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 ma.s.sacre 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 ma.s.sacre.

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 compa.s.s 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 ma.s.sacre 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 pa.s.sed. 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, G.o.d 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 a.s.sured him of his protection. To the Hermitage, General Jackson took his erstwhile adversary, cared for him with the utmost hospitality, and when a.s.sured 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 ill.u.s.trates 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 trans.m.u.ting 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 lat.i.tude. 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 c.h.i.n.ks 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 a.s.sume 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 pa.s.sed 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 embarra.s.sment 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 pa.s.sing 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.