and children, lay bleeding on the ground,
scalped and shockingly mangled. A thousand Creek Indians had broken into
the carelessly guarded fort, and perpetrated one of the most horrid
massacres in the history of Indian wars. Weathersford, the leader of the
Indians, tried to stop the ferocious warriors in their dreadful work,
but they surrounded him and threatened him with their tomahawks while
they glutted to the full their thirst for blood.

Many days passed before the news of this frightful affair in the
southern wilderness reached Nashville. The excitement it created was
intense. The savages were in arms and had tasted blood. The settlements
everywhere were in peril. The country might be ravaged from the Ohio to
the Gulf. It was agreed by all that there was only one thing to do, the
Indians must be put down. But the man best fitted to do it, the man who
was depended upon in every emergency, lay half dead in his room, slowly
recovering from his dreadful wound.

A year before Jackson had led two thousand men to Natchez to defend New
Orleans in case the British should come, and had been made by the
government a major-general of volunteers. He was the man every one
wanted now, but to get him seemed impossible, and the best that could be
done was to get his advice. So a committee was appointed to visit and
confer with the wounded hero.

When the members of the committee called on the war-horse of the West
they found him still within the shadow of death, his wounds sore and
festering, his frame so weak that he could barely raise his head from
the pillow. But when they told him of the massacre and the revengeful
feeling of the people, the news almost lifted him from his bed. It
seemed to send new life coursing through his veins. His voice, weakened
by illness, yet with its old ring of decision, was raised for quick and
stern action against the savage foes who had so long menaced Tennessee.
And if they wanted a leader he was the man.

When the committee reported the next day, they said there was no doubt
that "our brave and patriotic General Jackson" would be ready to lead
the men of war by the time they were ready to march. Where Jackson led
there would be plenty to follow. Four thousand men were called out with
orders to assemble at Fayetteville, eighty miles south of Nashville, on
October 4, just one month from the day when Jackson had received his
wounds. From his bed he took command. By his orders Colonel Coffee rode