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Mr. Catlin painted his portrait, and represented him as he wished, standing on the Table Rock, at the Falls of Niagara; about which place he thought his spirit would linger after his death. Red Jacket died in 1836. A handsome and appropriate monument was erected over his grave, by Mr. Henry Placide, the comedian; and more lasting monuments, in historical form, have been written by distinguished authors. As an orator, this gifted chief was equal to any of modern times. His speeches display the greatest sagacity and sublimity of ideas, with the greatest force and condensation of expression. His gestures while speaking are said to have been singularly significant; and the features of his face, particularly his piercing eyes, full of expression. He was in truth, a “forest-born Demosthenes.”
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EATHERFORD was the principal chief of the
Creeks during the war in which the power of that nation was broken and destroyed by General Jackson. In his character was found that union of great virtues and vices which has made up the character of many celebrated men among civilized nations. With avarice, treachery, lust, gluttony, and a thirst for blood, nature gave Weatherford, genius, eloquence, and courage. Seldom has an Indian appeared, more capable of planning and executing great designs. His judgment and eloquence secured him the respect of the old; his vices made him the idol of the young and unprincipled. In his person, he was tall, straight, and well proportioned; his eyes black, lively, and piercing; his nose aquiline and thin; while all the features of his face, harmoniously arranged, spoke an active and disciplined mind.
It was Weatherford’s talents and determined spirit which prolonged the war against the whites, which began in August, 1813. When the power of the Creeks had been broken, and great numbers of them had fallen, many of their chiefs and warriors came to General Jackson, and surrendered themselves prisoners. Weatherford, with a few followers, boldly maintained his hostile attitude. General Jackson, to test the fidelity of those chiefs who submitted, ordered them to deliver, without delay, Weatherford, bound, into his hands, that he might be dealt with as he deserved. The warriors made known to Weatherford what was required of them. His noble spirit would not submit to such degradation; and he resolved to yield himself without compulsion.
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Accordingly, Weatherford proceeded to the American camp, unknown, and under some pretence, was admitted to the presence of the commanding general. He then boldly said: “I am Weatherford, the chief who commanded at Fort Mimms. I desire peace for my people, and have come to ask it.” Jackson was surprised that he should venture to appear in his presence, and told him, for his inhuman conduct at Fort Mimms, he well deserved to die; that he had ordered him to be brought to the camp, bound, and had he been so bound, he would have been treated as he deserved. To this Weatherford replied:
“I am in your power—do with me as you please. I am a soldier. I have done the white people all the harm I could. I have fought them and fought them bravely. If I had an army, I would yet fight; I would contend to the last. But I have none. My people are all gone. I can only weep over the misfortunes of my nation.”
General Jackson was pleased with his boldness, and told him that, though he was in his power, yet he would take no advantage; that he might yet join the war party, and contend against the Americans, if he chose, but to depend upon no quarter if taken afterward; and that unconditional submission was his and his people’s only safety. Weatherford rejoined in a tone as dignified as it was indignant,—“You can safely address me in such terms now. There was a time when I could have answered you—there was a time when I had a choice—I have none now. I have not even a hope. I could once animate my warriors to battle—but I cannot animate the dead. My warriors can no longer hear my voice. Their bones are at Tallahega, Tallushatchee, Emuckfaw, and Tohopeka. I have not surrendered myself without thought. While there was a single chance of success, I never left my post, nor supplicated peace. But my people are gone, and I now ask it for my nation, not for myself. I look back with deep sorrow, and wish to avert still greater calamities. If I had been left to contend with the Georgia army, I would have raised my corn on one bank of the river, and fought them on the other. But your people have destroyed my nation. You are a brave man. I rely upon your generosity. You will exact no terms of a conquered people, but such as they should accede to. Whatever they may be, it would now be madness and folly to oppose them. If they are opposed, you shall find me amongst the sternest enforcers of obedience. Those who would still hold out, can be influenced only by a mean spirit of revenge. To this they must not, and shall not sacrifice the last remnant of their country. You have told our nation where we might go and be safe. This is good talk, and they ought to listen to it. They shall listen to it.”
