He turned to face her then, his eyes full of pain. “Are you ready to face Douglas Means if it should come to that?”
Some of the color drained from her face, but she held his eyes boldly, refusing to look shaken. Nonetheless, he could see her fear and revulsion as she swallowed before answering. “I am. Let him come! Even if he were to…” She swallowed again. “Your mother told me…a woman can be touched…without being touched at all. In her mind, your father is the only man she ever loved and the only man who ever touched her as a woman. No man can take away what I have known in your arms, Adam Chandler. I belong to you, and nothing can change that.”
His dark eyes began to smolder. “That part is true. Always remember it. But I’ll not let harm come to you if I can help it, and if he touches you, I will have to break my vow of nonviolence. Somehow, someday, I will kill that man anyway, even if he doesn’t harm you. I will kill him for what he did to Ruth and my mother. I will find a way, Andrea. That’s just between you and me, but it must be done and I will do it.”
Her eyes teared. “Don’t talk that way, Adam. It frightens me. You’d be hung!”
He puffed at the pipe again and shook his head. “I’ll think of a way to do it so I don’t get caught. But I’ll do it, as God is my witness.”
“Adam, please don’t. It’s such a beautiful morning, and we’ve just made love. We have so few peaceful, pretty moments like this. Don’t talk about him.”
He reached over and took her hand, removing his pipe with his other hand and throwing back his head to breathe deeply of the morning air.
“You’re right. Let’s walk. The boys will be up soon and you know what that means—no more time alone.”
She smiled and rose, her heart warmed by the thought of little Jonas, nearly five now and very bright, already spelling words and speaking in both English and Cherokee. Little John Ross was three and a half, a wild, impish boy with blond curls and blue eyes, extremely handsome because of the contrast of blond hair and dark skin. Both boys were sturdy and healthy, and Andrea prayed constantly for their safety in the days ahead.
She and Adam walked to the next cabin, in which three families lived, and then went on to a third, where John Ross now dwelled. Ross was outside chopping wood, and he smiled and waved at Adam and Andrea, grateful for Adam’s devotion to the cause and for the help he had provided over the years. Adam approached him, but his overture at conversation was interrupted when an open carriage clattered up the narrow dirt road that led into the mountains where they now lived, away from New Echota.
Both men sobered, and Adam pushed Andrea behind him. “Don’t try to get back to our place. Go inside John’s cabin,” he told her quietly. “Hurry up!”
She dashed inside and closed the door, telling the Ross family not to go out. She latched the door, but stayed near it, listening, her heart pounding. Everyone in the house quieted, waiting.
The approaching carriage carried two men, both white and both wearing well-tailored suits. They stopped in front of the Ross cabin and stared at John and Adam.
“Might one of you be John Ross?” one of them asked. He was a heavyset man and wore a gold watch on his vest.
“I’m John Ross.” He stepped forward. “What do you want?”
The heavyset man climbed down, several long sheets of paper in his hand. “I’m representing John F. Schermerhorn, United States Commissioner. Have you heard of him?”
Ross slammed his ax into a log. “I’ve heard of him. He’s the man who deceived the Seminole into signing a document they didn’t understand, and it is now being used to claim the Seminole agreed to move West. But they are not budging, nor are we.”
The robust man with the papers reddened, then eyed Ross and Adam closely. “Mr. Schermerhorn is not a deceitful man,” he retorted. “He is a United States representative who has the best interest of our Indian population in mind. Believe me, Mr. Ross, it is for your own good that we urge you to leave for Indian Territory without further resistance. To hold out until the end can only bring disaster.”
Ross folded his arms, and Adam walked closer beside him. “Just why are you here, mister?” he asked.
“Mr. Schermerhorn wants to meet with all the Cherokees to explain this.” The man held out the papers, and John took them with reservation. “That is a new treaty proposed by the government. Mr. Schermerhorn will explain it in every detail to your people, and a vote will be taken in October, at Red Clay. Make sure your people are there. We’ll have a more specific date when you meet with Mr. Schermerhorn in New Echota one week from today. In the meantime, you would be wise to look this over and talk to your people about it. Get them to come to the meeting, Mr. Ross.”
