He moves the stick to the bottom of the peninsula. “And here is where they had placed their canoes along the river, so they could use them to escape if necessary.”

My father begins making shapes like small crosses along the opposite banks of the river surrounding that peninsula. “This is where we were, the mounted white men and almost all the Indians. We surrounded them before the fight started.”

He draws two circles in front of the neck of Tohopeka. “And this is where Sharp Knife Jackson was with his cannons.”

A little smile comes to my father’s face.

“Do you know who was with Sharp Knife that day? My white friend, Big Drunk, drinking from the jug he had in his pack.”

That brings a smile to my face, too. Of all the white men who have spent time among the Tsalagi, Big Drunk is our favorite. He’s a tall, broad man, generous and kind. Our people adopted him when he was a boy, and gave him the name of Golanu, the Raven. His one weakness is his constant drinking and the source of his nickname Big Drunk. We hardly ever call him by his Aniyonega name of Sam Houston.

My father’s face grows serious once more. “When the battle started that wall of logs held. The fire from inside the barricade was so fierce that every time the militia men tried charging the wall they were driven back—with musket bullets flattened on their bayonets.”

He points to the right side of the river across from the lower part of Tohopeka.

“I was here. We were firing across the river at the Red Sticks defending its banks. Word came down to us that the fight was not going well. Perhaps the white troops would give up and run from the battle as they had done before. That was when we Indians knew we had to take our fight to the other side of the river.

“‘There are plenty of boats,’ I said. ‘There on the other side. Follow me.’ Then I walked into the river.

“I cannot run fast with this leg, but I have always been a good swimmer and so I was not afraid of the water. The current was not strong there and in some places there were sandbars we could walk upon. It was easy to reach that other side—aside from all the bullets that were striking the water around me and the other men who followed me. We held our rifles and our powder above the water. So, when we got to the other side, we started shooting back at the Red Sticks guarding the riverbank. Others of us took the Red Stick canoes and paddled them over to ferry back more men.