Red Tears (eBook)

N.K. Parten (Autor)

eBook Download: EPUB

2018 | 1. Auflage
256 Seiten
Bookbaby (Verlag)
978-1-7323903-1-7 (ISBN)

Infos

Prudence Mims flourished as the youngest daughter of a prominent planter in the frontier wilderness of the Tensaw Delta in present-day Alabama. Her father, Samuel Mims, came to the Mississippi Territory as an Indian Trader during the American Revolution acquiring a land grant from the governor of Spanish West Florida. For years the Mims family lived in peace in the ancestral home of Creek Indians. However, everything changed when the United States exerted their territorial claims to the southern region of the American frontier. In time, they would become collateral damage in a game of cat and mouse between the fledgling U.S. Government and the fierce Red Stick Faction of the Creek Indians. Based on family lore, this is the untold story Prudence's harrowing escape when these worlds collided on August 30, 1813, resulting in the worst massacre by Woodland Indians in American history - forever changing the framework of a continent.

---

Prudence Mims flourished as the youngest daughter of a prominent planter in the wilderness of the Tensaw Delta in present-day Alabama. The American Revolution ended forty years before and a steady stream of settlers from the former British Colonies flooded into the southern frontier wilderness. Samuel Mims and his brother David, came to the Mississippi Territory as Indian Traders during the American Revolution acquiring a land grant from the governor of Spanish West Florida and for years the Mims family lived in peace in the ancestral home of Creek Indians. During the years he lived with the Creeks and Cherokees, Mims learned the Creek language and customs becoming friends with many prominent Creek Chiefs including Chief Alexander McGillivray and Chief William Weatherford. However, everything changed when the United States exerted their territorial claims to the southern region of the American frontier. In 1799, a survey between the Mississippi Territory and West Florida moved the boundary to the north putting the Mims Plantation squarely in lands claimed by the United States. Before long, the violence between the Settlers and Woodland Indian Tribes escalated from the Great Lakes, across the Ohio River Valley and the Southern Frontier. During this Era of violence, a Shawnee Prophet emerged. The Prophet Tecumseh began preaching that the unification of all Native American Tribes was the only way to stem the tide of white settlers into their ancestral homelands. Many Creeks became followers of Tecumseh, began to believe that the only way to return to protect themselves from white aggressors was through purification of the Creek Race and a return to the "e;old ways"e;. As tensions between Native American Tribes and Americans settlers grew more and more violent, a great divide grew between factions of the Creek Tribe. The Red Sticks became followers of the Shawnee Prophet Tecumseh who began punishing Samuel Mims' Creek neighbors who'd settled in the Tensaw and become "e;too Americanized"e;. In time, Mims built a fort around his home for the protection of his property from Red Stick aggressions, but soon the Mims Family would become collateral damage in a game of cat and mouse when the Mississippi Volunteer Militia set up camp at what would become known as Fort Mims. Based on family lore, Red Tears is the untold story how Prudence Mims, her mother, and brothers narrowly escaped when these worlds collided on August 30, 1813, resulting in the worst massacre by Woodland Indians in American history - forever changing the framework of a continent.

Textauszug

Chapter One

“Stop it, you brute!” I snarled at my mischievous younger brother as a glob of mud splattered on the ground next to my feet. “Mama will have our heads if you get my dress dirty.”

Shading my eyes from the glare of the sunlight dancing on the surface of the muddy Alabama River, I felt the first bead of sweat running down my back beneath my favorite blue gingham frock. The summer sun already peeked through the tree-tops of the primordial forest. Knowing that it wouldn’t be long before it was midday, I’d started to become anxious, wondering when the ferry would return from its trip across the river. I tried not to show my excitement to my pesky brothers because neither wanted to go on the journey, but secretly I loved to go to town. I tried my best to be patient while we waited, but the longer we waited, the more restless I seemed to become.

It was early in summer in the Tensaw delta region of the Gulf Coast, and my brothers and I were traveling to Mobile to visit our mother’s family. I was fourteen years old, and as the youngest daughter of Samuel and Hannah Mims, I’d never considered that living in an isolated part of the American frontier could be lonely. However, now that my older sisters were married, my mother turned her attentions toward me in an attempt to groom me into a proper southern lady. In a time when females weren’t allowed by law to own property, Mama believed wholeheartedly she needed to find a good husband to take care of me. She claimed that it was to protect the family; however, to me it felt as if she believed I didn’t have enough sense to take care of myself.

Sitting patiently under a tree on a loblolly pine log that had washed up on the riverbank during a flood earlier that year, I looked up at the sun, thinking that it was probably going to be ungodly hot once we were out in the water beyond the reach of the shade. Squinting my eyes, I peered through the leaves of the willow tree at the hazy summer sky and wondered how hot it would get today. Before long, I took my blue-and-yellow bonnet off and wiped the sweat on my forehead. I didn’t want to wear the frumpy-looking thing, but Mama insisted.

“You are far too fair skinned.” Mother lectured as she tied the bow under my chin with a jerk before we left. “You’ll get freckled, and now that you’re getting older, you need to start concerning yourself with such things.”

I exhaled, placing the bonnet in my lap and shook out my hair. Shading my eyes with my hand, I stared across the river trying to catch a glimpse of the ferry. Overhead, I heard the unmistakable cheep of a red bird perched on a branch, chirping blissfully in the still breeze. During the summer many birds flocked to the river where food was plentiful. They’d drink and bathe, cooling themselves in the shallow pools along the exposed sandbar at the ferry landing.

