When he saw that their eyes were glimmering with dismay at the prospect of such loss, he told them of an opportunity that was coming. He did not want to mention this with the white colonel present but could do nothing about him.
Soon, Tecumseh told them, the Americans and the British would be at war with each other again, because the Americans wanted not only this land bounded by the Great Northern Lakes and the Eastern and Southern seas, even the Western Ocean, they wanted even Canada, they wanted even Mexico. The British would be in a right cause in that war, he said, because they would be trying to save the land of the Canadian red men from the Americans. And so, not only would the red men all be united in this right cause, the British would be helping them with food and weapons from their own rich supply houses.
And at last, deep in the night, he called upon the Choctaws to give him their hands and their hearts.
“In three moons,” he cried, “when all the red men are brothers and ready to join in this right cause, there will come a great sign from the earth that all is ready, that it is time for us to take hold of our fate and save ourselves! It will be such a sign that will rouse even the blind and deaf!
“I will give to your chiefs these bundles of red sticks.” He held one up. “They will throw away one stick each day, and after the last stick is gone, the sign will come. At that time, all must come and put your hand on the tomahawk with mine, ready to resist the white intruders!”
Many warriors leaped up, yelling, after his last words had been translated. Everywhere in the crowd prevailed a turmoil of talking and crying. This went on for several minutes, while Colonel Pitchlynn sat trying not to reveal his anger and alarm, and it did not grow quiet until Pushmataha rose and stood where Tecumseh had stood before. As always, the Choctaw chief looked like a giant warrior in the garb of a holy man. And as he had begun each time, he now raised his mighty arms and cried:
“You know me! I had no father, no mother! The winds blew howling, the rains poured down, the thunder shook the world, the lightning flashed down and split a pine tree, and then, out from the splinters and smoke stepped Pushmataha with a rifle in his hand!
“Thus made, I fought our enemies and made them afraid. I have gone alone into their towns, and when the banging and screaming were over I came forth, Pushmataha, with handfuls of scalps. But I have killed women and children, and I have thought later that this I should not have done. These words of Tecumseh the Shawnee have touched my heart, and I believe he is right. I, Pushmataha, will never hurt a woman or child again. I have thought of this myself! Nor will I harm a prisoner. It is true what he says, there is no glory in hurting a man who is tied up.
“What Tecumseh told us about peace among the tribes is true also. I have often thought what a bad thing it is that good men die in wars among brothers. To the west of us are the Chickasaws, and farther that way, the Osages. I have fought them. I have made their blood pour out. The Osages now leave us alone and stay beyond the Great River. The Chickasaws now grow their gardens and hunt pecans and pick fruit, and make war on the mighty Choctaw no more. To the east are the Muskogee Creeks. Sometimes they still fight us, but it is better when they are at peace with us. Often I have thought how good it is to be at peace with neighbors.”
Tecumseh knew which way Pushmataha was going with this. The Choctaw had seen that his people liked these ideas, and being a chief who was jealous of power, he was pretending that he had thought of them himself.
“My people,” Pushmataha said now, “I think the Shawnee Tecumseh has many of my thoughts. But!” He pointed at Tecumseh. His voice grated. “I am not with Tecumseh in going to war with white men! The Choctaw see no reason to like British better than Americans. Did not the Choctaw help the Americans against the British king in their great war a generation ago? Did not our fathers go up into the east and take the hand of their first chief, Washington, and promise to remain his friends always? This is a sacred promise! Even though the chief Washington is dead now, our promise to him lives! No! We must never shed the blood of Americans! To break this promise and go to war against our friends, that is what would end in the ruin of the Choctaw nation! We must not make our friends into enemies by taking the talk of Tecumseh!
“Tecumseh tells you that Americans are the spawn of the evil Serpent, and he asks you to take hold of his war club with him. I do not stand here to deny what Tecumseh says happened to his people up there. The Shawnees surely have been hurt by the Americans, by fighting against the white men. Surely their troubles began when they shed white men’s blood!