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The treaty concluded between the Creeks and the whites was faithfully observed by the former, and Weatherford’s conduct proved, that he could be a warm friend if conciliated, as well as a formidable and determined foe in war. Passionately fond of wealth, he appropriated to himself a fine tract of land, improved and settled it. To this he retired occasionally, and relaxed from the cares of his government, indulging in pleasures, censurable and often disgusting. The character of this chief reminds us of some of the old Roman heroes and politicians. The same genius, activity, ambition, and love of vicious pleasures belonged to those Cæsars and Antonys who have received more historical encomiums than is rightfully their due.
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O event is oftener mentioned in New England story than the memorable fight between the English and Indians, at Saco Pond. The cruel and barbarous murders almost daily committed upon the inhabitants of the frontier settlements, caused the general court of Massachusetts to offer a bounty of £100 for every Indian’s scalp. This reward induced Captain John Lovewell to raise a volunteer company, and make excursions into the Indian country for scalps. He was very successful and returned to Boston with scalps for which he received £1000.
The Indians, however continued their depredations, and the Pequawkets, under the terrible chief, Paugus, especially distinguished themselves for their frequent predatory incursions. About the middle of April, 1725, Captain Lovewell, with forty-six men, marched on an expedition against Paugus. The party arrived near the place where they expected to find the Indians, on the 7th of May; and and early the next morning, while at prayers, heard a gun, supposed to be fired by one of the Indians, and immediately prepared for the encounter. Divesting themselves of their packs, they marched forward, but in an opposite direction from where the Indians were posted.
This mistake gave Paugus an advantage. He followed the track of the English, fell in with their packs, and learned their numbers. Encouraged by superiority, he having eighty men with him, he pursued the English, and courted a contest. Lovewell, after marching a considerable distance, during which time he took one scalp, and was mortally wounded by the last fire of the Indian who had been scalped, ordered his men to return for their packs. The wary Paugus expected this, and lay in ambush to cut them off. When the English were completely encircled, the Indians rose from the coverts, and advanced towards them with arms presented. They expected the English to surrender to their superior force, and accordingly threw away their first fire. But Lovewell, though wounded, led on his men to the attack. The Indians were driven back several rods, and many killed and wounded. But they soon returned and attacked their white foes vigorously; killed Lovewell and eight men, and wounded three others. The English then retreated to the shore of Saco Pond, so as to prevent their being surrounded. The banks afforded a kind of breastwork, behind which they maintained the contest until night, when the Indians drew off and they saw no more of them. Only nine of the English escaped unhurt, though several that were wounded lived to return to Dunstable.
Paugus was killed in the course of the fight by one John Chamberlain, a noted hunter. It is said that they both came to the shore of the pond to quench their thirst, when the encounter took place, in which Paugus was shot through the heart.
A son of the chief, after peace was restored, came to Dunstable, to revenge his father’s death, by killing Chamberlain; but not going directly to him his design was suspected by some one, and communicated to the intended victim, who kept himself upon his guard, and had a hole cut through the door of his house. Through this hole, Chamberlain one morning discovered an Indian, behind a pile of wood, with his gun pointed toward the door. Making use of his advantage, he fired upon and killed the son of Paugus.
In the ballad, in which the events of Love-well’s fight are commemorated, we find some singular details of the escape of the wounded white men. Solomon Keyes, having received three wounds, said he would hide himself and die secretly, so that the Indians could not get his scalp? As he crawled upon the shore of the pond, a short distance from the battle-ground, he found a canoe, into which he rolled himself, and was drifted away by the wind. To his astonishment, he was cast ashore near Fort Ossippee, to which he crawled, and there found several of his companions, with whom he returned home. The most of those who escaped did not leave the battle-ground till near midnight. When they arrived at the fort, they expected to find refreshment, and the few men they had left in reserve. But a deserter had so frightened the men left in the fort, that they fled in dismay towards Dunstable.
Fifty New Hampshire volunteers afterwards marched to the scene of action, and buried the dead. They found but three Indians, one of whom was Paugus. The remainder were supposed to have been taken away when they retreated. The pond, on the banks of which the battle was fought, has ever since received the name of Lovewell’s Pond. Some rural Homer, the author of the ballad to which we have alluded, thus pathetically concludes his narrative:
Ah, many a wife shall rend her hair,
And many a child cry, “Woe is me,”
When messengers the news shall hear,
Of Lovewell’s dear-bought victory.
