PANTHER-ACROSS-THE-SKY
Tecumseh and the New Madrid Earthquake
Part One: Tecumseh's Birth and Boyhood
[The following narrative is taken from The Frontiersman by Allan W.
Eckert (copyright 1967). In the Author's Note, Eckert wrote: "This book
is fact, not fiction. Certain techniques normally associated with the
novel form have been utilized, but in no case has this been at the
expense of historical accuracy. In no case has there been any 'whole
cloth' fabrication or fanciful fictionalization. Equally, every
incident described in this book actually occurred; every date is
historically accurate; and every character, regardless of how major or
minor, actually lived the role in which he is portrayed."]
Wednesday, March 9, 1768
As he had done on occasion ever since childhood, the Shawnee chief
Pucksinwah contemplated the multitude of stars sparkling with such life
and beauty in the deep cloudless and moonless sky. Now that the fire
had died to a dim orange bed of coals and the women squatted around it
had lapsed into uncommon silence, these jewels of the night seemed to
draw even closer and become more tangible, as if waiting to be plucked.
Only rarely was the stillness broken by a soft cry from within the
hastily erected shelter beyond the fire where Methotasa --
A-Turtle-Laying-Her-Eggs-in-the-Sand -- waited delivery of her child.
It would have been better had they been able to continue the journey to
Chillicothe. The village was only three arrow flights to the northwest
of them, but the time to bear fruit had come and further travel, however
short, would have been dangerous to both Methotasa and the infant.
Though extremely anxious to reach this principal town of the
Chalahgawtha sept, Pucksinwah nevertheless stayed behind with his
12-year-old son, Chiksika, and 10-year-old daughter, Tecumapese, along
with half a dozen women of his clan who would help in the delivery. The
remainder of his Kispokotha sept of the Shawnees he sent on to the
village with word of his whereabouts and his promise to appear on the
morrow at the large msi-kah-mi-qui, or council house.
Nearly 600 strong, these followers of his represented about two-thirds
of the population of Kispoko Town on the west bank of the Scioto River.
Similar groups from the other four Shawnee septs were also converging
for this highly important council at Chillicothe. For over five years
tribal representatives had been meeting here at intervals in an effort
to decide what the Shawnees, as a nation, must do about the white man
who, despite those treaties forbidding it, was crossing the mountains to
the east and spilling into the valleys of the Monongahela and
Youghiogheny and Allegheny.
Although the Shawnee septs were individual entities and governed
themselves, each was an important branch of the Shawnee tribe as a
whole, and each had a distinct office or duty to perform for the benefit
of the tribe. The Peckuwe sept, for instance, had charge of the
maintenance of order or duty, and looked after the celebration of
matters pertaining to Shawnee religion. It was to this sept that
Methotasa had belonged before Pucksinwah had taken her as wife.
The Maykujay clan controlled matters pertaining to health, medicine and
food. The Kispokotha sept, on the other hand, was in charge of all
circumstances of warfare, including the preparation and training of
warriors.
But the two most powerful septs were the Thawegila and Chalahgawtha,
which had charge of all things political and all matters affecting the
entire tribe. These two septs were equal in power, and from one of them
the principal chief of the Shawnees had to come. The chiefs of the
other septs were subordinate to the principal chief in all matters of
importance to the tribe but, in circumstances pertaining to their own
jurisdiction, they were independent chiefs. The Thawegila, Kispokotha
and Peckuwe septs were closely related morally and politically, while
the Maykujay and Chalahgawtha septs always stood together, as they had
in times past during occasional instances of tribal dissension.
So it was now in this problem of the encroachment of the whites. It was
such a serious problem that strong lines of dissension had formed which
threatened to cause a permanent breach in the nation; at least so it was
feared by the principal chief, Hokolesqua -- Cornstalk -- a Chalahgawtha
Shawnee. His sept and the Maykujays took the stand that "we had better
make peace with the white people, as they are outnumbering us and
increasing fast. It seems Moneto -- God -- is with them. Let us make
peace with them and be always in peace with them.
