Elkswatawa

by James Strange French

On Saturday, the 27th, Tecumseh and Elkswatawa made their appearance at Vincennes, attended by about one hundred warriors. General Harrison, anxious to bring the conference to a close, proposed that it should be held early on Monday morning. To this, Tecumseh objected, and even declined designating a day. The Governor, with a hope of intimidating the Indians, had called a general parade of the militia of the county of Knox.—These, all well armed, were in attendance, amounting in number to about eight hundred. There were also several companies of regular infantry, and a fine troop of cavalry, seventy strong. To see them go through their evolutions, the brothers, with their warriors, were invited. They attended:—they manifested no surprise,—they showed no fear; yet the exhibition had thwarted their plans, and showed the madness of their enterprise. When Tecumseh saw this, he observed, “we will not strike, they are ready.” Elkswatawa sighed, and the brothers returned to their camp.

Monday came,—the whites assembled at the place prepared for the council, and yet the Indians came not. Tuesday came, and it was found that Tecumseh's one hundred men now amounted to three hundred, and that roving bands filled the neighbouring woods.

The brothers now being satisfied that no hope of success remained, and seeing that the whites had prepared themselves as if expecting a surprise, determined to go into council, conciliate the whites if they could, and leave the town. They saw that their presence with their followers created a feverish state of excitement, which, as they could now effect nothing, they were anxious to destroy. In accordance with this agreement, Tecumseh sent a messenger to General Harrison, saying, he was “ready for the conference, and wishing to know whether the Governor would be attended by armed men.” The answer was, that “Tecumseh had his choice; if his men were armed, those of the Governor would be so likewise; if not, then none would be armed.” Tecumseh, however, decided on having a guard, and selected from his warriors two hundred, well armed with bows, tomahawks, rifles, and war clubs, and the two brothers marched to the place appointed for the council.

The whites had already assembled, and the bright muskets of the military glittered in the sun. In advance of the crowd, was stationed a troop of dragoons, seventy strong, dismounted, and armed with a sword and two pistols each; before them, and about their centre was seated General Harrison. Directly opposite this troop, Tecumseh and Elkswatawa led their warriors, and placing themselves in front of their band, they occupied a situation corresponding with that of the Governor. On the one side, was a large and well armed force; on the other, Tecumseh, with his swarthy band, bold, fearless, and undaunted, and as seemingly indifferent to the circumstances in which they were placed as though they had been in their own wigwams.

The conference was opened by a speech from the Governor, in which he accused the brothers of hostile intentions,—spoke of the alarm existing on the frontiers,—demanded that the Indians should be given up who had lately committed murders in Illinois,—adverted to their coming to a friendly conference with so large a retinue; and while he expressed his willingness to hear what Tecumseh had to say in reference to the lands, stated, that he had no power to relinquish them, and that it must be settled only by the President. His speech occupied some time, and in reply, Tecumseh rose.—He was calm and dignified, and as free in debate as though he were addressing a single individual. He denied that he intended hostilities against the whites, but admitted that he had formed a confederacy of all the northwestern tribes; but that it was formed to preserve peace, and to preserve themselves. “The United States,” he said, “had set the example of forming a union among all the ‘Fires,’—the Indians did not object to it, nor did they view it as a hostile act; why, then, should they object to the Indians forming a union?” He said, “the union he would form; that his object was peace; and now having bound together the northwestern Indians, he would, as soon as the council broke, go to the south, for the purpose of visiting the Chickasaws, Choctaws, and Creeks.” In regard to the murders which had been committed, he stated, that “he had set the example of forgiveness, by pardoning persons who had killed his men,—that he had even surrendered his men to punishment when they had committed murders on the whites, as was stipulated for in the treaty of Greenville; but that many Indians had been murdered,—the murderers had been demanded, and as yet not a single white man had ever been given up; and therefore, he must ask the Governor to pardon those who had lately offended.” Fatigued from the exertion he had made, which was long and vehement, in the discussion of the subjects above enumerated, the mere heads of which are given, he asked an adjournment until the next day, which was granted, and he then delivered to the Governor, as he saw he was dissatisfied, a belt of wampum, as a satisfaction for the murders which had been committed. The council then adjourned over to the following day.

