“It must have been a stirring time, those years just before I was born. All along the frontier between the Appalachians and the Mississippi River from the Great Lakes to the Gulf of Mexico, the tribes were becoming more determined to resist any further land seizures by the whites. For many Indian people the great hero of the time was the Shooting Star—Tecumseh of the Shawnees—who worked to form a confederation of all the tribes. Without such a union, Tecumseh said, the Indians would never stop the westward march of the white men.
“His strongest ally in the South was my grandmother’s old friend, Menewa of the Creeks. Late one summer a party of Shawnees and Creeks visited the Cherokee towns, inviting the chiefs to attend a great council for Tecumseh at Tallagalla, the town on the Tallapoosa that Menewa had built after being driven from Georgia by the border raiders.
“By this time the Cherokees had decided it was impossible to have one chief, and so they formed a Committee of Thirteen to deal with matters concerning the whole nation. The thirteen chiefs were sworn to cede no more land and to resist all efforts of the United States to move the tribe to the West. As the Long Warrior was one of the Committee of Thirteen, the Tecumseh delegation was especially eager to have him attend.
“When they came to Okelogee, the Long Warrior gave them a friendly welcome, but he told them he was too busy with other matters to make the five-day journey to Tallagalla. Well, Mary was outraged, of course. She was a great supporter of Tecumseh, even claiming blood kinship through his Creek mother.
“ ‘The council will choose someone else to go in my place,’ the Long Warrior assured her that night after she gave him one of her scoldings.
“ ‘This would be an insult to the greatest leader of our people,’ she shouted at him. ‘You must go yourself.’
“ ‘They say in Nashville,’ the Long Warrior answered, ‘that the Shooting Star is a spy, an agent for the British who are preparing to fight another war against the Americans.’
“ ‘Who says that? The Unegas? Those horse-trading white friends of yours that you complain about for lying, cheating, and stealing?’
“The Long Warrior did spend a lot of time those days horse trading. Grandmother Mary told me that it took the place of gambling for him, and at the time set for the Tallagalla council for Tecumseh, he had arranged to accompany several horse dealers, white men, all the way to Natchez to trade for Texas mustangs. She partially forgave him after he presented her with a gentle little arch-nosed pony that reminded her of the Choctaw she had ridden from Bluff Village.
“But they had another quarrel when Mary decided that she was the one who should represent Okelogee at the Tecumseh council. Because of her status as a Beloved Woman, she was highly respected by the Okelogee men. Also by this time she had passed the menopause, which gave her the right to take part in councils and ceremonies forbidden to menstruating women. The Long Warrior, however, protested that both the Creeks and Tecumseh might take offense at a woman delegate.
“ ‘Menewa would welcome me,’ Mary declared, ‘with his arms opened in friendship.’
“That may have been the real reason why the Long Warrior was so opposed to her going to Tallagalla. He had always been jealous of Menewa’s place in Mary’s memories. But in the end Mary got her way, as she usually did. With her younger son, Talasi the Runner, as her escort she set out joyously for the Creek country.
“All through my boyhood I was to hear much about this event from both my father, the Runner, and from Grandmother Mary. She memorized the speeches made by Tecumseh, wrote down the words, and often would quote from them at council meetings. Even after all the years that have passed, I can remember some of the words of Tecumseh as if I had been there.”
12
CREEK MARY AND THE Runner left Okelogee in the Little Chestnut Moon, traveling in ideal weather—the days warm and sunny under blue skies, the nights just crisp enough for a blanket. When they rode into Tallagalla, she was amazed at the size of the assemblage gathered there to welcome Tecumseh—more than five thousand Creeks, Choctaws, Chickasaws, and Cherokees. She was also astonished to find that Menewa had become a man of wealth, living in a fine house set on high pillars, with large cleared fields behind it filled with herds of cattle and horses. He boasted to her of his trade with the Spaniards, sometimes loading as many as a hundred horses at a time with deerskins and furs to drive to Pensacola. British agents were active along the coast, he said, making arrangements for a military base to be used in a new war against the Americans. If the war came, he would join in fighting the Georgians out of revenge for what they had done to his people.
