American Dreams Trilogy

by Michael Phillips

  “The time is short,” said the elder Ridge after they had gone inside and had spoken for some time. “If President Jackson continues on his present course, our people are doomed. The land will be taken from us as well as everything we possess. That is why we four have decided that perhaps the Old Settlers were right.”

  “You!” exclaimed their host in astonishment. “You are thinking of going west, when you have fought it so long?”

  “I now believe that we have no choice. We four are about to announce the formation of a new party. We will call it the New Treaty Party. Our purpose will be to convince the rest of Cherokee leaders to join us in a final negotiated settlement with Washington.”

  “Is there a chance the leadership will go along?”

  “It may be difficult,” now said the younger Ridge. “But we must take steps to preserve what we can. Better to get something for our land than nothing.”

  “That is what my brother urged so many years ago. And he was killed for such a view. Will you risk a similar fate?”

  “We have no choice, my friend,” replied Ridge. “We walk a path with danger on all sides. If we refuse to leave the white men will eventually kill us all or drive us off the land. Already they are dividing up our land and selling it to white settlers. If we leave, our brothers call us traitors and seek our blood. If we stay, our people will be left with nothing. What path would you have us choose?”

  “I am no counselor,” replied the man. “I have lived out of sight of our people for many years. If you came wishing me to speak on your behalf I fear you were mistaken. I no longer have a voice in the nation.”

  “Perhaps you will again,” suggested Ridge. “Times are changing. New leaders are speaking out, like these three young men with me.”

  “I fear the time of our generation, or at least my own part in it, has passed.”

  “We have not come for that reason,” said the younger Ridge. “We come to you with a different request. You are a descendant of our great father Attacullaculla. You have carved a place for yourself outside the Cherokee nation. With you the treasures of our people will be safe until such time as they are needed. If we must leave, we must attempt to preserve what we can, to build up a safe treasure for the future of our people.”

  “In other words… the gold?”

  One by one, the four looked at one another, then nodded.

  “That, and other artifacts, records, and tribal treasures. They must be kept safe.”

  Their host thought to himself that even these four did not know of the greatest treasure of all that he had brought here years before.

  “What does Ross say about all this?” he asked.

  “He does not yet know of our plan. He will be furious when he learns of it.”

  “He is convinced he can still work out a compromise with Jackson to keep our people in the east,” added Boudinot.

  “He has refused to let us speak publicly,” said the younger of the Watie brothers. “He has taken away Elias’ editorship of the Cherokee Phoenix for that very reason. If he knew of our errand tonight, our lives would be in grave danger. He tells our people that Jackson will honor the old agreements. But it is a fool’s hope. The Removal Act of three years ago is the only agreement Jackson intends to carry out.”

  “And I know Jackson,” Ridge added. “I fought side by side with him. I know how he thinks. Stand is right. Nothing but complete removal of our people will satisfy him. That is why we must take the initiative and get something in return before it is too late. We think we can negotiate for five million dollars.”

  “What will you do?”

  “We will conclude a treaty with Washington, with or without Ross’s support.”

  “A dangerous policy,” said the man. “There are those who have been assassinated for less.” He did not think it prudent to bring up the Doublehead murder, nor the conviction he had held all these years that the Major may also have been involved in his own brother’s death.

  “If Ross has his way, it will be the end of the Cherokee nation,” said Boudinot. “It is not right. We all hate it. But it is the reality. We want to keep our lands, but we must be practical. Yes, it is a great risk, but it is the only way. We will be forced to leave. So we want to negotiate while there is still time to get enough from Washington to build homes for our people and rebuild our nation.”

  “Do you really think Washington will pay? They have never honored such treaties in the past.”

  “That is a risk we take. But we see no other alternatives.”

  The conversation continued in lower tones.

  “Did you hear what they were talking about?” said the older of the two drunken eavesdroppers outside the house. “Gold!”

  “Shut up, you fool!” barked his companion softly. “Let me listen.”

  “But if the danger is as great as you say, will the gold and tribal treasures be safe here?” asked the man.

  “You are more likely to escape the tears to come, my brother. They do not know you.”

  “The moment gold was discovered we knew we must find a way to smuggle away what we could,” said Boudinot. “Nothing is safe on our land. They no longer honor our boundaries. The Georgia government is in the process of parceling out Cherokee land to sell in a state lottery. Catastrophe looms and Ross is blind to it. They will eventually find all our secret places.”

  “Take it west with you,” suggested their host.

  “The journey is long and dangerous. With gold to tempt thieves, how many would reach the Arkansas River alive? We need a place where the gold can rest undisturbed.”

  The man sighed. “I will help however I am able.”

  The four travelers exchanged looks of relief.

  “Our people do not know we are here,” now said Stand Watie. “Your whereabouts remain safely concealed.”

