American History Tellers - Encore: The Age of Jackson | Great White Father | 4

Episode Date: June 29, 2022

During his military career, Andrew Jackson won several ruthless victories over indigenous people. After becoming president in 1829, he waged political war against them, too. Jackson championed “Indian removal” – the forced displacement of Native Americans to make way for white settlers. And none would feel the brunt of Jackson’s policies more than the groups known as the “Five Civilized Tribes” – the Cherokee, Creek, Choctaw, Chickasaw, and Seminole.Listen ad free with Wondery+. Join Wondery+ for exclusives, binges, early access, and ad free listening. Available in the Wondery App. https://wondery.app.link/historytellersPlease support us by supporting our sponsors!See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

Wondery Plus subscribers can binge new seasons of American History Tellers early and ad-free right now. Join Wondery Plus in the Wondery app or on Apple Podcasts. This summer, American History Tellers will present a special seven-part series on one of the most pivotal and violent events in our nation's history, the Civil War. But first, we're bringing you an encore presentation of a series about that war's origins. This is The Age of Jackson. Imagine it's a warm spring morning in Washington, D.C., May 26, 1830. You didn't sleep well last night. You can't sleep well last night.

You can't help feeling anxious thinking about the day ahead. Head to the dining room and sit down across from your wife for breakfast. She's already leafing through the newspaper. The headlines blare, House to Decide Cherokee's Fate. Ready for the vote today? Yeah. It's not going to be easy, though.

She squeezes your hand. Whatever happens, we'll manage. Jackson can't force you from office for opposing. Do what you think is right. You kiss your wife goodbye and grab your hat for the short walk to the Capitol, mulling over the vote before you. A month ago, your colleagues in the Senate, led by President Andrew Jackson, voted to pass the Indian Removal Act.

After decades of conflict, the bill would force the Cherokee to evacuate their lands in the South and move west past the Mississippi River. Now, as a representative in the House, it's your turn to vote. President Jackson has made no secret of his support for the bill. It'd be good for the Native Americans, he argues. In their new homeland, the Cherokees would be under the protection of Congress, Jackson has promised. No more conflict with local state governments. He's been pressuring your colleagues in the Democratic Party to support the bill, but you're suspicious of Jackson's motives. Though the forced evacuation of the Cherokees would mean a bonanza for Georgian settlers eager for cheap land, you can't overcome a sense of foreboding. A yes vote would mean uprooting thousands of Cherokee men, women, and children, even newborns and elderly people too sick or old to travel. Still, Jackson's a ruthless opponent.

You wouldn't bode well for your political prospects to have an enemy in the White House. This thought nags at you all morning on your way to the Capitol building. Mr. Speaker, may I start the vote count? The voting starts. You feel your heart beat faster and your palms begin to bead with sweat. In the end, your courage fails you. Abstain. Eleven colleagues join you in abstention. Twenty-four Jacksonian Democrats even get up the courage to vote against the bill. But in the end, your passive resistance isn't enough to stop it.

The House votes 102 to 97 to pass the Indian Removal Act, sealing the Cherokees' fate. It's a fateful day. Within eight years, the Cherokee Nation will be relocated to Oklahoma during a vicious winter march. Thousands will die. Their journey will become known as the Trail of Tears. From the team behind American History Tellers comes a new book, The Hidden History of the White House. Each chapter will bring you inside the fierce power struggles, intimate moments, and shocking scandals that shaped our nation. From the War of 1812 to Watergate. Available now wherever you get your books. From Wondering comes a new series about a lawyer who broke all the rules. Need to launder some money? Broker a deal with a drug cartel? Take out a witness? Paul can do it.

I'm your host, Brandon James Jenkins. Follow Criminal Attorney on the Wondery app, or wherever you get your podcasts. From Wondery, this is American History Tellers. Our history, your story. I'm Lindsey Graham. We're continuing our six-episode series on the age of Jackson with a look at how one particular group of people fared under the populist president, Native Americans. This is episode four, Great White Father. During his political rise, Jackson distinguished himself with his ability to exact ruthless military victories over indigenous people. As president, he championed Indian removal, the forced displacement of Native Americans to make way for white settlers.

