"The Groves Were God's First Temples."
From dawn until noon on Sunday bands of Indians arrived at the
Village of Peace. Hundreds of canoes glided down the swift stream
and bumped their prows into the pebbly beach. Groups of mounted
warriors rode out of the forests into the clearing; squaws with
papooses, maidens carrying wicker baskets, and children playing with
rude toys, came trooping along the bridle-paths.
Gifts were presented during the morning, after which the visitors
were feasted. In the afternoon all assembled in the grove to hear
the preaching.
The maple grove wherein the service was to be conducted might have
been intended by Nature for just such a purpose as it now fulfilled.
These trees were large, spreading, and situated far apart. Mossy
stones and the thick carpet of grass afforded seats for the
congregation.
Heckewelder--a tall, spare, and kindly appearing man--directed the
arranging of the congregation. He placed the converted Indians just
behind the knoll upon which the presiding minister was to stand. In
a half circle facing the knoll he seated the chieftains and
important personages of the various tribes. He then made a short
address in the Indian language, speaking of the work of the mission,
what wonders it had accomplished, what more good work it hoped to
do, and concluded by introducing the young missionary.
While Heckewelder spoke, Jim, who stood just behind, employed the
few moments in running his eye over the multitude. The sight which
met his gaze was one he thought he would never forget. An
involuntary word escaped him.
"Magnificent!" he exclaimed.
The shady glade had been transformed into a theater, from which
gazed a thousand dark, still faces. A thousand eagle plumes waved,
and ten thousand bright-hued feathers quivered in the soft breeze.
The fantastically dressed scalps presented a contrast to the smooth,
unadorned heads of the converted redmen. These proud plumes and
defiant feathers told the difference between savage and Christian.
In front of the knoll sat fifty chiefs, attentive and dignified.
Representatives of every tribe as far west as the Scioto River were
numbered in that circle. There were chiefs renowned for war, for
cunning, for valor, for wisdom. Their stately presence gave the
meeting tenfold importance. Could these chiefs be interested, moved,
the whole western world of Indians might be civilized.
Hepote, a Maumee chief, of whom it was said he had never listened to
words of the paleface, had the central position in this circle. On
his right and left, respectively, sat Shaushoto and Pipe, implacable
foes of all white men. The latter's aspect did not belie his
reputation. His copper-colored, repulsive visage compelled fear; it
breathed vindictiveness and malignity. A singular action of his was
that he always, in what must have been his arrogant vanity, turned
his profile to those who watched him, and it was a remarkable one;
it sloped in an oblique line from the top of his forehead to his
protruding chin, resembling somewhat the carved bowl of his pipe,
which was of flint and a famed inheritance from his ancestors. From
it he took his name. One solitary eagle plume, its tip stained
vermilion, stuck from his scalp-lock. It slated backward on a line
with his profile.
Among all these chiefs, striking as they were, the figure of
Wingenund, the Delaware, stood out alone.
His position was at the extreme left of the circle, where he leaned
against a maple. A long, black mantle, trimmed with spotless white,
enveloped him. One bronzed arm, circled by a heavy bracelet of gold,
held the mantle close about his lofty form. His headdress, which
trailed to the ground, was exceedingly beautiful. The eagle plumes
were of uniform length and pure white, except the black-pointed
tips.
At his feet sat his daughter, Whispering Winds. Her maidens were
gathered round her. She raised her soft, black eyes, shining with a
wondrous light of surprise and expectation, to the young
missionary's face.
Beyond the circle the Indians were massed together, even beyond the
limits of the glade. Under the trees on every side sat warriors
astride their steeds; some lounged on the green turf; many reclined
in the branches of low-spreading maples.
As Jim looked out over the sea of faces he started in surprise. The
sudden glance of fiery eyes had impelled his gaze. He recognized
Silvertip, the Shawnee chief. The Indian sat motionless on a
powerful black horse. Jim started again, for the horse was Joe's
thoroughbred, Lance. But Jim had no further time to think of Joe's
enemy, for Heckewelder stepped back.
Jim took the vacated seat, and, with a far-reaching, resonant voice
began his discourse to the Indians.
"Chieftains, warriors, maidens, children of the forest, listen, and
your ears shall hear no lie. I am come from where the sun rises to
tell you of the Great Spirit of the white man.
"Many, many moons ago, as many as blades of grass grow on yonder
plain, the Great Spirit of whom I shall speak created the world. He
made the sparkling lakes and swift rivers, the boundless plains and
tangled forests, over which He caused the sun to shine and the rain
to fall. He gave life to the kingly elk, the graceful deer, the
rolling bison, the bear, the fox--all the beasts and birds and
fishes. But He was not content; for nothing He made was perfect in
His sight. He created the white man in His own image, and from this
first man's rib He created his mate--a woman. He turned them free in
a beautiful forest.
