Maggie’s position was awkward to say the least. Oh, it was not so unusual for a Cherokee woman to marry a white man, and most times the man would look after her just as well as any white man would look after the most refined of white women. Maggie’s husband was such a man. The problem was that he was such a man before pneumonia took him away several winters before. She managed the little farm they worked with the help of her two boys, but then the war began, and her two boys were forced into service for the confederacy.
Maggie was as sturdy and hard working as any woman, but now she was a Cherokee woman alone in a white world. She was never quite sure when she went to town if the people who stopped to look at her were friendly, or whether they despised her. There were those like her husband who could look at her as a person just as they were, but how could she tell the difference in these, and the ones who glared at her for daring to walk the same street where they walked?
Returning to the Cherokees seemed unlikely both because she was not sure they would ever take back a woman who had married a white man, and because she hoped beyond all hope for the return of her two sons to the little house and farm their father had left them.
The battles passed her by, but many of the young people near her were not left untouched. Being of a tender hearted and mothering nature, she could not bear to see them alone. Those who didn’t mind the company of an Indian woman were always welcome in her home, or if there was no room in the house, they were welcome to sleep in the barn. If they were of an age to help on the farm and chose to do so, they would be welcome to eat their share from what the farm produced.
Jess’s mother died in childbirth when he was four years old. His father taught him proper manners to show around a lady, but he never really knew much about a mother’s tenderness. When the war began to go badly for the confederacy, his daddy was forced to join, and Jess was left to fend for himself. He knew the kind hearted Cherokee lady and had looked up to her sons when they were still at home, but he knew he was never close enough to her to be able to expect anything from her. But, to his surprise, when he found himself on his own at the ripe old age of 14, and he came to her house looking for a decent meal and company for an evening, he found her most kind, sympathetic, and eager to feed and house him. He became the eldest of the children staying with Maggie – all those older then he were conscripted to fight the war.
When he first came to her, he only saw her as a kind hearted soul, but as he worked the farm and ate at her table, she became the mother he had longed for these last ten years. Strangely, he no longer even noticed how much darker she was than he. Jess called her “Aunt Maggie,” as did all the children in this makeshift orphanage, but in his heart she was more.
As the war turned bad for the South, food grew scarce. When food grew scarce, those who possessed it were in danger from those who did not. Maggie worried about this, but her farm, worked by her and the orphans she housed, continued to produce just enough food for however many residents they had. Unfortunately, it was known that there was food on her farm.
In the late autumn, six men in ragged grey uniforms came walking up the dusty road to the farm house. Maggie saw them coming, and quickly called “Kids, Kids. Get into the barn and wait there ‘til these men get what they want and go on.” Obediently and trustingly, all the ragtag collection of poorly clothed orphans scrambled out of their daily chores and ran quickly to the barn. All, that is, except Jess.
“Jess, child, go to the barn,” Maggie prompted him.
“I think I oughtta stay here,” Jess said politely, remembering his father’s teaching about gentlemanly behavior. “If’n there was a man here it’d be his place to take care of the business with these men. I’m the oldest one here, so I reckon that falls to me.”
Nervous, but seeing his desire to be treated like a man, Maggie nodded. “All right, then. You can stay. But you let me talk to ‘em this time. You understand?”
“Yes ma’am.”
The men walked draggedly up to the two large oak trees that seemed to mark the division between the house, and the field. Their uniforms were ripped, tattered, worn, and just generally dirty. They had varying degrees of beard. The man in front seemed to be friendly, but the ones behind were particularly worrisome to Maggie. Worst of all was the one standing to the rear and farthest to the right of the group. He had a large scar below his left eye. Perhaps he had taken a bullet there, but had his face pieced back together by the battlefield nurses. His left eye remained in its socket, but didn’t move with his right eye. He smiled a snide smile revealing only a few badly blackened teeth remaining in his mouth. Maggie tried to smile, but she sensed danger especially from this one. Perhaps seeing her intimidation, he pulled a large wooden handled skinning knife from the sheath on his belt and began to scratch his scraggly chin with it as his one good eye continued to glare at Maggie and the brave young lad standing beside her.
“May I help you gentlemen?” Maggie asked calmly.
“If you please, ma’am,” The short sandy haired man who had taken the foremost position began.
