PLAY AND COUNCIL
Henry was still a prisoner in the lodge when the purification of
Timmendiquas was finished. He had been permitted to go forth now and
then under a strong guard, but, no matter how closely he watched, not
the slightest chance of escape presented itself. He saw the renegades
about, Braxton Wyatt among them, but none of these men spoke to him. It
was evident to him, however, from the respectful manner in which the
Wyandots treated Girty that he had great influence among them.
The warriors seemed to be in no hurry about anything. The hunters were
bringing in plenty of game, and the village life went forward merrily.
But Henry judged that they were merely waiting. It was inconceivable
that the Wyandots should remain there long in peace while the Indian
world of all that great valley was seething with movement.
Timmendiquas came to see him at the end of the sixth day of
purification, and treated him with the courtesy due from a great chief
to a distinguished prisoner.
"Have our warriors been kind to you?" he asked.
"They have done everything except let me slip away," replied Henry.
Timmendiquas smiled.
"That is the one thing that we do not wish," he said. "They think as I
do that you are fit to be a Wyandot. Come, I will loose your hands, and
together we will see our young men and young women play ball."
Henry was not at all averse. Both his nature and his long but friendly
captivity in a far northwestern tribe made him have a keen sympathy with
many traits in the Indian character. He could understand and like their
sports.
"I'll go gladly, White Lightning," he said. "I don't think you need ask
me to give any promise not to escape. I won't find any such chance."
The chief smiled with pleasure at the compliment, undid the bonds, and
the two walked out into the brilliant sunshine. Henry felt at once that
the village was tingling with excitement. All were hurrying toward a
wide grassy meadow just at the outskirts of the village, and the
majority of them, especially the young of either sex, laughed and
chattered volubly. There was no restraint. Here among themselves the
Indian repression was thrown aside.
Henry, with the shadow of great suffering and death over him, felt their
thrill and excitement. The day was uncommonly fine, and the setting of
the forest scene was perfect. There was the village, trim and neat in
its barbaric way, which in the sunshine was not an unpleasant way, with
the rich meadows about it, and beyond the great wilderness of heavy,
circling dark green.
All were now gathered at the edge of the meadow, still laughing,
chattering, and full of delight. Even the great Timmendiquas, red
knight, champion and far-famed hero at twenty-five, unbent and
speculated with keen interest on the result of the ball game, now about
to be played. Henry felt his own interest increasing, and he rubbed
shoulders with his old friends, Heno the Thunder, Anue the Bear, and
Hainteroh the Raccoon. The gallant Raccoon still carried his arm in a
sling, but he was such a healthy man that it would be well in an
incredibly brief period, and meantime it did not interfere at all with
his enjoyment of a ball game.
The meadow was about a hundred yards wide and a hundred and fifty yards
long. The grass upon it was thick, but nowhere more than three or four
inches in height. All along the edges of the longer sides, facing each
other, stakes had been driven at intervals of six feet, and amid great
cheering the players formed up on either side next to the line of the
stakes.
But all the players on one side were women, mostly young, strong, and
lithe, and all the players on the other side were men, also mostly
young, strong and lithe. They wore no superfluous garments, although
enough was left to save modesty, and young braves and young squaws alike
were alert and eager, their eyes flushing with excitement. There were at
least one hundred players on each side, and it seemed a most unequal
match, but an important proviso was to come.
Timmendiquas advanced to the edge of the meadow and held up his hand.
Instantly all shouting, cheering, and talking ceased, and there was
perfect silence. Then old Heno, holding in his hand a ball much larger
than the modern baseball, but much smaller than the modern football,
advanced gravely and solemnly into the meadow. The eyes of two hundred
players, young warriors and young girls were intent upon him.
Old Thunder, despite his years, was a good sport and felt the importance
of his duty. While all were watching him, and the multitude did no more
than breathe, he walked gingerly over the grass, and with a keen old eye
picked out a point that was equally distant from the long and short
sides of the parallelogram. Here he stood gravely for a few moments, as
if to confirm himself in the opinion that this was the proper place, and
extended his right arm with the big ball lying in the open palm.
There was a long breath of excitement from players and spectators alike,
but Big Thunder was a man of experience and deliberation who was not to
be hurried. He still held his right arm extended with the big ball lying
in the open palm, and then sent a warning look to each hundred, first to
the men and then to the women. These two sides were already bent far
over, waiting to jump.
The stakes, the field, the positions of the players were remarkably like
the modern game of football, although this was wholly original with the
Indians.