"Life was fair in the beautiful forest. The sun shone always, the
birds sang, the waters flowed with music, the flowers cast sweet
fragrance on the air. In this forest, where fruit bloomed always,
was one tree, the Tree of Life, the apple of which they must not
eat. In all this beautiful forest of abundance this apple alone was
forbidden them.
"Now evil was born with woman. A serpent tempted her to eat of the
apple of Life, and she tempted the man to eat. For their sin the
Great Spirit commanded the serpent to crawl forever on his belly,
and He drove them from the beautiful forest. The punishment for
their sin was to be visited on their children's children, always,
until the end of time. The two went afar into the dark forest, to
learn to live as best they might. From them all tribes descended.
The world is wide. A warrior might run all his days and not reach
the setting sun, where tribes of yellow-skins live. He might travel
half his days toward the south-wind, where tribes of black-skins
abound. People of all colors inhabited the world. They lived in
hatred toward one another. They shed each other's blood; they stole
each other's lands, gold, and women. They sinned.
"Many moons ago the Great Spirit sorrowed to see His chosen tribe,
the palefaces, living in ignorance and sin. He sent His only Son to
redeem them, and said if they would listen and believe, and teach
the other tribes, He would forgive their sin and welcome them to the
beautiful forest.
"That was moons and moons ago, when the paleface killed his brother
for gold and lands, and beat his women slaves to make them plant his
corn. The Son of the Great Spirit lifted the cloud from the
palefaces' eyes, and they saw and learned. So pleased was the Great
Spirit that He made the palefaces wiser and wiser, and master of the
world. He bid them go afar to teach the ignorant tribes.
"To teach you is why the young paleface journeyed from the rising
sun. He wants no lands or power. He has given all that he had. He
walks among you without gun or knife. He can gain nothing but the
happiness of opening the redmen's eyes.
"The Great Spirit of whom I teach and the Great Manitou, your idol,
are the same; the happy hunting ground of the Indian and the
beautiful forest of the paleface are the same; the paleface and the
redman are the same. There is but one Great Spirit, that is God; but
one eternal home, that is heaven; but one human being, that is man.
"The Indian knows the habits of the beaver; he can follow the paths
of the forests; he can guide his canoe through the foaming rapids;
he is honest, he is brave, he is great; but he is not wise. His
wisdom is clouded with the original sin. He lives in idleness; he
paints his face; he makes his squaw labor for him, instead of
laboring for her; he kills his brothers. He worships the trees and
rocks. If he were wise he would not make gods of the swift arrow and
bounding canoe; of the flowering ash and the flaming flint. For
these things have not life. In his dreams he sees his arrow speed to
the reeling deer; in his dreams he sees his canoe shoot over the
crest of shining waves; and in his mind he gives them life. When his
eyes are opened he will see they have no spirit. The spirit is in
his own heart. It guides the arrow to the running deer, and steers
the canoe over the swirling current. The spirit makes him find the
untrodden paths, and do brave deeds, and love his children and his
honor. It makes him meet his foe face to face, and if he is to die
it gives him strength to die--a man. The spirit is what makes him
different from the arrow, the canoe, the mountain, and all the birds
and beasts. For it is born of the Great Spirit, the creator of all.
Him you must worship.
"Redmen, this worship is understanding your spirit and teaching it
to do good deeds. It is called Christianity. Christianity is love.
If you will love the Great Spirit you will love your wives, your
children, your brothers, your friends, your foes--you will love the
palefaces. No more will you idle in winter and wage wars in summer.
You will wear your knife and tomahawk only when you hunt for meat.
You will be kind, gentle, loving, virtuous--you will have grown
wise. When your days are done you will meet all your loved ones in
the beautiful forest. There, where the flowers bloom, the fruits
ripen always, where the pleasant water glides and the summer winds
whisper sweetly, there peace will dwell forever.
"Comrades, be wise, think earnestly. Forget the wicked paleface; for
there are many wicked palefaces. They sell the serpent firewater;
they lie and steal and kill. These palefaces' eyes are still
clouded. If they do not open they will never see the beautiful
forest. You have much to forgive, but those who forgive please the
Great Spirit; you must give yourselves to love, but those who love
are loved; you must work, but those who work are happy.
"Behold the Village of Peace! Once it contained few; now there are
many. Where once the dark forest shaded the land, see the cabins,
the farms, the horses, the cattle! Field on field of waving, golden
grain shine there under your eyes. The earth has blossomed
abundance. Idling and fighting made not these rich harvests. Belief
made love; love made wise eyes; wise eyes saw, and lo! there came
plenty.
"The proof of love is happiness. These Christian Indians are happy.
