“Regions of beauty there the rovers found;
The flowery hills with emerald woods were crowned;
Spread o'er the vast savannas, buffalo herds
Ranged without master; and the bright winged birds
Made gay the sunshine as they glanced along,
Or turned the air to music with their song.”
MONTGOMERY.
To preserve unity, and also to explain some portions of our story, which may seem to wear a mysterious colouring, the thread of our narrative requires that we should again return to the brothers, Tecumseh and Elkswatawa. As will be recollected, at the treaty of Greenville, in '95, they were too young to be allowed a voice in council; for, among the aborigines, wisdom and age are regarded as almost synonymous terms, and no exploit, however daring, nor reputation, however well earned, is ever regarded as a sufficient equivalent for the want of years. Previous to that date, however, Tecumseh, as the leader of a roving band, had, in the estimation of his countrymen, won for himself the reputation of a great warrior; and when, although it was stern necessity which forced them, he saw the chieftains of his own and other tribes, about to surrender all for which they had so long contended, he would not witness the humiliating compact, but beckoning to his brother, they left the council, that they might avoid the hated face of the white men, and plunging deeper into the forest, rove where yet they could be wild and free.
Satisfied that, under existing circumstances, they could do nothing which would materially benefit their tribe, or tend in any way to effect a restoration of their lands, they passed several years wandering far in the wilderness, and were rarely known to mingle with their countrymen. But when the tidings that a firm peace had been established were spread throughout the country, and the uninterrupted quiet of a few years proclaimed those tidings true, swarms of emigrants were seen hurrying on to the west. With their arrival, encroachments were commenced on the lands of the Indians, and with these encroachments, again appeared Tecumseh and his brother. They ranged the frontier from north to south, and viewed in silence the ravages which the great influx of strangers was making upon their lands. They then returned from south to north, that they might more fully acquaint themselves with the power and resources of the whites; but when they returned, they found that their former footsteps had been effaced by the rapidly swelling flood; and they made for themselves a new path, farther in the forest, upon lands which were as yet untouched by the inundation. And often did they pause, and in silence contemplate the tide which was sweeping along, and which they saw they had no means of opposing; and their bosoms heaved, and they wept, when looking a few years into the future, they saw the fate of the red men.
But when the brothers beheld these things, although no star of hope shone to illumine their path, they resolved to make an effort to free their country; to unite the tribes in one desperate struggle, and at least die nobly in its defence. History assigns the summer of 1806, as the period at which Elkswatawa and Tecumseh, who had resided apart for some time, met by appointment, to discuss matters of grave import. And since their meeting at that time exerts a serious influence on the story we are telling, or rather since the incidents arising therefrom, told almost without colouring, are to form the chief subject of the following pages, we must be pardoned for going somewhat minutely into detail.
To give vent to their feelings, and arrange their plans, was the object of their present meeting. The morning was beautiful, and the place selected by the brothers, far from their wigwams, was wild and picturesque, and as quiet as it could be, surrounded by breathing nature. The gravity of the speakers, indicated that indeed no common-place theme was to be discussed, and the spot selected for their conference, seemed chosen that its associations, if necessary, might stimulate them in the execution of the plans they were about to adopt. An Indian mound, beneath which might have slept a thousand warriors, was the chosen spot; rising up some forty or fifty feet above the plain, which lay spread out before them, it presented a beautiful landscape of prairie and forest,—the former dotted with many wild herds, browsing on its pasturage; and the whole scene untenanted by human beings, save alone the two above mentioned lords of the forest. Reclining an its top, and gazing upon the deep blue heavens, they were for some time silent, showing by that silence, the deep interest they felt in a subject, for the discussion of which they had now met.
At last, Tecumseh rising up, said:—“Brother, I have sought this meeting that we might hold a talk. I have visions of the future. Our people must wake up, or the plough of the pale face will upturn the hunting fields of the red men.”
“When, obeying thy call, I left my wigwam,” said Elkswatawa, “I knew not thy purpose. I knew not there was a red man who would dare speak of the wrongs of his country. But thou art of my mind, brother.” Then pausing:—“Where are the fields over which in boyhood we hunted? Gone. Where rest the bones of our fathers? They whiten the fields of the stranger: they make grow the corn of the pale face.”
“Yes,” replied Tecumseh, “far, far, from the home of his children. But they are crying unto his sons for vengeance; I hear their voice in the running streams, I hear it borne on the winds as they sweep along.”
“Then we will dig up the tomahawk,” said Elkswatawa. “Onward be our battle cry, and the red torch shall blaze until no red man is left to kindle it, or until no wigwam remains to shelter a pale face.”
“Thou speakest well,” said Tecumseh, “we must brighten our tomahawks, and the war whoop must ring. The pale faces like a mighty river are sweeping over our lands. We must make a dam to resist them, or we shall have not a hole to hide in, not a lap of earth whereon to lay our heads. They are always hungry. If you give them land to day, they want more to-morrow. They are never satisfied, but will drive us away into the big Salt Lake.” Then, pausing for a moment, he burst forth with renewed energy. “No; it shall never be. Sooner shall our streams run red with the blood of the dying, our plains grow white with the bones of the slain. Shall the children of the sun be wronged, and not seek vengeance? Yes, brother. But it shall be when the mountains fall, and rivers cease to flow.”