Red clay running waters, p.39
Red Clay, Running Waters, page 39
“Tis a place of marvels and mysteries,” Coodey confessed.
Once the carriage made its passage through the congestion at the waterfront, the air and the views improved. The residence of their attorney, William Wirt, was to be their first call.
Greeting them warmly, Wirt ushered the men into his gracious home. Wirt was a handsome man with a square chin and a very tall forehead, one brow arched skeptically over his soft-lidded eyes.
The attorney was already at ease with Taylor and Coodey, but decidedly more reticent towards John. The scrutiny of the very formidable man came each time John opened his mouth. How could one not be self-conscious in the presence of a man who had given the eulogy for Jefferson and John Adams?
Taylor, as senior member, began the discussion. “We are much obliged and fortunate to have your support in this time of great adversity,” he stated.
“It is a most interesting and worthy case,” Wirt said. “It is a matter of principle, and of justice. I have much sympathy for you,” the attorney said, “and if God is willing, I may have the satisfaction of happily resolving your dispute, with the added pleasure of clarifying some of our own constitutional powers over the states. Any lawyer would be honored to take on such a momentous challenge, would he not, Mr. Ridge?” Wirt smiled warmly at John, as though some threshold had been crossed.
Wirt went to his desk, retrieved dispatches from Ross and passed them to Taylor.
“To alleviate any undue anxiety upon reading what these documents contain,” he said, “I will inform you that I have already prepared an injunction against Georgia’s laws being imposed. I will leave you to your letters.” Bowing, he left his office, softly closing the door.
The news was not good. One of their people had been arrested by the Georgia Guard, newly installed in New Echota to enforce the state’s heinous laws. The arrest was for the murder of another Cherokee within the bounds of the Cherokee Nation. The trial for the man accused, Corn Tassel, took place two days after their departure, and a jury of White men found him guilty. Georgia Judge Clayton sentenced Corn Tassel to be hanged. Ross was already appealing the ruling in Georgia’s Superior Court.
Wirt told them this was the case they had waited for. “This case clearly shows Georgia laws infringing on the sovereignty of your nation,” Wirt said, “a nation that is under the protection of federal treaties. I have already applied to the federal court to free Corn Tassel on a writ of error. Georgia should have no jurisdiction over the crime in your nation.”
“There is unanimity of sentiment on our position,” Taylor said. “We will take whatever action you recommend as necessary to save our people,”
“The Supreme Court has already accepted the appeal, and already forbidden Corn Tassel’s execution,” Wirt said, much to their relief. “Georgia must produce all records of the trial to the Supreme Court, and Governor George Gilmer is to appear before John Marshall in January.”
Deliverance could be within their grasp.
Washington was thick with people, the Indian Queen Hotel still the preferred accommodation for politicians, though there were vastly more hotels than the last time John was there. He studied the passersby in the sumptuous lobby, with its stuffed upholstered chairs, burnished wood, velvet drapes and Persian carpets. Could one determine factions by appearance?
The gentlemen’s great room that evening was filled with noses buried in papers. Without exception, all read Jackson’s address to Congress the day before. Those absent from hearing the president’s speech wanted to learn of his agenda, those present wished to either savor or condemn it. Clustered in their chairs, John, Taylor and Coodey scanned the speech for mention of their cause.
It gives me pleasure to announce to Congress that the benevolent policy of the government, steadily pursued for nearly thirty years in relation to the removal of the Indians beyond the white settlements, is approaching to a happy consummation. Two important tribes have accepted the provision made for their removal. It is believed that their example will induce the remaining tribes to seek the same obvious advantage.
“Our doom is sealed,” one of the Choctaw headmen had told Taylor. “There is no other course for us but to turn our faces to our new home and prepare to leave.”
Factions from the Creeks had finally relented, Yoholo among them, much to John’s sorrow. The Chickasaw were next. Soon, it would be only the Cherokee and the Seminole remaining in their own land.
A preview of what lay ahead for those poor souls came from a piece of intelligence from their Creek friends. Jackson put a stop to their funds in the midst of the Creeks’ emigration, stranding them without supplies. Unless the entire Creek Nation consented to go, Jackson claimed he would spend nothing. The president professed great sympathy for those who chose not to plant corn, but he need not hear further from them until all the Creeks wished to remove west of the Mississippi.
To hold such sway over innocent people’s lives, to enact such cruelty and coercion sickened John, but he continued to read the president’s words.
Humanity has often wept over the fate of the aborigines of this country. To follow to the tomb the last of his race and to tread on the graves of extinct nations excite melancholy reflections. But true philanthropy reconciles the mind to these vicissitudes, as it does to the extinction of one generation of people to make room for another. What good man would prefer a country covered with forests and ranged by a few thousand savages to our extensive republic, studded with cities, towns, and prosperous farms, filled with all the blessings of liberty, civilization, and religion?
Can it be cruel in this government when, by events which it cannot control, the Indian is made discontented in his ancient home, to purchase his lands, to give him a new and extensive territory, to pay the expense of his removal, and support him a year in his new abode? How many thousands of our own people would gladly embrace the opportunity of removing to the West on such conditions!”