Menewa had grown much heavier since the days of their youth. His face was fleshy, but his eyes still held their old fire, and she could tell that he was the idol of the Creek women when he walked about the town in his brilliantly striped jackets and red-feathered caps. He welcomed Mary and her son as though they were blood relatives, insisting that they stay in his already overcrowded house during the week of festivities.
In the day that remained before the arrival of Tecumseh, Mary renewed acquaintanceship with those of her people from Bluff Village who had fled to Tallagalla. Among them was Tolchi, with a wife whom Mary remembered as a little girl, and now they had four children, one as old as her younger son. She wanted to weep at this reminder of the rapid passage of her life, but instead she laughed and praised Tolchi for fathering such fine children.
Late the next day, the arrival of Tecumseh and his entourage of twenty-four Shawnees, Kickapoos, and Sioux created tremendous excitement. After formal greetings at the council house, Menewa received the great leader in his home. When Mary was introduced, she embraced him, calling him cousin. The Runner was embarrassed by his mother’s adoring attitude toward this man from the North, who was not nearly the imposing figure that he had imagined him to be. Tecumseh was not as tall as the Long Warrior, his body was thin, his skin more sallow than coppery, and he limped on a slightly twisted leg. Much more appealing to the Runner were the six Sioux warriors, tall, handsome young men with their luxurious hair gathered in full plaits. They had a wild, free look about them, spoke to no one, and kept to themselves.
At last came the evening of the main event, Tecumseh’s oration to the Creeks. That afternoon the ballplay field was raked clean and the dancing square enlarged by scraping away the grass. A high pole was erected in the center, and a fire started close to its base. At sundown the spectators began gathering, and by the time darkness fell, masses of men, women, and children were thickly packed around the field. Menewa had built a platform for himself, his guests, and old heroes and heroines of the Creeks. From this vantage point, seated between his mother and Menewa, the Runner could see and hear everything that happened on that field lighted by orange flames of pitch pine.
Out of the council house and down a corridor formed by two facing lines of Creek warriors, Tecumseh led his twenty-four followers. Wearing only their breechflaps and deerskin pouches at their waists, their naked bodies painted black, they shook their red war clubs as they danced to the pole at the center of the square. There they turned and danced single file all around the edges of the pressing crowd. Three times they danced around, and at each turn Tecumseh took a handful of tobacco from his pouch, scattering it to purify the ground. Circling back to the pole, they all emptied their pouches into the fire, and then Tecumseh uttered a piercing Shawnee war whoop that was echoed by all the dancers in unison, a cry that reverberated through the valley. As the sound died away, they broke into a war dance, beginning slowly as though they were setting an ambush, creeping stealthily, then leaping upon an invisible enemy, dancing faster and faster, beating their hands against their screaming mouths. It was the most fearsome sound the Runner had ever heard in his life, but Mary was enraptured, clapping her hands together, her feet drumming on the log flooring of the platform in rhythm with the dance.
Suddenly the dancers broke away, fading off to the edge of the crowd, leaving Tecumseh standing alone in the center of the square with
the firelight full upon his face. He spoke in Muskogean, his mother’s tongue, Creek Mary’s tongue, in a voice so resonant and hypnotic, his body so charged with emotion, that not one of the thousands gathered there moved or made a sound.
“Once our people were many. Once we owned the land from the sunrise to the sunset. Once our campfires twinkled at night like the stars of a fallen sky. Then the white man came. Our campfires dwindled.
“Everywhere our people have passed away, as the snows of the mountains melt in the Mulberry Moon. We no longer rule the forests. The wild game have gone with our hunting grounds. Even our lands are nearly all gone. Yes, my brothers, my sisters, our campfires are few. Those that still burn we must draw together.
