New Yesterdays by Jim L Wright - HTML preview

Chapter 18

Savannah was the first white settlement in the southern colony of Georgia. General James Oglethorpe, along with 120 souls landed on a bluff beside the Savannah River in the good ship Anne early in 1733. Much like Charleston, the town was built on religious freedom. Rum, lawyers and slavery were forbidden. Oglethorpe requested and received permission from Tomo-chi-chi, the local Yamacraw Chief to settle on the bluff. The two groups lived harmoniously along the rich fertile riverside.

Unlike some of the northern colonies, the population of Savannah consisted of working poor from England rather than indentured servants. England hoped that Savannah would bring economic strength to the colonies through increased trade and prevent the expansion of Spanish Florida at the same time.

A neo-classically planned city, Savannah was laid out in a series of grids. Wide streets with shaded parks and wards built around public squares gave a sense of neatness and order to the town.

Great changes came after the Revolution. The rich land was perfect for the cultivation of cotton and rice. Seeing how the South Carolinians had prospered under the plantation system, the Savannahians wasted no time in legalizing the slave trade in a bid to emulate their affluent neighbors to the north. Soon, extravagant homes and churches sprouted up. Now, in addition to the very profitable trade in deer skins, cotton was grown and exported, with no small thanks to Mr. Whitney and his astonishing cotton gin. The European cotton markets were insatiable and Savannah soon rivaled Charleston as the leading cotton exporter.

With the Revolution long finished, the town had virtually no military presence. Peaceful coexistence with the natives had lulled the European settlers into a sense of security. They believed the native people were grateful for their modern ways and Christian religion. The idea of them rebelling against what was considered a superior way of life was unthinkable.

All of Savannah rested comfortably in their beds at night. Thanks to the efforts of Oglethorpe and those who came after him, very few clashes had occurred in the nearly 100 years since the settlement had been

established. The white settlers were pleased and proud of their relationship with the natives. Perhaps that was one of the reasons the city was so poorly fortified.

Lieutenant Josiah Tattnal had spent sixteen of his thirty-four years in the Navy. His father, for whom he was named, had been both governor and US Senator from Georgia. Their plantation, Bonaventure was just outside Savannah. He had seen action when his ship had been bottled up in Hampton Roads during the War of 1812. He and a hundred other sailors had turned back the British when they attempted to take the city of Norfolk. Now, he just needed some rest and quiet. Sitting alone on the wide verandah of his Uncle Moses’ house, Josiah savored the quiet of the sleeping city.

As a sailor he had learned that late evenings spent on the ship’s foc’s’le were perfect for sorting his thoughts. Uncle Moses’ front porch was his Savannah foc’s’le.

He had been granted a six month’s leave in May after spending the previous two years in the Mediterranean aboard the Constitution. As the end of his leave approached, Josiah found he was reluctant to return to duty just yet. He needed a little more time to rest, visit with family, and prepare for his next assignment in the Mediterranean aboard the Erie. He requested and received a six-month extension.

***

Red Chief Makkapitew stood before the Council Fire and revealed his plans to the group of Chiefs and warriors. The swamps bordered the city on the west, effectively blocking any movement to or from that direction. Warriors were to be posted at the earthen ramparts on the north and in the wilderness on the south. On signal, simultaneous attacks would be mounted. With the city completely surrounded, the overwhelming force of Seminoles would work their way toward the center of the city. A street-by-street, house-by-house campaign would decimate the white population, bringing Savannah under the complete control of the natives.

“We have seen in other towns and villages that the slaves will not come to the aid of their masters. They were brought here from across the water against their will and have no loyalty to the men who have enslaved them. They have not wronged us. We will avoid any attacks on them or their houses.”

We will be divided into two forces. The first group will ride to the city and take up their positions. The second group will spread out and hit the farms between here and the city. Attack and kill the inhabitants, but do not destroy their farms. We will use the harvests they produce to feed our people during the coming winter.

A general murmur of agreement washed over the gathering. Every man there was anxious to move to Savannah to begin removing the blight on the landscape. They were even more anxious to finish their work in the south and combine forces with the Cherokees in the north to finish the job.

Each of the Chiefs left the Council Fire to inform his group of the battle plan and begin making preparations to move into the city.

Josiah was jolted from his nocturnal reverie by the sudden report of a rifle in the distance. He idly wondered whether a rum-fueled fight had broken out at the Queen Anne public house. Even though the pub should have been long shut at this hour, such fights did still occur.

