The Heathen School Read online

  President Monroe again: “It is impossible … to incorporate them … into our system.”

  The earlier “civilization” program, incomplete and unbalanced as it was, had opened a window toward a degree of racial inclusiveness not previously seen in American life. But now the window was closing.

  It was closing among people throughout the country. It was closing in the halls of government. And it would soon be closing—pointedly, painfully—in Cornwall, at the Mission School.

  After all, race mixing…is impossible!

  • CHAPTER SIX •

  “So much excitement and disgust throughout our country”

  Impossible? Not always, not at Cornwall anyway. In 1747, town officials recorded the marriage of a Narragansett Indian named Zephaniah Wix to Lydia Dibble, a white woman from a solidly respectable local family. This pair would go on to birth and raise thirteen mixed-race children, with no apparent resistance from others in the community.1

  But the 1820s were a different time—hence the “very serious consequences” anticipated from the “intimacy” between John Ridge (Cherokee Indian scholar) and Sarah Bird Northrup (white daughter of the Mission School steward). What can be learned about these two?

  Sarah first…

  Her Connecticut pedigree was impeccable. Northrup, Prout, Bird, and other surnames on the branches of her family tree traced five or six generations of direct descent from immigrant “Puritan” ancestors. The Northrups, in particular, were counted among the founders of two of the colony’s earliest coastal towns, New Haven (1637) and Milford (1639). Several decades later, they helped settle New Milford, forty miles inland on the upper Housatonic River.

  Sarah’s paternal grandfather, Dr. Joel Northrup, was a noted New Haven physician and surgeon during the decades before and after the year 1800; his wife’s ancestral line included several Congregational ministers. Their son, John Prout Northrup, would be young Sarah’s father. Her mother, Lydia Camp Northrup, was also marked by long Connecticut ancestry, though without quite the same element of professional and social distinction. Her uncles included a prominent lawyer and a captain in the United States Navy. But her father’s life followed a much more modest course. John Prout (as he was generally known) made his way as a hat maker and farmer, prior to becoming steward at the Mission School. He would be remembered later on as “eminent for integrity and piety”—and also for bearing “a remarkable resemblance to George Washington.” Soon after marrying, he moved to his wife’s hometown of Litchfield, where he and his growing family remained for roughly two decades. At the time of his appointment in Cornwall, his household included five children, ranging in age from seventeen years to three. Sarah, at fourteen, was the second eldest.2

  The steward’s duties were extensive. They began with supervision of the school’s landed properties, and training the scholars in “the arts of agriculture”; thus John Prout’s previous experience as a farmer must have seemed directly pertinent. This was an important responsibility, and one that engaged him every day; food for the school’s table depended on it. There was also the matter of bookkeeping; the steward would perforce be much involved in managing accounts. He had other duties, too: maintaining various kinds of necessary “equipment” in good working order, ensuring a steady supply of firewood, buying and selling livestock, arranging travel for staff and scholars, hosting visitors—the list went on and on. Almost as much as the principal himself, a steward could make, or break, the successful operation of the school.3

  A different part of the steward’s duties extended to other family members. His wife was in charge of the kitchen—and thus of preparing “suitable repast” for the entire school. She worked also at keeping the scholars well outfitted: tending to their clothes, darning, mending, laundering. Finally—and crucially here—she, like other women of her time, played a special role in providing hands-on medical care; when one or another scholar took sick, he would be moved right into her household. Local physicians might be summoned to make a diagnosis and plan treatment, but day-to-day nursing fell largely to her. It fell also to her daughters (assuming she had some); as housewives in training, they would assist her on a regular basis. In the case of the Northrups, and specifically of young Sarah, this pattern was clear—and fateful.