With footsteps slow shall travellers go,
Where Love well’s pond shines clear and bright
And mark the place where those are laid,
Who fell in Love well’s bloody fight.
Old men shall shake their heads, and say,
Sad was the hour and terrible,
When Lovewell, brave, ‘gainst Paugus went,
With fifty men from Dunstable.
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INGINA was the first chief known to the English settlers of Virginia. The voyagers, Amidas and Barlow, sent out by Sir Walter Raleigh, in the summer of 1584, landed upon the island of Wokoken, adjacent to Virginia. They saw several of the natives, and made them presents. Wingina was at this time confined in his cabin, from wounds received in battle, and did not see the English. He had not much faith in their good intentions, and would not trust them far.
Soon after the return of Amidas and Barlow to England, Sir Richard Grenville intruded upon the territories of Wingina. It was he who committed the first outrage upon the natives, which excited their constant and deadly hostility. He made one short excursion into the country, during which, to revenge the loss of a silver cup, which had been stolen by an Indian, he burned a town. Grenville left one hundred and eight men to found a settlement on the island of Roanoke, and appointed Ralph Lane, governor. The English made several excursions into the country, in hopes of discovering mines of precious metal, of which the Indians, to delude them, spoke, and encouraged them to seek.
Wingina bore the insults and provocations of the intruders, until the death of the old chief, Ensenore, his father. Under pretence of honoring his funeral, he assembled eighteen hundred of his warriors, with the intent, as the English say, of destroying them. The English were informed of the deadly design, by Skiko, the son of the chief Menatonon; and Governor Lane resolved to anticipate it. Upon a given signal, his men attacked the natives on the island where Wingina lived, having secured the canoes to prevent their escape. But five or six of the Indians were killed, and the rest escaped to the woods, where Lane knew it would be dangerous to follow them.
This attack was the signal for the commencement of hostilities. The English were few in number, but their skill and bravery in war was well known to the red men, and they dreaded them, as if they had been superior in number. Lane aimed at securing the person of Wingina, and thus striking terror into his people; and accordingly watched every opportunity to gain information of his whereabouts. At length he ascertained that the chief had not been able to escape from the island, and that with a number of his chiefs and warriors, he was lurking in the forests of the island which was his capital. The English captain taking with him about one half of his men, placed them in ambush near the spot which Wingina frequented daily. It was the burial place of his father, and the chief, with a few companions, came there to give himself to weeping and mournful reflection.
The English had little consideration for the place or the purpose of the chief’s visit. When they saw he was fairly within their power, they rushed from their concealment, and before the chief and his warriors could recover from their surprise and attempt to escape, shot them down. Lane then returned to the remainder of his men. The bodies of Wingina and his braves were found by his people, attracted to the spot by the report of the fire-arms; and for a time, it seemed as if the desire of revenge would induce them to follow the English and attack them. But the wiser portion of them, knowing the advantage which the English possessed in the use of fire-arms, restrained them. But Lane was not suffered to remain quiet in the enjoyment of his triumph. Conspiracies were detected in various quarters, and finally, the Indians compelled the whole English party to return to Europe. We cannot wonder at the rooted enmity to the whites which the Indians afterwards displayed. Not content with invading and taking possession of the country, the early visitors from England burned the towns and murdered the natives upon the slightest provocation. Early impressions are most lasting, and what could the English expect after giving the red men such an idea of their character?
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HE Indian ever regards the constant pursuit of revenge for an injury an evidence of a high character. Instances are many, in which years have intervened between a revengeful resolve, and the favorable opportunity, yet no sign of relenting would be found in the injured one. Such a disposition is natural to those who are taught to look on war as the chief business of life, and mercy to foes as despicable weakness. The following narrative will illustrate this feature of the Indian character.
