Woodward's Reminiscenses - Part 6



WHEELING, WINN PARISH, LA.
December 20, 1858.
J.J. HOOPER, Esq.
Dear Sir: -- A few days back I wrote you a letter, in which I promised, as 
early as possible, to give you a little sketch of my family, my age, and 
also the little wars that I was engaged in in my younger days. My name is 
not as common as Smith, but it is to be met with in all the States of this 
Union, as well as in many parts of Europe. Whether the name is Norman, 
Saxon, or German, originally, I do not know. But the name seems to have 
been derived from the occupation followed by those who bore it, at an 
early day. Woodward, one who protects the forest. My early ancestors of 
the name came from England, and settled in Maryland, under George 
Calverton, Baron of Baltimore. And near Annapolis, my great grandfather, 
Thomas Woodward, was born, and raised in Maryland. He raised a family of 
children by a first wife -- she died, and he went into Fairfax county, 
Virginia, and married my great grandmother, Elizabeth Simpson, the 
descendant of a Scotch family -- and Simpson is my middle name. Thomas 
Woodward and Elizabeth Simpson had one son, and called him Thomas, who was 
my grandfather. The old man returned to Maryland to move his other 
children to Virginia; he died on his visit to Maryland, and never 
returned, nor did his Maryland children ever get to Fairfax, but some 
years after their father's death, some of them went to Dinwiddy county, 
Virginia, and some to North Carolina; the North Carolina branch of the 
family has lost one letter in the name -- they spell the name with one W, 
instead of two. I could name many of the older ones of most of the 
branches of the family, but it would take up too much time, as well as 
room, for a paper of this sort. My great grandmother remained a widow for 
some years, when she married a man by the name of Robinson, and raised two 
sons, William and John, both of whom I have seen, as well as their mother. 
My mother carried me and my sister to South Carolina when we were small 
children; the old lady was then living, and from what I have learned 
since, she was then about 112 years of age -- she died two years after. It 
has been said that Robinson neglected my grandfather's education, and he 
was suffered to grow up very much in the way that one of his grand sons 
has since. At an early age he showed some inclination to become a soldier, 
and was in the French war, and a part of the time with Gen. Washington, 
who was then a Major or a Colonel. My grandfather was a Captain in that 
service, and was a much older man than Gen. Washington, and from what I 
have been able to learn from Parson Weems and others, the old man was 
looked upon as a good fighter. He married at an early age, a woman by the 
name of Jemima Collins, and they had four daughters and two sons, John and 
William. His wife died while he was in the service. At the close of the 
French war he was ordered on the frontier of South Carolina, leaving his 
children in Virginia. While in South Carolina, he became acquainted with 
my grandmother, who was his second wife. And it is the blood of that 
grandmother which courses through my veins, that in early life tempted me 
to quit what the world terms civilized and christian man.
I will now give you as accurately as I can the true history of that branch 
of my family. At the very earliest settlement of South Carolina by 
Europeans, and at the time those tribes of Indians that inhabited the 
lower parts of the Carolinas and Georgia, viz: the Sowanokas, Uchees, 
Yemacraws and others, a European, either of French or Spanish origin, by 
the names of Silves, (I think the name was originally spelled Silvester, 
but pronounced Silves,) came to Beaufort, S.C., took an Indian woman for a 
wife, and raised a family of children. About the time Silves's eldest 
daughter arrived to womanhood, an Englishman by the name of Thomas Stokes 
came to the country and turned Indian trader. Stokes took the daughter of 
Silves for a wife, and raised four children by her, two sons and two 
daughters, and one of them was my grandmother -- her name was Elizabeth. 
She married one John May. The other daughter, whose name I have forgotten, 
(though I was much better acquainted with her than I was with my 
grandmother,) married a man by the name of Joiner.

The two sons were Thomas and Silvester. They were both Whigs in the 
American Revolution, and in a skirmish with some British and Tories, at 
the old ridge, not far from the line of Edgefield and Lexington Districts, 
S. C, they were both badly wounded, and escaped at the time, but were 
necessarily forced, from their wounds, to go to a settlement to have them 
dressed. They were betrayed and taken prisoners by the British, and if not 
hanged at the same time with Col. Haynes, they were just before or after.

My grandmother raised three children by John May, two sons and a daughter, 
when May died. She then married my grandfather, and settled in the 
Fairfield District -- they raised three sons and three daughters -- my 
father was the oldest of the young set of children. My grandfather, after 
marrying my grandmother, moved his mother and two half brothers from 
Virginia to South Carolina. When the Revolution commenced, he raised among 
the first companies, if not the first, that was raised in South Carolina. 
He was killed on Dutchman's Creek, in a fight with the British and Tories, 
on the 12th of May, 1779. My half uncle, Ben. May, took command of his 
company. My half uncle, John Woodward, raised another company. My father, 
who was rather young at the commencement of the war to take the field, 
after his father was killed entered the service -- his two own brothers 
being too young.

As many of the children and grand children of these men are now living, 
and know but little of the old stock, I will here give a list of the names 
of my father's family that served in the Revolution, and to a man I 
believe, were at the battle of Eutaw, except my grandfather and two grand 
uncles, Tom and Sil. Stokes, who were then dead.

My two half uncles, John and William Woodward; my half uncle, Ben. May -- 
(my half uncle, Tom May, was a cripple, and never served.) Now for the son-
in-laws, or those that married my aunts. The oldest first: James Nelson, 
Phillip Raiford, Robert Rabb, James Andrews, Phillip Riley, William 
McMorris, William J. Augustin, Reeves Freeman, and Thomas Woodward, who 
was the youngest of the crowd, and my father. I have seen many of my 
grandfather's old company; they were said to be good fighters. But I have 
heard the old ones say that my uncle Ben. May and uncle William Woodward 
were looked on as being the most daring men of that day.

My uncle William Woodward represented Fairfield District in Congress for 
several years, and the same District has been represented by his son 
Joseph, since, and it is his son William that represents Sumter county, in 
the Alabama Legislature. My mother was a Howard; her father was Nehemiah 
Howard, a Virginian by birth, and of an English family. My grandmother 
Howard was Edith Smith, and descended from a Welch family; it is said her 
father settled Smithfield, on Neuse River, in Johnson county, North 
Carolina. My grandmother Howard died in Milledgeville, Ga., very near one 
hundred years of age. I remember to have seen her mother when I was a 
small boy; it was said she was over a hundred years old; she was then a 
widow Edmonson. There were nine brothers of the Howard family, and five 
sisters; they all lived to be grown and raise a family of children, except 
three -- two uncles, one of whom was killed by a horse, and the other was 
drowned. My youngest aunt of that family was accidentally burned to death. 
My mother was the ninth child, and the first of the family that died a 
natural death. Maj. James Howard, late of Macon county, Alabama, was the 
next child to my mother, and was the last of the fourteen children to die, 
which was some two or three years back.

I think I have wrote enough to satisfy you that I have had, and yet have, 
some relations, though I seldom see any of them; the balance I write now 
will be little things pertaining pretty much to myself.

Not long after the close of the Revolution, my father left Fairfield 
District, S.C., and went into Union District, and taught school; several 
of the Howard family went to the school; among them was my mother, and the 
children younger than herself. The school continued for some ten years, 
and at the close of the school my father gave my grandfather Howard to 
understand that he wished to marry his daughter Mary. It was objected to 
by the whole Howard family, except John and Ben. Howard. My father 
returned to Fairfield, and my grandfather Howard moved to Georgia. My 
grandfather Woodward had a large property in land and negroes for the time 
in which he lived, and after his death and the close of the war, the heirs 
set about a division. There was soon a split between the white and Indian 
children. My father took a few negroes and left for the Cherokee nation. 
On his route he called at my grandfather Howard's who had then settled in 
what is now called Elbert county, Georgia, and within six miles of the 
head of' Savannah River. My father tried a second time to get the consent 
of my grandfather, and through the influence of the two brothers, John and 
Ben, the matter was arranged. My father settled on Savannah River, between 
the mouths of two creeks, Lightwood Log and Powder Log, and in Elbert 
county. There had been at a very early day a stockade fort erected at the 
place by Gen. Perkins and Col. Cleveland -- it was at the old Cherokee 
crossing, when that tribe was in the habit of trading to Ninety-Six, (96) 
or Cambridge, as it is now called. This old work stood near what was known 
in my time as Shockley's Ferry -- the block-houses had been converted into 
dwelling houses -- in fact, they had been put up first as dwelling houses 
and picketed in. In one of these houses I was born; an old lady by the 
name of Black was present -- I have made mention of her before. I was born 
between the 22d of February, 1794, and the 22d of Feb., 1797, but it is 
impossible for me to know which, as there have been so many conflicting 
statements about it, for I rely nothing on any record that I have seen, 
and if I am to judge from what I can recollect of my father (who died in 
March, 1800) and other things, I am satisfied that I will be sixty-five 
years of age on the 22d February next. I do not claim to be born on that 
day, because the greatest man that our country ever had happened to be 
born on that day. All the old ones that I have talked to agree as to the 
day and month, but many of them differ as to the year. But there is one 
thing sure, I was born at some time and at some place, and if I don't find 
some time and place to die at, before a great while, it may be looked upon 
as a miracle.

