The two traders, still fearful after a winter of seclusion, sat in Harrison’s office babbling out their story. Both trying to talk at once and stepping on one another’s telling. Harrison sat unusually quiet, taking it in. Johnny Logan sat behind him on a stool by the fire. When they were finally done, Harrison spoke calmly.
“So, this self-appointed Shawnee Prophet has, by his simple declaration, constrained all chiefs of all tribes from selling me land upon penalty of death?”
One of the traders sat forward as though to speak.
“Yes or no?” Harrison barked. “Which is it?”
The two traders glanced at one another, and turning back to Harrison, spoke simultaneously. “Yes.”
Harrison shifted his chair around until he was able to make eye contact with Johnny. “Will they obey?”
“Yes.”
“So, some self-appointed savage who claims to speak for God thinks he will stop the civilizing of an entire territory? No, he will not.”
Johnny spoke from behind him. “Let me tell you about this prophet.”
Harrison bolted straight up from his chair and shouted, “No. I need to know nothing more about this man. He is a liar. And I will make them see him for the fool he is.
“Johnny, you get a message to this Shawnee Prophet and let every village in the Indiana Territory know I’ve sent it: ‘You are a false prophet who claims to speak for Moneto and against Matchemenetoo. You speak for no one but yourself. If you speak for Moneto, you must prove it. Tell Moneto to make the sun stop in its tracks. Then all, even the whites, will know you are indeed the Shawnee Prophet.’”
* * * *
Harrison read the reply sent to him by the Shawnee Prophet. It had been written in English and delivered by a small party of Shawnee warriors from the Indian village. They also told him runners had been sent to every village in the Indiana Territory with the same message.
“You, Governor Harrison, wish me to prove that I am the Shawnee Prophet by stopping the sun. That is not in my power to do, but it is in the power of Moneto and in a dream he tells me he will do so to prove to you, and any other skeptic, that I, Tensk, am his prophet.
“Fifty days from now, when the sun is at its highest, it will stop in its path.
“Know that, Harrison, and beware. The power is mine.”
The letter was dated three days earlier and signed “Tensk, the Shawnee Prophet.”
* * * *
At noon on June 17, 1806—the day awaited for the last seven weeks along the entire frontier—Johnny Logan stood on the lawn at Grouseland, where he had an unimpeded view of the sky above. He held his hands high above his head to shelter his eyes from the blazing directness of the sun.
The light on one side seemed less bright for a moment and he blinked to correct it. But it wasn’t to be corrected. The light was dimmer there, and then a small black curve appeared along the dim edge. And the blackness grew—and grew and grew—until the face of the sun was black with only a golden halo encircling it. Confused birds stopped flying and set to roost.
“There will be hell to pay now,” Johnny Logan said to no one and everyone.