Chaubenee and his party of Potawatomi sat quietly, watching the sixteen Shawnee riding slowly along the north bank of the Tippecanoe River toward them. Each of the sixteen led at least one additional horse, all packed high with the entirety of their worldly possessions.
Chaubenee rose and boomed a hearty greeting, “Hello, my brother, and welcome to your new home.”
Tecumseh looked up toward him, almost as though noticing him for the first time. His face carried none of the energy Chaubenee was used to seeing there. He seemed much older than he had less than four months ago, when Chaubenee had seen him last.
Tecumseh slid slowly from his horse and trudged the few steps between them. He turned and used his arm to sweep toward his followers. “My brother, what you see before you are all who would follow me. Offer them your greeting as well.”
Chaubenee’s eyes took in Tecumapese, Wasegoboah, Tensk, nine warriors, and three women, none with children, who had followed his friend to this new place. “Welcome, all. The Potawatomi are pleased to have you come to us and make your home here, in this tranquil place and far from the discord you leave behind.” The attempt at filling his voice with joy and goodwill was forced. He felt the tragedy of his powerful friend reduced to nothing more than an outcast, if a self-pronounced one, of his people.
Chaubenee in turn swept his arm behind him to take in the roaring fire and the five new wegiwas standing in an arc around it. “We Potawatomi have constructed places of warmth for you. When we leave you and go back to our own village you will have homes, shelter. Go now and rest yourselves. We have venison roasting and mugs of whiskey waiting. Go put your things into the wegiwas. When you have unpacked your horses, my men will take them to the river for water and rub them down. Your dinner will be ready by then.”
* * * *
Chaubenee sat nursing a final mug of whiskey with Wasegoboah, Tecumapese, and Tensk. Tecumseh had, uncharacteristically, claimed fatigue from the long ride and gone to his wegiwa right after dinner.
“Is he ill?” Chaubenee asked. Wasegoboah sipped at his mug and said nothing despite the steady gaze from his old companion of war.
Tecumapese finally answered, “He has a sickness in his heart. He is defeated.”
Chaubenee turned his gaze to Tecumapese, the firelight dancing across her face. His first thought was that though she was closer to forty than thirty, she was still a beautiful woman. “Defeated? Tecumseh?”
“Oh, not the Shemanese. They may kill him one day, but they will never defeat him.”
“Then who defeats him, my sister?”
“The Shawnee. They have abandoned him, or so he feels. He has never understood that Catahecassa fears his power over men, his power over the Shawnee who Catahecassa thinks of as his own, as his charges, his responsibility. And he knows Tecumseh has the power to talk them away, to change them, if given the chance. Tecumseh does not see that Catahecassa has intentionally led them from him. He sees only that the Shawnee have forsaken him. He is heartsick.”
Chaubenee held his gaze steady and thought, She is not only beautiful but wise, perhaps the wisest of women, maybe even the wisest of all of us.
His thoughts were gentle, but when he spoke his words were harsh. “Bah! Tecumseh is the only leader of Indians who had the courage to not kiss the ass of the Shemanese general, Wayne, and his lapdog, Harrison. We all know that. All, perhaps, except Catahecassa. Does Tecumseh not know we do? Does he not know that?”
Tecumapese said, “No, he does not. And if he is defeated, we are all defeated. Tecumseh is the hope of all Indian nations. Our only hope.
“Chaubenee, do you not think I see this, that I am not heartsick as well? My own son agrees with Catahecassa and fights for Wayne. Spemica Lawba guided them, advised them to starve our warriors another day before battling at Fallen Timbers. Even now he scouts for them. He is my only child and I love him as all mothers love their sons. My brother, Blue Jacket, led the fight in which my son’s warriors killed two of my brothers. Not just men’s hearts, their families’ as well are broken and torn. Tecumseh is the only savior of the Shawnee nation and the price of that salvation, to me, will be my son. But I am here. I, too, am heartsick.”
All sat silent for some time, taking in the power of Tecumapese’s words. It was Chaubenee who finally spoke.
“Heartsickness is like other sicknesses. It can kill. But like other sicknesses it can also be cured. It is for us to cure him, and you. How do we do it?” Chaubenee asked.
