Part One: Tecumseh's Birth and Boyhood
|Tecumseh and the New
[The following narrative is taken from The Frontiersman by Allan
W. Eckert (© 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
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
"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
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
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 to 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
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
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.
Part Two: Confederacy & Prophecy
Wednesday, August 11, 1802
Each time Tecumseh addressed one of these councils, he felt a
great exaltation as he saw how his words caught and held his
listeners; how easily, with the proper turn of a phrase, he could
stir in them emotions of anger and hate, love and pleasure, regret
and sorrow. Each time he began to speak, he was never really sure
exactly what he would say, but then the words came to him, rolling
fluently from his tongue and never failing to stir deeply all who
He was much pleased with the way things had gone thus far. All
during spring, summer and fall of last year he had gone from village
to village, journeying as far eastward as western Vermont and
Massachusetts. This past spring, as soon as he had concluded the
laughable treaty with the cut-ta-ho-tha, he had ranged across upper
and western New York State and northwestern Pennsylvania. All of the
remaining Iroquois Confederacy had been deeply inspired by the plan,
and they looked upon the speaker with something very akin to
reverence. They had pledged their faith and their secrecy and, most
important, their help when the great sign should be given.
This great sign that Tecumseh spoke of wherever he went always
remained the same, and his telling of it never failed to awe his
audiences. When the period of waiting was over, he told them, when
tribal unification had been completed, when all was in readiness,
then would this sign be given: in the midst of the night the earth
beneath would tremble and roar for a long period. Jugs would break,
though there be no one near to touch them. Great trees would fall,
though the air be windless. Streams would change their courses to
run backwards, and lakes would be swallowed up into the earth and
other lakes suddenly appear. The bones of every man would tremble
with the trembling of the ground, and they would not mistake it. No!
There was not anything to compare with it in their lives, nor in the
lives of their fathers or the fathers before them since time began;
when this sign came, they were to drop their mattocks and flash
scrapers, leave their fields and their hunting camps and their
villages, and join together and move to assemble across the lake
river from the fort of Detroit. And on that day they would no longer
be Mohawks or Senecas, Oneidas or Onondagas, or any other tribe.
They would be Indians! One people united forever where the good of
one would henceforth become the good of all!
So it would be!
Sunday, December 1809
The watchword of the year was suspicion. Everyone, it seemed, was
suspicious of something.
Despite all the suspicions in the air, the year closed without
open hostilities erupting anywhere. The United States, under its new
President, James Madison, continued to be suspicious of the British.
William Henry Harrison continued to be suspicious of Tecumseh and
the Prophet. Many of the Indian chiefs continued to be suspicious of
the amalgamation of the tribes. Tecumseh continued to be suspicious
of the growing insubordination of his brother, Tenskwatawa, the
Prophet. The settlers continued to be suspicious of all Indians. And
Tenskwatawa continued to be suspicious of everything and everybody.
The Prophet's work in helping to unite the tribes behind
Tecumseh's movement was, on the whole, a big disappointment to
Tecumseh. These tribes -- the Delawares, Miamis, Wyandots, and, in
particular, the Shawnees -- must be convinced to join. Without their
active support, the entire grand plan might collapse. Yet, instead
of uniting them, Tenskwatawa had succeeded only in alarming them and
driving them away with talk of immediate attack on Vincennes and the
river settlements, and by his suggestions that the Great Spirit
would destroy any who did not join in to help. It was a maddening
development and, before he set out again to visit each of these
chiefs, Tecumseh held long conferences with his younger brother and
gave him strict orders to follow.
Tenskwatawa was to begin immediately to regain some of the
prestige he had lost during the year. He would retire alone to the
woods and there make a large number of sacred slabs which he was to
tell the assembled Indians he had made under the direction of the
Great Spirit. The directions for their construction was specific.
Each slab was to be of the same length, thickness and taper, and
each was to have carved , on one side only, the same symbols. The
slabs were to be made of red cedar and each was to be accompanied by
a bundle of thin red sticks. Each of the red sticks was to represent
one moon, and, when the bundle and slab was given to a particular
chief, he would be directed to throw away one of the red sticks at
each full moon until only the slab itself remained, at which time he
must prepare for the great sign to be given.
The symbols on the slab were to have a double meaning -- one to
tell any curious whites who might see them, the other to be the true
meaning. For the whites, these were to be described as heaven sticks
-- symbols which would guide them to the happy Afterlife. The
symbols, reading from bottom to top, were family, which was the most
important single factor in everyday Indian life, the earth upon
which they lived, followed by the principal features of the earth:
water, lightning, trees, the four corners of the earth, corn, fowl
and animals of the earth and air, all plant life, the sun, the blue
sky and all of these things having to be experienced and understood
before the people could reach the uppermost symbol, Heaven.
