The Heathen School
Page 21
He will travel in company with Jeremiah Evarts, Secretary of the American Board. Evarts will make all the arrangements, collect “donations” for the school (and for the larger missionary cause), serve as master of ceremonies whenever necessary, and send regular reports back to the home office.
The journey begins in late October. At the suggestion of a “patron,” David offers, in the town of Salem, Massachusetts, “an Address … on the condition and prospects of his countrymen”; then, “on its being favorably received,” he agrees “to deliver it in other places … when requested.” Over the next few weeks he presents the same address in at least a dozen more New England towns (Newburyport, Marblehead, Boston, Charlestown, Cambridge, Dorchester, Reading, Bridgewater, Worcester, Springfield, all in Massachusetts; Providence and Bristol, in Rhode Island). Local newspapers describe “crowded audiences”; in Boston, for example, he has “3000 delighted hearers.”49
The same reports attend closely to his personal appearance: “His complexion is lighter than most Indians, his features are … rather handsome than otherwise, and the expression of his countenance indicates great vivacity and intelligence.” His speaking style “is appropriate, manly, and energetic.” And most hearers are “astonished at the intimate acquaintance with our language which he evinced.” As one of the newspaper accounts concludes: “It was a most interesting and gratifying scene; and we shall long remember the time when we listened with admiration and delight, to a chaste and eloquent address, in our own language, from the lips of an Indian of North America.”50 (“[C]haste and eloquent”: exactly as it should be.)
David himself is more cautious in appraising the same events: “The people are ready to hear…[but] seem rather shy of me.… They have no knowledge of me or my nation. They think that I am one of the few [Indians] who still linger in this [region]…without ambition or native energy.” If this is a disappointment, he doesn’t show it; he also writes, “I could speak in public every day.” He makes a short side trip to Mount Hope [Westerly, Rhode Island], “the former seat of my illustrious ancestor King Philip.” (He refers here to the Wampanoag Indian leader in a lethal race war in New England two centuries before. Since then Philip’s reputation has been somewhat repaired. David, though no actual blood relation, feels a personal link, and wishes to pay homage.)51
In mid-December, they move on to Hartford, Connecticut, where David makes his deepest impression so far. Of his address there, Evarts will write: “The assembly was very numerous & deeply attentive. I opened the exercises by making a statement concerning David & his family before he entered the assembly.… Many principal inhabitants expressed their gratification with Brown’s performance. I think the occasion will be long remembered.” Their take in donations is the best yet: nearly $78. In addition, they hold private meetings with prominent local families (the Wadsworths, the Terrys), and visit “several other places [where] a great interest [is] felt in them & their cause.” (And this is still no more than a foretaste of what will come later on.)52
David returns briefly to Cornwall “with a gentleman who took him in a sleigh,” and then rejoins Evarts en route to New Haven. Their arrival on December 20—“well soaked” by a sudden storm—prompts another burst of public interest and appreciation. The highlight is David’s visit to the campus at Yale. There a special “convocation” has been arranged in the college chapel. The audience is “a noble one…[including] the Faculty & Students…& all the principal inhabitants of New Haven.” Evarts avers that he “never saw galleries so crowded as in this instance; the aisles were crowded half way to the pulpit.” Following the usual sort of introduction about his Cherokee family and background—clearly a strategy designed to build anticipation—David enters, “conducted by the President of the College—the effect … very fine.” He is ceremoniously ushered into the pulpit, and proceeds to “deliver his address…[which is] rec’d in the most favorable manner.” After the meeting, David is “treated with much attention and respect by the people of all classes.” He and Evarts lodge overnight “at the President’s,” where they are lavished with numerous “other invitations.” He meets with various town leaders, all of whom feel “much interested in him.” (This will become a common refrain: People are “much interested,” especially the “principal inhabitants.” Of course, it is exactly what Evarts and others at the American Board are aiming for.)53
