Spring had come early to Greene County, Georgia in 1786. And it stayed a long time. Samuel and Polly Cessna made use of the nice weather to realize a great portion of their ambitions.
Mary Baker had been named after her mother; but to avoid confusion had insisted that she be called “Polly”. She was now Mrs. Polly Cessna, and that thought thrilled her more than a little. In the past ten weeks, the newly-weds had completed a one room cabin and planted a Kitchen Garden. This morning, Samuel was off cutting the timbers for a corral. One day it would host the riding horse and milch cow he had promised her. It was Mid-May when Polly stood at her dry sink before a large East-facing window. It was one of the few compromises she had won from her new husband. Polly knew that the sun pouring though it would warm the 15 x 15 foot room. Come evening, it would provide a cooling breeze. Her thoughts that morning were far warmer than the sunlight, as she remembered all of the happy moments she had known since meeting Samuel. Polly was but 19 years old. Samuel was much older and wiser at 22 years. He had overwhelmed her with his dream of a fast track to a home and successful life. Just thinking about his humorous way of explaining things made her smile even now. She was preparing wild greens for their next meal. Oconee River divided the land between the white settlers of Georgia and the Creek Nation. Most of the good bottom land around Greensboro, Georgia was already occupied with new farms. It would take ten years of hard work for the newly weds to be able to afford their own place. The men of Greene County had reasoned that it was only time before the lands West of the Oconee were purchased from the Creek people. Samuel Cessna was among two dozen or so young men who reasoned they could rush things along. By being the first to grab a farm on the West side, you could get choice land for free. When the treaty did come, you would have preemptive right to claim that land officially Samuel was particularly emboldened by the fact that his brother, John Cessna was Sheriff of Greene County. And their father, Col Charles Cessna was one of the County’s three judges. He had the “court house in his pocket” he told Polly when she worried there might be trouble. So in late February, Samuel and Polly had begun their life together by felling trees and making the small shelter. Things had gone so well. Polly was more content than she had ever been. Her morning’s work was abruptly interrupted by the sound of men in front of the cabin. She hurried to the door to investigate. Stepping to the yard she was confronted by the presence of a group of Creek Warriors. The one in front immediately began to berate her in his native dialect. Polly could not understand anything the man was saying; but his angry and threatening manner convinced her she was in danger. As the warrior continued his scolding, a second warrior was scanning the forest around them. This woman would surely have a man nearby, and he didn’t want any surprise appearances. A third warrior, the youngest of the group (probably even younger than Polly) was marveling at the restrain his Uncle was showing this white trespasser. The elder was much more patient than he would have been. Uncle explained the Shoulder Bone Creek Treaty and insisted she had no right to be here. He stated clearly that she must leave immediately and that her cabin would be burned. Then in a shift of his thoughts, the young warrior marveled about how ugly this woman was. Every white woman he had ever seen was remarkably ugly. Even the homeliest woman in his village was far more beautiful than any white woman. And the women of his village certainly knew how to respect a man more than this creature did. Polly began to return the man’s scolding with an even more venomous diatribe of her own. Had they understood her insults they might have taken a more aggressive action than they did. It seemed sufficient for one of their number to step forward and slap this disrespectful woman. Spinning on her heals Polly rushed back into the cabin. She grabbed the thirty year-old musket which Samuel had left for her. Consumed by the courage of youth, she charged back into the yard, ready to do battle with these ferocious looking men. The elder Warrior simply grabbed the barrel of the musket and pointed it away from the group. He jerked it from her hand and threw it to the ground. The force with which it landed, caused it to discharge. The blast from the gun escalated the emotions of everyone in the cabin yard. Almost by reflex the Warrior grabbed the War Club in his belt and struck the woman a crushing blow on the side of her head. Polly dropped to the ground in a pile. It took only a minute for the natives to ransack the cabin’s interior for things they might use. It was already aflame as the last of them exited carrying some trophy. Assuming that Polly was dead, the elder Warrior saw one last item of value. He knelt over the lifeless body and in two quick swings of his knife, carved a circle in the top of her head. With a great tug, he pulled a large portion of her hair off of her skull. The Spaniards in Florida would pay him for this English scalp. The group headed South; leaving Polly and a burning cabin. They had gone barely 30 yards when Polly began screaming hysterically behind them. Most of the warriors were relieved that the woman had survived. It meant that this had been a simple and lawful eviction of illegal squatters. No one would scold them for it. The group continued without any haste or concern. Polly Cessna had become an uncontrollable version of herself. Screaming unrecognizable words at the top of her lungs, she ran down the path that led East. Falling a number of times she destroyed her dress and covered herself with dust and blood. She transformed into terrifying apparition as she ran the mile and a half towards her nearest neighbor. Thirty-minutes later she reached Cow Ford on the Oconee River and plunged headlong into the shallow water. Several families were gathered there to erect a new cabin near the ford. Among the crowd was Sheriff Cessna. Her appearance shocked everyone. John’s reaction was swift. John Cessna grabbed his gun and stepped forward. “Jeb, your horse runs the fastest. You had better run and alert the neighbors. Fetch a gun boys. Follow me if you have the courage.” And John ran directly back down the Polly’s path. He was worried that a new Indian War might be starting. The women gathered Polly into their arms and began to treat her wounds. John and three other men were soon at the burning cabin. The place was empty, but war cries could be heard echoing through the woods. Creeping forward they discovered two pairs of warriors frantically searching a large brush pile. They killed all four of the Creek men, without suffering any wounds to themselves. It was at that moment John discovered his brother Samuel beneath the brush pile; hiding for his life. His only weapon was the rifle he left with his wife. If they had been delayed another five minutes, Samuel would have been dead. They returned home in triumph. Polly would recover, yet slipped into a dark depression. She might have stayed there except for a day three weeks after the event. She discovered she was pregnant. The new life within her somehow brought her back to life. In the next ten years, Polly and Samuel would bring three children into the world: Samuel Jr., Robert (after her father) and Elizabeth after the woman who had helped so tenderly during her recovery. The family would never again attempt to establish a farm. Brother John invited them to make a home on his farm along Big Beaverdam Creek. They always lived within sight of at least four neighbors. Polly wore bonnets the rest of her life; even Quaker style sleeping bonnets at night. Samuel did his best at making sure that she always had the prettiest bonnets in the county. No one would see them though. Polly seldom ventured out to the town. Polly became a recluse which greatly added to the mystique of her story. She became a local legend that everyone in five surrounding counties used for making small talk at gatherings both large and small. Samuel died in 1797. Polly remarried and lived to a good age, passing away in 1840. The legend of “the Scalped Woman of Big Beaverdam Creek”, however, would live on for two centuries. People boasted to others that they had actually seen the woman. Some tried to improve their prestige by insisting they had even seen her ugly scar, which were of course lies. Few people had forgotten her story when Abraham Lincoln became president. And it was codified in 1890 when Thaddeus Rice recorded it in his “History of Green County, Georgia.” And I tell it to you know; 233 years after it happened.
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AuthorBill Cissna Archives
June 2023
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