About the period of the first settlement of the disciples of George Fox, on the banks of the Delaware, a party of young men, of respectable families, filled with the hopes excited by the glowing accounts of the new country, and having a love of adventure which could not be gratified in their thickly settled and strictly governed native land, resolved to come to America; and putting their resolve in execution they arrived on the banks of the Delaware. The reasons for their preferring to visit Penn’s settlement were very pardonable. Although they loved adventure, they preferred to seek it where the red men were least disposed to use the hatchet and scalping knife, and where there was the clearest prospect of making a good settlement if they felt so disposed.
The party consisted of six young gentlemen of the average age of twenty-two years. Their names were Harold Dean, George Sanford, William Murdstone, James Ballybarn, Richard Gwynne, and Morton Williams. The first was a daring, quick, and restless spirit, and by general consent the leader of the party. He was a winning companion, but selfish, and seemed to have cut loose from all moral principle. The character of the others contained no extraordinary features. They were all possessed of good intentions, and a considerable degree of intelligence; but being destitute of that activity and force of will which belonged to the character of Harold Dean.
The young men arrived in Penn’s settlement, as we have said, and being well provided with all the necessaries of a hunter’s life, resolved to build some cabins on the the banks of the beautiful Schuylkill. But first, Harold Dean succeeded in making the acquaintance of the neighboring Indians. These red men belonged to the great tribe, which the English named the Delawares. They, however, called themselves the Leni Lenape. They were generally well disposed towards the whites, on account of the honorable and peaceful conduct of the founder of the settlement, and received the young Englishmen with every testimonial of friendship and respect. The chiefs assured the young men that they might build their cabins and hunt without the fear of being disturbed by the red men.
Accordingly, Dean selected a high bank, rocky and castellated at the water’s side, and bare of trees for a considerable distance inland, for the site of two cabins. The labor of building log cabins was novel to the young men. Yet, though difficult, its novelty and romantic character made it pleasing. James Ballybarn was a regularly taught carpenter and joiner, and his knowledge was brought into use. Dean planned the cabins in the simplest but most comfortable manner, and all hands worked hard at cutting down trees and hewing them into the proper size and form. While the cabins were preparing, the young pioneers slept in a rude hut constructed of their chests and tools, and covered with the boughs of small trees.
The cabins were finished, much to the gratification of the workmen. They stood within about five yards of each other and presented quite a fine appearance, amid the solitude of the wilderness. Each one was occupied by three young men. By the aid of a friendly Delaware, two canoes were also constructed in the usual Indian style by hollowing out the trunks of large trees. And now the real hardships of the hunter’s life were to be endured; and though our young pioneers succeeded very well for beginners supplying themselves with food, and skins for sale, yet the labor was more difficult than they had expected. One or two began to compare their situation with what it had been in England, and the result of the comparison, was by no means favorable to their remaining in the wilderness. But Harold Dean had fallen in love with the hunter’s life. It offered plenty of exciting occupation to his quick and daring spirit; and he forgot friends and relations at home. His influence over his companions was undisputed. He had a love of being first in every thing, and never spared labor to make himself such. His companions submitted to his lead, and after a little argument, were persuaded that there was no life like a hunter’s.
The party had become very intimate with the Indians, and Harold Dean especially was a general favorite among them. He had cultivated the friendship of a young Indian hunter, named Pakanke. Pakanke was brave, adventurous, and skilled in all the mysteries of woodcraft. He instructed Harold Dean in that art, which was to him so necessary, and joined the young Englishmen in many a hunting excursion.
But other attractions induced Harold to seek the company of Pakanke, and frequently to spend a day at his wigwam. The Indian hunter had a sister, who was one of the most beautiful young women of her tribe, and decidedly the most intelligent. Her father had been killed in battle, and her brother was necessarily her guardian. Many of the young Delawares, foremost in war and the chase, coveted the beautiful Narramattah, but she had refused to share the wigwam of the bravest. Harold Dean met her at the cabin of her brother, and was charmed with her appearance and manners. His fine person and winning attentions also captivated the guileless maid. Pakanke regarded the growing attachment of his English friend and sister with undisguised pleasure, and did all in his power to increase it.
Harold’s friends were now frequently deprived of his company, yet as he told them of the beauties of the sister of Pakanke, they guessed the reason and readily excused him. But was it a fact that Harold loved Narra-mattah? That she loved him there could not be a doubt; she was never happier than when in his presence, and she told him that he had became her Manito, or idol. Harold admired her—that he confessed to himself. But he laughed to scorn the assertions of his friends that he really loved an Indian girl.