At the sound of “ma’am” the scraggly one that worried Maggie most scowled and mumbled something under his breath. The man who had begun speaking darted a threatening look at him. The scraggly one coughed, then dropped his knife from his chin and began fumbling to replace it in its sheath.
“We’re hungry, ma’am,” the first man politely began again. “We were wonderin’ if you could spare us some vittles.”
Outside, Maggie remained calm, but inside she was terrified of the one with the shattered cheekbone. She directed her attention away from him and onto the one speaking.
“I scarcely have enough for the kids,” she said. “If I feed yo’all I won’t have enough for them.”
“Ma’am, we ain’t et for nigh on three days. We gotta find us some vittles.”
“I don’t …” she began.
“Damn squaw,” the scraggly one muttered loudly enough that Maggie could hear this time.
The man in front was clearly embarrassed. “Billy,” he said. “Shut your mouth. If the lady is kind enough to feed us the least you can do is not insult her.”
Maggie was at once angry over this disrespect, but nearly paralyzed with terror of this hostile man and the armed band with whom he roamed. She took some comfort in the defense offered by the man in front, but his kindness alone would not have moved her. Fearing danger for herself and the kids, she resolved to do what she needed to do to get rid of this group as quickly as possible.
“I’ll feed yo’all,” she said. “If you promise me you’ll leave as soon as you’ve et, and don’t tell nobody I fed yo’all.”
The man in front looked at Billy again. Billy glared, but held his silence. The man in front looked back at Maggie. “Very well, ma’am,” he said. “If you feed us, we’ll leave you in peace.”
With that, Maggie departed – Jess still at her side – and began to gather cornmeal, potatoes, smoked pork, and beans to prepare for the men. “We just want ‘em to eat, and go,” she said to Jess. “Don’t talk to ‘em, and don’t give ‘em any reason to want to stay.”
The men sat under the trees in front of the house as they ravenously devoured what Maggie prepared for them. The kindly man who had spoken for the group rose as they finished. “Ma’am,” he said. “We thank ye kindly for the vittles. You just don’t have no idee how famished we were. It was right nice of you.” He tipped his hat, then turned to the five men just beginning to rise from the ground. “All right! We’ve et. Now let’s leave ‘em be.”
Billy cleared his throat as he stood up. The first man looked back at him. “I don’t reckon I’m ready to leave, Sergeant James” Billy said.
“What more do you want?” the sergeant asked.
“That squaw has more food in there. I ain’t goin’ back out there empty handed when I know there’s food in there.”
“Billy! We gave her our word … “
“I didn’t promise no squaw nothin’!” Billy roared defiantly. “If you did, then that’s your stupidity.”
The sergeant walked back before Billy and squared up on him. “I said, let’s go.”
“I said, I ain’t goin’ empty handed.”
“Are you disobeyin’ a order?”
In a flash, Billy’s hand lunged forward burying the knife he carried on his belt just below the ribcage of the sergeant. He bent forward and glared into the sergeant’s pained face spewing breath heavy with putrifying teeth into his nostrils. “You figger it out your own self,” he hissed. Drawing back, he lunged with the knife again, this time driving it up into the vital areas behind the sergeant’s ribs.
Maggie yelped behind her hand in terror. Now, the only one who had shown any honor fell to the ground before her, and she was left at the mercy of his murderer. “Jess!” she cried. “Run boy!”
Jess didn’t move. With Jess so close and not moving, Maggie could not run.
Billie stomped toward her.
“Run, Jess!” Maggie shouted again. Jess stood frozen in the shock of what he had just witnessed.
Billy reached his grubby paws and grabbed Maggie by her long thick braid. Roughly, he slung her until she lost her balance and stumbled, then he jerked her head downward forcing her into a humble kneel before him. Jess found his strength and moved, and in a most gentlemanly display of valor charged into Billy with all his 14 year old frame could bring to bear. Billy stumbled back a step and released Maggie’s braid. Quickly recovering himself, he grabbed Jess by the shirt snatching his feet off of the ground with the force. He drew back, then brought his fist forcefully and squarely into Jess’s young face. Blood sprang from Jess’s mouth and nose as he fell hard back into the dirt.
Maggie regained her feet and ran in front of Jess facing Billy square on. “Don’t you hurt my boy!” she shouted through her tears.
Billy stopped and sneered. “Your boy?” he hissed. “Your boy? Why, his eyes are as blue as the July sky, squaw! And you tell me he’s your boy?”
