Samuel Riley III - Chief Riley

I have a cousin who loves to search old records and is putting together a family tree for the Riley branch of the family. Our mothers were Rileys before they married. She's gathered a lot of interesting data. 

Our great-grandfather’s great-uncle, Samuel Riley III

Samuel Riley [III], a white man, b. circa 1747 in Prince George County, Maryland, d. May 13, 1819 in Blue Springs, Roane County, TN.

Samuel is referred to in several reliable sources including the "History of the Cherokee Indians" by Emmet Starr and "Cherokee by Blood" compiled by Jerry Wright Jordan, and other records including marriage records pertaining to the Cherokees in Tennessee and Oklahoma. He married 2 daughters of Chief Doublehead in the Eastern Cherokee Nation, namely the Long Hair Clan. The first being Gu-Lu-Sti-Yu, and the second being Ni-Go-Di-Ge-Yu producing a total of 18 children. Samuel lived with his two wives near South West Point on the Tennessee River in Roane County, TN.

Samuel, who fought in the Revolutionary War, was long time agent and interpreter for the Indians was known as "The White Trader from Maryland". He was also a blacksmith, producing many implements for the Cherokee and operated a ferry on the Tennessee River. Roan County courthouse contains records that Samuel also ran a saltpeter mine and a powder mill, likely in vicinity of Nickajack. Most probably these were leased directly from the Cherokees beings he had a deal directly with Chief Doublehead to use part of the land designated as reservation land by the government. In fact, partly because of his making property deals with the white man, Doublehead was assassinated by irate Indians.

Still, Samuel delivered goods to the Cherokees who removed to the 
Arkansas River in 1813. There are 2 recorded letters from Crow Town and Fort Deposite asking for corn. Crow Town stated there were 19 families with 95 people. Fort Deposite letter stated their corn crops were poor and the Intruders had ruined their corn range and the people and the cattle and hogs were in bad shape. The 2nd letter does appear to have Samuel Riley's signature and he requested a meeting with General Jackson. Note the significance of the letter; this eventual meeting with General Jackson in the summer of 1817 was the basis of all future reservations in the east and emigrations to the west. And Samuel Riley was there, assumed as an interpreter. In part, the letter stated that he had a load of corn if the Indians would accept it.

Register of persons who wish reservations under Treaty of 8 Jul 1817, cites Samuel Riley residence as "south side of Tennessee opposite to South West Point", and his Reserve was taken in Cherokee lands. In  1818, Samuel Riley was granted life reservation in accordance with above Treaty.

Local lore is of Chief Riley, and that he went to England as a Cherokee Interpreter. Riley Creek and Riley Creek Recreational Area on south side of TN River. Riley Indian Chief buried in what is now commonly called the Smalley Cemetery. Although he was not of Cherokee blood, there are several precedence of white-men who were considered to be at least "minor Chiefs" (actually "leader" would be a better title) of several of the Tribes." More likely, it is possible that some of his heirs embellished his title somewhat after his death. Descendants tend to do that.

Many thanks to my cousin, Anna Muriel Dyson, who condensed a multitude of information for easier reading. She noted that many discrepancies were found and finding the true (or as true as can be assumed) answer was difficult. One source stated Samuel Riley married three of Chief Doublehead's daughters rather than two.

If you have a chance to try to read the above letter you'll note that some words are hard to decipher. Others we can understand but they're not spelled as we're used to seeing them. Regardless, they got the message across.

I hope someone in your family is recording and compiling your family's history.  Your descendants will appreciate knowing about their forefathers.

Thanks for stopping by. Please leave a comment.

Linda
www.lindalaroque.com

The Importance of Family History - Finding Your Roots

Some years ago, my Riley cousins and I decided we needed to get together once a year to go on an adventure. Last year they went tubing down the San Marcos River in San Marcos. Now, imagine a bunch of women in their 60s trying to get out of those inner tubes without landing on their heads. Alas, I didn't get to participate in that activity as I had to help my daughter that day. 

A few years ago, we decided to visit our grandmother Riley's birthplace and discover our roots. Three of us piled in a car and made the trip to Gizzard Cove, Tennessee also called The Gizzard. The log cabin where our grandmother, Martha Comfort Pyburn Riley, was born in the late 1880s is still standing and in use today.

Fortunately, we'd contacted distant cousins in the area, whom we'd never met, and they took us to The Gizzard and showed us around. The house has been added on to several times and is now stuccoed. 

I wish I could remember all of the stories they told us about the Gizzard during the Civil War. I should have taken notes. Check out Wikipedia to learn how the Fiery Gizzard got it's name and also The Fiery Gizzard Trail, a favorite site for overnight hikers.

