The sign of the prophet: A tale of Tecumseh and Tippecanoe

It was a hot, sultry morning in the latter part of August, 1811.
A dugout canoe containing two occupants was swiftly speeding down the Scioto, at a point near which the city of Columbus now stands.
The clear green water wimpled musically at the bow of the vessel, and a frothy wake bubbled and eddied at the stern. The surface of the stream lay cool and dark in the shadow of the overhanging trees; but where the red rays of the rising sun shot through the dense foliage and fell upon the pulseles...