I entered the army on the first day of July, 1812, and accompanied Gen. 
Daniel Newnan to East Florida. I was in no fight in that expedition. I was 
at Kingsley's house, and in sight of Capt. Cone and his men when they had 
a little skirmish with the Indians, and Capt. Farren was killed. I went 
with some other militia under Tom Rix, to take a look at the castle of St. 
Augustine. We were taken for Cone's patriots, and were fired upon. If ever 
I see you, I will tell you an amusing story about that affair, but it 
would be too long here. I camped one night at Twelve Mile Swamp, with 
Sergeant McIntosh, and others, when the Indians or Spaniards fired a few 
guns at the camp, and made us leave. Some month or two after that, Dr. 
Fort, of Milledgeville, Georgia -- who was a Captain at that time -- and a 
Capt. Williams, of the Marines, camped at the same place. They were 
attacked by a large party of Indians and Spaniards, and had a severe 
fight, and lost several men. Fort and Williams were both wounded; Williams 
died of his wounds, and Fort, if living, will be a cripple for life. As to 
the fighting, I done but little and saw less; but if it was foot-racing, 
wrestling, swimming, and the like, I was among the foremost.

At the close of that expedition I returned to Milledgeville, half naked, 
half starved, and the ague and fever every other day. On my route home, I 
recollect to have met with Seaborn Jones, Beckney Franklin, (the Solicitor 
for that circuit,) Peter Easly, (he was Judge,) a Mr. Sawyer, Hiram 
Stores, Tom Fitch, Stephen W. Harris, (the father of Wat. and Sampson) -- 
all lawyers. I gave Jones the only trophy I had taken, in the war -- it 
was a walking stick taken from the palmtree -- so you see I have borne off 
a palm in time of war, but never have been in a Legislature or Congress 
like some, who have borne off perhaps less than a palm. My service was in 
1813-14, under Gen. Floyd. I was in his night-fight, as it was called at 
Caleebe Creek -- I know as much about that fight an any man living or 
dead. Barney Riley, a half breed, that killed John Lucas, and myself 
accompanied Captain Harvey one night from Fort Hall to Milly's Creek, just 
above the Federal Crossing, and took the wife of Ben. Moseley from the 
hostile Indians -- killed three and crippled a few more. This trip to 
Milly's Creek was in February, 1814; the Caleebe fight was on the 27th 
Jan., 1814. The army returned home, and I remained, as I have before 
informed you, to take charge of Fort Hull.

After I returned from Fort Hawkins with Col. Milton's horse, as I 
mentioned to you before, I remained altogether with the Indians, until the 
last of April or first of May; I then went to Georgia, remained a few 
weeks, and returned to the Nation, and spent most of the summer among the 
Indians. Some times I have been fired on by out-lying Indians-and some 
would have called them fights if they could have been got into the 
newspapers, before they got cold. That fall a call was made for troops to 
go to the City of Savannah. Capt. Horton, who commanded the Baldwin 
company, requested me to go with him as a kind of drill-master -- not to 
go as a soldier in the service, but merely as a follower of the army -- 
and that himself and officers would support me and give me soldier's pay 
themselves, as I would be entitled to none from the government. I declined 
the offer, but I met with a man by the name of Tom Cothron, who had just 
been in the State long enough to stand a draft, and it had fallen to his 
lot to take the field. He was somewhat afraid to risk his health in the 
winter season at Savannah, and wanted a substitute. He found a man that 
agreed to take his place for fifty dollars, but Capt. Horton would not 
take him. Tom Cothran was the stingiest man I ever knew, except Judge 
Smith and John Crayon. I promised Cothron to take his place for one 
hundred dollars, and he was to consider himself dead in the eye of the law 
should I be killed. The trade was made and in I went. Militiamen, with a 
hundred dollars in their pockets, did not go in gangs in them days.

We reached Camp Covington -- the Captain allowed me all the privileges 
that he dared to. I was soon detailed for a teamster, and it was not long 
before I was as well acquainted with Savannah and its inhabitants (the 
better classes excepted) as any one belonging to the army. I had a very 
fine suit of Indian fixins,' known to but few. There was a young man in 
Glasscock's company by the name of Augustus Parker, who had been raised 
among the Indians, and spoke the language much better than I could. There 
was a man in Horton's company by the name of Jacob Durden, a fine pensman, 
who wrote out a passport, and signed Col. Hawkins' name to it. With the 
aid of the Indian dress, Augustus Parker, and the forged passport, I 
imposed myself upon Gen. Floyd, and as many others as I chose to, and 
among them was Gen. Watson, my brother-in-law. I played it off upon the 
citizens of Savannah until I got tired. A great many of the tricks would 
have amused you, could you have witnessed them at the time. I was well 
acquainted with most of the officers and men that belonged to that army. 
It so happened that some of the officers of .the army got to visiting a 
circus that was in the city, and had once or twice got into some little 
troubles with some naval officers, and a knock down or two had taken 
place, all being dressed in citizen clothes. A Major Mitchell, and some 
other officers proposed to take me along one night and pay my way to the 
circus, and if anything like a knock down took place, I was to lend a 
hand. I went, and after the show was over, all hands went to a drinking 
house, or grocery. We had not been there long before a dispute arose 
between the landsmen and seaman. The signal was given, and I let in on the 
little tarry-trousered fellows, and it was not long before I received a 
blow on the side of the head with a stick, which put me to some trouble to 
know whether it was the grocery or myself that was knocked down. But I 
soon found out that it was myself that had lost my balance, and called for 
quarter. Seamen are much more generous in a matter of that sort than 
landsmen, and they hauled off, and when I come to look around, my crowd 
had left. The seamen asked me who I was and what I was. I made a fair 
statement of the whole matter. They said I was a pretty good fellow, but 
could not be let off until I would go to a tavern and take something to 
eat and drink with them. I consented, thinking to get a chance to leave 
them. The tavern, I think, was kept by one Shellman.

Not long after we reached the tavern, a man by the name of Campbell came 
in. I knew him; he had been a soldier in 1812, under Col. John Williams, 
from East Tennessee. He informed me that he was then a marine, and 
belonged to the sloop-ofwar Epervier, or El Epervier, and that much money 
was to be made by shipping on board of her. I soon found that some of 
those who had been in the frolic at the grocery were naval officers, for 
they would at times ask me if I knew the penalty for striking an officer. 
They soon found that I knew it was necessary for them to have worn some 
badge, so as to distinguish them from other persons. So they resorted to 
the liquor, and through that and Campbell, I suppose, I went on board. At 
all events, the firing of the morning gun at Fort Wayne waked me. I found 
myself roosting like a swallow, under deck, swung in a hammock; I guessed 
what had happened. I went on deck, and felt, as well as looked, pretty 
much like the fellow that took Aleck McDougald's tumbler.

The news came that the British were about to force their way by Tybee, and 
come to the city; they weighed anchor, took some soldiers from Yellow 
Barracks and Fort Wayne, and put down the river. The soldiers were put on 
shore at such places as they were needed. The Epervier was commanded by a 
Capt. Downs, who had been with Commodore Porter at Valparaiso, and he 
[Downs] had after that commanded the Essex, junior; the other officers on 
board that I became acquainted with were Lieuts. Shubrick and Stevens. The 
Epervier crowded sail and put to sea, as I thought. I seated myself on a 
gun in the stern of the sloop -- some called it the steam-chaser, others 
the long Tom.. But so it was, I sat on that gun and watched the land until 
it looked about as narrow as a little blue stripe in a home-made vest that 
I wore. It was not long before some fellow sung out in the tops, "a sail 
in sight." The Epervier soon tacked and put into Savannah. The sail that 
was seen was said to be a part of the British squadron under the command 
of Admiral Cogburn, or Cockrain, I forget which. I had been but a few days 
on board, and was extremely tired of a seaman's life.