Behind his bleeding, Jess was stricken. It was the first time he could remember having a woman call him “My boy.”
Billy rushed Maggie, wrestled with her for a moment, then regained control with his hand firmly grasping her satin black braid once more. Again, he roughly yanked her from her feet and shoved her to her knees.
Jess regained his feet and charged valiantly once more. Billy released Maggie’s braid, and faced him. Jess swung with all his might at Billy’s head. Billy ducked. Jess stumbled under the force of his unlanded punch. Billy grabbed him by the back of this shirt and his belt and shoved him down with such force that Jess’s face slammed into the dirt. Before he could move, Billy stepped toward him and brought the toe of his boot into Jess’s stomach with tremendous force. Jess grunted as the last of his breath escaped and he doubled over onto the ground in pain.
Billy turned again to Maggie and caught her as she struggled to regain her feet. Once more, he slung her down, then jerked her braid up to bring her to a kneeling position before him. He found his knife again and brought it to her neck.
“Billy! Don’t!” one of the men with him shouted.
Billy glared back at him. “You gone soft? Or you just a damn Indian lover?”
“I ain’t soft, Billy.” The man answered as he advanced menacingly. “Killin’ a man on the battlefield is one thin’, but killin’ a woman who was kind enough to give us somethin’ to eat is all together different.”
Billy kept Maggie in her kneeling position, but raised his knife in the direction of the man who was advancing on him. The man stopped. Billy glared with his one good eye back at the three who had still made no commitment. “You want the food they got here? Or you want to get all soft over a damn squaw?” he shouted.
Slowly, the three men nodded and moved to Billy’s side. Billy smiled with his few scraggly teeth and looked back at the man who stopped him. “Well now,” he said. “It looks like you and the little boy here are the only ones that wanta stand up for little miss Pocahontas. That don’t bode too good for you, now does it?”
“It ain’t right,” the man shouted. “I don’t want no part of it!”
“Then I suggest you get the hell out,” Billy snarled gesturing toward the road with his knife.
The man looked first at Billy, then at the three who stood with him. He knew what was happening was wrong, and it tore at his heart to see the one who had shown them such kindness being brutalized. He looked at the body of the sergeant now lying still in the dirt. He turned, and began walking, then walking faster, then running down the road away from the horrid scene.
Billy turned back to Maggie. “I think you could save us a lot of trouble little squaw” he spat, “if you’d just show us where the food is.”
“I’ll show you. You can have whatever you want, but please don’t hurt the kids,” Maggie pleaded through her sobs.
Billy jerked her by her braid back up onto her feet. He stuck his disfigured countenance into her face and hissed with his stinking breath, “Hurt the kids? What kinda man do you think I am, squaw? I never planned to hurt no kids.” He jerked her toward the house. She stumbled and sobbed in her terror trying to keep up with him. “You just messin’ up left and right!” he shouted. “Hurt the kids?!”
As the three men with him loaded themselves with as much food as they could carry, Billy roughly forced Maggie onto a chair in the one room in her tiny cabin, positioned his body to trap her arms, and tied her hands behind her. “Hurt the kids!” he sneered again and again as he pulled the rope tighter. He tied together short lengths of hemp used to hang the meat as the men finished loading. He took the poker from the hearth and used it to scrape a log from the fireplace where she had cooked for them. He pushed the burning log over to the wooden boxes that served as simple cabinets for Maggie. “Don’t worry ‘bout that smoke squaw,” he said. “You won’t have to put up with it for long.”
He took the rope he had tied together, made a lariat loop, and slid it around her neck. “Help me out with this,” he shouted to one of the men standing at the door. The man dropped his load and ran back in.
“You got your food,” Maggie pleaded. “Just go and leave us be! The kids still need me!”
“Shut up! Squaw!” Billy roared as he threw the rope up over the open timber rafter in the middle of the room. He and his comrade heaved together raising Maggie by her neck up off of the floor. Working together, they wrapped the rope once around the rafter, then tied it with a double half hitch, and ran from the room. Smoke billowed out from the house as they gathered their load.
