. At a private sale held in the county, at which sale every element of society was, two bullies took advantage of an old citizen, named Bradberry, whose son had been a lieutenant in the army, was in the battle of Burnt Corn, and was finally killed in battle. These two bravados having provoked a difficulty with the venerable Bradberry, one of them broke a pitcher over his head, while the other ran up and stabbed him in the back of the neck, and the old man fell dead at his feet. Weatherford witnessed the scene throughout. His Indian nature came to him anew, his blood was on fire, and he found it impossible to restrain himself. He was the more exasperated when the brace of murderers took their stand on the public square, and, defiantly brandishing their revolvers, dared anyone to approach them. A justice of the peace being present, called on the crowd to arrest the perpetrators of the deed, but no one ventured to approach them, for their names had long been a terror in the region. Standing near the magistrate, Weatherford said, "Maybe this is the white man's way of doing things, but if there was a drop of Indian blood in that dead man's veins I should arrest these fellows at the risk of my life." The justice then told him to arrest them. Weatherford quietly drew out his pearl-handle dagger, while he shifted his heavy hickory stick to his left hand, and moved upon the murderer of Mr. Bradberry. The murderer warned him to stand back, but with firm step, Weatherford coolly approached him, commanded him to give up his weapons at once, when the murderer did as he was bidden. Then, clutching the murderer's throat with the grip of a vise, Weatherford called for a rope, and securely tied his hands behind him and turned him over to the officer.

The other continued clamorous, swearing that he would kill any man who sought to arrest him. Without regard to his threats, Weatherford now turned to him. As he came near, the fellow said, "I didn't mean you, Billie Weatherford," to all of which Weatherford paid no attention, and, taking his weapons from him, he clutched him likewise and quietly tied him and gave him over to the officer.

When asked why he dared venture in the way he did, Weatherford gave explanation in a way that is really philosophic. He explained that it is not the noisy man that is to be feared, but the cool man. Then he wished to know which was the noisy and the cool in that transaction. The bravado when confronted by courage, wilts. Weatherford's idea was that the man who is always going to fight will never fight without an advantage. He seeks to impress others with his courage, but not till he gains undue advantage over an adversary will he fight.

This made Weatherford a hero in the section in which he lived. By his conduct as a neighbor and citizen he became increasingly popular, and succeeded in transmuting the bitterness against him into love. For twelve years he lived in the Little River community with increasing popularity. He was a prosperous planter, shared in all that concerned the weal of the community, never flinched in the discharge of duty as a citizen, and when he died, his death was universally regretted. In a fatiguing bear hunt in the swamps along the river, he overtaxed his strength, and died in 1826. Throughout his life he deplored the precipitate tragedy at Fort Mims, and no doubt his subsequent reflection led him to insist that it was not his wish that the women and children should perish. Descendants bearing his name still live in that quarter of the state, esteemed for their worth as quiet and worthy citizens.

AARON BURR IN ALABAMA

Than Aaron Burr there has scarcely been a more striking, not to say a more startling, figure in the public life of America. Reared in the highest circle of society, greatly gifted by nature, enjoying the best possible advantages in education, a brave officer in the Revolution, Vice-President of the United States, and coming within a scratch of being President, and the grandson of the great philosopher, Jonathan Edwards, this favored son of fortune was a fugitive with a reward offered for his apprehension. Sides so varied rarely appear in the life of anyone. Aaron Burr was arrested, brought to trial, and was finally acquitted, and yet such was his private life, and so deep was the suspicion against him, that his former friends forsook him, and on one occasion Henry Clay declined to take his hand, when offered.

The story of Burr is too long to be undertaken here, even in brief outline, though it is thrilling throughout, and to this day his movements remain wrapped in mystery, because Burr in his dying hour disclaimed any purpose of the dismemberment of the Union, which was one of the chief charges urged against him so long as he lived. That he had deep designs, however, is not a question, and with proclamations containing offers of reward for his arrest circulated, and his effort to leave the country, the doubt of his guilt and of his complicity in some nefarious scheme is at once dispelled. He was well on his way to Pensacola in his flight, when he was checked in the Tensas settlement, in this state, which event led to his trial.