By this time the news of peace had reached Savannah. I asked permission 0£ 
the Captain to go on shore and visit my friends at Camp Covington, which 
he refused. The sloop was lying not more than fifty yards from the shore, 
and I had not been on board long enough to lose my action, or get the 
sailor's rock; and it so happened that the Captain and Lieut. Shubrick 
went on shore in the yawl, and the Captain's gig, as it was called, was 
lashed up to the sides of the sloop. I watched my opportunity, took a 
running start, jumped upon the Long Tom, and from that I jumped over the 
bulwark into the river, and swam ashore. Those on the sloop hollowed to 
those on shore to stop me, but there happened to be a pile of staves close 
by, and I gathered one and forced my way through their ranks. One fellow, 
to be smart, followed me on horse back. I took him off, mounted the horse 
and rode him a few squares, tied him to a post and went into a hotel, kept 
by two ladies -- Mary Williams and Becky Blackstrap. They knew me, for it 
was at their house I had laid out the best part of Tom Cothron's hundred 
dollars. They died my clothes, and that night I went to Camp Covington, 
and put up with one William Rice, a very good man -- why I say he was a 
good man, I was with him several months in a militia camp, and he, like 
Elijah Moseley, would pray at night and fight in the day, if called 
upon -- he was a good friend to me, at all events, and was for years 
after; but when I rescued Henry Augustine, who was under guard for killing 
George Crookshank, I understood that Billy Rice became my enemy; but if he 
is living, and as good as I think he was, he no doubt has forgiven me long 
since. The last I heard of him he was a Methodist preacher, either in 
Autauga or Lowndes county.

I remained about Camp Covington until Gen. Watson could employ me a 
lawyer -- he employed a Mr. Pelote. I then started for the sloop, which 
had dropped down to Five Fathom, near Fort Jackson; I hailed her, and they 
asked what I wanted. I told them who I was, and they told me to come on 
board as I went on shore; the weather was cold, but I took the water and 
reached the vessel. The Captain asked me why I had acted so. I told him I 
was drunk when I shipped, and that I had asked his permission to go on 
shore, and he had refused me the privilege, and that I wished to see my 
friends before I left -- for it had already been understood that if peace 
was made with Great Britain, that the Epervier was to go up the 
Mediterranean with a fleet under Commodore Decatur. I was let off, and in 
a few hours two persons came along side -- one of them was the Sheriff of 
Chatham county, John B. Norris. Norris was after that Sheriff of Dallas 
county, Alabama, and perhaps a merchant in Claiborne and Mobile. He served 
a writ of habeas corpus on the Captain; I was taken to the city. I knew no 
one to give as security for my appearance at court, and of course I was 
put in prison. I then would have been glad to be back on the ship. I was 
put in a room with three others -- I shall recollect my room-mates as long 
as I live. There was one John Scales, and a man by the name of Phelps and 
Phillip Fitzpatrick. Scales and Phelps were charged with having sold beef 
to the British, while they lay off Sunberry. Fitzpatrick had killed a man 
by the name of McGraw, in Effingham county, and I for good behaviour.

The jailer, or manager of the prison, was named McCall, and I think once 
wrote a history of Georgia. He was a bad cripple, unable to walk, and had 
to go over the floor in a little wagon constructed for the purpose, and a 
big negro man to carry him from one floor to another. Though, let me 
finish with my room-mates -- Scales, Phelps and Fitzpatrick. They escaped 
from prison during my stay about the place. Scales I never heard of; 
Phelps I heard was killed years after about Vicksburg, Miss.; and 
Fitzpatrick I think was the man that aided Gen. Jessup in procuring the 
Cuba blood hounds, in 1836. I had not been in my room but a few hours 
before I recognized the sentinel who guarded the door, or who was on that 
walk. His name was James Collins; I had known him long and well. I 
requested him to see Maj. McCaIl, and say to him that if it would not be 
deviating too much from his established rules, that I would be glad to be 
taken to where I could see him, if he could not come to the cell. In a few 
moments a Mr. Hanglighter, the turn key, and two soldiers, came and 
conveyed me to Maj. McCall. I made a fair statement of my case, and 
informed him that my brother-in-law was a Quarter Master at Camp 
Covington, and that if he would permit me to write, I could give any 
security that would be asked. I by chance mentioned that John Howard, of 
Milledgeville, was my uncle. The old man told me it made no difference 
about the security; if I wished to go to Camp Covington, there was his 
carriage horse, take him and go. I went, and it was late at night when I 
returned to the prison. I was then permitted to room with Mr. Hanglighter. 
I had some money, and lived much better than I had been in the habit of, 
for some time.

There were a great many British prisoners of war, as well as lots of 
Spaniards, Portugese, St. Domingo Negroes, and a few Turks, or some other 
copper-colored fellows from the Northern shores of Africa. Had it not been 
for the name of being put in jail, I was well pleased with my stay. I was 
permitted to visit my first room-mates whenever I wished. Every day such 
as were not put in for capital offences were turned out into the parade 
ground, as they called it. It was a strong picketing, enclosing two or 
three acres, and guarded by soldiers. I was allowed to go to the city 
whenever I chose, and stay as long as I pleased.

I got my Indian dress from Camp Covington, and Gus. Parker and myself 
performed one day for the Major. I had a large butcher knife, and the 
Major allowed me to act the drunken Indian. I got into the parade ground 
with my knife, and commenced cutting capers, and Parker telling how 
destructive I was when drunk. The British, Spanish, negro and everything 
else, would give me as wide a walk as I wished.

Now for the trial -- it came off before Judge Berrien. While mixing about, 
I found a man who seemed to know my age better than I did myself, and all 
I had to prove was that I was not twenty-one years of age, to be 
discharged from the vessel on which I had shipped. The man that seemed to 
know my age was not a native of America, but looked old enough to have 
known Adam's age. He volunteered his services, and as the government had 
been receiving volunteers for some time past, I thought it well enough to 
take one into my service and drill him, and see what I could make of him. 
There was General Watson and a cousin of mine that could both say, from 
what they had understood, that my age was recorded some where as having 
been born on the 22d February, 1797 -- this was in March, 1815. I found 
that their testimony was not likely to do me any good. You know it has 
been said that volunteers are more reliable than drafted men. My volunteer 
came to the stand and made his statement. The Judge asked the witness some 
questions, as well as the counsel for Captain Downs. He answered them 
promptly, and to the purpose.

The Judge informed Capt. Downs that he should discharge me, unless he 
[Downs] could introduce testimony to set aside that of the witness who had 
just left the stand. Just as the Judge closed these remarks, the witness 
turned and said:

"Oh! may it please yer Honor, he may look all over old Ireland and Amaraky 
too, but he'Il never find the lad that will say black is my eye."

Capt. Downs looked at the witness a moment, and then observed: "No, nor 
never can I, or any one else, find a man that is a better master of his 
trade than yourself."

The witness then remarked: "Ah! captain, you are right! There's not a man 
that lives can bate me a ditching, age and inch me."

These last remarks of the witness even made the Captain laugh. I was 
discharged. If I ever see you, and you will call my attention to this 
subject, and to the visit I made with Tom Rix to St. Augustine, and your 
risibility has not entirely left you, I will obligate myself at least to 
make you smile.

After I was discharged, I offered the Captain the money I had received as 
bounty money, but he would not take it, and insisted on my going with him, 
which I declined, and we parted. I have seen Capt. Downs since, but 
Lieuts. Shubrick, Stevens, and all that I knew on board, were lost. I 
believe I did hear that a young man by the name of Edward Collier, from 
Augusta, Ga., who shipped as Master of Marines about the time I left the 
ship, also left her before she sailed from Savannah.

On the 15th day of July, 1815, the Epervier passed Gibraltar on her return 
to this country with dispatches from Commodore Decatur, and was commanded 
by Lieut. John Shubrick; that is the last satisfactory account that was 
ever heard of her; that is history. I have never let an opportunity escape 
to catch any thing that I thought would or could give the least clue to 
the destiny of that iII-fated vessel and crew.