The actual meaning of the symbolism, however, was considerable
different and much more menacing. It was for all the Indians on both
sides of the Mississippi River -- to come in a straight direction
toward Detroit at lightning speed with their weapons; coming from
the four corners of the earth, leaving behind the tending of the
corn or hunting of game or storing of grains to become united when
the great sign was given so that all the tribes might, in one
movement, by peaceable means if possible, but by warfare if
necessary, take over the place of the whites which had been usurped
Wednesday, August 28, 1811
To each of the southern tribes he visited, Tecumseh presented a
sacred slab, along with a bundle of the red sticks. But where once
these stick bundles had been large, now they were unusually small.
The one he had given the Cherokees a few weeks ago when they had
agreed to assemble under his leadership had only four sticks. And
when, three days ago, he had concluded his talks with the Seminoles,
their bundle had contained only three sticks.
Everywhere he went he was listened to eagerly. His fame had
spread far; few indeed were those who could not relate exploits of
the great Shawnee chief, Tecumseh, or who failed to be impressed
deeply by the scope of his amalgamation. Thus, they readily pledged
themselves to join him when the great sign came. Along with the
Cherokees and Seminoles and Lower Creeks, there were the smaller and
more scattered tribes -- the Santee and Calusas and Catawbas and the
slightly larger Choctaws and Biloxis, the Chickasaws and the
Occasionally one or another of the tribes would require a show of
proof from Tecumseh -- some small sign to show that he was, indeed,
under the auspices of the Great Spirit. In most cases, minor
prophecies sufficed, such as in the case of the Seminoles. When they
had hesitated to join him, he told them that in two days there would
come to Florida's coast an ocean vessel which would be filled with
arms and supplies for the Seminoles. They assembled at the point he
indicated, and at dawn on the given day, they discovered a British
ship at anchor in the bay and its smaller boats coming ashore laden
with gifts of guns and powder and tomahawks, cloth and jewelry and
foodstuffs. There was no further hesitancy among the Seminoles to
Now the great Shawnee leader was beginning his swing
northwestward through the Alabama country to seek the important
alliance formation with the powerful Upper Creek nation. From there
he would move west, heading into the Mississippi land and Louisiana,
then again northward on the west side of the mother of rivers to
Missouri again. And along the way, he would stop to win over the
Natchez and Yazoo, the Tawakonias and Caddos and others.
But first the Upper Creeks. Big Warrior, principal chief of the
Upper Creeks, listened with a disapproving frown as Tecumseh told
his people of his great plan, its near culmination and the part he
wished them to play in it. There could be no doubt of his jealousy
of this Shawnee who could come from hundreds of miles away and sway
his people so swiftly with his reputation and his elocution. Great
numbers of the Upper Creeks had come to this village Tuckabatchee
located on the Tallapoosa River to hear the chief; but no matter how
earnestly and convincingly Tecumseh spoke, Big Warrior refused to
pledge his people. Sensing his jealousy, Tecumseh became scornful.
He looked first at the large crowd, and then he swung his gaze to
"Your blood is white!" he said. "You have taken my talk and the
sticks and the wampum and the hatchet, but you do not mean to fight.
I know the reason. You do not believe the Great Spirit has sent me.
You shall know. I leave Tuckabatchee directly and shall go to
Detroit. When I arrive there, I will stamp on the ground with my
foot, and shake down every house in Tuckabatchee!"
Impressed in spite of himself, Big Warrior thereupon agreed to
come and join the amalgamation -- if and when the houses of
Tuckabatchee all fell down. Tecumseh nodded. The Upper Creeks would
come. What now could stop this mighty force he had joined together?
Part Three: The Prophecy Fulfilled
Sunday, November 10, 1811
All of the tribes, Tecumseh told these followers, had received
bundles of red stick. All had but one of those sticks left. In six
days a preliminary sign would be given to the tribes. It would be a
sign under which he had been born and named. A great star would
flash across the heavens and this would indicate that Tecumseh was
still guided by the hand of the Great Spirit. The sign would be
clearly visible to all the tribes, and when it came they were to
take the last red stick and cut it into thirty equal pieces. Each
day thereafter, one of these pieces was to be burned in the light of
dawn. But the thirtieth piece was to be burned in the midst of the
night, and when the last of these had been burned, then would come
the great sign of which he had personally told them all. And when
this sign came, all who believed in Tecumseh and in the future of
the Indian nation would take up their weapons and strike out at once
for the British fort that was called Malden, located on the north
side of the head of the lakes that was called Erie.
Saturday, November 16, 1811
Under a crisp cloudless sky, the Indians crouched. No fires had
been lighted, lest this drive away or interfere with the sign. There
was no moon this night, and the stars twinkled with almost tangible
brightness in their deep black background. With blankets held over
their heads to hold back the bite of the cold air, the Indians
waited. In southern Canada, from the great falls of the Niagara to
the great Lake-of-the-Woods, they watched. In western New York and
Pennsylvania, they watched. In Ohio and the Indiana Territory and in
the land that pushed north between the two great lakes and in the
land to the west of the lakes, they watched. Along the Mississippi
and Missouri, and even farther west, they watched. In the Tennessee
and Alabama and Mississippi country, they watched. And the principal
chief of each tribe held in his hand the final red stick of his
Just before the midpoint of the night it came -- a great searing
flash from out of the southwest; incredibly bright with a weird
greenish-white light, incredibly swift, incredibly awe-inspiring.
