David Crockett’s Story
Chapter 9
“Before you, and behind ‘y figment, lie’ the crux of a mountain range that ‘our governors henceforth have reckon’d Nantahala, Cherokee, and Smoky Mountain; in ‘y time, they ‘er’ called home. I scaled these mountains ‘nd many more, for the long of ‘y childhood ‘nd adult life. In the north, under her shadow of Clinch Mountain and as far east as the Nolichucky, ‘y family thrived. But school ‘as a terrible place w’th terrible children; therefore, at the ripe ol’ age of thirteen, I knew I could make ‘y mark as a man ‘lone in the wild. I ran ‘way from home, and whilst I know ‘tit be the true beginning of my life, I wouldst not wish such a decision upon your group.
“I was part-Cherokee and ‘y kin welcom’d me; they called me Kalanuh—“Raven”. I liv’d ‘mong the wild and the Cherokee for two years thence; each taught me the peril and destruction of the frontier, whilst also her beauty and tender care. I learnt the basics of fishing to provide for my crops and my stomach; tending our Father’s garden and constructing ‘y first wattle and daub. Through the Great Valley and up in-to the Smoky’s and Roan, I left ‘y legacy on the bear, bison, and elk; these my food that the Cherokee taught were my distant cousins; respect and honor, grace and death were upon them as ‘ti twas upon me.
“I ventured far north in-to Kan-tucky, and Virgin-ia, but nev’r felt ’s home as here in the’e blue mountains. Tanasi—the Cherokee called them; bright and blue, smoky and strong; the’e mountain’ hold the mysteries of the universe in her bosom and she is gracious enough to hold me, also. They are untamable and they yield t’ no man, beast, or ghost; they liveby wild, unnatural rule, and will set for’ their dominance on ‘ny whom try to stand them bay.
“Such a man ‘as Juan Pardo. 1567; he led ‘is Spanish expedition through Car’lina ‘nd in-to the Chilhowee valley four-hundred years our past; this place you call Happy Valley. He was searching for what many ‘ave called the Fountain of Youth, as his countrymen—viz. De Soto and Ponce de Leon—believed were in this land. But t’ Pardo ’twas merely a means t’ etern’ty albeit exempt o’ the grace of our Father in Heaven.
“He believ’d it belong’d to the heart of the Colonies’ only rainforest, this Smoky Mountain. Pardo was never looking for ‘silver mines’ as the record-books tell. ‘e knew that De Soto had found the fountain before ‘im and kep’ ‘tit a secret for, by his Spanish words, some “God-forsaken reason”.
“Pardo crossed through the Valley, and ‘stablished six forts for ‘is men to hold up through winter whilst searching for the Fountain; all the while, the Cherokee and Nunnehi were left unaware of their goal. He returned to Car’lina, and like a mooncalf, one of ‘is men let the details out the bag to the indigenous peoples. Once the Chilhowee knew what ’twas they were aft’r, they opened war ‘pon the six Spanish forts; all but one caballero were slaughtered; every fort burnt; every soul erased. The Nunnehi released the one survivor to return to Car’lina with a fabricated tale, in hope the Spaniards nev’r return. And such a hope came true.
“Though Pardo had a petroglyph; his own creation that ‘ave the best imagined path through the forest t’ where he believed the fountain lie; and now ‘e knew ‘twas close. A place near Chief Abraham’s Falls; an ‘idden lake that restored life to ‘ny whom enter’d it. A place the Cherokee call Atagahi.
“When I was no longer a boy, and I return’d to the Crockett homestead in the Great Valley, my life had changed. Fame and notoriety thrust upon me like a fever. I’d adventure to show for my life and people either loved or despised me; the Finley’s ‘ere apt to refuse their daughter take my hand in marriage for the latter; but she so desired by the former. I spat at the man and his rude wife, and took her hand regardless. ‘nly aft’r did they respond to my fortitude in gracious behaviour. But now I see that my tale of love has bored thee as it tired the other.
