Timecachers (24 page)

Further along, they passed a two-story colonial style house, with large chimneys at each end, painted white wooden siding, and a welcoming porch stretching across the front. “That used to be Elijah Hicks’ home. He was one of our government leaders and son of Charles Hicks, a principal chief, but he also left for the west last year when his home was confiscated.”

“Many of these lovely homes are magnificent,” said Alice. “Not at all what I imagined.”

“There has been a major effort to paint the Cherokee people as savage and uncivilized, and incapable of living as decent people,” said Benjamin. “This was done to ease the consciences of those who wished to seize our land in the name of expansionism.” His tone was bitter, despite his effort to keep his voice neutral. He reminded himself that his guests were from a different world, and that they did not seem to share those despicable attitudes. He smiled at Alice and said, “You did not think the town would be full of tipis, did you?”

“No, I paid enough attention to my cultural studies to know better than that,” she said, nudging Sal. “But I did imagine that the homes would be much more rustic and impoverished.”

“Many are. Just like any other society we have all classes of people, rich and poor, some who choose to live traditionally, and others more extravagantly. You are seeing some of the finest homes here and there are even grander properties. Chief Vann’s former home, Diamond Hill, is just north of here. He had one of the most magnificent plantations in the nation—not just the Cherokee nation—the entire country. The home is most elegant, and your president James Monroe once spent the night there. It is said that Joe Vann is one of the richest men in the United States, and is known as Rich Joe.”

“You said his former home. He doesn’t live there anymore?” asked Alice.

“Rich Joe owned businesses and operated ferries in Tennessee, and he hired a white man to look after Diamond Hill when he needed to be away on business. The Georgia Guard confiscated the home, claiming that Joe had violated the law by hiring a white man without a permit. Rich Joe Vann and his family have since moved to Indian Territory.”

Benjamin pointed to another large two-story house, out in the direction of the fort. “That house belonged to Reverend Samuel A. Worcester. He was a Christian missionary who taught the bible and held services in that house. He also served as postmaster. We called him ‘The Messenger’. He was not Cherokee, but his home was also confiscated in the lottery.”

“How awful! How could they take his home if he wasn’t even Cherokee?” asked Alice.

“Georgia has a law that for a white to live in the Cherokee Nation they must obtain a special license and swear an oath of allegiance to Georgia. Worcester refused to do both, saying that he was entitled to live where he chose, and as a citizen of the United States he was not required to take any other oath of allegiance.”

“He was right! What happened? Did he try to fight this in court?”

“He was arrested and sentenced to four years hard labor,” Benjamin answered. “The case went to the supreme court of the United States, and the Georgia law was declared unconstitutional, but Governor Lumpkin ignored the ruling and kept him imprisoned anyway. Reverend Worcester was finally released after serving sixteen months. He also moved west to continue teaching the bible to the Cherokee.”

Alice shook her head, frowned and looked at the ground. “How could people act this way,” she asked, more to herself than anyone else.

“Greed is a strong motivator,” Benjamin stated. “The perverted philosophy of territorial expansionism has convinced people that god has given them a divine duty to acquire land for themselves.”

“Not only land,” said Tom. “Many of our country’s most shameful acts were committed in the name of Manifest Destiny.”

Benjamin shrugged. He had not heard the term before.

They continued walking into the abandoned town center, and Benjamin pointed out a ball field where they used to play a game he called
anetsa.
There were goal posts still standing on the overgrown field, making the area look much like a football field. Benjamin said that the game was played with much vigor and celebration, and it was common to bet on the outcome of the game. The fans would arrive with an abundance of food and drink, and loudly cheer on their favorite team. Many were very passionate about the game, and sometimes violence would break out.

“Awesome. Sounds like an Eagles game,” said Sal.

The others chuckled, but Benjamin just smiled courteously. By now he understood that Sal’s comments were usually intended to amuse, and should seldom be taken literally. He could not imagine a game that could be played using eagles, and he was certain that asking Sal about it would only result in more ambiguity.

As they walked along the town square, Benjamin pointed out several other buildings, explaining that they were used as a court house, post office, community center, and other government buildings. Nearly all were empty, or had been appropriated for some other use. Benjamin noted another house they were approaching, very similar to the Worcester house.

“This was Elias Boudinot’s home. He was the founder and editor of our newspaper, the Cherokee Phoenix. His original name was
Gallegina,
‘Buck’ Waite, but he took the name of the man who paid for his education, Dr. Elias Boudinot, one of your first presidents.”

“Elias Boudinot was a president of the United States?” asked Adam. “That’s one I must have missed!”

“Actually, he is correct, Adam,” said Tom. “Elias Boudinot served as a President of the Continental Congress, appointed by George Washington. He technically wasn’t called POTUS or elected by the people, but he did hold the presidential title.”

“The Cherokee Elias Boudinot created a bilingual newspaper printed in English and Cherokee at the printing office that used to be there,” Benjamin continued, pointing at an empty lot. “John Ross refused to allow Elias to continue publishing the newspaper when Elias began printing articles advocating Cherokee compliance with removal. Boudinot had formerly been against removal, but he and Ridge eventually began to believe that relocation would be inevitable. Elias Boudinot was also one of those who signed the treaty of New Echota, agreeing to give up our lands.”

“What happened to the printing office?” asked Adam.

“The Georgia Guard confiscated the press, and destroyed the building. They said it was being used to incite turbulence among the Cherokee.”

“Up ahead is the trading post where I can get the supplies I need. There is a white man, William Adair, who runs it. He has been here for years with permission from the Cherokee government, and now has a license from Georgia. His motives for being here are strictly for profit-making, which has never been a problem. He is no particular friend to the Cherokee, but I believe he is an honest merchant. Since there are no Cherokee merchants left, I have little choice.”

