Woodward's Reminiscenses - Part 4



WHEELING; WINN PARISH, LA.,
October 31st, 1858.
To J.J. HOOPER, Esq.:

Dear Sir: Some months back I addressed a letter to Mr. Rutherford of Union 
Springs, containing some of the incidents of the life of Billy 
Weatherford, a white man, that came to the Creek Nation shortly after the 
close of the American Revolution, in company with Sam Mimms, who was once 
engaged with George Galphin in the Indian trade. Weatherford was the 
second and last husband of Sehoy McPherson. They raised four children that 
I knew. Betsy, the oldest child, married Sam Moniac, and was the mother of 
Major David Moniac, who was educated at West Point and was killed by the 
Seminoles in the fall of 1836 -- he was educated at West Point in 
consequence of the faithful and disinterested friendship of his father to 
the whites. Billy was the next oldest, Jack next, and a younger daughter 
whose name I have forgotten. She married Capt. Shumac, a very intelligent 
officer of the United States army. I had seen Billy Weatherford. I was 
with Gen. Floyd in the Nation, and was at his night fight at Calebee; a 
few days after the fight the army returned to Fort Hull. The time was 
about expiring for which the troops had to serve, and a call was made for 
volunteers to take charge of the fort until the Militia from the two 
Carolinas could arrive. Cap. John H. Broadnax, a very efficient and 
popular captain, from Putnam county, Georgia, soon raised a company of 
infantry; a Lieutenant Adaroin from Franklin county raised a rifle corps, 
and I volunteered as his Orderly Sergeant. A few days before that, the 
present Gen. Twiggs, then a Captain in the regular army, had forced his 
way through to the army with his company. The army left, and the three 
companies above mentioned took charge of the Fort, Col. Homer V. Milton in 
command. All I recollect to have done myself was to take some authority 
that one of my rank was not entitled to, under the rules and articles of 
war, and Capt. Twiggs put me in stocks. And for fear you may think the 
case worse than it was, I will say to you that I only rendered another 
Sergeant unfit for duty. I think the whole story would amuse you if you 
could hear it, but it would be too long for the present; I may give it to 
you hereafter. I was in the stocks but a few minutes before I was 
released, and I think after that I was rather a favorite both with the 
Captain and Colonel. The Colonel wanted an express sent to Gen. Graham at 
Fort Mitchell. It had to be taken on foot; I volunteered my services, and 
got George Lovitt, a tall half breed; and obtained a pair of shoes from an 
Irishman by the name of James Gorman, whom I had known near two years 
before that in Florida, in the Spanish Patriot service, under my old and 
intimate friend, Billy Cone. The distance was only forty-five miles. 
Lovitt and I went in one night, got everything ready and returned to Fort 
Hull the next night. The troops began to arrive at the Fort, and the 
Militia under Capt. Broadnax and Lieut. Adaroin, were permitted to leave 
for home. Col. Milton employed me to go to Fort Hawkins and bring a horse 
and some baggage left with Col. Cook, which I did. On my return, I found 
the Colonel at Fort Decatur. On the receipt of his horse and baggage, he 
gave me a very substantial Indian pony, and proposed to me to remain with 
him until he reached his regiment, the old 3d Infantry, then at Alabama 
Heights, under the command of Lieut. Col. Russell, and that he could 
procure me the appointment of Lieutenant in the army, to be attached to 
his regiment. I was not ambitious of military honors, and concluded to 
join the Indians. I had been paid for my services in the previous 
campaign, had a pony, and that was all I needed. I made up a mess with Sam 
Sells, John Winslet, Billy McIntosh, Joe Marshall, Sam Moniac and others, 
and went where it suited me. This gave me an opportunity of becoming 
acquainted with all the little hostile bands and their leaders. As I have 
described to you before how the most of them were situated after Gen. 
Jackson reached the fork of the two rivers, Coosa and Tallapoosa, it will 
not be necessary now to do so. Though Weatherford could come in with 
safety, as Col. Hawkins had taken it upon himself to let the General know 
who and what he, Weatherford, Tom Carr, Otis Harjo, Catsa Harjo or Mad 
Tiger, a Coowersartda Chief, and a host of others had come in; so I missed 
hearing the great speech or seeing Ben Baldwin's white horse or the deer. 
The horse I never heard of, nor him, until I found him in Col. Pickett's 
history of Alabama. There was a talk with the General and Weatherford, 
that he was astonished at a man of his good sense, and almost a white man, 
to take sides with an ignorant set of savages, and being led astray by men 
who professed to be prophets and gifted with a supernatural influence. And 
more than all, he had led the Indians and was one of the prime movers of 
the massacre at Fort Mimms. Weatherford, advised them to draw off 
entirely. He then left to go some few miles to where his half brother, 
Davy Tate, had some negroes, to take charge of them, to keep the Indians 
from scattering them; after he left, the Indians succeeded in firing the 
Fort, and waited until it burnt so that they could enter it with but 
little danger. He also said to the General that if he had joined the 
whites it would have been attributed to cowardice and not thanked. And 
moreover, it was his object in joining the Indians, that he thought he 
would in many instances be able to prevent them from committing 
depredations upon defenseless persons; and but for the mismanagement of 
those that had charge of the Fort, he would have succeeded, and said, 
"Now, sir. I have told the truth, if you think I deserve death, do as you 
please; I shall only beg for the protection of a starving parcel of women 
and children, and those ignorant men who have been led into the war by 
their Chiefs." This is as much as I ever learned from the General, and I 
will proceed to give Col. Pickett, as well as other things I see in his 
history that I know of my own knowledge, and so do others, to be 
incorrect. After it was known that Gen. Jackson would punish any one that 
was known to trouble an Indian coming to camp unarmed, and particularly 
Weatherford went with the crowd, and had to get a horse from Barney Riley, 
having none of his own; besides, had the exhibition of the white horse and 
deer been a reality, Major Eaton and others who made speeches for 
Weatherford's speech when he surrendered to Gen. Jackson; but if I 
recollect right, he was made to say that he would whip the Georgians on 
one side of the river and make his corn on the other. That was all a lie, 
and for effect. It reminds me of the report that the Kentuckians 
ingloriously fled.
It is true, a few Kentuckians had arrived in the neighborhood of New 
Orleans, when the British made their attack. The Kentuckians were without 
arms -- what could they do? All that can be said is, that it is easier to 
find a fighting man than a magnanimous one.

