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Page 31
A wigwam, larger and more pretentious than most of the others in Echota,
stood a little apart from the rest, and not far from the council-house.
Like the others, it had a frame of poles covered with tanned skins; but
it was distinguished from them by a singular "totem,"--an otter in the
coils of a water-snake. Its interior was furnished with a sort of rude
splendor. The floor was carpeted with buffalo-hides and panther-skins,
and round the walls were hung eagles' tails, and the peltries of the
fox, the wolf, the badger, the otter, and other wild animals. From a
pole in the centre was suspended a small bag,--the mysterious
medicine-bag of the occupant. She was a woman who to this day is held in
grateful remembrance by many of the descendants of the early settlers
beyond the Alleghanies. Her personal appearance is lost to tradition,
but it is said to have been queenly and commanding. She was more than
the queen, she was the prophetess and Beloved Woman, of the Cherokees.
At this time she is supposed to have been about thirty-five years of
age. Her father was an English officer named Ward, but her mother was of
the "blood royal," a sister of the reigning half-king Atta-Culla-Culla.
The records we have of her are scanty, as they are of all her people,
but enough has come down to us to show that she had a kind heart and a
sense of justice keen enough to recognize the rights of even her
enemies. She must have possessed very strong traits of character to
exercise as she did almost autocratic control over the fierce and
wellnigh untamable Cherokees when she was known to sympathize with and
befriend their enemies the white settlers. Not long before the time of
which I am writing, she had saved the lives of two whites,--Jeremiah
Jack and William Rankin,--who had come into collision with a party of
Cherokees; and subsequently she performed many similar services to the
frontier people.
Other wigwams as imposing as that of Nancy Ward, and not far from the
council-house, were the habitations of the head-king Oconostota, the
half-king Atta-Culla-Culla, and the prince of Echota, Savanuca,
otherwise called the Raven. Of these men it will be necessary to say
more hereafter: here I need only remark that they have now gathered in
the council-house, with many of the principal warriors and head-men of
the Ottari Cherokees, and that the present fate of civilization in the
Southwest is hanging on their deliberations.
They are of a gigantic race, and none of those at this conclave, except
Atta-Culla-Culla, are less than six feet in height "without their
moccasins." Squatted as they are gravely around the council-fire, they
present a most picturesque appearance. Among them are the
Bread-Slave-Catcher, noted for his exploits in stealing negroes; the
Tennassee Warrior, prince of the town of that name; Noon-Day, a
wide-awake brave; Bloody Fellow, whose subsequent exploits will show the
appropriateness of his name; Old Tassell, a wise and reasonably just
old man, afterward Archimagus; and John Watts, a promising young
half-breed, destined to achieve eminence in slaughtering white people.
As one after another of them rises to speak, the rest, with downcast
eyes and cloudy visages, listen with silent gravity, only now and then
expressing assent by a solitary "Ugh!"
There is strong, though suppressed, passion among them; but it is
passion under the control of reason. Whatever they decide to do will be
done without haste, and after a careful weighing of all the
consequences. In the midst of their deliberations the rapid tread of a
horse's feet is heard coming up the long avenue. The horseman halts
before the council-house, and soon the buffalo-hide parts in twain, and
a tall young warrior, decorated with eagles' feathers and half clad in
the highest style of Cherokee fashion, enters the door-way. He stands
silent, motionless, not moving a pace beyond the entrance, till
Oconostota, raising his eyes and lifting his huge form into an erect
posture, bids him speak and make known his errand.
The young brave explains that the chief of the pale-faces has come down
the great war-path to an outlying town to see the head-men of the
Ottari. The warriors have detained him till they can know the will of
their father the Archimagus.
The answer is brief: "Let him come. Oconostota will hear him."
And now an hour goes by, during which these grave chiefs sit as silent
and motionless as if keeping watch around a sepulchre. At its close the
tramp of a body of horsemen is heard, and soon Robertson, escorted by a
score of painted warriors, enters the council-chamber. Like the rest,
the new-comers are of fine physical proportions; and, as the others rise
to their feet and all form in a circle about him, Robertson, who stands
only five feet nine inches and is not so robust as in later years, seems
like a pygmy among giants. Yet he is as cool, as collected, as
apparently unconscious of danger, as if every one of those painted
savages (when aroused, red devils) was his near friend or
blood-relation. The chiefs glance at him, and then at one another, with
as much wonderment in their eyes as was ever seen in the eyes of a
Cherokee. They know he is but one man and they twelve hundred, and that
by their law of retaliation his life is forfeit; and yet he stands
there, a look of singular power on his face, as if not they but he were
master of the situation. They have seen physical bravery; but this is
moral courage, which, when a man has a great purpose, lifts him above
all personal considerations and makes his life no more to him than the
bauble he wears upon his finger.
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