“And if we don’t show up?”
The fat man’s eyes narrowed. “It could be bad for you if you don’t cooperate, Mr. Ross. I suggest that you do.”
Ross folded the papers, then reached out and stuffed them into the surprised man’s vest. “I’d rather stuff these someplace else,” he said calmly. “You take these papers to Schermerhorn and tell him the only meeting we’ll come to is the final voting, so that the Cherokee people can show him just what they think of a treaty. The treaties we have already made with the government have all been broken. The food and supplies that we are supposed to receive are not being issued to us. Many of our people are starving. But we’ll make it through the summer and we’ll crawl to the voting place in October and vote your treaty into hell! Good day, sir.”
The fat man was furious. “You’re a fool, John Ross!”
“And you are on my property, sir. I suggest you get off it right away.” Ross put his hand on the ax and the government man’s eyes widened, for he was certain that every Indian was a savage. He hurried back to the coach and it was driven off.
Ross turned to Adam and they shook hands. But both knew the gravity of the situation. “I might as well tell you, Adam, that I’m going across the border into Tennessee. I have no doubt that if I stay here I will be arrested, and I can’t continue the fight if I’m in prison. Some people in Tennessee have offered me refuge. The Georgia Militia can’t touch me there. It will only be for a while, until this voting nonsense is over. And a man who wants to write a book about Cherokee history is meeting me there. I think that is very important. His name is John Howard Payne. Have you heard of him?”
Adam’s eyebrows arched. “He is very famous. Of course I have heard of him. He is a fine choice to do a book about the Cherokee. And such a book can only help our cause.”
“Yes. I hope you understand why I have to go. And I want you to lie low for a while and stay out of the picture, understand? Things are going to get very bad. Just hang on and trust that I will return.”
“I’ll do whatever you say.”
Ross’s eyes teared. “I know. You’re a brilliant young man, Adam. Whatever happens, I think you’ll be very successful, even if you have to leave Georgia. I appreciate your loyalty and all your hard work. These are times when a man finds out who his friends really are.”
Adam nodded. “This is true. I am afraid that many who once called themselves friends are becoming enemies.”
Ross pulled the ax from the log. “I am afraid you’re right, Adam. If we are forced to go to Indian Territory, I am afraid much blood will be spilled among the Cherokee once we get there, and the hatred will run deep for a long time to come.”
During the summer of 1835 Georgia’s efforts to “encourage” the Cherokees to vote for the treaty were intensified. There were surprise raids by the militia, and the poorer Indians who lived in open huts and caves were subjected to beatings and rapes. Their huts were burned, and their meat and other food stuffs were destroyed. Adam and Andrea and their family now spent many nights in the secret caverns beneath their cabin. More than once Douglas Means broke down the door to their cabin, certain this particular house belonged to Adam Chandler. But there was never anyone inside. Faithful friends told the militia that Adam Chandler no longer lived there, that he had fled to Tennesse
e with John Ross, but Adam and Andrea were forced to live in the caverns below the cabin a good part of the time, entering and exiting through heavy wooden planks that, when put in place, looked like any normal floor. The widow, Martha Bluecrow occupied the cabin now, along with two other families invited to stay there so that the cabin was used and would not draw too much attention. Even Douglas Means finally stopped harassing them, convinced that Adam must really have gone to Tennessee, for even after beatings the people inside insisted he was not around. His anguish over what people were doing for his protection was almost more than Adam could bear. More than once he had come close to charging out of his hiding place and landing into Douglas Means. His desire to kill the man was becoming an obsession, and their current situation worried Andrea, for now there was no time at all for lovely, peaceful things, for beauty, or even for making love. Adam began to drink whiskey more often than was his habit, and she could see a growing restlessness in her husband that could only spell disaster for him.