In the sky off to the east, I watched a red-tailed hawk circle lazily. Watching the bird most every day, I suspected that the hawk had a mate nearby, even though I’d never seen them together. Periodically the bird called out, announcing to the rest of the wildlife that he was king of the skies and scanning the forest for its next meal. Strangely enough, the sounds of the birds seemed to ease my jittery nerves. The woodland creatures usually knew that something was amiss before humans did. As long as the hawk circled in the sky above me, I felt at ease; it was only when the woods became too quiet that I began to worry about what was wrong.

A few yards away, honeybees tended a sprawling honeysuckle bush. I imagined that they were gathering pollen to take back to their hives in the pine forest behind our house. On the other side of the trees the cattle grazed in a field that was covered with crimson clover during the spring.

The bees loved the clover and I loved the clover-flavored honey Papa extracted from their hives every year. Papa promised that he’d take me with him the next time he robbed honey in the coming winter when the bees weren’t as active.

“Bees can sense fear, so you can’t be afraid of getting stung.” Papa smiled and patted me on the head while I helped him jar the honey we extracted from the combs that year. Papa always seemed to make time spend with me and make me feel special.

As I watch the bees collect their pollen, I realized that there was no way of knowing if they were from our hives or wild bees, but I certainly hoped that they were harmless. Taking Papa’s advice, I decided to let them go on about their business. Joining the bees at the honeysuckle, a monarch butterfly flitted about from flower to flower. In a flash I saw a pair of bright-green-and-red hummingbirds darting about from among the honeysuckles and the wildflowers scattered along the riverbank. Seemingly out of nowhere, a brightly colored dragonfly caught my eye as it drank from the shallow puddles along the sandy shoal. I watched its flickering iridescent wings in wonder as it zipped up and down, sipping the small pool of water beneath the shade.

Straightaway, a shrill whistle caught my attention. “Ewe-Wee! Did you see that, Prue?” David shouted, jumping nearly three feet off the ground. Spinning around, pointing at Alex, he pranced in a circle. “That one skipped at least seven times! Beat that. I dare you!”

“You’ve got to be joking!” Alex chortled as he shook his head in disbelief. “That skipped four, maybe five times at the most.”

“Are you blind? That one went almost halfway across the Alabama.” David squawked before picking up a handful of river mud and tossing it at Alex. “You’re a sore loser!”

“What do you think, Prue?” David quizzed me as if it was the most important thing on earth at that moment.

“I don’t really know, David. I’m sorry. I really wasn’t watching,” I said, as if I’d just been awoken from a beautiful dream. I shifted my weight on the log I was sitting on and wondered how much longer we’d have to linger on the riverbank. My brothers’ childish game bored me. I’d lost interest in their rock-throwing contest as soon as I sat down.

Alex and David were so competitive over even the simplest things. And somehow, I’d made things worse by not watching. I rolled my eyes and looked back at the puddle to find my little dragonfly friend had flown away.

Lucky bug, I thought as I pulled up my stocking.

Ferry traffic had picked up considerably over the last few years, and Mr. Miller left early that morning carrying a load of travelers to the west bank of the Alabama River on their way to Mobile, Natchez, or Biloxi. I assumed that’s where they were headed at least. After all, most of the land around us belonged to the Creek, Choctaw, or Seminole Indian tribes, and there weren’t many places for them to go in the wilderness of the Mississippi Territory in 1813.

I’d stopped wondering who they were a long time ago. I didn’t know where they were headed nor did I care. All I knew was that I was glad to see them leave this place. The new white settlers were disruptive, upsetting most of us who called the Tensaw home.

I jerked when I heard a loud crash behind me startled me. I quickly whirled around and realized that it was only a couple of squirrels scrambling on the limb of a native pecan tree. I was relieved there was nothing to worry about.

I don’t like being so jumpy, I exhaled as I took a deep breath to calm down. Why on earth am I so jumpy? My heart was pounding. I didn’t like feeling ill at ease, but who could blame me the way things were these days?

Once convinced there was nothing to be concerned about, I felt a little silly for being so skittish. I guess I was letting all the rumors about the Red Stick uprising get to me. I turned my attention back to my brothers skipping rocks and hoped that neither had seen me so jumpy. Fortunately, they were too busy arguing about who skipped the rock the farthest to notice. Shrugging my shoulder, I wondered which I was more worried about, the Red Sticks or my brothers’ taunts.

I shaded my eyes from the glare of the midmorning sunlight sparkling on the muddy water and squirmed to get comfortable as my brothers tormented each other at the water’s edge. Usually I’d wear my hair in a braid, but today Mama had fashioned my hair into a smart bun on the top of my head that felt awkward to me.

“You have to look presentable when we get to Fort Stoddert,” Mama said, tugging at my hair as she brushed it this morning after I got dressed. “You never know when you’ll meet some suitable gentlemen who’d be interested in marriage.”

“Mother, please.” I tried to wriggle away and felt my face flush red. “I’m still too young to think about such things.”

“You’re not too young. Both of your sisters were married when they weren’t much older than you,” Mama insisted as she began to twist my hair into a bun while I sat at...

Produkt-Details

• Erscheint lt. Verlag: 24.9.2018
• Sprache: englisch
• Themenwelt: Geisteswissenschaften ► Geschichte ► Regional- / Ländergeschichte
• ISBN-10: 1-7323903-1-2 / 1732390312
• ISBN-13: 978-1-7323903-1-7 / 9781732390317