I will go back to our cow hunt. At Moniac's cowpens we found no cattle, 
but killed plenty of deer and turkeys, and picked up the half brother of 
Jim Boy -- George Goodwin.

Now let us turn to Weatherford relate the following particulars about the 
Creek war:

He said that some few years before the war, a white man came from 
Pensacola to Tuckabatchy. He remained some time with the Big Warrior. The 
white man was a European, and he thought a Scotchman; that he never knew 
the man's business, nor did he ever learn; that all the talks between this 
man and the Big Warrior were carried on through a negro interpreter that 
belonged to the Warrior; that he [Weatherford said that not long after the 
return of Tuskenea to the Creek Nation, Tecumseh, with the Prophet, 
Seekaboo, and others, made their appearance at the Tuckabatchy town. A 
talk was put out by the Warrior. Moniac and Weatherford then said to 
Seekaboo to say to Tecumseh, that the whites and Indians were at peace, 
and had been for years; that the Creek Indians were doing well, and that 
it would be bad policy for the Creeks, at least, to take sides either with 
the Americans or English, in the event of a war -- (this was in 1811.) 
Besides, he said, that when the English held sway over the country, they 
were equally as oppressive as the Americans had been, if not more so; and 
in the American revolution the Americans were but few, and that they had 
got the better of the English; and that they were now very strong, and if 
interest was to be consulted, the Indians had better join the Americans.

After this talk Tecumseh left for home, and prevailed on Seekaboo and one 
or two others to remain among the Creeks.

In 1812 the Indians killed Arthur Lott and Thomas Meridith, which I before 
mentioned, as well as Captain Isaacs' going with the Little Warrior to the 
mouth of Duck river. After this, matters calmed down until the opening of 
1813. Moniac and Weatherford's families at the square. They told Moniac 
and Weatherford consented to remain. He told them that he disapprobated 
their course, and that it would be their ruin; but they were his peoplehe 
was raised with them, and he would share their fate. He was no chief, but 
had much influence with the Indians. He was always called by the Indians 
Billy Larny, or Yellow Billy; that was his boy name. His other name was 
Hoponika Futsahia. Hoponika Futsahia, as nigh as I can give the English of 
it, is truthmaker -- and he was all of that.

He then proposed to the Indians to collect up all such as intended going 
to war with the whites; take their women and children into the swamps of 
Florida; leave the old men and lads to hunt for them, and the picked 
warriors to collect together and operate whenever it was thought best. He 
said that he had several reasons for making this proposition to the 
Alabama river Indians; one was, that he thought by the time they could 
take their women and children to Florida and return, that the upper towns, 
which were almost to a man hostile, except the Netches and Hillabys -- and 
were principally controlled by the: Ocfuske chief, Menauway, or Ogillis 
lneha, or Fat Englishman; -- (these were the names of the noted men who 
headed the Indians at Horse Shoe,) -- that they perhaps would come to 
terms, and by that means his people would be spared and not so badly 
broken up, and would be the means of saving the lives of many whites on 
the thinly settled frontiers; and if the worst came to the worst, that 
they could carry on the war with less trouble, less danger, and less 
expense, than to be troubled with their women and children.

But in all this he was overruled by the chiefs. Some of their names I will 
give you. The oldest and principal chief, the one looked upon as the 
General, was a Tuskegee, called Hopie Tustanugga, or Far-off-Warrior; he 
was killed at Fort Mims. The others were Peter McQueen, Jim Boy, or High-
head Jim, Illes Harjo, or Josiah Francis, the new made Prophet, the Otisee 
chief, Nehemarthla-Micco, Paddy Welch, Hossa Yohola, and Seekaboo, the 
Shawnee Prophet, and many others I could name.

The first thing to be had was ammunition. Peter McQueen, with Jim Boy as 
his war chief, with a party of Indians, started for Pensacola -- (their 
numbers have been greatly overrated.) On their route, at Burnt Corn 
Springs, they took Betsy Coulter, the wife of Jim Cornells, -- (not 
Alexander Cornells, who was the Government interpreter;) they carried her 
to Pensacola, and sold her to a French lady, a madame Barrone. At 
Pensacola they met up with Zach McGirth, and some of them wanted to kill 
him. Jim Boy interfered, and said that the man or men who harmed McGirth 
should die.

Now, recollect, I lived with these people long, and have heard these 
things over and over. Betsy Coulter lived with me for years, as well as 
others, who bore their parts on one side or the other. This is history -- 
it is as true as Gospel -- for I am now and was then a living witness to 
much of it, and have seen the others who witnessed the balance -- and the 
witnesses to the other have been dead a long time; and besides, what I 
have seen and write is nothing more than what is and has been common.

But on the return of McQueen's party from Pensacola, the fight took place 
at Burnt Corn creek between the Indians and at least three times their 
number of white men; that is, if we take the statements of the two 
commanders, Col. Collier and Jim Boy. Jim Boy said the war had not fairly 
broke out, and that they never thought of being attacked; that he did not 
start with a hundred men, and all of those he did start with were not in 
the fight. I have heard Jim tell it often, that if the whites had not 
stopped to gather up pack horses and plunder their camp, and had pursued 
the Indians a little further, they [the Indians] would have quit and gone 
off. But the Indians discovered the very great disorder the whites were 
in, searching for plunder, and they fired a few guns from the creek swamp 
and a general stampede was the result. McGirth always corroborated Jim 
Boy's statement as to the number of Indians in the Burnt Corn fight. I 
have seen many of those that were in the fight, and they were like the 
militia that were at Bladensburg -- they died off soon; you never could 
hear much talk about the battle, unless you met with such a man as Judge 
Lipscomb, who used to make a laughing matter of it.

Enough of the Burnt Corn battle now. A part of the Indians returned to 
Pensacola, and some went to the Nation. So soon as those who had gone back 
the second time to Pensacola returned, they commenced fitting out an 
expedition to Fort Mims. Weatherford and others who were engaged in the 
assault.