Jess looked through his tears at the smoke pouring from the house. “Don’t you hurt my boy,” he heard echoing through his head. He straightened his legs, severe pain racked his mid-section. “My boy,” the orphan heard again in his head. Reaching for all the strength he had in him, he got to his hands and feet and stumbled on all fours into the little cabin with smoke now rushing through its door. In the cabin, he could see Maggie’s outline in the smoke hanging from the rafters. Sobbing, and aching, he looked, and found the knife she used to cut the meat she had served to her attackers. Straining, he managed to straighten up beside Maggie. Screaming through the agony of reaching, he stood on the chair and cut the rope. Maggie’s limp frame fell to the floor. Falling beside her, he removed the loop from her neck, then tried to move her arms around him. Finding them bound, he moved desperately to cut the rope on her hands.
His eyes burning with smoke, and his stomach screaming in pain, Jess wrapped his arms around Maggie’s limp shoulders and began dragging her out the door. He collapsed with her a safe distance from the house.
Jess rubbed his eyes trying to clear the smoke from them. He blinked and strained as sight returned. He turned his attention to Maggie’s face. Blood ran from the sockets her dark eyes once occupied. They were now popped by the great pressure of the rope that had been around her neck making a grotesque sight of her face, but there remained no energy within Jess for shock.
“Aunt Maggie!” He called through his tears.
In his mind he saw the scene from just a few moments before: Maggie ran battered between him and a man bent on killing them both and shouted “Don’t you hurt my boy!” through her tears.
“Not Aunt Maggie,” he sobbed. “Mama. Mama, are you gonna be all right?”
She did not answer. He laid his head onto her chest and sobbed – unable now to look at the horrid sight that was her face. “Mama,” he sobbed. Her chest rose and fell slowly with breath, but Jess didn’t notice through his bitter tears. “Mama,” he continued to sob.
Her dark hand rose and ran across his pale cheek and through his mousy brown hair. “Mama’s gonna be all right,” she said very hoarsely. “But I can’t see my boy. Is my boy gonna be all right?”
“I’m gonna be all right mama.”
“How ‘bout the rest of the kids?”
“Nobody went to the barn, Mama. Nobody’s hurt down there.”
Maggie managed a strained smile as she continued to run her fingers through the hair on the head leaning on her bosom.
“I’m sorry, mama,” Jess sobbed. “I’m supposed to be the man, and I couldn’t stop him. But I’m never gonna let anyone hurt you again.”
“I’m all right,” Maggie wheezed. “But don’t you talk like that. I’m so proud of you! You WERE a man today.”
Author notes
Source of the Story: This story is not meant to incite anyone. Please read this to understand where this comes from. A few years ago, it became necessary for me to research my family history. As I began, I visited my grandfather's brother - the only one from that generation that was alive at that time (he has since passed on). He gave me that branch of my family tree as far back as he could remember it, then he told me one of the most terrible stories I had ever heard in my life about one of my Cherokee ancestors. This story is based on what he told me.
The story was so terrible that I didn't want to believe it. The only bright spot in the whole story was the heroism of the "oldest orphan boy she was keepin'". I gave him the name "Jess," but his name is actually lost in history.
As I began the document portion of my research, I found Maggie in Seveir County, Tennessee living with her husband and children in the last Census before the Civil War. There was no census during the Civil War, but I found her again in only one census after the Civil War. Unfortunately, the notes I took from that day's research seemed to add credence to my Great Uncle's story. My notes read that she was "Indian, Widowed, Lived with her children, and Blind."
Don't get too upset at details in the story - I have only the skeleton of the story from my uncle, and I filled in the details according to how I think it might have happened - but those details are only my thoughts and imagination.
May God bless Jess - whatever his real name is, and may God grant Maggie peace - she endured a lot.
What did you think? Please comment!
Comments
1 - 34 of 34
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This was such a heart wrenching story. The courage of Jess and the kindness of Maggie is something that people like the man with the scar take advantage of. Based on her race she was brutalized and that is something I am glad she and Jess were able to overcome. I too come from Cherokee and other Indian cultures and though I can not trace back the names and actions of my ancestors I hope that they too were good people like Maggie. Thank you for sharing a portion of your history to enlighten people with your words. Wonderfully done, I especially like the accents given to the characters
Beautiful.
beginning: 4, language: 5, plot: 5, ending: 4, dialog: 5, characters: 5.
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Thank you for sharing this terrible tale, of course, you could have written it as fiction and written a better outcome.
Family history aside it's not the kind of story that I would like to read even if it is based on real life.