The twisting of logic and truth made John’s headache. How could a republican democracy exist when every man fought for himself on his own behalf?
“And just when did we grow discontented in our ancient home?” Taylor mumbled in his native tongue. “This man of the common people who spurned aristocracy seems to have no issue with treating others like subjects.”
McKenney’s portraits still hung in the corridors leading to Secretary of War Eaton’s office. The former superintendent’s collection, his pride and joy, were treasures no longer within McKenney’s reach. How peculiar John felt walking past his own youthful face hanging among them, not to mention the ones of the men he knew who were gone. The thoughts of the eyes of strangers peering at his face for years to come unnerved him.
Secretary Eaton, impressively handsome and supremely arrogant, offered no encouragement when they requested a meeting with the president.
“No opportunity could possibly present itself until well into the New Year,” he told them before equivocating on several questions about their claims.
John held the secretary’s eye, having reached the limit of his patience. “With the utmost respect, sir,” he said, his voice silky, “we believe we are entitled to receive direct and frank answers.” He had no fear of this man, with rumors flying about scandals over his wife, and his tenure in office on a thread. Taylor remained very still. Coodey wrote. “What, in your opinion, would the United States government do if Georgia were moved to force us from our lands?”
Eaton stared at them across the expanse of his mahogany desk, a tight grin curling his lips. “The president is confident,” he said, “that when the common Indian, reduced to beggary, recognizes their chiefs have become wealthy pursuing their civilized lives at the poor Indians expense, he anticipates they will soon burst the bonds of slavery and compel their chiefs to propose terms for their removal. The only topic the administration intends to discuss with your delegation is a treaty for removal.”
John’s nostrils stung. He would have happily contradicted the man if it would have made a difference.
“It is pointless to continue a dialog with this man,” John spat once they were free to speak. “Jackson is determined to be intractable, and Eaton will remain his lacky. Our greatest chance of satisfaction rests with our friends in Congress, and the verdict of the courts.”
“Ah! There he is!” Richard Taylor rose from the circle of chairs at their table, beckoning to a tall gentleman entering the hotel dining room. The man’s pleasing features beamed with recognition as he made his way to where the delegation dined.
“Good evening,” the middle-aged man said to Taylor. “So pleased to receive your note. I see you and Mr. Coodey enjoy good health?” The man who grasped their hands was offered a place beside John.
“But you will be so kind as to introduce me to your companion before I take my seat?” he said. He thrust his hand in John’s direction. John liked the man instantly; his enthusiastic expression reflected sincerity and intelligence.
“Mr. Calvin Colton,” Taylor said, “may I introduce you to the president of our National Committee, an attorney in our Nation, Mr. John Ridge. John, this is the journalist I mentioned to you, the one with the New York Observer.” They shook hands warmly. “Mr. Colton is of course acquainted with the work of your cousin, Elias.”
“Indeed, I am sir,” Colton said. “A most accomplished and eloquent gentleman. He has done a magnificent job of defending your countrymen in the Phoenix.”
“Thank you, Mr. Colton,” John replied. “I too am cognizant of your articles expressing strong support for our position. May I humbly extend our appreciation to you and your paper for what you have done on our behalf—the Penn Papers, the editorials. It has rallied many to our side.”
“I was frustrated from a life as a minister by a voice that would not comply,” Colton confided to him over his soup, “but I fortunately found my passions directed toward politics at this interesting time, which is precisely why I advocated for publishing Evart’s essays.”
John spun to study the newspaper man’s face, to confirm his suspicions long held. So, it was Evarts defending their rights on ethical and legal grounds in the Penn Papers. Belated appreciation for the Mission Board secretary’s continued devotion forced a wave of regret to wash over John. It was the mention of Congress that drew his attention back to Colvin.
“It is a pity the Removal Act may be overshadowed in Congress by this issue of tariffs,” Colvin said to the table, “the ones South Carolina objects to so strongly.”
“Do you foresee this will raise the specter of nullification the president fears so much?” John asked. “It will certainly throw the threat of civil war and disunion into the decisions.”
“Well, I can see you are a man of liberal education, who also keeps current with our politics,” the newspaperman grinned. “Why, your delegation probably knows more of the institutions, laws, and government of the United States than a large fraction of those occupying Congress, and this may be said without dishonoring the body.”
“Out of necessity,” John replied. “It seems imperative we do everything we can to elevate our reputations, with so many taking the opportunity to weaken our case by attributing selfish motives to our actions.”
“Just so,” Colton said enthusiastically, “but saintly behavior would not exempt you from the poison words from Jackson’s paper his puppet Van Buren pulls the strings on. The Washington Globe’s editor, Amos Kendall, had a hand in the crafting of yesterday’s speech, and Duff Green’s telegraph practically drummed Adams out of office. Words are powerful weapons, young man. Which is why we are here, is it not?”
15 Dec 1830
Indian Queen Hotel
Washington City
My dearest wife
Your most welcome letter finds me well, and still smiling at the thought of our Susan walking. It is my dearest wish that by the time she runs, it will be under her father’s watchful eye in her own sovereign land. Kiss Rollin and Clarinda for me and do not let them forget me. You know I will return as quickly as this business will allow.