"No!" said the Thawegila, Kispokotha and Peckuwe chiefs. "Let us not
make peace with the white people. Let us fight them until one or the
other of us is destroyed to the last man."
Pucksinwah shook his head sadly. To the very marrow of his bones he
knew there could never be a true peace between whites and Indians. As
surely as summer follows spring, the whites would not stop at the river
valley of western Pennsylvania. Inevitably they would spread down the
Spay-lay-wi-theepi -- Ohio River -- to settle in the great and sacred
hunting grounds of Can-tuc-kee. The Shawnees from the north and
Cherokee from the south might share the bounty of that land below the
great river, but no tribe -- nor white man! -- must be permitted to take
up permanent residence there.
Had not over a century of friction between Indians and whites proven
that nothing could be gained by talk of peace? When treaties had been
signed and boundaries established in the past, had not these whites
treated the Indians with unfeigned loathing, and had they not broken the
boundaries almost immediately after they were established?
This was why the current council at the Little Miami River village of
Chillicothe was so important to Pucksinwah. Largest of the Shawnee
towns, it was centrally located to all the septs and more than 5000
Shawnee men would be on hand. And this time it would be his turn to
speak without interruption in the msi-kah-mi-qui. He would pray to
Moneto to bring powerful words to his lips that he might convince the
Chalahgawtha and Maykujay septs that there could never exist an suitable
peace between Indians and whites.
He raised his eyes skyward, but the prayer died aborning as a huge
meteor suddenly plunged into the atmosphere and burst into brilliant
greenish-white flame. It streaked across the heavens from the north in
an awe-inspiring spectacle which lasted fully twenty seconds.
Pucksinwah had heard of such occurrences, but not before had he seen
anything so breathtaking as this, and the tales of the old people came
back to him now: this shooting star was The Panther, a great spirit
passing over to the south where it seeks a deep hole for sleep. Every
night it passes somewhere on the earth to go to that home in the south.
It was a good sign indeed, and Pucksinwah arose and stepped briskly t
the fire where the women were clustered, chattering excitedly, for they
too had seen it.
>From within the temporary shelter came the sharp wail of a baby.
Pucksinwah waited quietly, the murmur of voices from inside almost lost
in the gurgle of water from the great bubbling spring beside the
shelter. Soon the infant's crying faded away, and a quarter hour later
one of the women came out, beckoned to the chief, and happily told him
he had a son.
Pucksinwah stooped to enter the shelter and the three women inside,
giggling delightedly, left to join the others at the fire. Methotasa
lay on a bedding of cedar boughs covered with a huge buffalo hide, the
even softer hide of a deer covering her to the waist. Her breasts were
swelled, but not yet heavily engorged with the milk which would come in
two or three days. In the crook of her arm slept the newborn child, its
skin glistening faintly with a protective coating of bear oil applied by
the squaws.
Methotasa smiled up at Pucksinwah as he knelt to look at the baby. She
told him that the other women had seen a great star, The Panther,
passing across and searching for its home in the south. Pucksinwah
nodded gravely, and told her it was the boy's unsoma.
Shawnee custom declares that a boy baby is not named for ten days after
his birth, nor a girl for twelve, during which time an unsoma -- notable
event -- would occur which should indicate what Moneto wished the child
to be called. But this time the sign had been given at the very moment
of birth, and this was of great importance. Both Pucksinwah and
Methotasa knew there could be no other name for this boy that
The-Panther-Passing-Across.
Thus was born and named the Shawnee Indian known as Tecumseh.
