A few years after her husband’s death, the white trader Bryan Ward, a widower with his son John, had come to live among the Cherokee to operate a trading post at Chota, and gradually began to show an interest in the young widow. He had long been kind to her, but now seemed looking out for her with as much kindness as those of her own tribe. He was more attentive to her two youngsters, Catherine and Fivekiller, than could be accounted for by mere friendship. By now Nanye’hi was twenty-six-years of age, and her carriage had grown all the more lovely. Slowly the white trader and young Cherokee widow fell in love. They were married in Chota where they continued to live for many years. Though Nanye’hi took her new husband’s English name for her own, she remained faithful all her life to her duties and loyalties to the Cherokee people. Forever after, among whites, the legendary Ghigua of the Cherokee was simply called Nancy Ward.
Like an increasing number of the Cherokee of her time, Nanye’hi did not find it distasteful to integrate into American life. Like her uncle she valued white life as much as Indian life, and saw in her third child, daughter Elizabeth—half white, half Cherokee—the future of her people. Many times Nanye’hi risked her own life to save another, the color of whose skin her eyes did not see. She had shed the blood of fellow humankind and the memory of it never left her. She devoted the rest of her life to prevent its being shed again whenever it lay in her power.
As Beloved Woman, it was Nanye’hi’s role to lead the women’s council of the tribe, and also to sit for life on the men’s tribal council of chiefs to represent the women, where she had a full voice and vote. The Ghigua was also granted supreme pardoning power of the entire tribe, above even the prerogative of any of the chiefs. It was her duty to prepare the Black Drink for the Green Corn ceremony. Hers was expected to be a voice for peace. The Ghigua was one of the permanent negotiators in all treaty discussions. In a meeting with American John Sevier in 1781 at Little Pigeon River to discuss terms of peace, she was amazed and distressed that no women negotiators had accompanied him. He was equally incredulous to find that she, a woman, had been entrusted by her tribe with so important a task. When the negotiations were concluded, she told Sevier to go back to his people, and tell the women of the terms of their agreement. “Let your women hear our words,” she said.
Because Nanye’hi was so respected, honored, and revered by her people, her word often swayed a council discussion and changed a course of violence that had been set in motion by Cherokee warriors. One of the most important powers of her position was the right to pardon condemned captives, a power she exercised many times through her life. The power of Oconostota was absolute during times of war, but at all times, in war and peace, inspired, as they saw her, by the Great Spirit, even the great chiefs of the nation gave way to the will of Nanye’hi Ward.
Jeremiah Jack and William Rankin, two white settlers, came by canoe downriver to Chota to purchase corn from the Cherokee. They encountered an angry young crowd of rowdy Indians who grabbed them, took them captive, and made plans to kill them. Hearing the commotion, Nanye’hi rushed to the scene and commanded the young men to release the whites instantly. The Ghigua had spoken and the young warriors obeyed. Two hours later the two white men were on their way home, their canoe loaded with corn.
The wife of a homesteading family was taken captive in 1776. William Bean had been one of the first settlers to the region years before. Some of the Cherokee had never forgotten the name Bean and his incursion into their lands, and they had vowed revenge. His wife, Lydia, was brought back to Cherokee land where Nanye’hi’s cousin Dragging Canoe ordered her to be burned at the stake. Mrs. Bean was tied to a pole on a small hill and a great pile of kindling heaped about her feet. Hearing of it, Nanye’hi hurried to the scene. Outraged at the sight that met her eyes, she ran forward, cut the ropes at Mrs. Bean’s feet, and commanded that she be set free.
“It revolts my soul,” she shouted angrily, glaring around at her cousin and the others, “that Cherokee warriors would stoop so low as to torture a squaw. No woman shall be tortured or burned while I am Ghigua.”
Even a determined warrior and the son of the chief like Dragging Canoe had to obey. Nanye’hi finished cutting Mrs. Bean down, then took the white lady to her own home. As soon as it was safe, Nanye’hi sent Mrs. Bean back to her husband with the escort of her own brother Tuskeegeeteehee and son Hiskyteehee. Thereafter a long friendship existed between the two women. Like her uncle, Nanye’hi sought to learn from the whites. Mrs. Bean taught Nanye’hi the art of weaving, how to make butter and cheese, and other aspects of dairy farming, which were all then introduced into Cherokee life.
To the end of his life, Attacullaculla clung to his hope for friendship and brotherhood between the great king across the water and his own people. As his eyesight failed and his strength grew feeble he realized that he must entrust that hope to the next generation. But the American colonists seemed bent on destroying the once-proud Cherokee nation, which made his vision of friendship all the more difficult to achieve.
Who would be capable of carrying his posterity into the next generation, and, after that, into the next century?
His headstrong son Dragging Canoe was out of the question. He had become too much like his warrior uncle—restless, eager for bloodshed, too quickly angered. Though Oconostota had come to see much through the eyes of realism as his years had advanced, Attacullaculla wondered if such would ever be true in the case of his own son.
Dragging Canoe’s speech at Sycamore Shoals on the eve of the American war with the British made his position clear enough. He was reportedly still leading raids of the Chickamaugua. Dragging Canoe would certainly make no ambassador for peace.