  About most parts of Sarah’s early life, we can only speculate. Certainly her placement in the midst of a missionary-sponsored school was unusual—as was her day-to-day encirclement by several dozen boys and young men. Her youthful appearance would be remembered later as “beautiful,” with “blue eyes and auburn hair”; surely, this was noticed at the time.4 Most likely, she attended a local “district school.” As the eldest daughter in her family, she would have had to assume important domestic responsibilities, including child care. In fact, in November 1822 a new child entered the Northrup household, her baby sister Eliza Alma. With her mother “lying in” after giving birth, Sarah’s contributions—both at home and at the Mission School—may have increased significantly.

  Now John…

  His father, who would be known in later life as Major Ridge, held—still holds—a preeminent place in Cherokee history. Born around 1770 in what is now eastern Tennessee, this man claimed descent from a line of important chiefs. When, early on, he showed special aptitude for hunting and warfare, he acquired two Cherokee names, Nung-noh-hut-tar-hee (meaning “he who slays the enemy in his path”) and Kah-nung-da-tla-geh (“the man who walks on the mountaintop”); the latter would be commonly rendered, in English, as “the Ridge.” Long afterward, upon his death, a white acquaintance paid him the following tribute: “Those of us who knew his history from his own personal life are ready to agree that he walked along the mountain top in regard to integrity, high resolve, and purity of character.”5

  As a young man, the Ridge moved quickly toward leadership of his people, following the traditional route of exhibiting strength and success as a warrior. He participated in the Tennessee border conflicts of the late 1780s—when the Cherokees were striving to roll back the latest of many white incursions into their territory—and took his first scalp while still a teenager. After peace was restored, he returned to his home in the village of Pine Log. A few years later, he married a woman named (alternatively) Susanna Wickett or Sehoya. Though already renowned for his skills as a hunter, the Ridge decided at this point to devote himself to clearing land and creating a farm. He built a log house in the style of white frontiersmen and began a series of domestic improvements. In years to come, his fields would yield cotton, corn, and the produce of various fruit trees. He also raised livestock—and purchased “Negroes” (slaves) to do the estate’s heavy work. Eventually, his lifestyle would mirror that of white plantation owners throughout the Old South. Meanwhile, Susanna embraced the role of genteel housewife, becoming adept at spinning, weaving, and other suitably “female arts.” (In all these ways, the Ridge appeared to have become “civilized,” just as Jefferson and like-minded white leaders wanted it.)6

  An official of the American Board, who visited the Ridge home at some point later on, described his experience there in letters to the Boston office. He held lengthy discussions with his hosts on all manner of topics. (Presumably, these involved an interpreter, since “they understand some English, but do not talk.”) Foremost was religion; thus, on one particular evening, “Mrs. Ridge desired to know what sin was, or what was displeasing to God. This opened … a long & pleasing conversation.” On another occasion, they turned to astronomy, and “spent some time in viewing the stars. The Ridge inquired the [English] names of several,” and was pleased to find that some had “a name signifying the same in both languages.” On yet another, their focus was slavery, and “the Ridge called in his Blacks, 8 or 10, for me to talk & pray with.” All in all, the visitor felt “most gratified” by what he found in this supposedly “uncivilized” environment.7

  From quite a young age, the Ridge’s importance in Cherokee governance was substantial. He became known as an especially effective speake
r “in council,” and during the first decade of the new century he was centrally involved in treaty negotiations with officials of the federal government. Then came the years of renewed war, 1812–15—the United States versus Britain, and a variety of (more or less related) Indian conflicts. In the summer of 1813, the Cherokees joined a federal force, led by Gen. Andrew Jackson, in subduing a rebellion by their Creek neighbors; the Ridge played a key role. A year or two later, he performed additional service, this time in the Seminole War (in Florida). Along the way, he was commissioned as a U.S. Army major—a rank that would subsequently become part of his name. All this cemented his reputation not only among fellow Cherokees but with whites, as well. The postwar era saw him again engaged in high-level diplomacy. He traveled several times to Washington and was received there with honor by President Monroe and other national leaders. Wartime collaboration had forged a special link with Jackson; the two would remain friends for years.8

