The Hunt: Part I

Salt Licks and Consequences

_{Does this look like just a mud puddle? Look closely. It’s not. Check out the paw and hoof prints.}

I guess the first tale that needs telling is how this little church so far back in the woods got such a peculiar almost sacrilegious name in the first place. This is the story as I remember it told me about 60 years ago by Gross Rainey, an old man who lived just around the curve above Joe Hatcher‘s place. Gross Rainey had gotten it from his father, who was a slave to one of the men going on what turned out to be The Hunt, which took place in October 1825.

The group of hunters gathered at the cabin Archie Tate had built for his new bride Sarah Jeanne. The men included Frank White, Sydney Staggers and Ben Estes, local farmers and businessmen.

They were led by George Gross, the local lawyer and mayor. That concluded the group with the exception of the slave Bill, who belonged to Mr. Gross.

They all checked their gear before heading out. I’ve got the extra lead.” Archie replied, pulling his knapsack around front. and I’ve got plenty of powder chimed in Frank. They were planning to get to the spring that headed up Turkey Creek in time to set up camp and scout around a bit for sign so that they would get a good kill of deer the next day.

The group proceeded single file across the long ridge that ran northeast from the settlement toward the salt lick.

~

Now let me explain a bit here. You see, in summer, the crops had been planted in spring then they were hoed and weeded twice, and after the third hoeing is what we call lay-by time. And in that lull between hoeing and harvest the men headed to the salt lick.

To get to the best salt, you had to dig deep, past the roots, past the detritus that littered the ground, past rocks, down to the purely rich dirt, Digging out mounds of that salty dirt was a back breaking job, but the salt that it carried was vital to the health and welfare of the community . We needed it for daily use in our cooking as well as for curing meat and tanning hides, so that meant a lot of dirt.

The men brought pounds of the salt filled dirt back to town, emptying their sacks in an enormous cast iron kettle while the women added water and stirred. You see, the idea was to break loose that salt from the rocks, pebbles and mud so every bit of salt that clung would dissolve in the water and be left to settle out, which sometimes took several days.

The women would lift buckets full of that salty water and strain it through sack cloth several times, then set pans of the water out in the sun to evaporate, leaving salt crystals to harvest.

But I didn’t mean to go down that rabbit hole. Anyway . . .

George Gross knew that deer would be visiting the lick too, and reckoned it would be a good place to start.

“Spread out a bit and keep an eye out for injuns.” Gross warned. They all knew that Choctaws or maybe a roving band of Creeks were still a real possibility. “Ben, you take the point since you know the ground better than the rest of us.” added the leader of the hunting party.

The group quieted down and moved like ghosts through the thick woods. They knew the seriousness of their situation all having been reared on this frontier in the south.

Sydney Staggers had gotten about 100 yards behind the last man, looking right and left in with glances that didn’t miss a thing. Suddenly he stopped, and took cover behind a small blackjack oak. He raised his rifle and BANG! He reloaded, and ran down the side of the ridge. Laughing, he reached down and held up a turkey gobbler. “We’ll eat better tonight.” he chuckled as he made his way back to the party

“Time for you to take over, Sid” Ben stepped aside. Staggers took the lead as they moved out of the long ridge. After about an hour steady walking, Staggers made a sharp turn to his left and went skittering down the steep slope of the ridge.

Staggers waited till the group caught up with him. “We’re headed to a new camp site.” he said to George “I found it during the winter and marked it in my mind. Those clouds off to the west look like a hard rain tonight and this place we’re going to has good caves from weather and will be easy to defend in case we get jumped by injuns”.

With a nod and a shrug of his shoulders, Gross motioned the men forward.

In about 10 minutes, Sydney disappeared over a cut to his right. The other men followed and found Sydney Staggers grinning and standing above them under an overhang of rock about 40 feet across and at least 30 to 35 feet deep. The group clambered their way up and began unloading their bed rolls and making camp. Pointing to a huge wide oak about 30 yards to the right, Staggers called to Ben Estes “There’s a good spring right at the foot of that white oak there, where you can fetch us some water.

Frank White dumped his fourth arm load of cedar bows to one side. They’d make fine bedding for the men to lay on that night.

“This is a mighty fine camp spot.” Mr. Gross observed . “I guess the Indians liked it too from the look of these old fire signs.”

After hunkering down for a tasty turkey dinner, the men began to take off their boots and settle down for the night.

“Reckon we need to be sure to sleep with one eye open or one of us guarding the camp.” Gross reasoned. “Ben, you take first watch. Frank, you’ve got a keen eye. You can take the second and I’ll take the dawn watch”.

Ben picked up his gun and heavy jacket, silently moving outside the light of the cook fire to stand guard.

Soon, all that could be heard were a few soft snores and snorts along with the rustling of fresh fresh-cut cedar bows as the men settled down for the night. Ben stood his watch, but for all the calm, he couldn’t get the sight of his friend lying scalped across a pine log out of his mind.

Just before dawn, Gross touched each man on the shoulder. Without a sound, the men arose and soon were dressed and ready to move out for the deer hunt.

“Men,” George Gross warned, “we’ve got a job to do, so let’s go. Be cautious in your hunt. I’ve got a strong feeling of trouble in my bones. Let’s plan to get some deer real quick and get out of here. Move out in pairs and be back here by no later than midday so we can get home by dark.”

Quietly, the men moved out. Ben and Arch, Sid and Frank and George Gross accompanied by the slave, Bill moved in different directions to cover the salt lick area from several sides. The predawn mist still covered the ground in an eerie blanket, like a shroud.

After a few minutes, a couple of shots ran out. Wooweee! We got two.” Shouted Ben. “The rest of the bunch split two ways toward both of y’all. Look alive and we’ll get this hunt over within a few minutes!

Soon another shot rang out. “I gots one too.” shouted Bill.

Then came a volley of shots followed by a scream.

The men saw Ben breaking out of the scrub in a dead run, heading out of the forested green and sprinting wildly toward the camp. A fusillade of shots followed by blood curdling screams of triumph from the band of raiding Creeks followed his progress.

The remaining members of the party scrambled to the entrance of the camp. “Where’s Arch?” Gross glared at Ben as he reached the campsite.

“He’s lying out there on top of the ridge! Dead! The injuns done scalped him.” moaned the dead hunter’s companion.

“What we going to do now Mr George?” moaned Bill Rainey. “We ‘bout out of lead, ‘n no food except this little spike I killed right here. All the lead lies out there with poor Mr Arch and him dead and ‘thout no hair!!” The ghastly look on the poor man’s face sent an immediate chill through them all.

~ To be continued ~