What about Dragging Canoe’s son and daughter, his own grandson Young Dragging Canoe or his granddaughter Nakey Canoe? Nakey had married a white trader and now had three very young sons, his own precious great-grandsons—Alexander Saunie, named for her husband, Long, and Swift, who had both been given Cherokee names.
No, Attacullaculla thought. They were too young. It was impossible to tell to what extent they would follow his own dream, or that of Dragging Canoe.
The thoughts of the aging chief turned to other of his children.
Little Owl… he lacked resolve. It was as easy to persuade him as it was for the wind to bend a tree. He could change his mind ten times in a day.
Turtle-At-Home… he was well respected among the people but due to a defect at birth could not speak clearly.
His daughter Ollie wished for peace but had no voice among the people.
The Badger… Tah-Chee… his cousins Tassel and Doublehead, one of whom would likely be head chief before many more years…. With none could he feel sure that the legacy from the English king would be preserved.
Slowly Attacullaculla’s thoughts turned toward his niece Nanye’hi.
She had grown to be the most respected and loved woman of the Cherokee, surpassing even the men of the nation in honor. She would realize the importance of friendship and hold the ear of the council.
Yes. Nanye’hi would carry the legacy of peace to the generations of the future.
When the aging chief of the Cherokee rode toward the house with the attached trading post, the dwelling could have been any white man’s house, for the spacious log house was the largest dwelling in the Cherokee capital.
Nanye’hi’s two older children, both in their twenties, were already married and gone, but fourteen-year-old Elizabeth ran out to greet him. She was followed by one of several black slaves, who met the chief, helped him down, and took the reins of his horse. Attacullaculla was dressed in his finest chieftain’s robes, skins, and adorning finery of beads, silver, feathers, and gold. Upon his graying head sat the symbolic leather band of the white feather.
Nanye’hi walked out of the house and greeted him with an affectionate embrace. “Uncle,” she said, looking him over with some puzzlement. “What is the occasion that you have come in your regal attire? Has the council been summoned?�
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The aging chief nodded. “Yes, Nanye’hi, but only a council of two.”
“I do not understand, Uncle.”
“It is a council of two, and I have summoned it,” he replied. “It is a solemn council regarding the future. You and I will be the only members present. There is much we must discuss… alone. Come, Nanye’hi—you and I must ride up the mountain to the sacred site where the Great Spirit spoke to our ancestors.”
Nanye’hi sensed from her uncle’s voice that something momentous was at hand. She nodded and left him. When she returned some minutes later, she too wore her council robe of white deerskin. Her flowing black hair was adorned with a band of colorful feathers she placed upon her head only for the most solemn of occasions. At nearly forty, she was stunning and commanding. No queen of any empire bore herself with more regal dignity.
A few words to her husband were enough. He understood her role in the tribe. She leapt on the bare back of the pony that stood waiting beside her uncle’s mount. Bryan Ward and young Elizabeth watched them ride out of town, the aging chief and the Beloved Woman of the Cherokee. As they rode away, already eyes from half the town followed the two legendary figures as they disappeared from sight toward the hills.
They rode to the top of Ooneekawy Mountain whose peak looked down on the most ancient of Cherokee villages. When they had reached the top, they dismounted and gazed about in silence.
“All that our eyes can now see was once the land of the Ani-Yunwiya,” said Attacullaculla in a voice whose very sound filled his niece with memories of her childhood. “Now the white settlers claim much of it for their own for their towns and forts and farms. Our people are dwindling, our land is shrinking. Yet we are also learning to adapt and change and grow. We have learned much from the white man. It is his land now too, no longer only the land of the Indian. We must live with the white man, not against him.”
Attacullaculla paused as he continued to gaze down upon the beloved land of his people.
“But I am old, Nanye’hi,” he said. “I have not many seasons of the sun left.”
“You will be honored among our people for many years, Uncle—”
“Nanye’hi,” interrupted Attacullaculla, “you must look to the future, not the past. You must be brave, as I know you will be, for you have shown your bravery on countless occasions. You are honored among our people. It is time for you to be strong. My time has passed. The future will go with you. That is why I have brought you up the sacred mountain. Like old Wasi5 of the ancient people, I will not see the future. I can but gaze from the mountain, but you must go down and lead our people into their future.”
He paused and held up his hand. Nanye’hi’s glance immediately went to his middle finger, where, for as long as she could remember, since her very childhood, she had seen the gold ring and been told by her mother that it had come from the king in England.
He now pulled off the ring and took Nanye’hi’s right hand. Gently he slipped the ring of royalty onto her thumb.
“I have worn this ring since it was given me by the king over the water,” he said. “Now I pass on my ring of peace to you.”
Too awestruck to speak, Nanye’hi watched as her uncle now pulled out a soft leather pouch of coveted white deerskin that matched his council robe. Slowly he opened it, then poured five rings of pure gold into his palm.
Nancy’s eyes widened at the sight.
