The Never Ending Trail of Tears

In my last post I talked about the Great Smoky Mountains and how President Andrew Jackson signed the Indian Removal Act, forcing the Cherokee out of the mountains and across the Mississippi River.  The exile of the Cherokee, along with other Indian tribes, to the Oklahoma Territory, is now referred to as "The Trail of Tears".  Here is a map of the route that they followed in the years 1831 to 1839.

en.wikipedia.org

THE NEVER ENDING TRAIL OF TEARS

The White honor the Hermitage

And the man who once lived there

But that leader of our nation

Was cruel, unjust, unfair.

He ordered the removal

Of the Cherokee from their land

And forced them on a trek

That the Devil must have planned.

One thousand miles of misery

Of pain and suffering

Because greed of the white man

Could not even wait till spring.

We should bow our heads in shame

Even unto this day

About "The Trail of Tears"

And those who died along the way.

It was October 1838

When seven thousand troops in blue

Began the story of the trail

Which, so sadly, is so true.

Jackson ordered General Scott

To rout the Indian from their home

"The Center of the World" they loved

The only one they'd known.

The Braves working in the fields

Arrested, placed in a stockade

Women and children dragged from home

In the bluecoats shameful raid.

Some were prodded with bayonets

When they were deemed to move too slow

To where the Sky was their blanket

And the cold Earth, their pillow.

In one home a babe had died

Sometime the night before

And women mourning, planned burial

Were cruelly herded out the door.

In another, a frail mother

Papoose on back and two in tow

Was told she must leave her home

Was told that she must go.

She uttered a quiet prayer

Told the old family dog goodbye

Then her broken heart gave out

And she sank slowly down to die.

Chief Junaluska witnessed this

Tears streaming down his face

Said if he could have known this

It would have never taken place.

For at the Battle of Horseshoe

With five hundred warriors, his best

Helped Andrew Jackson win that battle

And lay thirty three braves to rest.

And the chief drove his tomahawk

Through a creek warrior's head

Who was about to kill Jackson

But whose life was saved instead.

Chief John Ross knew this story

And once sent Junalaska to plead

Thinking Jackson would listen to

This Chief who did that deed.

But Jackson was cold, indifferent

To the one he owed his life to

Said:  "The Cherokee's fate is sealed

There's nothing I can do."

Washington D.C. had decreed

They must be moved westward

And all their pleas and protests

To this day still go unheard.

On November the seventeenth

Old Man Winter reared his head

And freezing cold sleet and snow

Littered that trail with the dead.

On one night, at least twenty-two

Were released from their torment

To join that great Spirit in the Sky

Where all good souls are sent.

Many humane, heroic stories

Were written 'long the way

A monument for one of them

Still stands until this day.

It seems one noble woman

It was Chief Ross's wife

Gave her blanket to a sick child

And in so doing, gave her life.

She is buried in an unmarked grave

Dug shallow near the "Trail"

Just one more tragic ending

In this tragic, shameful tale.

Mother Nature showed no mercy

Till they reached the end of the line

When that fateful journey ended

On March 26, 1839.

Each mile of this infamous "Trail"

Marks the graves of four who died

Four thousand poor souls in all

Marks the shame we try to hide.

You still can hear them crying

Along "The Trail of Tears"

If you listen with your heart

And not just with your ears.

Del "Abe" Jones

www.angelfire.com