Martha Pyburn's mother died when she was 16. In that day and time, few men stayed widowers long as they needed someone to care for their young children. When Martha's father remarried, his new wife forced Martha and her older brothers to move out of the family home. She moved to Texas to live with relatives where some years later she met and married John Riley. 

In the picture to the left, Martha was 18 years old. On the right we assume she was in her twenties.

Our great-grandmother was an Anderson and we knew she was buried in the Anderson Cemetery in Gizzard Cove. While there we insisted on looking for her grave. We were warned that it was terribly overgrown because the Cemetery Committee hadn't had its annual clean-up event, but we insisted. We were early in the summer. The heat and humidity were already uncomfortable. I shuddered to think what it would be like pulling weeds and cutting back vines in full summer. 

Against the advice of the people on whose land the cemetery sat, we decided to venture inside anyway to look for our great-grandmother, Lavinia Anderson Pyburn's headstone. Lavinia is pictured to the left. Stepping carefully and stirring the bushes with a stick to avoid rattlesnakes, we trudged through the weeds. Unfortunately, we were unable to find Lavinia's headstone. We ended our search early because our legs started stinging a little. A little turned into a lot. The cemetery was full of bull nettle. We were miserable for a few hours. This was my first run-in with the weed/plant and hopefully my last.


To the right is a picture of our great-great-grandmother Pyburn. She was full Cherokee Indian. I would loved to have had a chance to visit with her and learn what it was like back in her day.

Unfortunately, as young people we didn't listen when our parents and grandparents talked about the past and our ancestors. Now, they are all gone and we have no one to ask. One of our cousins has become involved with Ancestory.com and she's garnered a great deal of information and pictures of the family. We're proud that she's gathering this data for future generations. She's even learned we are related to Shakespeare.  Distantly, of course.        

I'm glad we made the trip to Gizzard Cove and can share our experience with other family members. How about you? Have you searched out your roots? If your parents or grandparents are still living, gather as much information as you can. Encourage them to write names on the backs of pictures so future generations will know who they are.

I love to go antiquing and am amazed at how many old family portraits are being sold, mainly for the frames. What a tragedy their descendants don't have them to share with their children.

Leave a comment and share your experiences with us.

Thanks for stopping by today!

Linda

STAND WATIE--A MOST UNCOMMON SOLDIER

Only two Native Americans on either side of the States’ War rose to the rank of brigadier general. Standhope Watie (Uwatie), fighting for the Confederacy, was one of those two. Yet, what makes this accomplishment so incredible is the fact that while he was fighting for the Confederate States of America, he was also fighting other Cherokee tribal leaders who held opposing political views and very different visions for the Cherokee nation.

Stand Watie commanded the Confederate Indian Cavalry of the Army of the Trans-Mississippi. While the cavalry unit was comprised mainly of Cherokee, some Muscogee (Creek) and Seminole tribal members also served.




Born in Oothcaloga in the Cherokee Nation, State of Georgia, Uwatie (or Oowatie) was also known as Isaac. He was educated in a Moravian mission school. In his early adulthood, he occasionally wrote articles for the Cherokee Phoenix newspaper. The State of Georgia confiscated Cherokee lands in 1832 when gold was discovered, including the thriving plantation owned by Stand’s father and mother. Stand and his brothers, part of the powerful Ridge-Watie-Boudinot faction of the Cherokee council, stood in favor of the Cherokee Removal. Their signing of the Treaty of New Echota facilitated the removal of the Cherokee people to Indian Territory—what is now Oklahoma.

Another faction of Cherokees following John Ross refused to ratify the treaty signing. This segment was known as The Anti-Removal National Party. Members of this group targeted Stand Watie and his brother, Elias Boudinot, along with their uncle, Major Ridge, and cousin, John Ridge for assassination. Stand was the only one who survived the assassination attempt. Although Watie’s family had left Georgia before the forcible removal of all Cherokees in 1838, another brother, Thomas, was murdered by Ross’s men in 1845.

In October, 1861, Watie was commissioned as colonel in the First Mounted Cherokee Rifles. Besides fighting Federal troops in the States’ War, his men also fought opposing factions of Cherokee, as well as Seminole and Creek (Muscogee) warriors who supported the Union.


In 1862, Stand Watie was elected principal chief of the Cherokee Nation, through dissension continued among John Ross’s supporters.

On June 15, 1864, Watie’s troops captured the Federal steamboat J. R. Williams on the Arkansas River off the banks of Pleasant Bluff near Tamaha, Indian Territory. The next morning, Colonel John Ritchie’s men, who were stationed at the mouth of the Illinois River near where the two rivers met, engaged Watie’s men as they attempted to confiscate the cargo. The river was rising, and they fought to a standoff. When Watie learned of the advance of Union troops from Fort Smith, Arkansas, (within about 40 miles), he burned the ship and much of the remaining cargo, then sank it.