The eyes of old Heno came back from the players to the ball lying in the
palm of his right hand and regarded it contemplatively a moment or two.
Then the fingers suddenly contracted like lightning upon the ball, and
he threw it high, perfectly straight up in the air, at the same time
uttering a piercing shout.
Henry saw that the ball would fall almost where Heno stood, but the old
warrior ran swiftly away, and the opposing sides, men and women, made a
dash for it before it fell. The multitude, thrilled with the excitement,
uttered a great shout, and bent forward in eagerness. But no one--not a
player--encroached upon the meadow. Warriors as guards stalked up and
down, but they were not needed. The discipline was perfect. Henry by the
side of Timmendiquas shared in the general interest, and he, too, bent
forward. The chief bent with him.
Young warriors and young girls who made a dash for the ball were about
equal in speed. Wyandot women were not hampered by skirts, and forest
life made them lithe and sinewy. Both were near the ball, but Henry yet
saw nothing to tell which would reach it first. Suddenly a slim brown
figure shot out from the ranks of the women, and, with a leap, reached
the ball, when the nearest warrior was yet a yard away.
There was a great cry of applause, as the girl, straightening up,
attempted to run with the ball through the ranks of the men, and throw
it between the stakes at their side of the field. Two warriors promptly
intercepted her, and now Henry saw why the match between girls and
warriors was not so unequal as it had appeared at first. When the
warriors intercepted the girl she threw the ball over their heads and as
far as she could toward the coveted goal posts. Three warriors ran for
it, but the one who reached it kicked it with all his might back toward
the goal posts of the girls. It fell into a dense throng there, and a
girl promptly threw it back, where it was met by the returning kick of a
warrior. The men were allowed to use only their feet, the girls could
use both hands and feet. If any warrior touched the ball with his hands
he was promptly put off the field by the umpires, and the ball was
restored to its original position.
The match, well balanced, hotly contested, swayed back and forth. Now
the ball was carried toward the women's goal, and then toward the men.
Now all the two hundred players would be in a dense throng in the
center, and then they would open out as some swift hand or foot sent the
ball flying. Often the agile young squaws were knocked down in the hurly
burly, but always they sprang up laughing.
All around the field the people cheered and laughed, and many began to
bet, the wagers being mostly of skins, lead, powder or bright trinkets
bought at the British posts.
For over a half hour the ball flew back and forth, and so far as Henry
could see, neither had gained any advantage. Presently they were all
packed once more in a dense throng in the center of the field, and the
ball was invisible somewhere in the middle of the group. While the crowd
watched for its reappearance all the shouting and cheering ceased.
The ball suddenly flew from the group and shot toward the goal posts on
the side of the women and a stalwart warrior, giving it another kick,
sent it within ten yards of victory for the men.
"Ah, the warriors are too strong for them," said White Lightning.
But he spoke too soon. There was a brown streak across the grass, and
the same girl who had first seized the ball darted ahead of the warrior.
She picked up the ball while it was yet rolling and ran swiftly back
with it. A warrior planted himself in her way, but, agile as a deer, she
darted around him, escaped a second and a third in the same way, and
continued her flight toward the winning posts.
The crowd gave a single great shout, subsiding after it into a
breathless silence.
"The Dove runs well," murmured Timmendiquas in English.
Henry's sympathies were with her, but could the Dove evade all the
warriors? They could not touch the ball, but they might seize the girl
herself and shake her until the ball fell from her hands. This, in fact,
was what happened when an agile young warrior succeeded in grasping her
by the shoulder. The ball fell to the ground, but as he loosed her and
prepared to kick it she made a quick dive and seized it. The warrior's
foot swung in the empty air, and then he set out after the flying Dove.
Only one other guard was left, and it was seen that he would intercept
her, but she stopped short, her arm swung out in a curve, and she threw
the ball with all her might toward the goal posts. The warrior leaped
high to catch it, but it passed six inches above his outstretched
fingers, sailed on through the air, cleared the goal posts, and fell ten
feet on the other side. The Dove had won the game for her side.
The crowd swarmed over the field and congratulated the victorious girls,
particularly the fleet-footed Dove, while the beaten warriors drew off
in a crestfallen group. Timmendiquas, with Henry at his side, was among
the first to give approval, but the renegades remained in their little
group at the edge of the field. Girty was not at all pleased at the time
consumed by the Wyandots in this game. He had other plans that he wished
to urge.
"But it's no use for me to argue with them," he said to Braxton Wyatt.
"They're as set in their ways as any white people that ever lived."