In New Haven, and elsewhere, too, David’s address is shaped by a single purpose: to arouse “sympathetic feelings…[for] the sufferings of the original inhabitants of this country.” He begins by tracing their “happy condition … when first visited by Europeans,” then describes the impact of “European vices” upon them, “the corruption of their morals, [and] the degradation in which they have been plunged.” From this misfortune came their drastic “reduction in number,” a process that would be quickly accelerated by their forced involvement in colonial wars. “Repulsed from one clime to another, their coasts echoing with cries and agonies of the dying, their villages destroyed, themselves sharing a dreadful fate, the Indians were in consternation.… Fatal has been their doom.” To be sure, Indians have themselves been guilty of “cruelties and depradations … against the whites.” But these are as nothing when compared with the “impious and savage procedure of Europeans.” Hence: “[A]s things have been in America for 300 years, better would it [have] been had the natives never seen even the shadow of a white man!” From this unhappy thought, David proceeds to a somewhat more hopeful conclusion. Certain Indian groups—Cherokees, in particular—are striving now to overcome the wrongs imposed upon them; indeed, they are making “rapid advances…[toward] civilization.” As they proceed they have the invaluable aid of Christian missionaries. All of which leads to a final question: “[W]ho, let me ask, who will send to them missionaries, and support them? Who will obey the voice that sounds from the west for aid? Will not you, who now stand on the soil once possessed by the natives?…Oh, remember, remember your red brethren, the original proprietors of America.” (The address is taken by hearers as a singular example of “Indian eloquence.” At the same time, it is a calculated appeal to what today might be called “liberal guilt.” David has found his voice—an Indian voice—and it is powerful.)54
From New Haven, they travel to New York City, arriving on December 27; they will stay for over a week. In the course of their visit, David will make four more public appearances. The first of these, in the large Presbyterian church on Murray Street, proves a spectacular success. Before an audience of “2000, or upwards,” he speaks “with more spirit & effect than ever before.” Evarts is almost beside himself with delight: “I have never known more universal satisfaction given by any performance. The grave & the gay, the religious & the worldly, the learned & the ignorant, all expressed high gratification.” And the subsequent “collection” is more than twice the amount received on any previous occasion.55
David’s other New York appearances are scarcely less remarkable. One brings out “a large assembly,” another produces a “very crowded meeting,” and yet another serves as centerpiece of an anniversary celebration for the New York Female Foreign Mission School Society. At this last, David delivers “an address partly composed for the occasion, and partly extempore.” In response, the society announces a special $50 gift “for the Cornwall school.”56 By now, David’s journey home has the feel of a celebrity tour. Nearly everywhere, his reputation precedes him; sponsors and audiences are waiting. (Indian star power, nothing less: the allure of the exotic, perhaps also the erotic, and what the poet Pinkney has dubbed the “wild” element in native life. David is riding—is himself building—an extraordinary wave of public excitement.)
They move down through New Jersey—Newark, New Brunswick, Trenton, Princeton, Newcastle—greeted by large crowds at every stop. The pace is so rushed that David draws back a bit. At least once, according to Evarts, “I could not get him willing to pronounce more than about five minutes.” Still, he soldiers on—and feels sufficiently c
onfident that often he speaks without “having looked upon the manuscript … or even unrolled it.” Evarts, too, has settled into the role of introducer, using it as a fine opportunity to “enlarge on general topics, such as … the imperious claims of the heathen world…[and] the magnitude of the work.” The two of them have become a smoothly functioning team.57
In mid-January, they arrive in Philadelphia; here the tour will reach its apex. Five separate addresses have been planned in local churches, all within the span of a single week. For the first, there is “a prodigious crowd, & many hundreds could not gain admission.” David’s speech “was well attended to, except that the crowd about the doors was so great as to cause some interruption.” At its conclusion, “to our astonishment,” John Ridge suddenly appears from out of the audience. (Ridge is traveling the other way—north toward Cornwall—in order to claim the hand of Sarah Northrup.) Evarts, who knows him mostly by reputation, feels a certain wariness. “He is a fluent, forward young man, & has a great deal of Indian pride”; if only “his heart were subdued by divine grace, he might be exceedingly useful to his people.” (“Indian pride” and an “unsubdued heart” make a dangerous combination. Still, he might well prove useful—not only in the long run for his fellow Cherokees but right now and right here.) With David, there is much more familiarity; he and Ridge are the same age, are fellow Cherokees and former schoolmates.58
