The Big Brother
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George Cary Eggleston >> The Big Brother
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THE BIG BROTHER
A Story of Indian War
by
GEORGE CARY EGGLESTON
Author of "How to Educate Yourself," Etc.
Illustrated
[Illustration: THE DOG CHARGE.]
New York
G. P. Putnam's Sons
Fourth Avenue and Twenty-Third Street
1875.
Copyright.
G. P. Putnam's Sons.
1875.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
Page.
SINQUEFIELD 7
CHAPTER II.
THE STORMING OF SINQUEFIELD 17
CHAPTER III.
SAM'S LECTURE 28
CHAPTER IV.
SAM FINDS IT NECESSARY TO THINK 38
CHAPTER V.
SAM'S FORTRESS 46
CHAPTER VI.
SURPRISED 61
CHAPTER VII.
CONFUSED 67
CHAPTER VIII.
WEATHERFORD 71
CHAPTER IX.
WEARY WAITING 83
CHAPTER X.
FIGHTING FIRE 93
CHAPTER XI.
IN THE WILDERNESS 104
CHAPTER XII.
AN ALARM AND A WELCOME 118
CHAPTER XIII.
JOE'S PLAN 124
CHAPTER XIV.
THE CANOE FIGHT 130
CHAPTER XV.
THE BOYS ARE DRIVEN OUT OF THE ROOT FORTRESS 143
CHAPTER XVI.
WHERE IS JOE? 159
CHAPTER XVII.
A FAMINE 163
CHAPTER XVIII.
WHICH ENDS THE STORY 173
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
Page.
THE DOG CHARGE _Frontispiece._
SAM'S PARTY 20
"WE'S DUN LOS'--DAT'S WHA' WE IS" 40
JUDIE ON THE RAFT 49
THE PERILOUS LEAP 83
THE BIG BROTHER.
CHAPTER I.
SINQUEFIELD.
In the quiet days of peace and security in which we live it is difficult
to imagine such a time of excitement as that at which our story opens,
in the summer of 1813. From the beginning of that year, the Creek
Indians in Alabama and Mississippi had shown a decided disposition to
become hostile. In addition to the usual incentives to war which always
exist where the white settlements border closely upon Indian territory,
there were several special causes operating to bring about a struggle at
that time. We were already at war with the British, and British agents
were very active in stirring up trouble on our frontiers, knowing that
nothing would so surely weaken the Americans as a general outbreak of
Indian hostilities. Tecumseh, the great chief, had visited the Creeks,
too, and had urged them to go on the war path, threatening them, in the
event of their refusal, with the wrath of the Great Spirit. His appeals
to their superstition were materially strengthened by the occurrence of
an earthquake, which singularly enough, he had predicted, threatening
that when he returned to his home he would stamp his foot and shake
their houses down. Their own prophets, Francis and Singuista, had
preached war, too, telling the Indians that their partial adoption of
civilization, and their relations of friendship with the whites, were
sorely displeasing to the Great Spirit, who would surely punish them if
they did not immediately abandon the civilization and butcher the
pale-faces. Francis predicted, also, that in the coming struggle no
Indians would be killed, while the whites would be completely
exterminated. All this was promised on condition that the Indians should
become complete savages again, quitting all the habits of industry and
thrift which they had been learning for some years past, and fighting
mercilessly against all whites, sparing none.
All these things combined to bring on the war, and during the spring
several raids were made by small bodies of the Indians, in which they
were pretty severely punished by the whites. Finally a battle was fought
at Burnt-corn, in July 1813, and this was the signal for the breaking
out of the most terrible of all Indian wars,--the most terrible, because
the savages engaged in it had learned from the whites how to fight, and
because many of their chiefs were educated half-breeds, familiar with
the country and with all the points of weakness on the part of the
settlers. Stockade forts were built in various places, and in these the
settlers took refuge, leaving their fields to grow as they might and
their houses to be plundered and burned whenever the Indians should
choose to visit them. The stockades were so built as to enclose several
acres each, and strong block houses inside, furnished additional
protection. Into these forts there came men, women, and children, from
all parts of the country, each bringing as much food as possible, and
each willing to lend a hand to the common defence and the common
support.
