he
impotence of their disappointment they applied the torch, and laid the
little village in ashes.

A council was held, and it was deemed best to divide their forces.
Major Childs took one-half of the army and retraced their steps
westward, directing their course toward Baton Rouge, where they hoped
to find General Jackson with a portion of the army with which he was
returning from New Orleans. The other division, under Major Russel,
pressed forward, as rapidly as possible, nearly north, aiming for Fort
Decatur, on the Tallapoosa River, where they expected to find shelter
and provisions. Crockett accompanied Major Russel's party. Indian
sagacity was now in great requisition. The friendly savages led the way
through scenes of difficulty and entanglement where, but for their aid,
the troops might all have perished. So great was the destitution of
food that the soldiers were permitted to stray, almost at pleasure, on
either side of the line of march. Happy was the man who could shoot a
raccoon or a squirrel, or even the smallest bird. Implicit confidence
was placed in the guidance of the friendly Indians, and the army
followed in single file, along the narrow trail which the Indians trod
before them.

Crockett, in this march, had acquired so much the confidence of the
officers that he seems to have enjoyed quite unlimited license. He went
where he pleased and did what he would. Almost invariably at night,
keeping pace with the army, he would bring in some small game, a bird
or a squirrel, and frequently several of these puny animals. It was a
rule, when night came, for all the hunters to throw down what they had
killed in one pile. This was then divided among the messes as equitably
as possible.

One night, Crockett returned empty-handed. He had killed nothing, and
he was very hungry. But there was a sick man in his mess, who was
suffering far more than he. Crockett, with his invariable unselfishness
and generosity, forgot his own hunger in his solicitude for his sick
comrade. He went to the fire of Captain Cowen, who was commandant of
the company to which Crockett belonged, and told him his story. Captain
Cowen was broiling, for his supper, the gizzard of a turkey. He told
Crockett that the turkey was all that had fallen to the share of his
company that night, and that the bird had already been divided, in very
small fragments, among the sick. There was nothing left for Crockett's
friend.

On this march the army was