It would become one of his enduring legacies. After decades of conflict, the Jackson presidency marked a decisive turning point in the long struggle between white settlers and Native Americans. And none would feel the brunt of Jackson's force more than the groups known as the Five Civilized Tribes. Civilized, white settlers believed, because they raised animals and farmed. They were the Cherokee, Creek, Choctaw, Chickasaw, and Seminole. Their lands stretched across the Deep South and into Tennessee, North Carolina, and the Flora Territory. Of the five tribes, the showdown between the Cherokee and the state of Georgia would attract national attention, eventually winding up in the highest court of the land. Conflicts with Native Americans were nothing new.

When the first Europeans landed in North America, they encountered the Cherokees living in the southern Appalachians. Four years after the Americans won their War of Independence, the Cherokees had faced their first major defeat. At the Treaty of Hopewell, South Carolina in 1785, the United States imposed restrictions on the Cherokee territories for the first time. Their land shrank even more a decade later when Tennessee became a state. Despite these setbacks, the Cherokee Nation continued to flourish in the land it had left, including the northwest corner of Georgia and adjacent portions of what is now North Carolina, Alabama, and Tennessee. By 1822, the federal government had commissioned a report on the state of the five civilized tribes. A geographer named

Jedediah Morse, father of Samuel Morse, who later invented Morse code, was hired for the job. His report described the tribes' vibrant economic and cultural life, and he suggested they be left in peace. But white settlers had a different idea. To them, lands occupied by Native American tribes were too valuable a commodity to be left in Native hands. They could be put to better and more lucrative use growing cotton. Neither did white settlers like that Native tribes were trading with free Blacks and even offering safe haven to escaped slaves. The tribes' independence threatened the system of slavery the Southern economy was based on. State and federal officials chose to listen to their constituents, not the expert opinion of Morse. They began pushing harder against the Cherokees, and the Cherokees began to push back. By 1824, American settlers were clear in their

intentions. They wanted the Cherokees' land. But when federal commissioners urged the Cherokee Council of Chiefs to sell their territory and migrate beyond the Mississippi River, the council refused. It replied, it is the fixed and unalterable determination of this nation never to cede one foot more of our land. A Cherokee delegation traveled to Washington to present their case. They reportedly told President James Monroe, the Cherokees are not foreigners, but original inhabitants of America. They now inhabit and stand on the soil of their own territory, and the limits of their territory are defined by the treaties which they have made with the government of the United States. It was a statement that defied the government's view that Native tribes were an alien people that needed to be eradicated.

But Monroe did not listen. Three years later, Cherokees took their most dramatic step yet. They declared their own independence as a sovereign nation. They wrote their own constitution. In formal legal language, the document outlined concepts familiar to any American. Separation of powers, due process, voting rights. But enlightened words on a piece of paper didn't do much to convince the Georgia legislature. Because soon afterward, a prospector discovered gold in Cherokee territory. Pressured by prospectors eager to get their hands on the precious metal, the Georgia legislature declared the tribal laws invalid and extended its law over all of Cherokee territory. White settlers flocked to Cherokee lands,

seizing tribal farms, homes, and gold mines. The Cherokee were threatened and in some cases attacked by the settlers. Under Georgia law, though, they had no right to testify against their attackers in court. Now, Andrew Jackson had taken office. Cherokees pleaded with the new president to intervene, to send federal troops to protect their lands. But Jackson sided with the state, claiming the federal government had no right to interfere in Georgia's affairs. The Cherokee were running out of options. Jackson went a step further.

He launched a proposal that called on the Cherokee to give up their land in Georgia and move west of the Mississippi, a move he framed as helpful to them. Moving west would provide them with safety and security. The plan, he believed, would clear Native land for settlement by white farmers and position Jackson as the Cherokees' rescuer. It was called the Indian Removal Act. It's 1829 in Hartford, Connecticut. Imagine you're a new teacher at the Hartford Female Seminary, a private girls' school.

The students are away on Christmas vacation, but the school's founder and your boss, Catherine Beecher, has invited you and a few other young teachers to tea in her sitting room. More tea? Yes, please. You wonder what this is all about. Beecher is a force of nature, always advocating some new cause. If it weren't for her views on women's education, you wouldn't have a job at all. And you've heard her sister Harriet is an outspoken abolitionist.

Over tea and tiny little sandwiches, Beecher's intentions become clear. It has become almost a certainty that these people are to have their lands torn from them, and to be driven into Western wiles and to final annihilation, unless the feelings of a humane and Christian nation shall be aroused to prevent the unhallowed sacrifice. But Catherine, what are we supposed to do? Pick up that pen and write! It turns out she's already been writing. One letter for the newspapers, another for Congress. It's not necessarily the Cherokee themselves she's concerned about. What worries her is their immortal souls.