The Indians then pretty well ceased operations, and Weatherford's taking 
charge of Tate's negroes gave rise to the report by some whites that there 
was an understanding between him and Tate that one was to remain with the 
whites, and the other with the Indians. The report was, no doubt, false, 
but it ever after caused Tate to be very reserved with most people. I knew 
Tate well. He, like Weatherford and the chief, Hossa Yoholo, and one or 
two others, made what has been known as the Holy Ground their 
headquarters. Some time in December, Gen. Claiborne, piloted by Sam Moniac 
and an old McGillivray negro, got near the place before the Indians 
discovered them. The Indians began to cross their wives and children over 
the river; they had scarcely time to do that before the army arrived -- a 
skirmish ensued, and the Indians, losing a few men, gave way in every 
direction. Weatherford died. Maj. Cowles and myself asked him how that 
report got out. He said Sam Moniac knew him, and seeing him on horse back 
on the brink of the bluff, and his disappearing so suddenly, caused those 
who saw him to believe that he had gone over the bluff. He said that he 
ran a greater risk in going the way he did, than he would to have gone 
over the bluff; and but for his horse he would have gone over it and 
crossed the river. But it was to save his pony that he risked passing 
between two lines of the whites. From that circumstance the report got 
out, and he would often own to it for the gratification of some, as they 
wanted to be deceived any how. But in going the way he did, it was 
hazarding more than one in a thousand would do, for a hundred times the 
value of a pony.

There was one Indian, if no more, killed at Holy Ground. I believe it from 
this circumstance. Some years after the fight, and the whites began to 
settle Alabama, a very poor man by the name of Stoker settled on the 
Autauga side, and opposite Holy Ground. His little boys, while out hunting 
one day, found the irons or an old trunk and some $100 or $200 in eagle 
half dollars; this, I have no doubt, was plundered at Fort Mims, and the 
plunderer placed it where the boys of Stoker found it, and went back into 
the fight at Holy Ground and was killed.

Weatherford's advice been taken, the result of that affair would have been 
very different; for long before the fight closed, I could understand 
Indian enough to hear them asking each other to "give me some. bullets -- 
give me powder." The friendly Indians with us did us no good, except 
Timpoochy Barnard and his Uchees. Jim Boy and Billy McDonald, or Billy 
McGillivray, as he was best known, said that they had between 1800 and 
2000 men; but many of them were without guns, and only had war-clubs and 
bows and arrows.

The surrender of Weatherford to be as high-toned and fearless as any man 
he had met with -- one whose very nature scorned a mean action. And Gen. 
Jackson's treatment to Billy Weatherford proved any other than Jackson 
took him to be, he would have met the fate of Francis and Nehemarthla-
Micco.

What I have here written is as correct as my memory will allow, for I have 
no history to refer to.

Yours, &c.,
T.S.W.



WHEELING, WINN PARISH, LA.
Nov. 3, 1858
J.J. HOOPER Esq.:
Dear Sir: A day or two since I sent you some sketches of the life of Billy 
Col. Pickett, in February last, he says that himself and I are as well 
acquainted with the modern Creek Indians, perhaps, as any two persons 
living. That may be so; but I think there is this difference between us: 
his information has been derived from very vague testimony, and gathered 
up at too late a date to form anything like a true or correct history; 
and, unfortunately for me, too much of mine has been from personal 
experience and from the most authentic testimony, and at an early day. It 
is true, that one so capable of writing as the Colonel could have given 
the world not only a tolerably true, but quite an interesting history.
I see that the Colonel, like many others, is inclined to hold out an idea 
or belief that the American Indian descended from the Jew; and from what I 
am now about to write, should it ever come under his notice, he may think 
that a am somewhat of an Indian genealogist; but by no means would I have 
him think that I am a descendant of the Jew, or write from or by 
inspiration. Now, had I known in 1836, when I saw the Col. in Walker's old 
storehouse in Tuskegee, that he intended writing a history of the Creek 
Indians, I would at least have offered him as much assistance as Gen. 
Jackson in 1830 offered the Congress of the United States in aiding it to 
establish a United States Bank. I would most cheerfully have furnished him 
with facts which would have enabled him to write a very fair history. And 
I will go farther than Gen. Jackson did -- I will prove that I was capable 
of performing what I might have promised. I will commence with the several 
Indian Agents from 1790 down to 1832, give their names, the names of their 
children, and then the names of the most noted Indian countrymen and their 
children, with the names of many half breeds and full bloods and their 
children.

James Seagrove, an Irishman, was first Agent. His white family I never 
knew; he had a half breed son, who was killed by the Indians many years 
ago for killing another Indian at Kiemulga, when the first McIntosh party 
were emigrating to Arkansas territory.

Col. Ben. Hawkins, a native of Warren county, N.C., was next Agent. He 
raised three daughters -- Georgia, Carolina and Virginia -- and one son, 
James Madison, called after the Col.'s class-mate in college, who was 
afterwards President of the United States. Col. Hawkins raised a girl who 
was called by the name of Muscogee Hawkins. She was the daughter of John 
Hill, who was a sub-Indian Agent. He hung himself at Fort Wilkinson many 
years ago. Muscogee married Capt. Kit Kizer, of the U.S. Army; he died, 
and she married Bagwell Tillor; but enough of her. Georgia died at about 
twenty years of age with consumption, a most beautiful and amiable girl. 
One of the younger girls married a Lieutenant Loshhas of the army. The 
other daughter and Madison I lost sight of, as I left the country a great 
while back; but they were all handsome and intelligent children. Col. 
Hawkins died in the fall of 1816, and sleeps on the East bank of Flint 
river, and none are left who know the spot where he rests but myself and, 
perchance, some old Indian countrymen.

The next Agent was Gen. David Brady Mitchell, a very talented Scotchman. 
His oldest son, William, a man of fine sense and well educated, married 
Jane McIntosh; the second son, David B., married a Miss Thweatt. He was 
quite a gentleman; he died while a young man. The two younger sons, John 
and Bullock, I have not seen for more than forty years. The oldest 
daughter, Sarah, a most splendid woman, married a Col. McClung, of North 
Alabama. The youngest daughter, Mary, (or Button, as she was sometimes 
called,) was like her sister; she married Gen. Wm. Taylor.

The next Agent was my old and intimate friend, Col. John Crowell. Many, 
both white and red, yet live who have shared his kind hospitalities. He 
sleeps upon Fort Mitchell Hill, where rest a crowd that no one need be 
ashamed to be picked up with, in a coming day.