Ridge is invited to join the speakers’ team, on at least a temporary basis. And the following night, in a different church, things nearly get out of hand. The building is “exceedingly crowded,” as are “all the neighboring streets.” Those seeking entrance would be “enough … to fill several churches.” Groups of boys and young men make “a great noise in the church yard & about all the doors.” This, writes Evarts, “added to the excessive crowd, gave the whole the appearance of an exhibition rather than … a solemn service.” (An “exhibition”? Move ahead a century or two, and you could find some equivalents: a circus performance, an evening of vaudeville, a rock concert.)59
Now Evarts is worried. He barely refers to David’s part, and writes instead of Ridge, who “spoke extemporaneously for half an hour … with a good deal of conviction & force.” Ridge’s theme is the many “improvements” made by the Cherokees in recent years and their “perfect title to their lands”—in short, all politics, no religion. The missionary agenda has, for the moment, been eclipsed.60
The next evening brings another tumultuous meeting, “too much filled with women & children, the crowd excessive, the interest great.” And then comes yet another, in “the largest place of worship within my knowledge” (Evarts again). “There were thought to be at least 2500 hearers”—though “boys were excluded” as too liable to create disturbance. As with the previous occasion, Ridge seems to overshadow David; he speaks in “a very bold manner … by recapitulating some of the most flagitious outrages upon the Indians.” Evarts fears that “he would proceed too far,” and is relieved when, at the end, he declares, “All this we freely forgive, in consideration of the goodwill manifested toward the Indians by the government and people of the United States.” (Do his listeners seek forgiveness? To be sure, unease about Indian dispossession is part of white racial attitudes now. Perhaps, then, Ridge’s speech is reassuring, even cathartic.)61
The following day, Ridge embarks “upon his journey,” while Evarts and David hold the last of their Philadelphia meetings. Here the “noise at the door” and general commotion become so great that David is forced to stop, “and it was some time before he could … proceed.” Afterward, he is “followed through the streets by a multitude, principally females, to his lodgings.”62 (Events have carried him a long way from their beginning in New England, two months previous, when, as he wrote then, “the people … seem rather shy of me.” Now the opposite is true. The “multitude” is forward to a fault. “Hearers” jostle for seats in overcrowded meeting halls. “Boys” cavort noisily nearby. Groups of “females” chase him down the street. One rather remarkable Indian youth has stood a large community virtually on its head.)
Soon thereafter, still in company with Evarts, he sets out again, continuing south. In mid-February, they reach Washington, where David speaks before another “crowded audience.” There, too, they encounter a delegation of Cherokee chiefs (including Major Ridge), who are just then engaged in negotiations with federal officials on urgent matters of land rights and “removal.” The chiefs try to insist “upon his staying longer with them.” A year before, in a quest for government support of his “further education,” David had visited Washington and met with some of the same officials; now, the chiefs hope, “his acquaintance with Mr. Calhoun [secretary of war] & several members of Congress may turn to some account.” But David demurs; after a few days, he and Evarts move on into Virginia. A donations list for late February mentions stops and “addresses” in Alexandria, Fredericksburg, Petersburg, and Richmond. At that point, David’s conscience gets the better of him; he decides to return to the capital, after all, and take part in the negotiations there. He feels he must “do all in his power to help his people in their necessity.” This means parting from Evarts, who is about to begin a far-flung tour of Cherokee and other mission sites.63
Back in Washington, David joins the Cherokee delegation in meetings with congressmen, Secretary Calhoun, and President Monroe (twice). David will describe all this in letters to his board sponsors. Calhoun “talked very unfavorably, & it would seem [is] unfriendly to the whole Cherokee race”; as a result, David is filled with “disgust.” The president, however, “gave us some encouragement & told us that he would attend to the subject himself.” Some weeks later, he writes to Evarts, describing the final part of his Washington stay: “I visited the President [again] & got acquainted with many influential members of the Union. I made an address at Georgetown to a crowded audience.” (An Indian youth has direct access to the president, cabinet secretaries, and congressional leaders. How special is that? How special is David?)64
Just here, the record of his journey comes to an abrupt halt. The timing, and manner, of his arrival back in the Cherokee Nation is unknown. But surely it feels momentous. Six months have passed since his setting out from Cornwall, and almost four years since he left home to begin at the Mission School. It has been, in every way, an extraordinary time. And now a large swath of the country has seen at firsthand the progress of Indian “civilization.”