And the heads of a thousand, ten thousand, a hundred thousand
Indians swiveled to watch its fiery progress across the heavens
until it disappeared in the northeast. And they were deeply moved by
Many of the chiefs broke their sticks over their knees and threw
them away and rid their fear in anger. But there were some who
retired to their wegiwas or teepees or hogans, lay the red stick
upon the ground before the fire, and carefully measured, marked it
off with a bit of charcoal, and cut it into thirty equal lengths.
And then they waited.
Monday, December 16, 1811
At 2:30 A.M. the earth shook.
In the south of Canada, in the villages of the Iroquois, Ottawa,
Chippewa and Huron, it came as a deep and terrifying rumble. Creek
banks caved in and huge trees toppled in a continuous crash of
In all of the Great Lakes, but especially Lake Michigan and Lake
Erie, the waters danced and great waves broke erratically on the
shores, though there was no wind.
In the western plains, there was a fierce grinding sound and a
shuddering, which jarred the bones and set teeth on edge. Earthen
vessels split apart and great herds of bison staggered to their feet
and stampeded in abject panic.
To the south and west, tremendous boulders broke loose on hills
and cut swaths through the trees and brush to the bottoms. Rapidly
running streams stopped and eddied, and some of them abruptly went
dry and the fish that had lived in them flopped away their lives on
the muddy or rocky beds.
To the south, whole forests fell in incredible tangles. New
streams sprang up where none had been before. In the Upper Creek
village of Tuckabatchee, every dwelling shuddered and shook, and
then collapsed upon itself and its inhabitants.
To the south and east, palm trees lashed about like whips, and
lakes emptied of their waters, while ponds appeared in huge
declivities which suddenly dented the surface of the earth.
All over the land, birds were roused from their roosting places
with scream of fright and flapping wings. Cattle bellowed and
kicked, lost their footing, and were thrown to the ground where they
rolled about, unable to regain their balance.
In Kentucky, Tennessee and the Indiana Territory, settlers were
thrown from their beds, heard the timbers of their cabins wrench
apart, and watched the bricks crumble into heaps of debris masked in
choking clouds of dust. Bridges snapped and tumbled into rivers and
creeks. Glass shattered, fences and barns collapsed and fires broke
out. Along steep ravines, the cliffside slipped and filled their
chasms, and the country was blanketing with a deafening roar.
In the center of all this, in that area where the Ohio River
meets the Mississippi, where Tennessee, Kentucky, Arkansas,
Missouri, and Illinois come together, fantastic splits appeared in
the ground and huge tracts of land were swallowed up. A few miles
from the Mississippi, near the Kentucky-Tennessee border, a
monstrous section of ground sank as if some gigantic foot had
stepped on the soft earth and mashed it down. Water gushed forth in
fantastic volume and the depression became filled and turned into a
large lake, to become known as Reelfoot Lake. The whole midsection
of the Mississippi writhed and heaved and tremendous bluffs toppled
into the muddy waters. Entire sections of land were inundated, and
others that had been riverbed were left high in the air. The
Mississippi itself turned and flowed backwards for a time. It
swirled and eddied, hissed and gurgled, and at length, when it
settled down, the face of the land had changed. New Madrid was
destroyed and the tens of thousands of acres of land, including
virtually all that was owned by Simon Kenton, vanished forever; that
which remained was ugly and austere.
Such was the great sign of Tecumseh.
This was the earthquake which occurred where no tremor had ever
been recorded before; where there was no scientific explanation for
such a thing happening; where no one cold possibly have anticipated
or predicted that an earthquake could happen. No one except
And though they were only a small percentage of those who had
pledged themselves to do so, nevertheless quite a number of warriors
of various tribes gathered up their weapons and set out at once to
join the amazing Shawnee chief near Detroit.
Wednesday, April 1, 1812
The earthquake of December 16 was only a starter. It lasted,
intermittently, for two terror-filled days; and at the end of that
time, the atmosphere was so choked with dust and smoke that for a
week afterwards the sun shone sickly reddish-bronze through an ugly
The second earthquake struck on January 23, and the third hit
four days later. And finally, on February 13, came the last and
worst of them -- a hideous grinding and snapping which last for only
an hour, but caused about as much damage as the other three
This was powerful medicine -- more powerful than the Indians had
ever seen. Those who had deserted Tecumseh now began to reconsider.
Although most were in no hurry to rejoin the Shawnee chief, the
inclination was there; if, as Tecumseh had predicted, there would be
war with the whites, why not make the most of it right where they
And so began the hostilities.