“Behold what the white man has done to our people! Gone are the Pequot, the Narraganset, the Powhatan, the Tuscarora, and the Mohican. The white man has put his hand upon them and they are no more. We can no longer trust the white man. We gave him our tobacco and our corn. What happened? Now there is hardly land for us to grow these holy plants.
“They have driven us from the Great Salt Water, forced us over the mountains, and would push us beyond the Great River—but we will go no farther. The only way to stop this evil is for all to unite and claim a common right to the land as it was at first, and should be now—for it never was divided but belongs to all. No tribe has a right to sell the land. Why not sell the air, the clouds, and the great sea, as well as the land? Did the One Above not make them all for the use of his children?”
He paused, holding one hand high, his body trembling, and then he spoke again, his voice soft at first, then rising and hurling his words out as though they were flying arrows.
“The Muskogees, the Creeks, were once a mighty people. The Georgians trembled at their war whoop, but now your blood is white, your tomahawks have no edge, your bows and arrows are buried with your fathers. Awake, Muskogee brothers of my mother, brush away the sleep of bondage from your eyes, and let the white race perish!
“They seize your land, they corrupt your women, they trample on the graves of your dead. They must be driven back whence they came upon a trail of blood. We own this country and the paleskins must never enjoy it.
“All the tribes of the North are dancing the war dance. Soon the time will come to strike, and we will all strike together from the North to the South. Shake your war clubs, shake yourselves, and you will frighten the Americans. Their arms will drop from their hands. Lift up your war clubs, be strong, and when the time comes to fight, you will hear my war cry as I fight beside you, my Muskogee kinsmen!”
He spoke on into the night until his painted body was shiny with sweat, until his voice became a whisper. When he stopped, the crowd—released from the spell of his words—roared out its own pent-up emotions. Several minutes passed before Menewa, standing on his platform, could make himself heard in a short speech of approval. Menewa spoke of how the Creeks had been driven from their rich lands in Georgia, but boasted of the punishment his warriors had given the border militia, bloodying them so badly that they now kept a respectful distance from the towns of the Creeks. “Let them come again,” said Menewa, “and we will bleed them to their bones. This time our enemies will fight not one tribe, but all tribes united in one common cause against a common foe.” He glanced down at Mary, whose attention was still fixed upon Tecumseh, a silhouette now against the dimming fire. “Before we go to our beds this night,” Menewa continued, “let us look upon and hear the words of the Beloved Woman of our Creek people.”
Mary was not expecting this; Menewa had given her no warning. Brushing her hair back nervously, she stood erect. “What words can I add to the magic of Tecumseh and the wisdom of Menewa?” she cried. “Tecumseh has told us that we must draw our campfires together. I am a miko of the Muskogees who for many years has shared her campfire with a chief of the Cherokees.” She reached down and caught the Runner’s hair in her fingers, pulling him painfully to his feet. “Look! Here is a symbol of the union of old enemies—my son, Talasi, Creek blood mingled with Cherokee blood. Our nations must and will remain as one. But let us not boast, as Menewa has done, as so many other Creeks and Cherokees have done, of how we bled the Unegas when last they drove us from our homes and stole our lands. They leave us alone now, yes, because they have not yet filled our stolen lands with their towns and farms, nor destroyed all the animals and cut all the trees from our stolen forests. When they have done these things they will come again. Let us remember that. Let us be as one tribe and never again shall we be driven from our homes like fallen leaves before the winds.”
13
MARY INSISTED THAT TECUMSEH return with her to Okelogee to spread his message among the Cherokees, but the Shawnee politely declined. He was like a migrating bird, he told her. His pathway was set; he must follow it back through the country of the Chickasaws and on to the Prophet’s Town on Tippecanoe River. At some later time, he promised, he would visit the Beloved Woman’s town.
The Runner was relieved that Tecumseh and his party did not return with his mother and him to Okelogee. He knew that the Shooting Star was a great and eloquent man, but he was uneasy over the effect he had upon Mary. In the presence of the Shawnee orator, her behavior was out of character. She became like a silly young girl, making sweet eyes at Tecumseh and caressing him with her hands.