More shots rang out, putting Tattnall on even higher alert. This was no ordinary brawl. Rapidly approaching hoof beats brought him to his feet. He walked quickly to the garden gate to see if he could learn what was going on. As he waited for the arrival of the rider, he was somewhat taken aback to see the horse being reined to a stop in front of the house.

He was scarcely able to begin forming a greeting on his lips before the young boy leapt from the saddle. “Mr Tattnall sir, please my father asked me to come fetch you!”

“What on earth ails you, boy? Why does the Sheriff want me?”

“It’s awful Mr Tattnall! There’s Indians everywhere! They’re killing people in their beds! Papa shot at them, but I don’t think he hit any. He sent me and some of the boys on our street to fetch some help. He wishes you’d come right away!”

***

Josiah was surprised to find nearly a hundred men gathered in front of the courthouse on Wright Square. He was considering that the situation was obviously bigger than he’d imagined when the sheriff approached him.

“Thank you for joining us LT Tattnall. We are going to need to make use of your military background and battle experience.”

“Who’s attacking? How many ships are there?” Before he could go on, Sheriff Stuart interrupted him.

“Naw sir, it ain’t a naval attack; it’s Indians!”

So, a few Indians had gotten drunk. The shots he heard earlier must have been part of their merry-making. Why would they need the expertise of a naval officer to round up and arrest a few drunken Indians?

Before he could give voice to his question, another man appeared.

“Beggin’ your pardon, Sheriff, but Oliver Mason just got here. Stephen Mason’s son? He says his mama and papa are both dead! He jumped out the window to run for your office and saw us gathered here. Four or five Indians broke into the house and killed the Masons. Looks like there’s more than one group and they’re moving from house to house murderin’ people! Murderin’ ‘em in their beds! What in the pluperfect hell is going on here? Have you got any idea? We ain’t never had no problems with the Indians round these parts!”

Josiah, his feet rooted to the ground, was shocked to his core. He had battle experience, true enough, but it was sea battle. The tactics of fighting on the ground were alien to him.

“Perhaps there is someone about who has more experience in fighting on the land, Sheriff. I’m a seaman with no experience in such things.”

“Ain’t hardly no one in these parts had any experience in fighting like this. We’ve had peaceful relations with the injuns since ol’ General Oglethorpe settled this place.” The sheriff absently scratched his head as he mused over the new development. “I just can’t figure out what’s got them so riled up all of a sudden!”

“Well, let’s have a look at a map of the layout of the city and see what kind of strategy we can…”

Josiah’s head quickly snapped upward to the cupola of the courthouse at the sound of rifle fire. There would be no time for planning! From every corner of Wright Square, Indians were pouring in, firing indiscriminately into the crowd of men and boys gathered there. It was only then that he realized he was completely unarmed and unable to defend either himself or his friends. The whooshing sound of air and sudden, sharp pain threw him to the ground as a bullet skimmed across his left cheek and destroyed most of his ear. His breath came in ragged gasps as the warm blood trickled under his collar.

Quickly, he looked around and saw Sheriff Stuart lying on his back, staring sightlessly into the sky. Josiah dragged himself on his belly to remove the pistol from the lifeless hand of the lawman and rolled onto his back just in time to see the enraged face of a young Seminole boy bearing down on him, knife drawn, teeth bared in a grimace of hatred. He raised the pistol and squeezed the trigger. The expression of rage was instantly replaced by a dazed look of surprise as he continued his descent.

The burning pain in his left shoulder made Josiah forget, momentarily, about the pain in his head caused by the bullet. He could scarcely breathe under the weight of the dead boy’s body. Fighting off the panic, he shoved upward against the boy and got out from under him. Quickly, he looked around the square, assessing the situation. The square was now completely filled with men fighting and dying. It was clear that for every white man in the square, there were at least four Indians. It was also clear that this fight would be finished within minutes.

Little Oliver Mason cowered against the stone pyramid that marked the grave of Chief Tomo-Chi-Chi. Josiah couldn’t help considering the irony. Tomo-Chi-Chi was the Yamacraw Chief who offered peace and cooperation with the white settlers back in the earliest days of Savannah’s history. Now, Oliver lay here, dying at the hands of his descendants. The gaping hole in the boy’s chest assured Tattnall there was no hope of helping the boy, but he could at least try to give him some comfort as he breathed his last. Gently, he cradled Oliver and spoke quietly into his ear.