One of the first Indian traders was George Galphin, an Irishman. He raised 
a large family; and of the five varieties of the human family; he raised 
children from three, and no doubt would have gone the whole hog, but the 
Malay and Mongol were out of his reach. His white children were of the 
highest and most polished order -- Mrs. Governor Milledge was one of them. 
He had two negroes, Mina, a woman, and Ketch, a man; they were brother and 
sister. He raised one daughter from Mina, and called her Barbary. She 
married an Irishman by the name of Holmes, and raised Dr. Thomas G. 
Holmes, whom Col. Pickett o£ten alludes to in his History of Alabama, as 
having had conversations with him. At Galphin's death Mina was set free, 
and died at old Timothy Barnard's, on Flint river, Ga., many years back. 
Ketch was an interpreter among the Indians for Galphin -- was his stock 
minder -- kept stock at Galpin's cowpens, where Louisville in Jefferson 
county, Ga., now stands, and which was once the seat of government of that 
State. Ketch helped to put up the first cabin at old Galphinton, on the 
Ogeechee, for an Indian trading house. At Galphin's death Ketch was sold, 
and was purchased by Gen. Twiggs of the revolution. He was the body 
servant of Gen. Twiggs during the war. At the close of the war, Ketch left 
his master and went into the Creek Nation. In 1833 the present Gen. 
Twiggs, who has performed more real, active and hard service (such as 
required great bodily exertion as well as great courage) than any one man 
living -- I cannot even except the greatest military man of this or any 
other age, the veteran Scott -- when severe bodily exertion has been 
called for. There is scarcely an Indian tribe on our borders that Gen. 
Twiggs has not had to war with, or deal with, in some way or other; and in 
addition to this, the battles of Palo Alto, Resaca de la Palma, Monterey, 
Vera Cruz, Cerro Gordo, and every other battle field in Mexico, speak the 
praise of Twiggs, Quitman, Worth and others. Gen. Twiggs gave Ketch to me. 
He [Ketch] was about six feet six inches high, very straight, and retained 
his bodily strength as well as mental faculties, to a most astonishing 
degree. The Gen. did not give me Ketch expecting me to profit by it, but 
wished him cared for in his old age, as he had been a faithful servant to 
his father in trying times. I purchased Ketch's family, and he lived till 
1840. I buried him under a large oak about a mile from Tuskegee, a place 
that he had selected for that purpose. I had a little mill on a creek near 
Tuskegee, where I kept Ketch and several other Indian negroes, and here I 
used to spend much time in listening to them tell over old occurrences of 
by-gone days. From the best calculation we could make, Ketch lived to be 
near a hundred years old.

While I am sketching off a little negro history, I will mention one or two 
others. I buried Barnard's old Kitty near Tuskegee, at a time when Amy, 
her youngest daughter of nine children, had great grand children. Old 
Kitty was an African by birth, and could give no account of her age; but 
she was a very old woman, at least to live since Noah's time. Another, and 
the most remarkable negro that I have known in my time, was Polly 
Perryman, by many known as Chehaw Micco Polly. She was raised by an 
English family at Nassau on the Island of New Providence. She was taken to 
Mobile when about grown -- that was but a short time after the French 
evacuated Fort Du Quesne, or Pittsburg. I have often heard her tell of 
making the acquaintance of some Virginia negroes who were with the French. 
Polly was sold to one Jas. Clark, and taken to Pensacola. Clark sold her 
to an old Indian countryman by the name of Theophilus Perryman, who was 
the father of the old half breed, Jim Perryman, of the Octiyokny town; and 
Jim was the father of as many children as Priam. These were the 
Chattahoochy Indians below Fort Gaines. Polly was then sold to Lauchlan 
McGillivray, and taken to the Coosa river a short distance below Proctor's 
Island, at the old Bob Cornells place, known by some as Little 
Tallassee -- named after Bob's wife, who was a Tallassee, and the mother 
of Alexander Cornells, the U.S. interpreter. Polly lived in the 
McGillivray family when Sophia and Alexander were born. She lived with 
Alexander after he was grown, and after his death Billy Panthon sold her 
to the half breed, Jim Perryman, and he sold her to Chehaw-Micco.

When the Indians emigrated in 1836, she and old Rose were left with me, 
and I carried them to Arkansas. Polly was the mother of the celebrated 
Siro, who was supposed to have been killed in the Pea River fight in 1837. 
Polly died in 1846, and said she was 115 years old; and I think she was 
but little short of that. She was as intelligent as negroes ever get to be.

I purchased Holmes' old Ned from "Horse Shoe Ned."* He had been raised at 
an early day by a family of Powells, one of whom was the father of Hossa 
Yoholo, a reckless fighter of the old war. Ned followed this chief to 
Florida, where he died on Indian river, from a disease in his feet, caused 
by an insect known as the jigger. And from this, Hossa Yoholo, and the 
ignorance of many, Ussa Yoholo, or Black Drink, the modern Oceola, derived 
much of his fame. Horse Shoe will tell you that Ned was an intelligent 
negro.

The ignorant and unobserving will laugh, no doubt, at my introducing negro 
testimony in relation to history; but I have gathered much interesting 
information from those negroes, as well as McGillivray's old Charles, who 
accompanied his old master to Savannah, Ga. The old man McGillivray never 
returned to the Nation, but sent his two children, Sophia and Aleck, back 
by Charles. This I think I stated to you before. But let me here remark 
one thing about negroes -- particularly negroes who are raised in the 
slaveholding States of the United States. They are in general treated 
kind, and in early life are placed pretty much on an equality with the 
white children. They have but few cares, and what they learn they 
generally learn well; and they never fail to learn all the family names. 
You may take any old negro who has lived for three or four generations in 
a family, and nine out of ten will tell you the names of the oldest down 
to the youngest for several generations. For the want of a paper record, 
they register these things in their heads. The recollection of family 
names for a few generations back is a thing which a very large portion of 
the American people are deficient in. Indian negroes generally have a 
double advantage in the recollection of things, if not of names, over 
those raised among the whites. They are raised to man or womanhood with 
their owners; and in many instances they are better raised -- always on an 
equality, and not one in fifty but speaks the English as well as the 
Indian language. Nearly all of them, at some time or other, are used as 
interpreters, which affords them an opportunity to gather information that 
many of their owners never have, as they speak but the one language.