On the 30th of August, the Indians attacked Fort Mims, one of the
largest of the stockade stations, and after a desperate battle destroyed
it, killing all but seventeen of the five hundred and fifty people who
were living in it. The news of this terrible slaughter quickly spread
over the country, and everybody knew now that a general war had begun,
in which the Indians meant to destroy the whites utterly, not sparing
even the youngest children.
Those who had remained on their farms now flocked in great numbers to
the forts, and every effort was made to strengthen the defences at all
points. The men, including all the boys who were large enough to point a
gun and pull a trigger, were organized into companies and assigned to
port-holes, in order that each might know where to go to do his part of
the fighting whenever the Indians should come. Even those of the women
who knew how to shoot, insisted upon being provided with guns and
assigned to posts of duty. There was not only no use in flinching, but
every one of them knew that whenever the fort should be attacked the
only question to be decided was, "Shall we beat the savages off, or
shall every man woman and child of us be butchered?" They could not run
away, for there was nowhere to run, except into the hands of the
merciless foe. The life of every one of them was involved in the defence
of the forts, and each was, therefore, anxious to do all he could to
make the defense a successful one. Their only hope was in desperate
courage, and, being Americans, their courage was equal to the demand
made upon it. It was not a civilized war, in which surrenders, and
exchanges of prisoners, and treaties and flags of truce, or even
neutrality offered any escape. It was a savage war, in which the Indians
intended to kill all the whites, old and young, wherever they could find
them. The people in the forts knew this, and they made their
arrangements accordingly.
Now if the boys and girls who read this story will get their atlases and
turn to the map of Alabama, they will find some points, the relative
positions of which they must remember if they wish to understand fully
the happenings with which we have to do. Just below the junction of the
Alabama and Tombigbee rivers, on the east side of the stream, they will
find the little town of Tensaw, and Fort Mims stood very near that
place. The peninsula formed by the two rivers above their junction is
now Clarke County, and almost exactly in its centre stands the village
of Grove Hill. A mile or two to the north-east stood Fort Sinquefield.
Fort White was several miles further west, and Fort Glass, afterwards
called Fort Madison, stood fifteen miles south, at a point about three
miles south of the present village of Suggsville. On the eastern side of
the Alabama river is the town of Claiborne, and at a point about three
miles below Claiborne the principal events of this story occurred. It
will not hurt you, boys and girls, to learn a little accurate geography,
by looking up these places before going on with the story, and if I were
your schoolmaster, instead of your story teller, I should stop here to
advise you always to look on the map for every town, river, lake,
mountain or other geographical thing mentioned in any book or paper you
read. I would advise you, too, if I were your schoolmaster, to add up
all the figures given in books and newspapers, to see if the writers
have made any mistakes; and it is a good plan too, to go at once to the
dictionary when you meet a word you do not quite comprehend, or to the
encyclopaedia or history, or whatever else is handy, whenever you read
about anything and would like to know more about it. I say I should stop
here to give you some such advice as this, if I were your schoolmaster.
As I am not, however, I must go on with my story instead.
Within a mile or two of Fort Sinquefield lived a gentleman named
Hardwicke. He was a widower with three children. Sam, the oldest of the
three, was nearly seventeen; Tommy was eleven, and a little girl of
seven years, named Judith, but called Judie, was the other. Mr.
Hardwicke was a quiet, studious man, who had come to Alabama from
Baltimore, not many years before, and since the death of his wife he had
spent most of his time in his library, which was famous throughout the
settlement on account of the wonderful number of books it contained.
There were hardly any schools in Alabama in those days, and Mr.
