“Then thou dost not know how well it suits. A word more. When we meet, Prophets must be made. Let them travel to the farthest tribes. Think of those best suited, and name them to me. I will clothe them with the prophetic spirit, and they shall wander forth believing what they preach. Say, that Prophets will be made, and more will come to the cavern. Now, farewell, play well your part, Tecumseh, and trust to Elkswatawa for his.” They then separated.
The brothers having adjourned, Elkswatawa again commenced his wanderings; the words of the Great Spirit were told to every person in whom he could find a hearer, and he now for the first time, began to affect singularity. He mingled in none of their amusements, he was reserved and mysterious in his manner, and when not preaching, would wander about and commune only with his own thoughts. He was rarely if ever seen to eat, and when he did, the most frugal fare formed his diet. He would never sleep in a wigwam, but as night came on, wrapping a blanket about his shoulders, would retire far into the forest, and appear again only with the rising sun.
His doctrines had already with the Indians become a theme of general conversation, and given rise to speculations as undefined as they were general. His opinions were seized upon with avidity, and propagated with impassioned zeal; and that they were to produce any other effect, than merely to better the condition of the Indians, no human being could foresee. Nothing could be more humble than his mode of address, nothing more pacific than the measures he recommended. He inculcated reform in the manner and habits of the Indians, begged them not to imitate the examples of the whites, but to live as their fathers did before the stranger came among them; entreated them no more to go to war with each other, but to live united as a band of brothers; to give up the use of ardent spirits, to which mainly their misfortunes might be attributed, and to stop at the same time, all intercourse with the whites. He urged them never to lie, to steal, or to quarrel with each other; and having pressed upon them the necessity of refraining from these things, he then depicted in glowing terms, their once proud and happy condition, when their lands lay spread out so far around them, that no one knew their boundary; when their plains were covered with deer and buffalo, and their streams were filled with the otter and beaver, when peace and plenty were abroad in the land; and when gathering under their own shady trees, without a care for the morrow, they would teach their children to dance on the green, to throw the tomahawk, or draw the bow. He contrasted this with their present situation, and attributed the change to their doing those things which he now commanded them not to do; then declared to them, that he was the agent of the Great Spirit, who had revealed to him his will, and sent him to warn them of their evil deeds, to unite them as a band of brothers, and reinstate them in their former happy possessions.
These doctrines had been reiterated for some time by the Prophet, principally to individuals of his own tribe, and to the few, who having heard of the Prophet, came from a distance to look upon the agent of the Great Spirit. But as yet he had addressed individuals only, or small groups whom accident had brought together; he had never spoken to a large crowd. Thus was he situated when, apparently without any design of his own, messengers were found going in every direction, to noise abroad his existence as a Prophet, and invite the red men to hear him preach and expound the doctrines of the Great Spirit. Rumour, no one knew whence it came, already attributed to him miracles without number, and sketched his appearance in such singular characters, that anxiety now sat on every face, and all were on tiptoe with curiosity to see him; so that when the time and place were appointed for a general exposition of his doctrines, and when also it was told that he was about to parcel out among some of his immediate followers portions of the holy and prophetic spirit which animated himself, crowds of persons, with agitated and restless countenances, were seen hurrying on in every direction to the “Haunted Cavern.”
This cave, which was then well known as the “Haunted Cavern,” and now equally well known by a different appellation, lies within the bosom of a range of hills, situated within the limits of the State of Indiana. On the evening preceding the day on which the Prophet was to preach, might be seen near their southern extremity, and at the base of a hill, which, shooting up several hundred feet, stretched away until it was lost to the view, hundreds of red men, with their wives and children, gathered in groups, in the beautiful grove which lay spread out far around them. They were engaged in various discussions, and, altogether, manifested more excitement and animation than ever before was known to pervade an Indian camp. Within this hill, was the “Haunted Cavern,” the place of rendezvous. Roving bands were still occasionally coming up, although the night was now somewhat advanced; and morning was to witness an exposition of the doctrines of the Shawanee Prophet.
The night wore on;—large vessels were simmering over the Indian fires, containing the suppers of the late gathered crowd, and a more quiet aspect seemed settling over the camp, when the blast of a horn rang through the forest. Its echo died away, a breathless silence reigned, and a voice breaking upon the stillness of the scene, was heard proclaiming, “the Prophet's throne is in the bosom of the hill;—when morning comes, let the red men seek it, and hear his words:—it is the Prophet's will.”
