That the sachem was in error, there can of course be no doubt—all are who undertake to withstand the progress of a Christian civilization; but no less certain is it that he erred not because his heart was wrong, but that his mind was unenlightened. And in fair truth, with such limited views as to the right and wrong in human motive and action as the rude, narrow sphere in which his lot was cast enabled him to make, what other course could he in his own judgment have chosen, without dishonor to himself and injury to the people whose weal he most assuredly had earnestly at heart. Had his mind—crude as his own wilderness, as vast too, and as fertile and varied—been duly cultivated and enlightened, he would not have viewed the progress of civilization as a destroying flood, against which it behooved him as a patriot to array his people, lest thereby they be swept away from the earth. Rather would he have perceived that it was a life-giving, beneficent light, into which it was his highest duty, as a lover of the great brotherhood of man, to lead his people, that with it they might spread themselves over the earth, and in it grow strong and prosperous and happy.
During all this time, though his labors were of a nature to keep the wrongs and woes of his people and the power and pride of their white oppressors continually fresh in his mind, never did the savage hero lift the hand of violence against the aged, the helpless, or the unarmed. To his magnanimous spirit, Indian heathen though he was, the captive was a sacred trust, and many a man of the hated race, thrown by the chances of war within their direful grasp, did he rescue from horrible death at the hands of his injured and exasperated countrymen. The booty taken by his hands from the whites in their raids across the border was immense; but the spoils of war, though he might well have claimed the lion's share, he left, with magnificent generosity, to his followers—the glory of war being all that a true hero could covet.
In his habits of life the sachem was abstemious even to austerity, yet frank end popular in his manners, entering heartily into the rude amusements and athletic sports of his people. In the latter, such was his strength and activity of body, he rarely met his equal; and in hunting and wood-craft he was, even in the eyes of his hunter-race, a marvel of skill and address. He was the very soul of integrity and truth; and though born of a race proverbial for cunning and craft, he was of a nature singularly frank and straightforward, as he showed by the boldness and openness with which he was accustomed, even in the presence of his enemies, to acknowledge and discuss his great project.
As a warrior-chieftain, he stands unrivaled in the barbarous traditions of his race, and as an orator, with scarcely a superior. His oratory was of the highest order, inasmuch as it was the outgrowth of a great intellect, active, powerful, and wide-grasping in its operations, and the outpouring of a mighty spirit, deep and earnest, pure and generous, and often sublime in its emotions. Whenever he made the great mission of his life the theme of his declamations—and he took every suitable occasion for doing so—let his listeners be friends or foes, his appearance, at all times striking and prepossessing in the extreme, became as that of one inspired. His ample chest expanded with noble feeling; every gesture of hip hand, every movement and posture of his commanding form, grew eloquent with meaning. Unmasked of its habitual cast of reserve, his handsome face, clear, strong, and firm in its lines, yet flexible in its play of muscle and feature, reflected with mirror-like distinctness the passing emotions of his heart. His eye, eagle-like in its unflinching brightness, flashed forth the lightnings of the fiery and haughty spirit within. Language, direct in its unstudied simplicity, graphic and vigorous, and glowing with the thoughts and images of a luminous though unpolished mind, flowed from his lips majestic and resistless. Added to all was that awakening voice whose echoes had so long resounded through thy great North-west. Now it rang out, stern, abrupt, imperious, like the call of a trumpet to battle; now softened down to tones broken, tender, and pitying as those of a bereaved father sorrowing over his hapless children; then, as visions of the utter extinction of his race would break upon his prophetic soul, it would come wailing out like the despairing cry of a Hebrew prophet lamenting the impending desolation of Zion.
Such was Tecumseh. Thus he lived, this Indian Hannibal; thus he rose, this Glory of his Race.
Chapter XVIII.
How the Eagle and the Lion and the Big Bear Figured in the Great North-west.
Toward the close of a hazy October day, in the year 1813, two small armies might have been seen, and according to history were seen, moving along the banks of the river Thames. Not the Thames which, after winding among the pleasure-grounds of the English gentry and through the great city of London, under ever so many bridges, emptied its waters into the German Ocean; but the Thames which, after winding among the forest-slopes of Canada West and through or by no cities at all, nor under any bridges whatever, discharged its waters into Lake St. Clair. So, along the Canadian Thames, at the time just named, two small armies were to be seen, each measuring ground with uncommon expedition; the foremost hurriedly, being in loose retreat; the hindmost rapidly, being in tight pursuit. Over the van of the retreating army ungallantly dangled the crimson, lion-emblazoned banner of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland; over the van of the pursuing army gallantly waved the tri-colored, star-emblazoned, eagle-capped flag of the United States of America.
The Second War between Great Britain and the United States had now been going on for many a tedious month; sometimes languidly, sometimes spasmodically, never energetically. Like a slow, dull fever, it had wasted and enfeebled the two countries without redounding more to the profit of the one than to the glory of the other; and the glory being too scant to be divided between them, they wisely left the crimson fog to the humor of the winds. How the winds disposed of it, the world has never heard.