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| Diorama found in the museum at Horseshoe Bend National Military Park |
The earth, softened by blood, gave way under General Jackson’s boot as he stepped between the bodies littering the ground. Not a single Red Stick had asked for quarters, preferring death to surrendering even one inch of Creek soil. However, seeing no dishonor in retreat, handfuls had slipped through the American lines on the opposing shore. So few were those numbers, they were hardly worth counting.
Always the first to welcome death, the flies buzzed about. Andrew held a hand to his nose as the stench of it overwhelmed him. Anger surged through his chest and squeezed his throat. So much senseless death!
He lifted his eyes. The impenetrable log fortification stood mockingly before its dead creators. The remaining men from the 39th Regiment, pulled bodies off the wall and separated them into piles according to race.
Smoke rose in heavy clouds from the south as evidence of the destruction of Tohopeka. Every civilian had been captured. Although he had already given orders that they be treated humanely, Andrew knew what trials lay ahead for these innocents.
“Why didn’t you surrender?” A weak voice brought Andrew’s attention to a soldier, who appeared to be asking the question of the dead Red Stick lying on the ground before him.
A few scraggly whiskers on his chin spoke of the soldier’s youth, and the two bullet wounds piercing his shoulder spoke of his bravery. The bandage around his thigh brightened with fresh blood as he squatted and moved the warrior’s hand. His gentleness and respect touched a soft spot in Andrew, a place that usually remained safely tucked away.
Andrew cleared his throat, as his shadow fell across the soldier. “What’s your name, young man?”
“Ensign Houston,” he mumbled, without turning or taking his eye from the dead warrior.
“What Christian name did your ma give you, Ensign Houston?”
“Sam,” he said. “Name’s Sam Houstin. I don’t get why they would die when they could’ve just surrendered and lived to care for them women over yonder?”
Why? Andrew knew why. Hillabee—that fatal mistake that cost the lives of sixty peaceful warriors. Even if General White hadn’t known of the town’s surrender, what had he been thinking to slaughter unarmed men? It was inexcusable.
Andrew would bet his next meal that the Red Sticks would have surrendered today, if they hadn’t believed they would have been butchered anyway.
“It’s called ‘a cause’. Today you fight for me, but one day you’ll have a cause to die for. Maybe it’ll be a pretty woman carrying your child, or a belief in God. Or maybe like them, another nation will try to push you off land you believe to be your own. Whatever it is, when the day comes, you’ll fight for your cause, and you’ll die for it if need be.”
With a pained expression, Ensign Houston stood and faced him. Recognition sparked, and he did his best to gain a respectful bearing. “I apologize, General. I didn’t know it was you I was talkin’ to.” He swayed on his feet.
“Never mind that. You need medical attention.” Andrew stepped forward and put a supporting arm around his waist. He called to the nearest man. “Sergeant, get the ensign to my tent for immediate aid.”
“Yes, General.”
Flicking a fly off his ear, Andrew turned in search of his horse. As he stepped over the warrior that had fascinated Ensign Houston, a gleam caught his eye. He followed it to the man’s chest. Crusted with dried blood, and nestled in the warrior’s black hair lay a delicate silver cross. Tears pricked Andrew’s eyes. He lowered himself, tucked the pendant into the warrior’s palm, and closed the stiffening fingers around it.
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