But, my God, I might as well let them all rest and guard myself, wakeful as I am, he thought. He got up from the clammy bed and stretched, licked his teeth and gums, leaned against the windowsill, and looked out into the street.
What he saw sent a chill of alarm through him: Darting across the pale starlit dirt of the street, crouched low, in a silent file, moving directly toward his window, were Indians with muskets. Perhaps a dozen of them, it appeared; two or three, he saw now, were right outside the window already. His scalp prickled.
Silently grabbing his breeches off a chair back, he pulled them on and hastily knotted the string at his waist. Then he picked up his pistol from the table, and went swiftly in bare feet to the door of the adjacent room. Thrusting it inward, he groped in the dark for the sergeant of the guard who slept on a cot just inside. Getting a foot, he jerked the sergeant out of his sleep, hearing him suspire loudly.
“Up!” George whispered sharply. “Get them up and out! Be quiet about it. There’s Indians outside the east window!” Instantly the room was full of rustling and excited whispering, the rattle of weapons, the thump of moccasins on floorboards. These woodsmen slept with the proverbial open eye, and could be galvanized into action without so much as a yawn or a groan. They were on their feet and bustling into his room when suddenly a shout split the night outside.
“Guard! Hey, boys! Injuns out here!” It was the sentry outside the south entrance. He was cocking his flintlock at the moment George and the sergeant threw open the door and sprinted out past him and around the corner of the house. George saw the intruders flitting across the street into the shadows, going toward the river. The French volunteers now were pouring out of their house, filling the air with sonorous cries and the sound of running feet. In a moment the whole town was aroused, and the night was shattered by a ragged rattling of gunfire down by the riverbank. That ceased, and there followed a few minutes of voices, talking voices, no more yells, from everywhere in the village. Then a large group could be seen walking up the street. The sergeant of the guard held up a lantern, and in its feeble glow the body of men was brought up before George.
It was a band of Puans, an evil-looking roving party called the Meadow Indians, who had been encamped on the island in the Cahokia while one or two of their chieftains hung around the edges of the council. Now guarding them was a squad of the French volunteers, whose captain bowed proudly to George. Other Frenchmen, soldiers and Cahokian civilians alike, were filling the street, bearing torches and lanterns, chattering with animation. George could also sense a great stirring and murmuring from the direction of the main Indian encampment. The Puans stood, bound, disarmed, their eyes darting in the lantern light. The French officer began interrogating them in a very abusive voice, and they responded plaintively or angrily by turns.
“We caught them running down by the creek, mon colonel,” said the captain.
“They say they are innocent of any mischief, that they were fired upon by unfriendly tribes who crossed the creek. They say they were running from that, to get under the protection of our guard.”
“I’m sure these is the ones,” the sentry muttered to George. “Same headdress. Same paint on. I wasn’t two yards from ‘em, sir, an’ I’d swear on it!”
“Voyez, voyez!” cried a villager who had been inspecting the captives. He held his lantern low, showing that the Indians’ leggings and moccasins were wet and covered with mud. The French captain went into a tirade at them then, pointing at this evidence of their deceit and glaring into their furtive eyes. The Indians, some of whom appeared to be young chieftains, showed a variety of expressions ranging back and forth between indignation and shame.
“Now they have changed their story, mon colonel,” said the officer. “They admit that they came across the stream, but say they did this only to test the loyalty of the French to the Long Knife. And they seem to have about a hundred various other explanations ready as well.” Some of the American guards laughed aloud at this; the Indians stiffened as if the laughter had stabbed them.
Now George knew these were the ones who had tried to abduct him. He knew too that there was great risk in holding them captive. But in the back of his mind was the knowledge that most of the assembled chiefs considered this council a time of gravity and honor; they surely would not blame him for locking up a band of vagrants who had made a breach of the protocol like this. “Throw them in the guardhouse,” he told the captain. “And put the chieftains among them in chains. We’ll deal with them publicly at the council. Gentlemen, I thank you all for your alacrity.” He gave the captain a warm squeeze of the hand and the Frenchman beamed with pride.
“Bon soir, mon colonel!”
It was three in the morning by the time the place was still again. Before retiring, Joseph Bowman tried to convince George that he ought to take lodgings inside the palisades.
“No,” George said. “That would work against us in their minds. I’ll increase the size of the guard in the house from now on, but they shan’t know it. Don’t you see, Joseph, they have to believe I’m protected by the Great Spirit?”
“I understand that, George. But what if you ain’t?”
“Just pray to him that I am,” he said, sending him off with a grin into the dark.
Dear Lord, he thought, returning to the lonely little bed. What a night.
IN THE INDIAN ENCAMPMENT, THE POWWOWS CONTINUED THROUGH the next day, perhaps, George suspected, complicated by the deadly prank the Puans had tried to conduct in the night. Probably the greater chiefs were embarrassed by that unthinkable impropriety and discussing how they might deal with it when they should meet him again. As for himself, he was sure his own legend could only have been enhanced by it. As further sign of his indifference to danger, he assembled a number of ladies and gentlemen of Cahokia and held a dance in the big house, a merry, loud affair that continued almost until morning.