The vote was taken in October. The harassment had ceased temporarily, and many Cherokees, including Adam, showed up for the vote, held at a neutral spot on the Georgia-Tennessee border. The Cherokees overwhelmingly voted down the treaty. Even Elias Boudinot and John Ridge voted against it, for fear of being assassinated by their own people.
It was then announced that another vote would be taken at New Echota at a later date. Schermerhorn knew that the Cherokees would be afraid to go there, for New Echota, and most Cherokee land, was completely overrun now by white settlers and the militia. He informed them that any who did not show up would be considered as voting for the treaty. But from his stronghold in Tennessee John Ross managed to get letters to his people, urging them to hold out against all attack and urging them not to go to New Echota, for it would be too dangerous. The people’s continued support of John Ross angered the Georgia leaders into raiding his hideaway in Tennessee and arresting both Ross and John Howard Payne.
It was a wrong move. John Howard Payne was a famous and highly respected author. His treatment, and that of John Ross, brought new outcries from Cherokee sympathizers. The two men were held at Spring Place, locked in a log outhouse. At one point the rotted and decaying body of a dead Cherokee prisoner was hung over their heads. Ross’s records and papers were confiscated and searched, as were Payne’s notes, and Payne was labeled an abolitionist, a tag that often meant death to a man during those times. But Georgia authorities had gone too far; sympathy for the Cherokees was renewed. And after nearly two weeks of imprisonment Ross and Payne were let go.
Not only had their treatment instigated a new nationwide protest, the Georgia Militia had deeply angered the State of Tennessee by crossing into that state without permission. The governor of Georgia was forced to submit a written apology to the governor of Tennessee, for Tennesseeans had threatened to cross Georgia’s borders. Furthermore Ross’s arrest had increased the Cherokees desire to fight, and had enhanced their spirit of rebellion.
Ross again went to Washington, armed with tales of the latest atrocities committed against him and with a new wave of sympathy and support that again put Georgia and the federal government at odds. His continued fight encouraged the Cherokees and they refused to take part in a government census in late 1835. The enraged Georgia officials gave the militia full permission to “convince” the Indians to cooperate, and many were dragged out of their homes and stripped and beaten. Still, less than five hundred of the over seventeen thousand Cherokees remaining in Georgia appeared for the new treaty vote in New Echota in December. A few hundred of the most destitute signed the treaty, and to everyone’s surprise, the more prominent Cherokees like John Ridge, Elias Boudinot, and Stand Watie also signed, declaring they did so in the best interest of their people. The final bitter division of the Cherokee people had come about.
Although the treaty could not possibly be considered to represent the majority of the Cherokee, John Ross knew that the government would have it declared valid. The document was presented to Congress, and again, perhaps for a last and final time, the fate of the Cherokee lay in the hands of Congress and the people of the United States. If this treaty was ratified, the long fight would be over. The Cherokee would be forced to leave their homeland.
The wheels of power and politics were in motion and would not be stopped, in spite of considerable Congressional sympathy and of the eloquent speeches made in Congress on behalf of the Indians by such compelling men as Daniel Webster and Henry Clay. This was an election year, and Jackson’s Democrats were strong. To be sure his party remained in power, and thinking his strongest support was in the South, Jackson chose Martin Van Buren to run as his successor, a Northerner. The majority of the people voted for the still-popular Democratic party, meaning another administration that backed Indian Removal. And this administration’s Congress would vote on the ratification of the Cherokee treaty. Still, many congressmen who declared the treaty an act of unforgivable injustice to the Indians could, or should, be counted on to vote down the treaty. There was a last remnant of hope for John Ross and the others. If nothing more, guilt over the wrongs committed against the Indians should be enough to force some congressmen to act on conscience alone and declare the treaty invalid. Half the country and many prominent, well-spoken men had rallied behind the Cherokee and had delivered moving and convincing speeches on behalf of the Indian.
Yet in the midst of the turmoil over the Indian issue, Andrew Jackson himself, before stepping down from presidency, addressed a letter to the Cherokee Nation, warning them that for their own well-being they should no longer deceive themselves into thinking they could stay in Georgia. He urged them to leave as early as possible, signing the letter “Your friend, Andrew Jackson.”
