American Dreams Trilogy

by Michael Phillips

  As the explanation—translated between Grant and his nephew—came to Moytoy, it seemed a small price to pay to receive so much from the Englishman. They had traded for many goods from the French and English. The women of the tribe coveted the fine cloth and soft blankets and many variety of beads. And if they could obtain more guns… the French had never made them such an offer.

  Slowly Moytoy nodded. “So it shall be,” he said. “I will give my oath of allegiance to your king in exchange for the title and the goods you promise.”

  During the entire exchange, the chief’s son Oconostota had not spoken a word.

  Two days later, Grant led Cuming and his small band along a sixteen-mile trail to the village of Tannassy where they would find the greatest challenge to their scheme. There dwelt the most powerful war chief among the Cherokee. Carolina trader Eleazer Wiggan, who lived with the Cherokee in Tannassy and whom the Cherokee called the Old Rabbit, met the party of Englishmen and acted as interpreter. With yet more offers of gifts as well as assistance in times of war, Cuming’s smooth tongue resulted in another pledge of loyalty to King George II, as well as an agreement by the Warrior of Tannassy to accept Moytoy as Emperor of the Cherokee. The new word meant as little to the war chief as it had to Moytoy. But his agreement had been secured by the promise of weapons. The Warrior of Tannassy removed his crown of dyed opossum hair and handed it to Cuming in pledge of his word.

  As Cuming took the strange crown, obviously of great value in the warrior’s eyes, yet so primitive and from such an ugly and despised animal, the contrast struck him anew between this people and the splendor of the English court.

  Suddenly his brain filled with the most extraordinary idea!

  “Great Warrior,” he said as Wiggan translated his words. “You shall yourself present your crown to my king, and tell him in your own tongue of your pledge of loyalty.”

  A confused expression met Wiggan’s attempted translation.

  “You shall accompany me back to England!” added Cuming.

  Again Wiggan translated. Slowly the warrior chief shook his head. He had no interest in travel. He only wanted the Englishman’s guns.

  “Then perhaps some of your other chiefs shall go with me,” suggested Cuming.

  But Wiggan’s words of translation roused no more enthusiasm from any of the other chiefs. Cuming returned to Great Telliquo with the news of the war chief’s agreement to a pledge of loyalty to Moytoy. But now he had on his mind the exciting idea of a visit by native chiefs to England. The party that left Great Telliquo several days later, including Moytoy himself, Jacob the Conjurer, and many of the chief’s attendants, was bound again over the mountain, this time to the valley towns on the other side, where the agreement of a pledge between the Cherokee “emperor” Moytoy and the king of England would be placed before the Cherokee national council at Nequassee. By now the word had spread from village to village, and their coming was greeted with much fanfare and anticipation. With feasting and dancing and much ceremony, and with the continued smooth negotiation of Sir Alexander Cuming, the national council recognized Moytoy as Emperor of all the Cherokee, and gave its allegiance to King George II of England.

  Under the agreement, the Cherokee would not trade with the French. The English would favor the Cherokee among other native tribes with the best of its goods. The Cherokee would be rewarded for the capture and return of fugitive slaves from the Carolina colonies. And should war break out against them, either from the French or other tribes, the Cherokee would receive military assistance from the colonial militia. Immediate arrangements were also made for the shipment to the Cherokee villages numerous guns with ammunition, as well as the coveted red paint produced in the colonies.

  The Cherokees had their half of the bargain, and Cuming had his so-called Emperor. It was the first of many such agreements between the English and the Cherokee.

  Only one other arrangement needed to be concluded to make Cuming’s coup with the Cherokee nation complete. But from none of the villages could he interest a single chief in a voyage to England. All asked how long it would take, and, being told three months, quickly declined.

  Cuming pled with Moytoy one last time.

  “Great Emperor of the Cherokee, I earnestly entreat you to accompany me to my homeland across the sea, to meet my king to whom you have pledged your loyalty.”

