Cry of the Blood

INTRODUCTION
APRIL, 1836

    The strong wind pounded the rain hard against the window.  Lightening cracked against a darkened mid-afternoon sky.  Major Roger Stark jumped; goose bumps prickled on the back of his neck and ran down his spine.  “Durn spring storm,” he said to himself.  “It doesn’t have to be so violent.”   He continued mumbling as he shuffled through the massive amount of paperwork on his desk in which he felt himself buried when his office door flew open.  Startled, he watched as a dripping wet Lieutenant entered sliding on his knees.  The Lieutenant’s left hand clung to the door handle while his right hand and arm flayed in the air for support, unfortunately only to grab air.  Major Stark arose from his desk choking down laughter.  Looking up at the Major from his most embarrassing position, the six-foot five army officer looked to the Lieutenant like a giant.
    “That wind and rain seems strong enough to blow a person away,” Major Stark joked in a rather husky voice.  He moved quickly forward to help the young Lieutenant.  Welcome to Fort DeSoto.  What can I do for you?”
    “I-I-I’ve a dispatch, S-Sir,” he stuttered, “for a M-Major Roger Stark from President Andrew Jackson, in Washington.   Are you the Major, Sir?” he asked, struggling to arise from his knees and attempting to close the door at the same time.
    “That I am, and you are?” Major Stark asked, extending his left hand to help the Lieutenant and his right to shut the door.
    “S-Sorry Sir!  Thank you Sir!  Lieutenant Sandy Kimball at your service, Sir,” the young soldier said, raising his hand in salute as he stood.  He reached for his hat, but it wasn’t there.  “Uh, s-sorry Sir, the wind took it.”
    “At ease Lieutenant!  At ease!  You’re dripping.  There’s a hook on the wall behind the door where you can hang that wet slicker then please, have a seat.”
Lieutenant Kimball hung his rain poncho.  He then reached into the inner pocket of his uniform jacket and pulled out an envelope addressed to Major Stark.  He handed it to the Major and sat down, flinching as another flash of lightening cracked across the sky.  “Makes one kind-of jumpy,” he said, indicating toward the window.
    Major Stark looked up from the dispatch he had opened and glanced toward the rain- pelted window.  “Don’t like spring storms!  No-Sireee!  Not one bit, Lieutenant.  Not one bit.
So, this is a dispatch from ‘Ol Andy, hmm?”
    “Sir?”
“No disrespect meant, Lieutenant.  President Jackson and I have known each other a long time.  We go way back.”  
    “Yes Sir!” Lieutenant Kimball stated, watching the rain hit the window pane like sprays of bullets then trickle downward forming streams of water.
       “Hmmm, I wonder what the old Iron Horse is up to now,” Major Stark thought silently to himself.  As he began to read, Lieutenant Crawford came in through the door.  Without looking up Major Stark waved his hand toward Lieutenant Kimball indicating to the Lieutenant to introduce himself.  Lieutenant Kimball stood and shook Lieutenant Crawford’s hand.  They exchanged introductions then both sat down and remained silent waiting on the Major.    Kimball stared at Lieutenant Crawford, a feeling of jealousy grabbing at his gut and throat.  He looked at the single silver bar on the Lieutenant’s shoulderstrap, signifying his rank as 1st Lieutenant.  The shoulderstrap with the silver bar was attached to his pristine dark blue uniform jacket; a red sash supported a saber at his side.  He stared at the silver uniform buttons, and felt drab wishing he could distance himself from this whole scene as he sat there with no hat and rain-soaked hair.  He then looked to the Lieutenant’s hat: dark blue, a waterpproof cloth forage cap, “of course!” he thought, and felt worse.  He silently pouted.
    After reading, Major Stark stared at the paper he held in his hand; his mind not daring to comprehend that which he had just read.  He could feel the blood rushing to his head.  His face became blustery-hot with emotion.  His hands began to shake.  The look on the Major’s face and condition of his shaking hands did not escape the Lieutenant’s attention.
    “Sir?” Lieutenant Crawford queried in concern.
With eyes blurred from moisture, Major Stark, in disbelief, slowly and silently read the message once again.   He looked up, “Crawford, you ever heard of the New Echota Treaty?”
    “Yes Sir.  I never paid much attention to it, though.  I heard it angered most of the Cherokees because the few that signed it gave away all rights to the Cherokee lands, and that their Principal Chief John Ross was against the treaty.  And even though they were not authorized to sign it the United States government, knowing this, accepted the treaty anyway.  I don’t know how much of what I heard was true.”
    “Your information is correct; as you might imagine there is much to it.  I will try to sum it up.  There was an Indian Removal Act of 1830 that was approved by President Jackson; it provided for the removal of all Indians to the Western Frontier.  He spent the next few years attempting to encourage the Indians to leave voluntarily; some did, but most did not.  In 1835 President Jackson appointed the Reverend John F. Schermerhorn as a special commissioner to the Cherokees and sent him with a treaty to New Echota, Georgia.  A secret meeting was set up in the home of a man named Elias Boudinot and Major Ridge and his son, John, along with some Cherokees who called themselves Ridgeites.  The treaty was signed.  This treaty promised the voluntary removal of all Cherokees with the sum of $42 dollars to be paid by the United States Government to each Cherokee.  The treaty of course was illegal as all get out as it was not approved by the majority of the Cherokee nation or their Principal Chief, John Ross who was greatly against it.  Interestingly enough though, the U.S. Senate approved the treaty, but only by one vote; President Jackson eagerly signed it into law over and against the firey objection of the Supreme Court Justice, John Marshall.   
    Well, I have to tell you that a great rage over the signing of the illegal treaty went through the Cherokee Nation like a prarie fire.  The Nation fired off a declaration stating the majority of the Cherokee desired to remain right where they were in their own land, the land of their birth.  Thus the battle began...