Benjamin stopped the wagon in front of the trading post, a building that looked as if it served as a general store, hotel, restaurant, and dwelling for the owner. He asked Tom to accompany him into the store, and the others to remain with the wagon. There was no one in sight, but he cautioned them again to avoid engaging with any strangers if someone happened to come along.

Upon entering the store, a burly, heavily whiskered gentleman smoking a fat cigar stood behind a counter. He peered over the rims of his wire glasses and nodded to Benjamin.

“Benjamin,” the man said in a deep, resonant voice.

“William,” Benjamin returned the greeting.

“Still in Georgia, I see. When are you planning to leave?”

“I have no plans to leave, William. I am here to purchase supplies to last the next several weeks.”

“It’s your money. I don’t get it, Benjamin. Most of the Indians like you, who could afford it, have all left for the west by now. What are you waiting for?”

“Justice,” said Benjamin bluntly. “I still hold hope that the theft of my land can be prevented.”

“Theft? You know the chiefs signed a treaty right here in New Echota to trade for land in the west. They took money for it, too. It was all agreed.”

“I never agreed. Neither did most of the others. And the ‘chiefs’ who signed had no authority to make that agreement.”

The storekeeper sighed. “We’ve been through all this before. Anyhow, Major Scott arrived in New Echota a couple days ago, with a whole lot of federal troops. They’re getting the forts ready in case they have to do a roundup. He wrote a letter to all the Cherokees, giving them one last chance to move on their own. Here’s a copy of the letter. Sounds like good advice to me,” he said, handing the paper to Benjamin.

Benjamin took the letter, folding it and shoving it in his pocket. “I’ve seen many of the white man’s papers. What they say on them can change with the wind.”

He knew that William meant well. In his gruff way, he was concerned for the well-being of Benjamin and his family, and could not understand their reluctance to admit defeat. He had tried to encourage Benjamin to take the small compensation the government would provide for his farm and leave, before he was forced to go and receive nothing. William only considered the financial aspect; he could not comprehend Benjamin’s determination to stand up for his principles once there was no hope of a successful appeal. He told Benjamin the sensible thing to do was to know when he was licked, and try to make the best of it. It was an impasse they had reached many times before. There was no use in rehashing it.

“I’d like to get my supplies now,” Benjamin said, changing the subject.

William grunted, knowing it was useless to continue the argument. “I see you brought along some help.” He pointed his bushy chin at Tom and the others outside the door.

“They are visiting friends, and yes, they have been most helpful.”

“They’d be most helpful if they were helping you pack,” William mumbled through his whiskers.

Benjamin pretended not to hear the remark, and began listing the items he needed. There weren’t many things that William didn’t have. He pointed to each item as Benjamin went through his list, letting Benjamin and Tom do all the required lifting. A few of the items came in large sacks that were kept in the back part of the store. A shout from William roused a sleepy-eyed young man who wheeled out the required items on a dolly and dumped them next to the door. Benjamin paid for the items while Tom finished carrying them out to the wagon where the others loaded them.

The transaction completed, the farewell was just as curt as the greeting. As they were heading out the door, William said, “Oh, by the way. You haven’t seen that friend of yours, John Carter, around lately have you?”

“John was…,” Tom started to reply.

“No,” Benjamin said quickly. “I have not seen him for a while.”

“Well, if you do,” William said with a wary glance at Tom, “be sure to tell him that the colonel is looking for him. Seemed pretty hot about it, too.”

Benjamin shrugged indifferently, and he and Tom left the store.

“Real friendly chap, isn’t he?” said Tom.

“He is not the most cordial person,” said Benjamin, beginning to get used to the idea of sarcasm. “At least not to the Cherokee these days. I guess he can’t be blamed too much, though. Any show of hospitality toward us will only get him scorn from the other whites who have settled here. He did give us a warning for John Carter in his own furtive way. In his heart he is not excessively belligerent.”

Tom thought that the “help you pack” comment was pretty belligerent, but he just nodded at Benjamin in agreement. He imagined that running a trading post in 1838 probably took a lot of grit, and a friendly, helpful salesperson type probably wouldn’t stand a chance in this environment. The man did seem to have enough respect for Benjamin not to press his argument too far. And there was something familiar about the guy that Tom couldn’t quite place. Adair, he thought; wasn’t that a name he had heard just recently?

Benjamin interrupted his thoughts. “I am sorry for interrupting you before, but I think John Carter would prefer that few people know he is in town.”

Climbing back in the loaded wagon, Benjamin clucked to the horses and started the wagon rolling with a jerk. He turned onto a deserted side street, and after glancing around to be sure there were no others nearby to overhear his conversation, said, “We are meeting John Carter a short way from the town, at a small farm that has not yet been occupied by the whites. It is important that I explain to you all the potential danger of our meeting.

“As John Carter has already told you, it is illegal for the Cherokee to conduct any sort of meetings. That law can be interpreted loosely, giving the Georgia Guard the power to make arrests at their discretion. The place we are meeting was formerly owned by a friend, so we are very familiar with the farm and its surroundings. As I have said, it is still unoccupied and should be a safe place to meet for discussions for the present time.

“When you first met John Carter, he explained that he was returning from Red Clay in Tennessee, which is where our government relocated when it was forbidden to keep the council here in New Echota. Since there are still many of our people here, John is acting as emissary to bring news to them from the council. According to Georgia law, this is an illegal activity.

“Tom, that is why I stopped you from speaking about John Carter at the trading post. I did not want to put the proprietor in the position of withholding information from the military. I am sure that word of John’s mission has already gotten to the whites, and I have no doubt that the colonel would not hesitate to arrest John with only his suspicions as evidence, if he could find him. Therefore, John must remain in hiding. Attending this meeting with him puts all of you in violation of Georgia law as well.”