Chapter 4 - Retribution Blood Vendetta -The Cherokee Civil War
Chapter 5 - Mount Tabor
Chapter 6 - The Knights of the Golden Circle
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Chapter 4 - Retribution Blood Vendetta -The Cherokee Civil War
"Revengeis a vessel with a hole in it
that holds nothing
but the promise of emptiness"
…ancient proverb
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Chapter 4 - Retribution
Blood Vendetta -The Cherokee Civil War
The Cherokee Tribe located in what is the Northwest corner of modern day Georgia had fractured over the issue of removal to the west. The Treaty of New Echota for voluntary removal was signed in 1835 by supporters of Major Ridge, a leader in the Cherokee nation who had been given that name by Andrew Jackson. Prominent, educated, aristocratic Cherokee families of the same clan supported Ridge and voluntary removal instead of forced removal and loss of many lives. They included the Bell, Adair, Watie, Boudinot, Ridge families, and Chief John Ross's brother.
Chief Ross did not sign, though most say he had originally supported voluntary removal. He finally chose to hold out for more money and remain against all odds until forcefully removed as his supporters issued a blood vendetta to eradicate treaty supporters. It is said that at the time of the signing, Major Ridge declared, "I have just signed my death warrant."
To the 'Treaty Party', voluntarily removing themselves along with the government's monitory compensation, seemed the most peaceful, logical solution to the incursion by settlers of the State of Georgia already taking place. They knew the federal government had no intention of stopping it, even though the Cherokee won just that ruling in the U.S. Supreme court, a decision ignored by the Jackson administration. They also had familiarity with the Cherokee in North Arkansas who had been previously settled there during an earlier voluntary removal in the early 1820s. Those first Cherokees in Arkansas were known as 'The Old Settlers'. Ironically, many of those 'old settlers' were driven out of N. Arkansas a few years later in favor of white settlement. They too, would now be resettling in the 'new Indian Territory'.
Hoping to avoid bloodshed and to prepare for moving thirteen thousand Cherokee refugees west in the coming months, The Ridge Family moved themselves to Indian Territory in 1837 by steamboat, which took about four weeks. Along with them were the Boudinots and Stand Watie, with John Adair Bell returning several times to Georgia as a guide and transporting supplies and finally leading his own wagon train of Ridge Party Cherokees to Indian Territory West, when they were finally able to safely leave. Through his many scouting and commerce missions Bell gained the respect and cooperation of the United States Army to use military roads instead of the standard longer routes.
Upon their arrival in Indian Territory near the Arkansas line two years earlier, Major Ridge and the others began investing their money. They purchased land on Honey Creek, built two homes and set up a trading store. Honey Creek flows across the Oklahoma line near Southwest City, Missouri, continues west to the Grand River near Grove, Oklahoma. The location planned as a junction of trade did just that, but proved also to be a place of bloodshed and death for the following two decades.
With nearly seventeen thousand dollars, John Ridge traveled to New Orleans and New York to purchase merchandise for the store and supplies for a printing press and missionary site at Park Hill operated by Reverend S. A. Worcester.
Daisy continued the story her mammy and the Bells told her when she was a child. "My master and all the rest of the folks was Cherokees, and they'd been killing each other off in dat feud ever since long before I was born'd, and jes' because Master have a big farm and three, four families of Negroes them other Cherokees keep on pestering his stuff all the time. Us children was always afeared to go any place less'n some grown folks was along. We didn't know what we was afeard of, but we heard de Master and Mistress keep talking about another 'Party killing' and we stuck close to the place. Way before I was born, that feud got so bad de Indians was always talking about getting their horses and cattle killed and their slaves harmed. Dey would come in de night and hamstring de horses and maybe set fire to de barn, I don't know what dey done it for, only to be mean, and I guess dey was drunk." Daisy shook her head in disgust as she continued.
"We used to carry news from one plantation to de other I reckon, 'cause Mammy would tell about things going on some other plantation and I know she never been there. Ol' Chief Ross's wife was one that died on the trail and one of his young uns if I remember right, and his bunch was determined for revenge against all who signed that treaty. His own brother signed it, but they didn't go after him!" Daisy remarked indignantly. "I remember John Ross. He courted a girl dat lived nearby. He was married again, but dat din't make no difference, he courted her anyhow."
Daisy described the conflict. "No sooner had they got settled some when the killin' started. They knifed Major Ridge and his son John. They say they cut up 'em bad and stomped the bodies. Then dey got Mr. Boudinot, brother of Stand Watie. Somebody warned Stand Watie that they were gunnin' for him and he barely got away. Story is he rode outta dere on de fastest horse in de Indian Nation, named 'Comet', give to him by a Choctaw. Some say it was the Reverend Worchester's son who warned him. "
But the killing didn't stop there Daisy recounted. "A few years later they killed David Bell, 'nother brother of Master Jim and I heard he didn't even sign any treaty but he was blood to one of 'em dat did and dat's all de reasonin' dey needed! In slavery times the Cherokee Negroes do like anybody else when dey is a death. Jest listen to a chapter in the Bible and all cry. When anybody die, someone sit up with 'em day and night 'til they put 'em in the ground. Everybody cry, everybody pretty nearly die. Lord have mercy on us, yes!" She pressed her hands to her face. "After that's when de families go on down to Jarrett's place in Texas to try to stop the dyin' before I was born'd."
"Miss Daisy", the government lady asked, "Did they let you go to church when you were a slave?"
"I think we always had a church where we could go. I think it was a white church and they just let the Negroes have it when they got a preacher sometimes. My mammy took me sometimes, and she loved to sing dem salvation songs! Master was always pleased when one of us decided to go to church. 'Come on along!' he'd holler, 'No one can stop us from lovin' the Lord!'"
Proudly, Daisy admitted, "I've been a good church goer all my life 'til I get too feeble, and I still understand and talk Cherokee language and love to hear songs and parts of the Bible in it 'cause it make me think about the time I was a little girl before the war. I been a good Christian ever since I was baptized, but I keep a little charm here on my neck anyways to keep me from having the nose bleed. It's got a buckeye and a lead bullet in it. I had a silver dime on it, too, for a long time, but I took it off and got me a box of snuff. I'm glad the war's over and I am free to meet God like anybody else, and my grandchildren can learn to read and write." Daisy said solemnly.
"We had a good song I remember. It was 'Don't call the roll, Jesus, because I'm coming home.' The only song I remember from the soldiers was Hang Jeff Davis to a Sour Apple Tree!" She laughed and slapped her knee. "Dey let us have singing and be baptized if we want to, but I wasn't baptized 'til after the war. But we couldn't learn to read or have a book, and the Cherokee folks was afraid to tell us about the letters because they have a law you go to jail and a big fine if you show a slave about the letters."
Daisy sat rocking, nodding her head, adding, "I think everybody should obey de Master. Like dat poor Indian I saw one time waitin' to be hung. Dere he was, sittin' on his own coffin box, singing over 'n over the words, 'I wants to go where Jesus lives!' Dere's one thing I wants to do before I go. I wants to go back to my mistress's place, and just see the ground where she use to walk. Dat's what I most want, but time is short."
In a letter to the Arkansas Gazette after the assassinations of the Ridges and Boudinot, Stand Watie and John Adair Bell wrote:
"On Saturday of the same week, it being the 22d of June [1839], a party of 20 to 25 Indians proceeded to the house of John Ridge, on Honey Creek, in the north part of the Cherokee nation, and having surrounded the house with their rifles, three of them forced his doors, drew him from his bed amidst the screams of his wife and children, and having given him 25 stabs in his body, left him dead in his yard. Maj. Ridge had started on the previous day, to Vineyard, in Washington county, Arkansas. He stayed on Friday night at the house of Mr. Ambrose Harnage, forty miles south of his son's residence. He was waylaid about 10 o'clock on the same morning, by a party of Indians, five miles west of Cane-hill, and shot from a high precipice which commanded the road. It is reported that about 10 or 12 guns were fired at him; only five rifle balls, however, penetrated his body and head. Thus was the aged chief murdered from ambush, without knowing the dastardly hands who sought his life. The murder occurred in Washington county. About the same hour, four Indians came to Mr. Boudinot, and after a friendly salutation, asked Mr. Boudinot to walk from where his hands were at work, and give them some medicine. Mr. B. who was ever found foremost in acts of charity, obeyed the summons. Shortly after he left the workmen he was struck by these Indians in the back and head, and brought to the earth, with tomahawks, and then stabbed several times in the back with a bowie knife.
These are the circumstances attending the deaths of these individuals. It is notorious, that although the Ridges and Boudinot resided at the distance of seventy miles apart, yet report of John Ridge's murder was circulated all through the rank of Ross's party, before B's death was known to his immediate friends. This can perhaps be best explained by the fact that Boudinot and Ross residing about one mile apart. It is equally true that a strong guard were collected around Ross and Gunter on the same morning; and Ross has kept a guard of from 200 to 600 persons about his person ever since. It is worthy of remark that Ross promises this guard at the rate of 25 dollars each per month, and gives his due bills to individuals, payable of the faith of the national treasury. These due bills are bought by his son-in-law and brother with goods….
The convention of John Ross assembled, or rather his guard increased, on the first of July, as anticipated. The subjoined manifesto or decree [giving amnesty to the murderers of the Ridges and Boudinot] will show how far their proceedings were intended to affect the remaining victims of their malice. At the same time these papers were drawn up, a resolution was passed, freely pardoning the murderers of Messrs. Ridges and Boudinot, and all this, too, after Mr. Ross's denial of any knowledge or participation in the matter, and his promise to aid in securing the murderers. Of the documents everyone will judge for himself; but to us they sound very much like the language of an usurper, who first seizes upon the throne, and then requires all the people who have rightly opposed him to swear allegiance to his pretension."
The political climate of three decades of turmoil surrounding the Cherokee Nation are referenced in a letter written in 1849 by Cherokee author and poet John Rollin Ridge from his home in California at the request of a friend. It also gives an inside look at life for a young Cherokee boy before removal to Indian Territory in Oklahoma.
"I was born in the Cherokee Nation, East of the Mississippi River, on the 19th of March, 1827. My earliest recollections are of such things as are pleasing to childhood, the fondness of a kind father, and smiles of an affectionate mother. My father, the late John Ridge, as you know, was one of the Chiefs of his tribe, and son of the warrior and orator distinguished in Cherokee Councils and battles, who was known amongst the whites as Major Ridge, and amongst his own people as Ka-nun-ta-cla-ge. My father grew up till he was some twelve or fifteen years of age, as any untutored Indian, and he used well to remember the time when his greatest delight was to strip himself of his Indian costume, and with aboriginal cane-gig in hand, while away the long summer days in wading up and down creeks in search of crawfish.
