Various
Lippincott's Magazine, August, 1885
The fort was admirably adapted to its design, and, properly manned, would repel any attack of fire-arms in the hands of such desultory warriors as the Indians. In the arithmetic of the frontier it came to be adopted as a rule that one white man behind a wall of logs was a match for twenty-five Indians in the open field; and subsequent events showed this to have been not a vainglorious reckoning.
There were much older men at Watauga than either Sevier or Robertson,—one of whom was now only twenty-eight and the other thirty,—but they had from the first been recognized as natural leaders. These two events—the building of the fort and the Cherokee mission, which displayed Sevier's uncommon military genius and Robertson's ability and address as a negotiator—elevated them still higher in the regard of their associates, and at once the cares and responsibilities of leadership in both civil and military affairs were thrust upon them. But Sevier, with a modesty which he showed throughout his whole career, whenever it was necessary that one should take precedence of the other, always insisted upon Robertson's having the higher position; and so it was that in the military company which was now formed Sevier, who had served as a captain under Dunmore, was made lieutenant, while Robertson was appointed captain.
The Watauga community had been till now living under no organized government. This worked very well so long as the newly-arriving immigrants were of the class which is "a law unto itself;" but when another class came in,—men fleeing from debt in the older settlements or hoping on the remote and inaccessible frontier to escape the penalty of their crimes,—some organization which should have the sanction of the whole body of settlers became necessary. Therefore, speaking in the language of Sevier, they, "by consent of the people, formed a court, taking the Virginia laws as a guide, as near as the situation of affairs would admit."
The settlers met in convention at the fort, and selected thirteen of their number to draft articles of association for the management of the colony. From these thirteen, five (among whom were Sevier and Robertson) were chosen commissioners, and to them was given power to adjudicate upon all matters of controversy and to adopt and direct all measures having a bearing upon the peace, safety, good order, and well-being of the community. By them, in the language of the articles, "all things were to be settled."
These articles of association were the first compact of civil government anywhere west of the Alleghanies. They were adopted in 1772, three years prior to the association formed for Kentucky "under the great elm-tree outside of the fort at Boonesboro." The simple government thus established was sufficient to secure good order in the colony for several years following.
Now ensued four more years of uninterrupted peace and prosperity, during which the settlement increased greatly in numbers and extended its borders in all directions. The Indians, true to their pledges to Robertson, continued friendly, though suffering frequently from the depredations of lawless white men from the old settlements. These were reckless, desperate characters, who had fled from the order and law of established society to find freedom for unbridled license in the new community. Driven out by the Watauga settlers, they herded together in the wilderness, where they subsisted by hunting and fishing and preying upon the now peaceable Cherokees. They were an annoyance to both the peaceable white man and the red; but at length, when the Indians showed feelings of hostility, they became a barrier between the savages and the industrious cultivators of the soil, and thus unintentionally contributed to the well-being of the Watauga community.
No event materially affecting the interests of the colony occurred during the four years following Robertson's visit to the Cherokees at Echota. The battles of Lexington and Concord had been fought, but the shot which was "heard round the world" did not echo till months afterward in that secluded hamlet on the Watauga. But when it did reverberate amid those old woods, every backwoodsman sprang to his feet and asked to be enrolled to rush to the rescue of his countrymen on the seaboard. His patriotism was not stimulated by British oppression, for he was beyond the reach of the "king's minions." He had no grievances to complain of, for he drank no tea, used no stamps, and never saw a tax-gatherer. It was the "glorious cause of liberty," as Sevier expressed it, which called them all to arms to do battle for freedom and their countrymen.
"A company of fine riflemen was accordingly enlisted, and embodied at the expense and risque of their private fortunes, to act in defence of the common cause on the sea-shore."1 But before the volunteers could be despatched over the mountains it became apparent that their services would be needed at home for the defence of the frontier against the Indians.
