Not idly had the whites, scattered along that frontier, given the sobriquet of “Scalping” to Peter, As his pole now showed, it had been earned in a hundred scenes of bloody vengeance; and so great had been his success, that the warrior, prophet, and councillor, for all these characters were united in his single person, began to think the attainment of his wishes possible. As a matter of course, much ignorance of the power of the Anglo-Saxon race on this continent was blended with these opinions and hopes; but it was scarcely an ignorance exceeding that of certain persons of far higher pretensions in knowledge, who live in another hemisphere, and who often set themselves up as infallible judges of all things connected with man and his attributes. Peter, the “Tribeless,” was not more in fault than those who fancied they saw the power of this great republic in the gallant little band collected at Corpus Christi, under its indomitable chief, and who, march by march, nay, foot by foot, as it might be, have perseveringly predicted the halt, the defeat, the disasters, and final discomfiture, which it has not yet pleased Divine Providence to inflict on this slight effort of the young Hercules, as he merely moves in his cradle. Alas, the enemy that most menaces the overthrow of this new and otherwise invincible exhibition of human force, is within; seated in the citadel itself; and must be narrowly watched, or he will act his malignant purpose, and destroy the fairest hopes that ever yet dawned on the fortunes of the human race!
The conference between the chiefs lasted fully an hour. Crowsfeather possessed much of the confidence of Peter, and, as for Onoah, neither Tecumseh, nor his brother the Prophet, commanded as much of the respect of Crowsfeather as he did himself. Some even whispered that the “Tribeless” was the individual who lay behind all, and that the others named merely acted as he suggested, or advised. The reader will obtain all the insight into the future that it is necessary now to give him, by getting a few of the remarks made by the two colloquists, just before they joined the rest of the party.
“My father, then, intends to lead his pale-faces on a crooked path, and take their scalps when he has done with them,” said Crowsfeather, who had been gravely listening to Peter's plans of future proceeding; “but who is to get the scalp of the Chippewa?”
“One of my Pottawattamie young men; but not until I have made use of him. I have a medicine-priest of the pale-faces and a warrior with me, but shall not put their scalps on my pole until they have paddled me further. The council is to be first held in the Oak Openings”—we translate this term freely, that used by Peter meaning rather “the open woods of the prairies”—“and I wish to show my prisoners to the chiefs, that they may see how easy it is to cut off all the Yankees. I have now four men of that people, and two squaws, in my power; let every red man destroy as many, and the land will soon be clear of them all!”
This was uttered with gleamings of ferocity in the speaker's face, that rendered his countenance terrible. Even Crowsfeather quailed a little before that fierce aspect; but the whole passed away almost as soon as betrayed, and was succeeded by a friendly and deceptive smile, that was characteristic of the wily Asiatic rather than of the aboriginal American.
“They cannot be counted,” returned the Pottawattamie chief, as soon as his restraint was a little removed by this less terrific aspect of his companion, “if all I hear is true. Blackbird says that even the squaws of the pale-faces are numerous enough to overcome all the red men that remain.”
“There will be two less, when I fasten to my pole the scalps of those on the other side of the river,” answered Peter, with another of his transient, but startling gleams of intense revenge. “But no matter, now: my brother knows all I wish him to do. Not a hair of the head of any of these pale-faces must be touched by any hand but mine. When the time comes, the knife of Onoah is sure. The Pottawattamies shall have their canoes, and can follow us up the river. They will find us in the Openings, and near the Prairie Round. They know the spot; for the red men love to hunt the deer in that region. Now, go and tell this to your young men; and tell them that corn will not grow, nor the deer wait to be killed by any of your people, if they forget to do as I have said. Vengeance shall come, when it is time.”
Crowsfeather communicated all this to his warriors, who received it as the ancients received the words of their oracles. Each member of the party endeavored to get an accurate notion of his duty, in order that he might comply to the very letter with the injunctions received. So profound was the impression made among all the red men of the north-west by the previous labors of the “Tribeless” to awaken a national spirit, and so great was their dread of the consequences of disobedience, that every warrior present felt as if his life were the threatened penalty of neglect or disinclination to obey.
No sooner, however, had Crowsfeather got through with his communication, than a general request was made that the problem of the whiskey-spring might be referred to Onoah for solution. The young men had strong hopes, not-withstanding all that had passed, that this spring might yet turn out to be a reality. The scent was still there, strong and fragrant, and they could not get rid of the notion that “fire-water” grew on that spot. It is true, their faith had been somewhat disturbed by the manner in which the medicine-man had left them, and by his failure to draw forth the gushing stream which he had impliedly promised, and in a small degree performed; nevertheless little pools of whiskey had been found on the rock, and several had tasted and satisfied themselves of the quality of the liquor. As is usual, that taste had created a desire for more, a desire that seldom slumbered on an Indian palate when strong drinks were connected with its gratification.
Peter heard the request with gravity, and consented to look into the matter with a due regard to his popularity and influence. He had his own superstitious views, but among them there did not happen to be one which admitted the possibility of whiskey's running in a stream from the living rock. Still he was willing to examine the charmed spot, scent the fragrant odor, and make up his own estimate of the artifices by which the bee-hunter had been practising on the untutored beings into whose hand chance had thrown him.