The night of February 18, 1807, was one of unusual coldness for this latitude. The surface of the ground was frozen, and nothing was so unusual as for travelers to be abroad on the highways. In the little village of Wakefield, in Washington County, were a few huts of the early settlers of that region. In one of these, at the hour of ten, were two young men greatly absorbed in a game of backgammon. A fire of logs and pine knots burned in the wide fireplace, the village was quiet in slumber, and perhaps the light seen through the chinks of the cabin was the only one visible in the village. These young men engaged in the game, heard the sounds of horses' feet rapidly approaching their cabin. Someone halting in front of the cabin, in which the young men sat, a voice hailed, and on opening the door, the light revealed two mounted men, one of whom asked where the tavern was, and then how far it was to the home of Colonel Hinson. They were told that the home was seven miles away, the road rough and dark, and that a dangerous stream intervened. As the two travelers sat on their horses with the light of the cabin falling fully on them, one was seen to be much more than an ordinary man because of the character of his language, his striking face, and the evident anxiety expressed in an unusual way, and while he wore a slouched hat and the garb of a common farmer, his exquisite boots and superb horse revealed the discrepancy in the conditions.

Notwithstanding the advice of the young man not to undertake the hazard of finding the home of the Hinsons, on a dark night like that one, the travelers got their information and rode away. The two young men in the cabin were Nicholas Perkins, a lawyer, and Thomas Malone, a clerk in the local court. After the travelers had gone, and the young men were again in the cabin, Perkins expressed the opinion that the man of unusual appearance was Aaron Burr, as it exactly suited the description given in the proclamations, and proposed that they follow him and procure his arrest.

At the suggestion, Malone demurred, saying that it was not particularly their business, the night was severely cold, and it was absurd to be chasing a stranger on a bare suspicion, through the cold darkness and at the risk of their lives. But Perkins was not so easily daunted, and met each objection in a vigorous way. However, Malone could not be enlisted in the effort, and Perkins sallied forth in search of the sheriff, Theodore Brightwell, with whom he was soon on horseback, and they were making their way to Colonel Hinson's. Meanwhile Burr and his companion had reached Hinson's about twelve o'clock. Colonel Hinson was absent, and in response to the hailing at the gate, Mrs. Hinson glanced through the window, saw two men mounted, and went back to bed without responding. The travelers alighted, went into the kitchen, where a fire was still burning, and were warming themselves, when the sheriff, a relative of Mrs. Hinson, walked into the kitchen, having left Perkins on the roadside to await his return, as Perkins deemed it imprudent to show himself after having been talked to in Wakefield. Burr partly concealed his face with his handkerchief, and at first was the only occupant of the kitchen, as his companion had gone with the horses to a stable.

After a few hurried words, the sheriff aroused Mrs. Hinson, a supper was improvised, the strangers began eating, Burr was affable and chatty, was profuse in apology for the unseasonable interruption, and complimentary of the excellent supper. The sheriff had prepared Mrs. Hinson to ascertain, if possible, if either man was Burr, and while the sheriff stood over the fire, with his back to the company, and after Burr had retired to the kitchen, she asked his companion if she did not have the distinction of entertaining Colonel Burr. In much confusion, the companion arose without a word of reply, and joined Burr in the kitchen.

The sheriff rejoined them, engaged in conversation, and soon all were abed. The next morning, Burr expressed his disappointment at not meeting Colonel Hinson, and, strange to say, was soon mounted, together with the sheriff and his companion, the sheriff proposing to show the travelers the way out of the country, and well on toward Pensacola.

Meantime, Perkins was left to his fate in the cold. Finding toward morning that the sheriff apparently did not intend to return, Perkins made his way to Fort Stoddard by a rapid ride to the river, where he obtained a boat, and engaged a negro to row it down the river. The fort was reached about daybreak, Perkins notified Captain Gaines, the commander, of all that had taken place, and at sunrise, a troop were in their saddles, following Gaines and Perkins toward the road leading to Pensacola. About nine o'clock they met the three men on horseback--Burr, his companion, and Sheriff Brightwell. They were in fine spirits, and were chatting in a jocular way, when suddenly they were confronted by a troop of government cavalry. Burr at once recognized Perkins as the young man to whom he had talked the night before in the village of Wakefield. Then came a juncture.