“Your Papa would be real proud of you right now, Oliver. Just rest with me here for a few minutes and we’ll get the Doc over here to look after you.”

He felt a twinge of guilt, giving the boy hope when it was painfully obvious he was down to minutes in this world.

“What did we do to get them so aggravated, Mr. Tattnall?” Oliver’s voice was ragged with a disturbing, gurgling sound caused by the blood now filling his lungs.

“I’m not sure Oliver, I’m just not sure. God willing, we’ll figure it out and get everything fixed soon enough.” He stroked the boy’s hair gently as he rocked back and forth mouthing words he would never be able to remember… if he lived through this mess.

“It was awful what they done to my Papa and Mama. I think I’ll be seeing them pretty soon. It feels like I’m heavy as a wagon-load of cotton Mr. Tattnall, and I can’t get no air…”

Josiah had seen many men dying in battle, had given them comfort as they drew their last breaths. All those experiences paled to nothingness as he watched Oliver’s blue eyes glaze as his young life came to an end. A pain he had never known clutched his chest and he sobbed more deeply than he would have imagined possible. This wee tyke of a boy who had never done anything against another person in his life was first deprived of his parents, and then deprived of a long and fruitful life. The injustice of it was almost more than the older man could endure. With a tender touch, he closed the boy’s eyes and reclined his little lifeless body against the Peaceful Chief’s grave marker.

Standing, looking down at little Oliver, Josiah felt the hot wave of rage explode in his brain.

***

Pajakok was anxious to begin rounding up the plantations and farmhouses. He had sent scouts through the area and knew where each one was located. Warriors were sent out in groups of fifty or so. That was far more than would be needed, but he felt the fear inspired by such large war parties would make their job even easier.

The war parties spread out and made their way to the white men’s homes. One by one, each fell with little effort on the part of the Indians. The few who managed to collect their wits enough to attempt a defense were dealt with quickly and mercilessly.

One by one the raiding parties assembled in their assigned areas around the outskirts of Savannah. The farms and plantations had fallen far more quickly than anticipated, so the men had a couple of hours to wait for the bulk of the group to arrive before beginning their siege of Savannah.

Pajakok was impatient. The skirmishes on the way to Savannah had pumped the adrenalin through his body and the coppery taste of it lingered in his mouth, demanding more and more. The ever-increasing appetite of the white settlers for land had long rankled in his mind. Makkapitew and the other chiefs insisted on living in peace with the encroachers. Slowly, but surely, they expanded their farms and plantations. The city was growing at an alarming rate. Hunting and fishing grounds were irretrievably lost to the foreigners.

The childhood rivalry between the two brothers grew as they reached adulthood. Many nights, they argued as they sat by the fire. Pajakok’s animosity toward his brother became more and more pronounced. Now they had decided to take back what was taken from them and the time for caution had passed. He and his warriors would not wait for the larger force to arrive.

As leader of the group, Pajakok called his men to fall back a ways from the city walls for a council.

“My brother would have us wait for his arrival to begin to deal with these settlers. I say, we begin now and when he arrives, they will find the battle begun and join to finish the job.”

This would be Pajakok’s time to shine. He would be hailed as the hero who took Savannah from the white men. At last, he would best his brother.

His companions too, were anxious to take the fight into the city. They crept amongst the neat rows of houses. At each one, four or five men broke off the main group and stealthily entered. Within seconds, the muffled sounds of knives and hatchets could be heard outside. Occasionally, a loud groan or stifled scream could be heard.

Rounding the corner of one house, Pajakok heard the sound of running feet. He looked up just in time to see little Oliver Mason disappearing into the mist.

***

Makkapitew was furious. His instructions and the agreement of the Council had been clear. The attack on Savannah would be sudden and surprising. That Pajackok had circumvented his orders and begun making attacks on his own, ahead of the group was unacceptable.

On the other hand, the fighting was well underway and appeared to be concentrated in one area of the town. This could prove to be an advantage for the Seminoles. The commotion in the square would attract most of the men who were able to fight and make most of the house-to-house fighting much easier. Despite his anger, Makkapitew had to admit to himself that Pajakok’s impetuous action gave them the advantage over the settlers.