  “The distance is too great,” replied Moytoy shaking his head. “You say it is a full moon each way.”

  “That is true. But you would see dazzling sights none of your people have ever beheld. Your name would be great for all time.”

  “My wife is unwell. I cannot be away from our people so long.”

  Cuming thought of the short, young, enthusiastic Ukwaneequa to whom he had already grown attached. It would be better, he thought, to take a youth than to return empty-handed. He suggested the boy to the chief. Moytoy nodded in consent.

  Others of the young men in the towns and villages of the Cherokee soon heard that young Ukwaneequa was planning to go with Cuming. Interest in the voyage across the water began to spread.

  When Sir Alexander Cuming at last returned over the mountains to the settlement in eastern Carolina, seven Cherokee men, one of them Chief Oukah-Ulah, accompanied him, bound for the adventure of their lives.

  Diamonds and precious stones glittered from white necks and wrists, mingled with subdued laughter from the ladies of the court. An air of cultured gaiety, the fluttering of fans, rustling of silk dresses, and a murmured undercurrent of hushed voices filled the great hall. The clusters of ladies and gentlemen numbering several hundred before the closed doors of the throne room represented the aristocratic elite of Europe. None had spared the least effort to adorn themselves for the upcoming audience with His Majesty, King George II of England.

  The occasion was the king’s installation of his Knights of the Garter. Though but a few would be honored, many of those present hoped for a momentary word with the king or perhaps some mark of recognition during the day’s ceremony and following banquet.

  Into the middle of the assembly walked a tall man, lean, for he had not recently been feasting on the soft foods of refinement, but hale and hearty from spending so much of his time out of doors. In contrast with the setting, his eyes shone with a keen look of adventure. His approach turned several heads, and exclamations followed.

  “Cuming!” called a gentleman nearby. “A great pleasure to see you again! We heard a rumor that your recent voyage to the colonies left you in poor health. I am glad to see otherwise. You are thin, I must say, but I have never seen you looking better.”

  “The colonies are not nearly so bad as the crossing!” laughed Cuming. “Primitive of course, but in most ways tolerable.”

  “Do tell us what the colonies are like, Sir Alexander!” gushed a young lady. “Did you encounter any of those frightful savages one hears about?”

  “Encounter them!” laughed Cuming. “I ate with them, slept with them, sojourned in the wilds with them, and am privileged to call many from the Cherokee tribe my friends.”

  Expressions of astonishment went round the slowly expanding circle. The adventurer’s name had become well-known throughout London due in large measure to the exaggerated reports of his wife.

  “Are they as backward and savage as the reports say?” asked another.

  “Perhaps in some ways so they might appear,” replied Cuming. “The sight of enemy scalps hanging from war poles to adorn the homes of their warriors is shocking at first, I admit—”

  Gasps sounded from the women. Several faces turned faint at the hideous thought.

  “Some of their customs take getting used to. They have sent several scalps as a gift to the king. But believe it or not, our own English colonists also collect the black-haired scalps of Indians.”

  “Disgusting!” exclaimed one of the men.

  “I am not sure whether to believe you, Sir Alexander. No Englishman would do such a thing.”

  “It is true. There is
cruelty and barbarism on both sides across the sea, let me assure you.”

  He paused briefly, allowing some of the hubbub over scalps to die down.

  “Furthermore,” Sir Alexander added, “seven of their men have accompanied me here to England.”

  The expressions of surprise now rose yet higher and spread throughout the great hall. Soon every eye rested upon Cuming. He turned and gestured widely, obviously enjoying this moment he had anticipated for more than a month.

  Through the door at which he had entered a minute earlier emerged seven men. The one chief among them was dressed in English garb suitable for the occasion. The smooth tan skin of the other six was painted with spots of red, blue, and green. Feathers of many colors adorned their long black hair. The only clothing upon their brown, muscular bodies was the leather apron around each waist extending to the knees. Their feet were wrapped in leather moccasins.