At the age which I have mentioned above, a missionary station sprang into existence, and Major Ridge sent his son John, who could not speak word of English, to school at this station. Here he learned rapidly, and in the course of a year acquired a sufficient knowledge of the white man's language to speak it quite fluently.
Major Ridge had now become fully impressed with the importance of civilization He had built him a log-cabin, in imitation of the border-whites and opened him a farm. The Missionary told him of an institution built up in a distant land expressly for the education of Indian youths (Cornwall, Connecticut), and here he concluded to send his son. After hearing some stern advice from his father, with respect to the manner to which he should conduct himself amongst the 'pale-faces,' he departed for the Cornwall School in charge of a friendly Missionary. He remained there until his education was completed. During his attendance at this institution, he fell in love with a young white girl of the place, daughter of Mr. Northrup. His love was reciprocated. He returned home to his father, gained his consent, though with much difficulty (for the old Major wished him to marry a chief's daughter amongst his own people), went back again to Cornwall, and shortly brought his "pale-faced" bride to the wild country of the Cherokees. In due course of time, I, John Rollin, came into the world. I was called by my grandfather 'Chees-quat-a-law-ny,' which, interpreted, means 'Yellow Bird.' Thus you have a knowledge of my parentage and how it happened that I am an Indian.
Things had now changed with the Cherokees. They had a written Constitution and laws. They had legislative halls, houses and farms, courts, and juries. The general mass, it is true, were ignorant, but happy under the administration of a few simple, just, and wholesome laws. Major Ridge had become wealthy by trading with the whites and by prudent management. He had built an elegant house on the banks of the 'Oos-te-nar-ly River, on which now stands the thriving town of Rome, Georgia. Many a time in my buoyant boyhood have I strayed along its summer-shaded shores and glided in the light canoe over its swiftly-rolling bosom, and beneath its overhanging willows. Alas for the beautiful scene! The Indian's form haunts it no more!
My father's residence was a few miles east of the 'Oos-te-nar-ly. I remember it well. A large two-storied house, on a high hill crowned with a fine grove of oak and hickory, a large, clear spring at the foot of the hill, and an extensive farm stretching away down into the valley, with a fine orchard on the left. On another hill some two hundred yards distant, stood the schoolhouse, built at my father's expense, for the use of a Missionary, Miss Sophia Sawyer, who made her home with our family and taught my father's children and all who chose to come for her instruction. I went to this school until I was ten years of age--
Then another change had come over the Cherokee Nation. A demon-spell had fallen upon it. The white man had become covetous of the soil. The unhappy Indian was driven from his house--not one, but thousands--and the white man's ploughshare turned up the acres which he had called his own. Wherever the Indian built his cabin, and planted his corn, there was the spot which the white man craved. Convicted on suspicion, they were sentenced to death by laws whose authority they could not acknowledge and hanged on the white man's gallows. Oppression became intolerable, and forced by extreme necessity, they at last gave up their homes, yielded their beloved country to the rapacity of the Georgians, and wended their way in silence and in sorrow to the forests of the far west.
In 1837, my father moved his family to his new home, he built his houses and opened his farm; gave encouragement to the rising neighborhood, and fed many a hungry and naked Indian whom oppression had prostrated, to the dust. A second time he built a schoolhouse, and Miss Sawyer again instructed his own children and the children of his neighbors. Two years culled away in quietude but the Spring of 1839 brought in a terrible train of events. Parties had arisen in the Nation. The removal West had fomented discontents of the darkest and deadliest nature. The ignorant Indians, unable to vent their rage on the whites, turned their wrath towards their own chiefs, and chose to hold them responsible for what had happened.
John Ross made use of these prejudices to establish his own power. He held a secret council and plotted the death of my father and grandfather, and Boudinot, and others, who were friendly to the interests of these men. John Ridge was at this time the most powerful man in the Nation, and it was necessary for Ross, in order to realize his ambitious scheme for ruling the whole Nation, not only to put the Ridges out of the way, but those who most prominently supported them, lest they might cause trouble afterwards.
These bloody deeds were perpetrated under circumstances of peculiar aggravation. On the morning of the 22nd of June, 1839, about daybreak, our family was aroused from sleep by a violent noise. The doors were broken down, and the house was full of armed men. I saw my father in the hands of assassins. He endeavored to speak to them, but they shouted and drowned his voice for they were instructed not to listen to him for a moment for fear they would be persuaded not to kill him. They dragged him into the yard, and prepared to murder him. Two men held him by the arms, and others by the body, while another stabbed him deliberately with a dirk twenty-nine times. My mother rushed out the door, but they pushed her back with their guns into the house, and prevented her egress until their act was finished, when they left the place quietly. My father fell to earth but did not immediately expire.
My mother ran out to him. He raised himself on his elbow and tried to speak, but the blood flowed into his mouth and prevented him. In a few moments more he died, without speaking that last word which he wished to say. Then succeeded a scene of agony the sight of which might make one regret that the human race had ever been created. It has darkened my mind with an eternal shadow. In a room prepared for the purpose, lay pale in death the man whose voice had been listened to with awe and admiration in the councils of his Nation, and whose fame had passed to the remotest of the United States, the blood oozing through his winding sheet, and falling drop by drop on the floor. By his side sat my mother, with hands clasped, and in speechless agony-- she who had given him her heart in the days of her youth and beauty, left the home of her parents, and followed the husband of her choice to a wild and distant land. And bending over him was his own afflicted mother, with her long, white hair flung loose over her shoulders and bosom, crying to the Great Spirit to sustain her in that dreadful hour. And in addition to all these, the wife, the mother and the little children, who scarcely knew their loss, were the dark faces of those who had been the murdered man's friends, and possibly, some who had been privy to the assassination, who had come to smile over the scene.
There was yet another blow to be dealt. Major Ridge had started on a journey the day before to Van Buren, a town on the Arkansas River, in the State of Arkansas. He was traveling down what was called the Line Road, in the direction of Evansville. A runner was sent with all possible speed to inform him of what had happened. The runner returned with the news that Major Ridge himself was killed. It is useless to lengthen description. It would fall far short of the theme.
These events happened when I was twelve years old. Great excitement existed in the Nation, and my mother thinking her children unsafe in the country of their father's murders, and unwilling to remain longer where all that she saw reminded her of her dreadful bereavement, removed to the State of Arkansas, and settled in the town of Fayetteville. In that place I went to school till I was fourteen years of age, when my mother sent me to New England to finish my education. There it was that I became acquainted with you, and you know all about my history during my attendance at the Great Barrington School as well as I do myself. Owing to the rigor of the climate my health failed me about the time I was ready to enter college, and I returned to my mother in Arkansas. Here I read Latin and Greek, and pursued my studies with the Rev. Cephas Washbourne till the summer of 1845 when the difficulties which had existed in the Nation ever since my father's death, more or less, had drawn to a crisis.
Thus have I briefly and hurriedly complied with your request, and given you a sketch of my life. I shall not return to the Nation now until circumstances are materially changed. I shall cast my fortunes for some years with the whites. I am twenty-three years old, married, and have an infant daughter. I will still devote my life to my people, though not amongst them, and before I die, I hope to see the Cherokee Nation, in conjunction, with the Choctaws, admitted into the Confederacy of the United States."
Chief Ross did not sign, though most say he had originally supported voluntary removal. He finally chose to hold out for more money and remain against all odds until forcefully removed as his supporters issued a blood vendetta to eradicate treaty supporters. It is said that at the time of the signing, Major Ridge declared, "I have just signed my death warrant."
To the 'Treaty Party', voluntarily removing themselves along with the government's monitory compensation, seemed the most peaceful, logical solution to the incursion by settlers of the State of Georgia already taking place. They knew the federal government had no intention of stopping it, even though the Cherokee won just that ruling in the U.S. Supreme court, a decision ignored by the Jackson administration. They also had familiarity with the Cherokee in North Arkansas who had been previously settled there during an earlier voluntary removal in the early 1820s. Those first Cherokees in Arkansas were known as 'The Old Settlers'. Ironically, many of those 'old settlers' were driven out of N. Arkansas a few years later in favor of white settlement. They too, would now be resettling in the 'new Indian Territory'.
Hoping to avoid bloodshed and to prepare for moving thirteen thousand Cherokee refugees west in the coming months, The Ridge Family moved themselves to Indian Territory in 1837 by steamboat, which took about four weeks. Along with them were the Boudinots and Stand Watie, with John Adair Bell returning several times to Georgia as a guide and transporting supplies and finally leading his own wagon train of Ridge Party Cherokees to Indian Territory West, when they were finally able to safely leave. Through his many scouting and commerce missions Bell gained the respect and cooperation of the United States Army to use military roads instead of the standard longer routes.
Upon their arrival in Indian Territory near the Arkansas line two years earlier, Major Ridge and the others began investing their money. They purchased land on Honey Creek, built two homes and set up a trading store. Honey Creek flows across the Oklahoma line near Southwest City, Missouri, continues west to the Grand River near Grove, Oklahoma. The location planned as a junction of trade did just that, but proved also to be a place of bloodshed and death for the following two decades.
With nearly seventeen thousand dollars, John Ridge traveled to New Orleans and New York to purchase merchandise for the store and supplies for a printing press and missionary site at Park Hill operated by Reverend S. A. Worcester.
Daisy continued the story her mammy and the Bells told her when she was a child. "My master and all the rest of the folks was Cherokees, and they'd been killing each other off in dat feud ever since long before I was born'd, and jes' because Master have a big farm and three, four families of Negroes them other Cherokees keep on pestering his stuff all the time. Us children was always afeared to go any place less'n some grown folks was along. We didn't know what we was afeard of, but we heard de Master and Mistress keep talking about another 'Party killing' and we stuck close to the place. Way before I was born, that feud got so bad de Indians was always talking about getting their horses and cattle killed and their slaves harmed. Dey would come in de night and hamstring de horses and maybe set fire to de barn, I don't know what dey done it for, only to be mean, and I guess dey was drunk." Daisy shook her head in disgust as she continued.
