Читать книгу The Heart of the Alleghanies; or, Western North Carolina - Ben S. Grosscup - Страница 6

Younaguska’s influence over them was well nigh omnipotent, and was exerted uniformly with a view to their improvement. Colonel Thomas, whose acquaintance with public men was extensive, has declared that this old Indian was the intellectual peer of John C. Calhoun. There is certainly a place in history for the individual, whatever be his race, who can elevate a band of warriors and hunters into a community of agriculturists, capable of raising their own food and manufacturing their own clothing.

Before Younaguska died he assembled his people and publicly willed the chieftainship to his clerk, friend and adopted son, W. H. Thomas, whom he commended as worthy of respect and whom he adjured them to obey as they had obeyed him. He was going to the home provided for him by the great spirit; he would always keep watch over his people and would be grieved to see any of them disobey the new chief he had chosen to rule over them. It was therefore under the most auspicious circumstances that Colonel Thomas became chief of the Eastern Band of the Cherokees. He had been with them long enough to know their character. He made himself absolute in everything, and required the strictest obedience. He kept constantly in their minds the injunction of Younaguska, and warned them at every critical juncture of the danger of incurring the displeasure of the spirit of their old chief. Councils were held according to the ancient usages of the tribe, but they did little more than confirm the transactions of the chief.

Colonel Thomas, as provided by the treaty of 1835, used the funds of the Indians in the purchase of homes. He provided for their education and encouraged religious exercises among them. When the war broke out he led four companies into the Confederate army. They showed capacity for discipline and were not wanting in courage; but like a great many of these highlanders, they had no interest in the cause, and employed the first opportunity to desert, some of them joining the Federal army and many finding their mountain homes. During the war the tribe’s internal affairs were in chaos, its councils were without a head, and its members lapsed into dissipation and laziness. The ban of an adverse fatality seemed to rest over these unfortunate pilgrims on their way from barbarism to civilization.

Their chief was stricken with nervous disease when his services were most needed, and years of confusion and imposition followed. There were rival pretenders to the chieftainship, who divided the band into factions and threatened at one time a contest at arms. The animus of this whole affair was the avarice of several white adventurers who were seeking to control the business of the tribe in order to get into their own hands the claims due the Indians from the United States. Even under such circumstances these people demonstrated their capacity for self government. One of the contestants, whose English name was John Ross, was forced to abandon his pretensions, and Lloyd Welsh, his competitor, soon after died. A written constitution had in the meantime been adopted, which is still in force. Nimrod Jarrett Smith, an intelligent and educated member of the tribe, was elected by popular vote to the chieftainship for the term of four years, and has since been re-elected.

The Eastern Band of Cherokees have title in fee simple to 50,000 acres of land on the Ocona Lufta and Soco creek, known as the Qualla boundary. A few small tracts belonging to individual Indians are included. Besides this boundary, there are belonging to the band and individuals 1,521 acres in detached tracts lying in the counties of Cherokee, Graham, Jackson, and Swain. According to the census of 1880, there were living in the Qualla reserve, 825; in Cherokee county, 83; in Graham county, 189, and in Macon county, 12, making a total of 1,109. This number is ten per cent. less than in 1870. The Graham county Indians live along the head branches of the Cheowah, those in Cherokee county on Valley river.

The Indians have no towns, nor does their manner of life differ in many particulars from that of the white people among whom they reside. A stranger, unless he sees the inmates, does not distinguish an Indian cabin from a white man’s, nor, with few exceptions, an Indian’s little cove farm from one of its class cultivated by a white man.

The valley of Soco is the locality of densest Indian population. The fields, originally of average fertility, are worn out by bad farming. There is an abundance of fruit—apples, peaches and plums. The predominant crop is corn, which is reduced to meal by the simple little mills common to the mountain country. Small herds of ponies are frequently seen by the wayside. These, and a few cattle, are the main sources of revenue upon which the people rely for what money they need. Taxes and expenses incident to their government, including schools is the extent of cash demands made upon them. They manufacture their own clothing. The primitive dress of the warriors and hunters consisted of deer skin leggins and moccasins, a highly colored shirt, and a kind of turban ornamented with feathers. The moccasins alone survive, the dress of an Indian in all other respects being like that of his white neighbor. The Cherokee women of the present generation are unattractive. Some of the young children who attend school are clean and neat in person and dress, which is more than can be said of many of the mothers. The women are seldom seen upon the road without burdens, though the men rarely carry anything. The lower valley of the Soco is barren of scenic interest, yet these metamorphosed representatives of a primitive population cannot fail to occupy the attention of the tourist. You may be interested in some of the details of our trip from the mouth of the Ocona Lufta to Soco gap.