“But I am leader of a people who have not spilled the blood of Americans. We have not had such troubles! We are not starved because of the nearness of white men. We have commerce with the Americans, and some good things have come of it. If they have done harsh things to other members of our race, I am sorry to know of them. I well know that causes often arise which force a people into hard places. But, my Choctaws, these causes are not upon our nation. We have not been pressed to a hard place.
“Think, then, without fire in your souls! Remember, the Americans think well of us! Would you cry to avenge acts you have only heard about from this talker who has come among us? Were you thinking of raising your hand against Americans before he came and asked you to? No!
“My people, you know that we and our neighbors have in the past fought the Shawnees. It was long ago, but once we suffered at their hands. We have never suffered at the hands of Americans. How come you then to cry out with an old enemy for the blood of an old friend?
“Listen! To war against the Americans would commence the destruction of our nation! They have more land, more men, more horses, more guns, more wealth, than we have—yes, even more than that of all the red nations together!
“Listen to the voice of prudence, my Choctaw, before the exciting words of our Shawnee guest make you leap up and do a terrible thing you had never until now even thought of doing!
“But do as you may, know this before you act:
“If such a war begins, I, Pushmataha, will stand on the side of the Americans. And if any Choctaw warrior follows Tecumseh to such a war, when he returns, I shall kill that warrior!”
Tecumseh saw a look of joy and relief on the face of the American colonel Pitchlynn. His own heart smoldered with hatred for Pushmataha and contempt for his short vision. But he did not let these feelings show. He had seen that many of the young warriors had been stirred. It was not unusual for the old chiefs to resist his pleas for action, for change. He was used to that. The same had happened with the Chickasaws, the nation he had visited before this one. When in the Hard Moon the great sign would come and all the earth would shake, the warriors would remember what he had said, and some would forget Pushmataha’s threat and would pick up their weapons and go to meet him in the north. Tecumseh was disappointed by Pushmataha’s advice, but not crushed. He had done what he could with the Choctaw. It was time to move eastward among the people of his mother. There were still hundreds of miles to go, many Creek towns ahead, Alabamu towns, Seminole towns, Catawba towns, Cherokee towns, and then west to the Osages and Missouria-Otoes and the Iowas …
There was so far to go, and so little time left in this Year of the Signs!
STAR WATCHER COULD NOT PERSUADE OPEN DOOR TO PREPARE the town for flight from the Long Knife army. “Our harvest,” she would insist, “should be carried up the Tippecanoe and cached there. Just enough should be kept here to feed us a week or two. When the army arrives there will not be time to flee ahead of them with so much grain. They would catch us and hack us and destroy the corn, and leave us hungry for another winter!” He would grimace and protest:
“I do not want to abandon this holy town!”
For days Open Door had been turning over and over inside. His warriors and war chiefs kept him always in councils. What was he going to do about the Long Knives’ army? It had completed its fort on the High Ground and resumed its march up the east bank of the Wabash-se-pe. At Big Raccoon Creek it had crossed fro
m the treaty lands onto the lands of the Weas and was now in Indian country to which the Americans did not have even any pretended claim.
“There is no doubt anymore!” the war chiefs hissed at their prophet. “They do not come close just to frighten us, they are coming clear to your town to destroy it! Father, they will fall upon us in days! You must let us go out and strike them before they come closer!”
But Open Door, with Charcoal Burner at his side and Star Watcher’s entreaties in his head, would reply: “We are not to be provoked! You know it is our plan not to fight the Long Knives until my brother returns from the south with the warriors of those nations!”
The war chiefs argued:
“Provoked? What is this you say, Father? They do not provoke! They invade! They come to destroy this very place!”
“We are not ready to fight their army,” Charcoal Burner would argue.
“Do we fear their army?” White Loon cried. “I do not fear this army! They put on war clothes to come into our country, but they are not warriors. They are only calico peddlers and farmers!”