"We used to carry news from one plantation to de other I reckon, 'cause Mammy would tell about things going on some other plantation and I know she never been there. Ol' Chief Ross's wife was one that died on the trail and one of his young uns if I remember right, and his bunch was determined for revenge against all who signed that treaty. His own brother signed it, but they didn't go after him!" Daisy remarked indignantly. "I remember John Ross. He courted a girl dat lived nearby. He was married again, but dat din't make no difference, he courted her anyhow."
Daisy described the conflict. "No sooner had they got settled some when the killin' started. They knifed Major Ridge and his son John. They say they cut up 'em bad and stomped the bodies. Then dey got Mr. Boudinot, brother of Stand Watie. Somebody warned Stand Watie that they were gunnin' for him and he barely got away. Story is he rode outta dere on de fastest horse in de Indian Nation, named 'Comet', give to him by a Choctaw. Some say it was the Reverend Worchester's son who warned him. "
But the killing didn't stop there Daisy recounted. "A few years later they killed David Bell, 'nother brother of Master Jim and I heard he didn't even sign any treaty but he was blood to one of 'em dat did and dat's all de reasonin' dey needed! In slavery times the Cherokee Negroes do like anybody else when dey is a death. Jest listen to a chapter in the Bible and all cry. When anybody die, someone sit up with 'em day and night 'til they put 'em in the ground. Everybody cry, everybody pretty nearly die. Lord have mercy on us, yes!" She pressed her hands to her face. "After that's when de families go on down to Jarrett's place in Texas to try to stop the dyin' before I was born'd."
"Miss Daisy", the government lady asked, "Did they let you go to church when you were a slave?"
"I think we always had a church where we could go. I think it was a white church and they just let the Negroes have it when they got a preacher sometimes. My mammy took me sometimes, and she loved to sing dem salvation songs! Master was always pleased when one of us decided to go to church. 'Come on along!' he'd holler, 'No one can stop us from lovin' the Lord!'"
Proudly, Daisy admitted, "I've been a good church goer all my life 'til I get too feeble, and I still understand and talk Cherokee language and love to hear songs and parts of the Bible in it 'cause it make me think about the time I was a little girl before the war. I been a good Christian ever since I was baptized, but I keep a little charm here on my neck anyways to keep me from having the nose bleed. It's got a buckeye and a lead bullet in it. I had a silver dime on it, too, for a long time, but I took it off and got me a box of snuff. I'm glad the war's over and I am free to meet God like anybody else, and my grandchildren can learn to read and write." Daisy said solemnly.
"We had a good song I remember. It was 'Don't call the roll, Jesus, because I'm coming home.' The only song I remember from the soldiers was Hang Jeff Davis to a Sour Apple Tree!" She laughed and slapped her knee. "Dey let us have singing and be baptized if we want to, but I wasn't baptized 'til after the war. But we couldn't learn to read or have a book, and the Cherokee folks was afraid to tell us about the letters because they have a law you go to jail and a big fine if you show a slave about the letters."
Daisy sat rocking, nodding her head, adding, "I think everybody should obey de Master. Like dat poor Indian I saw one time waitin' to be hung. Dere he was, sittin' on his own coffin box, singing over 'n over the words, 'I wants to go where Jesus lives!' Dere's one thing I wants to do before I go. I wants to go back to my mistress's place, and just see the ground where she use to walk. Dat's what I most want, but time is short."
In a letter to the Arkansas Gazette after the assassinations of the Ridges and Boudinot, Stand Watie and John Adair Bell wrote:
"On Saturday of the same week, it being the 22d of June [1839], a party of 20 to 25 Indians proceeded to the house of John Ridge, on Honey Creek, in the north part of the Cherokee nation, and having surrounded the house with their rifles, three of them forced his doors, drew him from his bed amidst the screams of his wife and children, and having given him 25 stabs in his body, left him dead in his yard. Maj. Ridge had started on the previous day, to Vineyard, in Washington county, Arkansas. He stayed on Friday night at the house of Mr. Ambrose Harnage, forty miles south of his son's residence. He was waylaid about 10 o'clock on the same morning, by a party of Indians, five miles west of Cane-hill, and shot from a high precipice which commanded the road. It is reported that about 10 or 12 guns were fired at him; only five rifle balls, however, penetrated his body and head. Thus was the aged chief murdered from ambush, without knowing the dastardly hands who sought his life. The murder occurred in Washington county. About the same hour, four Indians came to Mr. Boudinot, and after a friendly salutation, asked Mr. Boudinot to walk from where his hands were at work, and give them some medicine. Mr. B. who was ever found foremost in acts of charity, obeyed the summons. Shortly after he left the workmen he was struck by these Indians in the back and head, and brought to the earth, with tomahawks, and then stabbed several times in the back with a bowie knife.
These are the circumstances attending the deaths of these individuals. It is notorious, that although the Ridges and Boudinot resided at the distance of seventy miles apart, yet report of John Ridge's murder was circulated all through the rank of Ross's party, before B's death was known to his immediate friends. This can perhaps be best explained by the fact that Boudinot and Ross residing about one mile apart. It is equally true that a strong guard were collected around Ross and Gunter on the same morning; and Ross has kept a guard of from 200 to 600 persons about his person ever since. It is worthy of remark that Ross promises this guard at the rate of 25 dollars each per month, and gives his due bills to individuals, payable of the faith of the national treasury. These due bills are bought by his son-in-law and brother with goods….
The convention of John Ross assembled, or rather his guard increased, on the first of July, as anticipated. The subjoined manifesto or decree [giving amnesty to the murderers of the Ridges and Boudinot] will show how far their proceedings were intended to affect the remaining victims of their malice. At the same time these papers were drawn up, a resolution was passed, freely pardoning the murderers of Messrs. Ridges and Boudinot, and all this, too, after Mr. Ross's denial of any knowledge or participation in the matter, and his promise to aid in securing the murderers. Of the documents everyone will judge for himself; but to us they sound very much like the language of an usurper, who first seizes upon the throne, and then requires all the people who have rightly opposed him to swear allegiance to his pretension."
The political climate of three decades of turmoil surrounding the Cherokee Nation are referenced in a letter written in 1849 by Cherokee author and poet John Rollin Ridge from his home in California at the request of a friend. It also gives an inside look at life for a young Cherokee boy before removal to Indian Territory in Oklahoma.
"I was born in the Cherokee Nation, East of the Mississippi River, on the 19th of March, 1827. My earliest recollections are of such things as are pleasing to childhood, the fondness of a kind father, and smiles of an affectionate mother. My father, the late John Ridge, as you know, was one of the Chiefs of his tribe, and son of the warrior and orator distinguished in Cherokee Councils and battles, who was known amongst the whites as Major Ridge, and amongst his own people as Ka-nun-ta-cla-ge. My father grew up till he was some twelve or fifteen years of age, as any untutored Indian, and he used well to remember the time when his greatest delight was to strip himself of his Indian costume, and with aboriginal cane-gig in hand, while away the long summer days in wading up and down creeks in search of crawfish.
At the age which I have mentioned above, a missionary station sprang into existence, and Major Ridge sent his son John, who could not speak word of English, to school at this station. Here he learned rapidly, and in the course of a year acquired a sufficient knowledge of the white man's language to speak it quite fluently.
Major Ridge had now become fully impressed with the importance of civilization He had built him a log-cabin, in imitation of the border-whites and opened him a farm. The Missionary told him of an institution built up in a distant land expressly for the education of Indian youths (Cornwall, Connecticut), and here he concluded to send his son. After hearing some stern advice from his father, with respect to the manner to which he should conduct himself amongst the 'pale-faces,' he departed for the Cornwall School in charge of a friendly Missionary. He remained there until his education was completed. During his attendance at this institution, he fell in love with a young white girl of the place, daughter of Mr. Northrup. His love was reciprocated. He returned home to his father, gained his consent, though with much difficulty (for the old Major wished him to marry a chief's daughter amongst his own people), went back again to Cornwall, and shortly brought his "pale-faced" bride to the wild country of the Cherokees. In due course of time, I, John Rollin, came into the world. I was called by my grandfather 'Chees-quat-a-law-ny,' which, interpreted, means 'Yellow Bird.' Thus you have a knowledge of my parentage and how it happened that I am an Indian.
Things had now changed with the Cherokees. They had a written Constitution and laws. They had legislative halls, houses and farms, courts, and juries. The general mass, it is true, were ignorant, but happy under the administration of a few simple, just, and wholesome laws. Major Ridge had become wealthy by trading with the whites and by prudent management. He had built an elegant house on the banks of the 'Oos-te-nar-ly River, on which now stands the thriving town of Rome, Georgia. Many a time in my buoyant boyhood have I strayed along its summer-shaded shores and glided in the light canoe over its swiftly-rolling bosom, and beneath its overhanging willows. Alas for the beautiful scene! The Indian's form haunts it no more!
My father's residence was a few miles east of the 'Oos-te-nar-ly. I remember it well. A large two-storied house, on a high hill crowned with a fine grove of oak and hickory, a large, clear spring at the foot of the hill, and an extensive farm stretching away down into the valley, with a fine orchard on the left. On another hill some two hundred yards distant, stood the schoolhouse, built at my father's expense, for the use of a Missionary, Miss Sophia Sawyer, who made her home with our family and taught my father's children and all who chose to come for her instruction. I went to this school until I was ten years of age--
Then another change had come over the Cherokee Nation. A demon-spell had fallen upon it. The white man had become covetous of the soil. The unhappy Indian was driven from his house--not one, but thousands--and the white man's ploughshare turned up the acres which he had called his own. Wherever the Indian built his cabin, and planted his corn, there was the spot which the white man craved. Convicted on suspicion, they were sentenced to death by laws whose authority they could not acknowledge and hanged on the white man's gallows. Oppression became intolerable, and forced by extreme necessity, they at last gave up their homes, yielded their beloved country to the rapacity of the Georgians, and wended their way in silence and in sorrow to the forests of the far west.
In 1837, my father moved his family to his new home, he built his houses and opened his farm; gave encouragement to the rising neighborhood, and fed many a hungry and naked Indian whom oppression had prostrated, to the dust. A second time he built a schoolhouse, and Miss Sawyer again instructed his own children and the children of his neighbors. Two years culled away in quietude but the Spring of 1839 brought in a terrible train of events. Parties had arisen in the Nation. The removal West had fomented discontents of the darkest and deadliest nature. The ignorant Indians, unable to vent their rage on the whites, turned their wrath towards their own chiefs, and chose to hold them responsible for what had happened.