"That's so," said Wyatt, "you're always right, Mr. Girty, I've noticed,
too, since I've been among the Indians that you can't interfere with any
of their rites and ceremonies."
He spoke in a deferential tone, as if he acknowledged his master in
treachery and villainy, and Girty received it as his due. He was
certainly first in this group of six, and the older ones, Blackstaffe,
McKee, Eliot, and Quarles, recognized the fact as willingly as did
Braxton Wyatt.
The crowd, the game finished, was dissolving, and Girty at the head of
his comrades strolled toward Timmendiquas, who still had Henry at his
side.
"Timmendiquas," he said in Wyandot, "beware of this prisoner. Although
but a boy in years, he has strength, courage and skill that few men,
white or red, can equal."
The eyes of the young chief, full of somber fire, were turned upon the
renegade.
"Since when, Girty," he asked, "have the Wyandots become old women?
Since when have they become both weak and ignorant?"
Girty, bold as he was, shrank a little at the stern tone and obvious
wrath of the chief.
"I meant nothing wrong, Timmendiquas," he said. "The world knows that
the Wyandots are both brave and wise."
White Lightning shrugged his shoulders, and turned away with his
prisoner. Henry could understand only a word or two of what they said,
but he guessed its import. Already skilled in forest diplomacy, he knew
that it was wisdom for him to say nothing, and he walked on with White
Lightning. He watched the chief with sharp side glances and saw that he
was troubled. Two or three times he seemed on the point of saying
something, but always remained silent. Yet his bearing towards Henry was
most friendly, and it gave the captive boy a pang. He knew the hope that
was in the mind of White Lightning, but he knew that hope could never
come true.
"We do not wish to make you suffer, Ware," he said, when they came to
the door of Henry's prison lodge, "until we decide what we are to do
with you, and before then much water must flow down Ohezuhyeandawa (The
Ohio)."
"I do not ask you to do anything that is outside your customs," said
Henry quietly.
"We must bind you as before," said Timmendiquas, "but we bind you in a
way that does not hurt, and Heno will bring you food and water. But this
is a day of rejoicing with us, and this afternoon our young men and
young maids dance. You shall come forth and see it."
Henry was re-bound, and a half hour later old Heno appeared with food,
meat of the deer and wild turkey, bread of maize, and a large gourd
filled with pure cold water. After he had loosened Henry's wrists that
he might eat and drink he sat by and talked. Thunder, with further
acquaintance, was disclosing signs of volubility.
"How you like ball game?" he asked.
"Good! very good!" said Henry sincerely, "and I don't see, Thunder, how
you could throw that ball so straight up in the air that it would come
down where you stood."
"Much practice, long practice," said the old man modestly. "Heno been
throwing up balls longer by twice than you have lived."
When the boy had finished eating, old Heno told him to come with him as
the dance was now about to begin, and Henry was glad enough to escape
again from the close prison lodge.
The dancers were already forming on the meadow where the ball game had
been played, and there was the same interest and excitement, although
now it was less noisy. Henry guessed from their manner that the dance
would not only be an amusement, but would also have something of the
nature of a rite.
All the dancers were young, young warriors and girls, and they faced
each other in two lines, warriors in one and girls in the other. As in
the ball game, each line numbered about a hundred, but now they were in
their brightest and most elaborate raiment. The two lines were perfectly
even, as straight as an arrow, the toe of no moccasin out of line, and
they were about a rod apart.
At the far end of the men's line a warrior raised in his right hand a
dry gourd which contained beads and pebbles, and began to rattle it in a
not unmusical way. To the sound of the rattle he started a grave and
solemn chant, in which all joined. Then the two lines, still keeping
their straightness and evenness, danced toward each other slowly and
rhythmically. All the time the song went on, the usual monotonous Indian
beat, merely a rising and falling of the note with scarcely any
variation.
The two lines, still dancing, came close together, and then both bent
forward until the head of every warrior touched the head of the girl
opposite him. They remained in this position a full half minute, and a
young warrior often whispered sweet words in the ear of the girl whose
head touched him. This, as Henry learned later, was the wooing or
courting dance of the Wyandots.
Both sides suddenly straightened up, uttered a series of loud shouts,
and began to dance back toward their original position, at the same time
resuming the rising and falling chant. When the full distance was
reached they danced up, bowed, and touched heads again, and this
approaching or retreating was kept up for four hours, or until the sun
set. It became to Henry extremely monotonous, but the Indians seemed
never to tire of it, and when they stopped at darkness the eyes of all
the dancers were glowing with pleasure and excitement.