At length the precise state of his feelings was divulged. Richard Gwynne rallied him one evening, after the return from the day’s hunting, upon being captivated by a dusky forest beauty.
“Pshaw!” replied Harold, with a contemptuous expression of features, “Gwynne, have you no idea of whiling away the time with women, apart from falling in love with them? You are completely fresh. I love an ignorant savage! I have known too many of the intelligent and enchanting girls of merry old England, to be so foolish. I’ll beguile the time with this Narramattah, but could not for a moment think of loving her, or of going through the Indian sanction of a marriage ceremony.”
So saying, Harold turned away from Gwynne, and entered the cabin. But what he had said had struck one ear and touched one heart for which it was not intended. Pa-kanke had parted from Harold a moment before Gwynne had spoken to him, and hearing his sister’s name mentioned, had checked his pace to hear what was said of her. Eavesdropping is a vice practised by the untutored children of the forest as well as by civilized men, and it is sometimes pardonable. Pa-kanke understood sufficient English to comprehend that Harold Dean was confessing that he was trifling with Narramattah’s love, and never intended to marry her. In an instant, all his esteem and friendship for the young Englishman had turned to the gall of hatred and revenge. He at first thought of seeking him at once, and demanding redress for the insult offered to his family and race. But reining his passion, he resolved to wait a more promising opportunity.
The next day, Harold Dean and Pakanke went upon the hunt together, and the Indian took the earliest occasion, when they were alone, to explain to the Englishman the extent of his sister’s affection for him, and to demand that he should marry her. Harold endeavored to soothe the indignant feelings of the red man, and told him that he could love his sister, but could not marry her, as he had a wife already in England. Pakanke told him that he was deceitful; that he was a snake, whose bright colors lured simple maidens near that he might sting them; that he had seemed a friend, but to be a more deadly foe; and that he should marry Narra-mattah, or feel that the red man can revenge an insult as he can repay a kindness. He concluded in these forcible words: “Take to your wigwam, pale face, the maiden you have loved; keep and take care of the wild flower which you have sought and trained to await your coming, or the big wind shall hurl you to the earth!”
Harold evaded the demand, and finally induced the young Indian to wait until the next day, when they should see Narramattah together, and then he would decide. But the deceitful Englishman did not intend to see the maiden, he had wronged, again. It was a mere ruse to escape the Indian’s vengeance for a time. The next day, when Pakanke came for Harold he was not to be found at the cabin; and Pakanka turned to Narramattah, to tell her of her wrongs, and his burning resolve to revenge them. The poor, trusting forest maiden seemed as if struck speechless by the information that Harold had fled, after declaring that he never intended to take her to his wigwam. The wild flower was crushed by the ruthless blast; and her mind, unable to withstand the shock, became distracted. When Pakanke arose in the morning, his sister was gone. He searched eagerly every where in the neighborhood of the village for her, but in vain. At length news was brought him that Narrantattah’s mangled body had been found at the foot of a high precipice, near the Wissahicon creek. He hurried to the spot, and found the information true.
The distracted girl had either thrown herself from the precipice, or accidentally fallen from it in her wanderings. Pakanke paused to drop the few tears of grief forced from his eyes; and then, over his sister’s body, bade the Great Spirit mark his vow, never to rest until the murderer of his sister had met the fate he deserved. The body of Narramattah was given to her friends to be placed in the cold grave near her father; and many were the tears shed for her unhappy fate, by the Delaware women.
Pakanke, alone, again sought the cabins of the Englishmen, and this time, he found the object of his search. Harold Dean, calculating the exact time of Pakanke’s visit on the day before, had gone with his friends on a hunting expedition far into the country, and had returned with them to the cabins just before Pakanke arrived. He calculated that the Indian would be satisfied with any trifling excuse invented for the occasion, and did not dream that the affair had reached a tragic crisis. Pakanke’s appearance in the cabin surprised him. The Indian was unusually calm and collected, and betrayed no sign of any but the most peaceable intentions. He said he came for Harold to fulfil his promise to accompany him to the wigwam; and finding there could be no further evasion, Harold consented to accompany him.
