The tumult of passion raised by Tecumseh, and the full knowledge of the proposal which he had made to Weatherford, as well as the well-known fact of his kinship with certain influential families in lower Monroe, of their attitude to the Indians, and last of all, the hesitation of Weatherford to assume command, and his strange visit to his brothers—all of these things awoke suspicion and placed the Indians on their guard. Here was a reversal of human sentiment as sudden and as powerful as possible. Weatherford had been idolized till suspicion was aroused, when his presumed treachery was watched with much eagerness. On his return from the visit to his brothers, Weatherford was chagrined, and doubly disappointed, to find that his premises had been invaded, his family, slaves, and stock seized by the Indians, and held under close guard against his return. Not only so, but they laid hold on him also, and notified him that they would kill him and his if he did not join them, and lead them against the whites. It was now death, or submission to their demand, the latter of which was, after all, not difficult for Weatherford, for the denunciation heard by him on every hand, revived the old fire in his heart, and complete as the change was, as a result of his visit to his brothers, he now cordially acquiesced in their demands, and announced himself ready to lead them to the field.

Under these compulsory conditions, Weatherford fed afresh his hatred for the white race, recalling that which his uncle had instilled, and with all his being, he threw himself into the cause of the Indians, and became the most brilliant and the bitterest of Indian leaders. Since there was nothing left but acquiescence with the demands of the Indians, Weatherford gored himself to unquenchable hatred, and boldly took the field at the head of the hilarious and tawny braves. Summoning to his support all the resources for a fierce war, and calling to his aid every available warrior of the tribe, a thousand in number, he was ready for the march to the counties of the south. Already hostilities had broken out in the southern quarter of the state, and the initial victory of the Indians at the battle of Burnt Corn, gave vigor to his spirits, and led him utterly to repudiate the sentiments which he cherished when he left the homes of his brothers, only a few weeks before.

At the head of as ferocious an army as ever trod the soil of any region, Weatherford repaired southward on a mission of utter extermination. Every day of the march sharpened his zest for the fray, as well as that of his fierce followers on the war path. He slid into the south as stealthily as possible, and on reaching the scene of impending hostility, found that the whites had betaken themselves into a strong stockade, which had been built about the residence of one of the settlers named Mims, which name was given to the fort. Together with his picked warriors, he stealthily inspected the fort unobserved, studied its weakness and its strength, and repaired to the deep forest to await the time to attack.

He saw that to undertake to storm the strong barricade meant disaster to his army, and with genuine genius of generalship, he decided to await the favorable moment to strike the fatal blow. He hid his warriors in the deep woods, at a point sufficiently remote from the fort not to be detected, allowed no camp fires to blaze during the night, and no demonstration that would occasion alarm at the fort, while he would daily reconnoitre the situation, and watch how life went inside the stockade.

Within Fort Mims, day after day passed in silence, silence into inactivity, then into indifference, and this in turn, into negligence. The growth of this spirit within the fort was a matter of encouragement to Weatherford on the outside, several miles away, and this, he was persuaded, would continue to grow. When it should have become a spirit of lassitude, toward which it was tending, then would Weatherford strike. Lounging within the walls of the stockade induced exceeding restlessness, and by degrees, the inmates of the fort would sally forth in quest of flowers and wild fruits, while within the enclosure, diversions and games were introduced and gained in favor. In addition still, the great gateway, which at first had been kept closed, was now suffered to remain open, not only during the day, but at night. Heavy rains had washed the sand against the gate, so that if it were desired to close it, it would be with great difficulty. The inmates had grown indifferent to the situation, and really had ceased to believe there was any occasion for apprehension.

Of all this Weatherford, lurking in the neighboring forest, was apprised, and while his warriors chafed yet the more because of the delay, the inmates of the fort grew increasingly indifferent, both which facts were conducive to the purpose of the wily Weatherford. It was not easy for the wary chief to hold in check his warriors, but he would daily persuade them that the pear was not yet ripe, and that when the set time should come, the victory would be the easier. Weatherford fully understood that when the dogs of war were turned loose, he would have to rely entirely on the force of their frenzy and excitement for success, while he quite understood the collectable qualities of the whites, who, even when surprised, would rally and rerally with a growing coolness in the struggle.

Thus the days became monotonous alike to the inmates of the fort, and the warriors hid away in the woods, but the effect on each was diametrically different. This was just as Weatherford wished it, and while he found it not easy to hold in check his warriors thirsting for blood, he was enabled to do so till the fatal day arrived.