Removing Native Americans from their lands will set back Northern missionaries' attempts to enlighten and Christianize them. As she talks, though, you find yourself nodding in agreement at the injustice of it all. Maybe you will join her in writing a letter. Beecher wasn't alone. Jackson's plan set off a firestorm of opposition, especially in the North. Beecher rallied women across the country to fight against the Indian Removal Act. The largest petition came from Pittsburgh, with 670 signatures. Even Vice President Van Buren's niece denounced Indian removal to his face,

crying that she hoped he and Jackson would lose the next election of 1832. New Jersey Senator Theodore Frelinghuysen spoke out against the racism of the proposal, asking, Do the obligations of justice change with the color of the skin? Is it one of the prerogatives of white man that he may disregard the dictates of moral principles when an Indian shall be concerned? His efforts earned him the nickname the Christian statesman, but did little to help the Cherokees. Some Southerners opposed the Removal Act, too. Robert Campbell, a lawyer in Savannah, Georgia,

warned his fellow citizens in a local paper that the bill would bring enduring shame on the state. He wrote, In modern times, in civilized countries, there is no instance for expelling the members of a whole nation from their homes or driving an entire population from its native country. No instance, that is, except for slavery. But if any readers detected this irony, they kept it to themselves. A few congressmen challenged Jackson's arguments that intervening in Georgia to protect Native Americans would be unconstitutional. They argued,

rather, that the Constitution prevented Congress from ignoring the legal rights of third parties. After all, Native claims on their territory predated white settlement, and those land rights had been affirmed over and over by various treaties throughout the years. But there was also widespread support amongst the white population for relocation. Proponents of Native relocation like Georgia Senator John Forsyth put it simply. Native people, he said, were a race not admitted to be equal to the rest of the community. The citizens of his state would never submit to the intrusive sovereignty of a petty tribe of Indians. Coupled with his racism was a deeper anxiety that acknowledging the rights of Native people would eventually require Southerners to do the same for their slaves.

Georgia Governor George Troop spelled this out very clearly. The jurisdiction claimed over one portion of our population may very soon be asserted over another. Arguments over the Indian Removal Act played out all across the United States, not only in newspapers, state houses, and the halls of Congress, but also in popular culture. It's 1830, and in Augusta, Georgia, the theater is packed to the rafters for the opening night. You're up in the cheap seats, but you can just about see the stage.

You're watching a play called Metamora, or The Last of the Wampanoags. It stars the famous actor Edwin Forrest in the title role and got rave reviews in New York last year. Tickets were hard to come by, but you scored two. What'd you think of the first half? I liked his costume, moccasins and everything. What did he have on his face? Looked like red paint or something to me.

The play is set in 17th century New England and tells the story of the relationship between Puritans and Native Americans. At first, all is peaceful between the two peoples. Metamora saves a young Englishwoman from a panther, but in the third act, things turn sour. On stage, Metamora, played by Forrest, goes to meet with the Puritans, but they are suspicious of him. Why dost thou put arms into thy people's hands, thereby endangering mischief towards us? If my people do wrong, I am quick to punish. Chieftain, sell us thy lands and seek another hiding place. No, white man, no. Never will Matamora forsake the home of his fathers.

Things escalate. Tensions between the Native Americans and the white settlers rise, and suspicion mounts within the tribe. Matamora stabs another tribesman who betrayed him. Come, my knife has drank the blood of the false one, yet it is not satisfied. White man, beware. The wrath of the wronged Indian shall fall upon you like a cataract that dashes the uprooted oak down the mighty chasms. The war whoop shall startle you from your dreams at night, and the red hatchet gleam in the blaze of your burning dwellings. From the east to the west, in the north and in the south, shall cry of vengeance burst to the lands you have stolen, groan under your feet no more.