The two hunters left the cabins and proceeded through the woods, as Harold thought, towards the Delaware village, but as Pakanke knew, in a different direction. They spoke occasionally, concerning hunting and the game of the season; but the Indian was afraid to trust himself to many words, and Harold was meditating some plan of escape from the proposed marriage. At length they approached what seemed to be a deep ravine, and Harold’s eye wandered around for the best place for crossing. They were nearing the high over-hanging precipice, and Pakanke knew it. “This is the best crossing,” said he to Harold, as they approached the tree-covered edge of the rock from which Narramattah had thrown herself, or fallen. “This is rather a disagreeable path, I think,” said Harold, as he looked over to the opposite bank of the creek. “It leads to thy grave!” shrieked Pakanke, as, with an effort, made giant strong by passion, he snatched Harold’s rifle, stabbed him in the back, and hurled him from the rock. Then he leaned over its edge to look down. The rock was about one hundred feet high, and its top projected far beyond its base. Harold shrieked as he was thrown from the rock, but all was soon over. Pakanke saw, as he leaned over the edge, that his victim had been literally dashed to pieces; and a smile of gratified revenge appeared upon his lips as he turned away to descend to the spot, to secure the scalp. After this customary trophy from a conquered foe had been obtained, Pakanke returned to the Delaware village, and gladdened the ears of the chiefs and warriors with the circumstances of his exploit. He then sent information of it to Harold’s friends, accompanied with an assurance that if they were snakes they would be served in the same way, but if friends, they would not be disturbed.
The terrible death of Harold appalled the young Englishmen, and they were so mistrustful of the good intentions of the red men, that they unanimously resolved to quit the vicinity and return to the settlement at once. Accordingly, the most valuable of their skins and all their necessary articles of clothing, and their fire-arms, were packed up, the cabins set on fire, and they set out for the settlement. Two of them remained in Philadelphia, the others returned to England, and conveyed the news of the death of Harold Dean to his parents. They were not disconsolate, although they wept for him. He had always been a wild spirit and a bad son, and his treachery to poor Narramattah was but one additional item in a catalogue of such deeds, which had made his fame ignoble in England.
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AFTER the destruction of the power of the Natchez Indians, by the French, in 1731, the remnant of that nation took refuge among the powerful and ferocious tribe of Chickasaws, who were the determined and uncompromising enemies of the colonists of Louisiana. The united nations could bring a large and efficient force into the field; and besides, they had five strong palisaded forts, and many fortified villages. Bienville, governor of Louisiana, could only command about three hundred Frenchmen at the commencement of the war; but the Choctaws were his allies, and although not the best and bravest of warriors, their aid was valuable. A desultory warfare was carried on until early in 1736, when the French government sent additional troops to Bienville, and ordered him to undertake an expedition against the Chickasaws.
In obedience to these instructions, Bienville had sent word to the younger D’Arta-guette, the commander of the Illinois district, to collect all the French and Indian forces he could control, and to meet him on the 31st of March, 1736, at the Chickasaw villages. In the month of January of that year, Bienville drew from Natchez, Natchitoches, and the Balize all the officers and soldiers he could muster, without weakening too much the garrisons stationed at those places. He formed a company of volunteers, composed of traders and transient persons then in New Orleans, and another company of unmarried men belonging to the city, and which was called the “company of bachelors.” A depot of ammunition, provisions, and all that was necessary for the intended campaign was established on the Tombigbee, at the distance of two hundred and seventy miles from Mobile, where the several detachments of the army were sent, through the Lakes, as fast as conveyances could be procured. Several large vessels containing provisions and utensils of every sort were despatched down the Mississippi to Mobile, and on the 4th of March, Bienville departed from New Orleans, leaving behind him only four companies of regulars under Noyan, which were to follow him as soon as they could be transported. The boats having to struggle against adverse winds, the whole of the French forces did not reach Mobile before the 22d, and it was only on the 28th, that the last of the vessels carrying provisions entered the harbor, when it was discovered that her cargo had been much damaged by the sea. On the 1st of April, the expedition left Mobile, and it was only on the 23d that the army reached the Tombigbee depot, after having had to contend against currents, freshets, storms, and constant rains.
