“I have asked some of the Great White Chiefs where they get their authority to say to the Indian that he shall stay in one place, while he sees the white man going where they please. They can not tell me.” — Chief Joseph

It was a gracious and collaborative comment, grounding her in all the world’s suffering and the need for forgiveness.

We all have our Trail of Tears…so Love your neighbor as yourself.

“When the missionaries came to Africa they had the Bible and we had the land. They said “let us pray.” We closed our eyes. When we opened them we had the Bible and they had the land.” — Archbishop Desmond Tutu

“Birthday Story of Private John G. Burnett, Captain Abraham McClellan’s Company, 2nd Regiment, 2nd Brigade, Mounted Infantry, Cherokee Indian Removal 1838-39.

“This is my birthday December the 11th 1890, I am 80 years old today…I grew into manhood fishing in Beaver Creek and roaming through the forest hunting the Deer, the wild Boar and the timber Wolf… On these long trips I met and became acquainted with many of the Cherokee Indians, hunting with them by day and sleeping around ther camp fires by night… The removal of the Cherokee Indoans from their life long homes in the year of 1838 found me a young man in the prime of life and a Private soldier in the American Army. Being acquainted with many of the Indians and able to fluently speak their language, I was sent as interpreter into the Smokey Mountains, and witnessed the execution of the most brutal order in the history of American warfare…One can never forget the sadness and solemnity of that morning. Chief John Ross led in prayer and when the bugle sounded and the wagons started rolling many of the children rose to their feet and waved their little hands good-bye to their mountain homes, knowing they were leaving them forever. Many of these helpless people did not have blankets and many of them had been driven from home barefooted…On the morning of November 17th we encountered a terrific sleet and snow storm with ffreezing temperatures and from that day until we reached the end of the fateful journey on March the 26th 1839, the sufferings of the Cherokee were awful…The only trouble that I had with anybody on the entire journey to the west was with a brutal teamster by the name of Ben McDonal, who was using his whip on an old feeble Cherokee to hasten him into the wagon. The sight of that old and nearly blind creature quivering under the lashes of a bull whip was too much for me. I attempted to stop McDonal and it ended in a personal encounter…In the year of 1828, a little Indian boy…had sold a gold nugget to a white trader, and that nugget sealed the doom of the Cherokees… Chief John Ross sent…an envoy to plead with President Jackson for protection for his people, but [Jackson] curtly said, “Sir, your audience is ended, there is nothing I can do for you.” The doom of the Cherokee was sealed, Washington DC had decreed that they must be driven west… In one home death had come during the night, a little sad faced child had died…and some women were preparing the little body for burial. Al were arrested and driven out leaving the child in the cabin. In another cabin was a frail Mother, apparently a widow with three small children, one just a baby. When told that she must go the Mother gathered the children at her feet, prayed an humble prayer in her native tongue, patted the old family dog on the head, told the faithful creature good-by, with a baby strapped on her back and leading a child with each hand started on her exile. But the task was too great for that frail Mother. A stroke of heart failure relieved her sufferings. She sunk and died with her baby on her back, and her other two children clinging to her hands. Chief Junaluska who had saved President Jackson’s life at the battle of Horse Shoe witnessed this scene, the tears gushing down his cheeks and lifting his cap he turned face toward the Heavens and said, “Oh my God if I had known at the battle of the Horse Shoe what I know now American History would have been differently written.” …Let the historian of a future day tell the sad story with its sighs, its tears and dying groans. Let the great Judge of all the earth weigh our actions and reward us according to our work. Children–thus ends my promised birthday story. This December the 11th 1890.” [This story is greatly abbreviated here.]