It was quite dark when Henry returned to the lodge for the second time
that day, but this time old Heno instead of Timmendiquas was his escort
back to prison.
"Play over now," said Heno. "Great work begin to-morrow."
The old man seemed to be full of the importance of what he knew, and
Henry, anxious to know, too, played adroitly upon his vanity.
"If any big thing is to be done, I'm sure that you would know of it,
Heno," he said. "So they are to begin to-morrow, are they?"
"Yes," replied Heno, supposing from Henry's words that he had already
received a hint from Timmendiquas. "Great chiefs reach here to-night.
Hold council to-morrow."
"Ah, they come from all the tribes, do they not?" said Henry, guessing
shrewdly.
"From all between Ohezuhyeandawa (The Ohio) and the Great Lakes and from
the mountains to Yandawezue (The Mississippi)."
"Illinois, Ottawas, Miamis, Shawnees, and Delawares?" said Henry.
"Yes," said Heno, "Illinois, Ottawas, Miamis, Shawnees, and Delawares.
All come to smoke pipes with the Wyandots and hear what we have to say.
We small nation, but mighty warriors. No Wyandot ever coward."
"That is true," said Henry sincerely. "I've never heard of a Wyandot who
flinched in battle. My people think that where one Wyandot warrior walks
it takes two warriors of any other tribe to fill his footprints."
Old Heno smiled broadly.
"Maybe you be at council to-morrow," he said. "You make good Wyandot."
"Maybe I could," said Henry to himself, "but it's certain that I never
will."
Old Heno withdrew, still smiling, and Henry was left alone in the
darkness of the prison lodge, full of interest over what was to occur on
the morrow, and anxious that he might be present to see. He knew that
the conference of the chiefs would be concerning the new war on
Kentucky, and now he was not so anxious to escape at once. A week later
would be better, and then if the chance came--he never faltered in his
belief that it would come--he could carry with him news worth the while.
The young chief, Timmendiquas, was a man whom he admired, but,
nevertheless, he would prove a formidable leader of such a coalition,
the most dangerous to the white people that could be found.
Henry listened again for the song among the leaves that had the power to
fill him with hope, but he did not hear it. Nevertheless, his courage
did not depart, and he felt that the longer the Wyandots waited to
dispose of him the better were his chances.
Heno came the next morning with his breakfast and announced that all the
chiefs of the Ohio Valley had arrived and were now in conference in the
council house.
"They talk later outside," he said, "and maybe Timmendiquas let you come
and hear wise words that great chiefs say."
"I'd like to hear," said Henry. "I know that the Indians are great
orators."
Heno did not reply, but Henry had divined that he was susceptible to
flattery. He understood, too, that it was the policy of White Lightning
to impress him with the skill and power of the tribes. So he waited
patiently.
Meanwhile fifty famous chiefs representing all the great nations of the
Ohio Valley sat in the temporary council house of the Wyandots, the
smallest but the wisest and bravest tribe of them all. They were mostly
men of middle age or older, although two or three were nearly, but not
quite, as young as Timmendiquas himself. This chief was at once the
youngest, the tallest, and the handsomest man present. They sat in rows,
but where he sat was the head of the council. All looked toward him.
Every chief was in his finest dress, moccasins, leggings, and hunting
coat of beautifully tanned deerskin, with blanket of bright color looped
gracefully over the shoulder. In one of the rows in a group sat the six
renegades, Girty, Blackstaffe, McKee, Eliot, Quarles, and Braxton Wyatt.
Every man was bent forward in the stooped formal attitude of one who
listens, and every one had the stem of a pipe in his mouth.
In one group sat the chiefs of the Ottawas, the most distant of the
tribes, dwellers on the far shores of Lake Huron, sometimes fish-eaters,
and fugitives at an earlier day from the valley of the Ottawa River in
Canada, whence they took their name. The word "Ottawa" in their language
meant "trader," and they had received it in their ancient home because
they had ideas of barter and had been the "go betweens" for other
tribes. They worshiped the sun first and the stars second. Often they
held festivals to the sun, and asked his aid in fishing and hunting.
They occupied a secondary position in the Ohio Valley because they were
newer and were not as fierce and tenacious in war as the older tribes.
Ottawa chiefs did not thrust themselves forward, and when they spoke it
was in a deprecatory way.
Next to the Wyandots were the Illinois, who lived in the valley of the
Illinois and who were not numerous. They had been beaten often in tribal
wars, until their spirit lacked that fine exaltation which means
victory. Like the Ottawas, they felt that they should not say much, but
should listen intently to the words of the chiefs who sat with them, and
who represented great warrior nations.
