(Transcribed by TurboScribe.ai. Go Unlimited to remove this message.) Night has fallen, and the moon is a glowing golden orb in the black sky. See how it shines on the dark back roads of America, and on one road in particular. Come with us, and we'll take a walk down the moonlit road, for the night is waiting. And the moon is full. The Moonlit Road presents, episode 53, Solly. Written by Craig Domeney, and told by Jim McCamus.
The year was 1838. As the first rays of early morning light crept through the dark and misty mountain valley, Solly gazed out of his tiny cave with a heavy heart. As a young boy, Solly remembered running through the thick woods, and scampering up the steep rocky hillsides that surrounded his Cherokee village in western North Carolina. The mountains were his place of escape. A place where he could dream, and be alone with his thoughts.
But now, as an ailing 60-year-old man, Solly was hiding in these hills for a very different reason. Solly looked out and saw the caves where his fellow villagers were hiding. Many were shivering in the early morning chill, for in their haste to leave, they didn't have time to pack their belongings. Those closest greeted Solly with a smile and a nod, oftentimes through chattering teeth. For Solly was one of the elders of the village, and highly respected amongst his people.
Solly managed to smile back, but in his heart, he knew that as long as he stayed here, he was a danger to all of them. For of all the fugitive Cherokees, he was the one that was most wanted by the white man. And now, as the bright morning light slowly burned through the bluish mist, Solly knew he was about to make the most important decision of his life. Only two weeks ago, Solly had awakened at the crack of dawn, and joined his two strong sons for their normal round of farm chores.
Solly and his family lived in a modest log cabin on their own farm, raising corn and other vegetables. Although Solly could feel his old age creeping through his brittle bones, he stubbornly refused to rest. For to him, hard work was what made the man. The Cherokee who lived in North Carolina in the 1800s didn't wear headdresses, nor did they live in teepees. They dressed like the white man and lived in small villages, complete with stores, churches, and schools.
They had their own alphabet, and even published their own newspaper. Even though the white settlers had taken over most of their land through the years, the Cherokees wanted to be accepted by the white man, and to live in peace. But to many white people, no matter what advances the Cherokees made, they would always be an inferior race of savages. When gold was discovered down in Georgia, white prospectors flooded the area.
They harassed the Cherokees, looted their homes, and stole their livestock. Other white settlers stood by like vultures as these crimes took place, waiting to pounce on the Cherokee land in case they fled. The Cherokees thought surely the U.S. government would send troops to help them, for they had been promised that they could stay on this land. But no help ever arrived.
It was no surprise to Solly when word came to his village one day that United States President Andrew Jackson had made a horrible announcement. He ordered the Cherokees to move from their North Carolina homeland to strange lands out west. This was a ridiculous order. They were farmers, not hunters. How could they uproot everything and move? Their ancestors had lived on this land for centuries, and as long as their spirits remained there, Solly's people could never leave.
So Solly and his people refused the order, choosing instead to fight back the white man's way through the courts. Two years had passed since the order, and as Solly worked on his farm that morning, he had almost forgotten that he and his people were living in contempt of the U .S. government. He limped down to the barn to milk the cows, and just as he reached the door, an ear-splitting scream sounded through the air, followed by a loud crash! Solly dropped his bucket and ran outside the barn.
As he looked down on the village, he could see a small group of white soldiers, armed with rifles and bayonets, kicking down doors of the homes, taking away the men and women and children who were yanked, screaming and hollering out of their houses, not even giving time to look back. As they left, white looters ransacked their homes, snatching everything of value they could find. Solly's sons ran up behind him. "'What's going on?' said the eldest son, his eyes filled with horror.
"'What are they doing?' Solly pushed them back towards the house. "'Go get your mother! We've got to get out of here!' Solly's wife had come down with a bad fever, and could barely muster the strength to get out of bed. But now she was forced to run. As Solly's sons grabbed her, and with Solly leading the way, they ran away from their home forever, taking nothing with them. As they ran, they could hear the soldiers yelling for them to stop. "'Don't look back!' yelled Solly to his family.
"'Just keep moving!' As they reached the outskirts of the village, a group of cavalry encircled them. Solly's eldest son tried to escape, but a soldier clubbed him in the head with the butt of his rifle. Solly frantically looked around, his pale wife gasping for breath on his arm. They were helplessly surrounded. Solly's family was marched away from the village at gunpoint, along with other villagers who had tried to escape.
One thing the Cherokees had never given up was their native tongue, and whenever the white soldiers weren't looking, Solly whispered to his fellow villagers along the trail. He learned that many Cherokees had managed to escape into the hills. He also learned that the white soldiers had stockades set up to imprison the Cherokees before they were forced out west. Some had heard that the stockades were overcrowded and filthy, and that many Cherokees were already sick and dying.
Solly looked over at his poor, feverish wife, barely able to stand. She won't be able to live in such a place, he thought. His blood boiled inside him. For the first time in his life, he was helpless. His manhood taken away, he could do nothing to help his family. In the distance, they could see the stockade. A makeshift wooden fort billowing smoke and misery from its depths. At the sight of it, Solly's wife suddenly froze, her eyes filled with fear. Keep moving, snarled the soldier behind her.
In her sickness, she paid no attention to him. Impatient, the soldier jabbed her in the back with his bayonet. She tumbled to the ground. Without thinking, Solly leapt at the soldier, wrestling him to the ground. They struggled for the gun, Solly's rage filling him with youthful strength. Suddenly, the gun went off and the soldier fell limp with a bloody hole shot through his chest. Solly stood up with the gun and aimed it at the other soldier.