The curtain comes down for the end of the act. You realize the crowd is not happy. In fact, they're furious. You turn to your friend. And to your surprise, he's staring angrily at the stage too. Typical New Yorkers coming down here thinking they can tell us what to do. Boo! Boo! What's wrong? Why are you booing? Can't you see? This is anti-removal propaganda. I suppose we're supposed to feel sorry for the Indians. I'm

not standing for this. I'm leaving. But it's not over. Come on, we're leaving. You don't argue. The crowd looks ready to riot anyways. The two of you get up and, along with many others, make for the exits. Outrageous. What a waste of a good evening. I'm going to tell everyone I know to steer clear of that abomination. Forrest should be driven out of town for spreading stuff like that. It turns out your friend isn't the only one who's angry. The next day, the actor Forrest realizes that his play has not gone down well with the pro-removal crown. He tries to explain that as an actor, he doesn't necessarily believe the things he's saying, but it is too late. A local lawyer, Judge Shannon, says that any actor who could perform the role with such passion must have the whole matter at heart.

He describes Forrest's performance. His eyes shot fire and his breath was hot with the hissing of his ferocious declamation. I insist upon it. Forrest believes in that damned Indian speech, and it is an insult to the whole community. Theatergoers like your friend call for a boycott of the play. The next night, the theater is almost empty. Before long, the play is canceled. The Indian Removal Act passed three months after it was introduced, along mostly sectional lines. Slave states generally voted for removal, while the free states largely opposed it. Jackson's vice president, Martin Van Buren, would later distance himself from the bill,

pinning it on Jackson when he said, there was no measure in the whole course of his administration of which he was more exclusively the author than this. The bill had another opponent too, a West Tennessee frontiersman by the name of Davy Crockett, the same Davy Crockett who had taken part in Jackson's military campaign against the Creeks several years earlier. Now he condemned the Indian Removal Act

as oppression with a vengeance. He would remain an ardent opponent of Jackson until his death at the Alamo six years later. But despite their crushing setback in Congress, the Cherokees weren't about to give up. They hired two of the best constitutional lawyers in the country, John Sargent and William Wirt. Wirt had served as Attorney General under Presidents Monroe and Adams. In 1831, the Cherokee took their case, Cherokee Nation versus Georgia, all the way to the Supreme Court. But the justices refused to weigh in, voting four to two not to discuss the issue.

Chief Justice John Marshall wrote the majority opinion. He expressed sympathy for the tribe, calling them a domestic dependent nation. As such, the Cherokee did have some rights to sovereignty, he said, just not the right to sue the state of Georgia in federal court. The Cherokee continued their legal battles for two more years. Despite the passage of the Indian Removal Act, a year later, they were still managing to resist displacement.

But other tribes were not so lucky. How did Birkenstocks go from a German cobbler's passion project 250 years ago to the Barbie movie today? Who created that bottle of red sriracha with a green top that's permanently living in your fridge? Did you know that the Air Jordans were initially banned by the NBA? We'll explore all that and more in The Best Idea Yet, a brand new podcast from Wondery and T-Boy. This is Nick. This is Jack. And we've covered over a thousand episodes of pop business news stories on our daily podcast.

We've identified the most viral products of all time. And they're wild origin stories that you had no idea about. From the Levi's 501 jeans to Legos. Come for the products you're obsessed with. Stay for the business insights that are going to blow up your group chat. Jack, Nintendo, Super Mario Brothers,

best-selling video game of all time. How'd they do it? Nintendo never fires anyone. Ever. Follow The Best Idea Yet on the Wondery app or wherever you get your podcasts.

You can listen to The Best Idea Yet early and ad-free right now by joining Wondery Plus. In the Pacific Ocean, halfway between Peru and New Zealand, lies a tiny volcanic island.

It's a little-known British territory called Pitcairn, and it harboured a deep, dark scandal. There wouldn't be a girl on Pitcairn once they reached the age of 10 that would still have urged it. It just happens to all of us. I'm journalist Luke Jones and for almost two years I've been investigating a shocking story

that has left deep scars on generations of women and girls from Pitcairn. When there's nobody watching, nobody going to report it, people will get away with what they can get away with. In the Pitcairn Trials, I'll be uncovering a story of abuse and the fight for justice that has brought a unique, lonely Pacific island to the brink of extinction. Listen to the Pitcairn Trials exclusively on Wondery+. Join Wondery in the Wondery app, Apple Podcasts, or Spotify. It's the winter of 1831, and a French nobleman is standing on the east bank of the Mississippi River.