“Then they are calico peddlers who shoot from horseback and knock squirrels out of the trees,” retorted Charcoal Burner, who had been so impressed by that sight that he mentioned it over and over.
“We could lay an ambush at any creek and kill them as they tried to cross,” growled White Loon. “They are slow with their wagons and their cattle. They could be treated as they were treated at Blue Licks, long ago before we signed treaties and became timid. Father, we must decide what to do. There is little time!”
“There is more time than you imagine,” Open Door replied. “I sent the Miamis down to talk to them, and tell them I wish to parley with them.”
“Aha! Where, then, are the Miamis? Why have they not come back with his reply? The Miamis who were here are friends of the Long Knife governor. They are traitors. They came only to confuse us. If not, they would have come back with his answer whether he will stop along his way and talk with you. He means to make you believe he will stop, but no! He will be upon this town suddenly, and we will have to fight him in the open fields, with the women and children nearby and in danger. We are fools to stand and wait!”
“We are not fools!” Open Door cried. “His army is not near us yet! Have our scouts come to say they have seen him close by? No!”
“Maybe our scouts are dead,” a war chieftain retorted. “Maybe they were shot like squirrels by the long guns of the army.”
Open Door chopped across the air with his open hand. “This is enough dispute among us!” he cried. “Even if he came this far, how could he surprise us? He is on the other side of the river. Do not press upon me like this! Have I not told you that our town is under the protection of the Great Good Spirit, and that anyone who tries to harm it will be struck dead or crazy? Now cease these alarms. I go now to the medicine lodge, where I will call again to the Master of Life for the power that has always protected us.” Even as he spoke these words, his heart quickened and felt lighter, as it did when Weshemoneto was listening and ready to respond. Yes, he thought. Weshemoneto, I need your answer. I need your guidance now!
Without Tecumseh to guide him, he was woefully aware, he needed desperately to hear from a messenger of the Great Good Spirit, who had said nothing to him for so long. Weshemoneto was sparing with his signs, of course. He had not spoken before now because there had not been such a crisis of danger before now. But now, Open Door was sure, now the answers would come. Weshemoneto would not have made Loud Noise into He-Opens-the-Door and put him into this crisis only to abandon him.
In the medicine lodge that night, Open Door sat before a cedarwood fire, his eye closed, and tried to open his soul to the messages from above. He had asked his wife to come into the lodge with him, to aid his concentration by guarding the door against intruders and to hand him the sacred artifacts he might need as he communed with the Messenger Spirits. He still had true faith and was sure he would be guided in time.
Open Door long ago had learned that trying to force messages to come only drove them farther away. So he pretended that he was not trying to force them to come, though in fact by his mental straining he was. As he sat facing the fire, he seemed to hear with his mind the marching feet of Harrison’s army. But this was not a real sound. Outside there was only the quiet noise of the village, the rustling of the last clinging oak leaves in the night wind. Harrison’s army would not be marching at night, and it was after all on the far side of the river. Open Door told himself he must calm his imagination, or he would never perceive the messages when they did come. He murmured his chants and tried to draw the voice of the Great Good Spirit down to himself.
After a while, eye still shut, he spoke softly to his wife and asked her to bring him his sacred medicine fire stick and the beaded bag that contained the nilu famu, sacred tobacco. He felt them being put into his hands. He laid the stick upon one thigh, opened the neck of the bag, and pinched out a bit of the powdered tobacco. Then he rubbed his thumb and forefinger together, dusting the tobacco into the fire before him. He smelled it burning and knew its sacred smoke was now rising out of the smokehole into the night, and he put his prayer into the smoke, that it might be carried to heaven.
Again now he felt his heart growing quick and light.
Yes! Soon he would know! At last the Messenger was about to visit him again with wisdom and guidance!
Open Door saw a light growing in the darkness. It was an irregular, shifting light, darkening now and then as if something were passing before it. Open Door breathed slowly to soothe his soul so that the image would form.
