Theys a Battle Brewin’

While Moore and Watson discussed the situation with Dr. Hamilton, the Redbone, Perkins, lay in the dust of the roadway where he had fallen. Only the fact that he was under the orders of John Watson was protecting the man from violence at the hands of the mob which had gathered around him. The actual presence of the cold-eyed executive, Watson, could have added nothing to the inviolate status of the recumbent Perkins. The crowd about the man was less afraid of him than they were of John Watson. This ludicrous and almost unbelievable situation lasted for several minutes while Moore, Hamilton and Watson held a confab within the store. Having reached a tentative decision, the three cool-headed men walked out to the spot where Perkins lay in the road. As the circle of men standing around the Redbone opened to admit the trio, Moore stated the decision, “Get up Marion,” he said to Perkins, “and go inside.” But looking quickly at his jailer, the Redbone made no move until Watson nodded, whereupon Perkins obeyed the order, and no man spoke or made a move as the four disappeared through the doorway of the store.

The Westport store was a large two-story frame building, set facing the east and, as I told you, stood on the north side of the old Sugartown road. The stairway leading to the upper story was located at the rear of the building and leading the group to the lower landing, Dr. Hamilton calmly gave his order to Perkins; “Go upstairs Marion,” the doctor said. “Keep quiet and don’t show yourself. We will see that you are safe.” But again glancing at Watson as an accused man to his lawyer, Perkins caught the quick nod and obeyed the doctor’s command. Half an hour passed. Tom Perkins the elder, father to Marion and Henry, rode up to the Hatch store, dismounted and went in. Old man Tom had heard of the fight between Musgrove and Marion; had heard that his son was being held a prisoner in the store. The old Redbone’s face was set and tense as he approached the proprietor, Joe Moore. But without waiting for Perkins to address Moore, Dr. Hamilton caught his attention and suavely nodded to old Tom to come over into the vacant corner of the store. Dr. Hamilton, always agreeable in manner, bland of appearance, and a cool moderator in the affair of all that back country between the rivers, was also a man of unflinching courage. Apart from the boisterous crowd which stood about the counters drinking, Dr. Hamilton hoped to allay Perkins’ anger. The doctor laid the situation briefly before the aggressive father, and as he did so, Hamilton poured a glass of his best wine and extended it to Perkins. “Mr. Tom,” the doctor said soothingly, “we have assured Marion that we will see that he is not harmed and now that you have come and can go with him, we will send the boy for his horse and keep the crowd occupied up front while Marion slips out the back door and gets away. Where shall we say that you will meet him?” Pushing back the proffered glass of wine, old Tom straightened his heavy shoulders with the cold arrogance of his proud Moorish lineage; “Dr. Hamilton,” he said. “This aint no time for drinkin’. My boys have done run away for the last time and nothing but a rawhide fight is goin’ter do it now.” And turning about, the old Redbone strode silently the length of the store and out to his horse. Mounting the cayuse, Perkins drove his spurs viciously into the animal’s flanks as the pony wheeled from the hitch rack and dashed away through the trees. Beyond sight of the store, Perkins came upon a group of his people who awaited the outcome of this interview. Angered beyond all reason, the old Leader of the clan ordered a runner to make all speed through the Redbone settlements with the inflaming report that the “White” men at Westport were holding Marion Perkins a prisoner within the store; that they were going to kill him; and that the settlers must gather all their forces with all the guns and ammunition they could find; and for all to come at once to “Fight it out.”

Little did the men at the store suspect the lurid lie(1) old Tom had sent back to his people and the sinister program his report had inaugurated. As a result of the old Redbone’s story, the protection which had been afforded young Perkins now became a tremendous liability. The “Whites” at the store had no premonition of the impending assault. Even when the approaching cavalcade of Redbones were sighted, bearing guns of every description, some with barrels as long as hoe handles the men at the store continued unperturbed in the casual, carefree drunken way of the holiday season. Failing to realize the seriousness of the situation, the “Whites” were unable to take whatever advantage that might have been secured by Marion Perkins being within the store. Many women were in the attacking party and soon now the yapping
babble(2) of their high-pitched voices grew so plain as to compel recognition of the alarming fact that the whole Redbone community had taken to the warpath. I became at this time both too drunk and too badly scared to remember any further details of the Westport Fight, but according to the memoirs of one of the besieged settlers, the attackers must have numbered more than fifty.

The Redbone women(3) remained in the background, hiding behind trees the while, keeping up a continual turmoil of shouting. Most of the men likewise kept within the shelter of the grove, dodging from tree to tree as they approached the store. Several of the bravest Redbones came out of the forest on horseback and rode boldly up to the hitching rack where they tied their horses and advanced toward the building on foot. These men were all heavily armed and in fighting mood. Only three of the band came on the store gallery. These three, old Tom, Simon Morrows, and Hamp Dyal, disarmed the suspicions of the “Whites” by climbing the steps and approaching the front door of the store as though on peaceful business. It may seem strange that a man walking up to a country store with a rifle or a shotgun on his shoulder could be regarded without suspicion whatever, but it is true. Game was so plentiful in the woods traversed by the lonely roads over which the settlers went to the store or to the mill, and men and boys were so frequently seen with guns, that an armed man not only attracted no attention; his gun was unnoticed. The deadly purpose of the Redbones in this particular case however, was soon revealed.

1 accounts differ according to whose descendants you are, as to whether Marion was a prisoner or not, which is relevant to determining if Tom’s statement was a fight mongering lie or a legitimate call to rescue their kinsman
2 some think this is an embellishment tied to white stereotyping of natives, but most likely true so as to distract & mask the sounds of the movement in the thickets, plus, they just do that sometimes:)
3 I can attest to the shouting part, but not so for as the background remaining…(see, I got me a Redbony squaw:)