This story should come with a warning, for sure. At the top of the page before the story begins so, that those who don't want to read something this horrifying can skip it.
I like it that both jesse and maggie were brave and although the writing was well done the subject is unappealing to me.
Others reading this may feel different about what you wrote, and of course, they have a right to their opinions as I do.
Over a good story and well written, subject matter aside.
beginning: 5, language: 5, plot: 5, ending: 5, dialog: 5, characters: 5.
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Quite beautiful. I haven't heard many stories like this which makes it refreshing. Your ability to write dialog like the way they spoke back then is outstanding to me, as I am not able to write like that. Also, your way of writing smoothly, everything flowing, is very nice. The story wasn't choppy, and it all made sense. This was based on a true story? How sad. But it was so beautiful how Jess stood up for Maggie, even though she wasn't his real mother, and he was hit back by Bill. You described the characters so realistically, that I felt like I knew them, and you described what was going on so well, that it felt like I was there, watching from the sidelines.
I don't think there's much to criticize here, and I've done the praising, but congrats on a great story. Is this all there is to it? Because I think it's too short to be a short story, but I'm not sure how long a SS is supposed to be. Anyway, good luck on whatever you plan on doing with it!
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wonderful story. the writing of it must have been quite painful, but this echoes out of the story to the reader.
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Beautiful. And tragic. Thank you so much for telling it to us, especially since it couldn't have been easy to write. You gave details enough, don't worry about that.
On the technical side, you're missing some commas, but most people wouldn't even notice. If you have time to edit it, and want me to proofread, I'd be more than willing.
*cries* -
Aweome story!
Steven,this is a beautifully touching story.I hope you are getting thses published,because you are really writing things that touch the soul and inspire,as well as entertain.This was so touching.You usually have a theme of morality in your work,which is great.Awesome!It was well worth the time spent reading it! -
Very moving.
Steven once again you have moved me to tears. I love your stories. Your children and wife are lucky to have a father and husband so intent on remembering and keeping alive your family history. God bless your great Maggie and Jess. She was from this account a very wonderful woman especially in those desperate times. Angel. -
Wonderful write that I approve ot.
As an author I find nothing to criticize about this and I am also by the way Indian. I would say develop this story and apologize for nothing. And the language that you used was very good and in fact what they said during that period of time. Always be true to the brogue some never understand that but it is the mark of a good writer. Yes maruaders did this and not just the Confederate army but more often the Union army. I found this to be powerful and would like to see this developed into the true story and a western. Have not read one like this in a long time. I got the entire picture from the way you worded it. -
This was very good. I liked it alot! keep up the good work!
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Quite Write !!
Dear Steven,
I think it wonderful your putting together parts where there were formally none. If you hadn't, the story might never have been told at all.
The terror in all this almost precludes my making a comment!
I will say however that this story was very well written and presented. The dialogue was not wanting for its clearness,
conciseness and correctness.
I'm terribly pained that this is a true account. I'm sorry!
Regards,
John-Las Vegas, Nevada -
Be Proud of writing this-Great write
I enjoy family history. You wrote it so well that I could not stop reading, as if I also were there. I want you to give copies to all your family to keep the information alive.
Civil War - any war is horrid. Some just have to be fought. Indians did have and some still do have a hard time and once this land was All Theirs. -
First let me just say this kept me glued to my chair reading this. I have researched my family history which by the way in in Sevier Tennessee. My great Great grandmother was a cherokee. My Great grandmother was blind. Her eyes looked like they were all clouded over. This really hit home with me. So much horror they endured.
Thank you for posting this, it is truly amazing.
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Hmmm... interesting... well, at least she didn't die!
--T -
I am sitting here in stunned silence. This is incredible Steven. How exciting it must be for you as you trace your family history, but also, how very difficult when you come upon situations such as this that have taken place. This was quite the story. My first response, as I noticed the length, was to put it off and come back again later. I'm glad I didn't. I am completely in awe of this. I cannot imagine the impact this must have made on you, personally. Thank you for sharing a part of your family history with us. You did an excellent job in the retelling.
♥ Kimberly -
good work. sevier county-- i must ask, tennessee? thanks so much for shairng. much love, robin
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interesting
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This was a great, well written story. It flowed well, and I never questioned the accuracy historically. The details were excellent. Great write.