  “Indians!” sounded several exclamations of astonishment, for the discussion of scalps had not yet been forgotten. Murmured questions flew through the room. But even with hundreds of eyes staring at them, the seven Cherokee men remained calm, stoic, and dignified. Whether they were terrified or awestruck by the assembly, no hint of expression crossed their faces. Lean though muscular, all were of above average height, except for the nephew of Chief Moytoy, whose head barely reached the shoulder of the others.

  In the midst of the commotion, a sudden double rap of the royal staff on the floor announced the arrival of the king.

  “His Majesty, King George the Second!” called the court herald in a loud solemn voice.

  The great double doors swung open. The crowd parted as the king advanced behind his guards.

  Ladies and gentlemen bowed low. The king walked through the aisle of adoring subjects, smiling and nodding graciously. Pacing the length of the room he directed his steps straight towards Cuming, then paused and spoke.

  “Sir Alexander,” he said, “we had heard of your return, and of the natives who accompanied you,” he added with a glance behind Cuming. “You are the talk of London. And it would appear with good reason!”

  Cuming bowed low. “Your Majesty,” he said, “these seven men from the Cherokee tribe in the New World have come to pay homage to Your Majesty—in recognition of a treaty between ourselves and the Cherokee nation and their newly proclaimed Emperor, Chief Okoukaula Moytoy.”

  “Is the chief one of these?” asked the king, nodding toward the seven silent Americans.

  “He is not, Your Majesty,” replied Cuming. “His nephew has come in his stead. I have also brought one of their chiefs called Oukah-Ulah.”

  “I see,” replied the king. “Take me to meet them.”

  Cuming led the way toward the seven silent men who stood erect and unembarrassed to one side of the assembly. To the king’s surprise Cuming stopped in front of the shortest of the delegation and addressed him. The king had entertained princes and kings over the years and visited every court of Europe. George II was one familiar with power and dignity. Though the men before him were dressed as primitives, their carriage spoke more clearly than words that they understood the language of greatness.

  A red-faced baronet began to chuckle as he watched the display, mistaking the king’s silence for condescension.

  “They will at least provide the king’s court some much needed entertainment,” he began to one beside him. “I daresay, I have never seen such savagery—”

  Suddenly the king spun around, his face flushed with anger.

  “Are we to understand, my lord, that you find humor in these men!” he snapped. “How dare you mock or belittle them? These men are no mere savages. They are princes. Can you not see it in their eyes?”

  Humiliated, the baronet shrunk back under the king’s glare and said no more.

  The king turned again toward his guests.

  “Your Majesty,” said Cuming, “may I present Ukwaneequa, nephew of Emperor Moytoy. If the name is too difficult, we call him the Little Carpenter. He is familiar with our tongue. Beside him stands Chief Oukah-Ulah, the headman of their town of Tassetchee.”

  The king shook the hands of both men. “I bring you greetings from my uncle, and from our people,” said Ukwaneequa, the youngest of the group. At the sound of his voice, speaking in their own language, again murmurs spread throughout the hall. The young man’s voice seemed to ring with the same dignity as their strange but compelling demeanor.

  The king now offered his hand to each of the other five in turn as Cuming recited their unusual names—Kettagusta, Tathtiowie, Clogittah, Collanah, and Ounakannowie.

  At last the king turned to his attendants. “I would have them dine with us today,” he said. “There is much we would learn of their people and their land. They may stand behind my table.”

  When the ceremony and installation were complete an hour later, the assembly filed into the great dining hall where the feast had been prepared. The king’s attendants conducted Cuming’s seven guests to a place behind the king’s table.

  During the meal the king asked many questions about the New World and declared himself astonished at the intelligence and nobility of his guests. He asked about their “emperor” as Cuming called Chief Moytoy and about the habits of their people in times of war and peace. Although the official spokesman for the group was Oukahulay, who presented the king with the crown of dyed opossum hair, the king directed most of his questions to Ukwaneequa. His quick and courteous answers won him the favor of all present.