The second soldier was in a state of shock, unsure what to do. In the distance, Solly could see the other soldiers looking back at them, screaming for reinforcements. He snatched the rifle from the soldier and shot him from his horse. Now, scores of soldiers were running towards them. Solly frantically looked about him, unsure where to go. Then, he looked up into the dark hills, the same hills he had lost himself in as a boy.
He knew every inch of those hills, and if his family was going to be captured, they weren't going to surrender without a fight. Solly hoisted his wife onto his shoulder and turned towards the hills. Run, he screamed to his family. Through the deep woods, they ran. Up and over the rocky hillsides, crossing treacherous mountain rivers. Finally, stopping in a remote valley, farther away than any white soldier had ever traveled.
A number of caves riddled the hills around the valley, and as Solly expected, other fugitive Cherokees had also come here to hide. Solly warmly greeted his friends and neighbors before finding his own crevice, hiding his family inside and pondering what to do next. For days, they waited, but no white soldier appeared. But Solly figured it was only a matter of time, for he had just killed two white soldiers. There was no way they were going to let him get away with that.
Then, almost a week after the invasion, some Cherokee scouts passed word up the valley that a white man was approaching the caves. The odd thing was, he was walking through the valley alone, with no weapons that they could see. Perhaps he was a white settler lost in the woods. No one made a move to kill him, for the last thing they needed was more white blood on their hands. Solly peered out of his cave as the white man slowly walked out of the woods.
He was dressed like a mountain man, in dirty, ragged clothes. It was then that Solly recognized him. He was William Thomas, a white trader who had done a lot of business with Solly's village. William knew these woods as well, if not better, than Solly, and must have known exactly where the fugitive Cherokees had gone to hide. Solly and William weren't friends, but Solly respected him enough to know that he was a man of honor and had come alone.
Solly crept out of the cave and walked slowly down the hillside towards him. William shook his hand, then explained what business had brought him up here. General Scott is furious about what you've done, Solly. He says he's going to bring his men up here to hunt you down. You may be able to hide up in these hills for a while, but one of these days, he's going to find you. You and your people are going to spend the rest of your lives on the run.
Solly nodded and stared at the ground, William's harsh words ringing true. But he sent me up here with an offer, William continued. He says that if you'll give yourself up, he'll call off his search, and your people can stay in these hills as long as they want. He gave his word. Solly glared at William and said, His word means nothing to me. I've heard these promises from the white man before. Why should I believe him? What choice do you have? asked William.
You stay here, he'll come after you anyway. And he may be mad enough at that point to kill you and your people. He doesn't want to send his soldiers up into this wilderness, not when he's only after one man, but he will if he has to. Solly looked up into the cloudless sky, pondering the offer. In his heart, he knew that William was right. As long as he stayed in hiding, he was a danger to his family and to his community.
He sighed a deep sigh, then replied, Whatever decision I make, I must speak with my family first. Come back in one week, and I will give you my answer. As the morning sun rose over the valley a week later, Solly had made his decision. He would give himself up to the white man and face certain death. Throughout the night, he consoled his wife and children, trying to make them understand that it was his life for a thousand.
To his sons, he asked that they always look after their mother and help the community rebuild itself. To his wife, he promised through his tears that they would be together soon, in spirit. William returned that morning, and Solly joined him for the long walk back to the village. Behind him, he could hear the wailing sounds of his entire community, filling the dark hills with their sorrow. Solly could not bear to look back. Solly and William walked in silence through the thick forest.
Solly breathed in the cool mountain air, taking in every smell, sound, and sight that he could. He had always loved these hills, and he prayed that his spirit would still walk here long after he was gone. The next day, Solly arrived back at the village, or what was left of it. All the homes had been either looted or burned to the ground, crops and livestock destroyed. Solly hoped that William was right and that the rest of his people would be spared further misery.
The soldiers grabbed Solly and pushed him towards the other assembled soldiers. As a final affront to the Cherokees, General Scott had ordered two of his Cherokee prisoners to serve as Solly's executioners. As they tied Solly and stood him against the wall, they begged him to wear a blindfold. But Solly calmly refused, choosing instead to stare one last time at the sky and lift his eyes to his heels as the bullets tore through his heart.
Thanks to Solly's heroic sacrifice, the white soldiers never marched into the hills after the Cherokee fugitives. They were allowed to stay, and in later years their descendants became the Eastern Band of Cherokees. To this day, these Cherokees still live in western North Carolina on land specifically designated for them. You can visit them today in the town of Cherokee, North Carolina.
As more hikers began exploring the area in modern times, reports came back of a mysterious, shadowy figure wandering through the dense forest. In the blink of an eye, the figure would disappear, only to reappear again. Other folks saw the figure at night, silhouetted tall in the sky against the bright moon. Local newspapers wrote stories about this mysterious ghost, and curiosity seekers soon filled the area. But the Eastern Band of Cherokees knew who this mystery figure was.
They knew it was Solly, returning to wander forever through the majestic hills he loved. That concludes this tale from the Moonlit Road. Be sure to visit our website at themoonlitroad .com to find out more about our stories and let us know how we're doing. The Moonlit Road is produced and directed by Craig Dominey, recorded and soundscaped by Henry Howard in beautiful Stone Mountain, Georgia. Thanks for listening, and we'll see you next time.