“I have sworn in my heart, they shall die,” said Elkswatawa, “I have the means. Knowest thou the virtue of witchcraft?” His sides shook with a low chuckling laugh, and he continued, “Our enemies are witches, let them die as such, the Great Spirit orders it.”
“Witchcraft among the red men is like a large fire,” said Tecumseh, “when once you kindle it; but how will you start it?”
“There are many red men,” replied Elkswatawa, “who say, Elkswatawa is the true Prophet. Wherever I go, they follow. Whatever I order, they do;—so far, good. When I preach again, I will attribute the misfortune of the red men to witches or evil spirits, and the Great Spirit shall order the red men to remove them from among them. At first, evil spirits shall enter the bodies of those whom nobody cares for; they shall die, and the Prophet will say the Great Spirit is glad. Then they shall enter the bodies of those whom many hate, they shall die, and the Great Spirit shall say he is pleased. Then will I pray and be absent many nights, and the Great Spirit shall say to me that the chiefs, our enemies, are witches. I will tell it to the red men; they are excited, and once having tasted blood, will readily believe. I will attribute to them the loss of our lands, I will show the working of the evil spirit in all their actions. I will call them the friends of the white men and show their names to the treaties. Will not this do, Tecumseh?”—
“Thy wits are sharp,” replied Tecumseh. “But, brother, thou speakest of the stake, as you would order a fire for a morning meal. I would have your heart sorry at what you propose. The red men, not white, are those whose deaths you seek; remember, we have often given them our hands, we have smoked in their wigwams, and we have hunted the deer and buffalo with them far out on the prairies. If our plans require it, let your heart be sad.”
“Ha! brother,” cried the Prophet, “art thou white livered? Dost thou talk of freeing thy country, when like a woman, thou dost sicken at thought of the stake? If thou canst not open the veins of a sleeping child, and lap its blood like a thirsty dog, I pray thee leave me; I will kindle the torch of war, and lead our warriors on, until not a tomahawk is left, which is not rusted red with the blood of the whites.”
“And thou dost call me white livered, Elkswatawa,” said Tecumseh, his frame dilating, and his eyes glowing with indignation, “thou hast said so;—now did not the same current flow in our veins, and were we not travelling the same path to the same place, and to reach it requires that we should travel as friends, my tomahawk should drink thy blood, base slanderer as thou art. What! because when the sky is clear, I cannot dabble in the blood of the aged, nor derive pleasure from the scalping of children, thou shouldst brand me as a coward—thou! Elkswatawa! Thou art my brother, I must stop,—yet recollect this, when the battle rages, if thou, Elkswatawa, wilt follow Tecumseh in the fight, thy name shall be associated in future years with all that is noble and daring in Indian warfare.” And saying this he began to walk hurriedly to and fro.
While Tecumseh was delivering the above, the Prophet stood cowering beneath his fierce glance, and appalled by the storm of passion he had raised; at length he answered:
“Thy anger is strong, Tecumseh; it is a mighty wind, but Elkswatawa is a blasted tree; the wind passes by, and harms him not. Elkswatawa did not wish to touch the heart of his brother. When his brother is angry, he wants it to be with the pale faces and not with him. We have started upon a journey, and we have travelled a long way. We now find our path stopped up. Shall we turn back, or shall we clear it out, and go on? Elkswatawa says go on, clear it out; burn the red men who stop it up, and our path will then be open to our journey's end. Let us do this, brother, and then when they speak of the Prophet, they shall fear and tremble, and when he orders they will obey.”
“Then be it so,” said Tecumseh, “I like it not, but, since our plans require it, let it be done.”
“Tecumseh is dark to his brother, he cannot see through him. He wishes to make the red men one people, and yet his heart is sorry, when a few must be burned for the good of the many. Tecumseh's heart does not pant for the blood of an enemy. Elkswatawa's heart is glad when an enemy dies, be he white or red. He would drink up his blood as the summer earth does the rain. Tecumseh likes not human blood, and the stake is dreadful in his eyes.”