After quitting the Epervier, and loitering about Savannah for a week or 
two, I returned to Milledgeville. I paid a visit to my relatives in South 
Carolina, and returned to Georgia and went into the Nation that same year; 
laid a claim at or near the old Mordecai place, and very near where old 
John Burch settled. After spending some month or six weeks with the 
Indians, and engaging some corn, I put out with two negroes for Alabama. 
On arriving at Line Creek, I learned from George Zimmerman or William 
Bagby that some one was on my claim. I concluded to locate among the 
Indians myself and send my negroes back, but had to carry them myself. I 
hired them to one James Mallett, for the year 1816; got two hundred 
dollars; put out next in company with Col. Turner Bynum and his son, Jesse 
A. Bynum, who since represented Halifax District, N.C., in Congress. I 
traveled with them to Tombecbee, or Bigby. The Indians stole our horses 
and hid them out, to get pay for bringing them in.

After Col. Bynum and his son left me I remained a week or two with an old 
North Carolina acquaintance, who was then living at Pine Jackson, a Dr. 
Neil Smith. From Pine Jackson I went to Madisonville, on Lake Ponchatrain, 
then to New Orleans. I there fell in with one Angus Gilchrist, and he and 
myself went to Nachadoches, Texas; there we found Edward McLauchlin, the 
best Indian interpreter I ever heard, except BiIIy Hamby. From Nachadoches 
we went everywhere. It would take one of John's kind of books to hold all 
that happened that year, so I will have to let that year's travel pass. 
Though it is not much trouble to say to you that I was long enough from 
home to get out of funds.

I returned to Georgia, and in November Gen. Clark and some other gentlemen 
employed me to go to St. Augustine after some negroes that had left them. 
I went to Camden county, and got a Captain Wm. Cone to go with me into 
Florida. I failed to get the negroes, but I saw Peter McQueen and Josiah 
Francis for the first time I had seen them for years, for it was before 
the war that I had seen them last. They were then trading at Fort Hawkins. 
They informed me that some of the negroes were on the Sawanee, at Bowlegs' 
Town. I returned to Milledgeville, remained a few days, went into the 
Creek Nation, and got a white man by the name of John Winslett, and we 
started for Sawanee. We got below Flint River, to Nehe Marthla's Town -- 
or Fort Town -- and found times a little too warm, and returned to 
Ochehaw, or Flint River. From there I went to Hartford, and Winslett to 
Chattahoochee.

Some time in January, 1817, I took a trip to North Carolina. I returned to 
Georgia in March, and was again prevailed upon to go to Florida for 
runaway negroes. I got a half-breed, named Laufauka -- better known to the 
whites as John Blount -- and an old Cusseta Indian named Tobler, who spoke 
fine English for an Indian -- we put out and reached Bowlegs' Town. 
Arburthnot had a store close by, and he informed me that he believed the 
negroes, or a part of them, were in the neighborhood, but that I would 
hazard too much in attempting to arrest them. I quit the place, and saw 
nothing more of it for over a year, at which time I helped to burn up the 
place. I spent pretty much of that summer in the settlements on the 
Alabama river, and among the Indians. I made me another claim on the 
Autauga side.

On my return to Georgia, in the latter part of the summer, General 
Mitchell, who was then the Indian Agent, informed me that he had just 
received a letter from Arburthnot, stating that the Florida Indians would 
do mischief, and that he [Mitchell] had better caution the travelers on 
the Military Road, as well as inform our Government of their intentions. 
It was done, and a call made for troops. Baldwin, Hancock, Washington, 
Putnam and Morgan counties, had to elect a Major. I offered my services -- 
my opponents were Capt. Joseph H. Howard, with whom I had served in two 
expeditions, and who was my Captain in both -- and Capt. John D. Broadnax, 
a very efficient officer, who had distinguished himself in Gen. Floyd's 
fights. But it so turned out that I got more votes than both of them. Gov. 
Rabun declared that he was gratified at my success, and would issue a 
commission forthwith, that I should have the title, if nothing else.

The troops were not ordered out immediately, and I was made Deputy Sheriff 
of the county, bought an interest with one John Jeter in a tavern, had an 
interest in a Faro-Bank, and many other things to attend to, too tedious 
to mention. All these things, with the aid of my two partners in business, 
broke me, and I had nothing left but a Major's commission to depend upon. 
Finally, the troops were ordered to rendezvous at Fort Hawkins -- I had 
nothing to do but leave a few debts unsettled, and put out. I happened to 
be the oldest Major, and there being no Colonel or Brigadier-General then 
at head-quarters, I took command of two Battalions of Infantry, and two 
Troops of Cavalry. Shortly afterwards, a Mr. Wimberly was. made Colonel, 
and Gen. Thomas Glasscock appointed to the command of the whole. The 
General and Colonel disagreed, and I associated mostly with a Capt. 
Melvin, who had command of a company of United States Artillery. There was 
little done except foot-racing, wrestling and drinking whisky, when we 
could get it. The troops never went more than forty miles beyond the line.

I will give you a few of the most remarkable occurrences that took place. 
We traveled one day until after two o'clock, in a very heavy rain. The 
cavalry was' some two miles in the rear; the General ordered the men to 
fire off their guns, wipe out and re-load. I asked him if it would not be 
best to notify the dragoons, for fear they might think we were attacked, 
and make an unnecessary forced march to come up. The General said he 
commanded, and it was none of my business. The firing commenced; some 
would re-load and fire; after a little we heard a roaring behind us, and 
here was Major Lewis and Capt. Glenn -- both uncles of Dixon H. Lewis -- 
and very large men, and Glenn looked almost as large as the horse he was 
riding -- and it was no pony, at that. They were both brave, and Glenn was 
a good fighter. I had seen him well tried at Caleebe Creek. Glenn did not 
care who commanded -- he spoke his mind very plainly. The next firing we 
had we were encamped in a little breast-work -- orders were issued for the 
sentinels to fire and run in, and a few in the line had private orders to 
fire their guns, in order to see how the men would stand it. It so 
happened that one of the sentinels did not receive the order, nor did he 
fire -- his name was Booth Fitzpatrick, an uncle to Senator Ben. 
Fitzpatrick -- and when the few in the lines commenced firing, all hands 
cut loose, and it was some time before a stop could be put to it. There 
were two cousins from Baldwin county, both very stout men and good 
soldiers -- James Aidridge and Alexander Chambliss. Aldridge was a very 
mischievous youngster, and loved fun. Chambliss was very hard of hearing, 
and after the firing ceased, Chambliss asked Aldridge: "Jim, did you 
shoot? ....Yes," says Aidridge, "I did; and did you not see the Indians? 
....No!" said Chambliss, "I did not shoot, nor did I see the first Indian."

After it was all over, Uncle Booth, as we all called him, came walking in, 
and said: "My sons, I think you are mistaken, for I have looked with all 
the eyes I have, and have not seen the first Indian; besides, my sons, you 
came very near shooting the old man, and if I had not placed a tree 
between you and me you would have done it."

The next thing worthy of notice, we left our ammunition at Blackshire's 
old breastworks, and marched some four or five miles and built a breast-
work. The ammunition was guarded by some eight or ten men. One night we 
heard some guns in the direction of the ammunition camp, and it fell to my 
lot, or at least I volunteered, to go and see what the firing meant. I 
took these same two cousins, and some others, and put out. When I reached 
the guard, they had put up a target, and had been shooting at it by fire-
light. So the General concluded that it would be easier to march back to 
the ammunition, than to remove it; so he did, and put up a little stockade-
work, and called it Fort Early.

The next thing to be mentioned is, there was an Indian Town, some eight or 
ten miles below, on the river, and on the opposite side from us. It was 
called Fulemmy's or Pinder-Town -- the Indians were Chehaws. An officer 
and some fifteen men went down to get some provisions, and while they were 
there a party of hostile Indians, sure enough, made their appearance in 
the neighborhood of the town. The officer was notified of it, and fixed 
himself for a fight. They had expected to stay all night at the town when 
they went, but a runner was sent to camp for a reinforcement. It was then 
night, and thought not expedient to march the men at that time; I took 
with me an Indian boy or man, whom we had as an interpreter -- one Abram 
Alfreend, and I think David Strother -- and went down with the intention 
of moving the men out in the night. The runner and myself crossed over in 
a canoe, and found all safe, and when I got things ready for re-crossing, 
the canoe was missing. If the two big cousins were not in that crowd, I 
had them with me the next day. The old Chief told me there was a place 
just below on the river where I could wade across, if there was no canoe. 
The men said they could defend themselves, if they were attacked. I took 
an Indian with me, put on a blanket, and tied before me like an apron a 
woman's petty coat, and under the blanket I carried a musket, and the 
Indian carried a water jug. In making our way to the ford, through some 
switch cane that small foot-path went through, at no great distance I 
heard a gun fire, and in my imagination I heard others cock. That was 
enough for me. I dropped the blanket and petty coats, as well as the gun. 
I took the water -- and whether I waded, swam or forded, I never stopped 
to enquire, but crossed in a hurry. It was but a little way to where I 
left Alfreend, the Indian, and the other man; we soon made our way to camp.

