This is my birthday, December 11,I am eighty years old today.
This is my birthday December the 11thI am eighty 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 Wold. Often spending weeks at a time in the solitary wilderness with no companions but my rifle, hunting knife, and a small hatchet that I carried in my belt in all of my wilderness wanderings.
On those long hunting trips I met and became acquainted with many of the Cherokee Indians, hunting with them by day and sleeping around their camp fires by night. I learned to speak their language, and they taught me the arts of trailing and building traps and snares.
On one of my long hunts in fall of I found a young Cherokee who had been shop by a roving band of hunters and who had eluded his pursuers and concealed himself under a shelving rock. Weak from loss of blood, the poor creature was unable to walk and almost famished for water. I carried him to a spring, bathed and bandaged the bullet wound, built a shelter out of bark peeled from a dead chestnut tree.
Nursed and protected him, feeding him on chestnuts and roasted deer meat. When he was able to travel, I accompanied him to the home of his people and remained so long that I was given up for lost. By this time, I had become an expert rifleman and fairly good archer and a good trapper and spent most of my time in the forest in quest of game.
The removal of the Cherokee Indians from their life long home in the year of 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 Mountain Country in May,and witnessed the execution of the most brutal order in the History of American Warfare.
I saw the helpless Cherokees arrested and dragged from their homes, and driven at the bayonet point into the stockades. And in the chill of a drizzling rain on an October morning I saw them loaded like cattle or sheep into six hundred and forty-five wagons and started toward the west.
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-by 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 the 17th we encountered a terrific sleet and snow storm with freezing temperatures and from that day until we reached the end of the fateful journey on March the 26ththe sufferings of the Cherokees were awful.
The trail of the exiles was a trail of death. They had to sleep in the wagons and on the ground without fire. And I have known as many as twenty-two of them to die in one night of pneumonia due to ill treatment, cold, and exposure. Among this number was the beautiful Christian wife of Chief John Ross.
This noble hearted woman died a martyr to childhood, giving her only blanket for the protection of a sick child. She rode thinly clad through a blinding sleet and snow storm, developed pneumonia and died in the still hours of a bleak winter night, with her head resting on Lieutenant Greggs saddle blanket.
I made the long journey to the west with the Cherokees and did all that a Private soldier could do to alleviate their sufferings. When on guard duty at night I have many times walked my beat in my blouse in order that some sick child might have the warmth of my overcoat.
I was on guard duty the night Mrs. When relieved at midnight I did not retire, but remained around the wagon out of sympathy for Chief Ross, and at daylight was detailed by Captain McClellan to assist in the burial like the other unfortunates who died on the way. Her uncoffined body was buried in a shallow grave by the roadside far from her native mountain home, and the sorrowing Cavalcade moved on.
Being a young man I mingled freely with the young women and girls. I have spent many pleasant hours with them when I was supposed to be under my blanket, and they have many times sung their mountain songs for me, this being all that they could do to repay my kindness.
And with all my association with Indian girls from October to March 26thI did not meet one who was a moral prostitute. They are kind and tender hearted and many of them are beautiful.
The only trouble that I had with anybody on the entire journey to the west was 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. He lashed me across the face, the wire tip of his whip cutting a bad gash in my cheek.John Burnett may refer to: John Burnett (judge) (–), American judge on the Oregon Supreme Court John Burnett (merchant) (–), Aberdeen merchant.
John Burnett, Baron Burnett (born ), British politician, Member of Parliament John Harrison Burnett (–), principal of the University of Edinburgh John L.
Burnett (–), U.S. Representative from Alabama. Digital History>eXplorations>Indian Removal>The Human Meaning of Indian Removal>Rrivate Burnett. Private John G. Burnett. Being acquainted with many of the Indians and able to fluently speak their language, I was sent as interpreter into the Smoky Mountain Country in May, , and witnessed the execution and the most brutal .
Cause and effect John G. Burnett English A03 February 20 Analysis Essay/Cause and Effect of Removal of the Cherokees By John G. Burnett.
Jan 05, · John G. Burnett’s Story of the Removal of the Cherokees Bunch family picture used from Russ Klicker's website. Birthday Story of Private John G. Burnett, Captain Abraham McClellan’s Company, 2nd Regiment, 2nd Brigade, Mounted Infantry, Cherokee Indian Removal, Born in 20 Mar and died in 7 Mar Concord, Ohio John G.