The whites soon populated the acquired territory, and the
Chattahoochee was no barrier to their aggressions upon the helpless
Indian beyond. Feuds grew up: this led to killings, and in the winter
of 1835-6 active hostilities commenced. This war was of short
duration. Before the nation was divided, Hopothlayohola was opposed to
war. In his communication with General Jessup, he told him: "My
strength is gone; my warriors are few, and I am opposed to war. But
had I the men, I would fight you. I am your enemy--I shall ever be;
but to fight you would only be the destruction of my people. We are in
your power, and you can do with us as you will." But the chiefs of the
lower towns would not yield, and made the fight. In a short time this
was concluded by the capture of their leading chief, Nehemathla. He
was decoyed by treachery into the power of General Jessup, who
detained him as a prisoner, and almost immediately his band
surrendered.

Nehemathla was an Onchee chief. This was the remnant of a tribe
absorbed into the nation of the Creeks or Muscogees, and was probably
one of those inferior bands inhabiting the land when this nation came
from the West and took possession of the country. Their language they
preserved, and it is remarkable it was never acquired by white or red
man, unless he was reared from infancy among the tribe. It was
guttural entirely, and spoken with the mouth open, and no word or
sound ever required it to be closed for its pronunciation. They had
dwindled to a handful at the time of his capture, but more obstinately
determined to remain and die upon their parental domain, than any
other portion of the nation.

Nehemathla was more than eighty years of age at the time of his
capture. When brought into the presence of General Jessup, he expected
nothing short of death. The General told him of his crimes, upbraided
him with bad faith to his great father, General Jackson, and drawing
his sword, told him he deserved to die.

The chief, seeing the sword lifted, snatched the turban from his head,
and fiercely and defiantly looking the General in the face, as the
wind waved about his brow and head the long locks white as snow, said
firmly and aloud: "Strike, and let me sleep here with my father and my
children! Strike, I am the last of my race! The Great Spirit gave me
seven sons--three of them died at Emucfaw, two at Talladega, and two
at Aletosee. General Jackson killed them all, and you call him my
gre