I have said enough on this subject, if I am right, to satisfy sensible 
men; and if wrong, more than they perhaps would like to read -- and as I 
have no marvelous yarns to relate, or pictures in my work, fools won't 
look at it.

Now, let us go back to family names -- maybe some one will want to write 
hereafter, and I will furnish them at least a few names of persons who 
have, and are yet living. Timothy Barnard, an Englishman, was a trader and 
interpreter for many years. I knew him well -- he had an Uchee woman for a 
wife, and raised a number of children. Jim was his oldest son, and a 
cripple through life; Billy was the next, and married Peggy Sullivan, a 
daughter of Sullivan who was the owner of the negro Bob that was said to 
be concerned in the murder of the Kirkland family at Murder creek, from 
which the creek took its name. Bob was the father of Caesar, who was with 
Gen. Dale in the canoe fight. The mother of Caesar was old Tabby, who was 
stolen from a man by the name of Cook in Georgia many years back. Billy's 
and Peggy's children were Davy, Tom, Epsy, Nancy and Sukey. Timpoochy, the 
third son, had an Indian wife; he commanded the Uchees in Gen. Floyd's 
night fight, and was as lionhearted as Gen. Zachary Taylor. Cuseene, the 
fourth son, had an Indian wife, and emigrated to Arkansas; Michy, the 
fifth son, a fine soldier, got drunk one night at his camp and was burned 
to death; Buck, the youngest, was a smart half breed; he packed horses for 
me while I was assisting Gen. Watson in running the line between Georgia 
and Florida; he was murdered not far from Sand Fort by an Indian. Polly, 
his oldest daughter, married Joe Marshall. She was killed by a horse. The 
only son she had by Marshall was John, who commanded the five Indians that 
burned the last stages and killed Hammel and Lucky in Russell county, in 
1836. The next daughter was Matoya, a very pretty woman; she died single, 
but was courted by Daniel McGee, of old Hartford, Ga.

The next important trader was Laughlin McGillivray. I have given you an 
account of him before. Daniel McDonald, who was the principal pack-horse 
man for McGillivray, assumed the name of Daniel McGillivray, and got 
considerable property by it. McDonald was the father of Bit-nose Billy 
McGillivray, as he has been called and known by many.

James McQueen was the first white man I ever heard of being among the 
Creeks. He was born in 1683 -- went into the Nation in 1716, and died in 
1811. He married a Tallassee woman. The Tallassees then occupied a portion 
of Talladega county. In 1756 he moved the Tallassees down opposite 
Tuckabatchy, and settled the Netches under the chief Chenubby and Dixon 
Moniac, a Hollander, who was the father of Sam Moniac, at the Tallassee 
old fields, on the Tallasahatchy creek. McQueen settled himself on Line 
creek, in Montgomery county. I knew several of his children -- that is, 
his sons, Bob, Fullunny and Peter. Bob was a very old man when I first 
knew him. He and Fullunny had Indian wives. Peter, the youngest son, 
married Betsy Durant. They raised one son, James, and three daughters, 
Milly, Nancy and Tallassee. The Big Warrior's son, Yargee, had the three 
sisters for wives at the same time, and would have taken more half 
sisters. After Peter McQueen died, his widow returned from Florida and 
married Willy McQueen, the nephew of Peter, and raised two daughters, 
Sophia and Muscogee, and some two or three boys. Old James McQueen had a 
daughter named Ann, commonly called Nancy. He called her after the Queen 
of England, whose service he quit when he came into the Nation. Of late 
years it was hard to find a young Tallassee without some of the McQueen 
blood in his veins.

This daughter, Ann, raised a daughter by one Copinger, and called her 
Polly. She was the mother of Ussa Yoholo, or Black Drink -- but better 
known of late as Oceola -- who aided in the murder of my old countryman, 
General Thompson. And for the capture of Oceola, Gen. Thomas S. Jessup 
deserves as much credit as Peter Francisco would, had he flogged his grand-
mother. Oceola, as he was called, was born in Macon county, on the East 
side of Nafawpba creek, and not far from where the West Point Railroad 
crosses. If I ever return to Alabama, I will mark the spot for some one. 
His great grand-father, James McQueen, lies about a mile off, and on the 
West side of the creek.

The next traders I will introduce are Joe and Bob Cornells. Joe had a 
Tuckabatchy woman for a wife. Davy was the oldest; he was known to the 
Indians as the Dog Warrior, or Efaw Tustanugga. He was the father of the 
present speaker of the Upper Creeks, Hopoithle Yoholo, and another son, 
Miker. He [Davy Cornell] was a troublesome man, and was killed by one 
Harrison, while on a visit to Seagrove at Colerain, bearing a white flag.

George, the second son, raised two sons, Seechy and Dick. Seechy raised 
several children, sons and daughters; his daughter, Tomget, married a Mr. 
Spire M. Hagerty, and he fell heir to her property. Dick had several 
wives. He raised one daughter by his second cousin Sukey Cornells, named 
Hannah.

A man named Sam Jones took with him into the Nation from Fort Wilkinson a 
woman named Betsy Coulter; Jim Cornells swapped his niece, Polly Kean, 
with Jones, and took Betsy Coulter for a wife. She was the woman that 
Peter McQueen and Jim Boy captured and carried to Pensacola, and sold to 
Madame Barrone. Sam Jones married Polly Kean -- and in 1816, and near 
about the time that Col. Fisher and Jim Collier killed Bradberry, and Col. 
Joe Phillips killed Roberts, Jim CornelIs killed Sam Jones. Polly then 
married one-eyed Billy Oliver, an old countryman of mine. She was the 
daughter of Lucy Cornells, who was the daughter of old Joe. Her first 
husband was John Kean; she raised Polly, whom I have just mentioned, and 
one son, John. Kean died, and she married one Sam Smith, and raised one 
son, who was called Sam. He was wounded at Fort Mims, and made his escape. 
Old Smith quit Lucy, and she then married one Tooly. He was a blacksmith, 
and worked up the little swivel into bells which DeSoto left at Thlea 
Walla. Lucy had two daughters by Tooley, Judy and Mahaly; they were 
entirely too ugly to think of marrying. Tooly had two sons, Billy and 
Hiram, they went off among the whites. One of the Crawfords in Georgia 
partly raised Hiram; he returned to the Nation, and was killed by Pompey, 
a negro.