Hardwicke, being a man of education and considerable wealth, gave up
almost the whole of his time to his children, teaching them in doors and
out, and directing them in their reading. It was understood that Sam
would be sent north to attend College the next year, and meantime he had
become a voracious reader. He read all sorts of books, and as he
remembered and applied the things he learned from them, it was a common
saying in the country round about, that "Sam Hardwicke knows pretty
nearly everything." Of course that was not true, but he knew a good deal
more than most of the men in the country, and better than all, he knew
how very much there was for him yet to learn. A boy has learned the very
best lesson of his life when he knows that he really does not know much;
it is a lesson some people never learn at all. But books were not the
only things Sam Hardwicke was familiar with. He could ride the worst
horses in the country and shoot a rifle almost as well as Tandy Walker
himself, and Tandy, as every reader of history knows, was the most
famous rifleman, as well as the best guide and most daring scout in the
whole south-west. Sam had hunted, too, over almost every inch of
country within twenty miles around, trudging alone sometimes for a week
or a fortnight before returning, and in this way he had learned to know
the distances, the directions, and the nature of the country lying
between different places,--a knowledge worth gaining by anybody, and
especially valuable to a boy who lived in a frontier settlement. He was
strong of limb and active as he was strong, and his "book knowledge," as
the neighbors called it, served him many a good turn in the woods, when
he was beset by difficulties.
Sam's father was one of the very last of the settlers to go into a fort.
He remained at home as long as he could, and went to Fort Sinquefield at
last, only when warned by an Indian who for some reason liked him, that
he and his children's lives were in imminent danger. That was on the
first of September, and when the Hardwicke family, black and white, were
safely within the little fortress, there remained outside only two
families, namely, those of Abner James and Ransom Kimball, who
determined to remain one more night at Kimball's house, two miles from
Sinquefield. That very night the Indians, under Francis the prophet,
burned the house, killing twelve of the inmates. Five others escaped,
and one of them, Isham Kimball, who was then a boy of sixteen,
afterwards became Clerk of Clarke County, where he was still living in
1857.
CHAPTER II.
THE STORMING OF SINQUEFIELD.
When the news of the massacre at Kimball's reached Fort Glass, a
detachment of ten men was sent out to recover the bodies, which they
brought to Fort Sinquefield for burial. The graves were dug in a little
valley three or four hundred yards from the fort, and all the people
went out to attend the funeral. The services had just come to an end
when the cry of "Indians! Indians!" was raised, and a body of warriors,
under the prophet Francis, dashed down from behind a hill, upon the
defenceless people, whose guns were inside the fort. The first impulse
of every one was to catch up the little children and hasten inside the
gates, but it was manifestly too late. The Indians were already nearer
the fort than they, and were running with all their might, brandishing
their knives and tomahawks, and yelling like demons.
There seemed no way of escape. Sam Hardwicke took little Judie up in his
arms, and, quick as thought calculated the chances of reaching the fort.
Clearly the only way in which he could possibly get there, was by
leaving his little sister to her fate and running for his life. But Sam
Hardwicke was not the sort of boy to do anything so cowardly as that.
Abandoning the thought of getting to the fort, he called to Tom to
follow him, and with Judie in his arms, he ran into a neighboring
thicket, where the three, with Joe, a black boy of twelve or thirteen
years who had followed them, concealed themselves in the bushes. Whether
they had been seen by the Indians or not, they had no way of knowing,
but their only hope of safety now lay in absolute stillness. They
crouched down together and kept silence.
"What's we gwine to do here, I wonder," whispered the black boy. "Whar
mus' we go, Mas Sam?"
Sam did not answer. He was too much absorbed in studying the situation
to talk or even to listen. The Indians were coming down upon the white
people from every side, and the only wonder was that Sam's little party
had managed to find a gap in their line big enough to escape through.
"Be patient, Joe," said little Judie, in the calmest voice possible.
"Brother Sam will take care of us. Give him time. He always does know
what to do."
"Be still, Joe," said Sam. "If you talk that Indian'll see us," pointing
to one not thirty steps distant, though Joe had not yet seen him.
A terrified "ugh!" was all the reply Joe could make.