The general council resumed the next morning, with even more ceremony than usual, as the chiefs seemed ready now to answer his offer.
But George began the meeting by having the chained Puan chieftains brought forth. They were herded into the space between the council table and the chiefs of the other tribes, their chains clinking and rattling. They would not look at the eyes of the chiefs, but stood there bedraggled, their legs encrusted with dried mud, looking very much, George noted with satisfaction, like a parcel of criminals. The assembled chiefs murmured and looked at them with disdain or pity.
He had their irons removed, and made them sit where they were, but would not permit them to speak. He stood in front of the table, and began a speech directed at them, which the whole assembly could hear.
“Your design was obvious to me,” he said, his voice sharp with contempt. “A bird from your country has whispered in my ear; it said that all people believe you ought to die, which you yourselves must agree you deserve. I considered that, but on thinking of the meanness of your attempt to catch a bear sleeping, I decided that you’re only old women, too mean to be killed by a Big Knife.
“Still, you ought to be punished for putting on breechclouts like men. Those shall be taken from you, and you’ll be provisioned to go home, as women don’t know how to hunt. As long as you remain here you’ll be treated like squaws.”
Abruptly he turned from the Puans, leaving them like that, and told the other chiefs that he was ready to resume the council. “You’ve talked among yourselves more than a day,” he said. “You’ve considered the truths I have spoken, and I am ready to hear truths from your own mouths.”
But before they could answer, the Puan chieftains, seeming very agitated, begged his attention. One came forward and began a speech, which George would not permit to be interpreted for himself. Then some other Meadow Indians came forward; a chieftain separated from them and laid a peace pipe on the table. He said through the interpreter that the Puans admittedly had intended to kidnap the Big Knife, but only because it had been put in their heads by bad men who had come among them fro
m Michillimackinac. He said the Puans hoped the Big Knives would pity and spare their women and children and, as their own lives had been spared when they deserved to lose them, they were in hopes that peace would be granted them as it was to the other tribes here. George turned from him, went to the table, picked up his sword, smashed the peace pipe, and swept the pieces off onto the ground with the blade, then put the sword back where it had been. As astonished murmur went up from the crowd. “Tell him,” George said to the interpreter, “that I did not make war upon them, and that the Long Knife does not treat with squaws. Tell them that when the Big Knives come upon such people as them in the woods they might shoot them as they would shoot wolves to keep them from eating the deer, but would never boast about it.”
Again he turned to the other chiefs, dismissing the Puans, who began having a very earnest conversation among themselves. He was preparing to hear the old chief again when there was movement among the Puans, and two young braves advanced grimly, sat on the ground nearly at his feet, and flung blankets over their heads. Though George did not know what to make of this, the crowd of Indians apparently knew what it meant, and they began an excited whispering among themselves. Then two of the Puan chieftains came forward, holding another peace pipe between them. One of them again told the story about the bad influence of the Michillimackinac Indians. Then he said, “We offer these two braves for your tomahawk, as atonement for our guilt, and hope that we will be reconciled with the Long Knife after this sacrifice.” Again they offered the peace pipe, which he refused again, but this time did not break. He was almost speechless at this. In a tone just slightly warmer, he told them to go and sit down. He stood looking down at the two mounds of blanket at his feet. Dear God, he thought, they must think the threat of the tomahawk hangs over their whole nation and that nothing will save them but to get peace before they leave here. The two braves remained kneeling under their blankets, but after a time began raising the edges to peer out, as if trying to see what was taking so long. Every person present seemed to be in a suspended state, waiting to see what he would do. The silence was broken only by the buzz of flies.
George turned to face the huddled forms now, and looked at them for a long while, marveling that neither blanket was even slightly trembling. He had been intending ultimately to make peace with the Puans as well as with the others, but had not expected anything so extreme as this, and suddenly he felt so moved by this display of courageous resignation that he reached down, flung off the blankets, and told them to stand up. The two rose slowly, trying to conceal the relief, the incredulity, the joy that was flickering through their stolid faces. As if their faces gave him the words to say, he turned to the chiefs, who were stirring and breathing deeply; he began loudly now, his voice resonant with emotion:
“I have always chosen to believe that there are such men as these among all nations; I am happy to witness that there are at least two among these people.” He turned to the two young men again, and said, “Only such men as you make true chiefs of a nation. I like to treat with such men, and so it is through you that the Long Knife grants peace and friendship to your people.” He took one hand of each and raised them high, and said, “I take your hands as my brothers and as chiefs of your nations, and I expect everybody present will acknowledge you as such!” He led them to his own officers and had them shake hands, then to the French officers, where this was repeated, then to the few Spaniards, Vigo among them, who had come across the river again, and lastly to the Indians, who had all risen to greet them as chiefs as surely as if they had been so designated by their own elders. The air was full of cordiality now; and Father Gibault looked like a saint transported. Carried away by the happy outcome of this show, and it did seem like a fine show to him, George had his guard fire a rifle salute into the air in their honor. And as bits of elm leaf and twigs showered down on the assembly, he could not see an Indian whose smile did not match his own.