Vicey Cornells, the second daughter of Joe Cornells, married Alexander 
McGillivray; and after he died, she married Zach McGirth, and raised 
several daughters -- one married Vardy Jolly, one Ned James, one Aleck 
Moniac, one Bill Crabtree, and the youngest, Sarah, went to Arkansas.

I could give you more of this, but you live too near Montgomery to know it 
all.

Mrs. McGirth raised one son, called James, who was killed at Fort Mims, 
and she and her daughters were saved by Jim Boy. I lived long with them 
both; often have I heard them talk it over, when both were sure to get 
drunk, if whiskey could be had.

George Cornells, the son of Joe, raised several daughters; the old Mad-
Dog's son married one of them, and was the father of Capt. Walker's wife, 
Sappoya, and a boy, the great friend of Horse Shoe Ned, called Mungy. The 
young Dog Warrior was killed at Otisee in 1813. Col. Pickett calls him the 
Mad Dragon. Another of George's daughters married Billy McGirth; another 
the Little Doctor, and one called Big Lizzy married Mad Blue Bob Cornells, 
the brother of old Joe. I have mentioned in the sketches of Polly 
Perryman, the negress, that he was the father of Alexander Cornells, the 
interpreter. Alexander Cornells' wife was known as the Big Woman. She was 
the daughter of the old Mad-Dog by the mother of Tuskenea. The stock was 
good.

The Big Woman's first daughter, Anny, was not a Cornells; her father was 
Tom Low. Sukey was Alexander's first child by the Big Woman; she had her 
second cousin, Dick Cornells, for a husband. Charles was their oldest son, 
who hung himself in 1827 or 28. He had Peggy McGillivray for a wife, the 
daughter of Alexander McGillivray.

Hawkins CornelIs' wife was an Indian. He and Charles left several 
children. But long before Charles hung himself, his wife, Peggy 
McGillivray, died, and he married the widow of Bob Mosely; her name was 
Sumerly. She was a grand-daughter of old Sire McQueen. Bob Mosely was a 
white man, whom I mentioned to you before, in connection with John Ward.

Amy Low, the oldest daughter of Alexander Cornells' wife, had George 
Goodwin for a husband. Goodwin was the half brother of Jim Boy, and the 
man we picked up, with a few others, when we went to Moniac's cowpens in 
company with Col. Pickett and Mr. Compeer, about the Tuckabatchys being a 
Northern tribe and coming to the country after the Tallassees and others 
had settled it. Big Warrior was a man of great cunning, and there is but 
little sincerity in his pretended friendship for the whites. He was the 
father of Tuskenea, who was a much better man. Tuskenea's mother and the 
Big Woman's mother was the same woman. Old Mad-Dog, who in his time held 
the same rank as the Big Warrior, was the father of the Big Woman, and Big 
Warrior, was the father of Tuskenea, A brother of Tuskenea's mother, the 
oldest man I ever saw, fought with the French against Braddock..James 
McQueen sent him with a party of Creeks to war with the English.

In the revolution there never was a Tallassee or a Netches known to take 
up arms against the colonies; that was the influence of McQueen and Dick 
Moniac, the Hollander. Nat Collins and myself located this old Indian upon 
his land; I forget his Indian name, but be was called Billy by the whites. 
He died in 1836.

Col. Pickett speaks of knowing Menauway, the leader at Horse Shoe. The 
Colonel or myself one is mistaken. I have known Menauway since 1809; the 
first time that I ever saw him was at Booth's Indian store, on the 
Ocmulga, in 1809; he was there in company with Sam Dale and Harrison 
Young, the brother of Simon Suggs. I recollect that Young and Menauway 
were just getting over the small pox; they had both had the disease at 
Menauway's house at Ocfuskce. It was at that time that Dale and Webb laid 
the foundation for the fist fight at Clinton, which I was telling you 
about.

Meanuway told me the way he escaped at Horse Shoe. He was badly wounded, 
and discovered that the whites and friendly Indians paid but little 
attention to dead women; he got some women's clothes, put them on, dragged 
two or three dead women together, and lay between them until night, and 
then escaped. I reckon the cow story was like the hog-skin at Talladega -- 
all a hoax.

The Colonel says hundreds of Indians used to visit his father's store. He 
is mistaken; there were some Indians, but many of them were white men from 
Col. Rose's neighborhood, Matthew Duncan, and others. I knew the place 
long before the Colonel's father settled it, and long after; he sold it to 
that miser, John Crayon; but he could not help being a miser.

I will send you some Georgia and S. Carolina sketches before long, and you 
can then account for Crayon's being a miser.

Respectfully,
T.S.W.



WHEELING, WINN PARISH, LA.
November 27th, 1858.
To J.J. HOOPER, Esq:
Dear Sir: My health has been bad of late -- so much so, that I have been 
unable to write. I sent you a few days back a little document containing 
some corrections of errors in my printed letters. You will find that in 
the hand-writing of my son, Thomas, and I believe without date.
Your paper makes its appearance occasionally, and I find many good things 
in it, besides much useful information. But I am truly sorry to find it 
the messenger of so much sad intelligence. I learn from it, that my old 
acquaintances, (and I think they were my friends,) Col. A.J. Pickett, Ex-
Governor Bagby, and Col. Charles McLemore are no more.

Col. Pickett I knew when a small boy, at the time when his father 
emigrated to Alabama, I think in 1818. I was then in the prime of manhood. 
Col. Wm. R. Pickett settled in Autauga county, near Hayne's Bluff -- the 
bluff taking its name from its original owner, Col. Arthur P. Hayne. That 
portion of country between Autauga creek and the mouth of Coosa river, 
just before, and at the time, and a little while after Col. Win. R. 
Pickett settled in Alabama, was occupied by more intelligent, sensible, 
practical, and I may say talented men, (not to be professional men,) than 
any portion of South Alabama which I was acquainted with. Among them was 
Dr. Bibb, the first man I ever heard make a political speech. I think it 
was in 1804, at Elbert Court House, Ga. I was too young to understand 
anything of politics at that time; but I remember hearing the speech and 
recollect the man, and knew him from then until his death.