Again, there was a long silence and this time broken by Tecumapese. “Our brother has many skills. We need to find some way to show him that we need those skills. His sense of duty is strong. If we can appeal to that, he will rise and be cured.”
This time it was Tensk who spoke, his words slurred with drink as he did so. “We will have a hunting contest.”
Now all heads turned to the half-drunk young man with the eye patch. “Ours is a new village . . .” He paused to burp and then continued. “Winter is here. We have only the crops we carried. We will need much meat . . .” He dropped his head between his knees and spat. “Perhaps Tecumseh can supply us . . .”
Again, Tensk let his vision and mind wander adrift with drink. Then he forced himself back to them. “But we will need more than the meat he can supply. We need him to lead again.”
* * * *
Over fifty hunters gathered in the village at Tippecanoe for the contest. Chaubenee’s Potawatomi had spent weeks building two large miskahmiqui to house the hunters and were using all the winter stores of food and drink they had to host them for the week. Chaubenee sent out runners with invitations, and they had come. They had come from every tribe that had signed the Treaty of Greenville. There were a few Shawnee, but most were from other tribes. Alexander McKee arrived as well. Because there were so many hunters, it had been decided that the contest rules should be expanded to a three-day hunt to give each contestant time to find a hunting ground not cluttered by others.
While Tecumseh had originally agreed to allow Chaubenee to send runners to the nations with an invitation to the contest, he had shown no enthusiasm for the task. He’d spent little of the energy needed for the building of the guest houses and none whatever on thought of board for his guests. But as the first of the hunters arrived, his spirits seemed to rise. Chaubenee watched as Tecumseh greeted each to his village and, the day before the hunt, busied himself sharpening metal arrowheads and straightening the fletching on his arrows.
At the feast the night before the hunt, one that seriously depleted their winter supplies, Tecumseh spent the evening making certain every plate and mug was full. And when all were content, Tecumseh rose from his seat next to Chaubenee and, using the flat of his tomahawk to bang on a metal pot, gained the attention of all.
“Hunters, I welcome you and your help to our new village. We did not arrive here in time to plant corn or squash or beans. We carried some from Kekionga, but I fear this will be a winter of all meat and great grunting over the latrine pits in the mornings.”
They all broke into howls of laughter.
“But with your help we will get through the winter and will all survive to plant our seed in the Crow Moon. And when we do, I invite you all to join us. Not just for the labor of planting, though I admit women’s work will be done by men until more women join us.”
Tecumapese shouted over the crowd, “I can’t wait until all you warriors learn what hard work really is.”
Again, the assembly roared with laughter.
When the silence was enough that the only sound was the crackling of the burning wood, he spoke again. “I mean that any who would prefer a life with us should know they and their families are welcome here.”
A voice from the back shouted, “This is a Shawnee village.”
Tecumseh snapped his eyes around to face the speaker. “Brother, I am glad you spoke. It gives me a chance to say what I wanted. This village on the Tippecanoe is not a Shawnee village.”
“Will you all then become Potawatomi?” the same voice asked.
“No, Brother. This is not a Shawnee village; this is not a Potawatomi village.” Tecumseh let silence in. “This is a new kind of village. It will be the first of its kind. This, Brothers, is an Indian village. There is no tribe here. Here, we are all one. Now drink your fill. During the next three days, we will pack the drying racks with meat. And I will invite you to drink your fill then as well. I want you to drink every drop of whiskey we brought with us.”
Again, there were howls of agreement.
When the noise died Tecumseh turned slowly until he stood looking directly at Tensk. “When you are gone, there will be no more whiskey here. If there is any left, the last of you will pack it out. This will be a village where no man freezes on the January ground, or drowns in the midnight stream, or trades drunkenly with the Shemanese. There will be no whiskey in this village.”
* * * *
There were almost seventy of them lying languidly or sleeping around the glowing remains of the huge fire that had warmed them and cooked their meat for the last three hours. As usual, Chaubenee and Tecumseh were together. Tecumseh lay, his head propped on a section of log, eyes fixed on the beauty of the night’s moon. Looking at him, Chaubenee sensed he was content. By now Tecumseh had come to understand that this hunt had been staged to rouse him. And it had worked even better than expected. Hunters from every tribe had made it clear they went to Greenville only out of fear. And they knew and said that Tecumseh was the only one who had not given in to his fear. It was a good start. They would listen to Tecumseh. And his little village was secure for the winter.