BURR'S ARREST

With the glance of his eagle eye, Burr took in the situation at once, and in a moment was prepared for it. Captain Gaines saluted him, and asked if he had the honor of addressing Colonel Burr. Polite as the salutation was, Burr feigned great indignation in denying the right of a stranger to ask a question so impolite, of a traveler on the highway. Gaines cut short the tactics of the occasion by saying: "I arrest you at the instance of the Federal Government." In a burst of indignation, Burr again demanded to know his right and authority to arrest a traveler going in pursuit of private affairs on the public highway. In a perfectly cool way, Gaines replied that he was an officer of the army in possession of the proclamations of the governor of Mississippi, and of the President of the United States, directing his arrest. Burr reminded Gaines that though he was an officer, he was young and inexperienced, and might not be aware of the responsibility incurred in arresting strangers, to all which Gaines replied that he was willing to assume the responsibility, and would do his duty.

Heated by the obstinate coolness and evident determination of the young officer, Burr began to denounce the proclamation, as expressions of resentment and of malevolence, without justification, and resumed his advice of warning to Gaines of the hazard he was incurring by an undue interference of strangers on a public road. With iron coolness, Gaines ended the colloquy by telling Burr that his mind was made up, and he wished to treat him in a manner becoming his high office as vice president of the United States, all of which would be duly respected so long as Burr conducted himself becomingly, but that he would have to take him a prisoner to Fort Stoddard. Burr sat, and his eyes blazed while he looked at Gaines. Without further ceremony, Gaines moved with an order to his men, and Burr submitted.

The conduct of Sheriff Brightwell was never explained. He had left Perkins the night before on the edge of the road some distance from the Hinson home, did not arrest Burr, and was now on his way with Burr to Carson's Ferry, on the Tombigbee, to enable Burr to get to Mobile and make his way to Pensacola. Was the sheriff awed by the commanding presence of the distinguished man, unduly persuaded, thrown off of his guard by seductive and misleading logic, or was he influenced by the fact that his kinsman, Colonel Hinson, had some months before met Burr at Natchez, was charmed by him, and had invited him to his home to spend some time, or was there a bribe involved in the transaction?

Burr was taken to Fort Stoddard, where he was intent on making himself most agreeable by his courtly manner and pleasing address, and whiled away the days playing chess with Mrs. Gaines, the wife of the man who arrested him, and the daughter of Judge Harry Toulmin of Mobile. Burr was especially intent on showing every possible kindness to a brother of the commander at the fort, which brother was an invalid. Indeed, he won the hearts of all by his affableness and cheeriness of disposition.

Meanwhile, preparations were on foot to convey the noted prisoner to Richmond, Va., for trial. When the arrangements were completed, Burr was sent by boat up the Alabama River, along the banks of which curious crowds had gathered, to catch a glimpse of the notorious captive, among whom were many women, who when they saw him a helpless prisoner, some of them burst into weeping, and one of them was so fascinated by his manner and conduct, that she afterward named a son for him.

At a point called "The Boat Yard," Burr was consigned to the care of eight selected men, who were to escort him across the country on horseback to Richmond for trial. Two of the guard were of the federal cavalry, all were cool and determined men, and the guard was placed under the command of Nicholas Perkins, the young man who had procured his arrest.

Burr was dressed in the same garb which he wore when arrested, a round-about homespun coat, a pair of copperas trousers, and a sloughed beaver hat, once white, but now very dingy, which drooped at points, and a pair of dainty boots. A gaping crowd was present to see the departure, and as Burr mounted his horse to ride away, he lifted his hat in a manner so graceful as to waken a rousing cheer. He rode the same horse on which he was captured, and his equestrian appearance and qualities were superb. A tent was provided for his comfort, and at night while it was closely guarded, and while the wolves howled in the neighboring woods, he would sleep with all the comfort that a camp could afford. The party passed up through the counties of Monroe, Butler, Montgomery, thence to the Chattahoochee. The two federal soldiers rode closely beside him, and when entering a swamp, the entire party would gather close about him.

