One of the Creeks had a gun.  The other had only a bow and arrows.  After this friendly interview, they rose and took leave of each other, each going in opposite directions.  As soon as their backs were turned, and they were but a few feet from each other, one of the Choctaws turned around and shot the unsuspecting Creek who had the gun.  He fell dead, without a groan.  The other Creek attempted to escape, while the other Choctaw snapped his gun at him repeatedly, but it missed fire.  They then pursued him, overtook him, knocked him down with the butt of their guns, and battered his head until he also was motionless in death.  One of the Choctaws, in his frenzied blows, broke the stock of his rifle.  They then fired off the gun of the Creek who was killed, and one of them uttered the war-whoop which was heard by the rest of the party.

These two savages drew their scalping-knives and cut off the heads of both their victims.  As the whole body came rushing up, they found the gory corpses of the slain, with their dissevered heads near by.  Each Indian had a war-club.  With these massive weapons each savage, in his turn, gave the mutilated heads a severe blow.  When they had all performed this barbaric deed, Crockett, whose peculiar type of good nature led him not only to desire to please the savages, but also to know what would please them, seized a war-club, and, in his turn, smote with all his strength the mangled, blood-stained heads.  The Indians were quite delighted.  They gathered around him with very expressive grunts of satisfaction, and patting him upon the back, exclaimed, “Good warrior!  Good warrior!”

The Indians then scalped the heads, and, leaving the bodies unburied, the whole party entered a trail which led to the river, near the point where the two wigwams were standing.  As they followed the narrow path they came upon the vestiges of a cruel and bloody tragedy.  The mouldering corpses of a Spaniard, his wife, and four children lay scattered around, all scalped.  Our hero Crockett, who had so valiantly smitten the dissevered heads of the two Creeks who had been so treacherously murdered, confesses that the revolting spectacle of the whites, scalped and half devoured, caused him to shudder.  He writes: 

“I began to feel mighty ticklish along about this time; for I knowed if there was no danger then, there had been, and I felt exactly like there still was.”

The white soldiers, leading the Indians, continued their course until they reached the river.  Following it down, they came opposite the point where the wigwams stood upon the island.  The two Indian hunters who had been killed had gone out from this peaceful little encampment.  Several Indian children were playing around, and the man and woman whom they had before seen were still beating their roots.  Another Indian woman was also there seen.  These peaceful families had no conception of the disaster which had befallen their companions who were hunting in the woods.  Even if they had heard the report of the rifles, they could only have supposed that it was from the guns of the hunters firing at game.