John Ross made use of these prejudices to establish his own power. He held a secret council and plotted the death of my father and grandfather, and Boudinot, and others, who were friendly to the interests of these men. John Ridge was at this time the most powerful man in the Nation, and it was necessary for Ross, in order to realize his ambitious scheme for ruling the whole Nation, not only to put the Ridges out of the way, but those who most prominently supported them, lest they might cause trouble afterwards.
These bloody deeds were perpetrated under circumstances of peculiar aggravation. On the morning of the 22nd of June, 1839, about daybreak, our family was aroused from sleep by a violent noise. The doors were broken down, and the house was full of armed men. I saw my father in the hands of assassins. He endeavored to speak to them, but they shouted and drowned his voice for they were instructed not to listen to him for a moment for fear they would be persuaded not to kill him. They dragged him into the yard, and prepared to murder him. Two men held him by the arms, and others by the body, while another stabbed him deliberately with a dirk twenty-nine times. My mother rushed out the door, but they pushed her back with their guns into the house, and prevented her egress until their act was finished, when they left the place quietly. My father fell to earth but did not immediately expire.
My mother ran out to him. He raised himself on his elbow and tried to speak, but the blood flowed into his mouth and prevented him. In a few moments more he died, without speaking that last word which he wished to say. Then succeeded a scene of agony the sight of which might make one regret that the human race had ever been created. It has darkened my mind with an eternal shadow. In a room prepared for the purpose, lay pale in death the man whose voice had been listened to with awe and admiration in the councils of his Nation, and whose fame had passed to the remotest of the United States, the blood oozing through his winding sheet, and falling drop by drop on the floor. By his side sat my mother, with hands clasped, and in speechless agony-- she who had given him her heart in the days of her youth and beauty, left the home of her parents, and followed the husband of her choice to a wild and distant land. And bending over him was his own afflicted mother, with her long, white hair flung loose over her shoulders and bosom, crying to the Great Spirit to sustain her in that dreadful hour. And in addition to all these, the wife, the mother and the little children, who scarcely knew their loss, were the dark faces of those who had been the murdered man's friends, and possibly, some who had been privy to the assassination, who had come to smile over the scene.
There was yet another blow to be dealt. Major Ridge had started on a journey the day before to Van Buren, a town on the Arkansas River, in the State of Arkansas. He was traveling down what was called the Line Road, in the direction of Evansville. A runner was sent with all possible speed to inform him of what had happened. The runner returned with the news that Major Ridge himself was killed. It is useless to lengthen description. It would fall far short of the theme.
These events happened when I was twelve years old. Great excitement existed in the Nation, and my mother thinking her children unsafe in the country of their father's murders, and unwilling to remain longer where all that she saw reminded her of her dreadful bereavement, removed to the State of Arkansas, and settled in the town of Fayetteville. In that place I went to school till I was fourteen years of age, when my mother sent me to New England to finish my education. There it was that I became acquainted with you, and you know all about my history during my attendance at the Great Barrington School as well as I do myself. Owing to the rigor of the climate my health failed me about the time I was ready to enter college, and I returned to my mother in Arkansas. Here I read Latin and Greek, and pursued my studies with the Rev. Cephas Washbourne till the summer of 1845 when the difficulties which had existed in the Nation ever since my father's death, more or less, had drawn to a crisis.
Thus have I briefly and hurriedly complied with your request, and given you a sketch of my life. I shall not return to the Nation now until circumstances are materially changed. I shall cast my fortunes for some years with the whites. I am twenty-three years old, married, and have an infant daughter. I will still devote my life to my people, though not amongst them, and before I die, I hope to see the Cherokee Nation, in conjunction, with the Choctaws, admitted into the Confederacy of the United States."
______________________________________
"Then Deborah said to Barak, Go!
This is the day the Lord has given Sisera into our hands.
Has not the Lord gone ahead of you?
So Barak went down to Mount Tabor,
followed by ten thousand men."
Judges 4:14
Chapter 5 - Mount Tabor
Rusk County, Texas circa 1848 - 1855
The government scribe listened intently to Daisy's version of events surrounding the Cherokees and their slaves, keeping her notes faithful to the narrator.
"I was born in Rusk County Texas, on a plantation called Mount Tabor, like in the bible, about eight miles east of Bellview 'round 1850. The Cherokees and us Negroes lived at Mt. Tabor off and on through de early years. Lots of us buried in the Mt. Tabor cemetery. There wasn't no town where I was born, but they had dat church I told ya 'bout." Daisy recalled.
She pointed at the writer's pencil. "Now ya spell that T-A-B-O-R. Taber! That make me about eighty-seven year old, so dey say down at the Indian Agency where my name is on the Cherokee rolls since all the land was give to Indian families a long time ago. I reckon that's how you found me and the other ones. Dat was because of Master Jim Bell and some of de other Cherokee Indians. He fought for us Negroes like we was his own family, 'cause we was! He said we was as rightful to dat land as he was."
The young woman asked, "Ma'am, what were your homes like in Texas?"
Daisy replied, "The old master's house in Texas was a big six-room, two story place on pine planks, wid a porch all around de house. Not far from de big house was a rock building used for the looms. In dere, dey made cloth and thread and dey make it for anybody what come dere with cotton or wool. I helped throw the thread in the loom and I get the dye stuff; the walnut bark for black, the post oak bark that mixing with the copperas for yellow and wild indigo. Miss Sally said we was good as anybody in the nation on those looms. T'ward de end of de war, we couldn't hardly get no wool or cotton cards ta spin with. After de shearing, de wool is washed real good in hot water to get out de dirt and grease. Then you card dat wool which make it ready for the spinnin'."
Daisy described her daily life. "We always have good eating, like turnip greens cooked in a kettle with hog skins and crackling grease, and skinned corn, and rabbit or possum stew. I like big fish tolerable well too, but I was afraid of de bones in de little ones. The Negro cook was Tilda. She and my Mammy didn't do no outwork. Aunt Tilda sure could make them corn-dodgers. Us children would catch her eating her dinner first out of the kettles and when we say something she say, 'Go on child, I jest tasting dat dinner!' The Big House had great big rooms in front, and dey was fixed up nice too."
I remember when Master Jim's sister Charlotte tried me out sweeping up the front rooms. She married Dr. Dupree. I think some of his kin was French. They had two or three great big pictures of some old people hanging on the wall. They was full blood Indians it look like, and I was sure scared of dem pictures!" Daisy whispered. "I would go here an' there an' every which-a-way, an' any wheres I go dem big pictures always looking straight at me and watching me sweep! I kept my eyes right on 'em so I could run if dey moved! Then Mistress take me back to de kitchen and say I can't sweep 'cause I miss all de dirt."
"Miss Daisy, did you think their house was haunted?" The aspiring author wondered.
"Does I believe in spirits? Sure I do. This old flesh and bones goin' back from what God make it, but our spirits never die. Sometimes de spirits of folks what' dead come back. I've heard of a haunted house where there was rappin's and the like but I never did hear any myself. Tell you what I did see, more than once! Back in Ft. Scott where I worked dere was a little girl, beautiful little girl with long curls. I wondered why God made me black and that little girl so white. Before I left she died. I saw her lyin' in the casket. Long time after she came to me in a dream like. I saw a little girl with curls, all dressed in white. Seemed like she was here a minute, then she walked out the door and was gone. She come more than once and stand right there in that door. Sometime that little girl goin' come back all dressed in white and take old Aunt Daisy out the door and I won't never come back."
Daisy quietly rocked for a while, then asked, "Do you go to church back there in Washington DeeCee, young woman?"
"Why, yes, Ma'am, I do. We have churches there too!" She nodded and smiled.
The old woman nodded, "Well, then, that's good. Some of these younguns today got no ambition. They think everyone else ought to provide everything fer 'em."
Daisy cradled her self, rocking slowly, remembering. "Christmas morning we always got some brown sugar candy or some molasses to pull, and we children was up bright and early to get that 'lasses pull, I tell you! And in the winter we played skeeting on the ice when the water froze over."
"Oh, you mean ice skating?" The note taker asked.
"No, I don't mean skating! That's when you got iron skates, and we didn't have them things. We just get a runnin' start and jump on the ice and skeet as far as we could go, and then you run some more. I nearly busted my head open, and brother said, 'Try it again,' but after dat I was scared ta skeet any more," admitted Daisy. "My brother would get up behind Master on his horse and go with him to hunt squirrels. Brother would go 'round on the other side of the tree, and rock the squirrels so they would go 'round on Master's side so's he could shoot 'em. The old mare was named 'Old Willow' and she knowed how to stop and stand real still so he could shoot."
Daisy seemed to remember every long ago detail. "We had our time to go to bed and our time to get up in de mornin'. We had to get up early and comb our hair first thing. All the colored folks lined up and master he tell them what they must do that day. We had homemade wooden beds wid rope springs, and de little ones slept on trundle beds dat was homemade too. At night dem trundles was jest all over the floor, and in de morning we shoved 'em back under de big beds to get 'em outn' de way. No nails in none of 'em or in de chairs and tables. Nails cost big money so we used wood dowels to put things together."
"Ma'am, " asked the writer, "I suppose there wasn't much chance for pleasure on a plantation, was there?"
"Everybody had a good time on old Masters plantation. After supper the colored folks would get together and talk, and sing, and dance. Someone maybe would be playing a fiddle or a banjo. Everybody was happy. Master never whipped no one. No fusses, no bad words, no nothin' like that. When they gave a party in the big house, everything was fine. Women came in satin dresses, all dressed up, big combs in their hair, lots of rings and bracelets. The cooks would bake hams, turkey cakes and pies and there'd be lots to eat and whiskey for the men folks. There was music, fine music. Colored folks did most of de fiddlin'. Someone rattled de bones. There was a bugler and someone called the dances. They'd clap their hands and holler. Everybody had a good time. Lord yes, su-er!"
Daisy explained, "Lots of the Cherokees had slaves. There was de the Waties, the Starrs, the Martins, the Ridges, William Penn and George Washington Adair. George Washington Adair got shot one time. Well, he set up his gun some way and it fell, and shot him right through the leg!" Daisy whispered and winked. " You just talk to some of his gran' children. They tell you I'se tellin' you the truth. One of them Adair grandsons, named George, was in France in the big world war. He talked code for de military in Cherokee so them damnable Nazis didn't know what we was sayin'! I'se so sorry to swear like a drunk Injun, but if dere is a Hell, I hope they find their way to it soon! Nothin' good can come of dat mess over dere. No, sir!"
The lady taking her notes stopped to ask, "What about your education, Miss Daisy? When did you get to learn to read and write?"