  Over the course of the next days and weeks, the king bestowed many gifts upon his visitors. Besides the opossum crown, they had also brought the king a vest of soft deerskin, a flint-tipped arrow, a wampum necklace of precious shells, the crystal from Jacob the Conjurer… and the Creek scalps.

  Chief among the king’s gifts to the seven were signet rings he himself placed on the hand of each young Indian. The rings were a mark of honor and respect for those whom he called Cherokee princes, made of pure gold, a metal with which the Cherokee were well familiar, and containing the king’s signet. With the exchange of gifts the king declared that peace and friendship should exist forever between the kings of the Old World and the New.

  Before the seven stepped upon their own lands they determined that the seven rings the king had given would be worn in times of peace, but kept in the tribal council lodge in times of war lest they fall into the hands of the war council and become a tool for death and destruction for a war chief of the red feather.

  Soon after his return from England, Ukwaneequa began to rise in the leadership of the Cherokee. His name was changed to Attacullaculla and he became chief of the white feather. For the rest of his life, Attacullaculla remained steadfast in his loyalty to the British crown and was the leading Cherokee spokesman for peace. As the white settlers took more and more of the Cherokee land, however, there were many other Cherokee chiefs who did not share his sentiments.

  Toward the end of his life, Attacullaculla knew he must somehow preserve the legacy of the seven sacred rings. He looked to his niece Nanye’hi Ward, she who had been most greatly honored among all Cherokee women with the title Ghigua, or “Beloved Woman,” as one whom he could entrust with the sacred charge.

  When Nanye’hi, herself by now a woman of advancing years, glanced up to see the aging chief approaching in his chieftain’s garments, she sensed something momentous at hand. An hour later, uncle and niece, the most respected chief and the most revered woman among all the Cherokee, were on their way up the sacred mountain together.

  The charge given to Nanye’hi that day was one she herself passed on years later to Attacullaculla’s great-grandson Long Canoe, whose faithfulness to their people she had been watching since the day of his birth. The rings must be hidden and their legacy kept safe.

  As Attacullaculla had passed that solemn responsibility on to her, she now passed it on to the young man whose destiny would fade from the view of his fellow Cherokee. But the heritage he carried, though shrouded over for a
season like the mists covering the mountains his people had long called home, would like those same Smokey Mountains, reappear in time to give new life to the legacy of a proud and ancient people.

  From the Old Books continues at the end of this volume.

  PART ONE

  TROUBLESOME TIMES

  FOR A PROUD PEOPLE

  1819-1846

  One

  While darkness still covered the land, a man and boy, both more pale of skin than would have seemed likely from their heritage, made their way on horseback away from the land their people had possessed for more generations than any of their wisest men now remembered.

  Long Canoe led the way up the mountain in the darkness. His nephew was still in a tragic stupor from the events of earlier in the evening. They paused briefly beside the sound of a waterfall, made more thunderous in the still of night. Behind it the man must tend to one final errand.

  By daybreak they were well away through the valley and the deerskin pouch of she known as the Ghigua was several times heavier than before. It not only bore five sacred rings but enough gold to cover the expenses of a long journey and much else besides. His intuition told him that his nephew’s life depended on the speed and secrecy of their flight. They must travel far beyond the borders of the Cherokee and keep their identity hidden. Surely the assassins would not soon forget either the son or the brother of Swift Water.1

  When would it be safe here? With a sudden twinge of melancholy Long Canoe wondered if he and his nephew would ever return to the once quiet mountain valley where they had both been born. This was indeed a sad moment. But he knew that for now, they must disappear without a trace.

  Theirs was a legacy already being overrun by the rush of two new races—one white, one black—across this continent that the brown tribes of a diverse but related people had for millennia had to themselves. There would be no turning back of history’s relentless march. Henceforth it would be a shared land, and the white man would write its new history, not the brown or the black. It would depend on a few like him to preserve the ancient legacy of his people. Both man and boy were of Attacullaculla’s seed. The man’s reasons for leaving were to preserve the past, not abandon it.