Winter would give Tecumseh time to think and plan. And Chaubenee knew, given time, his friend would figure out how to do it. How to push the Shemanese back, back to where they came from.
And Tecumseh had won the contest. The closest hunter had fewer than twenty beasts. Tecumseh had more than thirty.
Wasegoboah had told him the hunt was Tensk’s doing. Chaubenee knew that Tensk was lazy, vain, and drunken. Tecumseh knew it, too. Everyone knew it. Those things and that he was a coward, certainly not a warrior or a hunter. But he was cunning if not smart. What could he do? What value could be made of that? Not just value to his own work but to give Tensk purpose. Perhaps Tecumseh would figure that out as well.
“May I join you, Tecumseh?”
Chaubenee spun his head up to the speaker, thinking the Shawnee tongue sounded lyrical with the lilt of a Scot’s accent, odd but not unpleasant.
Chaubenee had known this was coming from the moment McKee had appeared for the hunt. He smiled, knowing the British Indian agent had picked his time with the artfulness of a seasoned diplomat. Tecumseh sat up, crossed his legs under him, and pointed to the ground beside him.
McKee dropped between Tecumseh and Chaubenee and into a cross-legged sitting posture with the grace of the athletic man he was. He sat quietly, not speaking, looking up at the moon and watching the clouds drift across her face. When he spoke, it was while still looking up. “We would like to help.” Only then did his eyes take and hold Tecumseh’s. Chaubenee watched with fascination this diplomatic dance going on beside him.
“You have helped, McKee. You have brought us food. And more than most other hunters with that fine English musket of yours.”
McKee smiled. “Well, it is slower, much slower to load, having to push the ball down that spiraled groove on the inside of the barrel. Rifling, we call it. The gun is named for it. It’s called a rifle. The rifling makes the ball sail straighter.
“But we would like to do more for you and your band than provide a little food.”
And here it was. They both knew it. The British wanted Tecumseh as their ally in some way. The perfidious British. Not his enemy, but reliably interested in their own needs, not his or those of other Indians.
“And what do your British want in return, McKee?” Tecumseh’s response was brutally direct. But the British behavior at Fallen Timbers had been even more so. Chaubenee knew Tecumseh had no interest in pretending it wasn’t true.
The Indian agent seemed not upset at all. “We want your friendship, Tecumseh.”
Tecumseh looked up at the moon for a moment. When he pulled his eyes down to McKee’s he spoke not just directly but bluntly. “McKee, I like you. You have always been good to me and to the Indians. You married a Shawnee, so in many ways you are one of us. But you are not truly so. You are white. And you always will be. So, when it is time to pick between the Great Father and his Indian children, we both know which way you will pick. I will accept powder, weapons, blankets, iron of all sorts. If that is useful to you, then it is useful to me. And I will fight the Fourteen Fires, the Americans. But I will do it alone and in my own way. I will not be an ally to any European power. It is only for you to decide if that is useful to you or not.”
McKee sat silent for a long while. “Yes, we abandoned you at Fallen Timbers. Perhaps you are right. Perhaps we will do it again if it is in our interest. There is a people far to the east of Britain and Europe. A desert people who live in an expanse of sand as big as all this.” He motioned with his hand in a wide circle around him. “They have a saying. ‘My enemy’s enemy is my friend.’ For now, let that guide us both.”
McKee sat silently looking into Tecumseh’s dark eyes.
Then Tecumseh smiled a small smile and almost whispered, “For now.”
McKee started to rise and then sat back down. “One other thing you should know. You are aware that for over ten years we British have been in Detroit and other forts south of the Lakes. Ten years after the land was taken by the Americans and given up by us in the treaty ending their rebellious war. But we have never moved out. That is about to end. This summer we abandon Detroit and the others south of the Lakes. If you come to me again, you will find me across the river at Amherstburg. We will build a new fort there—Fort Malden.”
As McKee walked away, Chaubenee looked at his friend beside him. Neither spoke for a moment and then Chaubenee’s wide face broke into an even wider grin. “That will be interesting.”
Tecumseh said nothing but a let a wry grin of his own show in response.
“Tecumseh, tomorrow I leave you and go back to my own village. You know where I am when you want me.”