Through the trader Isaac Thomas it soon became known to the settlers that Cameron, the British agent, was among the Cherokees, endeavoring to incite them to hostilities against the Americans. At first the Indians resisted the enticements—the hopes of spoil and plunder and the recovery of their hunting-grounds—which Cameron held out to them. They could not understand how men of the same race and language could be at war with one another. It was never so known in Indian tradition. But soon—late in 1775—an event occurred which showed that the virus spread among them by the crafty Scotchman had begun to work, at least with the younger braves, and that it might at any moment break out among the whole nation. A trader named Andrew Grear, who lived at Watauga, had been at Echota. He had disposed of his wares, and was about to return with the furs he had taken in exchange, when he perceived signs of hostile feeling among some of the young warriors, and on his return, fearing an ambuscade on the great war-path, he left it before he reached the crossing at the French Broad, and went homeward by a less-frequented trail along the Nolachucky. Two other traders, named Boyd and Dagget, who left Echota on the following day, pursued the usual route, and were waylaid and murdered at a small stream which has ever since borne the name of Boyd's Creek. In a few days their bodies were found, only half concealed in the shallow water; and as the tidings flew among the scattered settlements they excited universal alarm and indignation.
The settlers had been so long at peace with the Cherokees that they had been lulled into a false security; but, the savage having once tasted blood, they knew his appetite would "grow by what it fed on," and they prepared for a deadly struggle with an enemy of more than twenty times their number. The fort at Watauga was at once put into a state of efficient defence, smaller forts were erected in the centre of every scattered settlement, and a larger one was built on the frontier, near the confluence of the north and south forks of the Holston River, to protect the more remote settlements. This last was called Fort Patrick Henry, in honor of the patriotic governor of Virginia. The one at Watauga received the name of Fort Lee.
All the able-bodied males sixteen years of age and over were enrolled, put under competent officers, and drilled for the coming struggle. But the winter passed without any further act of hostility on the part of the disaffected Cherokees. The older chiefs, true to their pledges to Robertson, still held back, and were able to restrain the younger braves, who thirsted for the conflict from a passion for the excitement and glory they could find only in battle.
Nancy Ward was in the secrets of the Cherokee leaders, and every word uttered in their councils she faithfully repeated to the trader Isaac Thomas, who conveyed the intelligence personally or by trusty messengers to Sevier and Robertson at Watauga. Thus the settlers were enabled to circumvent the machinations of Cameron until a more powerful enemy appeared among the Cherokees in the spring of 1776. This was John Stuart, British superintendent of Southern Indian affairs, a man of great address and ability, and universally known and beloved among all the Southwestern tribes. Fifteen years before, his life had been saved at the Fort Loudon massacre by Atta-Culla-Culla, and a friendship had then been contracted between them which now secured the influence of the half-king in plunging the Cherokees into hostilities with the settlers.
The plan of operations had been concerted between Stuart and the British commander-in-chief, General Gage. It was for a universal rising among the Creeks, Chickasaws, Cherokees, and Shawnees, who were to invade the frontiers of Georgia, Virginia, and the Carolinas, while simultaneously a large military and naval force under Sir Peter Parker descended upon the Southern seaboard and captured Charleston. It was also intended to enlist the co-operation of such inhabitants of the back settlements as were known to be favorable to the British. Thus the feeble colonists were to be not only encircled by a cordon of fire, but a conflagration was to be lighted which should consume every patriot's dwelling. It was an able but pitiless and bloodthirsty plan, for it would let loose upon the settler every savage atrocity and make his worst foes those of his own household. If successful, it would have strangled in fire and blood the spirit of independence in the Southern colonies.
That it did not succeed seems to us, who know the means employed to thwart it, little short of a miracle. Those means were the four hundred and forty-five raw militia under Moultrie, who, behind a pile of palmetto logs, on the 28th of June, 1776, repulsed Sir Peter Parker in his attack on Sullivan's Island in the harbor of Charleston, South Carolina, and the two hundred and ten "over-mountain men," under Sevier, Robertson, and Isaac Shelby, who beat back, on the 20th and 21st of July, the Cherokee invasion of the western frontier.