By the time it was light enough to travel, and see what was around us, we 
had a good force near the town. We crossed the men over, found the trail 
of the hostile Indians, and pursued them until late in the day -- they 
going towards the white settlements, and rather in the direction of our 
camp. We returned to camp that night, hungry, wet and cold. Maj. Morgan 
had been out that day with a party of men, and discovered their trail, and 
followed them until evening; he came in sight of their camp -- they had 
encamped on a little ridge of timber that was entirely surrounded by 
water, and within six miles of our camp. The troops were anxious to go 
that night and surround the camp, but it was objected to; the next morning 
one of the friendly Indians whom I had left to follow the trail, came in 
and said they had left, and had gone in the direction of Hartford. An 
officer and some men were despatched to meet some provision wagons and let 
them know that there was danger to be apprehended. The wagons were met -- 
a Maj. Franklin Heard had charge of the guard. They reached Cedar Creek 
within four miles or less of our camp, and two men, Tom Lee and Sam 
Loftis, went into the creek, and had nearly crossed, when they were fired 
upon and killed. They cut Lee's head off, and scalped Loftis. The same 
man, Strother, whom I had with me a night or two before, was along when 
the men were killed, and brought the news to the camp.

Just before we learned that Lee and Loftis were killed a man named Keith 
had come through alone from Fort Gaines; he had travelled of nights, and 
wanted some assistance, as there were a great many women and children 
unprotected in the Fort. I volunteered to go, and my battalion was willing 
to go also, but was not allowed. I then proposed that if the General would 
issue an order for me to take the command at Fort Gaines, I would go 
alone, with the scout, Keith. This he would not do, but said that if I 
could get thirty men, I might have that number. I made a call, and got 
nineteen men -- myself, Keith, and Indian Bill, (the same man that saved 
Gen. Gaines' life when his boat was wrecked,) making twenty-two.

As soon as they brought in Lee without his head, and Loftis scalped, we 
took a look and started that night. I crossed the river, went to Chehaw, 
on Kitchafoony Creek, got fourteen Indian warriors, and left next morning. 
I wanted, if possible, to cross before night, the Echowagnotchy Creek, 
which was very large and very full, and a large swamp on both sides. 
Between sunset and dark we entered the swamp. We had not gone far before 
we discovered some dozen pairs of Indian leggins, hung up to dry. We made 
our way to the run of the creek, and cut down a large hollow gum for the 
men to cross upon, but when it fell, it went so deep into the water that 
we could not use it, and we had to return back to high land and camp. 
Fortunately, we found a little wet-weather spring near the top of the most 
elevated point that we could find, and a number of dead pines that had 
fallen. We soon built a breast-work, and took our horses in, (there were 
but four) -- and we concluded that if the worst came to the worst, as the 
saying is, we would try horse flesh. I sIept very little that night. The 
old Chief whom I had along with me said he knew a better and safer 
crossing place. Just before day we built up large fires, and left for the 
new crossing, which was about three miles. We crossed quite handy, and had 
to turn up the creek to get to our trail. A little after day we heard a 
number of guns fire in the direction of our camp -- we made a forced march 
that day. We frequently, through the day, could see one or two Indians, 
who would keep at a distance from us. That night, about nine o'clock, we 
came in the neighborhood of Fort Gaines.

Now, sir, I have seen some trouble in my time, and have run some few 
risks, I reckon, and have often felt bad, but a portion of that night was 
the most disagreeable that I ever spent.

When we got within half a mile of the Fort, we could see dogs trotting, 
and hear them howling in every direction. Keith said the Fort had been 
taken. We got within three hundred yards of the Fort and could see a dim 
light, that Keith said was in one of the block-houses. Keith approached a 
little nearer, and returned and he was sure the Fort was in possession of 
the enemy. I sent my interpreter and another Indian to the boat landing, 
to see if there were any crafts in which we could descend the river. They 
returned, and reported that there was a number of canoes and a ferry boat. 
I went a short distance to a spot that was a little lower than the 
surrounding earth, and wrote the following lines to Gen. Gaines, who was 
then at old Hartford, Ga.:

"JANUARY 16, 1818, 10 o'clock at night. I am now within gun-shot of Fort 
Gaines, which is in possession of the Indians. There is a heavy cloud 
rising, and as soon as it get so dark that objects cannot be distinguished 
from the Fort, I will attempt to re-take it, and try and sustain myself 
until I get assistance. If I find I cannot do that, I will try and descend 
the river below Perryman Town, and go across to Fort Scott. I shall at all 
events sell myself and men as dearly as possible."

These lines I wrote by a little fire-light, kindled by the friendly 
Indians -- they holding their blankets around it, to prevent its being 
seen from the Fort. I gave these lines to the interpreter, Bill -- gave 
him my horse, and told him whenever he heard the firing commence, and was 
certain it was a fight, to make the best of his way to Hartford; but not 
to start until he was certain that the Fort might not still be in the 
possession of the whites, and by chance a sentinel or two might, through 
fear or something else, fire upon us.

The few lines above described as written to Gen. Gaines -- and which you 
will see were not sent -- are the only lines I ever attempted to write to 
a superior, detailing my situation, when on separate command, during all 
the service, or all the time I was in service. We waited until the cloud 
covered us, and then approached towards the Fort, and when within about 
one hundred yards of it, I halted the men, and took Keith and an Indian, 
and made for a little flickering light which we could see, and which Keith 
supposed was in one of the block-houses. It turned out to be true. I 
walked up to the blockhouse, in which there was a door some three or four 
feet square, cut out to place a cannon at. Two men were playing cards on 
the ammunition box, and a young lady interesting them with a song. As I 
got to the door, one of the card-players observed to the other that he was 
out. I observed to them that it was me that was out, and wished to come 
in. I called up my men, took my letter to Gen. Gaines and burned it, and 
took command. I called up all hands, went to the magazine and took out 
some guns, and informed them that every man who did not take a gun and do 
duty, should leave the Fort.

I will here state that I believe I had as resolute a set of men for the 
number, as I ever saw. Among them was Capt. John Curry, from Washington; 
Lieut. Steel, from Hancock; Ensign Clark, from Morgan county, Georgia. I 
recollect yet many of the names. Catle J. Atkins, who lived many years in 
Macon county, Ala., and two brothers by the name of Emerson -- Ben. and 
Uriah -- who were living in Montgomery county, Ala., when I left the 
country, in 1841.

I remained at Fort Gaines but a few days, when I was relieved by Majs. 
Twiggs and Muhlenberg -- Maj. Twiggs is now the distinguished Gen. Twiggs, 
of our Army. Maj. Muhlenberg is the officer who had charge of that convoy 
of boats, on one of which Lieut. Scott and his party were massacred. I 
marched my men to Fort Hawkins and discharged them.

I there met with three letters, one from Gen. Glasscock, requesting me to 
accept an appointment in his staff; one from Gen. Gaines, requesting me to 
get as many Indians as I could, and join him at Fort Early. The other was 
from Gen. Jackson -- it was rather an order than a request. He wanted me 
at Fort Scott, with as many Indians as I could raise. I paid a short visit 
to Elbert and Franklin counties, Georgia, and to Pendleton District, South 
Carolina, after some negroes, of which I have before made mention. I 
passed through Twiggs county, Ga., got Capt. Isaac Brown and went to Fort 
Early. Flint River was very high, which enabled me to take a large flat 
boat down to Fort Scott, with ammunition for the troops. At Fort Scott I 
met with a portion of my Indians, which I had sent the talk to. I was 
placed at the head of the Indians, and crossed the river.

This was in March, 1818. We occasionally fired a few guns at straggling 
Indians, and they in turn would fire upon us; now and then one was killed, 
and a prisoner or two taken. There was nothing that could be called a 
fight on our route to the spot on the Apalachacola, where Gen. Clinch had 
blown up Fort Woodbine, a year or two before. The Army at that time 
consisted of the 4th and 7th Regiments of United States Infantry, two 
Regiments of Georgia Militia, under Gen. Glasscock, a Company of 
Kentuckians, under Capt. Robert Crittenden, and a Company of Tennesseeans, 
under Capt. Dunlap, (this last Company composed Gen. Jackson's Life
Guard,) and some five hundred Indians, under the two half-breed Chiefs, 
Kinard and Lovet, and myself.