I also recollect that at the same time Bibb's step-father, William 
Barnett, made a short speech. They were both Senators in Congress after 
that, and I think at the same time.

Boling Hall was one among many other intelligent men who settled in 
Autauga county at an early day.

There was also Phillips Fitzpatrick, one of the earliest settlers of 
Autauga; and if being raised on the frontiers of Georgia at an early day 
had deprived him of an education, he was certainly under as many 
obligations to his maker for native intellect as any man I have known, 
living or dead.

You will discover from what I have written, that I differ from Col. A.J. 
Pickett in some things relative to the early history of Alabama, and more 
particularly that of the Creek Indians. Notwithstanding I have differed 
from him as to history, I agree with all who knew him, that he was a high-
toned gentleman, and his loss is much to be lamented. Col. Pickett 
possessed to a great degree a trait that is seldom, if ever, possessed by 
any but the best of men -- that is, too great confidence in the honesty of 
mankind. That no doubt has been the cause of some things appearing in his 
history which a few of us old ones know to be incorrect. He has lived to 
inform himself, and to instruct his fellow man, and never (as I have 
heard) engaged in the political broils and troubles that have agitated the 
country in his time. That of itself is enough to make his memory revered 
by all who knew him.

My acquaintance with Governor Bagby commenced, I think, in 1819. In that 
year and the year after, I had business that called me to Claiborne 
frequently, and on one of my stays at that place, I was introduced to Mr. 
Bagby by a lady acquaintance of mine, a Miss Emily Steel. She afterwards 
married Mr. Bagby. In June, 1820, I, in company with an Englishman by the 
name of William N. Thompson, visited Claiborne. Thompson was going to 
Mobile on horse-back, and I remained at Claiborne until he returned; I 
spent much of that time in company with Governor Bagby. About the time 
Thompson returned to Claiborne, a steamboat called the Cotton Plant, I 
think, made its appearance at the lower landing. The Captain gave a 
general invitation to the citizens of Claiborne to attend a party on board 
the boat. I, with many others, both male and female, attended the party. 
We danced on the hurricane deck. The fiddler was one Tom Paxton, who 
played for me when I taught the first dancing school that was ever taught 
in Montgomery county. It was at the house of one Isaac Lansdale, near the 
mouth of Catoma Creek. Capt. John Martin was one of my pupils. The party 
closed on the boat, and all hands returned to town. I put up at a house 
kept by John M. Flynn. Gert. Sam Dale was my room-mate. The Englishman, 
Thompson, also boarded with Flynn. Bagby boarded at a house kept by three 
brothers, all gamblers -- John, Henry, and Robert Carter. Bagby invited 
Dale, Thompson, and myself to supper at the Carter house one night. After 
supper, it was proposed to have some speaking or debating on the propriety 
of Congress calling Gen. Jackson's conduct in question for his march into 
Florida a year or two before that. One Laurence Wood was called to the 
Chair, and Bagby made the first speech, one of the finest I think I ever 
heard from so young a man, or I may say boy -- for he was not grown, and 
wore a very boyish appearance. There was one James Pickens who made the 
next speech, He took the same ground that Bagby had taken pretty much; 
justifying Jackson's course, under the circumstances; and also contended 
that our relations with Spain made it necessary for Congress to do 
something, or at least say something, in order to appease Spain. Bagby 
seemed well pleased with Pickens' speech, which was delivered in fine 
style, and showed much good sense on the part of the speaker.

The next thing in order was to drink some liquor, and while drinking, a 
man by the name of Burwell Brewer made some uncalled for, as well as 
unbecoming remarks about Henry Clay, of Kentucky, and Tom Cobb, of Ga. 
Brewer's remarks offended Bagby, he [Bagby] being a great admirer of Mr. 
Clay. He swore the speaking should stop, and mounted upon the speaker's, 
or chairman's table with decanter in one hand and a tumbler in the other; 
he was ordered down, but he threw the decanter at one man and the tumbler 
at another, and a fight ensued in which Bagby seemed to have but few 
friends. I, with the leg of a small table, succeeded in warding off 
several severe blows that Bagby would have received, as well as cuts from 
knives, which were made at him. Dale, who was out when the fight 
commenced, hearing the noise, ran in, in company with three others, Flynn, 
Reading and Hailstock. With their assistance we got Bagby out of the 
house, and carried him to Flynn's.

By some means, or from some cause, angry words passed between Flynn and 
Reading, and not long after that, Reading killed Flynn. But for the very 
determined resolution of Dale, I think Bagby would have been killed that 
night; for there were some very determined men among those who were 
opposed to him -- among them, I understood, was the man Pickens above 
alluded to. He was a stranger to me; but I learned he would not give an 
insult, nor was he ever known to receive one and let it go unpunished.

Ever after that, when I met with Arthur P. Bagby, he would express great 
friendship for me. While the seat of government was kept at Cahawba, I 
resided near Selma; and during one session of the Legislature, the 
Englishman, Thompson, called at my house and I accompanied him to Cahawba. 
While there, we met with Bagby; he invited us to his room, which was at 
Davy White's hotel. On our entering the room, we met with Sam Dale, Nick 
Davis from Limestone, James Jackson, from Lauderdale, Matt Clay, I think 
from Madison, Phil. Fitzpatrick, from Autauga, Jew Davis, from Mobile, 
better known as "the original George." Liquor, anecdotes, songs and loud 
laughter went round until late at night -- all hands as happy as they 
would have been at a camp-meeting. The show was about closing, and all in 
fine spirits and the best of humors, when Phil. Fitzpatrick unfortunately 
wanted a little more fun, and whispered to Dale that he did not understand 
some remarks which had been made by some of the gentlemen present, and 
that he [Dale] ought to have the matter explained; and for all Dale had 
known Phil. from his childhood, and had witnessed many of his tricks, 
there was too much liquor aboard for good judgment to have its sway. Dale 
rose up, closed the door, and swore no man should leave the room until an 
explanation was made, and that it should be made very promptly, or he 
would frail the last man in the room. The rest being pretty much in Dale's 
fix, did not know what to say. Clay said that he would quit the room; Dale 
stood at the door and demanded an explanation; from that their coats were 
thrown off, and we were about to have another Claiborne affair of it, when 
Phil. spoke to Dale and told him that he had fallen on a plan to have the 
matter settled and that he [Dale] had more courage than any one of the 
crowd, and was obliged to quit winner. That satisfied Dale, and the show 
closed. The next morning it was like an Indian quarrel -- all charged to 
whiskey.