As early as the 30th of May, Sevier and Robertson were apprised by their faithful friend Nancy Ward of the intended attack, and at once they sent messengers to Colonel Preston, of the Virginia Committee of Safety, for an additional supply of powder and lead and a reinforcement of such men as could be spared from home-service. One hundred pounds of powder and twice as much lead, and one hundred militiamen, were despatched in answer to the summons. The powder and lead were distributed among the stations, and the hundred men were sent to strengthen the garrison of Fort Patrick Henry, the most exposed position on the frontier. The entire force of the settlers was now two hundred and ten, forty of whom were at Watauga under Sevier and Robertson, the remainder at and near Fort Patrick Henry under no less than six militia captains, no one of whom was bound to obey the command of any of the others. This many-headed authority would doubtless have worked disastrously to the loosely-jointed force had there not been in it as a volunteer a young man of twenty-five who in the moment of supreme danger seized the absolute command and rallied the men to victory. His name was Isaac Shelby, and this was the first act in a long career in the whole of which "he deserved well of his country."
Thus, from the 30th of May till the 11th of July the settlers slept with their rifles in their hands, expecting every night to hear the Indian war-whoop, and every day to receive some messenger from Nancy Ward with tidings that the warriors were on the march for the settlements. At last the messengers came,—four of them at once,—as we may see from the following letter, in which Sevier announces their arrival to the Committee of Safety of Fincastle County, Virginia:
"FORT LEE, July 11, 1776.
DEAR GENTLEMEN,—Isaac Thomas, William Falling, Jarot Williams, and one more, have this moment come in, by making their escape from the Indians, and say six hundred Indians and whites were to start for this fort, and intend to drive the country up to New River before they return.
JOHN SEVIER."
He says nothing of the feeble fort and his slender garrison of only forty men; he shows no sign of fear, nor does he ask for aid in the great peril. The letter is characteristic of the man, and it displays that utter fearlessness which, with other great qualities, made him the hero of the Border. The details of the information brought by Thomas to Sevier and Robertson showed how truthfully Nancy Ward had previously reported to them the secret designs of the Cherokees. The whole nation was about to set out upon the war-path. With the Creeks they were to make a descent upon Georgia, and with the Shawnees, Mingoes, and Delawares upon Kentucky and the exposed parts of Virginia, while seven hundred chosen Ottari warriors were to fall upon the settlers on the Watauga, Holston, and Nolachucky. This last force was to be divided into two bodies of three hundred and fifty each, one of which, under Oconostota, was to attack Fort Watauga; the other, under Dragging-Canoe, head-chief of the Chickamaugas, was to attempt the capture of Fort Patrick Henry, which they supposed to be still defended by only about seventy men. But the two bodies were to act together, the one supporting the other in case it should be found that the settlers were better prepared for defence than was anticipated. The preparation for the expedition Thomas had himself seen: its object and the points of attack he had learned from Nancy Ward, who had come to his cabin at midnight on the 7th of July and urged his immediate departure. He had delayed setting out till the following night, to impart his information to William Falling and Jarot and Isaac Williams, men who could be trusted, and who he proposed should set out at the same time, but by different routes, to warn the settlements, so that in case one or more of them was waylaid and killed the others might have a chance to get through in safety. However, at the last moment the British agent Cameron had himself disclosed the purpose of the expedition to Falling and the two brothers Williams, and detailed them with a Captain Guest to go along with the Indians as far as the Nolachucky, when they were to scatter among the settlements and warn any "king's men" to join the Indians or to wear a certain badge by which they would be known and protected in any attack from the savages. These men had set out with the Indians, but had escaped from them during the night of the 8th, and all had arrived at Watauga in safety.
Thomas and Falling were despatched at once with the tidings into Virginia, the two Williamses were sent to warn the garrison at Fort Patrick Henry, and then the little force at Watauga furbished up their rifles and waited in grim expectation the coming of Oconostota.
But the garrison at Fort Patrick Henry was the first to have tidings from the Cherokees. Only a few men were at the fort, the rest being scattered among the outlying stations, but all were within supporting-distance. On the 19th of July the scouts came in and reported that a large body of Indians was only about twenty miles away and marching directly upon the garrison. Runners were at once despatched to bring in the scattered forces, and by nightfall the one hundred and seventy were gathered at the fort, ready to meet the enemy. Then a council of war was held by the six militia captains to determine upon the best plan of action. Some were in favor of awaiting the attack of the savages behind the walls of the fort, but one of them, William Cocke, who afterward became honorably conspicuous in the history of Tennessee, proposed the bolder course of encountering the enemy in the open field. If they did not, he contended that the Indians, passing them on the flank, would fall on and butcher the defenceless women of the settlements in their rear.