While waiting for the arrival of the Choctaws, Bienville reviewed his troops, and found them to consist of five hundred and forty-four white men, excluding the officers, forty-five negroes, and a body of Indians. At length six hundred Choctaw warriors arrived, and the army resumed its march. On the 22d of May, it encamped about twenty-seven miles from the Chickasaw villages. On the 23d, Bienville ordered fortifications to be constructed for the protection of his boats, and placed twenty men under Captain Vanderck in them. The next day, the army with provisions for twelve days, marched six miles further, and encamped on account of a tempest. On the 25th, within the space of twelve miles, the army had to cross three deep ravines running through a thick cane-brake, and had to wade through water rising up to the waist. It then emerged on a beautiful open prairie, on the edge of which they encamped, at the distance of six miles from the Chickasaw villages.
The intention of Bienville was to turn round those villages of the Chickasaws to march upon the village of the Natchez, which was in the rear, and to attack first those whom he considered as the instigators of the Chickasaw war. But the Choctaws insisted with such pertinacity upon attacking the Villages which were nearer, and which, they said contained more provisions than that of the Natchez, and they represented with such warmth, that, in the needy condition in which they were, it was absolutely necessary they should take possession of these provisions, that Bienville yielded to their importunities. The prairie, in which these villages were situated, covered a space of about six miles. The villages were small, and built in the shape of a triangle, on a hillock sloping down to a brook which was almost dry; further off was the main body of the Chickasaw villages, and the smaller ones seemed to be a sort of vanguard. The Choctaws having informed Bienville that he would find water no where else, he ordered the army to file off close to the wood which enclosed the prairie, in order to reach another hillock that was in sight. There the troops halted to rest and take nourishment. It was past twelve o’clock.
The Indian scouts whom Bienville had sent in every direction to look for tidings of D’Artaguette, whom he had expected to operate his junction with him on this spot, had come back and brought no information. It was evident, therefore, that he could no longer hope for the co-operation on which he had relied, and that he had to trust only to his own resources. It was impossible to wait; and immediate action was insisted upon by the Choctaws and the French officers, who thought that the three small villages, which have been described, and which were the nearest to them, were not capable of much resistance. Bienville yielded to the solicitations of his allies and of his troops, and at two in the afternoon, ordered his nephew Noyan, to begin the attack, and to put himself at the head of a column composed of a company of grenadiers, of detachments of fifteen men taken from each one of the eight companies of the French regulars, of sixty-five men of the Swiss troops, and forty-five volunteers.
The French had approached within carbine shot of the forts, and at that distance, could plainly distinguish Englishmen, who appeared to be very active in assisting the Chickasaws in preparing their defence, and who had hoisted up their flag on one of the forts. Bienville recommended that they should not be assailed, if they thought proper to retire, and in order to give them time, should they feel so disposed, he ordered to confine the attack to the village, named Ackia, which flag was the most remote from the one under the English flag.
The order of the attack being given, the division commanded by Noyan moved briskly on, and under the protection of mantelets carried by the company of negroes, arrived safely at the foot of the hill on which the villages stood. But there, one of the negroes being killed, and another wounded, the rest flung down the mantelets, and took to their heels. The French pushed on, and penetrated into the village, with the company of grenadiers at their head. But being no longer under cover, and much exposed to the fire of the enemy, their losses were very heavy. The noble and brilliant Chevalier de Contre Coeur, a favorite in the army, was killed, and a number of soldiers shared his fate, or were disabled. However, three of the principal fortified cabins were carried by the impetuosity of the French, with several smaller ones which were burned. But as a pretty considerable intervening space remained to be gone over, to assail the chief fort and the other fortified cabins, when it became necessary to complete the success obtained, Noyan, who had headed the column of attack, turning round, saw that he had with him only the officers belonging to the head of the column, some grenadiers, and a dozen of volunteers. The troops had been dismayed by the death of Captain De Lusser, of one of the sergeants of the grenadiers, and of some of the soldiers of this company who had fallen, when they had attempted to cross the space separating the last cabin taken from the next to be taken; seeking for shelter against the galling fire of the enemy, they had clustered behind the cabins of which they had already taken possession, and it was impossible for the officers who commanded the tail of the column, to drive them away, either by threats, promises, or words of exhortation, from their secure position. Pitting themselves at the head of a few of their best soldiers, in order to encourage the rest, the officers resolved to make a desperate attempt to storm the fortified block-house they had in front of them. But in an instant, their commander, the Chevalier de Noyan, D’Hauterive, the captain of the grenadiers, Grondel, lieutenant of the Swiss, De Yelles, Montbrun, and many other officers were disabled. Still keeping his ground, De Noyan sent his aid-de-camp, De Juzan, to encourage and bring up to him the wavering soldiers, who had slunk behind the cabins. But, in making this effort, this officer was killed, and his death increased the panic of the troops.
