at what she feared to be the dead body of her beloved son, but instead was a still-alive Jake sitting on the floor holding a pistol in one hand and pressing his other hand to his forehead near his hairline. Blood was streaming through his fingers and down his face, and a gaping hole in his shirt revealed where a bullet had ripped into his side.
Mary knelt down, not knowing whether to touch him or not. “Son, what have you gotten into now? Lott, go get a doctor. Get him quick!” shouted Mary.
“Mother, the doctor has already been sent for. He’s on the way,” reassured Lott. “Just calm yourself. You ain’t helpin’ Jeremiah at all actin’ the way you are. Please, just calm down.”
Jeremiah was now sitting in a chair with a handkerchief over his scalp wound and sipping ale as though nothing at all had happened.
“Mamma, how about settling down and quit makin’ such a fuss about this. I ain’t going to die, and if I do, it will be the Lord’s will. Somebody’s going to have to shoot me with something bigger than that pistol,” mumbled Jeremiah.
The Wilsons were Presbyterians and avid believers in predestination. They believed that the Almighty God had a plan for every believer and what happened to one was God’s divine will.
“Son, how did this happen?” questioned Mary, as she cleaned the blood from his face.
“It’s all right,” reassured Lott. “Mister Liddle saw the whole thing. Jeremiah is not at fault. He says Albert Brewer had been drinkin’ too much and pulled his pistol on Joe Langley. He claimed Joe had been makin’ advances toward his wife. Mamma, Jeremiah grabbed the pistol out Mister Brewer’s hand to stop a shootin’. From what they say, the first shot hit Jeremiah in the side and when he pulled the pistol up in the air, the second shot hit his head. The third went into the ceiling. Mamma, this ain’t Jeremiah’s fault,” reassured Lott.
Doc Haley soon arrived and examined Jeremiah and dressed his wounds. As he finished, he sternly addressed Jeremiah. “Jake, the Lord was with you tonight, young man. You are indeed lucky. That first shot appears to have cracked a couple of ribs but did not penetrate your ribcage. I found what was left of the bullet down in your shirt. Must have bounced right off of you. And for the other, it only grazed your scalp. It’s a damned good thing you got such a hard noggin. If you take care of yourself, you’ll be fine. But, you might have a permanent part in your hair from here out,” joked Doc Haley. The whole crowd broke into laughter and cheers.
Peace was soon restored and Jeremiah was moved to a bedroom upstairs above the kitchen. Mary and Lott sat by Jeremiah’s bedside and together thanked the Lord for saving his life. Doc Haley had given Jeremiah a strong sedative and soon he was sound asleep.
For hours the two stared at Jeremiah and at each other without a word. Finally Mary broke the silence, “Lott, we are going to get Jeremiah out of this city. I don’t know how, but we are. We’ve got to.”
Lott reached for his Mother’s hand to get her full attention. “I think I have a way, but it’s going to take us a long way from here. The bad thing about it is we won’t be near you in case you need us.”
“I don’t mind son,” Mary interrupted. “Tell me what it is.”
“Mister McCorkle has asked me to go with him into the Creek land in west Georgia to help him survey the area for the government. It’s a long way from Savannah. They just moved the Indians out, and we have a big job ahead of us.”
“But Lott, what has this got to do with your brother?”
“Mother, Mister McCorkle wants me to find someone else to go with us, and that someone else can be Jeremiah.”
“But Lott, what if Jeremiah doesn’t want to go?”
“He’ll go. I’ll think of something. He’s got to leave. If he stays in Savannah, somebody is going to kill him.”
HOME IN THE WILDERNESS
The year was 1832 and the Wilson boys had now been surveying land for the state of Georgia for four years and recently had accompanied Mister McCorkle westward to Mississippi to survey the land acquired by the state of Mississippi from the Choctaw Indians.
While in Georgia, the group had surveyed land in the western part of the state that had once belonged to the Creek nation. After that McCorkle had been contacted by an associate in Mississippi and was employed to survey the large area of land ceded to the state by the Choctaw nation at the Treaty of Dancing Rabbit Creek. The surveying group sailed from Savannah around the tip of Florida by the way of the Gulf of Mexico, and finally reached Mobile, Alabama. Leaving Mobile, they took a flatboat up the Tombigbee River to a small settlement, and by traveling overland they soon reached the eastern section of the Choctaw lands located in east central Mississippi.
At this meeting place, several groups of surveyors gathered to design a plan in which the area could be charted thoroughly and quickly. The state wanted the Indian lands ready for settlement and sale as soon as possible.
Land speculators and traders had already begun to move into Choctaw lands to locate the choicest property and to trade with the Indians. In some cases, speculators were devising plans to cheat the Choctaws out of the more desirable sections. By the recent treaty, an individual Choctaw male could remain on the land but with restricted rights if he would give up his tribal allegiance and agree to become an American citizen. In return, he would be given 640 acres which was defined as one section. If he did not accept these terms, he and his family would be forced to move to the Oklahoma Territory, where most southeastern tribes were being relocated. The vast majority of the Choctaws chose to relocate in the Oklahoma Territory. Some decided to remain in the only homeland they had ever known, the hillcountry of east central Mississippi.
In addition to Lott and Jake, McCorkle was assigned an extra surveyor to assist with mapping a large area located to the northwest of their organizational point. The assistant, a young man named Franklin Olliver or Frank as he wished to be called, was the son of a Louisiana land speculator and a French Creole woman. He seemed to be likable enough, but acted strange at times. More was on this man’s mind than surveying.
The early March winds sent the leaves swirling softly around the campfire causing the horses to shuffle back and forth nervously. Every once in a while, the breezes would gust through the leafless treetops creating a ghostly whistling sound that caused goose bumps on those not accustomed to life in the wild.
The group traveled all day to finally arrive at the work site where they would lay out the land sections. Before reaching their campsite, they had ridden in the dark for over an hour, unaware of the landscape’s appearance. When Mister Mac finally decided to stop, it didn’t take the men long to set up camp and bed down. Later, Mister Mac was worried over the restlessness of the animals.
“Jake, get up and check the horses. Be sure they’s tied up well for the night. If we loose them, we walk, and I ain’t wantin’ to do no walkin’,” stated McCorkle, as he pulled the blanket closer around his head to keep his ears warm.
Jake slowly moved from his warm place near the fire and with his blanket wrapped around his massive shoulders walked toward the horses grumbling, “Why is it always Jake that has to do all the lousy jobs. Hell! I was better off in Savannah.”
Jake soon returned to the campfire complaining under his breath. He finally blurted out, “Mister Mac,” as he settled once more in his place by the fire, “I want to ask you sump’n, and you bein’ more intelligent than my brother Lott, I think you can give me a more sensible answer.”
“What is it now, Jake? I’m about ready to settle down for the night. I ain’t talkin’ long.”
“My brother, that smart ass over there rolled up like a cocoon, hoodwinked me out of Savannah by takin’ advantage of me when I got drunk one night. He said I got in a fight and killed a man,” explained Jake.
“Well, was it true?” Mister Mac asked, as he raised up on an elbow in order to hear Jake’s reply.
“Hell,