A SOCO LASS

The loquacious innkeeper at Charleston started us off with a comfortable breakfast and the information that the distance to Yellow Hill, the residence of Chief Smith and Cherokee seat of government, was about eleven miles, and from there to Waynesville, through Soco gap, was twenty-five. Two hours’ ride through the sandy, but well cultivated valley of the Tuckasege brought us to the Ocona Lufta. From this point the road follows the general course of the stream, but, avoiding its curves, is at places so far away that the roar of the rapids sounds like the distant approach of a storm. At places the road is almost crowded into the river by the stern approach of precipices, and then again they separate while crossing broad, green, undulating bottoms. Overtaking an old squaw and a girl probably ten years old, we inquired the distance to Yellow Hill. The old woman shook her head and gave us an expressionless look, indicating that she did not understand. The girl in good English gave us intelligible directions. We learned subsequently that nearly all the Cherokee children can speak and write English. Many of the old folks can understand our language, but will not admit it. I began asking some questions of a stoop-shouldered, heavy-set fellow about the country. He stood dumb, but when I told him I wanted to buy a few peaches his eye brightened, and the words “How many?” were distinctly uttered.

We arrived at Yellow Hill about 11 o’clock. Chief Smith resides in a comfortable house of four rooms, situated on top of an elevation in the midst of a plain of considerable extent. In an open yard near the house is a frame building used for a school-house, meeting-house, and council-house. We found Chief Smith in his residence, writing at a table covered with books, pamphlets, letters, and manuscripts. The room is neatly papered and comfortably furnished. The chief received us with cordiality. He was dressed in white starched shirt, with collar and cuffs, Prince Albert coat, well-fitting black pantaloons, and calf-skin boots shining like ebony. He is more than six feet tall, straight as a plumb line, and rather slender. His features are rough and prominent. His forehead is full but not high, and his thick, black hair, combed to perfect smoothness, hung down behind large protruding ears, almost to the coat collar. He has a deep, full-toned voice, and earnest, impressive manner. His wife is a white woman, and his daughters, bright, intelligent girls, have been well-educated. One of them was operating a sewing-machine, another writing for her father.

Under the present constitution the chief’s term of office is four years. His salary is $500 a year, and $4 a day additional when on business in Washington. No one but a Cherokee of more than 35 years of age is eligible to the chieftainship. There is an assistant chief who receives $250 yearly. He is one of the council, and in the absence of the chief performs his duties. There are in addition three executive advisers. The council consists of two delegates to every 100 persons. It is presided over by the chief, who has the veto power, but who is not at liberty to act in any matter of public policy without the authority of the council. Every male Indian over sixteen years old, and every white man who has an Indian wife, is allowed to vote. No one is eligible to office who has ever aided and abetted, or in any way joined the whites in defrauding the tribe; neither can any one hold office who denies the being of a God, or of a future state of rewards and punishments. There is general satisfaction with the present government, and Mr. Smith declares there is entire loyalty in all the settlements.

A public school is maintained, and even the old and middle-aged are better educated than the whites in many communities. The young are taught in both Cherokee and English. It is unfortunate that no public fund is provided for the advanced education of the more intelligent of them, that they might become teachers. Others should be placed in shops where they would become artisans. Finely engraved pipes, ornaments, and well made baskets show their capacity in this direction. Their industry at present is not commendable.

The christianization of the Cherokees was begun in 1801, by Moravian missionaries. It was easy to adapt their old faith to the new creed, and many were converted. Other churches have since taken up the work, Baptists deserving the most credit, and next to them the Methodists. They are naturally devout, and most of them are in regular communion with the church, thereby imposing marriage laws and other social regulations. Christianity has strengthened and solemnized the marriage tie, which in the prouder but more barbarous condition of the tribe was a very weak relation. Boys used to choose their wives at sixteen to eighteen years of age, live with them a few years and then abandon them and their families. It not unfrequently happened that after rioting with strange women for a period, they came back to their first choice, unless their places had been taken by others. Prostitution was common, though considered the most disgraceful of crimes, and punished by shearing the head. This punishment has been discontinued. Although there has been a healthy change in social morals there is room for improvement.