Grondel, who had fallen near the walls of the enemy, had been abandoned, and a party of Indians was preparing to sally out to scalp him, when a sergeant of grenadiers, ashamed of the cowardice which had left an officer in this perilous and defenceless position, took with him four of his men, and rushed to the rescue of Grondel, without being intimidated by bullets as thick as hail. These five intrepid men reached in safety the spot where Grondel lay, and they were in the act of lifting him up to carry him away, when a general discharge from the fort prostrated every one of them dead by the side of him they had come to save. But this noble deed was not lost upon the army; the electrical stroke had been given, and was responded to by the flashing out of another bright spark of heroism. A grenadier, named Regnisse, rather inflamed than dastardized by the fate of his companions, dashed out of the ranks of his company, ran headlong to the place where Grondel lay weltering in his blood, from the five wounds he had received, took him on his athletic shoulders, and carried him away in triumph, amid the general acclamations and enthusiastic bravos of those who witnesses the feat. To the astonishment of all, he had the good luck to pass unscathed through the fire which was poured upon him by the enemy, but the inanimate body of Grondel which he was transporting received a sixth wound. So generously saved from the Indian tomahawk, this officer slowly recovered, and when subsequently raised to a high rank in the French army.
Noyan, seeing at last that he was exposing himself and his brave companions in vain and fainting from the effects of his wounds, ordered a retreat from the open field, and taking shelter in one of the cabins, sent word to Bienville, that he had lost about seventy men, and that if prompt relief was not sent the detachment would be annihilated. On hearing this report, Bienville sent Beauchamp with a reserve of eighty men, to support the troops engaged, and to bring off the wounded and dead. Beauchamp reached the spot where the little band of Frenchmen was concentrated, and where the strife had been hottest. Seeing that no headway could be made he covered the retreat of the band, and brought off to the French camp most of the wounded and dead. The Choctaws, who had left the French to shift for themselves, seeing them retreat, wished to show their spirit, and made a movement, as if to storm the village. But a general discharge from the enemy, killing twenty-two of their men caused them to make a retrogade movement, much to the amusement of the French. The battle had lasted during three hours, and when evening came, the scene was as quiet as if the blast of war had never scared the birds from the trees or the cattle from the plain.
After the severe repulse which the French had met, nothing remained but for them to retreat. Bienville saw that he could not depend upon the Choctaws, and the fortifications of the Chickasaws were too strong to be carried without cannon and mortars. On the 22d of May, the day following that of the battle of Ackia, Bienville had litters made to transport the wounded; and at one in the afternoon, the army formed itself into two columns, which had been the order of marching in coming, it began its retrogade movement. The troops were much worn out with the fatigue they had undergone, and the labor of transporting the baggage and wounded was difficult. Slow marching disgusted the Choctaws, and one portion of them, headed by the chief Red Shoe, wished to abandon the French. But the more numerous part, aided by the eloquence of Bienville, succeeded in inducing them to remain.
On the 29th, the French reached the place where they had left their boats. They found the river falling fast, and they hastened to embark the same day. After a laborious passage, they arrived at Tombigbee on the 2d of June, and from, thence returned to New Orleans. The expedition had been well planned, and vigorously executed, but unforseen circumstances defeated it. The Chickasaws had proven much better warriors than they had been thought to be, and had defended themselves with an obstinacy as unexpected as it was successful. The English supported that tribe in their war with the French, and they were thus enabled to main-themselves against all the expeditions sent against them.