The increased sounds of gunfire and fighting drew more and more Savannahians toward Wright Square. By the time Makkapitew arrived the battle was in full swing. Hundreds of men, red and white were fighting hand-to-hand. From time to time a shot rang out, but by and large too much time was needed to prime and reload the weapons. The men were fighting with knives, swords and sticks. Anything that could be used as a weapon was taken up by the whites.

***

Edmund Smythe bolted upright in his bed. In his just-awakened confusion he wasn’t quite sure what had awakened him. Was it a nightmare? Wait! Was that a gunshot he heard? He eased out of the bed, being careful not to waken his goodwife, Helen and walked softly, clad only in his nightshirt, to the front door to see if he could determine what was happening. Late night disturbances were a rare occurrence in this quiet city. Decent folk had long been in their beds.

He ventured onto the front porch; ears keenly tuned to the evening sounds of the sleeping town. “Thank God, you’re awake!” Edmund nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound of the voice. He hadn’t seen the young boy approaching his front yard.

“Benjamin Hoskins! What are you doing roaming round in the middle of the night like this?”

The boy, scarcely fourteen, looked scared out of his wits.

“Mister Smythe, my Papa told me to come fetch some men to help them. Some kind of goings on around town. I’m not sure what it is, but all the men folk are pretty upset.”

I’ll just get in my britches and be right along. Come up on the porch and wait for me, I won’t be a minute.”

Edmund went back into the house wondering what could be happening that Alfred Hoskins would send his youngest boy out to gather help. Help with what? A slave uprising? He prayed that wasn’t the case. He knew that the slave population of Savannah outnumbered the white population nearly two to one. Subtracting the aged and infirm, the women and children increased that number to more than four to one.

“Edmund, where are you going at this time of night?” He cursed himself for not moving more quietly.

“Helen, there’s some kind of disturbance in town and I’ve been sent for. I’ll be back after a while and tell you what I find out. Now you just try to get back to sleep and I’ll be back directly.”

With that, Edmund gave his wife a quick peck on the cheek and headed for the front door.

The sounds of gunfire were increasingly louder as Edmund and Benjamin approached Wright Square. Edmund stole a glance down at

the younger boy. His ghost-pale face and wide eyes showed a barely contained terror.

“I hope Papa is alright…”

Smythe put his arm around the boy’s shoulder and pulled him closer as they walked. His own fear choked any words of comfort he might ordinarily have offered the boy. Indians attacking Savannah. It was unthinkable! There probably weren’t more than a handful of men in the entire town with any kind of fighting experience. How in heaven could they hope to fend off what sounded like hundreds of Indians?

Lost in his thoughts, Edmund was surprised to find they had nearly reached the square. The scene froze his blood. Men and boys lay dead and dying all around the square. No more than half a dozen were still fighting the Indians. Each of them fell dead as he surveyed the carnage. After staring for what seemed an eternity, he firmly grasped Benjamin’s hand and headed back in the direction they had come. His only thought was to get back to the safety of his house to protect his family and his new charge.

The sounds of the fighting behind them slowly faded. In the relative quiet, Smythe was almost sure he could hear the sound of running feet behind him. Quickly, he stole a glance backward. He was relieved to find the street empty. He turned back just in time to see four young Indian warriors emerge from between the houses on his right. He stopped stock-still in the middle of the street, clutching Benjamin even closer. He absolutely must protect this boy! Slowly, and ever so deliberately he drew the pistol from his trouser pocket. He knew he only had one shot, so he had to make it good. Damn his lack of forethought! He should’ve brought a knife or sword.

The young Indians continued their approach toward the white man and boy. They could clearly see the outline of the pistol in the man’s hand. He could quite possibly kill or maim one of them, but he would most definitely not escape. Unseen by Edmund, two more Seminoles came out of the shadows. Their arrival was a relief to the four who faced him.

No words were spoken; no sound came from any of the combatants. White-hot pain seared through Edmund’s neck. Breathing was difficult. He looked with horror at the arrowhead that now protruded about half a foot beyond his throat. He knew he was done for and he intended to take at least one of these savages with him. Before he could overthink it, he raised the pistol and fired without taking aim. The Indian boy’s face exploded with the impact of the bullet as he fell to the street.

A blood-curdling scream burst from the throats of the remaining boys as they rushed the white man. Benjamin was so stunned he couldn’t even scream as he watched the man who tried to save him being hacked to death with the long knives. When Mr Smythe lay lifeless in a growing pool of blood in the street, the young warriors turned their murderous attention to Benjamin.

