Three: Tugaloo

9 January 1819

Tugaloo

I was not able to write yesterday as we stopped when it was nearly dark. By the time we ate our supper and prepared for our night's rest, it was far too dark to write.  The past two days have been instructive. We had our first encounter with the natives at the ferry across the upper Savannah river near Tugaloo.

Being in the middle of our caravan, I was not a witness to the negotiations that went on between my uncle and the natives. I am not certain if they were Creek or Cherokee. But I do know that it held up our group for about an hour while they negotiated the terms of the ferry crossing. It would take several trips across the river for all of us to reach the other side. I suppose that, there being no alternative, we had to pay whatever price they charged us. But Uncle John is a fierce negotiator, and we were eventually on our way.

I suppose that I need not have feared anything from these natives. They seemed harmless enough, although they were, as it turned out, good businessmen.  I saw a few of the women who were minding a fire, but got no glimpse of any dwelling place.  I assume that any such place is deeper within the forest.

The river itself was beautiful. There were oak, mulberry, and walnut trees near the banks, and grasses sprang up in between.  The winter sun reflected off the water, giving it a warm golden hue. The river eventually wends its way to the ocean at Savannah, but that is very far away. Some of the men at the rear of our caravan had time to catch some fish and we were treated to a fresh meal. I did not expect this, and I said a little word of thanks to this body of water for yielding up a small bounty.

We shall have to make haste to reach the town of Athens by tomorrow evening.   From there, we will traverse down to Fort Hawkins where we will join the Federal Road.  I have heard stories of that road: that it is often nearly unable to be traversed, and that murders and robberies have occurred whilst traveling upon it, mostly at the hands of Indians, but sometimes not.  I have to hope that we travel with a guardian angel.

For now, we are encamped somewhere between the Savannah River and Athens. I am a little concerned about some of the noises that I am hearing as the evening approaches.  I am not certain if they are human or animal and I am not sure which one I would prefer.   Again and again, I think about the horrifying violence that has plagued white people at the hands of some of the Indians.  And again and again, I tell myself that for the most part, these natives are peaceful.

Night falls so early in these winter months, and without our more civilized surroundings, we are confined quite early to our wagons. Beds have been made for us atop the provisions, and some thought had been given to see after our comfort.  Still, I miss the bed I knew all my life. 

Father and Uncle continue to sleep outside, and I am not certain where Susie sleeps as she is up after I fall asleep and before I awaken. I know that it should not be my concern, but I suppose that Susie is with the other Negroes at night. Being a house servant, she is not used to being around the field hands, so I wonder how she is managing.  That is to say, specifically, I wonder if she is with Father instead.

But that is not my concern. I do not care.