There is much excitement (and dare I say fear on our part) about all this talk of state’s rights. The topic fascinates the entire country, like a tangram one cannot solve. Unfortunately, our place in history is one of the enigmatic pieces in that puzzle, and the issue is an unwelcome distraction to our cause. If you are saying those prayers you mentioned, you might find time to encourage the heavenly father to make his children more selfless. Few appear willing to sacrifice for the gain of another.
You say Samuel has organized a meeting of missionaries for discussing actions they are willing to take, should Georgia laws be imposed? I would expect nothing else from our Samuel. This is good news and must hearten Elias. I pray Samuel and the Board will encourage the other missionaries to stand with us, and not abandon the people they have worked so hard to save.
Evarts clearly sees this as our crisis point, as do we, and is making his voice heard here in Washington, even if it is from his sickbed. The man deserves our deepest gratitude. Our enemy, we fear, will be apathy and a lack of exertion on our behalf, so the missionaries’ actions could hold great consequence. There is also word that one of our friends in Congress may be willing to advocate having the removal bill revoked.
Indulge me only briefly more, as more good news cannot be averse to you in such times. The Supreme Court has cited Georgia and its governor to appear before the bench. The case for our jurisdiction over our own domain, and the Corn Tassel case, may soon be resolved. I have already told Elias that we are induced to believe that if Henry Clay is made president in the next election, he will enforce our treaties. If so, then if we can bear up for two years longer, we will be victorious! The support of our Northern friends in this struggle is like soft music of other days to my ears.
You should not infer from my digression into topics of a less personal nature that my thoughts along a more intimate line are dormant because they are not captured on these pages.
Your affectionate and devoted husband, JR
National Hotel, Washington
December 27, 1830
Dearest Friend
I have just received the most urgent news of the greatest import to your cause. I shall recount these things as I learned of them.
Preparations for a survey of the Cherokee Nation have begun in advance of a lottery for your land. Once your territory is divided into one hundred-and-sixty acre lots, for $18.00, any resident of the state of Georgia who qualifies may enter his name in the drawing for the land. By the time the draw takes place in 1832, the legislature is confident the Cherokee will be gone, and Georgia’s citizens free to take receipt of the land. To ensure the ultimate success of their endeavors, the legislature has passed another law; all Whites residing on Cherokee land now require a permit, obtained through taking an oath, pledging loyalty to the state and its laws. White men living there have until the first of March to take this oath or remove.
I would not presume to understand the extent of your distress over such an occurrence, but I know your most immediate concern will be the case before the Supreme Court. Knowing this, it is with the deepest regret that I apply for your forgiveness in saving the worst news for last.
When Governor Gilmer was served with the writ to appear before the Court, he had the audacity to declare Georgia was not accountable to the Supreme Court, or any other tribunal on earth. His hubris went so far as to rebuke Justice Marshall for interference in the criminal laws of his state. Two days after this, on the morning of December 24th, spectators flooded the town of Gainesville, where Sheriff Jacob Eberhart, and the presiding judge rode in a procession down the streets of that town. They were followed by an oxcart carrying your countryman, Corn Tassel, his hands, and feet tied. He was riding atop his own coffin. The Cherokee spoke with great calmness to the crowd at the foot of his gallows. Sheriff Eberhart then hanged him by the neck until he was dead.
You, like I, will feel the blow of this transgression against justice and all morality. I will do all in my power to assist you in this struggle, let me know what it is.
Your colleague and friend, Calvin Colton
1831 Opinion
CHAPTER 48
Winter snows piled high, as bitter as the taste lingering in John’s mouth. Much as at home, he spent his days by the fire, pen in hand. There was little inducement to venture out, and if he had, it would only have been to coerce himself out of his despondency.
In the days after Colton’s message, letters to supporters, congressmen, and editors poured from his fingertips. The hours passed swiftly as he wrote alone in his room, but often, drawing back from his desk, the futility of his efforts wormed in his mind. His hands would tremble, and tears would flow. The lottery seemed the least of his worries. Georgia’s gauntlet was thrown down to the courts, along with it the question of the rights of the states—not the rights of the Indians. That the Georgia chose to brazenly show contempt for the highest court in the land was beyond John’s comprehension. It painted a terrifying vision of the road ahead.
After two days, the dark trail of his thoughts saw him bursting from his room. The sharp winter air filled John’s lungs as he sought the distraction of public places—the markets, the coffee shops, the bookstores, any diversion to make him feel as though he possessed liberty to make choices. He found his way to the salon where the gentlemen smoked and read their papers.
“Ah, there you are,” he heard William Coodey’s familiar voice. “Congressmen Crockett is here to meet with us,” he said.
John folded his newspaper and followed Coodey who walked ahead at his usual fast pace, then slowed to allow for John’s halting gate.
“Jeremiah Evarts has been busy, with the Boston Board, with Wirt, and with his friends in Congress,” Coodey said. “Even in his weakened condition, his waking hours are spent urging people to declare themselves, to take sides. He has called for a universal outcry against this great crime.”
