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My father came to Tennessee in 1769, from Virginia with Casper Mansco and others on an exploring expedition; and ten years later in 1779, he moved here, coming out with the Buchanan's, Williams; and others. As they crossed the Cumberland it was frozen quite across at the Sulphur Spring branch. Of their adventures on the way from Virginia, little is known; but it was supposed at that time, that from the fierceness of the Indians, the country would have to be abandoned. He lost part of his stock of horses, eighteen or twenty in number, the first year, stolen by the Indians, and he then concluded to go to Kentucky. He did so and his family staid there one year, he returning here with a man named Stull, who had one horse, my father having two. They expected to hunt and trap on their way back to Tennessee. They crossed Green River, coming on, and that night it snowed and rained, leaving a deep coating of sleet on the ground the next morning. In passing along they heard the report of a gun off to one side, and shortly after, another. This alarmed them, and they got down and tied their blankets tightly around them, cut them switches, and mounted again. My father not quite so prompt as Stull in all this, Stull, consequently, getting ahead. Suddenly he threw up his bridle, and my father noticing it, rode up and enquired the cause of his movement? He replied, "Look, see what a sight of people are coming this way!" At a glance, my father saw that they were Indians, and darting to one side, his horse jumped through a swinging grape vine, clearing it, his pack horse following him. Stull’s horse tried it, but was caught, and swung right across it by the loins, and after awhile getting out, Stull stopped to fix his bag of provisions. My father tried to hurry him, as two Indians were running up; but instead of jumping on his horse, Stull started off on foot. My father tried to keep along with him, but he darted off in another direction, and crossed the trace back again. He was very fleet, and my father was sure he would escape; but shortly he heard one or two guns fired and then the yells of the Indians, and then all was silent. They had killed Stull. My father started back towards Green river, but was afraid the Indians would track him by the snow on the ground, so he avoided the river and took to the hills, striking the river higher up. He found it filled from bank to bank; but finding a place like an eddy on the opposite shore, he thought he could get out on that side at that spot. He got down, tied his hunting shirt close around him, and rode in. After a hard struggle he got his mare started, and they got out on the opposite side. Right where they got out, there was, providentially, an old dry stump, he being wet and nearly frozen, he flashed some of the powder which happened to be dry in his wet powder horn, he having knocked the bottom of his horn out with his tomahawk, and dried himself by the fire and reloaded his gun. After awhile, his slut appeared on the opposite bank, and thinking the Indians were close behind, he placed himself in ambush hoping to kill one, and then to fly to his mare once more. But none came and he started, as he supposed, back towards Kentucky. He rode on until he came to a large "sink hole". Here he tied his mare, kindled a fire and staid all night. The next morning the weather having cleared up, and it getting light, he came to what he thought was a familiar knob; such as he had seen in his hunts before this, but he could not be satisfied that it was quite the same. Approaching another in sight, he recognized it, and thus learned what way to lay his course for the trace. Finding the trace, and his animal being very much wearied, apparently, he got down to drive her before him, but she ran off in advance, so that he despaired of catching her, but after a long walk she came to him and he did not dismount again that day. He got to Carpenter's Station about dark.
About this time Gen. Robertson came along on his way to Tennessee, and my father having joined him, the two came on together, arriving at Nashville in safety. He settled at the old place about two miles from Nashville, near the spring known as Rain's spring. Such was the abundance of bear in the vicinity at that time, he told me he killed in one winter, thirty two and this without laying out more than one or two nights. They were mostly killed amongst the knobs adjoining Jesse Maxwell's and John Overton's present residences and on Brown's Creek. My father built a fort at his place and stockaded the spring inside of it, so that we could go to it at all times in safety. The alarms from Indians were almost constant. One time I remember that my father and one or two of us children were out picking beans on one of the ridges, up towards the present residence of West H. Humphreys, Esq; when we heard the guns fire for the attack on Robertson’s Station. My father and brother seized their guns and mounted their horses, rode at full speed into Nashville, and raised a party and got half way to the relief of the fort before they met the expresses started from the fort for help. Another time the Indians attacked Gen. Robertson and his son Jonathan, with two other men. The two men ran off, but the old General and his son stood their ground bravely and beat the Indians off. The old General afterwards meeting my father, told him that, in his great extremity, (for he was wounded) he could not help thinking "If I only had old Capt. Rains and Billy here!"
My father with my brother William, myself, and Patrick Lyons, were amongst the first who were summoned to the relief of Buchanan's Station. Patrick Lyons and myself remained in the fort that night. We went along past one or two other Stations the next morning, and tried to beat up volunteers, but could get none. I had only an old horseman's pistol on my arrival, but my father comforted me with the supposition that in the fight expected, 1 could get a gun when somebody would be killed. I saw the Indian mentioned by Col. Brown as having been killed under the walls of the fort. I talked with Findleston, a half breed Indian, about the killing of the spies sent out to see whether the Indians were approaching. Various accounts are given of this affair. He says that the indians had two of their men disguised as whites going ahead, and they killed the two whites, shooting one dead, and breaking the arm of the other, who then ran amongst the other Indians and was killed. A dispute then arose as stated by others about the manner of attacking the settlements. Watts, being for one course, the slain Chief mentioned, for a different one. The Indian killed was certainly a desperate fellow, having done his best to fire the fort with his smoking apparatus after being mortally wounded. George Fields, whom I saw several times afterwards in the Indian Nation, told me that he himself was shot in the heel, and gave a ludicious account of how it made him dance and caper from the pain. He said, that after going down and standing for some time in the water at the spring-house, he walked around behind a large bake oven, where lay Watts, the other Chief, very badly wounded. He begged Fields to cut off his head,and carry it away, to keep the whites from getting it; as he had no hopes of recovering. The Indians, however, rolled him up in a blanket, carried him off and he afterwards got well.