Returning to the prior century Daisy went on. "We never had no school in slavery and it was agin' the law for anybody to even show a Negro de letters or give 'em a book, so no Cherokee slave could read. I was a big girl when I learn de letters and how to write, and tried to teach mammy but she didn't learn, so all the writin' about allotments had to be done by me. I have written many letters to Washington when they gave the Indian lands to the native Indians and their Negroes. When we first lived in Texas, the Bell children was educated at Dwight Mission School in Indian Territory. Miss Charlotte rode all dat way to school on horseback with her brothers, over three hundred miles from Mount Tabor. After the war, when dey got 'em started back up, the Cherokees let us Negroes go to their schools."
Daisy relayed more about the society she was raised in. "The Cherokees didn't have no jail for Negroes and no jail for themselves neither. If a man done a crime, he come back to take his punishment without being locked up. I did see a hangin' tree at Tahlequah after the war. Lizzie Redbird was hanged for sellin' dope of some kind. The hangin' tree had a big strong limb they used for the hangins and it stood near de little creek that runs off the edge of town. Don't know if it's still there or not. Dey just pull a wagon under that big ol' limb, put dat noose around de neck and pull out de wagon fast. Superstitious folks feared to pass near dat tree after night fall. De say ghostly forms could be seen round dat big ol' oak tree."
"Us slaves left Texas with Master Jim Bell, old masters son, come here to Indian Territory a little while after old master died 'bout 1855, I reckon. Master Jim, he had black eyes and mustache. Tall, way over six foot and slim and han'some and everybody like him because he was so good natured and kind. Master didn't allow for no whippings, 'cept maybe he cuff a young one around it he done something real mean, or maybe sometimes he sell one for de same reason. Whippings, like some of them rich owners did, No! Master's hide get all turned around if somebody hit a Negro. He'd let nobody chunk 'em around. When I get to thinking about slave days I always remember of de slaves that run away. Mammy would feed 'em sometimes. I never did know where they was runnin' too."
Daisy held up a finger, shaking it. "I want to say again my Master was Indian, but he was a good man and mighty good to us slaves. Mistress Caroline, she was a Lynch, Master Jim's wife, was small and mighty pretty too, and she was only part Cherokee. Dey was all wid the south, but dey was a lot of dem Pin Indians all up on de Illinois River and dey was wid de North and day taken it out on de slave owners a lot before de War and during it too."
"Them Pins was after Master all de time for a while. Dey come to de house one time when he was gone to Fort Smith and us children told 'em he was at Honey Springs, but they knowed better and when he got home he said somebody shot at him and bushwhacked him all dat way from Wilson's Rock to dem Wildhorse Mountains, but he run his horse like de devil was sitting on his tail and dey never did get him. He never seen them neither. We told him 'bout de Pins coming fer him and he just laughed."
Daisy explained the changes in their lives when war came. "When the war broke out my daddy went with the side of the South with Master Bell. Dey was gone a long time and when they come back he told of fightin' the Federals north of Ft. Gibson and how the Federals drove 'em off like dogs. He said most of the time the soldiers starved and suffered, some of 'em froze to death. I was pretty big and I remember it good as anybody. My brother Lewis tell us all to lay low and work hard and nobody bother us and he would look after us. He sure stood good with de Cherokee neighbors we had, and dey all liked him. He kept begging Master Jim to join up and go with him to war. He finally let Brother go along the last year or so. We had to look after ourselves then. I didn't know nothing else but some kind of war until I was a grown woman, because since I first can remember, we always on the lookout for somebody or other the Master was lined up against in the big feud. None of 'em would sit in front of a window without it covered since I ever knowed any of 'em!"
Daisy sighed, "I'm glad slavery is over and I do not want ta see any more wars or hangins'! Abraham Lincoln freed us, but I never liked him much 'cause de way his soldiers done in the south. I was so grieved all the time I don't remember all what went on, but I know pretty soon my Cherokee folks had all the stuff they had et up by the soldiers and they was jest a few wagons and mules left. Dat last year of the war, all the Negroes and children was piled in together and some of the grown ones walkin' and they took us way down across the big river and kept us in the Red River bottoms a long time until the war was over. We lived in kind of a camp mostly, I don't know where they got the grub to feed us with. I didn't mind going back to Texas during the war, 'cause they was some good days there when I was a young un'. More peaceful like. But it weren't the same during the war. Life was hard and we was mostly hiding out in dem camps, tryin' to farm so we could feed soldiers and ourselves!"
On July 24th, 1854, in a letter from John Adair Bell to Stand Watie, Bell writes, "I call my place Mount Tabor." The Bells and a few other Cherokee families were allowed to live in Texas after they fought to secure their legal right, though most of the Cherokee who settled in Texas were forcefully excluded by the U.S. Government from other nearby counties.
In earlier times of voluntary removal, years before the Trail of Tears, Cherokee Chief Bowles and his party left in canoes and drifted down the Tennessee River, until they came to the Mississippi River. When they reached the mouth of Red River they ascended to the mouth of the Sabine River to the headwaters of the Neches and there he established a village. They secured the blessings of Mexico and settled in Texas long before white settlers who formed the Texas Republic.
Bowles and his adherents remained there until after the Texas war for Independence. Sam Houston solicited the Texas Cherokees to protect their rear from attack from wild Indians and Mexicans. For their services, Bowles and the others were promised a concession of the land they settled years before, which embraced the three counties of Rusk, Smith, and Cherokee County, Texas.
Shortly, Texas became a state of the Union and the federal government refused to keep the agreement between Bowles and Houston. The Cherokee were violently forced to leave Texas into Mexico, except for the few like the Bells, Adairs and Starrs who could establish legal title to their land later through the courts and other treaties. Jarrett Bell became a thorn in the side of the US government and Texas Rangers for a time while the legal help of William Penn Adair tried to force the government to let them keep their Mt.Tabor settlement.
Rusk County, Texas circa 1848 - 1855
The government scribe listened intently to Daisy's version of events surrounding the Cherokees and their slaves, keeping her notes faithful to the narrator.
"I was born in Rusk County Texas, on a plantation called Mount Tabor, like in the bible, about eight miles east of Bellview 'round 1850. The Cherokees and us Negroes lived at Mt. Tabor off and on through de early years. Lots of us buried in the Mt. Tabor cemetery. There wasn't no town where I was born, but they had dat church I told ya 'bout." Daisy recalled.
She pointed at the writer's pencil. "Now ya spell that T-A-B-O-R. Taber! That make me about eighty-seven year old, so dey say down at the Indian Agency where my name is on the Cherokee rolls since all the land was give to Indian families a long time ago. I reckon that's how you found me and the other ones. Dat was because of Master Jim Bell and some of de other Cherokee Indians. He fought for us Negroes like we was his own family, 'cause we was! He said we was as rightful to dat land as he was."
The young woman asked, "Ma'am, what were your homes like in Texas?"
Daisy replied, "The old master's house in Texas was a big six-room, two story place on pine planks, wid a porch all around de house. Not far from de big house was a rock building used for the looms. In dere, dey made cloth and thread and dey make it for anybody what come dere with cotton or wool. I helped throw the thread in the loom and I get the dye stuff; the walnut bark for black, the post oak bark that mixing with the copperas for yellow and wild indigo. Miss Sally said we was good as anybody in the nation on those looms. T'ward de end of de war, we couldn't hardly get no wool or cotton cards ta spin with. After de shearing, de wool is washed real good in hot water to get out de dirt and grease. Then you card dat wool which make it ready for the spinnin'."
Daisy described her daily life. "We always have good eating, like turnip greens cooked in a kettle with hog skins and crackling grease, and skinned corn, and rabbit or possum stew. I like big fish tolerable well too, but I was afraid of de bones in de little ones. The Negro cook was Tilda. She and my Mammy didn't do no outwork. Aunt Tilda sure could make them corn-dodgers. Us children would catch her eating her dinner first out of the kettles and when we say something she say, 'Go on child, I jest tasting dat dinner!' The Big House had great big rooms in front, and dey was fixed up nice too."
I remember when Master Jim's sister Charlotte tried me out sweeping up the front rooms. She married Dr. Dupree. I think some of his kin was French. They had two or three great big pictures of some old people hanging on the wall. They was full blood Indians it look like, and I was sure scared of dem pictures!" Daisy whispered. "I would go here an' there an' every which-a-way, an' any wheres I go dem big pictures always looking straight at me and watching me sweep! I kept my eyes right on 'em so I could run if dey moved! Then Mistress take me back to de kitchen and say I can't sweep 'cause I miss all de dirt."
"Miss Daisy, did you think their house was haunted?" The aspiring author wondered.
"Does I believe in spirits? Sure I do. This old flesh and bones goin' back from what God make it, but our spirits never die. Sometimes de spirits of folks what' dead come back. I've heard of a haunted house where there was rappin's and the like but I never did hear any myself. Tell you what I did see, more than once! Back in Ft. Scott where I worked dere was a little girl, beautiful little girl with long curls. I wondered why God made me black and that little girl so white. Before I left she died. I saw her lyin' in the casket. Long time after she came to me in a dream like. I saw a little girl with curls, all dressed in white. Seemed like she was here a minute, then she walked out the door and was gone. She come more than once and stand right there in that door. Sometime that little girl goin' come back all dressed in white and take old Aunt Daisy out the door and I won't never come back."
Daisy quietly rocked for a while, then asked, "Do you go to church back there in Washington DeeCee, young woman?"
"Why, yes, Ma'am, I do. We have churches there too!" She nodded and smiled.
The old woman nodded, "Well, then, that's good. Some of these younguns today got no ambition. They think everyone else ought to provide everything fer 'em."
Daisy cradled her self, rocking slowly, remembering. "Christmas morning we always got some brown sugar candy or some molasses to pull, and we children was up bright and early to get that 'lasses pull, I tell you! And in the winter we played skeeting on the ice when the water froze over."
"Oh, you mean ice skating?" The note taker asked.
"No, I don't mean skating! That's when you got iron skates, and we didn't have them things. We just get a runnin' start and jump on the ice and skeet as far as we could go, and then you run some more. I nearly busted my head open, and brother said, 'Try it again,' but after dat I was scared ta skeet any more," admitted Daisy. "My brother would get up behind Master on his horse and go with him to hunt squirrels. Brother would go 'round on the other side of the tree, and rock the squirrels so they would go 'round on Master's side so's he could shoot 'em. The old mare was named 'Old Willow' and she knowed how to stop and stand real still so he could shoot."