The whole event had come off splendidly, even though he had not planned it himself, and he decided that whoever had planted the crime in the minds of the Puans, the Great Spirit must have been working for him in the background.
THE NEXT DAY DAWNED COOL AND FRESH. THE INDIANS KINDLED A council fire a few yards beyond the elm trees, thus symbolically moving the proceedings onto their ground. There was more than the usual ceremony. George sat at the table, which had been moved out also, and awaited the business at hand.
The old chief advanced to the table and picked up the white belt of peace. He was flanked by two other chiefs, one bearing the pipe of peace and one carrying a stone bowl of coals with which to kindle it. This fire was presented first to Heaven, then to all the spirits, with an invocation for them to witness what was to be concluded.
The elder turned then to address the throng of Indians.
“We ought to be thankful,” he said to them, in a voice incredibly deep and rich for one of his age, “that the Great Spirit has taken pity on us, and cleared the sky, and opened our ears and hearts so that we can hear and receive the truth.” Then he turned to George and continued:
“Chief of the Big Knife, we have paid attention to what the Great Spirit put into your heart to say to us.
“We believe the whole of what you say to be the truth, as the Long Knife does not speak like the other white men we have heard. We see plainly that the British have deceived us with lies and have not told us the truth. Some of our old men have always told us this, and now we believe that the Big Knives are in the right, as the British have forts in our country.
“We understand now that if the British grow stronger in our country, they might treat us as badly as they have treated the Big Knives. Thus we the red people believe that we ought to help the Big Knives. With a sincere heart we have taken up the belt of peace, and spurned the other way. We are determined to hold fast the belt of peace, and we will have no doubt of your friendship, because of your way of speaking. There is no room for suspicion.”
George felt a rich gratitude welling up in his breast, and nodded. The old chief continued:
“We will therefore call in all our warriors, and cast the tomahawk into the river, where it can never be found again, and we will suffer no more bad birds to pass through our land to disquiet our women and children. We will be cheerful to smooth the roads for our brothers the Big Knives whenever you come to see us.
“And also we will send to all our friends and let them know the good talk that we have heard here and what was done, and advise them to come and listen to the same. We invite you to send men among us with your eyes to see for yourself how we keep this word.” The old man drew himself up even taller, and raised his voice, now quavering with emotion, to conclude:
“We are men, and we strictly adhere to all that has been said at this great fire that the Great Spirit has kindled here at Cahokia for the good of all people.” Wave after wave of thrilling shivers swept through George, and he choked back an impending flood of tears.
The pipe then was rekindled and presented to all the spirits to be witnesses; the ceremony was concluded with handshakes all about; a great, harmonious murmur of conversation began, and in every Indian face now, with one exception, there glowed an expression of openness and affection.
That exception was Big Gate. Instead of moving among the milling chiefs and white officers, he stood exactly where he had been throughout the councils, and stared expressionless at George.
“Excuse me, Joseph,” George said to Bowman, who was all but hopping about with happiness now. “I think I’m going to have to give this fellow Big Gate some particular attention, or we’re going to lose him.” Striding through the hubbub, George advanced on Big Gate and stopped before him. His eyes passed quickly over the bloody belt and the British flag on Big Gate’s breast.
“I know you,” George said. “You’re Lajes, the warrior famous as Big Gate.”
The chief’s short black eyebrows lifted almost imperceptibly as he found himself being addressed at last directly by the Long K
nife. He nodded, his narrow lips still compressed.
“I have not spoken to Big Gate sooner,” George said, “because among white people it is customary that when officers meet in this manner, even if they are enemies, they treat each other with greater respect than they do the ordinary people, and esteem each other the more in proportion to the exploits each has performed against other’s nation.”
Big Gate nodded again, his face still stolid even though his black eyes were virtually dancing in response to this tribute.
“And therefore,” George added, “I invite you to dine with me in my house at a special council of the Big Knives.”
Big Gate nodded gravely. And they parted without shaking hands.
BIG GATE ARRIVED AT THE HOUSE THAT EVENING AT SUNSET WITH A guard party of four warriors, whom he ordered to wait outside. George ushered him into a room where a dozen of his officers and subalterns were seated at two parallel tables. He introduced Big Gate to each of the officers, who rose in turn to face him, but there was no handshaking. George started to lead him to his place at the center of one of the tables, but Big Gate stopped in the middle of the floor. He was now definitely the center of attention. George moved away to let him claim the entire floor.
Big Gate struck his breast. “I am a warrior,” he said. “You know I have been a warrior from the days of my youth.”
He reached up, grasped the bloody belt at his neck and snatched it away, breaking it, and threw it to the floor. Then he ripped the British flag from his breast and threw that down beside the belt. George swallowed a smile. He was beginning to get the drift of the performance.
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