Among the incidents of the journey was that of a tavern-keeper just beyond the Chattahoochee, who on learning that the party, which had stopped at his rural hostelry for the night, had come from the region of the Tensas, quizzed his guests with many questions, and to the embarrassment of all, turned his loquacity toward the rumor that had reached him of the arrest of "that dangerous scoundrel, Aaron Burr," and wished to know if they knew anything of it. All present dropped their heads in confusion, but Burr, who fixed his flashing eyes on the garrulous fellow, and when the innkeeper began his denunciation of Burr, saying what he would like to do for him if he could "lay eyes on him," Burr straightened up with his full of fire eyes and said, "I am Aaron Burr, now what'll you have?" The tavern-keeper vanished in a moment, and his lips were hermetically sealed till the party left, while his attentions were most profuse.

Burr made but one effort to escape. In South Carolina, where lived his son-in-law, Col. Joseph Alston, who was afterward governor of South Carolina, Burr felt that he was somewhat known, and one afternoon late, as the squad approached Chester Courthouse, and was passing the tavern, where a large crowd was gathered, Burr leaped from his horse, and exclaimed, "I am Aaron Burr, gentlemen, under military arrest, and claim the protection of the civil authorities." Perkins and several of the guard dismounted, and ordered him to remount his horse, which he defiantly declined to do, when Perkins threw his arms about him and flung him into his saddle, and the party galloped away. The crowd looked on with wonder, and to them it was only a strange proceeding of a prisoner under guard who was seeking to escape, and the sensation turned out to be merely momentary. A vehicle was bought, Burr was placed in it with a guard, and no further trouble was had to the end of the journey.

A DREAM OF EMPIRE

The fall of Napoleon at Waterloo, created consternation in the ranks of his adherents. In rejoining him after his return from Elba, they had staked all on his attempt to regain the empire. When he fell, his supporters were in a worse plight than was he. A number of the best were shot, among them Marshal Ney, while many others fled penniless to different parts of the earth, among whom was a large and respectable body who came to America. These included Marshal Grouchy, who was charged with being the occasion of the defeat at Waterloo, and others whose names will appear in this narrative. This body of refugees sailed for America, where they hoped to build a miniature empire in a remote quarter of the American continent, with such construction that while they would be able to imitate their life in France, by having their own local laws, they would at the same time bring themselves into practical conformity to the constitution of the United States. We shall see how fully their dream was realized.

Once in America, they elicited the aid and co-operation of a Dr. Brown, of Kentucky, who had spent much time in France, knew the French people, and was endeared to them. Dr. Brown acted as an interagent between the French and the Federal Government in the introduction of the cause of the refugees. That which they sought was the utmost confines of western occupation, for two reasons, one of which was because of the cheapness of the land, and the other was because of its segregation. At that time the Tombigbee was that western boundary. Here was to be established a new France, with its growth of olive trees and grape vines. To the ardent French this was a rosy dream, and on these western borders they saw in vision, mansions and palaces, spacious grounds, and the affluence of gay society to which they were accustomed in their own brilliant capital on the Seine. Dreams like these heartened the host and eclipsed all care and worry, and banished the prick of ills to which they were destined to be subjected. Arriving at Philadelphia, they lingered for many months during the negotiations with the American Government for a domain of land on the distant Tombigbee. They commissioned a French statesman, Nicholas S. Parmentier, as their agent to consummate the plan. There was accordingly adopted a bill by the American congress in March, 1818, granting to these refugees four townships fronting on the Black Warrior River, in the present County of Marengo. This land was sold at $2 an acre, payable within fourteen years, provided the olive and the vine were produced. The land was divided by themselves, as a stock company, each one of the three hundred and fourteen families taking quantities of from eighty to four hundred and eighty acres. In contemplation of a town to be built, there was assigned additionally to each head of a family, a lot within the proposed city, and one on the suburbs.

With this arrangement completed, the novel colony was to sail at once and occupy it. Accordingly a schooner, the McDonough, was chartered to convey the company, numbering about one thousand five hundred in all, to Mobile, when they were to make their way up the river to their final destination. With their varied household effects, the vivacious French set sail from Philadelphia in April, 1818, and for more than a month, slowly sailed down the coast of the Atlantic.

During the following May, late one afternoon, Lieutenant Beal, the commander of Fort Bowyer, near Mobile, saw in the distance, a vessel wrestling with a gale which was sweeping that quarter of the sea. Through his glass, the commander could see the direction in which the vessel was bearing, while sorely tossed by the wind, which was blowing at a fearful velocity. The captain of the McDonough had a chart which was out of date, and Beal saw that the vessel was heading rapidly toward danger. He fired a cannon as an alarm gun, hoping thereby to arrest the erroneous course of the vessel. The day was now far advanced, and darkness settled over the face of the sea. Beal took the precaution to erect lights along the shore, and some time after night, he heard the signals of distress from the unfortunate McDonough.