Next to the Illinois were the Delawares, or, in their own language, the
Lenni Lenape, who also were an immigrant race. Once they had dwelt much
farther east, even beyond the mountains, but many warlike tribes,
including the great league of the Iroquois, the Six Nations, had made
war upon them, had reduced their numbers, and had steadily pushed them
westward and further westward, until they reached the region now called
Ohio. Here their great uncles, the Wyandots, received them with
kindness, told them to rest in peace and gave them extensive lands, fine
for hunting, along the Muskingum River.
The Lenni Lenape throve in the new land and became powerful again. But
never in their darkest days, when the world seemed to be slipping
beneath their feet, had they lost the keen edge of their spirit. The
warrior of the Lenni Lenape had always been willing to laugh in the face
of flames and the stake, and now, as their chiefs sat in the council,
they spoke often and they spoke boldly. They feared to look no one in
the face, not even the far-famed Timmendiquas himself. They were of
three clans: Unamis, which is the Turtle; Unaluchtgo, which is the
Turkey; and Minsi, the Wolf. Minsi was the most warlike and always led
the Lenni Lenape in battle. Chiefs of all three clans were present.
Next to the Lenni Lenape were the valiant Shawnees, who held all the
valley of the Scioto as far west as the Little Miami or Mud River. They
had a record for skill and courage that went far back into the mists of
the past, and of all the tribes, it was the Shawnees who hated the
whites most. Their hostility was undying. No Shawnee would ever listen
to any talk of peace with them. It must be war until the white vanguard
was destroyed or driven back over the mountains. So fearless were the
Shawnees that once a great band of them, detaching from the main tribe,
had crossed the Ohio and had wandered all the way through the southern
country, fighting Chickasaws, Creeks, and Choctaws, until they reached
the sea, more than a thousand miles from their old home. A cunning
chief, Black Hoof, who could boast that he had bathed his feet in the
salt water, had led them safely back more than twenty years before, and
now this same Black Hoof sat here in the council house of the Wyandots,
old and wrinkled, but keen of eye, eagle-beaked, and as shrewd and
daring as ever, the man who had led in an almost unknown border exploit,
as dangerous and romantic as the Retreat of the Ten Thousand.
The Shawnees claimed--and the legend was one that would never die among
them--that they originated in a far, very far, land, and that they were
divided into 12 tribes or sub-tribes. For some cause which they had
forgotten the whole nation marched away in search of a new home. They
came to a wide water that was bitter and salt to the taste. They had no
canoes, but the sea parted before them, and then the twelve tribes, each
with its leader at its head, marched on the ocean bottom with the wall
of waters on either side of them until they reached a great land which
was America. It is this persistent legend, so remarkable in its
similarity to the flight of the children of Israel from Egypt, even to
the number of the tribes, that has caused one or two earlier western
writers to claim that the Shawnees were in reality the Ten Lost Tribes
of Israel.
Next to the Shawnees were the Miamis, more numerous perhaps, but not
more warlike. They lived along the rivers Miami and Maumee and were
subdivided into three clans, the Twigtees, the Weas, and the
Piankeshaws. Chiefs of all three clans were present, and they could
control many hundreds of warriors.
The Wyandots, who lived to the eastward in Ohio, held themselves back
modestly. They were a small tribe, but the others often called them "The
Nation-That-Never-Knew-a-Coward," and there was no reason for them to
push themselves forward. When the time came for a Wyandot chief to speak
the time would come for the others to listen. They did speak, and
throughout that morning the great question was argued back and forth.
Girty and Blackstaffe, the second of the renegades in influence,
sometimes participated, and they were listened to with varying degrees
of respect, according to the character of the advice they gave. These
white men, with their cunning and knowledge of their own people, were of
value, but once or twice when they spoke the lips of some of the younger
chiefs, always including Timmendiquas, curled with scorn.
At noon they came forth from the council house, and Timmendiquas,
accompanied by Heno, went to the lodge in which Henry was confined. Heno
carried particularly tempting food to Henry. Besides venison and turkey,
he brought maple sugar and hominy with a dressing of bear's oil and
sugar.
Henry had become used to Indian food long since, and he ate with relish.
Timmendiquas stood by, regarding him attentively.
"You are a strong and valiant foe, Ware," he said at length. "I fight
against the white people, but I do not dislike you. I wish, then, that
you would come forth and see the great council of the allied tribes in
the meadow. The council of the chiefs was held this morning. This
afternoon we lay the matter before all the warriors."
"I'll come gladly," said Henry.