  “But we would not deceive you,” said the younger Ridge. “If you help us, your life will be in danger too.”

  “It is no more than what I feared. For this very reason I left the land of our fathers and came north many years ago. Still, I had hoped it would not come to this.”

  “It has come to it, our brother.”

  “What about our cousin?” asked Boudinot.

  “He is safe. But I am concerned he is forgetting his Cherokee roots. I may have been mistaken to leave him as I did. Being in the North changed him. When we left his life was in danger. I may have emphasized the danger too greatly. He was at an impressionable age.”

  “Back then his life probably was in danger… I am sorry to say it… even from me,” said Ridge sadly. “But we must all change with the times. There is no doubt you saved his life by doing what you did. We can only hope he will once again honor his heritage.”

  As they continued to talk, their speech became so low that the befogged minds of the two eavesdroppers could not make out what was said. Their heavy eyes drooped and they almost fell asleep before a louder tone jolted them into momentary wakefulness.

  The voice was their neighbor’s. “If the time comes when I must leave there is a man I would trust with our secrets—a man I would trust with my very life.”

  “Is he one of us?”

  “He is a white man. But he can be trusted completely. Even should I be unable to, he will insure that our secret is secure until our people are safe once again.”

  Their voices grew yet softer in the night. The alcohol-soaked brains of the two listeners became muddled and confused. Before many more minutes had passed, they were both asleep again.

  They awoke groggily with the first light of dawn. No sign remained of the four strange midnight visitors. With heads splitting, the two youths slunk away toward their homes wondering if they had imagined the whole thing.

  Five

  After the midnight visit in 1833, dark forebodings filled the heart of the man who as an infant had been plunged into the chilly Tannassy in the ancient rite of his mother’s people. He knew that his kinsmen had spoken the truth when they predicted the end o
f Cherokee life in the east. Public opinion across the country had gradually turned against the Cherokee. With President Jackson’s Indian Removal Act it was only a matter of time before they would be forced to vacate their homes.

  More visitors from the South came to visit, always at night, and, like the first four, always with horses heavily laden with that which they hoped would one day secure, if not Cherokee freedom, at least the power to buy back some of the land that had been so cruelly taken from them over the years. Then suddenly the visits ceased. Their friend in the North feared for the worst, though he hoped that perhaps those few who knew of his whereabouts had made it safely to the west.

  He hoped his own land was secure. The people nearby might gossip about his peculiarities but none other than his neighbor to the west knew his true heritage. Furthermore his farm was miles north of Cherokee borders. Yet he could not banish a growing sense of impending danger. He sometimes feared that one night the knock on the door would bring an assassin instead of a messenger laden with Cherokee wealth. In case of his own death he must leave record of where he had hidden what had been entrusted to him.

  Who could he trust with such a secret?

  His nephew was now a grown man. Whether he even remembered his Indian name, the man did not know, so effectively had he adapted to the white man’s ways. He still felt that his nephew was destined to play some role in the legacy of their people. But it was a destiny he would have to discover for himself, in his own way, and in his own time.

  He must leave the secret in the hands of his neighbor. His neighbor was an honorable man. But as he considered the implications more thoroughly, the more troubled he became. His neighbor’s health was not good and if he should die then everything would go to his eldest son, a young man of weak character and scheming mind. He must devise a way to hide the secrets of his people so that ignorant eyes would not be able to interpret the signs.

  He went out the next day, and the next after that, to walk his land, knife and hammer in hand, searching for suitable locations for the markers. Late the following night, alone at his table, he sat down in the flickering light from his lantern and began to draw.

  After the strange images they had seen and cryptic words they thought they heard, the two drunken youths racked their brains trying to remember the exact words. Had there really been talk of gold? Had they heard the words “a place where it will be safe?” Over the following weeks and months, they became obsessed with finding whatever the four strange men had brought that night.

  They began using their every available minute to spy on their neighbor and snoop about his land, but discovered nothing. The wily Cherokee knew well enough that he was being watched, and more than half suspected the reason.

  When the summons came to Grantham Davidson, he knew immediately by his friend’s demeanor and expression that something momentous was at hand. He went out to Brown’s home late the following afternoon. His son watched him go with more curiosity than was good for him. He would have followed if he thought he could get away with it. As it was, he had to content himself to await his father’s return to see what he might learn.

  Grantham Davidson arrived at Brown’s house. The two men sat down. Brown’s expression was solemn. Two papers lay on the table in front of him.

  “I have asked you here,” Brown began, “because you are my friend, and I know I can trust you.”

  “Of course,” nodded Davidson. “How may I help you?”

  “You know I am Cherokee.”

  “You have made no secret of it to me.”

  “I assume you have been following the development of events in Georgia, how President Jackson is systematically taking what remains of our native lands.”

  “Yes. I am sorry. What is being done is wrong. I hope you know that I do not condone it in any way.”