Daisy seemed to remember every long ago detail. "We had our time to go to bed and our time to get up in de mornin'. We had to get up early and comb our hair first thing. All the colored folks lined up and master he tell them what they must do that day. We had homemade wooden beds wid rope springs, and de little ones slept on trundle beds dat was homemade too. At night dem trundles was jest all over the floor, and in de morning we shoved 'em back under de big beds to get 'em outn' de way. No nails in none of 'em or in de chairs and tables. Nails cost big money so we used wood dowels to put things together."
"Ma'am, " asked the writer, "I suppose there wasn't much chance for pleasure on a plantation, was there?"
"Everybody had a good time on old Masters plantation. After supper the colored folks would get together and talk, and sing, and dance. Someone maybe would be playing a fiddle or a banjo. Everybody was happy. Master never whipped no one. No fusses, no bad words, no nothin' like that. When they gave a party in the big house, everything was fine. Women came in satin dresses, all dressed up, big combs in their hair, lots of rings and bracelets. The cooks would bake hams, turkey cakes and pies and there'd be lots to eat and whiskey for the men folks. There was music, fine music. Colored folks did most of de fiddlin'. Someone rattled de bones. There was a bugler and someone called the dances. They'd clap their hands and holler. Everybody had a good time. Lord yes, su-er!"
Daisy explained, "Lots of the Cherokees had slaves. There was de the Waties, the Starrs, the Martins, the Ridges, William Penn and George Washington Adair. George Washington Adair got shot one time. Well, he set up his gun some way and it fell, and shot him right through the leg!" Daisy whispered and winked. " You just talk to some of his gran' children. They tell you I'se tellin' you the truth. One of them Adair grandsons, named George, was in France in the big world war. He talked code for de military in Cherokee so them damnable Nazis didn't know what we was sayin'! I'se so sorry to swear like a drunk Injun, but if dere is a Hell, I hope they find their way to it soon! Nothin' good can come of dat mess over dere. No, sir!"
The lady taking her notes stopped to ask, "What about your education, Miss Daisy? When did you get to learn to read and write?"
Returning to the prior century Daisy went on. "We never had no school in slavery and it was agin' the law for anybody to even show a Negro de letters or give 'em a book, so no Cherokee slave could read. I was a big girl when I learn de letters and how to write, and tried to teach mammy but she didn't learn, so all the writin' about allotments had to be done by me. I have written many letters to Washington when they gave the Indian lands to the native Indians and their Negroes. When we first lived in Texas, the Bell children was educated at Dwight Mission School in Indian Territory. Miss Charlotte rode all dat way to school on horseback with her brothers, over three hundred miles from Mount Tabor. After the war, when dey got 'em started back up, the Cherokees let us Negroes go to their schools."
Daisy relayed more about the society she was raised in. "The Cherokees didn't have no jail for Negroes and no jail for themselves neither. If a man done a crime, he come back to take his punishment without being locked up. I did see a hangin' tree at Tahlequah after the war. Lizzie Redbird was hanged for sellin' dope of some kind. The hangin' tree had a big strong limb they used for the hangins and it stood near de little creek that runs off the edge of town. Don't know if it's still there or not. Dey just pull a wagon under that big ol' limb, put dat noose around de neck and pull out de wagon fast. Superstitious folks feared to pass near dat tree after night fall. De say ghostly forms could be seen round dat big ol' oak tree."
"Us slaves left Texas with Master Jim Bell, old masters son, come here to Indian Territory a little while after old master died 'bout 1855, I reckon. Master Jim, he had black eyes and mustache. Tall, way over six foot and slim and han'some and everybody like him because he was so good natured and kind. Master didn't allow for no whippings, 'cept maybe he cuff a young one around it he done something real mean, or maybe sometimes he sell one for de same reason. Whippings, like some of them rich owners did, No! Master's hide get all turned around if somebody hit a Negro. He'd let nobody chunk 'em around. When I get to thinking about slave days I always remember of de slaves that run away. Mammy would feed 'em sometimes. I never did know where they was runnin' too."
Daisy held up a finger, shaking it. "I want to say again my Master was Indian, but he was a good man and mighty good to us slaves. Mistress Caroline, she was a Lynch, Master Jim's wife, was small and mighty pretty too, and she was only part Cherokee. Dey was all wid the south, but dey was a lot of dem Pin Indians all up on de Illinois River and dey was wid de North and day taken it out on de slave owners a lot before de War and during it too."
"Them Pins was after Master all de time for a while. Dey come to de house one time when he was gone to Fort Smith and us children told 'em he was at Honey Springs, but they knowed better and when he got home he said somebody shot at him and bushwhacked him all dat way from Wilson's Rock to dem Wildhorse Mountains, but he run his horse like de devil was sitting on his tail and dey never did get him. He never seen them neither. We told him 'bout de Pins coming fer him and he just laughed."
Daisy explained the changes in their lives when war came. "When the war broke out my daddy went with the side of the South with Master Bell. Dey was gone a long time and when they come back he told of fightin' the Federals north of Ft. Gibson and how the Federals drove 'em off like dogs. He said most of the time the soldiers starved and suffered, some of 'em froze to death. I was pretty big and I remember it good as anybody. My brother Lewis tell us all to lay low and work hard and nobody bother us and he would look after us. He sure stood good with de Cherokee neighbors we had, and dey all liked him. He kept begging Master Jim to join up and go with him to war. He finally let Brother go along the last year or so. We had to look after ourselves then. I didn't know nothing else but some kind of war until I was a grown woman, because since I first can remember, we always on the lookout for somebody or other the Master was lined up against in the big feud. None of 'em would sit in front of a window without it covered since I ever knowed any of 'em!"
Daisy sighed, "I'm glad slavery is over and I do not want ta see any more wars or hangins'! Abraham Lincoln freed us, but I never liked him much 'cause de way his soldiers done in the south. I was so grieved all the time I don't remember all what went on, but I know pretty soon my Cherokee folks had all the stuff they had et up by the soldiers and they was jest a few wagons and mules left. Dat last year of the war, all the Negroes and children was piled in together and some of the grown ones walkin' and they took us way down across the big river and kept us in the Red River bottoms a long time until the war was over. We lived in kind of a camp mostly, I don't know where they got the grub to feed us with. I didn't mind going back to Texas during the war, 'cause they was some good days there when I was a young un'. More peaceful like. But it weren't the same during the war. Life was hard and we was mostly hiding out in dem camps, tryin' to farm so we could feed soldiers and ourselves!"
On July 24th, 1854, in a letter from John Adair Bell to Stand Watie, Bell writes, "I call my place Mount Tabor." The Bells and a few other Cherokee families were allowed to live in Texas after they fought to secure their legal right, though most of the Cherokee who settled in Texas were forcefully excluded by the U.S. Government from other nearby counties.
In earlier times of voluntary removal, years before the Trail of Tears, Cherokee Chief Bowles and his party left in canoes and drifted down the Tennessee River, until they came to the Mississippi River. When they reached the mouth of Red River they ascended to the mouth of the Sabine River to the headwaters of the Neches and there he established a village. They secured the blessings of Mexico and settled in Texas long before white settlers who formed the Texas Republic.
Bowles and his adherents remained there until after the Texas war for Independence. Sam Houston solicited the Texas Cherokees to protect their rear from attack from wild Indians and Mexicans. For their services, Bowles and the others were promised a concession of the land they settled years before, which embraced the three counties of Rusk, Smith, and Cherokee County, Texas.
Shortly, Texas became a state of the Union and the federal government refused to keep the agreement between Bowles and Houston. The Cherokee were violently forced to leave Texas into Mexico, except for the few like the Bells, Adairs and Starrs who could establish legal title to their land later through the courts and other treaties. Jarrett Bell became a thorn in the side of the US government and Texas Rangers for a time while the legal help of William Penn Adair tried to force the government to let them keep their Mt.Tabor settlement.
______________________
"A Lie can travel
half way around the world
while the Truth
is putting on its shoes."
Mark Twain
half way around the world
while the Truth
is putting on its shoes."
Mark Twain
Stand Waite
Chapter 6 - The Knights of the Golden Circle
Summer 1861, Indian Territory
The political climate in the territory was further irritated by the election of Abraham Lincoln, who many felt was a mediocre, obscure, first term politician. In his administration were several prominent 'Free Soilers' who strongly advanced confiscation of Indian lands to open for white settlement. This was further fuel to prompt the Southern Cherokee to side with the Confederacy.
Dust rose up on the road for miles near Tahlequah, the capital of Indian Territory where Free Mason Cherokee Lodge Number Twenty-one stood. The community leaders, all descendants of the Ridge Party families, rode hard to face decisions that would determine the fate of the Cherokee Nation.
They rode from home in Indian Territory on the Grand River and Webbers Falls; Jim Bell, Stand Watie, William Penn Adair and other Cherokee members of the Southern Rights Party, fresh from skirmishes to push Union power out of Indian Territory. Cornelius Boudinot and others arrived from Arkansas.
And they rode from Texas; Jarrett Bell, the Benges, George Harlan Starr, husband of Nancy Bell, Dr. William Dupree, husband of Charlotte Bell. With them in spirit was Jack Bell and brothers David and Samuel, Major Ridge and his son John, Elias Boudinot, and all those lost in the tragic foreplay to this final war. John Adair "Jack" Bell died the year before and was buried at Mt. Tabor. Jim Bell would now become more than an uncle to Jack's son Lucien Burr Bell, who Indian Territory came to know as "Cousin Hooley", who rode with his uncles from Texas.
They rode from California. John Rollin Ridge, grandson of Major Ridge left a prosperous home and newspaper publishing business in California. He had been the first editor of what is now the Sacramento Bee Newspaper. He returned to see the Southern Cherokee join full fledge with the Confederacy and stood with his kin.
Each rode for their own reasons, but they all came for the Cherokee Nation because they all knew this was the end game. It had gone on too long, in too many places they tried to call home. Some had made other lives apart from the Civil War and the war within Indian Nation. Peace and prosperity within the Nation seemed to almost happen for a few years after the signing of the Treaty of the Birds in 1843. Jarrett Bell, being one of the signatories and signing as 'Chicken Trotter', attempted to bring civility between the factions breaking the Cherokee Tribe.