Sunday, April 13, 1788
"Little brother," Chiksika had said yesterday,placing his had on
Tecumseh's shoulder,, "what I say now will come to be. Just as our
father knew that he should die in that battle with the Shemanese where
the Kanawha and Spay-lay-wi-theepi meet, so I know that I will die
tomorrow during the midst of our little battle. When the sun is at its
highest, then will a bullet from the whites strike me here," he placed a
finger to his forehead midway between his eyes, "and my life will be
ended. But do not let them falter. Lead them on with an attack at
once, and they will emerge victorious."
And now, as they rode toward the frail fortification behind which the
whites lay, a devastating sorrow drained Tecumseh of strength and will
as he followed Chiksika wordlessly toward the destiny his older brother
had predicted.
Tecumseh wished he could disbelieve his 31-year-old brother's
prediction, but he could not. How many times in the past had Chiksika
predicted exactly what would happen and when? Too many times to count.
Even on the trip south they had laughed together when Chiksika had told
Tecumseh that though he was a better hunter than himself or any other of
the dozen Kispokotha warriors with them, in three days he would fall
from his horse and break his hip as he attempted to down a buffalo. But
it had happened just as he said. Two months ago, they had charged a
small herd and Tecumseh had thundered up beside the largest bull,
prepared to strike, when the animal's shoulder had bumped his horse,
throwing it off stride. The horse had slipped and fallen, throwing
Tecumseh from its back, and he had lain there filled with admiration for
Chiksika's prophetic ability, even as the waves of pain from the broken
hip throbbed through him.
And then, last night Chiksika had told Tecumseh of his presentiment, and
abruptly the world had become cold and hard and alien. So sorrowful at
Chiksika's prediction was he that Tecumseh scarcely heard his older
brother's further prediction.
"Tecumseh," he said, "you must carry on for our people and become for
them a leader. You will do this, I know. I have looked ahead and seen
you not only as a leader of the Shawnees, but as the greatest and most
powerful chief any tribe has ever known. I have seen you journey to far
lands and I have watched you bring together under your hand a
confederation of Indian nations such as has never before been known."
But Tecumseh fond little comfort in the words. His own mind was filled
with words that would never be spoken and his heart with a pain that
would never be eased. He vowed to stay by his brother's side during the
engagement.
The fight began late in the forenoon, and it was a hot one, the whites
defending their little stronghold with unexpected tenacity. Only
gradually were the settlers picked off and the Indians able to slowly
advance. The Cherokee chief three times led a charge, and three times
had been forced to retire, but each time less emphatically than the
last. Now, out of effective rifle range, he stood high and called his
tribesmen and Shawnee friends to rally behind him for a final charge
that would bring them victory.
Chiksika unexpectedly placed his had over Tecumseh's and squeezed it.
He pointed to a hickory sapling, its branches bare but for swelling
buds. It stood arrow straight in the ground and the sun made the
shadows of the branches a spiderwork pattern on the ground about the
trunk, but there was little trunk shadow, for the sun was at its
zenith.
"Happy am I," Chiksika said softly, "to fall in battle and not die in a
wegiwa like an old squaw."
He and his younger brother then joined the Cherokee chief and suddenly,
even before the sound of the distant shot came, there was a heavy
thunking sound and Tecumseh whirled to see Chiksika just beginning to
topple sideways, a hole nearly the diameter of his thumb between his
brother's eyes in the middle of his forehead. Tecumseh leaped forward
and caught him and gently lowered him to the ground. As he did so, the
Cherokee chief exhorted his men to charge the whites, but they were
shocked at the bullet having traveled so incredibly far and so
accurately to kill their northern ally and considered it a bad sign.
Even though Tecumseh begged them to charge again, telling them that
Chiksika had said they would win and that he would lead them beside
their chief, they refused to fight more.
As the entire party withdrew, Tecumseh's shoulders slumped far more with
the weight of sorrow than with the weight of his brother's body in his
arms.
+ - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - +
| David Yarrow (turtle) Econet:<jdmann> 315-675-8498 |
| Earthwise Education Center, P.O. Box 91, Camden, NY 13316 |
| "be earthwise, not clockwise" |
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~