***

Josiah was nearly blind with rage. He cast his eyes about for something, anything that could be used as a weapon. The boy who had attacked him still clutched his knife in his dead hand. Quickly, Josiah snatched it and began to move into the fray.

There were no longer questions of strategy in his mind. He no longer gave a damn about what caused the Indians to attack. His brain was engulfed in a hot, red haze of fury. As he moved toward the fighting men, he could clearly see the dying face of little Oliver through the crimson veil of consuming anger.

One after another, he encountered the enemy and, like an automaton, stabbed and hacked until he fell and moved to the next one. He was completely oblivious to the wounds on his hands and chest. Each fallen Indian enraged him even more.

More Savannahians were arriving in the square. The sound of gunfire was increasing. Josiah felt a sudden surge of hope and confidence as he became aware of the new arrivals. It was becoming increasingly difficult to maneuver around the bodies of the fallen and more and more of his attention was given to his step. The paving stones were slippery with spilt blood.

The wet sound of a footstep behind and to his left alerted Josiah of a new arrival. He spun around to face his new opponent and was relieved to see the face of Micah Hoover, the local publican. With barely a nod, they moved closer and continued to fight all comers. Their moves were synchronized as though they had fought a hundred battles together. They thrust, parried, and kicked like a pair of dancers, well accustomed to each other’s moves.

Like the breaking of a new dawn, both men slowly became aware that the sounds of fighting had abated. The quiet was only broken by the occasional weak cries of pain from dying men. The pair was surrounded by men whose faces were turned grotesque by anger and hatred.

It’s over. The thought cleared Josiah’s mind. Gone was the rage, the hunger for revenge for Oliver Mason. His mind took him to his father’s plantation, Bonaventure. He wanted to be sitting in front of the fireplace, discussing politics and gossiping with the elder Tattnall. He became aware of something protruding from his chest and was surprised that he hadn’t felt the arrow enter his body.

The second and third arrows weren’t so kind. The pain was mind-numbing. His lungs felt heavy and wet, like the time he’d nearly drowned off the coast of Morocco. His breathing became labored and he felt starved for air. The legs that had stood hundreds of watches aboard naval vessels no longer had the strength to hold him up. As darkness swallowed him, Josiah felt himself falling to the ground.

***

Tooantuh and his warriors were able to get nearly two days’ rest as they waited for the other three groups to join them after razing the villages in their paths. As nearly as anyone could tell with any certainty, their number was still above 13,000. After resting for another day and night the entire fighting force of combined tribes began to move toward Charleston. Not one had the illusion that taking Charleston would be easy, but they knew it must be done. News would travel to Washington fast and now they would know exactly what they were dealing with. Because of the seemingly erratic movements of the fighting forces and the fact that no survivors were left behind, the powers in the nation’s capital were still uncertain of the enormity of the wave of fighters coming toward them. Charleston would change all that. Tooantuh and the Red Chiefs hoped that once news reached the president he would sue for peace and an agreement could be reached.

Soldiers and commanders alike were rattled. Never in the past had the Indians fought with such ferocity and organization, not to mention a single-minded determination. Messages from President Adams and Secretary of War James Barbour were arriving almost daily, demanding progress reports and battle plans while urging the commanders to put down the uprising. Their European arrogance and blind adherence to American Expansionism would not allow them to understand that the native peoples of this new land had been pushed beyond their endurance.

As the Indian forces began their attack on Charleston, Barbour, acting on orders from President Adams sent a message to General Harrington at Raleigh, North Carolina. He was ordered to send a detachment to meet the Indians and arrange a peace conference. Harrington was outraged, but immediately sent his aide Major Dickinson along with ten soldiers. The very idea of appealing to the Indians for peace galled him. Nevertheless, the reports he had been receiving and the increasingly hysterical dispatches from Washington assured him that they had met their match.

Charleston was the largest and wealthiest city south of Philadelphia with a thriving import and export business. As a trade center, goods from the northern ports and Europe flowed into and out of the city. Cotton, rice and indigo, grown by slave labor in the area, were exported. The invention of the cotton gin thirty-five years earlier had revolutionized cotton production. Within a short time, cotton was the major export of South Carolina.

The people of Charleston were accustomed to a life of relative ease, dependent as they were on the services of the slaves they employed. The slave population of the city was more than double that of the whites.

****