“I shall skip ‘head to the day I met Andrew Jackson. He was a general whom I served under during the Creek War. Loyalty lie deep in ‘y heart, and many regrets have weigh’d ‘tit down in-to the depths of integrity. I see now what the man was after, and I have nothing to show but my sins for believing in his regalia in early days.
“The Cherokee were used by us and ousted from the land they swore to love and steward; my kin were disavowed to follow the life God had given them. Once I saw what sort of man Jackson was, I absconded myself to hunting and foraging for the regiment and avoided the killing altogether.
“Whence upon returning home, I aimed to stop him and his cohorts in the way I believed fit: legislation. I grew my wealth, and with it, my stature, as a man dependent on honor and integrity. (These words are hard to say, ‘nd I will not loosely praise ‘y own life.) After years of words that would only tire thee further, I found myself in the congressional legislation and finally, from what I believed at the time, in the power to stop men like Andrew Jackson from their war against the Natives.
“I was sorely disappointed; congress was merely a merry-go-round of prigs, spinning on pomp and their own stature. What little integrity they had was superseded by whatever legislation they represented or any lobbyist that bought them off; otherwise, integrity was non-existent.
“It was the public school all over again. I could not last long in a land of sycophants; my heart was in the mountains. And while I went to the depths of Hell to save her, I knew now that only God could rescue her. I threw my mission aside and regrettably aimed my heart at my hubris; I’ll never know whether I could have stopped Jackson and his political cohorts.
“My desire for significance and my hand on a rifle again drove me to abandon my home and country, the same as I did as a child. I went to Texas with the only friend I still had, Jim Bowie. There, the Tejanos fought the Mejicans for a chance at liberty; the same liberty I wished the Cherokee would fight for in my homeland; alas, my adopted kin are not so violent.
“I was only there for a fortnight, before Santa Anna’s siege upon the Alamo.
“February twenty-third, 1836. Santa Anna’s army pressed down ‘pon us. The ‘ot blaze of musket fire and powder chok’d our lungs for nearly two weeks. Colonel Travis commanded Jim and I keep our Kan-tucky long rifles pointed at the siege; my bedside was the garrison wall. The sun beat ‘ard on the encampment and cooked our souls and provisions; Travis ‘ad sent ‘is Captain Martin for reinforcements but the ‘ope of the men waned e’ery ‘our. We want’d nothing but to stand and fight to the death; the tejanos would have their freedom from Mejico, Jim Bowie and I wi’ them.
“‘lone in the depths of the fort on the third day of March, Jim and I found a treasure in her bowels. A stone of immense value, pageantry and lauding wrapp’d in gold’n luxury; it was the Pardo Stone.
“Theretofore, Jim and I believ’d it be the cause for Santa Anna’s unrestrained hatred ‘nd incumbent onslaught upon the Fort. We read the stone and recogniz’d ’t once as th’ mountains we knew well in Tennessee. The battle raged, but the two of us were hell-bent as a moccasin at refusing the Stone fall to the Mejicans.
“March sixth. Santa Anna broke through our barricades and apprehend’d the fort. Our hands stayed in surrender, we anticipat’d the furlough of our souls to the great beyond where our Saviour resides. Much t’ our astonishment, Santa Anna releas’d Jim and I, quoting ‘e didn’t care for dos gabachos taking up his cuartos as prisoner.
“I could see ‘tin his eyes; ‘e hadn’t intend’d to leave any prisoners, tejanos or colonials. Jim and I ‘bliged, with a mind to reach Tennessee and bring back reinforcements on the Alamo; ’twas only after we reached north Alabama tha’ we learnt of Santa Anna’s defeat.” (Here, Crockett became solemn and introspective. It took him several painful seconds to continue his story.)
“The Pardo Stone came w’th us; smuggled through my coons-kin hat, of all things. When we returned to Tennessee, ‘e spent a few weeks study’ng it, Jim and I. We trac’d ’t back t’ the mountains of Chilhowee, where the Cherokee spoke of a lake deep in the forest called Atagahi. The people knew where ‘twas, but would not take us; no man belongs in Atagahi, and Atagahi belongs to no man.