We set about building Fort Gadsden, on the site of old Fort Woodbine. And 
at that place Gen. Jackson and myself took our first split, and as the 
matter has been often talked of, and misrepresented by some, I will here 
give you the particulars of that affair, as there are those yet living who 
witnessed it. Gen. Twiggs, of the Army, witnessed the whole of it, and 
Col. John Banks, of Columbus, Ga., Maj. Samuel Robinson, of Washington 
county, Ga., and Capt. Isaac Brown, of this State, are all familiar with 
the circumstances.

Capt. Dunlap was a gentleman and a good officer, and his company was 
composed mostly of the sons of the first families about Nashville, and 
some of them were very young, as well as very mischievous. They performed 
no duty more than to ride along the trail on our march, and when in camp 
strolled when and where they pleased. I had noticed them, or some of them, 
several times on our march from Fort Scott to where we then were, making 
fun and cutting their capers with the Georgia Militia. I tried to put a 
stop to it as often as I could, told them that we were all engaged in the 
same service, and should be one people. It did no good. One day, while at 
work on Fort Gadsden, I had a parcel of Indians taking the bark from the 
pines to cover the huts in the Fort; many of the officers were present, 
noticing how neatly the Indians arranged the bark. Among those present 
that I recollect, were Gens. Jackson, Gaines and Glasscock; Cols. Breasly 
and King; Maj. Floyd and Capt. Bee. While we were there, a Georgian by the 
name of Jabez Gilbert came up. I knew Gilbert; he was pretty well 
smoked -- soap and water would have helped the looks both of himself and 
clothes. Some eight or ten of these Nashville youngsters seized him, and 
said they would throw him into the river, which was but a few yards off. 
One of the young men, I think, was named Ayres, and perhaps a Lieutenant. 
He stepped up to Gen. Jackson, and said: "General, we have a notion to 
wash that fellow." The General said nothing, but hung his head and smiled. 
That made me mad. They dragged Gilbert nearly to the water's edge. I 
remarked to Gen. Glasscock, that was one of his men; I repeated it several 
times, but Glasscock said nothing. I then spoke out loud, and remarked 
that he was a Georgian, and had claims on me. I then walked to where 
Gilbert was, pulled him away from them, and ordered him to go to his 
quarters. They then attempted to seize me. I tapped, or pushed one of them 
over; and another I pushed into the water, where it was about knee deep.

Col. Breasly, who had been, or was looking to be arrested, had made me a 
present of his side arms, which I had under my hunting shirt, and showed 
to the boys, and that ended the row at the water.

I walked back, and took my seat not far from where Gen. Jackson and the 
others were sitting. This man Ayres came up and commenced a sort of 
quarrel with me, and said that Gen. Jackson saw it, and had not 
interfered, and that it was none of my business; besides, he said, I had 
no command among the whites, and that I had better attend to my Indians. I 
told him it mattered not where my command was; that when I saw such chaps 
as him out of their place, I would put them in it. I discovered that the 
General was mad, for I had not been very choice about words or 
insinuations. He rose to his feet and said he had seen as big men as I was 
thrown into the water. I remarked to him that he might, but that he had 
not men enough in his Life Guard to put me in, and if he liked he could 
try it.

Maj. Twiggs at this time stepped near, and gave me to understand that I 
had better say no more, and to go to my quarters, and remarked to Ayres, 
at the same time, "Young man, you put out from here." Twiggs and Capt. Bee 
were the only men that said a word. Capt. Bee turned off, and spoke so as 
to be heard by those who were listening, and said: "Woodward is right, and 
the Georgians ought to love him."

As I walked off, Gen. Jackson cursed me for a damned long, Indian looking 
son-ofa-bitch -- ( recollect his language well.) As he made that speech, I 
turned and said to him, that I had some of the blood, but neither boasted 
of, nor was ashamed of it. I went to my quarters, and either sent a note 
or got Capt. Brown to go to the General, (I now forget which,) and say to 
him that I regretted having incurred his displeasure, and that if he had 
no further use for my services, I would quit his camp.

That evening or the next morning he sent for me to go to his quarters. He 
said to me that I done right in preventing the volunteers from throwing 
the militiaman in the water, but said I was too self-willed, and did not 
observe a proper respect towards my superiors, and that he wished the 
matter to drop there, and wished me to remain. There the matter ended.

I could not help laughing to myself at the idea of the difference the old 
General then made (and which is often made yet) between volunteers and 
militia, for I had always looked upon volunteers and drafted men both, as 
being militia, until they had been well trained. Though I believe the word 
militia signifies a national force or trained band-and all new troops, 
both volunteers and drafted men, are alike until they are made regulars by 
training.

From Fort Gadsden we marched to Micasucky, where we had a little brush. 
There were a few Georgians, some Tennesseeans, under Maj. Russell, a fine 
fighter, and some friendly Indians in the skirmish -- there were but seven 
Indians killed, but every man along killed one of them. The next was the 
McIntosh fight, where Mrs. Dill was rescued, which I have given you an 
account of before. Col. Butler's account of that is a very incorrect one, 
as will be recollected by those who were along, and have read his report 
of that fight. But there is nothing which is more exaggerated generally 
than the official reports of fights, and particularly those little 
skirmishes with Indians. The severest brush that I was engaged in during 
that campaign, was at the Negro Village, near Bowlegs' Town, on the 
Sawanee. There were only about three hundred friendly Indians, and but 
four white men engaged in that fight -- Isaac Brown, Jack Carter, James 
Finley, and myself. Col. Williamson, by some means, misunderstood Gen. 
Jackson's orders, or mistook his place in time of that fight. For if Gen. 
Jackson's orders had been strictly carried out, and the place of attack 
strictly observed, very few Indians and negroes could have escaped. But as 
it turned out, a few Indians had the brunt to bear, as will be recollected 
by those familiar with that campaign. This fight was in April, but I now 
forget on what day of the month. The next day I crossed the river with 
some five hundred Indians, by swimming, and carrying our guns in one hand. 
We pursued the Indians that day and a part of the next; killed a few 
Indians, and took a few women and children prisoners, as well as caught a 
few negroes. On our return to camp, it was in the evening; the man Robert 
Ambrista happened to get between our lines and the army, and was picked up 
and made a prisoner, and that ended the Seminole war, so far as I was 
engaged in it. At the time Ambrista and Cook were picked up at Sawanee, 
Arbusthnot was a prisoner at St. Marks, which was then in charge of Capt. 
Vashon. You have heard of the Arbusthnot and Ambrista case. And those who 
have, or think they have a knowledge of that matter, have made up their 
minds for and against, long since, and anything that I could say now would 
do no good. I think it likely, could their lives have been spared, their 
families at least would have been more benefitted, our country would have 
sustained no loss, and the consciences of some men, on mature reflection, 
would have rested easier. And no doubt at the time they were executed, 
some could have been found of our own people who had been equally guilty, 
in furnishing the Indians material to do mischief with.

While I was in Florida with the natives from the Chehawtown, some 
Georgians under the command of a fool Yankee, by the name of Obed Wright; 
went to Chehaw, burned and plundered the town, and killed a few old men, 
some women and children, and among others killed old Howard, who was known 
as the native chief. The news reached Gert. Jackson while he was at 
Pensacola. He ordered Maj. Davis, of the ordnance department to go into 
Georgia, arrest Wright, and carry him to his (Jackson's) camp, let that be 
where it might. Maj. Davis arrested Wright, I think, in Louisville. He 
carried him to Milledgeville where he tried to make his escape. Maj. Davis 
called on me, as I then had returned home, to aid him in carrying Wright 
to the army. I not thinking about the impropriety of taking a man by 
military process, and a private citizen too, out of his State to be tried 
by a military tribunal, and that, perhaps out of the United States, seized 
Wright, put him on a horse, and was about being off when Gen. Clark came 
up, learned what was going on, and said Wright should go no further; and 
said he would be one to defend the rights of a citizen against Gen. 
Jackson and his whole force. Gov. Rabun had a writ of habeas corpus 
issued, and Wright was released. Maj. Davis was highly pleased at getting 
rid of his charge. Not long afterwards, I received a letter from the 
General stating that he was well pleased at my offering my services to 
Maj. Davis, in aiding to bring that murderer to justice; and that as I 
had, on a former occasion, intimated to him that I would like to be in the 
regular army, if I then wished, he would procure for me a commission. I 
declined.

