CHARLTON COUNTY, GA - HISTORY Maxmillan Wildes Family Massacre ***************** Copyright. All rights reserved. http://www.usgwarchives.net/copyright.htm http://www.usgwarchives.net/ga/gafiles.htm *********************** This file was contributed for use in the USGenWeb Archives by: Gaynelle Sasser THE LAST INDIAN MASSACRE IN GEORGIA “The Wildes Massacre” By Gertrude Wildes Johnson 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. Folkston is in Charlton, a very old county, Okefenokee Swamp is in their county too.