  John Ridge (or Skah-tle-loh-skee, his Cherokee name) was the second of five children born to Major Ridge and Susanna. One of the others died young; there were also two daughters and a mentally handicapped son. John seems from the start to have been marked for greatness—especially by his doting parents. His father, though wholly “untutored,” was determined that the boy should have a white man’s education. Thus, when John was barely seven, he was entered in the little school, recently founded by Moravian missionaries, at Spring Place, some thirty miles south of the Ridge estate. There he flourished, learning to speak and write English, mastering the fundamentals of drawing, arithmetic, geography, and other “academical” subjects, performing regular work on the school farm, and absorbing a heavy dose of Christian doctrine. He was joined in all this by his first cousin Gallegina (translated as “Buck”), an uncommonly “warm and loving” child. The two of them would remain allies and boon companions for decades to come—even unto death.9

  John remained at the Spring Place school for nearly five years; toward the end, however, his life there was shadowed by illness. From time to time, he would suffer from “the scrofulous complaint,” a glandular condition that caused both pain and lameness. Eventually, his parents decided to bring him home, where he could be watched more closely and schooled by a private tutor. Then, when his health improved, they enrolled him in the nearby Brainerd mission school; again he seemed to progress very rapidly. One incident, as recorded in the school’s official journal, reflected his commitment to learning (and perhaps also something of his determined character). On a certain morning, his teachers proposed limiting the regular assignment because others in the class were having difficulty with it; John objected “in a hasty & petulant manner” and insisted that he “would not have such short lessons.” When scolded for “disrespect” toward the teachers, he “burst into a flood of tears” and begged forgiveness. Soon thereafter, the matter was reported to Major Ridge, who hastened to visit the school. The missionaries were reassuring, but he left his son with a warning that henceforth “you must obey them [the missionaries] as you would me.”10

  From then on, John seems to have been a model student—so much so that he was among the first Cherokees thought ready for advancement to the Foreign Mission School. This led, in turn, to a series of family conferences—described in detail by a missionary eyewitness—at which “great desires were manifested … to have John sent to the North.” His mother, always solicitous of his fragile health, worried that “accidents might befall [him]…on the way,” but was persuaded nonetheless. In fact, John’s trip was uneventful, except for his purchase of an expensive watch during a stop in Philadelphia. (This act of “indulgence” would subsequently bring frowns from his missionary sponsors.) His cousin Buck was similarly qualified for transfer to Cornwall; the two of them traveled separately but arrived at almost the same time toward the end of the year (1818). It was Buck who acquired, in the middle of the journey, the name of the elderly New Jersey philanthropist (and congressman) Elias Boudinot—by which he would become widely known thereafter.11

  First impressions of the new Cherokee scholars were not especially favorable; Daggett noted that they gave “no appearance of seriousness” about religion.12 But in the months that followed, their academic strength came rapidly to the fore; soon both were enrolled in the “higher subjects.” John, in particular, struck others as “a noble youth, beautiful in appearance, very graceful, a perfect gentleman everywhere.… [He] was not dark and swarthy…[but] fine-looking.” Indeed, according to later descriptions, he might easily have passed as white.13

  Entries in his “commonplace book”—what we would call a personal scrapbook today—show John warming also to the spiritual side of school life. There he wrote out, in his own hand, copies of hymns (“The Goodness of Providence”), prayers (“The Christian Rapture”), inspirational nature poems (“The Falls of Niagara”), and pious homilies (“Procrastination Is the Thief of Time”). He also included a variety of geometric exercises, plus some brief verses entitled “Upon a Watch” (referring perhaps to the purchase he had made while en route to Cornwall). Taken as a whole, this assemblage suggests a young man of earnest intent, strong ambition, and a decidedly moral bent.14