Meantime the situation of the fort people was terrible. Cut off from the
gates and unarmed, there seemed to be nothing for them to do except to
meet death as bravely and calmly as they could. A young man named Isaac
Harden happened to be near the gates, however, on horseback, and
accompanied by a pack of about sixty hounds. And this young man, whose
name has barely crept into a corner of history, was both a hero and a
military genius, and he did right then and there, a deed as brilliant
and as heroic as any other in history. Seeing the perilous position of
the fort people, he raised himself in his stirrups and waving his hat,
charged the savages _with his pack of dogs_, whooping and yelling after
the manner of a huntsman, and leading the fierce bloodhounds right into
the ranks of the infuriated Indians. The dogs being trained to chase and
seize any living thing upon which their master might set them, attacked
the Indians furiously, Harden encouraging them and riding down group
after group of the bewildered savages. Charging right and left with his
dogs, he succeeded in putting the Indians for a time upon the defensive,
thus giving the white people time to escape into the fort. When all were
in except Sam's party and a Mrs. Phillips who was killed, Harden began
looking about him for a chance to secure his own safety. His impetuosity
had carried him clear through the Indian ranks, and the savages, having
beaten the dogs off, turned their attention to the young cavalier who
had balked them in the very moment of their victory. They were between
him and the gates, hundreds against one. His dogs were killed or
scattered, and he saw at a glance that there was little hope for him.
The woods behind him were full of Indians, and so retreat was
impossible. Turning his horse's head towards the gates, he plunged spurs
into his side, and with a pistol in each hand, dashed through the savage
ranks, firing as he went. Blowing a blast upon his horn to recall those
of his dogs which were still alive, he escaped on foot into the fort,
just in time to let the gate shut in the face of the foremost Indian.
His horse, history tells us, was killed under him, and he had five
bullet holes through his clothes, but his skin was unbroken.
[Illustration: SAM'S PARTY.]
Francis and his followers were balked but not beaten. Retiring for a few
minutes behind the hill, they rallied and came again to the assault,
more furiously than ever. Their savage instincts were thoroughly aroused
by the unexpected defeat they had sustained in the very moment of their
victory, and they were determined now to take the fort at any cost.
Their plan of attack showed the skill of their leader, who was really a
man of considerable ability in spite of his fanatical belief in his own
prophetic gifts. He avoided both the errors usually committed by Indian
leaders in storming fortified places. He refused, on the one hand, to
let his men waste their powder and their time in desultory firing, and,
on the other, he decided not to risk everything on the hazard of a
single assault. His plan was to take the fort by storm, but the storming
was to be done systematically. Dividing his force into two parts, he
sent one to the attack, and held the other back in the hope that the
first would gain a position so near the stockade as to make the assault
of the second, led by himself, doubly sure of success. The plan was a
good one, without doubt, and no man was better qualified than Francis to
carry it out.
When the storming party came, the people in the fort were ready for it.
Counting out the women and children, their numbers were not large, but
they were a brave and determined set of men and boys, who knew very well
in what kind of a struggle they were engaged. They reserved their fire
until the Indians were within thirty yards of the fort, and then
delivered it as rapidly as they could, taking care to waste none of it
by random or careless shooting. The fort consisted, as all the border
fortifications did, of a simple stockade, inside of which was a
block-house for the protection of the women and children, and designed
also as a sort of "last ditch," in which a desperate resistance could be
made, even after the fort had been carried. The stockade was made of the
trunks of pine-trees set on end in the ground, close together, but
pierced at intervals with port-holes, through which the men of the
garrison could fire. Such a stockade afforded an excellent protection
against the bullets and the arrows of the Indians, and gave its
defenders a great advantage over the assailing force, which must, of
course, be exposed to a galling fire from the men behind the barriers.
As the stockade was about fifteen feet high, climbing over it was almost
wholly out of the question, and the only way to take the fort was to
rush upon it with fence rails, stop up the port-holes immediately in
front, and keep so close to the stockade as to escape the fire from
points to the right and left, while engaged in cutting down the timber
barrier. If the Indians could do this, their superior numbers would
enable them to rush in through the opening thus made, and then the
block-house would be the only refuge left to the white people. The
block-house was a building made of very large timbers, hewed square,
laid close upon each other and notched to an exact fit at the ends. It
had but one entrance, and that was near the top. This could be reached
only by a ladder, and should the Indians gain access to the fort, the
whites would retire, fighting, to this building, and when all were in,
the ladder would be drawn in after them. From the port-holes of the
block-house a fierce fire could be delivered, and as the square timbers
were not easily set on fire, a body of Indians must be very determined
indeed, if they succeeded in taking or destroying a block-house. At Fort
Mims, however, they had done so, burning the house over the heads of the
inmates.