And after a while he saw that the light was a white tent gleaming in the light of a great bonfire.
Now Open Door saw that it was an army tent, of the sort he had seen at the Fallen Timbers.
In the image the tent was among big trees. There were people lying in blankets on the ground around it and many bonfires burning. The people in the blankets were soldiers. Many of them were not moving, not even breathing; others lay with their eyes and mouths wide open, turning their heads upon their necks like madmen, rolling their eyeballs.
Now, as if he were walking toward the tent’s door, he saw it grow closer. But it was not himself going toward the tent. He felt himself to be far back behind the person who was moving toward the tent, yet seeing it through his own eye looking through the eyes of the one going there.
Now the person was inside the tent, and there upon a bed lay Harrison the governor, asleep.
Open Door heard a rapid heartbeat. He felt in his hand a handle. It was not the fire stick he actually held in his hand, but a handle made of horn from an antler. It was the handle of a knife.
In the light that diffused through the cloth of the tent, he saw Harrison’s eyes open, those strange eyes that were so hard to look at, and the eyes saw the knife.
Suddenly with a surge of power and a grunting breath, the carrier of the knife struck at Harrison’s breast with it. The knife went through the blanket and between ribs and into the heart. His mouth opened to emit a cry, but only blood came forth.
Open Door felt a hand on his shoulder shaking him hard. He opened his eye and saw his wife’s fat face before him, full of alarm.
“What, woman?” he exclaimed. “Why do you disturb me?”
“You cried out.”
“Woman! Leave me alone!” he groaned. He was furious. At last he had been permitted to glimpse the event, but this stupid woman had disrupted it.
She looked very hurt. “I was afraid you were going to fall and … and go away as you did the first time.…”
“I was! I was! I was away! I meant to be! Go,” he whined. “Go home!”
He tried then, late into the night, to return to the vision, but Weshemoneto did not let him see any more.
But Open Door was heartened. The Great Good Spirit had told him a very important thing: that Harrison could—and surely would—be killed in his tent at night. And that the soldiers around him
could not protect him because, it seemed, some were dead and the rest crazy!
FIRST IT WAS ONE DISTANT CRY IN THE DRONE OF AFTERNOON, then more voices spread the cry of alarm, and in a few seconds the cries were shrieking down through Prophet’s Town:
“The Long Knives! The army is here!” The people were stampeding. The town was in a turmoil.
From his medicine lodge, Open Door, dismayed, could now see them coming. They were more than a mile away yet, and only the Leathershirts scouting in advance of the main army were clearly visible, but, yes! The army was in sight, the lines and masses moving slowly in the hazy distance through the gray, leafless woods, and the horror of it was that they were not on the other side of the Wabash, but on this bank! Charcoal Burner’s scouts had discovered only this morning that the army had apparently crossed the river somewhere far down and had been coming unseen along the north bank for days. There was nothing between Harrison’s approaching army but the mouth of one narrow, shallow creek and a mile of marshes and harvested corn fields!
As the war chiefs gathered around Open Door, he had all he could do to mask his fright and despair. No wonder was it that the Miamis he had sent down with a message to Harrison had not returned with a reply. They had missed the oncoming army entirely. And the time Open Door had hoped to gain by parley was lost. Now the enemy was here. The dark lines of troops could be clearly seen coming out of the cottonwoods and sycamores and the willow thickets into the fields: horsemen first, hundreds of them, then the twin lines of Blue-Coat walking soldiers, at this distance seeming hardly to move, yet coming into view across the gray-brown landscape. There could be no parley with them at a safe distance from the town, no way to persuade them to stay down the river, no way to stall them until more warriors could come from Illinois or Mis-i-ken, no way to ambush them from the woods at some creek crossing, no way to slip into Harrison’s camp and kill him in his bed.… They were here, marching upon his sacred town, and Open Door had no plan, now. His head was full of a silent scream.
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