While the wind was still very high and fierce, Beal did not think that the vessel should be left to its fate, and called for those who would volunteer to go with him in as large boat as they had at command, to the rescue of those on the vessel. The McDonough had struck, and was lying in the thick gloom at the mercy of the waves, in the sand into which an obsolete chart had directed the captain. Accompanied by five brave men, Beal plunged into the darkness with the boat, and guided by the dim lights of the vessel, he was enabled to reach it somewhat after midnight. Everything on board the vessel was in commotion, as every fresh wave threatened to engulf it, but Beal coolly proposed to save, if he could, the women and children, whom he crowded into his boat and set out on his return toward the fort through the dense gloom. After much struggle the boat was safely brought to the fort, and the women and children were saved. Luckily the vessel was later released by the waves from its perilous condition in the sand, and in the early morning was washed into deeper water, and though crippled by the accident, was saved, and in due time pulled into port at Fort Bowyer. There was great glee and sport among the French after it was all over, as they would joke each other with that which happened. They soon forgot the seriousness of the situation to which they were only a few hours before exposed, and gave themselves again to jollity and song.

In expression of their just gratitude to the brave lieutenant who had been the occasion of so much timely aid, they proposed to take him with them to Mobile, and give him a banquet. This was accordingly done, vivacity ran high amidst sparkling wines and merriment unconfined, and the gay throng in the banquet hall little resembled a colony driven by disaster from their native land, and so recently exposed to death.

At Mobile, the McDonough was dismissed, and plans were at once adopted to provide flatboats and barges to convey the company up the winding Tombigbee to their future home among the wilds of Western Alabama. Of their future experiences we shall hear later.

THE TRIP AND SETTLEMENT

It was a gay and mirthful throng that was gathered on board the rough flatboats, at the wharf of Mobile, on the morning of the departure of the French for their settlement far up along the Tombigbee. One would have thought that it was a huge picnic party instead of a people fleeing from oppression, with all the novelties of an untamed region to be grappled with. Distinguished French generals were among them, men who had for years shared in the bloody campaigns of Napoleon. There were also eminent men of science, educators, merchants, and statesmen, with their wives and children. The delicate French women still wearing their Parisian styles, and beautifully dressed children, young men and women, and a few servants constituted the multitude now slowly pulling out from Mobile for a long and torturous trip up the river. More incongruous conditions can scarcely be imagined.

In those primitive days before the use of steam, the barges had to be heavily dragged against the upstream current by the use of long poles planted into the bank of the stream from the stern of the vessel, while at the same time long poles with iron beaks were used from the bow, by being fastened to trees or projecting rocks. The proceeding was torturous enough, but nothing dampened the ardency of these effervescent French, and every incident was turned into a fresh outburst of jollity, and seriousness was tossed to the winds.

At night, they would build their campfires on the bank of the river in the edge of the primitive forests, and after the evening meal, the violin, guitar and the accordion would be brought into requisition to repel dull care, and regale themselves on the tedious passage. The wild flowers were in bloom, and the early fruits were already ripening in the woods, and not infrequently the company would stop at some inviting point and spend a day picking flowers and fruits, romping the woods, and frolicking.

Thus wore away two or three months during which they were making their way from Mobile to the present site of Demopolis. They were not without competent guides, of course, to direct them to the point of their future homes on the wild prairies, and when the junction of the Tombigbee and the Black Warrior was reached they landed on the white, chalky banks to begin life on the frontier. Along the bank for some distance were strewn their household goods, of every conceivable article--oval-topped trunks with big brass tacks, carpetbags, chests of divers colors and of varied size, bundles carefully wrapped, demijohns, military saddles, swords, epaulettes, sashes, spurs, bandboxes, violins, guitars, and much else that made up the medley of more than three hundred families, who were about to enter on a wilderness life on the prairies of West Alabama.

