never could say. Clifton doubted the exactness of the whole story,
but he thought the lesson implied by it worth remembering. 

Just as the darkness began to overwhelm the wooded riverside,

the two heard the sound of someone wading in the river. Both
slowly turned, and soon three warriors came into view. They were
armed with clubs and short spears, the kind used to jab at an
enemy. None of them appeared to be carrying guns. At the sound
of the cocking of Clifton’s rifle, their heads swiveled rapidly towards
the clump of palmettos. All three gave full voice to their war cry,
and they charged straight up the small slope out of the river. As
they came in, Clifton fired first. The lead man stumbled obviously
hit in the stomach as he grabbed his midsection with one hand
and then fell face first into the mud at the river’s edge.

John’s rifle sounded quickly after and the now closest Indian

twirled around and appeared to be trying to run away as he fell
into the river with a loud splash. The third warrior came on quickly,
but Clifton’s attention was suddenly drawn to the brush in front of
his position. Two more warriors had emerged within a few short
feet of them with drawn bows ready to fire! Almost calmly, John
said, “These are some of those men.”  Later Clifton recalled how
completely calm John sounded as if the two were watching the
men from far off… and not in the middle of life or death fight!

Clifton reached back and grabbing John’s shoulder as he

stepped forward to confront the still charging warrior from the river,
he pulled John downwards with as much strength as he could
muster. This was accomplished as the two loosed their arrows si-
multaneously. One arrow caught Clifton atop his shoulder, and he
felt it as if he had been pricked or bitten by a rat, he thought later
as he recalled it. The other struck John’s arm as he held it up to
meet the charge of the oncoming warrior. Clifton quickly vaulted
over the palmettos swinging his rifle at the heads of the two as
John caught the other on the tip of his knife. Clifton’s rifle
glanced off the forehead of one warrior. His fist connected with the
side of the other’s head. Both men stumbled back into the brush,
their hands frantically grasping at their fighting knives.

Within seconds John stood beside Clifton, the remaining at-

tacker from the river now dead. Both men quickly stepped behind
nearby trees waiting. In the darkness, they could hear the other
two stop moving as they sought to identify where Clifton and John
were in the, now very dark woods. After a few muttered comments,
the two attackers withdrew. The sound of their going was much
louder than their approach had been as they stumbled over small
bushes and tree roots in the dark woods. 

Slowly, both Clifton and John reloaded their rifles. Each made

as little noise as possible as they sought to decipher the night’s
noises. One of the Indians on the river bank groaned and moved
slightly. John eased over to Clifton’s tree and whispered, “We need
to go west. That is not all of them, and those two went east. The
rest of them might be off thataway.” “Let’s go,” Clifton answered.
The two woodsmen slowly turned and moved away from the
scene. Slowly, they made their way upriver, at times walking along
the forest edge on the sandbars, gleaming white now in the half-
moon lit night. 

Two days later the dawn broke and the morning light revealed

WAYCROSS

magazine

two men are sitting back to back beneath a towering oak tree on
the out skirts of the Kettle Creek community near the stage route.
The startled gasp of the trooper assigned to the last hours of the
night’s guard shift could be heard for quite a distance.  The two
had eased up and sat down to wait out the remainder of the night
right under the noses of the army dragoons assigned to help
guard the settlement. The fact that the growing light showed one
of the two men to be an Indian caused, even more, excitement. 
Soon the story had been told to the assembled locals and army
dragoons. It was then that Clifton and John heard more about the
recent attack near the Carter Community. Seminole Indians had
emerged from the Okefenokee and attacked a wagon train carry-
ing supplies to the various forts built around the swamp. The wag-
ons had been following the stage route. One soldier had been
killed that folks knew of. Others had been wounded.

After this, the two friends withdrew towards Kettle Creek leav-

ing the locals to stand around and discuss these new happen-
ings. Quietly, John said, ”I think I will go for now.” Clifton nodded
in agreement, knowing that the tempers and nerves of the locals
might begin to get the best of them if another attack occurred.
“Where will you go?” he asked. “I will go back southwest of here
to the old Spanish priest’s cabin. No white man has ever found it.
It is near the swamp. And I can hide on an island if I need to do
so.”  There seemed to be nothing more to say.

Reluctantly, the two friends parted ways, hoping that one day

these troubles would pass and that they might once again be free
to enjoy the call of the Satilla.

Clint Bowman is a native of Waycross, GA.  He
graduated from Waycross High School in 1975.
He served in the US Army.  He graduated from
Valdosta State and from Southwestern Baptist
Theological Seminary. He is married to Harriet
Willis Bowman and they have three children Je-
remy (Jessica), Jessica Peters (Matt), and
James. They have eight grandchildren. Clint
served for 19 years with the International Mis-
sion Board of the Southern Baptist Convention
as a missionary to Africa. He currently teaches
7th grade Social Studies at Waycross Middle
School and works part time at Okefenokee
Swamp Park.