A. M. Adrian -
Wow! Very powerful scene and written virtually flawlessly. My only criticism is the phrase "the ripe old age of 14" - always try to avoid anything that sounds like a cliche. If one of the characters had spoken it, the phrase would have fit their colloquial manner of speech for that period, but used within the descriptive text it sounds noticeably different than the tone of the rest of the narrative.
The dialog and pacing are both great - enough to put a lump in your throat. And the fact that it's based on real people and events not only makes it more fascinating but gives it a powerful ring of authenticity. Bravo!
Edited on Jun 06, 12:55 because 'I forgot something...'. -
life is evil! no, this story is really good. i'll definitely read this again.
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Vivid
oh this is vivid, and that`s an uderstatement....
excellent characterization.....keep it up -
This is very very good, you definately made the characters come to life and sometimes that is hard to do. Excellent descriptions, characters had wonderful emotions, very very powerful write. Well done!!
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This was a brilliant story here. I hope you make this into a real novel. It could easily go that way. I couldn't stop reading this till the end. Wow! you learn so much about life in the past here. When I was reading this I thought it was something that was happening now. I know the Cheroques had a difficult life back then. I hope you find out more of your family background and come back here with more to say. Really loved this.
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WOW... This is a very awesome story!!! It is very well written and I just love indian stories!!! Great job!!! I am sooo glad you shared this!!!
Hugs,
Beth -
WoW! Mr. Howard, I love this. Its so emotional and powerful. I love how the young man stepped up to the plateto protect someone. I personally think that restored her faith some. This is a dynamite story and I loved reading it. It had me on the edge of my seat the entire time.
Midnight Lace
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Omg! The description, the vivid pictured.. the perfect sxenery.. I loved the whole thing.. And i think you have a wonderful talent going on here.. A write.. I also have a talent of writing.. so we share the same intrests..
This story.. was.. just... WOW.. I was very facinated at the little boy named Jess, he was so determined to have a mother, and he found one.. then saved her life.. i loved it and give you an A+
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i read this through with my eyes gluuuued to it! very, very well written. and i'm a sucker for happy endings, and i thought this was happy! at least neither of them got killed. well done, really fantastic piece.
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Very good story. I would have liked a happier ending but that's just my preference.
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very good!
Very good! It just got better and better the more I read it, too. God only knows why some people can be so hateful. But I guess if everybody were nice, things would get a little boring - which would probably create evil anyway. Good job! I was hoping you would check out one of mine called, "the warm, forgiving sun." It's something li8ke what you have written here. Thanks! -
Wow. That was a wonderful write, and I'm definitely going to print this out to read again. Wonderful.
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I like how you built the characters up and made them real. Your descriptions were fantastic. You are apt at building tension and the scenes you make I could actually see them taking place. All your punctuation is correct and I liked how you did the characters speach it made the story more interesting and real. I was sad to read that this was true and actually happened.
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Excellent
A vivid scene and so tragically too true of the time. Native American History is one of my pet subjects. Again, you write with passion and insight. If you're not discovered and published it would be a crime. -
Hi Steve this iis brilliant I felt as if I was watching the whole scene, I have always said you are a great writer and you are it is just a matter of time before they discover you, a brilliant write that was so vivid in its discription, fantastic my dear friend, I will pay the applause I could not go without giving you one, it would be a crime if I did, big hug Di, brilliant
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I am so glad I printed this out...I want my daughter to read this as well and my husband, too. Your connection with the history of this story brings it back to life in a more personal way. The stories should never stop being told when referring back to our historical roots. I didn't find myself squeamish at all, b/c that wasn't the highlight of the story, but a side product of what a heartless demon driven coward would do. I like how Maggie, although frightened and at a disadvantage, showed a commendable side of courage that came from her very being. Boy if you could ever sit her down and let her retell her life's experiences-that would be something else. What a privilege it was to read another one of your outstanding writes.
I wish there was some way you could make your living from doing something that you do so well. It's obvious this is your niche. Masterfully written on a level all can understand, from young to old.~vj -
Very well done. And yes, I do know that area. It's up around the Smokey Mts. and some of it is still very good farming and hunting ground. Most of the Cherokees left and went over into North Carolina except the ones that had the knowledge and insight to begin businesses to serve the white man. Sometimes I wish I had more knowledge of the customs of that time. I'm part Cherokee myself.
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