His name is Alexis de Tocqueville, and he's been traveling across America to observe the new country's culture and politics. That day, he sees something that disturbs him greatly. Later, he will write about it. The cold that year was unusually bitter. The snow on the ground had frozen, and enormous chunks of ice floated on the river. The Indians traveled in families. Among them were the wounded and the sick, newborn infants, and dying elders. They had neither tents nor wagons, only scant provisions and some weapons. I watched them embark for the voyage across the great river, and the memory of that solemn spectacle will stay with me forever. Not a sob or a cry was to be heard. Despite the large number of people, all

were silent. Their misfortunes were old, and they sensed that there was nothing to be done about them. de Tocqueville was watching the forced relocation of the Choctaw Nation. George W. Harkins, chief of the Choctaw tribe, wrote a piercing farewell that was published in several newspapers. In his open letter to the American people, Harkins uses the language of independence and freedom. It seemed like he wanted to remind his American audience of their own struggle against the British just a few decades earlier. We as Choctaws rather choose to suffer and be free than live under the degrading influence of laws which our voice could not be heard in their

formation. Still, he said, he bore Mississippi no ill will. He just wanted mercy and rest for his people. Although your ancestors won freedom on the field of danger and glory, our ancestors owned it as their birthright, and we have had to purchase it from you as the vilest slaves by their freedom. Yet it is said that our present movements are our own voluntary acts. Such is not the case. We found ourselves like a benighted stranger following false guides until he was surrounded on every side with fire and water. The fire was certain destruction, and a feeble hope was left him of escaping by water. A distant view of the opposite shore encourages the hope to remain would be inevitable annihilation.

Who would hesitate? Or who would say that his plunging into the water was his own voluntary act? Painful in the extreme is the mandate of our expulsion. Harkin saved a parting shot for President Jackson, reminding him that the Choctaw warriors had once fought by his side. We regret that it should proceed from the mouth of our professed friend, for whom our blood was commingled with that of his bravest warriors on the field of danger and death. The Choctaws were the first tribe to relocate after the Indian Removal Act was passed. Others soon followed.

Alabama and Mississippi followed George's lead, subjecting the tribes within their borders to state laws, instead of treating them as sovereign nations to be dealt with as equals. For example, the Creek tribe suffered tremendously. In 1832, they signed a treaty surrendering all of their tribal lands east of the Mississippi in exchange for land in Oklahoma. In theory, it was a voluntary agreement. Creeks who didn't want to relocate were promised modest plots of land in Alabama for farming. But in short order, white settlers took the land from the Creeks, while the federal government did nothing. Their land stolen, left to wander as refugees, some Creeks tried to resist.

Jackson's Secretary of War sent in the U.S. Army to crush the rebellion. With federal soldiers guarding them, the Creeks were forced to make the long walk to Oklahoma. Half the Creek Nation is believed to have died on the journey. A few of the Creeks did manage to escape by fleeing to the Florida territory where they joined the Seminoles. Florida Seminoles proved the hardest tribe for the U.S. Army to pry away from their territory. They knew the swampy, treacherous landscape far better than the troops. The climate was cold and wet in winter and hot and wet in summer. Miserable soldiers contended with alligators, snakes, and mosquitoes, not to mention dysentery and malaria. In the letter home, one white soldier

wrote, if the devil owned both hell and Florida, he would rent out Florida and live in hell. In December 1835, a combined force of Native Americans and free blacks wiped out a group of about a hundred U.S. soldiers under the command of Major Francis Dade. They left only two survivors. In this showdown and many others, the Seminoles won, but only temporarily. Jackson left office before they could be forced from their homes. But eventually, the Army, Navy, and Marine Corps all got involved, costing the United States government almost $40 million, 10 times as much money to expel the Seminoles as was spent for all the other tribes. Imagine it's June, 1833. You're crowded onto a Philadelphia dock, waiting for a glimpse of the

conquered Native American chief, Black Hawk. You've never been out West, never left Philadelphia, in fact, but you've heard the fantastic tales of Indian chiefs and attacks on white settlers. When you read in the newspaper that Black Hawk is coming to town, you knew you had to see him. You'll tell your kids about it one day. You lean over to a fellow bystander. You know when he's supposed to arrive? Any minute. They're bringing him from Baltimore, taking him all over the east coast supposedly. Jackson didn't get a reception like this when he was in town. Then he's not an Indian chief. I heard Blackhawk's not really a chief, just some warrior. Newspapers got it wrong. Warrior,

chief, that's good enough for me. There he is. The steamboat glides into dock and Blackhawk emerges on deck. Shoulder to shoulder with your neighbors, you crane your neck for a glimpse. He doesn't look like what you imagined. He's wearing a blanket over one shoulder and some kind of ceremonial headdress. He looks uncertain. The man on deck nudges him. After a moment, Black Hawk raises his arm in a tentative wave.

Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for your welcome. Black Hawk will now visit the Philadelphia Mint. Please make way. Black Hawk slowly disappears down the gangplank and you head back to town. Something about the spectacle leaves you feeling a little uncomfortable. Touring him around like that. You were expecting a proud Indian chief, a noble, savage warrior. You were shown a reluctant prisoner. The Jackson administration's removal policy applied to all Native Americans

east of the Mississippi, not just those in the south. In the northwest, this led to a conflict known as Black Hawk's War. Black Hawk was a sack warrior who had fought alongside the British in the War of 1812. The sack people had been forced to give up their lands under a treaty with the Indiana governor and future president, William Henry Harrison. He supposedly negotiated a treaty with a group of tribal leaders in which they agreed to sell most of the land between the Mississippi and Illinois rivers. But the legality of the treaty was in question, as was the authority of the tribal leaders to cede the lands in the first place. But when settlers started to demand that the land was theirs, most of the Sac decided to leave. But Black Hawk and many of the Sac people were unhappy in their new home. Their redrawn territory brought them into conflict with the Sioux, historically

their enemies. So they moved back east. In April 1832, Black Hawk led nearly 2,000 members of the Sac and Fox tribes back across the Mississippi towards their ancestral homelands in northern Illinois, territory now held by white settlers. Blackhawk and his people wanted protection, not conflict. Their caravan included whole families, men, women, and children. But Illinois Governor John Reynolds treated it as a hostile force. He called up the state militia. Blackhawk realized that he had made a fatal error. The SAC and Fox tribes were on their own. Neither fellow tribes nor local Canadian traders were going to come to their aid against American troops. Recognizing

that they were out-armed, the SAC and Fox people decided to surrender. On May 14th, Blackhawk led a delegation of tribesmen to negotiate with American officials under a flag of truce. The state militia opened fire. Wanting peace, the native warriors were forced to fight, and in the ensuing battle, they actually managed to rout the badly disorganized state militia. Their victory was short-lived. Secretary of War Louis Cass seized this opportunity to summon federal troops. The army drove Blackhawk's band away. They chased him north into territory now in Wisconsin. In August 1832, soldiers caught up with Blackhawk near the mouth of the Bad Axe River. Federal troops massacred several hundred

Native American men, women, and children as they tried to flee across the Mississippi. The survivors who did make it across were killed on the other side by Sioux warriors who had allied with the U.S. government. Of the almost 2,000 people Blackhawk had led out of Iowa, fewer than 150 survived. The peace treaties that followed deprived the Fox, Sac, and Winnebago tribes of even more land. Blackhawk was disgraced among his people. Now a prisoner of the U.S. government, he was forced to tour the country, a trophy displayed for gawkers in the port of Philadelphia, as we just heard, and all down the East Coast. The tour also served as a warning to other Native Americans who might be considering fighting back.

Faced with the military might of the United States, armed resistance was difficult. But if the colonial ambitions of the Americans could not be stopped on the field of battle, perhaps they could be halted in the courts. Dracula, the ancient vampire who terrorizes Victorian London. Blood and garlic, bats and crucifixes. Even if you haven't read the book, you think you know the story. One of the incredible things about Dracula is that not only is it this wonderful snapshot of the 19th century, but it also has so much resonance today. The vampire doesn't cast a reflection in a mirror, so when we look in the mirror,

the only thing we see is our own monstrous abilities. From the host and producer of American History Tellers and History Daily comes the new podcast, The Real History of Dracula. We'll reveal how author Bram Stoker raided ancient folklore, exploited Victorian fears around sex, science, and religion, and how even today we remain enthralled to his strange creatures of the night. You can binge all episodes of The Real History of Dracula exclusively with Wondery Plus. Join Wondery Plus and The Wondery app, Apple Podcasts, or Spotify.