“And now, Nanye’hi,” he said, “I give you these other five too. They were entrusted to me by my comrades during the settlement wars twenty years ago, to keep and preserve for the time when permanent peace would come to our people. They were all massacred when my cousin attacked Fort Prince George. Only I of the original seven am left. Now you must keep them safe for our people as I have done.”
“But where, Uncle?”
“Wherever they will be safe. In time you too must pass them on as I am passing them on to you. You must give them to one or more who will preserve the legacy of peace. The whole country is full of war as the Americans and British fight to control this land. We cannot see to the end of it. It may be the British, it may be the Americans with whom we will have to live. But we must live with them. Such is my pledge, and such legacy I now pass on to you.”
“Were there not seven rings, Uncle?” asked Nanye’hi.
“Oconostota now wears the last of the seven. I fear it is for him a symbol of power and war. That is why we must preserve the legacy of peace. I will go to our fathers longing for the day when all seven rings may be joined again, when our people will be united as one, again to rise to greatness—not by conquest but by the character that makes them the real people, the Ani-Yunwiya of a new time, The People of Peace. When you are old, like me, you must pass them on to one who will preserve the legacy of the rings, and who will preserve the heritage of our people. Perhaps such a one will be your Cata’quin who has married the Harlan. Perhaps it will come from my seed, one of the sons of my granddaughter Nakey, if one should inherit her gentle nature rather than that of her father. In tiny Long, as she gave him into my arms, my aging heart leapt to see what appears in his eyes. If he is not a chief among our people, surely he will be a wise man. When the time comes, Nanye’hi, you will know, whether him or another. The future of our secret is now yours.”
Within two years Attacullaculla had departed to return to the spirit of his fathers. His memory was revered and his passing mourned by the entire Cherokee nation, and equally by the many white Americans who had known him as a man of dignity and honor.
The once great warrior Oconostota, however, had by now became a relic of the past, drinking and wandering and lamenting his past glory as chief of a warrior race, eventually even selling the gold ring on his finger to a trader who never knew where it had come from, in exchange for five dollars of whisky.
With the death of Attacullaculla in 1778, and Oconostota in 1782, Old Tassel became the chief of the Cherokee. But it was a new era. And though Old Tassel strove to prevent yet more incursions into Cherokee land, the new American nation, flush with its success against the British, was determined to take anything it wanted. It was quickly clear that the new government felt entitled to all the land on the continent.
Nanye’hi was a major negotiating force during peace and treaty talks of the 1780s, urging both sides to exist together peacefully. Like Attacullaculla, there were those Cherokee who thought she placated the settlers too readily. But though Nanye’hi Ward did not like the encroachment of whites any more than the rest of her tribe, she would not stand by to see whites murdered in cold blood. “The white men are our brothers,” she said. “The same households us, the same sky covers us all.” Upon numerous occasions, hearing of planned attacks against colonial “overmountain” settlements, she secretly informed one or another of the Indian traders who lived among the Cherokee to get word to those in danger. In time, as a result of such warnings, she became as greatly honored by white settlers as by her own people. In spite of such seeming betrayals, her esteem among her own people grew yet more. Many did not agree with her, but all respected her.
Over the years Bryan and Nanye’hi Ward enjoyed a certain degree of wealth. Their home was furnished with primitive splendor and style. In addition to Ward’s trading post, they became successful raising cattle. They purchased a home on the Womankiller Ford of the Ocoee River which they converted into an inn which Nanye’hi operated successfully for many years.
After the conclusion of the War of Independence with England, the new government of the United States agreed to yet another treaty in 1785 at Hopewell in South Carolina. Its final clause read: “Any settler who fails to remove within six months from the land guaranteed to the Indians shall forfeit any protection of the United States, and the Cherokee may punish him or not as they please.”
Nanye’hi Ward spoke on behalf of the Cherokee at the treaty signing.
“I am glad,” she said, “that at last there is peace. I take you by the hand of friendship. I have a pipe and tobacco to
give the commissioners to smoke in friendship. I look upon you and those of my tribe as my children. Your decision for peace is pleasant to me, for I have witnessed much trouble during the wars between our nations. I am growing old, but I hope yet to see children who will grow up and people our nation, as we are now under the protection of the Congress and shall have no more war between us. The talk I have given you is from the young warriors I have raised in my town, as well as from myself. They rejoice that we have peace, and hope that the chain of friendship will never more be broken.”
She gave two strings of wampum, a pipe, and some tobacco to the representatives from the government.
But in matters of greed and power, the waters of peace do not run deep. In 1802, as a chilling portent of things to come, the third president of the new nation, Thomas Jefferson, struck an agreement with the state of Georgia. The Georgia Compact stated that, the conflicts and disputes being what they were, with the white populations exploding, with towns and cities springing up all around them, it would doubtless be best for the Cherokees to be removed from Tennessee, the Carolinas, and Georgia altogether, and relocated in one of the less-populated western territories. Toward this end, Jefferson made a pact with the state of Georgia to purchase for $1,250,000 all its western lands, which would become U.S. government property, along with the guarantee that the federal government would extinguish at its own expense “as early as the same can be peaceably obtained upon reasonable terms, the Indian title to the lands lying within the limits of that state.”
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