Massacre at Ebenezer Creek: Color My Outdoors retraces one of Georgia’s deadliest tragedies on Civil War waters

Story by Cowgirl Candace | Photos by Deon McBride

One by one their souls ascended from the numbing water. For many, Ebenezer Creek in the bedroom community of Rincon, Georgia, became their demise. And today, the waterway flows peacefully down a landscape once defined by chaos. American alligators stalk the Spanish moss shallows. River cooter turtles bask bankside while kayakers glide quietly through the current. A barred owl hoots from the forest edge. Yet beneath the stillness lies one of the most horrific and overlooked freedom stories in American history.

“It was heavy on the water,” said cultural storyteller Alma Busby-Williams, pausing in her monochromatic purple kayak. “I’m sure the immediate betrayal hurt. To travel all that way with no choice. They were willing to die for freedom. Think of the ones who were willing to go back and help each other from drowning in that icy water. Even if these enslaved Black people made it to the other side, what would freedom have looked like?”

The question hung in the air. On June 20, the day after Juneteenth, 20 partners and participants joined nonprofit Color My Outdoors to retrace a portion of that historic journey. Together, they paddled four miles round-trip from Tommy Long Landing, navigating the same waterway where a pontoon bridge once connected freedom seekers to the possibility of a new life. The experience: part remembrance, part living history lesson. For most who joined the water journey, it was the first time they had ever heard the story. And that’s precisely why Color My Outdoors brought them there.

The Tragedy at Ebenezer Creek

The date was Dec. 9, 1864. Union Gen. William T. Sherman was nearing the end of his infamous March to the Sea. His military campaign cut a destructive path from Atlanta to Savannah. More than 60,000 Union soldiers moved toward the coast. Following behind them came another army. Not armed soldiers. Freedom seekers. Thousands of enslaved Black elders, men, women, and children had liberated themselves from plantations and farms across Georgia, attaching to Union lines in pursuit of freedom.

Historian Bennett Parten estimates by the time Sherman reached Savannah that as many as 20,000 formerly enslaved people had joined the march. Many walked nearly 20 miles a day. They were hungry, exhausted, and improperly exposed to winter weather. Still, they kept moving. Freedom waited ahead — or so they believed. By the time the march reached the swampy terrain outside Savannah, an estimated 10,000 freedom seekers traveled with a single division commanded by Union Gen. Jefferson C. Davis.

When the group arrived at Ebenezer Creek, Union soldiers constructed a pontoon bridge to cross the flooded waterway. Military troops crossed first. Wagons next. The emancipated waited behind. Then under Davis’ direct orders, his troops dismantled the bridge. Thousands of Black people abandoned on the opposite bank with Confederate forces rapidly approaching from behind. Heavy rains had swollen the creek. Cold winter water surged through the swamp. Then, panic erupted. Some of the enslaved entered the water voluntarily. Others were pushed. Many couldn’t swim. Already malnourished and exhausted. Historians estimate that between 600 and several thousand people drowned, were killed, or recaptured and returned to slavery. The scene became a cascade of horror on what is now one of Georgia’s most peaceful waterways.

The Water Remembered

Today, Ebenezer Creek carries a different designation. It’s a National Natural Landmark, Georgia’s only state wild and scenic river, and one of only four state-designated scenic rivers. But for Alma and Color My Outdoors’ morning paddlers, the creek remains something more. A witness. Keeper of memory. Refuge for those whose names history forgot. “The water remembered, even when people forgot,” she told participants. As kayaks drifted through the blackwater channel, they listened. Some quietly dipped their paddles. Others stared into the current. The landscape became a classroom. The creek became the storyteller.

The Story Behind 40 Acres and a Mule

What happened at Ebenezer Creek didn’t end on the rippling waters. News of the tragedy reached Washington, D.C., sparking outrage across the nation. The Union could no longer ignore the humanitarian crisis unfolding behind military lines. Combined with demands from Black ministers in Savannah, Georgia, the massacre helped pressure federal leaders to act. Just weeks later on Jan. 16, 1865, Sherman issued Special Field Order No. 15. The order designated roughly 400,000 acres of coastal land stretching from South Carolina to Florida for formerly enslaved families.

The land divided into 40-acre parcels. Army mules would assist settlers in farming the property. The phrase became one of the most enduring promises in American history: Forty acres and a mule. Yet the promise proved short-lived. Following President Abraham Lincoln’s assassination, President Andrew Johnson rescinded the order. The land returned to former Confederate owners. Thousands of Black families removed from land they had already cultivated. The dream of generational ownership disappeared almost as quickly as it arrived.

Why This Story Stands in Modern Times

For Lesford Duncan, executive director of the Outdoor Foundation and a Color My Outdoors supporter, the significance of Ebenezer Creek extends beyond history. “Ebenezer Creek is one of the most fantastic waterways here in Georgia,” Lesford said. “It holds both stories of trauma and resilience. It’s an opportunity to celebrate the community while commemorating Juneteenth.” That combination of environmental stewardship and cultural memory sits at the heart of Color My Outdoors’ mission.

Participants spent the day kayaking, birdwatching, journaling, and reflecting on the relationship between place and history. For Christian Cave, a Georgia conservationist who has worked on wildlife projects around the world, the experience struck close to home. “This story really hit me,” Christian said while literally standing in the murky waters of the creek. “It puts a deeper meaning around these particular waters. It’s personal now.” His words captured what many participants felt. The outdoors is not separate from history. The land, water, and trees truly remember.

And sometimes, the most sincere stories are the ones hidden in plain sight. As the final kayaks returned to shore, Alma offered a closing reflection: “We often talk about freedom as an idea,” she said. “But here at Ebenezer Creek, you realize people were willing to give their lives for it. And did.” The creek flowed quietly behind her. Still carrying its stories and memories. Still asking America to remember on a waterway where recreation routinely unfolds alongside a largely forgotten history.