Inevitably, following the Ridge-Northrup marriage (late January), contacts between the scholars and the surrounding community became a matter of heightened concern. Specific restrictions on such “intercourse” had been set long before; according to one young resident, scholars were “never allowed to go beyond a certain limit from the school, never into people’s dwellings without an invitation, or [unless] sent for an errand from headquarters.” If, however, they had “embraced Christ as their Saviour”—that is, had been baptized and admitted into the church—exceptions could be made. Then they might obtain “a written permit to go two or three miles … and talk with people, and tell them what Christ had done for them.”65
But it was one thing to declare the rules, and quite another to enforce them. Whether from a liberal understanding of the “permit” exemption, or perhaps through the “errand” loophole, Mission School students and Cornwall townsfolk found ways to meet, to share, to connect. The evidence lies scattered in several directions, but it does add up.
There are the ledgers of Kellogg’s General Store, which record numerous small purchases made by students (in most cases, on behalf of the school). During one randomly chosen month (September 1822), the school was charged for eleven separate transactions, with the actual buyers noted each time. The steward accounted for four of these, his kitchen assistant, Aurilla Hubbard, and his daughter, Sarah, one each. The remaining five are all noted as “per” a particular scholar. Four are listed with first names only—Thomas, Peter, David, Adin—the fifth simply as “a scholar.” These are the traces of a routin
e practice: When butter, or eggs, or “bar soap,” or “flannel,” or “ribbons,” or anything else, was needed for some part of school operations, a scholar might be sent to fetch it. (In fact, Kellogg’s was located mere yards from the steward’s residence.) The store was a hub, perhaps the hub, of town life. Here, then, was an open channel of contact for anyone belonging to the school.66
There are the “missives” penned by scholars to their patrons, in which references to individual townspeople frequently appear. A striking example is the correspondence of George “Prince” Tamoree with his initial sponsor, the New Haven minister Rev. Jedediah Morse. Tamoree’s purpose was to declare his “ardent friendship” with a local youth named Ruggles Gold: “He is a person which I love … there is none that seems so near & dear to me.” This was part of a plea for Gold’s entry into the school, in preparation for joining the Hawaii mission later on. After his return home, Tamoree exchanged letters numerous times with Rev. Daggett, most of which showed strong familiarity with Cornwall’s people and local culture.67
There are the public “occasions” at which scholars appeared and mixed with townspeople. For example, a Cornwall historian recounted the following anecdote: “At a general training [of the local militia band], Jason Cross of Cornwall had thrown every contestant in the usual wrestling of those occasions, and, [when] asked by a schoolboy if an outsider might try him, answered with a contemptuous yes…[whereupon] George Fox [a Seneca Indian scholar] stepped up, broad shouldered, tall, short-necked, [and] almost lifted Cross from the ground with his first movement and with the second laid him flat.” (The “outsider” comment meant someone not officially a militia member.)68
There are the more casual encounters recorded many years later by the same historian. Thus: “Col. Pierce relates that at Bennett’s Bridge, near his home, Fisk [Isaac Fisk, a Choctaw scholar] and others were swimming when the water was high; and Fisk dove off the bridge, and while they were watching for him to come up downstream, he stepped up to them from behind, having turned and gone upstream underwater.” Also: “Adin Gibbs [a Delaware Indian scholar]…used to conduct [prayer] meetings in the Johnson Hollow schoolhouse, that Miss Hannah Harrison remembered more than a half century afterward.”69