It was a step of extreme boldness, for they supposed they would encounter the whole body of seven hundred Cherokees; but it was unanimously agreed to, and early on the following morning the little army, with flankers and an advance guard of twelve men, marched out to meet the enemy. They had not gone far when the advance guard came upon a force of about twenty Indians. The latter fled, and the whites pursued for several miles, the main body following close upon the heels of the advance, but without coming upon any considerable force of the enemy. Then, being in a country favorable to an ambuscade, and the evening coming on, they held a council and decided to return to the fort.
They had not gone upward of a mile when a large force of the enemy appeared in their rear. The whites wheeled about at once, and were forming into line, when the whole body of Indians rushed upon them with great fury, shouting, "The Unacas are running! Come on! scalp them!" They attacked simultaneously the centre and left flank of the whites; and then was seen the hazard of going into battle with a many-headed commander. For a moment all was confusion, and the companies in attempting to form in the face of the impetuous attack were being broken, when Isaac Shelby rushed to the front and ordered each company a few steps to the rear, where they should reform, while he, with Lieutenant Moore, Robert Edmiston, and John Morrison, and a private named John Findlay,—in all five men,—should meet the onset of the savages. Instantly the six captains obeyed the command, recognizing in the volunteer of twenty-five their natural leader, and then the battle became general. The Indians attacked furiously, and for a few moments those five men bore the brunt of the assault. With his own hand Robert Edmiston slew six of the more forward of the enemy, Morrison nearly as many, and then Moore became engaged in a desperate hand-to-hand fight with an herculean chieftain of the Cherokees. They were a few paces in advance of the main body, and, as if by common consent, the firing was partly suspended on both sides to await the issue of the conflict. "Moore had shot the chief, wounding him in the knee, but not so badly as to prevent him from standing. Moore advanced toward him, and the Indian threw his tomahawk, but missed him. Moore sprung at him with his large butcher-knife drawn, which the Indian caught by the blade and attempted to wrest from the hand of his antagonist. Holding on with desperate tenacity to the knife, both clinched with their left hands. A scuffle ensued, in which the Indian was thrown to the ground, his right hand being nearly dissevered, and bleeding profusely. Moore, still holding the handle of his knife in the right hand, succeeded with the other in disengaging his own tomahawk from his belt, and ended the strife by sinking it in the skull of the Indian. Until this conflict was ended, the Indians fought with unyielding spirit. After its issue became known, they retreated."2 "Our men pursued in a cautious manner, lest they might be led into an ambuscade, hardly crediting their own senses that so numerous a foe was completely routed. In this miracle of a battle we had not a man killed, and only five wounded, who all recovered. But the wounded of the enemy died till the whole loss in killed amounted to upward of forty."3
As soon as this conflict was over, a horseman was sent off to Watauga with tidings of the astonishing victory. "A great day's work in the woods," was Sevier's remark when speaking subsequently of this battle.
Meanwhile, Oconostota, with his three hundred and fifty warriors, had followed the trail along the Nolachucky, and on the morning of the 20th had come upon the house of William Bean, the hospitable entertainer of Robertson on his first visit to Watauga, Bean himself was at the fort, to which had fled all the women and children in the settlement, but his wife had preferred to remain at home. She had many friends among the Indians, and she felt confident they would pass her without molestation. She was mistaken. They took her captive, and removed her to their station-camp on the Nolachucky. There a warrior pointed his rifle at her, as if to fire; but Oconostota threw up the barrel and began to question her as to the strength of the whites. She gave him misleading replies, with which he appeared satisfied, for he soon told her she was not to be killed, but taken to their towns to teach their women how to manage a dairy.
Those at the fort knew that Oconostota was near by on the Nolachucky, but he had deferred the attack so long that they concluded the wary and cautious old chief was waiting to be reinforced by the body under Dragging-Canoe, which had gone to attack Fort Patrick Henry. News had reached them of Shelby's victory, and, as it would be some time before the broken Cherokees could rally and join Oconostota, they were in no apprehension of immediate danger. Accordingly, they went about their usual vocations, and so it happened that a number of the women ventured outside the fort as usual to milk the cows on the morning of the 21st of July. Among them was one who was destined to occupy for many years the position of the "first lady in Tennessee."