This is the emergency broadcast system. A ballistic missile threat has been detected inbound to your area. Your phone buzzes and you look down to find this alert. What do you do next? Maybe you're at the grocery store. Or maybe you're with your secret lover. Or maybe you're robbing a bank. Based on the real-life false alarm that terrified Hawaii in 2018, Incoming, a brand-new fiction podcast exclusively on Wondery Plus,

follows the journey of a variety of characters as they confront the unimaginable. The missiles are coming. What am I supposed to do? Featuring incredible performances from Tracy Letts, Mary Lou Henner, Mary Elizabeth Ellis, Paul Edelstein, and many, many more, Incoming is a hilariously thrilling podcast that will leave you wondering,

how would you spend your last few minutes on Earth? You can binge Incoming exclusively and ad-free on Wondery+. Join Wondery in the Wondery app, Apple Podcasts, or Spotify. Imagine it's March 23rd, 1832. You're in Washington, D.C., inside the Supreme Court building. The highest court in the land isn't in session yet, but there's a small knot of onlookers gathered waiting for the justices to arrive.

You spot a few newspaper reports, heads bent over notebooks as they scribble observations. The plaintiffs, two middle-aged white men, whisper to their lawyers. You recognize the pair of attorneys. You saw them here a year ago when they were arguing on behalf of the Cherokee Nation. You're a court clerk for the Supreme Court under Chief Justice John Marshall, and today your boss is expected to hand down a decision in Worcester versus Georgia. The case concerns two missionaries to the Cherokees. Most people think they know how this case will turn out. Marshall already refused to take up the Cherokee cause last year. You rise as the justices

enter the courtroom. The Honorable, the Chief Justice, and the Associate Justices of the Supreme Court of the United States. All persons having business before the Honorable, the Supreme Court of the United States, are admonished to draw near and give their attention, for the court is now sitting. You listen to the oral arguments from the two plaintiffs. Samuel Worcester and Eliza Butler are missionaries and outspoken opponents of Indian removal. They were such a nuisance, the Georgia governor had expelled them from Cherokee lands last year. But Worcester and Butler refused to leave. They were arrested and sentenced to four years of hard labor. The governor offered both men pardons if they acknowledged Georgia's legal authority,

but they refused. Now they're here, appealing their case to the Supreme Court. Next, the lawyers for the state of Georgia plead their case. Then Chief Justice Marshall clears his throat. This cause, in every point of view in which it can be placed, is one of the deepest interests. We must inquire and decide whether the act of the legislature of Georgia, under which the plaintiff in error has been persecuted and condemned, be consistent with or repugnant to the Constitution, laws, and treaties of the United States. It's not how you expect him to begin. The defendant's lawyers are watching Marshall intently.

The reporters in the back are no longer slumped in their seats. They lean forward, their pencils poised over notepads. The Cherokee Nation is a distinct community, occupying its own territory, with boundaries accurately described in which the laws of Georgia can have no force, and which the citizens of Georgia have no right to enter but with the assent of the Cherokees themselves or in conformity with treaties and with the acts of Congress. The act of the state of Georgia, under which the plaintiff in error was prosecuted is consequently void, and the judgment is a nullity. The acts of Georgia are repugnant to the Constitution, laws, and treaties of the United States. Judgment reversed. A shocked murmur grows from the back of the courtroom as the justices rise to leave. Worcester and Butler look relieved. Their lawyers

triumphant. A few reporters dash out the door, no doubt to rush back to their editors. This is big news. The surprise decision puts the Supreme Court at odds with the presidency. You wonder, just like nearly everyone else in Washington, what will Jackson do next? A year earlier, in Cherokee Nation v. Georgia, the Supreme Court had ruled the Cherokees had no legal standing to sue the state of Georgia to prevent seizure of their land. But now, in Worcester v. Georgia, the plaintiffs were two white Christian missionaries, and the justices felt that they had no choice but to address the issue directly.

This second time around, Chief Justice Marshall was decisive. In the majority opinion, he wrote that Georgia's extension of its laws over the Cherokees was in fact unconstitutional since the Cherokee Nation's lands were protected by a federal treaty. The Cherokee had the support of the Supreme Court. Enforcing the court's decision would become the flashpoint. Without support from the executive branch, President Jackson, the court had no power to compel Georgia to comply with the ruling, and the state knew it. Georgia quickly sent surveyors into Cherokee territory to prepare the lands for sale. And not surprisingly, Jackson took Georgia's side. He was already embroiled in the nullification crisis with

