THE LAST INDIAN MASSACRE IN
GEORGIA
“The Wildes Massacre”
By Gertrude Wildes Johnson
Submitted by Sarah
Reynolds. 07-22-03
Ever since I can remember I have heard my Grandfather tell the
story of the last Indian massacre in Georgia when the Indians killed his
Grandfather, his wife and seven children.
But until recently the story held very little interest to me. I always enjoyed hearing my
Grandfather tell the story, but it had no significance; to me it was
very much like a fairy story. Now,
I believe the importance of preserving the actual facts of the last
Indian massacre in Georgia, for historical purposes as well as the
events to be long remembered and passed down from generation to
generation in the Wildes family.
On the night of November 1st, 1930 I spent the night
with my grandparents out on their farm about two miles from Folkston,
Georgia, and while there induced my Grandfather to repeat the story to
me, and as he repeated it to me I still endeavor to tell it here.
It seems that Maxmillan Wildes was a husky, dominating pioneer
– one who has always take care of his family and figured he always
could. But the time came
one day when he was powerless in the face of great danger. He could have avoided the
situation, he had ample chance to flee, but when any such thought came
to him, the old feeling, “I’m able to take care of me and mine”,
crowded out his cautious impulses.
He had taken care of himself when he ran away from his home in
England when he was twelve years old; he had hidden away on a ship and
came across the Ocean; he had managed through the dangers and privations
of pioneer days in Georgia; he had taken care of his young wife, Sarah
Wilkinson, whom he had married when he was quite a young man; he had, by
the strength of his own good arm, reared and cared for ten children, and
now that he was at last settled in a home of his own, with crops and
cattle and timberland, he would not leave it through fear of anyone or
anything. If ever a man had
a “hunch” though that something terrible was lurking near, Maxmillan
Wildes did.
In the big “front room” of his little house on edge of the
Okefenokee swamp in South Georgia back in June of 1832, Maxmillan Wildes
sat and stood at intervals, paced the floor restlessly, and finally gave
vent to an expression that indicated his anxiety, “I tell you, I
don’t like what I saw this afternoon, I don’t like it at all!” The children begged that he tell
them about it; his wife questioned him repeatedly, but he refused to
discuss it for fear of alarming them.
It takes only a slight suggestion to what a woman’s intuition;
Sarah knew Max was not accustomed to such anxiety. She knew, too, it was no small
worry that caused him to pace the floor restlessly as he was doing, so
she pleaded with him to take her and the children to a neighbor’s
house for the night, or else take them to the soldiers’ camp which was
located about five miles away. Wildes
resented her lack of faith in his ability to take care of them and
assured her that she need not fear.
Early in the afternoon of this same day, Wildes and his wife had
been to a pond near their home, gathering and burning “scenia”
bushes for which they got lye to make soap. Just as they were preparing to
come home, Wildes heard a rustle of limbs a short distance away, and
looking in that direction saw several people hiding in ambush. As quickly as possible he took
the bit of “scenia” bushes they had secured and hurried home. His wife did not stop to
question his haste until that evening when his actions led her to
believe that he had seen something that had aroused his suspicions.
As a wagon drew up, the family dismissed for a moment their fears
and went out to greet two cousins, Alice Wilkinson and her little
brother, who came to spend the night.
After supper the children built up a great bonfire and played
around until time to retire.
Very late in the night different members of the family were
aroused several times by two yard dogs barking furiously, as they were
accustomed to do when strangers were nearby. As the dogs would bark only a
short time and then stop, they gave little weight to it, and no one got
up to investigate. At
daybreak Mrs. Wildes went out into the yard to light from the embers of
the bonfire. Just as she
walked into the yard, she heard a thump, thump on the ground nearby. Looking in the direction from
whence it came, she became paralyzed with fear and rushed into the house
to the bed where Wildes was sleeping and shaking him, shouted, “Max,
the Indians are outside!” Wildes
jumped out, seized his gun and shouted in a loud voice, “Boys, get
your guns and let’s kill them damn Indians”. Wildes thought he might frighten
the Indians off with this bluff. He
had only one gun in the house and one boy big enough to shoulder a gun. One of the Indians replied in
his broken way, “We know you got no gun. We know how many of you”. The Indians had been lurking
around for several days and knew just how he stood.
Wildes went out through an opening at the end of his house, where
he intended putting the chimney, and fired the first shot; then in a
body the Indians charged him, wrenched his gun from his hand and shot
him through the breast. Mary
Anne, his eight year old daughter, grabbed the baby and ran, but she and
the baby were beaten down, the baby dying immediately. Mary Anne was unmercifully
beaten and bruised. Mrs.
Wildes and the children rushed from the house toward Dubus Bay, near
their house, but as they ran into the open, the Indians were able to
catch five of them. They
knocked them with clubs, and beat them mercilessly.
John, the eight-year-old boy, slipped into a bunch of palmettos
and crouching there watched as his parents, brothers, and sisters being
killed. The Indians would
pass so near him he could almost touch their feet and legs as they
passed. Later when he saw
an opening he slipped out and ran for a farmhouse about two miles away. Mrs. Wildes managed to run to
the outer edge of the bay, where she hid in some bushes. Helpless and unable to aid her
children and husband, she waited patiently for some of them to join her. At intervals she peeped through
her bushes and saw one after another of her children slain. The path through the Bay was
open to her, but she refused to take it. Seeing her children and husband killed, and feeling that she
had nothing more to live for she gave up, fell upon a long and did not
try to escape.
Mr. & Mrs. Wildes and seven children were killed. Through Dubus Bay four sons,
Reuben, the oldest 16 years old, Jim, Jesse, and John and Alice
Wilkinson, the little girl who came to spend the night escaped. None of the Massacre spread to
the neighbors who heard the gunshots.
They hurried toward the Wildes place and met the boys who had
escaped. Immediately they
took word to a small company of soldiers under Captain Elias Waldron,
stationed on the edge of Kettle Creek about five miles away. The Captain, fearing the Indians
might continue their march, ordered all the women and children in that
section, now known as Waycross, to gather in an old fort, (which stands
today), and place them under guard. The men and soldiers hurried to the scene of the terrible
massacre. The home was
burned to the ground; the cows penned up, were bellowing on account of
the odor of blood, and dead bodies were lying about. The heard someone calling in a
weak voice, and turned to find Mary Anne still clinging to the baby and
calling for water. One of
the men rushed off to get it for her and immediately upon drinking it
she fell over dead.
The Indians had taken everything they could use, and after
burning the house, had destroyed everything possible. They had emptied the bed ticks
of their feathers and had set them flying everywhere. Then they had danced the bloody
dance and were gone. The
soldiers, unable to find a covering for the bodies, took from their
horses the saddle blankets, wrapped the nine bodies and laid them in the
body of a new cart Mr. Wildes had recently made, and buried them all in
the same grave. The stump
of a Chinaberry tree about four feet high, with its sprouting branches
marks the grave today.
Having performed this simple funeral rite, the soldiers rushed
ahead in search of the Indians. They
tracked them to where they saw the smoke of campfire, but the Indians
had already retreated to the big Cypress, a dense swamp used by the
Indians as a hiding place. As
well as they could tell there were about thirty Indians. Soon after this event General
Oglethorpe ordered all of the Indians to be driven out of Georgia.
Note:
Mrs. Gertrude Wildes Johnson’s grandfather was
Flournoy Wildes and his father was John Wildes who was one of the boys
who escaped the massacre.
|