The feud between the Ridge and Ross factions had subsided for the most part for a few years as the Watie, Bell, Adair, Ross and other Cherokee families gained social and financial status in their new homes in Indian Territory. But the underlying vendetta and power struggle was about to burst open once again as the Civil War began in Indian Territory. Watie's Cherokee Mounted Volunteers had already performed successful guerilla incursions for the Confederacy in the Spring of 1861 into Arkansas, helping to keep Ft.Smith in Confederate control lasting for over two years. The capture of the strategic fort and incomparable scouting and holding the territory in N.W. Arkansas earned Watie the title of Colonel.
The Knights viewed Ross as a tyrant who ran the tribe unimpeded as a self proclaimed dictator propped up by duping or bribing a regime of ignorant, angry masses for over thirty years. As long as Ross could keep the tribe divided in purpose and the majority of the Cherokee were kept needy, dependent and discontented, his power was secure. Ironically, the 'full bloods' were said to be the Ross faction of the tribe. John Ross was one-eighth Cherokee blood with blue eyes. Stand Watie, who led the Ridge faction of so called, "half-breeds", on the other hand, was a full blood.
The still smoldering wounds and resulting alliances are outlined by an excerpt from a letter written by Stand Watie and John Adair "Jack" Bell published in the Arkansas Gazette a generation earlier. It explains why after the murders of the Ridges and Boudinot they refused to address Ross as 'Chief'. Eight Treaty Party members apologized for signing the treaty in return for amnesty from the Chief. The assassins were also pardoned by Ross.
"If Mr. Ross expects us to purchase our lives by swearing to the infamous oath which he put in our mouths, he very much mistakes the blood which runs in our veins. Sooner let us fall by the hand of the midnight assassin, than have our names loaded with infamy, and handed down to posterity as traitors, who had saved their country from total destruction, by making the best treaty ever made for any Indians! – The historian will do justice to the memories of the fallen. We will never cause their blood to ride in judgment against us, by casting obloquy on their characters. Eight of our friends have abandoned us. Be the matter with them and their God. We are conscious that we have gained many where we have lost one. The threatened denunciation still hangs over us. Well, if the impending vengeance must fall, let it come upon us with clear consciences."
A few months earlier, twenty-seven year old Elias Cornelius Boudinot, Stand Watie's nephew, was elected Secretary of the Arkansas Secession Convention to represent loyalists of the South to the newly forming Confederate Government. He would also serve with Cherokee troops in battle.
Inside business began as usual.
"The Knights of the Golden Circle is called to pledge. You do solemnly swear that you will keep all the secrets of this order and that you will, to the best of your abilities protect and defend the interests of the Knights of the Golden Circle in this Nation, so help you God!"
"James Madison Bell, I do."
"Bill Adair, I do."
"John Ridge, I do."
"Cornelius Boudinot, I do!"
"Joel Mayes, I do."
"Jerrett Bell, I do."
" Hooley Bell, present! I do!"
One after another, each at the reunion declared their loyalty including Clem Rodgers, William Dupree, Cicero Leonidas Lynch, brother of Caroline Bell, and Charles Watie, the brother of Stand Watie.
"Stand Watie, I do. We are called to order."
Nothing was 'usual' about this Masonic meeting. No one seemed anxious to speak, which was an odd occurrence for this group of men. Boudinot stood.
"There is no safe choice for our people in this conflict. Many of us will die. Our children will die. And if we don't fight, we will still die because our own nation is already at war. The Union has lied over and over and failed to adhere to the principals of their own Declaration of Independence and Constitution. We have governed ourselves by those principals when allowed to do so, and still it has not been enough to be treated as equals. If we fight for the Confederacy, they will give us our independence, our own land that won't be taken as the Union would, and let us be represented in their congress. That is their agreement pledged to me when we met. I have stated the case the best I can."
None spoke objection. Hooley Bell was leaned against a wall rocking in his chair, with his hat over his eyes as he started laughing and slammed the front legs of the chair to a sharp halt on the wooden floor. "Has everyone heard the latest about Ross and his cohorts? " Hooley interjected sardonically. "You know that silly thing they wear on their lapels, two straight pins crossed? So now they call themselves, the 'Pins'. Ain't that a hoot? Pinheads is more like it."
The intimidation by the Cherokee faction, which became known as the 'Pins', had lived with them all since child hood. They wouldn't allow themselves to be concerned with symbolic threats. The Cherokee Tribe long ago considered themselves as the "Keetowah", the real people. The regime known as the Pins considered themselves the only ones worthy of being "Keetowah".
Adair proceeded with the business at hand, addressing Watie. "You have doubtless heard all about Ross's convention which in reality tied up our hands and shut our mouths and put the destiny and everything connected with the nation and our lives in the hands of the Executive. Now is the time for us to strike, or we will be completely frustrated."
He continued. "Have this 'pin' party broken up, and our rights provided for and place us if possible at least on an honorable equity with this old dominant party that has for years had its foot upon our necks. We have selected you for reasons that we will not name on account of modesty, but which will appear obvious to you, from the well known fact that you have had an honorable reputation abroad in the South for years and are well known by Pike and many other prominent statesmen of the South."
Watie looked intently at each of them, many life long friends, some he'd known since they were babies, as he retrieved a letter from its envelope.
"I have received orders from General McCulloch." He read the letter with a new sense of authority in his voice. "Colonel Watie, You are hereby authorized to raise a sufficient force for operation in the neutral lands north of the Cherokee Nation. When my command marches into Missouri, you are hereby directed to proceed to the neutral lands and drive from it all bands now infesting it and hostile to our cause."
Jim Bell raised his eyebrow in approval, "Colonel Watie? Well! It appears holding Ft. Smith and our other recent exercises have gotten the notice of the Confederacy."
Watie continued reading the dispatch. "First Commander: Major J. M. Bryan. The First Regiment of the Cherokee Mounted Rifles senior officers will be: First Colonel: Stand Watie, James M. Bell Lieutenant Colonel, Robert Parks Lt. Colonel, Thomas R. Taylor Lt. Colonel, Joseph F. Thompson Major,
Clem N. Vann Lt. Colonel, Elias Corneilus Boudinot Major, E. J. Howland Major. Other details will be left to your discretion until further organization."
Jim Bell stood and looked squarely at Watie. "It will require a rapid and prompt movement on our part to stop Ross from fracturing this recruitment, or else we are done up. All of our work will have been in vain, our prospects destroyed, our rights disregarded and we will be slaves to Ross's tyranny.
It won't do for you to hold back, declare yourself ready to serve your country in what ever capacity we may want you. We will stand with you as we always have."
He went on. "Before we ride away to the bigger conflict, we must attend to the affairs of our community. Our schools and churches must operate lest ignorance kill us before bullets. We cannot fight a war and have thoughtless upstarts helping themselves to our assets. Those in charge have not taken care to guard our interests. Tonight is as good time as any. "
Watie inquired, "Objections?"
None in that room. Not on that night. Battle lines had been drawn and clan blood shed in this 'civil war'.
Watie tossed the gavel. "Meeting adjourned!" They all walked out the door together for an immediate confrontation and four more long years of unimaginable encounters. By the time the Knights had ridden through town and walked out of the hotel there were thirty in their group, well armed, while another forty or fifty patrolled the town square. If there were any Pins in sight, they quickly disappeared.
The Knights ascended the stairs of the red brick council building to the executive chamber to find a locked door. Hooley Bell, who wasn't armed, drew back his foot and kicked the door open. The Treasurer, who was sitting behind his desk, looked up in shock.
Joel Mayes walked forward. Mayes, a Royal Arch Mason, stood five feet eleven inches and carried an impressive two hundred-eighty pounds. "I've come to take charge of this office," he said.
"All right," the soon to be retired officer cautiously answered as he slowly stood out of his chair. "I've been waiting to turn it over to anybody coming in. All I want is my private papers."
Mayes was intelligent and peace loving, but he had no fear of man or the Devil. He was courteous to the bewildered executive. No one else said a word, but guns were everywhere, mostly sticking out in plain view, one shotgun being precariously held by a trembling hand.
"Put that gun up before you kill somebody," a voice of reason admonished.
The ousted treasurer got his papers together and was not bothered as he left the building. For the Knights, the easy part was over.
Two Confederate regiments were raised by the Southern Cherokee Nation in Indian Territory. Brigadier General Ben McCulloch of the Confederate Army described them. "Colonel Drew's Regiment will be mostly full-bloods, whilst those with Col. Stand Watie will be half-breeds, and good soldiers anywhere, in or out of the Nation."
Watie, with Jim Bell as his strategist, and Indian troops under their command, engaged in at least eighteen battles and major skirmishes with Federal troops during the Civil War. In addition, his men were in a multitude of smaller skirmishes and guerilla warfare situations in Indian Territory and neighboring states. Because of his wide-reaching raids behind Union lines, Watie tied down thousands of Federal troops that were desperately needed in the East. The Cherokee name of Stand Watie was De'gata'ga, derived from a term meaning 'I am standing' and 'they are standing together', with the implication that two persons stand together so closely united as to form but one.
Summer 1861, Indian Territory
The political climate in the territory was further irritated by the election of Abraham Lincoln, who many felt was a mediocre, obscure, first term politician. In his administration were several prominent 'Free Soilers' who strongly advanced confiscation of Indian lands to open for white settlement. This was further fuel to prompt the Southern Cherokee to side with the Confederacy.
Dust rose up on the road for miles near Tahlequah, the capital of Indian Territory where Free Mason Cherokee Lodge Number Twenty-one stood. The community leaders, all descendants of the Ridge Party families, rode hard to face decisions that would determine the fate of the Cherokee Nation.
They rode from home in Indian Territory on the Grand River and Webbers Falls; Jim Bell, Stand Watie, William Penn Adair and other Cherokee members of the Southern Rights Party, fresh from skirmishes to push Union power out of Indian Territory. Cornelius Boudinot and others arrived from Arkansas.
And they rode from Texas; Jarrett Bell, the Benges, George Harlan Starr, husband of Nancy Bell, Dr. William Dupree, husband of Charlotte Bell. With them in spirit was Jack Bell and brothers David and Samuel, Major Ridge and his son John, Elias Boudinot, and all those lost in the tragic foreplay to this final war. John Adair "Jack" Bell died the year before and was buried at Mt. Tabor. Jim Bell would now become more than an uncle to Jack's son Lucien Burr Bell, who Indian Territory came to know as "Cousin Hooley", who rode with his uncles from Texas.
They rode from California. John Rollin Ridge, grandson of Major Ridge left a prosperous home and newspaper publishing business in California. He had been the first editor of what is now the Sacramento Bee Newspaper. He returned to see the Southern Cherokee join full fledge with the Confederacy and stood with his kin.