For the last eight or ten years of my stay in Alabama, I do not recollect 
to have seen Gov. Bagby but once. In June, 1840, I had a son at school in 
Tuscaloosa, and there was to be a Whig convention there. I concluded to 
visit both; and on my route to Tuscaloosa, at a place in Autauga county, I 
fell in with the Englishman, Thompson, -- and here let me remark, that he 
was a man of fine intelligence. I had then known him twenty years; our 
first acquaintance was near a place then known as Dardenoil, now called by 
many Dardanell; it is in Arkansas. He and myself traveled together to 
Tuscaloosa. My health was not good, and on my arrival at Tuscaloosa I 
found my son sick; so, I could not hear all the speaking. But on the day 
that Judge Hopkins was to speak, I, with my friend Thompson, went to the 
log cabin. Hopkins spoke. I heard many speeches in 1840, made by good 
speakers; I heard Mr. Hilliard in his best days; I heard Dixon H. Lewis, 
at Clayton, in Barbour county; I heard Judge Berrien and Mr. Preston, at 
Macon, Ga., besides hundreds of the little short stock, who deal alone on 
borrowed capital, and are often very profuse with it; but none did I hear 
that surpassed Judge Hopkins, if, indeed, any equalled him. If there could 
have been the smallest particle of modesty squeezed into the most noisy 
demagogue, and he forced to have heard that speech, he would have hung his 
head at hearing so many truths, and they uttered in a manner that the most 
common capacity could understand them and know their importance.

After the Judge closed, and Mr. Morrisett, from Monroe county, -- who had 
been a soldier under Gen. Harrison -- made a few remarks, Thompson and 
myself left for our rooms. On our way, in front of Duffie's hotel, some 
one called me; I turned, and found it was Gov. Bagby. He seemed glad to 
see me, and remarked -- "You and the Englishman still travel together; 
now, if you had Dale, the crowd would be complete." He then asked me if I 
was a Whig. I answered him, "if there was a better one on earth than 
myself, it was only because he had more sense." He then made the same 
inquiry of Thompson, if he was a Whig. Thompson said he was. The Governor 
then asked us if we were not wrong. I replied to him, "Governor, you 
perhaps can judge better of that yourself, as you have been on all sides." 
He reddened a little in the face, and remarked to Thompson: "You know, 
Thompson, that Tom Woodward and Sam Dale are privileged men with me."

That was the last time I ever saw Governor Bagby. He was a man of fine 
sense and good heart. It was often said of him, that he was a bad manager 
in money matters, and did not accumulate wealth. But he could have done 
so, no doubt, had he wished it at any time; though, like a man of sense, 
he chose to live well on what he made, and never, like many others, cared 
to have large sums lying by him, merely to hear fools say that he had it. 
Vacancies which occur by the death of such men as Arthur P. Bagby, are not 
so easily filled in Alabama or elsewhere, in the present day; and the 
people of Alabama, as well as many other States, seem to have foreknown 
this for some time back, and have accustomed themselves to putting men of 
much less calibre in the highest places. Like the Atlantic Cable, such 
will make a show, and do to talk about; but, when thoroughly tried, the 
system will not be found to work well.

Now for my friend, Col. Chas. McLemore. The Chambers Tribune speaks 
nothing but the truth, when it says, "he was no ordinary man;" and if 
Chambers has not been left an orphan, the orphan's friend has left 
Chambers. I knew him when he was a little boy; his father died when he 
[Charles] was very young, leaving him and another, Frank, to make their 
way through the world as best they could.

Charles McLemore was most emphatically what the world terms a self-made 
man. He was endowed by nature with a fine intellect, and with that great 
share of moral honesty which has marked all of his family whom I have 
known, (and I have known many of them.) He raised himself to what you have 
seen and know of him. I am unable to say anything that could raise Charley 
McLemore any higher in the estimation of those who knew him, than the 
position he occupied at his death. When I left Georgia, and made Alabama 
my home, Charley was a little boy; I think he then lived in Jones county. 
Some twelve years afterwards, I met an intelligent young man at an Indian 
Council at Oweatumpka-chee, or Falls of Little Uchee Creek, (where my old 
friend and camp-mate, Col. Henry Moffett, afterwards erected some mills.) 
This young man was Charles McLemore. I there renewed my acquaintance with 
him. What I am now going to relate will be remembered by many now living. 
The Council was in the fall of 1832. Some Cherokees had been invited or 
requested by the whites to attend the Council, in order to encourage the 
Creeks to emigrate. Among the Cherokees were old Ridge, and his son, John 
Ridge, (who has been killed since by the Ross family in Arkansas,) Davy 
Van, and others. The Creeks were soured, and I knew it -- for I lived 
within two miles of the head chief, and knew his feelings, and 
communicated them to Col. Crowell. He soon discovered the great 
disinclination the chiefs had to going into Council, and used every 
exertion to prevent liquor being brought into camp. But by some means, 
some negroes belonging to a half breed, Joe Marshall, got some whiskey 
into camp. There was an order for it to be destroyed, and the whiskey was 
poured out on the ground, which seemed not to suit the tastes of some 
whites as well as Indians. It appeared that a white man had hired the 
negroes to carry the whiskey to camp, and it was proposed to flog the 
negroes; but Marshall objected, stating that the white men were to blame. 
A general fight commenced with the Indians themselves, and a great many 
whites left the camp, not knowing but that a general massacre was to take 
place. Marshall's party was the weakest, and seemed to be giving way. I 
remarked to McLemore, who was standing by me, that Marshall was a good 
man, and had been a great friend to the whites in the Creek war, and that 
I disliked to see him backed out; that was enough -- Charley walked into 
the thickest of it, among knives, clubs, and everything else. Wherever he 
went, he opened their ranks, and Marshall soon quit winner. That was 
Charles McLemore. I have seen some trouble, and think I know something of 
men; but there is not one in a hundred who would have risked so much and 
showed the daring that McLemore did that night, and under such 
circumstances. Peace to the good and brave.


Yours, &c.,
T.S.W.