"Their stories about the mission created an even greater sensation among the Methodists. After 10 years of missionary work in Up per Sandusky, the church had more than 200 members, nearly half the reservation.

It was a white, red and black congregation, and notably sober.

Its agricultural program was fruitful, and the vocational school was so good, heathens were enrolling their children.

Wyandots were forsaking their bark homes and building sturdier homes made of logs. The United States had given them a gristmill in recognition of their service in the War of 1812. (“Indians always served first,” said the list of rules.) The government also had provided money to build a church, with plenty of Indians volunteering to pull the lime stone slabs out of the Sandusky River bottom and stack them into walls.

The Indians attributed the changes to Finley, who they said led them by example."

On a summer day in 1826, the gaslights dimmed at the Peale Museum in Philadelphia and a smaller light came on behind a wheel of pictures. As the wheel started turning, the pictures blurred, then emerged distinct, moving as if they were alive.

A party of four from Upper Sandusky, Ohio - three Wyandot Indians and one white minister - watched the action un fold: The devil and a drunk were in a tug-of-war. They pulled this way and that until the devil grabbed the foot of the drunk and flipped him off his feet. The show ended in darkness, followed by silence.

“Waugh,” said an amazed Mononcue, a chief in the tribe.

Mononcue, a second chief named Between-the-Logs, interpreter Samuel Brown and the Rev. James Finley were on a well-deserved sightseeing break. In the first two weeks, they covered a lot of ground.

They rode horseback to San dusky Bay, took a steamboat to Buffalo (where a choppy Lake Erie made the chiefs seasick), canal boat to Schenectady and stagecoach to New York and Philadelphia. They were touring east ern cities, preaching, raising money at Methodist events and impressing everyone.

They were the most civilized savages cityfolk had ever seen. Possibly the only Indians the whites ever had seen.

After the picture show, some one at the museum asked them to return the next day. Finley, who ran the Ohio mission, did not commit.

The next morning, a local pa per carried an item saying the chiefs would be appearing at the museum. Finley suspected a “catchpenny maneouvre” and declined the invitation by letter. But curiosity got the best of him, and he and Brown showed up outside the museum just to see if the notice had stirred interest. The streets were mobbed with carriages.

Their stories about the mission created an even greater sensation among the Methodists. After 10 years of missionary work in Up per Sandusky, the church had more than 200 members, nearly half the reservation.

It was a white, red and black congregation, and notably sober.

Its agricultural program was fruitful, and the vocational school was so good, heathens were enrolling their children.

Wyandots were forsaking their bark homes and building sturdier homes made of logs. The United States had given them a gristmill in recognition of their service in the War of 1812. (“Indians always served first,” said the list of rules.) The government also had provided money to build a church, with plenty of Indians volunteering to pull the lime stone slabs out of the Sandusky River bottom and stack them into walls.

The Indians attributed the changes to Finley, who they said led them by example.

Mononcue and Between-the-Logs were eager to show off the results. On the road, they took turns preaching.

In Baltimore, Between-the-Logs spoke in front of several thousand Methodists, describing the changes that their religion had made for his people.

“The Great Spirit has taken the tomahawk out of our hands, and his love has taken it out of our hearts, and buried it so deep [in the earth] that it will never rise again,” he told them. “And this peace shall go to all people, and it will bury all war, and make all the world love like brothers. For Jesus died himself to make peace. Yes, my brothers, he died.”

Brown, the interpreter, was not feeling well. Between-the-Logs told him to rest and proceeded to perform a pantomime of the crucifixion. He said the word Jesus plainly and then knelt, praying, eyes beseeching heaven. The crowd was struck with quiet. He stretched his hand across a wooden post and “nailed” his forefinger into it. Praises to God rolled across the room. He did the same to his feet. More praise. His head dropped to his shoulder, suggesting death. The crowd was weep ing and shouting.

Finally, Between-the-Logs lifted his vest and, using his other hand like a spear, struck his side as if aiming for the heart. He drew it back with a whizzing noise, as if blood was flowing. He held out his hand, as though blood were dripping off it.

A flood of tears rushed through the crowd, and the wail of the faithful sailed over it. Christ was dead, but the Christian Indian was born.

The four were ready to go back to Ohio. The city was noisy, and the hotel beds were too soft. They rolled out their blankets and slept on the floors instead.

But now more people knew that the Wyandot were a special tribe. The church, the government and the Indians themselves could see the changes in Upper Sandusky. So when their Indian agent started asking them if they would like to move to a reservation out West, they talked it over. The heathens felt a move would remove them from the evils of white culture and help preserve tribal ways. But the majority, led by the Christians, did not want to leave all that had been built and buried. They also remembered Tarhe believed there would al ways be a fence around their land, protecting his people. They would never have to leave.

They declined the offer by letter.

A few years later, in 1830, President Andrew Jackson submitted a bill to Congress that would allow the government to give tribes new land west of the Mississippi in ex change for their land east of the Mississippi. It would pay for more than 100,000 Indians to move and help them live their first year on new territory.

Jackson pushed hard. The debate was heated and rushed, with little chance for fact-finding or strategy. Congress passed the In dian Removal Act, 102 to 97.

More than one Wyandot wondered if the fence around them would hold.