On one occasion, my sister wished to go up to Armstrong's Station, about seven miles from Nashville. She could not get company such as pleased her, so she went alone. She got there safely. On her return,a young woman at some point desired to come along with her, and they both started on the same horse. A young man named Patton, went along as a guard. A small dog became alarmed, and she desired Patton to go ahead. He did so, and the Indians fired at the party. My sister turned her horse and tried to make him leap the fence, but he failed the first trial. The young woman being behind, she was hit by the Indians and fell off, and the horse leaping the fence my sister escaped. As she looked behind her, she saw the Indians in the act of seizing her companion, whom they killed, My sister kept on to Armstrong's Station, and the people being alarmed, went, back and found the poor girl's body. Patton ran off in another direction and escaped in safety. The young woman's name so killed, was Williams.
My father and Captain Shannon commanded afterwards on an expedition made towards the waters of Duck river and beyond. We went on until we came to where we saw a Large number of buzzards flying around, when my father suggested that there must be Indians on a hunt, these birds being attracted to the spot by the game killed. We encamped near, and found, truly enough, the remains of deer, &c. The next day, we found their trail, and my father was for following it, but some objected. My father said that he had come to hunt for Indians, and he should follow that sign until he found a fresher one. Before night we came upon their locality, and the spies discovering One of them fired at him, but without hitting him. He ran off and we all dashed forward at the report. I was mounted on a race horse and kept close at the heels of my father, until we got into the flat when I struck off on a course by myself. My father kept on, and discovered the flying Indian who was going as fast as he could run up a ridge. Getting pretty near, my father halloed to him to stop, and he turned for a moment as if he intended to do so,but started off again. My father jumped off his horse and fired, wounding him severely in the hand and arm. He started again, and meanwhile,, Reuben Parks and Beverly Ridley rode up and joined in the chase. The Indian fired at Ridley, in turn, but the ball passed over his head, and they soon after got close upon and knocked him down, Ridley finally killing him with his knife. For my share, I dashed on until I came face to face with an Indian just coming out of a thicket. He made signals for quarter, and I took him prisoner, and he was afterwards exchanged. We took eight horses with all the traps and other things found at the Indian encampment, and about three hundred deer skins and other skins, the produce of their hunt. The horses were afterwards sold at auction in Nashville, and the proceeds of the sale and the other property was divided amongst the capturers.
One of the most interesting incidents connected with the early history of Tennessee, is one in which a man named David Hood figured. He was coming up from "Freeland's Station," the present place of residence of Dr. McGavock, below the Sulphur Spring adjoining Nashville, when several Indians gave chase to him, firing upon him as they ran. He, thinking there was no other chance for his life, con-cluied to try "possuming it," and:so fell flat upon his face in the weeds. The Indians ran up and gathered around him, and one of them very de liberately twisted his fingers into his hair to scalp him. His knife being very dull, he let go, took a better hold, and sawed away until he could pull it off; poor Hood bearing it, meanwhile, without a groan. After the deed was done, they stood around, a little while, reloaded their guns, and started on towards town, one of them giving him a few stamps in the back. After awhile, Hood raised his head cautiously, peeped out under his arms, and at last finding the coast clear, got up and started towards town. Mounting the ridge above the Spring, what was his dismay to find himself once more right in the presence of the whole gang. Again he started, but they again fired upon him as he ran, one of their bullets cutting him deeply across the breast, but finally, after getting so close as to pull off one of the skirts of his coat, the Indians abandoned him. When quite spent, he dropped behind a log in the cornfield near by, after facing around to get one fire at them, and was rescued by some whites who came out at the sound of the firing. He was placed in an out-house, no one thinking he would recover; but the next morning some one going in there, asked him, on finding him still alive, whether he "was'nt dead?" "No," he said, in a feeble voice, and he "thought he could live if he could have half a chance!" They took his case in hand, and he became a sound man, and lived many years to glory in his successful instance of "possuming." I often saw General Robertson making up rolls of lint for his wounds.
My father was once engaged in a fight at the Sulphur Spring, on the bank of the run, on the side towards Nashville. A party had been out scouting around amongst the licks, when returning past the Spring, mentioned, they encountered the Indians. A battle ensued, my father having lagged behind to let his horse drink; hearing the guns, he rode up and found the whites in the act of fleeing. He rallied them, and the Indians fled in turn, thus causing Daniel Williams, one of the party, to be saved, who was severely wounded in the thigh, and could neither mount his horse nor run. He often spoke to me of my father's having saved his life.
I was in the Nickojack campaign, but as that has been described in other narratives, it is unnecessary to repeat it here. My father was also along. I also served a tour of duty at Fort Massac, the same year, 1794, and on. my return thence, we found at Eddyville a man named Julius Sanders, who, at a hunting camp, had been shot in four places, but finally escaped, his companion, Col. Montgomery, being killed. He told us that the last he saw of the Colonel, an Indian was stabbing him repeatedly with a huge knife. We went out the next day, and found the body, a son of the murdered man being along. We buried him where a tree had been turned up by the roots, putting logs and chunks over him. We then came to Nashville.
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