They had provided themselves with a few tents, which were promptly brought into use, while improvised habitations were at first constructed of the tall canes which grew wild along the river, and of the lithe saplings cut from the clumps of trees which dotted here and there the prairie over. The prairies were now in their floral beauty, while the young, tender cane was just springing, undermatted with luxuriant grass, with here and there a dash of wild strawberries. In dry weather the surface of the land was flinty with abounding fissures, while during the rainy season it was converted into a soft, waxy, black mud. These bright and pretty French women, used to the gilded salons and festive scenes of Paris, found a complete reversal of conditions in this wild and inhospitable region, but their native joviality never forsook them. Novelties and mistakes were turned into laughter, and roughness into cheeriness. They would promptly adjust themselves to conditions, and would meet them with burst after burst of jollity. They shared in the sentiment expressed by the trivial John Gay, who wrote:

"Life is a jest, and all things show it,
I thought so once, and now I know it."

Donning their dainty garbs, these unconquerable French women did not hesitate to cook, wash, iron, hoe in their gardens and yards, or join their husbands in efforts of a more serious nature, in tillage, and in the erecting of log houses. Their lightness of heart was a cordial in the conditions of actual gloom which sometimes confronted them, but they would never repine, and would decline to take conditions seriously.

The personnel of this novel colony was most interesting. Marshal Groughy was classed by them with that segment of society called by Mr. Roosevelt "undesirable citizens," because of the affair at Waterloo, and was left behind in Philadelphia, though he was one of the allottees of the land procured, but got another to occupy it for him. The stigma of the defeat of Waterloo was his, and this made him most unpopular. But Count Desnoettes, who was a cavalry general in Napoleon's army, and a great favorite with the Emperor, was of the colony. Napoleon loved Desnoettes because of his fighting qualities, and because of his exceeding attractiveness of person. He accompanied Bonaparte on the memorable retreat from Russia, and when the French officers were gathered at Fontainebleau, on the eve of Napoleon's departure to Elba, and all were weeping, he embraced Desnoettes, saying that he would avail himself of this means of bidding all farewell.

Penier was a distinguished statesmen; Colonel Raoul was a distinguished cavalry fighter, who had accompanied Napoleon in his exile to Elba, and afterward led the advance guard on the return of the Emperor to France after escaping from his island imprisonment. Madame Raoul was a handsome Italian woman, a native of Naples. Cluis was one of the aids of Marshal Lefebvre; Chaudoin was a French poet of note; Clausel was a count; L'Allemand was a lieutenant general of artillery under Napoleon; Lackonel was a savant, who was at the head of the department of education, in the empire, during the regime of Napoleon, together with others of equal note.

All of these notables were once residents of Alabama, and encountered the conditions of pioneer life on its western plains. Of some of the ups and downs of this strange colony something will be said in the next article.

LIFE IN THE FRENCH COLONY

One may easily infer from that already said about these peculiar colonists, who settled in the early years of the nineteenth century, at the confluence of the Tombigbee and Black Warrior Rivers, that life under such conditions must have been strikingly novel throughout. It was an attempt to graft an exceptional European civilization, with all its traditional peculiarities of many centuries, into the raw wilderness conditions of western civilization, and to preserve intact, the customs of the gay Gallic capital of Europe, on the prairies of black mud in Alabama. The log huts which lined the streets of primitive Demopolis, were made as nearly palaces as they well could be, and the streets themselves were lighted at night, in imitation of the French capital. It was a play doll performance, as pathetic as it was patriotic and loyal.

The French founded and named Demopolis "the city of the people," seeking thus to blend a miniature Paris with democratic sentiment. In vain did these people seek to grow the olive and the vine in an unfriendly soil, and the attempt was gradually abandoned, and by every possible makeshift they eked out a bare subsistence. In a fertile soil, vegetables and corn were easily grown, and with these and with such supplies as they could get from the game of the woods, they struggled on against odds. They were not without annoyance from the Indians, and more from the American settlers who were now beginning to come into that quarter of the Alabama territory. These latter would entrench on the lands of the French which gave rise to much friction, and an agent had to go to Washington to sue for protection against such invasions. This occasioned opposition to the "furreners," as the French came to be popularly called, in the neighboring log cabins of the American squatters.