Rigid seriousness is a marked element of Indian character, and is written in unmistakable lines upon their faces. The Cherokee language is not capable of expressing a witticism, and anything like a joke is foreign to their nature. They have a great many so-called dances, but none of them, like the dance of the negro, is the effervescence of irrepressible joy. The Indian dances as a preparation for some coming event; he never celebrates. It seems to be a legacy of his heathen ideas of making sacrifice to the great spirit, apparently involving much painful labor. In the primitive days the whole tribe danced before making war, and the warriors danced before going into battle. It is still their custom to go through these melancholy perambulations before every contest of strength, such as a game of ball or a wrestling match. The funeral dance and the wedding dance are performed with the same stern immobility of features.

From Yellow Hill our party started to Qualla post-office, a collection of a half-dozen unattractive houses, inhabited by whites, but at one time the council house of the band. The Ocona Lufta crossed our path at the beginning. The purity of the stream seemed to forbid the intrusion of a dirty hoof, but there was no time to indulge sentiment. The ford is shallow, and angles down stream. My horse mistook a canoe landing, almost opposite, for his place of destination, his rider’s attention being absorbed in the blocks of many colored granite and transparent crystals of quartz, which form the bottom pavement. Three-fourths way across, the water was smooth and touched the horse’s neck. Another length, a plunge, and the horse was swimming; still the lustrous bottom shone with undiminished distinctness.

On our way through Quallatown to Soco creek, we passed numerous wayfarers carrying corn, fruit, baskets, and babies. One woman had a bushel of corn tied in a sack around her waist, a basket of apples on her head, and a baby in her arms. A slouchy man was walking at her side empty-handed and scolding, probably because she was unable to carry him. Under a peach tree before a cabin stood a witch-like squaw and half a dozen unattractive children. “Is this the Soco road?” was asked. “Satula” issued from her grim old mouth, and her finger pointed at the peaches.

“No, Soco; is this Soco?” nervously urged our companion, pointing up the stream.

“Uh,” she grunted out, and handed him one peach, from which we inferred that “soco” means “one.” A white woman in the vicinity confirmed our guess, and told us that “satula” is equivalent to the phrase “do you want it?”

Pause, and look at an “Indian maiden” by the road side. We did. Who, that has read Longfellow, and Cooper, and Irving, could pass without looking? She certainly could not have been the inspiration of Longfellow’s Hiawatha. She stands, in my recollection, with fishing rod in hand—about five feet tall, and 140 pounds in weight. Black, coarse, knotted hair hangs down her back to the waist. Under her low forehead is a pair of large, black eyes, which, unfortunately, are devoid of expression. Her cheek bones are wider than her forehead and almost touch the level of her eyes. A flat nose, straight mouth, and small ears, complete the physiognomy which showed no sign of thinking. Her neck is short and thick, and her shoulders broader than her broad hips. Her waist is almost manly. A gown of homespun, patched and dirty, half conceals her knees. With a glance at a large, but clumsy, pair of ankles, and flat feet, we pass on out of the Indian settlement along the rapids of Soco. We had not been approached by a beggar, or asked to buy a penny worth of anything during the whole day.

The scenery along the torrents of Soco creek, down the western slope of the Balsams, rivals in variety and picturesque effect that of any place in the Appalachians. There are no grand chasms, nor grand cascades. There is nothing, indeed, which calls for superlative adjectives, unless, possibly, we except the immensity of the trees, the unbroken carpeting of moss, and the perfect grace of tall ferns. There is, in the curves of the torrent, as it bounds over precipices and down rapids, compelling us to cross its noisy channel at least twenty times; in the conformation of the glens through which we rode; in the massiveness and towering height of the great chain, up whose side we were climbing; in the white fragments of rock, which reflect the sun light from the stream’s channel and the highway; in the rounded cliffs, so modest that they keep themselves perpetually robed in a seamless vesture of moss; in the ferns, the shrubs, the trees, in the absolute solitude and loneliness of the place—there is something so complex in its effect upon the interested student of nature that he is unwearied by the two hours and a half required to make the ascent.

MOUNT PISGAH.

West Asheville in the Foreground.