“The Cherokee were my kin; even with our ‘ntent to find Atagahi, a fight would not grow between us, like that of Juan Pardo’s Spaniards. Nonetheless, they would not help us. We were left to wander the mountain ‘lone; however, only two nights in-to our journey, Jim became ill. We returned to Chilhowee, where he died. And me—” (Here, the Ghost trailed off and looked introspective again.) “Well, that’s a different tale for the nonce.
“Chilhowee is underwater now. God rest their souls. I heard the Stone washed ‘way, and some farmhand found it in Inman of all places. They don’t know what ‘tit is they have in their hands. And now I tell you the tale ’ve told your friend.” (Here, David Crockett motioned to behind the children.) “Yes, your friend whose sat behind you all ‘long against the walnut.”
The children, enraptured by the lullaby of Crockett’s past, suddenly realized what he was saying and turned to see Aaron nestled under the low branches of a walnut tree.
“‘e’s been here since this morn,” Crockett explained. “‘e came early when ‘e concluded you would not ‘llow him to help any longer.”
Aaron stood to his feet and brushed the wet mud from his pants. “Yes, I bean richere to listen the story twice,” said he. “But ye’ns dins’t say nothing bout Atagahi bein’ the Fountain of Youth ta me.”
“Hush boy,” Crockett admonished. “I needn’t tell you, in fear tha’ you do something foolish with such knowledge.”
“I woulda runs right inta that-there woods and finds it myself.”
“Hence, something foolish,” said the Ghost.
Without waiting a moment longer, Marian burst out, “I’m sorry for yelling at you.”
Aaron shrugged. “Ah, fergat it,” said he. “Friends fight.”
She smiled.
“So why is the gate here?” Esther asked.
Crockett smile. “The Nunnehi and I built ‘t long ago to separate those outside from tho’e things inside. Yes, this is the path t’ Atagahi. And with such a thing, the world would mee’ ’tits demise.”
“Wouldn’t it be good for everyone to live forever?” Herbert asked.
“Death is what makes life sweet,” replied Crockett. “Without an end, we would only ‘ave a beginning. And without something to fight for, we would ‘ave nothing to live for. No, you ‘ave too much faith ’n mankind if you believe ’t’d be happier living forever.”
“Why are there monsters in there?” Marian asked.
“There ‘re just as many monsters out here, my dear lady,” replied the Ghost. “The question you have t’ answer now is whether you believe they should ‘ave their ‘ands on eternity?”
“I just want my Dad to be safe.”
“And I promise you, ’e won’t be until you take the first step in shutting th’s gate.”
Marian hesitated and looked at the soggy grass between her sneakers. In all her imagination, she hadn’t thought this is where the adventure would take her. She looked at her sister and brother. “Okay,” said Marian. “I’ll go in.”
“And we will, too,” Esther added.
“And that there’s why I a’ready chere,” said Aaron. “Who aneeds school anyhow?”
“Tomorrow is the weekend, Aaron,” Esther reminded him, giggling.
The Ghost of David Crockett shook his hands together and looked anxious, “I would ‘ave that you wait an evening, ch’ldren,” said Crockett. “The path is long and perilous. You will need a guide and proper footwear—those smooth shoes would not do on slick rocks. Carry morsels and water. ‘nd a deep sleep afore a weary journey. Meet me ‘ere at sunrise, ready, and I will have someone to lead you the way.”
“You won’t be coming with us?” Herbert asked.
“That is not how this story unfolds, Herbert Dolor,” said the Ghost. “I would desire nothing more than t’ ‘company you through this. But one day, you may understand why ‘tis you faced your next steps ‘lone, and u’til that day, understand that hard journeys are the journeys worth taking; and most often, those journeys are not crowded. Come morning, I will see you off, children.”
Keith G. Alderman 