One evening on the return journey to Okelogee, after Mary sighed loudly and remarked for the twentieth time that she was unhappy because Tecumseh was not traveling with them, the Runner told her bluntly that he was happy that the Shawnee had taken a different path from theirs.
“So my son is jealous of the great Tecumseh?” she said in surprise.
“When you are near him you behave like my sweetheart, Sehoya.”
Mary stared at him for a moment, and then she broke into laughter. “And what is so wrong with Sehoya’s behavior? You’ve told us you are going to take her for your wife.”
“She is barely seventeen. She is supposed to be coy and flirtatious in my presence.”
“And am I an old woman, not young enough for such things?” Anger showed in her eyes. “I have never felt younger in my life, Talasi the Runner. Being with Tecumseh made me feel young. Menewa made me feel young. They both regard me as though I am young and so I feel young with them. You and Opothle and your father, the Long Warrior, do not think of me as being young. You are all very dispiriting.”
The Runner knew he had distressed her. “I think of you as being beautiful,” he said. “But you are my mother. I do not expect you to behave like Sehoya.”
When beset by unwelcome emotions Mary could always laugh. She laughed now, and went over and embraced her son. “When will you wed Sehoya?” she asked.
“As soon as the Long Warrior and Qualla help me build a house.”
“You do not need a house now. My house is big enough for you to start a family. We’ll have the wedding as soon as we can make all the arrangements.”
If the Runner had wanted to change his mind about Sehoya, or even if he had wished to postpone the event, his chances of doing so were slight once Mary took charge of the proceedings. Sehoya was the daughter of the headman at Oostanaula, and the Runner had wanted her when he first saw her there on one of his frequent visits with the Okelogee ballplay team. Following their first meeting, Sehoya often accompanied her father to Okelogee when the Oostanaula players came for a game. As her father was a chief, they were always guests of the Long Warrior and Mary. After it was understood that the Runner and Sehoya were to be wed, they had spent several nights together in the corncribs of each other’s parents.
Mary saw to it that they had a proper Cherokee-Creek wedding. The Runner went into the deep forest beyond the Sleeping Woman and killed a bear, bringing the meat as his contribution to the feast. Sehoya baked bread made from corn she had raised and from chestnuts she had gathered.
Not for years had Okelogee experienced such merriment as on the wedding day, with vocal and instrumental music, dancing, and feasting that l
asted far into the night. The ceremony itself was quite simple, Mary borrowing it from her Creek heritage. Sehoya and the Runner, each carrying a small pole and accompanied by a circle of dancers wearing white, met each other in the dancing square. There they drove the poles into the ground side by side, and then Opothle and Sehoya’s oldest brother brought a long tendril from a vine and twined it around the two poles.
Mary was the first to embrace them. “Make me many grandchildren!” she cried, brushing tears from her eyes and shaking with her usual hearty laughter. Everyone brought gifts. Opothle presented them with fine blankets from his storehouse, and the Long Warrior gave them a pair of matching riding horses. The only damper on the celebration was the departure of the Long Warrior immediately after the noon feast. He had to journey up to Nashville to arrange some important business with an important gentleman—a part-time horse and slave trader, lawyer, land dealer, and major general of the Tennessee militia. He was in the market for horses to be used for mounting his militiamen. His name was Andrew Jackson.
In the springtime following the wedding of the Runner and Sehoya, Okelogee received the startling news that the British were at war again with the Americans. All around them the border settlers were arming, and the Cherokee chiefs gathered hastily to debate what course their nation should follow. For some time the Cherokee council had been considering the advantage of adopting a government similar to that of the United States. As long as they could remember, friendly white men had been advising them to become like the Unegas—choose their leaders through elections, invite missionaries to teach them to be Christians, build schools so their children could learn to read and write English. Although the Long Warrior was too busy to take part in many of these discussions, both his sons became involved in the Okelogee councils, and for once the brothers laid aside their old differences and volunteered to assist in organizing a new government. Opothle went so far as to draft a proposed constitution modeled on that of the United States.