  At some point, John’s old illness recurred, and he was confined to sickbed in the steward’s house. Beginning in December 1820, Daggett’s reports to the American Board made regular reference to his “unhappy situation.” Though “improved very much in his conduct & in his learning,” and now “seriously disposed” toward matters of faith, he “has, from a child, been feeble … and his complaints have rather increased … of late.” In April 1821, “he continues to be ill”; in June “he is in a very feeble state of health”; in July “he continues to be very much out of health.” In the latter month, Kellogg’s General Store—the family-run shop supplying all manner of “necessaries” to the townsfolk—recorded a sale to the Foreign Mission School, “per Mr. N[orthrup]…1 pr crutches”; surely, these were meant for John. Throughout the spring and early summer, he was under the care of Cornwall’s local physician, Dr. Samuel Gold. However, in mid-July he was sent for several weeks to New Haven to receive a more specialized form of treatment. Daggett, meanwhile, repeatedly urged his return home to his own family—an idea that John himself resisted. (He “wishes much to stay & pursue his studies.”)15

  In the autumn, when reports of John’s worsening condition reached the Cherokee country, Major Ridge decided to undertake the long journey to Cornwall. His arrival there in mid-October was a local sensation. His dress (including a “coat trimmed with gold lace … and white top boots”), conveyance (“the most splendid carriage … that ever entered the town”), and commanding personal presence (“a tall and athletic form and noble bearing”) made the deepest possible impression. He lodged in the town inn, and stayed for a full two weeks. He called on Lyman Beecher in nearby Litchfield and conversed at length with the famous preacher, whose daughter Catherine described him as “one of the princes of the forest.” (Perhaps his son was present to serve as interpreter.) He was cordially received in various Cornwall households, including that of Dr. Gold. Decades later, the doctor’s son would write that “no memory of my boyhood is clearer than that of a visit to my home in my sixth year of … John Ridge and his father, Major Ridge, the Cherokee chief…[in] the uniform of a U.S. officer.” The memory also included this: “My father exchanged presents with him, giving him a small telescope and receiving in turn from him an Indian pipe carved in black stone.” The same pipe—nearly three feet in length, its surface burnished with the passage of time—hangs today, enclosed in a glass casement, on the living room wall in the home of a Gold descendant. Attached to it is an ancient label, which reads “This pipe once belonged to Major Ridge, a distinguished chief of the Cherokee nation. It was presented to S. W. Gold in 1820 with the assurance of the giver that it had often been smoked in council.”16

  It was generally expected that John Ridge would return home with his father, but when the time came, he remained in Cornwall. A
ccording to some accounts, he was still too “feeble” to risk travel. But several months later, Daggett declared, “He chose to stay, and still does.” Chose to stay, and still does? Why? Was it really because of his illness? Or was something else holding him fast to Cornwall—to the school—to the steward’s household, in which he would remain a patient for “about two years”?17 Reenter Sarah.

  The story of their courtship was remembered decades later by a woman with a personal connection to all those involved. Her account, as dictated to her own daughter, remains the fullest we have.18 Though impossible to verify in every detail, it has the feel of authenticity. It centers on one particular occasion, and begins thus:

  Mrs. Northrup had so much work and care that she would send her daughter Sarah into John’s room to take care of him. For a time John’s condition seemed to improve, so much so that Dr. Gold said to Mrs. Northrup “I do not think it best to give him any more medicine, but he has some deep trouble, and you must find out what it is.”

  On an afternoon when Sarah had left the house, Mrs. Northrup, taking her stockings to darn for the students, went in to sit with John. She said to him, “John, you have some trouble, and you must tell me; you know, you have no mother here, only me, and you have always confided in me, as you would your own mother.” He started up in wild amazement, and said, “I got trouble? No.” She replied, “I can not leave until you tell me all.” John: “I do not want to tell you.” Mrs. N.: “You must tell me.” John: “Well … if you must know, I love your Sarah.” Mrs. N.: “You must not.” John: “I know it … and that is the trouble.” Mrs. N.: “Have you ever mentioned it to her?” John: “No, we have not said one word to each other; I dare not, but how could I help loving her when she has taken such good care of me these two years?”