That was the end of my services in the United States until 1836, and as 
there was scarcely a youngster about Columbus, Georgia, or Montgomery, 
Alabama, who had ever seen Blackstone's Commentaries, or read the Georgia 
Justice, or Aiken's Digest, or seen a Root Doctor, or read medicine as far 
as Salts, but was Aid to somebody, or some one else, and among them you 
will, no doubt, if you wish, get the whole of that affair complete.

After I quit the army in 1818, I went to Washington city with some half-
breed Indians. I visited the eastern shore of Maryland, went into 
Delaware, returned to Georgia, and then went to Alabama and fixed for 
another settlement. I carried a few new negroes and settled them below old 
Montgomery, in Autauga county. In the spring of 1819, I returned to 
Georgia to aid Gen. Watson in running the line between Georgia and 
Florida. I got some Uchee Indians to pack horses and hunt for him, as 
provision was scarce. After I returned to Milledgeville, I took a trip to 
Alabama as low as Claiborne. I returned to Georgia, wrote a letter to Gen. 
Jackson, notifying him of an enterprise that I wished to engage in, (he 
and I had talked on the subject while in Florida). I have his answer to my 
letter now, and will send it to you, and you can do what you please with 
it. It was written on the 30th of September, and mailed at Nashville on 
the Ist of October, 1819. I was engaged in a little affair in 1813, for a 
few weeks, but most of those who were along, and myself, differed in our 
views about patriotism, and I quit.

I seen Capt. Cain is dead. He was a man of good heart, and I will let that 
matter and those that were engaged, rest. Gen. Jackson's letter will 
explain to you what I was engaged in shortly after I got it. Here I and my 
crowd differed again about patriotism, In 1820, I returned to Alabama and 
was married on the 3d of August of that year. The Brigadier General had to 
be elected by the commissioned officers of the Brigade. The candidates 
were Col. Joseph H. Howard, Gilbert Shearer, Andrew Taprid, Jonas Brown, 
William Gray, the man who fought Joe Kemp the first fight for a hundred 
dollars, and myself. I was elected in August, 1820, and was commissioned 
on the 13th of September of the same year by Thomas Bibb, who was 
discharging the duties of Governor, by virtue of his office as President 
of the Senate of the State. I remained in Alabama some twenty years; 
managed my pecuniary matters badly most of the time; was very poor; was 
sold out twice by the sheriff; always voted on the weak side; was not very 
popular; often spoke too quick and too freely; had a family that was 
interesting to me at least, consequently had often to submit to 
indignities or insults from a little short stock that under other 
circumstances I should have slapped a rod. In 1841, I moved to Arkansas, 
and lived there twelve years. The climate proved fatal to all my family 
except my eldest son, and it has so preyed upon him and myself that we are 
nothing more than the wrecks of what once were men. Now, sir, these 
sketches have been written in a poor style, but have been faithfully 
narrated; and perhaps you may be able to glean from them, in an imperfect 
manner, a part of the information you desired, and whether you find them 
interesting or not, from the rapid manner in which my health has declined 
of late, I think it probable they are the last I shall give you or any one 
else. I shall close this by giving you what I think was the true 
disposition and character of Gen. Jackson. If he was not the most sensible 
and best man that I have known, he was the greatest man, with a large 
portion of the American people, whom I have had any thing to do with. His 
mind was stronger and better cultivated than many have thought it to be; a 
man of bitter prejudices and unforgiving disposition, and a true friend 
when he really proposed it. He could not be corrupted with money, strictly 
honest in all monied transactions, despised flattery, though he often had 
it heaped upon him by the quantity, in his latter days. The only ones who 
could flatter him were those whom he looked upon as being so low they 
could have no motive, and those who stood so high as not to be suspected. 
He preferred having his own judgment respected more than that of the 
balance of the world. If he bet ten dollars on a horse race, he would pay 
a hundred rather than lose the ten; for with the loss of the ten dollars 
would go his judgment. He would never, for a moment, suffer himself to 
think that those he placed in office would act dishonest -- he being 
honest in money matters himself -- and that was the cause of there being 
some defaulters in office during his administration. He would admit of no 
superior, and was jealous of those whom the people looked upon as his 
equals and was not at all times a judge of his true friends. There were 
thousands who appreciated him properly and admired him for his good 
qualities, but opposed some of his arbitrary measures, and some had not 
voted for him. These he looked upon as his enemies, and never missed an 
opportunity to deal them a blow under the fifth rib. His popularity, at 
one time, and for a long time, was almost irresistible. He would suffer it 
used in the support of a friend, regardless of every thing, when silence 
on his part would have placed him in a more enviable attitude with the 
more reflecting and intelligent portion of mankind. I will cite one 
instance among many to show how far he would go. It has been the custom, 
and is expected, that demagogues and politicians will use every means to 
carry their points in elections. But there has always been one rule 
observed among our army and naval officers, and it never should be 
violated; for they established the rule and take them according to number, 
they are and have been the most thorough gentlemen I have any knowledge 
of. That rule was never for one officer to speak disparagingly of another, 
unless it was well known that he had been guilty of a gross violation of 
duty, or something else, that had rendered him an unfit associate for the 
balance. Gen. Harrison had been a Major General in the army and resigned. 
Gen. Jackson succeeded to the command which Gen. Harrison would have held 
had he continued in the service. Gert. Jackson did much. He achieved a 
victory that the history of wars seldom records. The American people 
thanked him, they rewarded him, placed him in the highest office known to 
civilized men. But not to their credit do I say they submitted to his iron 
will, and in some instances a gross violation of their rights. It is well 
known, in a country like ours, that in some instances too high an estimate 
has been placed on military fame. It has governed in some of the most 
important elections, and has resulted in but little good to the country. 
In 1840, Gen. Harrison was a candidate for the Presidency. His friends 
seized upon his military deeds, and other things, as had Gen. Jackson's 
friends done before. Instead of remaining quiet and letting the people 
arrange their own matters, Gen. Jackson departed so far from what I think 
should have been his proper course as to write a letter, giving the 
people, and particularly his own friends, to understand that he never had 
looked upon Gen. Harrison as a military man. This was objectionable, 
coming from the source it did. The times and circumstances at the time, 
some men have lived, have had much to do in building up or pulling down 
their fortunes. It is quite likely that if Oliver Cromwell had lived in 
England at any other time than that in which he did live, from the reign 
of Egbert down to Victoria he would have been looked upon as being what he 
really was -- a base hypocrite. -- Clay, Webster, Calhoun and Gaston, (if 
the latter had possessed_ more ambition) would have been great at any age 
of the world, and so would Gen. Jackson have been more than an ordinary 
man at any time. And had he been old enough, and placed at the head of any 
army in the revolution, no doubt he would have distinguished himself, but 
never would have been rated higher than many engaged in that service, and 
perhaps not as high as Green, Wayne, Stark, Daniel Morgan, or Ethan Allen. 
And had there, by chance or otherwise, been any one who was placed higher 
in the scale of greatness than himself, I think it quite likely that he 
would have evinced, or have shown, to some extent, a kind of jealousy to 
Charles Lee or Horatio Gates. Those of the Revolution were a different 
people to most of those in Gen. Jackson's time. In the Revolution, men 
were willing to serve, and if by chance they were killed, it would answer 
for their friends to read and speak of their deeds of daring. But not so 
in Gen. Jackson's time. There were too many who chose to live and see 
their names puffed in the newspapers, whether they merited it or not. Gen. 
Jackson knew the people he lived amongst, and knew how to control them and 
did do it.

The best evidence I can give of his being a great man is, that without 
money and friends he raised himself from an obscure Irish boy to the head 
of this nation, and was the most popular man that ever was and perhaps 
ever will be in it again. I have not said Irish boy from any invidious 
motive, or to detract any thing from his true merit. For I think if his 
true origin were known, it would only add to his standing, and prove to 
the world that he descended from a race of the right blood to make great 
men. One thing can be said of a truth, that he made more little would-be 
great-men, the last twenty years of his life, than God has made truly 
great ones for the last two centuries. And if his ambition, at times, 
caused him to err, his love of country made him a good patriot; and the 
American people will cherish his memory, particularly those living in his 
time, while he sleeps quietly where the laudations of sycophantic and 
hypocritical friends and the reproaches of his enemies cannot interrupt 
his repose.

Yours truly,
T.S. WOODWARD. 



WHEELING, WINN PARISH, LA.
December 25th, 1858
J.J. HOOPER, Esq.