To further endanger the Cherokee cause, the Seminoles, no longer able to bear the abuses rained upon them by whites in Florida, began to retaliate. Raids were conducted. Settlers were murdered and their homes and crops burned. The government recognized the Seminoles as being officially at war. Troops were sent to Florida, and fear of Indian wars spread like wildfire. People began to reason that if the Seminoles were making war, the Creeks, Choctaws, and Cherokees were sure to follow. Rumors were used to plant distrust in the hearts of those who had spoken in defense of the Cherokee. It seemed that at every turn something happened to threaten any hopes of a Cherokee victory. Congress began to rally in support of Indian Removal, to eliminate further danger to white settlers who lived near or on Indian lands. Yet many Northern Congressmen, pressured by the Indian sympathizers among their constituents, continued to support their promise to vote down the treaty. John Ross waited with an aching heart for the final vote, as did the men who were formerly his friends but were now adversaries—Elias Boudinot and John Ridge. Both Cherokee factions were represented in Washington, and John Ross knew that no matter how the vote went, hatreds conceived because of the split would be long in healing.
The rumor quickly spread that the treaty would be voted down by one precarious vote—one congressman would make it a majority decision. John Ross took hope. But unknown to him, that one senator mysteriously changed his mind overnight. No one would ever know just who he was, or what had changed his decision, but the power of politics had again reared its ugly head, steering someone from what was morally right to what was most beneficial to himself. However, the rumor that this man’s vote had changed, which would make the treaty valid by a one-vote majority, gave those Northern Congressmen who had held out against the ratification more incentive to vote according to their party’s direction, rather than expressing the wishes of the people of their states, who were in sympathy with the Indians. Therefore, instead of the treaty being ratified by only one vote, it was ratified by a vote of thirty-one to fifteen.
The final blow had been delivered. The North had turned against the Indians in the final test, even once-supportive states like Maine, New Hampshire, New York, Pennsylvania, Indiana, and Illinois. All the traveling and preaching in the North—the trips to Washing
ton, the petitions and letters, the struggle to remain nonviolent—were to no avail.
John Ross was stunned. Daniel Webster would later declare the treaty a “base fraud on the Cherokee Indians.” There was hardly a person involved in the conflict who did not recognize that everything that had been done to the Cherokees, and to all Indians, was against everything the United States government was supposed to stand for, and for a long time to come the men in power during those troubled times would suffer pangs of guilt and wonder if there was not something more they could have done.
John Ross headed for Georgia to deliver the final blow to his people. They had trusted him, believed in him. They had turned down all offers of money for their land. Now there would be nothing. If they could get away with their very lives, they would be lucky. The ratified treaty was all Georgia needed to move in and herd the Cherokees into migration.
The Cherokees were told that they would be given two years to migrate to Indian Territory. But Georgians were anxious. Again harassment and abuse was used by the militia to “convince” the Indians to go sooner. Terror spread among the Cherokees, who began to fight amongst themselves, and Andrea lived in fear every moment Adam was gone. Finally federal troops were sent in, under Brigadier General John Ellis Wool, who assumed command of Cherokee country and ousted all militia personnel. To the Cherokees the move was a godsend, eliminating some of the fear and terror under which they lived. But the troops had been told to expect retaliation by Cherokee “warriors,” and stockades were quickly built to house the “rebellious Indians.” To Wool’s surprise, however, the Cherokee remained nonviolent to outsiders, preferring dignity and one staunch last stand to bloodshed. In spite of all that had been done to them, the Cherokee refused to bend to Georgia’s efforts to make them go to war, which was all Georgia needed to ride in and wipe them out to the last woman and child. Wool soon found himself in sympathy with the Cherokee, and he regretted the pitiful condition to which the once-proud and wealthy Cherokee had been lowered. Sickness and hunger was rampant among them, but none hung their heads.
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