The reader will understand, from this description of the fort, how
possible it was for the people within it to withstand a very determined
attack, and to inflict heavy loss upon the savages, without suffering
much in their turn. Francis's men charged furiously upon the silent
stockade, but were sent reeling back as soon as they had come near
enough for the riflemen within to fire with absolute accuracy of aim.
Then the second body, under Francis himself, charged, but with no
better success. A pause followed, and another charge was made just
before nightfall.
This time some of the savages succeeded in reaching the stockade and
stopping up some of the port-holes. They cut down a part of the pickets
too, and had their friends charged again at once, the fort would
undoubtedly have been carried. As it was, Francis saw fit to draw off
his men, for the time at least, and retire beyond the hill. What was now
to be done? The attack had been repulsed, but it might be renewed at any
moment. The Indians had suffered considerably, while the casualties
within the fort were limited to the loss of one man and one boy. But the
obstinate determination of Francis was well known, and it was certain
that he had not finally abandoned his purpose of taking the little fort.
He had already demonstrated his ability to carry the place, and it was,
at the least, likely that he would come again within twenty-four hours,
probably with a larger force, and should he do so, the little garrison
was not in condition to repel his attack. To remain in the fort,
therefore, was certain destruction; but the country was full of savages,
and to attempt a march to Fort Glass, fifteen miles away, which was the
nearest available place, the other forts being difficult to reach, was
felt to be almost equally hazardous. A council was held, and it was
finally determined that the perilous march to Fort Glass must be
undertaken at all hazards. Accordingly, not long after nightfall the
whole garrison, men, women and children, stealthily left the fort and
silently crept away to the south.
Sam had seen the dog charge and the escape of the whites into the fort.
"What a fool I was!" he exclaimed, "not to stay where I was! We might
have got in with the rest of them."
"Why can't we go to de fort now, or leastways, as soon as de Injuns goes
away?" asked Joe.
"They ain't going away," said Sam. "They're going to storm the
fort,--look, they're coming right here for a starting-point, and 'll be
on top of us in a minute. Come!--don't make any noise, but follow me.
Crawl on your hands and knees, and don't raise your heads. Look out for
sticks. If you break one, the Indians 'll hear it."
"Mas' Sam--dey's Injuns ahead'n us an' a-comin right torge us too. Look
dar!"
Sam looked, and saw a body of Indians just in front of him coming to
reinforce the others. He and his friends were cut off between two bodies
of savages.
"Lie down and be still," he whispered. "It's all we can do--and I'm to
blame for it all!"
CHAPTER III.
SAM'S LECTURE.
The people of the fort made no search for Sam and his companions; not
because they cared nothing for them, but simply because they believed
them certainly dead. Mr. Hardwicke, himself, had seen Sam start with
little Judie towards the fort, before the dog charge was made, and as
neither the boys nor Judie had ever reached the gates, he had no doubt
whatever that his three children were slain, as was Mrs. Phillips, the
only other person who had failed to get inside the stockade. Mr.
Hardwicke wished to go out in search of their bodies, but was overruled
by his companions, who, knowing that the savages were still in the
immediate vicinity, thought it simply a reckless and unnecessary risk,
to go hunting for the bodies of their friends hundreds of yards away,
and immediately in front of the place at which the Indians were last
seen. The idea was abandoned, therefore, and the fort party marched away
in the darkness of a cloudy night, towards Fort Glass. Leaving them to
find their way if they can, let us return to Sam and his little band.
Seeing the Indians coming towards them, they lay down in the high weeds.
The savages hurrying forward to reinforce their friends, passed within a
few feet of the young people, but did not see them. The storming of the
fort then began, and after watching the evolutions of the Indians for
some time, Sam said:
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