But when the brothers beheld these things, although no star of hope shone to illumine their path, they resolved to make an effort to free their country; to unite the tribes in one desperate struggle, and at least die nobly in its defence. History assigns the summer of 1806, as the period at which Elkswatawa and Tecumseh, who had resided apart for some time, met by appointment, to discuss matters of grave import. And since their meeting at that time exerts a serious influence on the story we are telling, or rather since the incidents arising therefrom, told almost without colouring, are to form the chief subject of the following pages, we must be pardoned for going somewhat minutely into detail. To give vent to their feelings, and arrange their plans, was the object of their present meeting. The morning was beautiful, and the place selected by the brothers, far from their wigwams, was wild and picturesque, and as quiet as it could be, surrounded by breathing nature. The gravity of the speakers, indicated that indeed no common-place theme was to be discussed, and the spot selected for their conference, seemed chosen that its associations, if necessary, might stimulate them in the execution of the plans they were about to adopt. An Indian mound, beneath which might have slept a thousand warriors, was the chosen spot; rising up some forty or fifty feet above the plain, which lay spread out before them, it presented a beautiful landscape of prairie and forest,—the former dotted with many wild herds, browsing on its pasturage; and the whole scene untenanted by human beings, save alone the two above mentioned lords of the forest. Reclining an its top, and gazing upon the deep blue heavens, they were for some time silent, showing by that silence, the deep interest they felt in a subject, for the discussion of which they had now met. At last, Tecumseh rising up, said:—“Brother, I have sought this meeting that we might hold a talk. I have visions of the future. Our people must wake up, or the plough of the pale face will upturn the hunting fields of the red men.” “When, obeying thy call, I left my wigwam,” said Elkswatawa, “I knew not thy purpose. I knew not there was a red man who would dare speak of the wrongs of his country. But thou art of my mind, brother.” Then pausing:—“Where are the fields over which in boyhood we hunted? Gone. Where rest the bones of our fathers? They whiten the fields of the stranger: they make grow the corn of the pale face.” “Yes,” replied Tecumseh, “far, far, from the home of his children. But they are crying unto his sons for vengeance; I hear their voice in the running streams, I hear it borne on the winds as they sweep along.” “Then we will dig up the tomahawk,” said Elkswatawa. “Onward be our battle cry, and the red torch shall blaze until no red man is left to kindle it, or until no wigwam remains to shelter a pale face.”