Watie surrendered a year later in June of 1865, the last Confederate general to lay down his arms.

In my debut novel, Fire Eyes, I weave this bit of history into my plot. The villain, Andrew Fallon, and his gang have come upon the site where the J.R. Williams was sunk four years earlier. Fallon speculates there could have been gold aboard, and sets his men to dive for it. As mercurial as his temper is, none of them dare question his order. Here’s what happens:

FROM FIRE EYES:

“Damn! I know where we are.” Dobie Perrin said.
Andrew Fallon turned in the saddle, glaring at Perrin, the afternoon sun dappling them through the leaves of the thick canopy of trees. “So do I, you idiot! So do we all, now.”

The secluded cemetery sat on a bluff, overlooking the Arkansas River. They had been wandering for two days, ever since retracing their steps to the first small creek they’d come to. The one Fallon felt sure would give them their bearings. Now, at last, he recognized where they were. He’d figured it out ten miles back.

“Tamaha,” Denver Rutledge muttered. “I was raised up over yonder.” He inclined his head toward the riverbank. “Over in Vian.”

“Then why didn’t you know where we were?” Fallon’s anger surged. “I am surrounded by idiots!”

“I shore ’nuff shoulda known, General,” Rutledge said apologetically. “Right yonder’s where we sunk the J.R. Williams. Rebs, I mean. Stand Watie’s bunch.”

Fallon jerked his head toward the other man. “Right where, soldier?”

Rutledge kneed his horse, coming abreast of Fallon. “Why, right yonder, General. It was in June of ’64. She was a Union ship, the Williams was.”

“What was she carrying?”

Rutledge shrugged. “Don’t rightly know. Supplies, maybe.”

“Payroll? Gold?” Fallon fingered his curling moustache. “Could be anything, eh, Rutledge? But the Yankees were known to cache their gold profits in casks. Maybe that’s what the J.R. Williams was carrying. Casks that weren’t really supplies, but were filled with gold.”

“Could be, I ‘spect.” Rutledge’s voice was hesitant.

Fallon nodded toward the river. “I think maybe we’ll try to find out.”

****

AND LATER, WILL THE HOSTAGES BE ABLE TO ESCAPE WHILE FALLON’S MEN ARE OCCUPIED WITH THE SHIP?

“What’s he doing, Tori?” Lily whispered. She moved closer to her sister. The night had turned colder, and the girls’ clothing was becoming threadbare and ragged.

Tori shook her head. “Fallon’s plumb crazy, Lily. Making his men dive for that ship! What’s he think he’s going to do if he finds it? Pull it up with his bare hands?”

“Or a rope, maybe,” Lily said innocently.

Tori didn’t say anything. She reminded herself that Lily was, after all, only eight years old. And she, at eighteen, knew how the world worked much better than little Lily did. At least Lily had stopped crying all the time. Now, Tori wasn’t sure if that was an improvement.

Lily sometimes scared her, the way her eyes looked hollow. Like there was no feeling left in her. Tori had no mirror, but her little sister looked like she herself felt. Older than she should be. And sad. But Lily didn’t seem to be afraid any longer, and Tori supposed that was a good thing.

Tori knew what Fallon intended to do with her and Lily. But the initial shock and fear of Fallon’s intent was overshadowed by other things that had actually happened. The violent deaths of their parents and younger brother, the endless days of riding with scant food and water, the bone-deep weariness that never let up, not even when she slept on the hard ground at night next to Lily.

She was responsible for Lily, now that her parents were gone. She squared her thin shoulders, her gentle eyes turning hard for a moment. She would protect her sister, no matter what.

Tori watched as Fallon ordered three of his men back into the water yet another time. Even if they could see what they were diving for, it would be too deep to reach. But the scene helped Tori realize just how unstable Andrew Fallon was. Once or twice, she’d caught herself thinking he was almost a nice man. He’d brought her and Lily a blanket one cold night. And he’d given them extra rations another time. But she knew he was not nice, not even sane.

Evil, was what Andrew Fallon was. Evil, and most insane.

She watched him, posturing and screaming at his men, who were so terrified of him that they were making fools of themselves trying to dive for an unreachable goal, a ship that may contain treasure, but just as well may not. A vessel that was impossible to get to, all the same. Especially in the pitch-black night. Lily leaned against her, her weight heavy with sleep. They sat beside a tree, their backs propped against the rough bark. The night was cool, and Tori had drawn the blanket close around them. She sagged against the tree trunk, her arm around her little sister, as Lily’s eyelids drooped.

FIRE EYES and other Cheryl Pierson short stories and novels are available through The Wild Rose Press here:

http://thewildrosepress.com/index.php?main_page=index&manufacturers_id=534