Her name was Catherine Sherrell, and she was the daughter of Samuel Sherrell, one of the first settlers on the Watauga. In age she was verging upon twenty, and she was tall, straight as an arrow, and lithe as a hickory sapling. I know of no portrait of her in existence, but tradition describes her as having dark eyes, flexible nostrils, regular features, a clear, transparent skin, a neck like a swan, and a wealth of wavy brown hair, which was a wonder to look at and was in striking contrast to the whiteness of her complexion. A free life in the open air had made her as supple as an eel and as agile as a deer. It was said that, encumbered by her womanly raiment, she had been known to place one hand upon a six-barred fence and clear it at a single bound. And now her agility was to do her essential service.
While she and the other women, unconscious of danger, were "coaxing the snowy fluid from the yielding udders of the kine," suddenly the war-whoop sounded through the woods, and a band of yelling savages rushed out upon them. Quick as thought the women turned and darted for the gate of the fort; but the savages were close upon them in a neck-and-neck race, and Kate, more remote than the rest, was cut off from the entrance. Seeing her danger, Sevier and a dozen others opened the gate and were about to rush out upon the savages, hundreds of whom were now in front of the fort; but Robertson held them back, saying they could not rescue her, and to go out would insure their own destruction. At a glance Kate took in the situation. She could have no help from her friends, and the tomahawk and scalping-knife were close behind her. Instantly she turned, and, fleeter than a deer, made for a point in the stockade some distance from the entrance. The palisades were eight feet high, but with one bound she reached the top, and with another was over the wall, falling into the arms of Sevier, who for the first time called her his "bonnie Kate," his "brave girl for a foot-race." The other women reached the entrance of the fort in safety.
Then the baffled savages opened fire, and for a full hour it rained bullets upon the little enclosure. But the missiles fell harmless: not a man was wounded. Driven by the light charges the Indians were accustomed to use, the bullets simply bounded off from the thick logs and did no damage. But it was not so with the fire of the besieged. The order was, "Wait till you see the whites of your enemies' eyes, and then make sure of your man." And so every one of those forty rifles did terrible execution.
For twenty days the Indians hung about the fort, returning again and again to the attack; but not a man who kept within the walls was even wounded. It was not so with a man and a boy who, emboldened by a few days' absence of the Indians, ventured outside to go down to the river. The man was scalped on the spot; the boy was taken prisoner, and subjected to a worse fate in one of the Indian villages. His name was Moore, and he was a younger brother of the lieutenant who fought so bravely in the battle near Fort Patrick Henry.
At last, baffled and dispirited, the Indians fell back to the Tellico. They had lost about sixty killed and a larger number wounded, and they had inflicted next to no damage upon the white settlers. They were enraged beyond bounds and thirsting for vengeance. Only two prisoners were in their power; but on them they resolved to wreak their extremest tortures. Young Moore was taken to the village of his captor, high up in the mountains, and there burned at a stake. A like fate was determined upon for good Mrs. Bean, the kindly woman whose hospitable door had ever been open to all, white man or Indian. Oconostota would not have her die; but Dragging-Canoe insisted that she should be offered up as a sacrifice to the manes of his fallen warriors; and the head-king was not powerful enough to prevent it.
She was taken to the summit of one of the burial-mounds,—those relics of a forgotten race which are so numerous along the banks of the Tellico. She was tied to a stake, the fagots were heaped about her, and the fire was about to be lighted, when suddenly Nancy Ward appeared among the crowd of savages and ordered a stay of the execution. Dragging-Canoe was a powerful brave, but not powerful enough to combat the will of this woman. Mrs. Bean was not only liberated, but sent back with an honorable escort to her husband.
The village in which young Moore was executed was soon visited by Sevier with a terrible retribution; and from that day for twenty years his name was a terror among the Cherokees.
Before many months there was a wedding in the fort at Watauga. It was that of John Sevier and the "bonnie Kate," famous to this day for leaping stockades and six-barred fences. He lived to be twelve years governor of Tennessee and the idol of a whole people. She shared all his love and all his honors; but in her highest estate she was never ashamed of her lowly days, and never tired of relating her desperate leap at Watauga; and, even in her old age, she would merrily add, "I would make it again—every day in the week—for such a husband."
EDMUND KIRKE.