  “Certainly. I came north fourteen years ago to do what I could to protect—”

  He paused, considering how much to divulge even to a trusted friend.

  “There were others involved,” he went on, “others to protect. My brother was murdered. Dreadful things were afoot then, just as there is much danger again now.”

  “Surely you are not—” began Davidson.

  “We are all in danger,” said Brown. “Anyone of Cherokee blood is at risk, some more than others. There is danger even from within our own tribe. My brother was murdered by our own tribesmen. Even now, I am being watched. But more than that, these are seriously troublesome times for our tribe as a whole. Our lands and possessions are being stripped from us. If my identity were to become known to the wrong people, even here, this very land, this very home where we sit, could be confiscated and taken from me.”

  “But you hold legal title to the land.”

  “As do our people in the South. Legalities matter nothing to Jackson and those who do his bidding and those of the state governments who would seize what is ours. They are bent on the complete destruction of all native tribes. My people have legal title to lands that are being stolen from them with the full sanction of the government. We have legal title to Dahlonega where gold was discovered. But it has all been taken away. The Cherokee have no rights in the eyes of the American government.”

  Davidson shook his head sadly. He knew it was true. “I am so sorry, my friend,” he said. “But surely here, nothing so drastic will happen to you. I was witness when you purchased this parcel. I will attest to the legality of your ownership.”

  “Don’t you see—none of that matters,” said Brown. “Where Negroes and Indians are concerned, there are no legalities, no rights, no freedoms. In the current climate, I would not want to take my claim to this land, even with a legal deed in my hand, into any court in this country. I could lose everything. It is a terrible time. The chiefs in the South have taken their case all the way to the Supreme Court to fight the Indian Removal Act and the court upheld them. Yet Jackson has openly vowed that he will not abide by the decision and will rid the states of the Cherokee one way or another. That is why I say that legalities matter nothing. It is why I have decided on another course of action… one that involves you.”

  “What can I do to help?” asked Davidson.

  Brown picked up the document on the table in front of him.

  “This is the deed to this tract of land that borders your own,” he said. “I have signed it over to you.”

  At the words, immediately Davidson opened his mouth to object. Brown’s uplifted hand silenced him.

  “Please, hear me out,” he said. “Then you will understand. This is my way of protecting the land and insuring that it cannot be taken or confiscated. I have noted a purchase price of one dollar, so there can be no questioning that it is a legal transaction.”

  “I understand,” said Davidson, now nodding. “If no Cherokee name is associated with the legal title, the land will not be in jeopardy. But it will always be yours… you know that—in spite of the deed.”

  “You are an honorable man,” said Brown. “Perhaps a time will come when such troubles as these will no longer follow my people. For now, this is the best way. If something should happen to me, I must know that the land, and what it contains, is safe.”

  “What it… contains?”

  “There are secrets… secrets that belong to my people. There are others, in addition to yourself, to whom I will entrust knowledge how to find them should I myself not be able to return or should harm befall me.”

  “You make it sound as if you are going away.”

  “I must leave tomorrow to see one of those of whom I speak. It is a journey that has perhaps waited too long, but one which I must no longer delay making. You will know the others I speak of by their possession of a portion of that which I am about to give you. If I should be detained or killed, all three of you together will be capable of finding what will secure our legacy.”

  Brown now took the second paper from the table, a single sheet, and tore off about a third of it and handed it to Davidson. “Guard this, if not with
your life, with your most valued possessions, my friend. The future of my people may depend on it.”

  Davidson nodded in solemn agreement.

  The two men continued to talk of many things late into the night.

  When Grantham Davidson returned to his home, he little suspected that his son had been waiting for him, watching from the shadows, nor with what interest the youth noted the papers in his father’s hand which went straight into the safe in his office.

  True to his word, Brown released all his animals and was himself gone before the next day’s sun had risen above the horizon into the Virginia sky.

  It took Clifford Davidson a month of constant sleuthing to come upon his father’s office unoccupied and the safe open. He hurried to it, rummaged through his father’s papers until his eyes fell on a torn portion of paper attached to the deed to the Brown land. For an instant he stood staring. His pulse drummed in his ears. Then he snatched it from the deed, crammed it down his shirt, and ran from the office, glancing hastily over his shoulder to make sure he had not been seen.

  Seconds later he was out of the house. He hurriedly saddled a horse and galloped away.

  Brown returned to Virginia several weeks after his departure, his errand in the north completed, the ring of the ancients no longer on his finger. His return was brief, and no one saw him. Circumstances had changed again. His next mission to the south demanded secrecy and haste.

  But though Brown was not seen, he saw that which would change the lives and fortunes of many when he arrived early one evening as dusk was falling. Riding toward his house, he overheard voices on a high ridge of his land raised in heated argument.