Want-To-Be-Warriors

It was getting on towards mid morning and I was anxious to make the fort settlement at Racepond by sundown. I figured I could and I was already thinking of the taste of Ole Jim’s squirrel stew and pear pie. That and a good fresh cup of store bought coffee, which I knew he served there, would be a fine way to end the day.  I knew I was getting close as the evening before I had heard the far off sound of the little cannon at the fort as the soldier boys ended their day. I knew I was somewhere to the east and north of what the swamp families called Big Water lake and somewhat west of the Racepond settlement where the little fort was. I figured that as how tomorrow was Sunday, I’d even be able to sneak around and wager a bet on the Sunday afternoon horse races they usually ran around the little cypress pond there. I’d have to sneak ‘cause I knew tomorrow to be the second Sunday of the month and the circuit riding preacher was due in there tomorrow…and as he knows me well from up Teabueville way, I figured it wouldn’t do for him to know about my bettin’ practices. 

I guess it was the prospects of good food, a little fun, and the possibility of that good store bought coffee which dulled my senses. Whatever it was, my mind just did not want to hear the warning my eyes were screaming about how two of the shadows near the sweet gums and palmettos on the nearby little island I was passing seemed to be moving oddly. As compared to the gentle bending and swaying of the rest of the undergrowth there in the morning breeze, that is. Suddenly, my off track mind snapped around to attention as two of those shadows seemed to grow arms holding bows with notched arrows! I fell backwards from my sitting position into the bottom of my dugout, dropping my paddle and grabbing at my ole’ squirrel shooter rushing to swing it around to point in a general direction off to my left! The sound of the twanging bow strings sounded as I feel backwards. As my back hit the bottom I was aware of an arrow thudding into the top right side of my dugout and its shaft vibrating against my old fat belly. Where the other was I had no idea, but I thankfully realized it was not sticking into me. Realizing they may even now be charging towards me, I hastily snapped my head around to get a look over the side raising my rifle up a bit to fire if needed.  

I’m not sure who was more scared at that instant, me or the two young Indian boys who had hurried out of the undergrowth down to the water’s edge. Thinking, no doubt, they had possibly killed the old white devil who was trespassing in their hidden world.  Both had failed to fully notch another arrow. A failure that today’s events would probably cure them of ever repeating again. As quick as I raised up, both stopped dead still… time seemed to stand still as they gaped open mouthed at the still very much alive white man before them. Then with a kind of harsh grunt one of them turned and in about two very quick steps reached the undergrowth and without even slowing down actually dove over the palmettos to disappear from sight! The remaining boy, who I now realized could only have been about twelve or thirteen or so seemed to be frozen with fear. Suddenly a short piece of thrown limb came sailing from out of the undergrowth to smack him square in the back and with that wake up call, he pivoted and ran hard to his right where he promptly tripped over a tree root and fell face down into a bunch of tall grass and wild grape vines. He quickly became lost from view in a shaking, tangled mess of vines.

Though I was half amused by his predicament, I was also keeping an eye out on the palmettos behind which I was sure his partner was hiding still. Having no desire to shoot such young boys, I was half minded to pull over to the little island and have an understanding with them about shooting at me. However, my better judgment won out as I realized if there were two young ones of this age around, there were probably much older and more deadlier Indians somewhere near. After all, the fort was there at Racepond just for the purpose of keeping the Indians from coming out of the swamp. They frequently enjoyed raiding the settlers and travelers around the edges of the swamp and nearby areas. “Only an idiot would set off to try and catch those two,” I thought. With that in mind I sat up fully, laid my ole squirrel shooter down and picked up my floating paddle out of the water. Then I dug it in and headed for the eastern edge of the swamp with one eye kind of trying to watch for what those two adventurous want-to-be-warriors might be up to.

The thrashing in the vines had soon ceased and the whole episode hadn’t lasted longer than probably three or four long minutes. But it had been enough of a close call for me to have no trouble at all in focusing on where I was at and the trail ahead. “Dead men can’t drink store bought coffee and eat pie, boy,” I thought as I dug a bit deeper with my hand carved paddle into the tea colored waters of the Okefenokee Swamp. As my dugout responded and glided quickly down the trail I passed beneath clumps of hanging Spanish moss with thin dangling pieces gently waving in the breeze. I looked down and saw the arrow was still there embedded in the top edge of the dugout. I decided that it was one souvenir I didn’t want to keep. With a hard jerk I pulled it out and dropped it over the side, startling a drifting gar fish, causing him to flick his tail and seem to leap a good three feet before landing among the nearby water lilies with an echoing splash.

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Where they went and what story they may have told their elders, I do not know. One thing I did know though… I was mighty thankful to the good Lord above that this once I had been spared. I was also thankful that I had not fired off my ole squirrel shooter without thinking, as I had no mind to have to live with the thought that I’d killed a young boy, not yet a man. Fightin’ men is one thing, fightin’ boys is another. And I wanted no truck with that. 

cb



A canoe trail in the Okefenokee



The Okefenokee Swamp at dawn


You may find the following link interesting. It leads to the Facebook page for Waycross, Georgia, which sits where the old town of Teabueville used to be.
http://www.facebook.com/#!/waycrossmainstreet