The voice was hushed:—a low murmuring sound, like the suppressed whispers of a multitude, was heard for a time to pervade the camp;—silence then resumed her sway, and nought more was heard until morning came. At the very first dawn, a dusky line of Indians might be seen in single file, ascending the hill, a distance of about two hundred feet, to a point, where were posted two warriors, gaudily painted, and armed with heavy war-clubs. Here halting but for a moment, they disappeared, by descending through a high arched door-way, far down into the hill up which they had been climbing. The procession lasted for about an hour;—the last of its members had just entered the hill, when the horn again sounded, and the warriors who had been standing guard, leaving their post, followed on, bringing up the rear of the crowd which had entered. It was morning, yet it availed not;—the light of day had never penetrated the dark recess of that cavern;—no lost sunbeam had ever struggled through a nearly closed fissure, to make glad with its presence that dim abode;—yet there it had existed for ages, wrapt in its own gloomy obscurity, and untenanted, save by nature, which had converted it into a chemical laboratory, and there silently and incessantly, time out of mind, had been engaged for its own wise purposes, in excavating spacious caverns,—forming an infinite variety of stalactites,—creating wreaths and festoons, by the process of crystallization,—erecting pillars, fluted and adorned with the most beautiful incrustations,—and embellishing every part of the immense area with the richest frost-work. Descending through the fissure which conducts you into the hill, you tread a gallery varying in its elevation and width for a mile and a half, and throughout its whole extent, decorated with crystallizations, cast in every shape, and of every hue. You are then introduced into a suit of spacious halls, arched over some thirty or forty feet above you, and supported by huge fluted columns of satin spar. How tame and common are the most splendid palaces, with all their decorations of art, when compared with these secret dwelling places of nature. How tasteless are the most exquisite specimens of architecture, when compared with the rude gothic grandeur of these huge subterranean abodes.
Within the largest hall, arose the throne of the Prophet. This consisted of a scaffold, elevated some few feet, and covered over with skins;—from which also hung a rich drapery of the same material, reaching to the floor, and effectually concealing every operation which was going on within. From this throne, was the prophet to make his appearance,—here promulgate the wishes of the Great Spirit,—here tell of the numerous times he had condescended to visit him,—here divide among his chosen followers portions of his own holy nature.
Gathering close together, in small circles, in various parts of the hall, the Indians sat;—anxiety was strongly marked in their countenances,—many gazed wildly about, and some trembled, as though they were suffering with fear. A single taper burned in that dark abode, serving only to indicate the situation of the Prophet's throne, and leaving shadowy and undefined, the spacious hall in which they were assembled. Silence reigned, only interrupted by a suppressed sigh, or a single whisper, when an owl was heard to complain to the bare walls. It ceased, and Tecumseh rising, lighted a match, and set fire to several large piles of wood, which had been prepared for the purpose. The fire rapidly caught, and as its flames burst forth, a scene presented itself, of which language can convey no adequate idea. A thousand suns would not have created a more dazzling light than did those fires, when reflected and refracted at every possible angle, from the myriads of crystals which studded the walls. They gave life to that which was before gloomy and obscure,—presented a scene as brilliant as though every crystal were a diamond, and called into play imaginations which required but little exertion to form and fashion into perfect models of huge and uncouth animals, the many wild assemblages of spar and stalactites which hung above them.
While the Indians, wild with astonishment, were gazing on the scene which had just burst forth, a low rumbling noise was heard,—the skins, which hung from the throne, were pushed aside, and a very singular figure made its appearance. An involuntary start was the effect of their first beholding it. It was, however, a man, and a tool of the Prophet. He was clad in one or more bearskins, selected on account of their being very black, and thrown over him so loosely as to enable him to assume any attitude or shape, whether it was that of the animal he personated, or of a man, which he less resembled. His face was enclosed in a bear's head, which seemed grinning with all its native ferocity, and exhibiting its long, white, keen tusks; while its eyes were somewhat enlarged, and surrounded by a deep red fiery belt, creating a savage horror. Where the animal's tail should have been, protruded one of enormous bulk, terminating in a large black snake, which had been so well stuffed and preserved, that as this object whisked about, the snake had all the appearance of life. This man had been chosen, and thus equipped by Elkswatawa, for the purpose of guarding his sacred person, together with several other small articles, which he denominated portions of the flesh of the Great Spirit, and which he stated, were given him that his chosen followers might touch them, and thereby imbibe the prophetic spirit. Having made his appearance, he circled the throne several times on the outer edge of the scaffolding, howled, and disappeared.