They are at peace with the redman and the paleface. They till the
fields and work in the shops. In days to come cabins and farms and
fields of corn will be theirs. They will bring up their children,
not to hide in the forest to slay, but to walk hand in hand with the
palefaces as equals.
"Oh, open your ears! God speaks to you; peace awaits you! Cast the
bitterness from your hearts; it is the serpent-poison. While you
hate, God shuts His eyes. You are great on the trail, in the
council, in war; now be great in forgiveness. Forgive the palefaces
who have robbed you of your lands. Then will come peace. If you do
not forgive, the war will go on; you will lose lands and homes, to
find unmarked graves under the forest leaves. Revenge is sweet; but
it is not wise. The price of revenge is blood and life. Root it out
of your hearts. Love these Christian Indians; love the missionaries
as they love you; love all living creatures. Your days are but few;
therefore, cease the the strife. Let us say, 'Brothers, that is
God's word, His law; that is love; that is Christianity!' If you
will say from your heart, brother, you are a Christian.
"Brothers, the paleface teacher beseeches you. Think not of this
long, bloody war, of your dishonored dead, of your silenced wigwams,
of your nameless graves, of your homeless children. Think of the
future. One word from you will make peace over all this broad land.
The paleface must honor a Christian. He can steal no Christian's
land. All the palefaces, as many as the stars of the great white
path, dare not invade the Village of Peace. For God smiles here.
Listen to His words: 'Come unto me all that are weary and heavy
laden, and I will give you rest.'"
Over the multitude brooded an impressive, solemn silence. Then an
aged Delaware chief rose, with a mien of profound thought, and
slowly paced before the circle of chiefs. Presently he stopped,
turned to the awaiting Indians, and spoke:
"Netawatwees is almost persuaded to be a Christian." He resumed his
seat.
Another interval of penetrating quiet ensued. At length a
venerable-looking chieftain got up:
"White Eyes hears the rumbling thunder in his ears. The smoke blows
from his eyes. White Eyes is the oldest chief of the Lenni-Lenape.
His days are many; they are full; they draw near the evening of his
life; he rejoices that wisdom is come before his sun is set.
"White Eyes believes the young White Father. The ways of the Great
Spirit are many as the fluttering leaves; they are strange and
secret as the flight of a loon; White Eyes believes the redman's
happy hunting grounds need not be forgotten to love the palefaces'
God. As a young brave pants and puzzles over his first trail, so the
grown warrior feels in his understanding of his God. He gropes
blindly through dark ravines.
"White Eyes speaks few words to-day, for he is learning wisdom; he
bids his people hearken to the voice of the White Father. War is
wrong; peace is best. Love is the way to peace. The paleface
advances one step nearer his God. He labors for his home; he keeps
the peace; he asks but little; he frees his women. That is well.
White Eyes has spoken."
The old chief slowly advanced toward the Christian Indians. He laid
aside his knife and tomahawk, and then his eagle plumes and
war-bonnet. Bareheaded, he seated himself among the converted
redmen. They began chanting in low, murmuring tones.
Amid the breathless silence that followed this act of such great
significance, Wingenund advanced toward the knoll with slow, stately
step. His dark eye swept the glade with lightning scorn; his glance
alone revealed the passion that swayed him.
"Wingenund's ears are keen; they have heard a feather fall in the
storm; now they hear a soft-voiced thrush. Wingenund thunders to his
people, to his friends, to the chiefs of other tribes: 'Do not bury
the hatchet!' The young White Father's tongue runs smooth like the
gliding brook; it sings as the thrush calls its mate. Listen; but
wait, wait! Let time prove his beautiful tale; let the moons go by
over the Village of Peace.
"Wingenund does not flaunt his wisdom. He has grown old among his
warriors; he loves them; he fears for them. The dream of the
palefaces' beautiful forest glimmers as the rainbow glows over the
laughing falls of the river. The dream of the paleface is too
beautiful to come true. In the days of long ago, when Wingenund's
forefathers heard not the paleface's ax, they lived in love and
happiness such as the young White Father dreams may come again. They
waged no wars. A white dove sat in every wigwam. The lands were
theirs and they were rich. The paleface came with his leaden death,
his burning firewater, his ringing ax, and the glory of the redmen
faded forever.
"Wingenund seeks not to inflame his braves to anger. He is sick of
blood-spilling--not from fear; for Wingenund cannot feel fear. But
he asks his people to wait. Remember, the gifts of the paleface ever
contained a poisoned arrow. Wingenund's heart is sore. The day of
the redman is gone. His sun is setting. Wingenund feels already the
gray shades of evening."
He stopped one long moment as if to gather breath for his final
charge to his listeners. Then with a magnificent gesture he
thundered:
"Is the Delaware a fool? When Wingenund can cross unarmed to the Big
Water he shall change his mind. When Deathwind ceases to blow his
bloody trail over the fallen leaves Wingenund will believe."