As an indication of the extremity to which the French were reduced, Colonel Raoul, a large, handsome and dignified cavalry officer in the Napoleonic army, had to establish a ferry on the river to convey travelers from one side to the other, while his beautiful queenly wife sold gingerbread and persimmon beer on the bank, at the ferry. With her delicate jeweled fingers she would manufacture these crude refreshments, and with much grace serve them to the rude pioneers.

Years afterward, when Raoul had been restored to the confidence of the French government, and was occupying a lucrative position in Paris, after serving for some time in the Mexican army, he was visited by John Hurtel, who was also one of the French colonists, but now a prosperous merchant in Mobile. Intimate and even affectionate as friends, Colonel Raoul gave a dinner to his Mobile friend, and invited to the banquet many of his distinguished Parisian friends. To a group, Raoul was relating his pioneer experiences as a ferryman, which all laughingly doubted, when Raoul called to Hurtel, in another part of the room to join them. He then asked Hurtel what he (Raoul) did at Demopolis. He replied that he kept a ferry. "And what did the madame do?" asked Raoul. "Sold ginger cakes and simmon beer," said Hurtel, all of which was greeted with roars of laughter.

As an expression of devotion to his imperial sovereign, General Desnoettes built a shanty near his log cabin, which shanty he called his "sanctuary." In the center of this humble museum stood a bronze statue of Napoleon, encircled by relics of war captured by Desnoettes--swords, pistols, spears, spurs and saddles--while in graceful folds about the walls hung the captured banners. The customs of the people were often as grotesque as they were pathetic. After days of struggle and labor, the evenings would be spent in music and dancing in the log cabins, or else along the narrow grassy streets of the village would resound, till a late hour of the night, the notes of musical instruments. The great generals of a hundred battles preserved their military dignity and conventionalities while working with might and main in their laboring garbs, with their broad-brimmed hats flapping about their heads. Every stranger would be greeted with the military salute, no matter who he was.

In compliance with the requirements of the territorial laws, every male citizen of a given age, had to meet statedly at some point named by the commanding militia officer, to drill. From this the French were not exempt, and these experts in military science were compelled to join in the ranks of the rough and tumble yeomanry on the muster ground, and go through with the rude evolutions known to them from the days of their cadetship.

These were the days of the country grocery, and of the crossroads grocery, which were inseparable from the muster ground and the rural drill, and their presence meant fisticuff fights, gouged eyes, broken noses, and dislocated teeth. There was not the best feeling toward the "furrener," at any rate, and there was a disposition in this region especially, to provoke him to difficulty. It is related that on one occasion a bully under the sway of liquor, sought a difficulty with one of the French, which ended in the Frenchman being knocked down and jumped on by the rough militiaman. The poor fellow knew not a word of English, and he cried in his extremity for "enough" the French word "bravo," which he knew had something to do with fighting. He repeatedly yelled "bravo" with the hope that some one would pull off his assailant, but the assailant interpreted it to mean an expression of defiance, and was brutally pommeling the Gaul. Some of the by-standers properly construed the meaning of the Frenchman, from the tone of his appeal, and pulled the ruffian off.

In the geographical names of that region--Arcola, Agleville (Eagleville), Linden (Hohenlinden), and Marengo, not to mention Demopolis--one finds the evidence of the past occupation of the French. During the first year or two, a number of other French came from France and joined the colony, but the object which they had in view, failing, that of raising grapes and olives, the colony gradually dissipated, the emigrants going in different directions, and in Mobile and New Orleans, as elsewhere, may be found the descendants of some of these original colonists, still bearing the names of their ancestors of almost a century ago. Long after the occupied domain had been abandoned, there could be seen in the waxy mud in the region of Demopolis the imprints of the delicate shoes of those Parisian women.

PRIMITIVE HARDSHIPS

Few are aware of the extremes to which the earliest settlers of Alabama were reduced in their migration from the old colonies to this region, while it was yet a territory. It may be said that the original stock of Alabama settlers was generally of the best type of Anglo-Saxon manhood and womanhood. Inherently, they had no superiors on the continent. They are not to be thought of as adventurers, restlessly migrating to a new region with a dissatisfaction which sought relief in the mere act of moving, for adventurers would never have undergone that which was experienced by these fathers, in pitching their homes in a wilderness infested by savages and wild beasts. The fact that they did that which was done, labels the type of character of these original commonwealth builders.