Dear Sir: This is Christmas--a day in early life that I waited with 
impatience for its appearance; but it now seems to come and go so fast 
that it differs little from any other day with me, as all come in such 
quick succession as to admonish me that, live as long as I may, that I am 
to witness the return of but few more Christmases. But as I am alone, and 
have recovered a little strength after being reduced quite low from a fit 
of severe hemorrhage from the stomach, as well as a slight one from the 
lungs, I have concluded to write a little. I see in your paper of the 17th 
inst., that some of my letters will make their appearance, in pamphlet 
form, in the course of a few weeks. I sent you a package a few days back, 
containing many little sketches of my early life. I was very sick when I 
wrote them, and in them you will no doubt find the same weakness in me, 
that is too often discovered in most old people. No matter what they write 
or talk about, whether interesting to others or not, they are always 
better posted in things that pertained to them in early life, and often 
let the world know more of family matters than a proper prudence might 
authorize. And should this happen to be my case, in the sketches sent you 
the other day, all that I can say now is, that they are truths which some 
might think had better been let alone. And as you desired some time back 
to know of me something of the Government service I had been in, and the 
little fights that I had witnessed -- and as I went so far as to bring in 
the Florida War of 1817 and 1818 -- and for fear you may think I wish to 
claim some credit for being along, and would willingly impose upon you and 
your readers, what has been imposed upon the world, I must here go into a 
little detail of that Seminole or Florida Campaign, or at least give you a 
correct list of the killed in the expedition, and who by. I shall give you 
facts -- and he that contradicts them, knows nothing of the expedition, or 
wilfully lies.
I mentioned to you that in Glasscock's first expedition, in 1817, some 
Hitcheta or Seminole Indians, under the control of a Chief known as 
Chenubba, killed Tom Lee, and cut off his head -- killed Sam Loftis, and 
scalped him. I will now give you a correct list of the number of whites 
killed, and the number of Indians killed by the whites in Gen. Jackson's 
march to Sawany, where the Seminole campaign proper, ended. I crossed 
Flint River in 1818, in March, with a party of friendly Indians -- the day 
of the month not recollected. The second day, we fell in with a few 
Indians -- killed two and captured one; that one we carried to Gen. 
Jackson's camp, and while fixing for camping at night, the prisoner 
attempted to make his escape. A portion of Twiggs' command was on guard, 
shot and killed him. That was the first Indian killed by the whites. The 
next night we camped on a bluff on the Apalachicola River. A white man, 
blinded by the firelight or something else, walked over the bluff into the 
river, and was drowned. At Mickasucky we had a skirmish with the 
Indians -- in which some friendly Indians, a few Georgians, and some 
Tennesseeans under Maj. Russell, were engaged. A man named Majors 
Henderson killed one Indian, (for which he served in the Legislature as 
long as he pleased.) He shot him in the back while the Indian was trying 
to shoot at Billy Mitchell and myself -- this I saw. There were five other 
hostile Indians killed in the fight; the friendly Indians claimed the 
killing of them -- so did the whites. There happened to be an old Uchee 
Indian, known as old Joe, who said he was only on a visit to Mickasucky, 
who did not run off with the rest; he was made a prisoner. After the 
little skirmish was over, a young man from Tennessee, named Tucker, saw 
the crowd around Joe; Tucker rode up, and asked if that was a hostile 
Indian -- some one answered "yes." He drew a horseman's pistol from his 
holster, fired at Joe and missed him. Joe had a British musket across his 
lap, which had not been taken from him; raised the Inusket, fired at 
Tucker, who was on his horse; the ball entered between the tip of his chin 
and his throat, and passed out at the top of his head, killing him 
instantly. The Indians killed Joe upon the spot; so there were seven 
Indians and one white man killed in that fight. Joe's head was as white as 
heads generally get to be. His musket fell into the hands of Maj. Nix, of 
the army. He gave it to me. I loaned it to Capt. Abram Bourland, late of 
Lowndes county, Alabama, in 1819, to carry a runaway negro to Alabama; he 
loaned it to Mr. Caleb Niblet, to fire -- hunt with; and it was the gun 
that Niblet, and Billy Boswell, of Cahaba, killed Mall's cattle and Ned 
Covington's mare and colt with, which many of the old settlers well 
recollect. So ends the Mickasucky fight.

At St. Marks, Arburthnot was arrested, and afterwards hanged. At the 
McIntosh fight, Isaac Brown killed one Indian. On our march from St. Marks 
to Sawany, the old half-breed, Blount, and I were ahead, and discovered 
some Indians that were cutting a bee tree. We halted for the purpose of 
getting some friendly Indians to surround them, but some of the Tennessee 
mounted men came up, and we pointed them out and requested the mounted men 
to wait until the friendly Indians could come up -- that it was possible 
the bee-hunters might be friendly Indians; but they made a rush upon the 
Indians, who proved to be three men, a woman and two children; they made 
no resistance, but the mounted men killed one of the men, broke another's 
thigh, shot the woman through the body, shot off the under jaw of one of 
the children, and broke an arm of the other -- the third man made his 
escape. On my return by the place, the woman and one child were lying 
dead -- the child with the broken arm, and the one with his thigh broke, 
had left. The next white man that was killed, was a man sitting in a crowd 
where another white man was picking his gun flint; the gun went off and 
killed him. That was the day we reached Sawanee. While at that place, we 
picked up Robert Ambrista, commonly known as Ambrister; he was afterwards 
shot, having been tried and condemned as a spy -- which affair you know 
all about.

You have now the whole of what was done in the Seminole campaign of 1817-
'18, except what was done by the friendly Indians. I think Mr. Grantland, 
of Milledgeville, could furnish you with the official report of the 
McIntosh fight -- it was in April, 1818, and was published in a 
Milledgeville paper, either by Grantland or Hines. The number killed at 
Sawanee by the friendly Indians, I do not know, as a part of them were 
killed in the river. There were but four white men with the Indians or in 
the fight at Sawanee, who were Brown, Finley, Carter and myself; and 
unless a stray shot from one of our guns killed an Indian or a negro, the 
friendly Indians are entitled to all the credit of that affair. I was not 
at the taking of Pensacola, and can not tell what was done there. Now, if 
the firing of a few guns, and occasionally killing an Indian or two, can 
be considered fights, I have seen many. But as I did not think proper to 
detail them at a time, when perhaps a little capital might have been made 
of them, I will dispense with it now.

While I am at this, let me correct a few more errors that many have fallen 
into. You, no doubt, as many others, have seen the official reports of 
various Indian fights, where the whites whipped the Indians and no dead 
ones left on the ground, but great signs of the killed and wounded being 
dragged off. All that is necessary to explain this matter, is to ask you 
how many men it would take to carry off a dead man faster than a slow 
footman could follow? I have seen much Indian skirmishing in my time, (and 
those that know me best believe I state facts,) but never have I seen the 
first Indian, either friendly or hostile, run the least risk to carry off 
a dead friend. I have seen them aid wounded ones, and that's all. Indians 
know the value of a dead Indian, about as well as whites. And it was once 
the custom among them, if one was killed, and marked with a knife, his 
mother would not bury him. To speak the honest truth, they never have been 
killed; and, in fact, there have not been as many warriors in the Creek 
and Seminole Nations, in my time, as have been supposed by some to have 
been killed in the little wars among those people, from 1812 to 1836, and 
down to the removal of Billy Bowlegs West. History is a thing often 
exaggerated, and by none so much so as the official reports of those 
little Indian fights.

In a package I sent you some time back, giving you the names of Agents, 
Indians and others, I mentioned Ogillis lneah or Menauway, the Chief that 
commanded at Horse-Shoe. He was the Chief that beaded the party that 
killed Mclntosh, Sam Hawkins, and others. I knew him well, and he knew me, 
and knew that I disliked his killing Mclntosh. At a Council at 
Sechalitchar, in 1835, he got very angry with Hopoithleyobolo and let the 
secret out about the McIntosh affair.

He looked at me and Capt. Walker, held up his hands, and said, "Here are 
the hands that are stained with the blood of McIntosh, and I am now ready 
to stain them again in the blood of his enemies, and those who made me the 
dupe of their foul designs. When I done the deed I thought I was right, 
but I am sorry." I will give you more of him at some other time. I know 
the whole of that affair, but the actors in it are mostly gone to rest, So 
let them sleep on, as it can do no good to bring it up. 

Yours truly,
T.S. WOODWARD.