Each rode for their own reasons, but they all came for the Cherokee Nation because they all knew this was the end game. It had gone on too long, in too many places they tried to call home. Some had made other lives apart from the Civil War and the war within Indian Nation. Peace and prosperity within the Nation seemed to almost happen for a few years after the signing of the Treaty of the Birds in 1843. Jarrett Bell, being one of the signatories and signing as 'Chicken Trotter', attempted to bring civility between the factions breaking the Cherokee Tribe.
The feud between the Ridge and Ross factions had subsided for the most part for a few years as the Watie, Bell, Adair, Ross and other Cherokee families gained social and financial status in their new homes in Indian Territory. But the underlying vendetta and power struggle was about to burst open once again as the Civil War began in Indian Territory. Watie's Cherokee Mounted Volunteers had already performed successful guerilla incursions for the Confederacy in the Spring of 1861 into Arkansas, helping to keep Ft.Smith in Confederate control lasting for over two years. The capture of the strategic fort and incomparable scouting and holding the territory in N.W. Arkansas earned Watie the title of Colonel.
The Knights viewed Ross as a tyrant who ran the tribe unimpeded as a self proclaimed dictator propped up by duping or bribing a regime of ignorant, angry masses for over thirty years. As long as Ross could keep the tribe divided in purpose and the majority of the Cherokee were kept needy, dependent and discontented, his power was secure. Ironically, the 'full bloods' were said to be the Ross faction of the tribe. John Ross was one-eighth Cherokee blood with blue eyes. Stand Watie, who led the Ridge faction of so called, "half-breeds", on the other hand, was a full blood.
The still smoldering wounds and resulting alliances are outlined by an excerpt from a letter written by Stand Watie and John Adair "Jack" Bell published in the Arkansas Gazette a generation earlier. It explains why after the murders of the Ridges and Boudinot they refused to address Ross as 'Chief'. Eight Treaty Party members apologized for signing the treaty in return for amnesty from the Chief. The assassins were also pardoned by Ross.
"If Mr. Ross expects us to purchase our lives by swearing to the infamous oath which he put in our mouths, he very much mistakes the blood which runs in our veins. Sooner let us fall by the hand of the midnight assassin, than have our names loaded with infamy, and handed down to posterity as traitors, who had saved their country from total destruction, by making the best treaty ever made for any Indians! – The historian will do justice to the memories of the fallen. We will never cause their blood to ride in judgment against us, by casting obloquy on their characters. Eight of our friends have abandoned us. Be the matter with them and their God. We are conscious that we have gained many where we have lost one. The threatened denunciation still hangs over us. Well, if the impending vengeance must fall, let it come upon us with clear consciences."
A few months earlier, twenty-seven year old Elias Cornelius Boudinot, Stand Watie's nephew, was elected Secretary of the Arkansas Secession Convention to represent loyalists of the South to the newly forming Confederate Government. He would also serve with Cherokee troops in battle.
Inside business began as usual.
"The Knights of the Golden Circle is called to pledge. You do solemnly swear that you will keep all the secrets of this order and that you will, to the best of your abilities protect and defend the interests of the Knights of the Golden Circle in this Nation, so help you God!"
"James Madison Bell, I do."
"Bill Adair, I do."
"John Ridge, I do."
"Cornelius Boudinot, I do!"
"Joel Mayes, I do."
"Jerrett Bell, I do."
" Hooley Bell, present! I do!"
One after another, each at the reunion declared their loyalty including Clem Rodgers, William Dupree, Cicero Leonidas Lynch, brother of Caroline Bell, and Charles Watie, the brother of Stand Watie.
"Stand Watie, I do. We are called to order."
Nothing was 'usual' about this Masonic meeting. No one seemed anxious to speak, which was an odd occurrence for this group of men. Boudinot stood.
"There is no safe choice for our people in this conflict. Many of us will die. Our children will die. And if we don't fight, we will still die because our own nation is already at war. The Union has lied over and over and failed to adhere to the principals of their own Declaration of Independence and Constitution. We have governed ourselves by those principals when allowed to do so, and still it has not been enough to be treated as equals. If we fight for the Confederacy, they will give us our independence, our own land that won't be taken as the Union would, and let us be represented in their congress. That is their agreement pledged to me when we met. I have stated the case the best I can."
None spoke objection. Hooley Bell was leaned against a wall rocking in his chair, with his hat over his eyes as he started laughing and slammed the front legs of the chair to a sharp halt on the wooden floor. "Has everyone heard the latest about Ross and his cohorts? " Hooley interjected sardonically. "You know that silly thing they wear on their lapels, two straight pins crossed? So now they call themselves, the 'Pins'. Ain't that a hoot? Pinheads is more like it."
The intimidation by the Cherokee faction, which became known as the 'Pins', had lived with them all since child hood. They wouldn't allow themselves to be concerned with symbolic threats. The Cherokee Tribe long ago considered themselves as the "Keetowah", the real people. The regime known as the Pins considered themselves the only ones worthy of being "Keetowah".
Adair proceeded with the business at hand, addressing Watie. "You have doubtless heard all about Ross's convention which in reality tied up our hands and shut our mouths and put the destiny and everything connected with the nation and our lives in the hands of the Executive. Now is the time for us to strike, or we will be completely frustrated."
He continued. "Have this 'pin' party broken up, and our rights provided for and place us if possible at least on an honorable equity with this old dominant party that has for years had its foot upon our necks. We have selected you for reasons that we will not name on account of modesty, but which will appear obvious to you, from the well known fact that you have had an honorable reputation abroad in the South for years and are well known by Pike and many other prominent statesmen of the South."
Watie looked intently at each of them, many life long friends, some he'd known since they were babies, as he retrieved a letter from its envelope.
"I have received orders from General McCulloch." He read the letter with a new sense of authority in his voice. "Colonel Watie, You are hereby authorized to raise a sufficient force for operation in the neutral lands north of the Cherokee Nation. When my command marches into Missouri, you are hereby directed to proceed to the neutral lands and drive from it all bands now infesting it and hostile to our cause."
Jim Bell raised his eyebrow in approval, "Colonel Watie? Well! It appears holding Ft. Smith and our other recent exercises have gotten the notice of the Confederacy."
Watie continued reading the dispatch. "First Commander: Major J. M. Bryan. The First Regiment of the Cherokee Mounted Rifles senior officers will be: First Colonel: Stand Watie, James M. Bell Lieutenant Colonel, Robert Parks Lt. Colonel, Thomas R. Taylor Lt. Colonel, Joseph F. Thompson Major,
Clem N. Vann Lt. Colonel, Elias Corneilus Boudinot Major, E. J. Howland Major. Other details will be left to your discretion until further organization."
Jim Bell stood and looked squarely at Watie. "It will require a rapid and prompt movement on our part to stop Ross from fracturing this recruitment, or else we are done up. All of our work will have been in vain, our prospects destroyed, our rights disregarded and we will be slaves to Ross's tyranny.
It won't do for you to hold back, declare yourself ready to serve your country in what ever capacity we may want you. We will stand with you as we always have."
He went on. "Before we ride away to the bigger conflict, we must attend to the affairs of our community. Our schools and churches must operate lest ignorance kill us before bullets. We cannot fight a war and have thoughtless upstarts helping themselves to our assets. Those in charge have not taken care to guard our interests. Tonight is as good time as any. "
Watie inquired, "Objections?"
None in that room. Not on that night. Battle lines had been drawn and clan blood shed in this 'civil war'.
Watie tossed the gavel. "Meeting adjourned!" They all walked out the door together for an immediate confrontation and four more long years of unimaginable encounters. By the time the Knights had ridden through town and walked out of the hotel there were thirty in their group, well armed, while another forty or fifty patrolled the town square. If there were any Pins in sight, they quickly disappeared.
The Knights ascended the stairs of the red brick council building to the executive chamber to find a locked door. Hooley Bell, who wasn't armed, drew back his foot and kicked the door open. The Treasurer, who was sitting behind his desk, looked up in shock.
Joel Mayes walked forward. Mayes, a Royal Arch Mason, stood five feet eleven inches and carried an impressive two hundred-eighty pounds. "I've come to take charge of this office," he said.
"All right," the soon to be retired officer cautiously answered as he slowly stood out of his chair. "I've been waiting to turn it over to anybody coming in. All I want is my private papers."
Mayes was intelligent and peace loving, but he had no fear of man or the Devil. He was courteous to the bewildered executive. No one else said a word, but guns were everywhere, mostly sticking out in plain view, one shotgun being precariously held by a trembling hand.
"Put that gun up before you kill somebody," a voice of reason admonished.
The ousted treasurer got his papers together and was not bothered as he left the building. For the Knights, the easy part was over.
Two Confederate regiments were raised by the Southern Cherokee Nation in Indian Territory. Brigadier General Ben McCulloch of the Confederate Army described them. "Colonel Drew's Regiment will be mostly full-bloods, whilst those with Col. Stand Watie will be half-breeds, and good soldiers anywhere, in or out of the Nation."
Watie, with Jim Bell as his strategist, and Indian troops under their command, engaged in at least eighteen battles and major skirmishes with Federal troops during the Civil War. In addition, his men were in a multitude of smaller skirmishes and guerilla warfare situations in Indian Territory and neighboring states. Because of his wide-reaching raids behind Union lines, Watie tied down thousands of Federal troops that were desperately needed in the East. The Cherokee name of Stand Watie was De'gata'ga, derived from a term meaning 'I am standing' and 'they are standing together', with the implication that two persons stand together so closely united as to form but one.
In a prophetic letter decades earlier ,
President Thomas Jefferson expressed
the fears of many of his contemporaries over conflicts
of states' rights, westward settlement, federalism and slavery.
"This momentous question,
like a fire bell in the night,
awakened and filled one with terror,
I considered it at once as the knell of the Union.
It is hushed indeed for the moment.
but this is a reprieve only,
not a final sentence . . .
we have the wolf by the ears
and we can neither hold him
nor safely let him go."
President Thomas Jefferson expressed
the fears of many of his contemporaries over conflicts
of states' rights, westward settlement, federalism and slavery.
"This momentous question,
like a fire bell in the night,
awakened and filled one with terror,
I considered it at once as the knell of the Union.
It is hushed indeed for the moment.
but this is a reprieve only,
not a final sentence . . .
we have the wolf by the ears
and we can neither hold him
nor safely let him go."
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