South Carolina and was unwilling to risk civil war on account of Native Americans. He decided not to send federal troops to enforce the Cherokees' claims against the state of Georgia. He famously crowed that the law fell stillborn. The Cherokees still refused to go quietly. They would not sign a removal treaty. They rallied behind their elected chief, John Ross, who was of Scottish and Cherokee descent. The Cherokee Nation Council passed a law threatening death to anyone who agreed to give up tribal lands. But in 1835, a faction of about 100 Cherokee, known as the Treaty Party, claiming to speak for the entire tribe, did sign an agreement with the Jackson administration. The deal gave up all lands east of the Mississippi

in exchange for money, livestock, tools, and other provisions. The agreement became known as the Treaty of New Echota. It was all the U.S. government needed as an excuse to finally eradicate the tribe. The Cherokee traders ultimately paid for this betrayal with their lives. When the Cherokees eventually reached Oklahoma, nearly all 100 members of the treaty party would be executed. The Jackson administration went on to sign roughly 70 treaties with Native American tribes. In the end, the government received over 100 million acres of fertile Native American territory in the east in exchange for 32 million acres of less desirable land in the west. For this, it paid roughly $68 million, less than a dollar an acre. Nearly all of the tribes, north and south of the Ohio River and between the Appalachians and Mississippi, were forced to sign these treaties. When the Creeks,

Seminole, Sac, and Foxes attempted an armed rebellion, the U.S. Army crushed their efforts and removed them by force. Jackson maintained to the end that relocation was for the tribe's own good. He argued, While the safety and comfort of our own citizens has been greatly promoted by the removal, the philanthropists will rejoice that the remnant of that ill-fated race has been at length placed beyond the reach of injury and oppression, and that the paternal care of the general government will hereafter watch over them and protect them.

It's hard today to imagine the forced relocation of Native Americans and the subsequent suffering and death of thousands as philanthropic. But Jackson did. In the words of historian Henry Watson, to Jackson, they were his red children. He was the great father. And Jackson never doubted that father knew best. President Jackson's vice president, Martin Van Buren, might have tried to distance himself from the policies of removal, but it would still fall to him to see them through.

By 1836, Jackson had decided not to seek another term in office and instead endorsed Van Buren as his successor. Van Buren won the presidential election that year, beating a divided Whig party that, unable to agree on a single candidate, had instead fielded four of them. Under Van Buren, the removal of Native Americans from their homelands would continue. But it was not the only Jackson policy he would have to deal with. Van Buren took office amidst rising economic instability, in part caused by Jackson's war on the banks. And he would face another growing problem, one that threatened the very fabric of the country. The balance between slave states and free states that Jackson had temporarily achieved was looking ever shakier.

On March 2, 1836, a Texas convention had proclaimed independence from Mexico and drafted a declaration modeled on Jefferson's. They had opted for independence as opposed to joining the United States, in part because Washington was divided over admitting another slave state. By the 17th of March, the Texas convention had also drafted a constitution modeled on the United States, but that prohibited Blacks and Native Americans from living freely in the Republic, instead only as slaves. Andrew Jackson delayed granting official recognition to the new Republic of Texas until his last day in office. He knew that Texas was a political minefield, but it was one his vice president and successor would have to face alone.

From Wondery, this is episode four of The Age of Jackson from American History Tellers. On the next episode, Andrew Jackson's chosen successor, Martin Van Buren, may have easily won the election, but he will find governing much, much harder. If you like American History Tellers, you can binge all episodes early and ad-free right now by joining Wondery Plus in the Wondery app or on Apple Podcasts. Prime members can listen ad-free on Amazon Music. And before you go, tell us about yourself by filling out a short survey at wondery.com slash survey. American History Tellers is hosted, sound designed, and edited by me, Lindsey Graham, for Airship. Additional production assistance by Derek Behrens.

This episode is based on research by Harrison Diskin, with production assistance by Jenny Lauer Beckman. Produced by George Lavender. Our senior producers, Andy Herman. Executive producers are Jenny Lauer Beckman and Marshall Louis for Wondery. Are you in trouble with the law? Wondering. War crimes look no further than Paul Bergeron. All the big guys go to Bergeron because he gets everybody off. You name it, Paul can do it. Need to launder some money? Broker a deal with a drug cartel? Take out a witness?

From Wondery, the makers of Dr. Death and Over My Dead Body, comes a new series about a lawyer who broke all the rules. Isn't it funny how witnesses disappear or how evidence doesn't show up or somebody doesn't testify correctly? In order to win at all costs. If Paul asked you to do something, it wasn't a request. It was an order. I'm your host, Brandon James Jenkins. Follow Criminal Attorney on the Wondery app or wherever you get your podcasts. You can listen to Criminal Attorney early and ad-free right now by joining Wondery Plus in the Wondery app or on Apple Podcasts.