Having returned to their camp, the brothers again met in secret conference, but they were sad and dispirited; preparations had been made for which they were not prepared; and by which not only were their plans thwarted, but they feared the effect which such a military display was calculated to have upon their own followers. To obviate this, and to explain to them what had, as yet, been done in council, a general meeting was called. It was now late at night—the moon was full, and “riding high in Heaven,” the evening was mild, with only air enough to stir their jet black locks, or whisper in soft low accents as it passed through the neighbouring trees, when Elkswatawa rose, and began to sing an evening hymn; soon the crowd joined with him, and as he led the song, he inwove with it a narration of their sufferings, and blended with it the glorious promises of the Great Spirit. His followers were now excited to the highest degree, and ready for any enterprise however hazardous. He then called for silence and detailed the views of the Governor which had been given in council,—ridiculed them, and laughed at his calling out all his men, for the purpose of frightening them into a compliance with his wishes.

Having exhausted himself, he was seated, and Tecumseh rose, he began by attempting to destroy any impression which might have been made by the military display at Vincennes; he roused their pride, he inflamed their passions, he complimented them on their bravery and noble bearing, and looked to the future for a realization of all their hopes;—he exhorted them to peace, and sobriety, and orderly conduct, and told them that the time had not yet come.

The Indians had been led to believe by the Prophet, that their lands were to be restored to them, and their condition in other respects essentially benefitted, but how it was to be effected many did not know; some had vague and uncertain ideas of the manner, and it was as yet only the warm partizans of the brothers among the various tribes to whom their plans had been fully developed. Tecumseh's remark therefore, “that the time had not yet come,” was understood by but few of the mass of his hearers,—yet he went on to develope his plans more and more to his followers;—dwelling upon the perfidy of the whites—suggesting the probability of an attack from them, and urging the necessity of their being always prepared. He told them that the council would break up on the morrow, and that he would set out immediately on a visit to the southern Indians, to get them to join their confederacy and to tell them of the conduct of the whites. He then advised them to return to their homes, and commit no aggressions; that the whites would only make it an excuse to seize their lands and treat them amiss while he was absent; that, having returned from the south, he would visit the President, and their claims should then be attended to. The meeting was then adjourned, sentinels placed to prevent a surprise, and all was quiet in the camp.

The following day the whites again assembled in council, yet the day was far spent when the brothers, with their warriors, made their appearance. The same disposition of themselves and forces was made that had been adopted the day before, and the council was again opened. Tecumseh continued his speech;—narrated the wrongs of the Indians, and demanded retro-cession of the lands lately purchased. At its close, much fatigued, he turned to look for a chair; no seat had been provided for him, and feeling slighted, he turned with an indignant air towards the Governor, who, observing it, ordered one to be handed. It was done; with the remark, “your Father requests you to take a chair.” “My Father!” said Tecumseh, casting it proudly from him, “the sun is my father, the earth my mother; upon her bosom I will repose;” and he stretched himself upon the ground. The debate was still warmly continued, several other chiefs of the red men addressed the assembly, the day closed, and yet nothing had been done. Charges were made against the whites by the Indians, and charges were made against the Indians by the whites; each party professed to desire peace, yet neither would do that which would give satisfaction to the other.

The moon was now high, and the night wearing away, when the Governor, anxious to put an end to the conference, told Tecumseh, that he had stated that his designs were peaceable, and he could now prove it, by delivering over to punishment the Indians who had lately committed the murders in Illinois, otherwise his intentions would be viewed as at war with his declarations. Tecumseh, in answer, stated that he could not give them up; he had pardoned the whites when they had killed his men, and he must now require from them the same forgiveness.