"Brother, we believe as you have told us, that this is a just and brave man; but he has struck our people very hard, and will, if we let him live, strike many more of them. The bones of our young men are scattered in the woods; the wolves are gnawing them; and their spirits will complain if he should live: they cry to us from the ground for his blood. Brother, forget that you have asked us for that we could not grant. This man must die."
"It is well. Will my brothers allow the woman to speak to them?"
After a brief consultation, the request was granted.
Praying to God for aid in this apparently hopeless effort to pluck the prey from the very jaws of the wolf, Mrs. Raymond ventured to speak, Cuthbert interpreting. Not a word she uttered was lost by Honeywood, whose life depended upon her success.
"Brothers, I have lived many years: you see my hair is white; and I have had many sorrows. My grandfather was one of the men of peace, who came over the sea with William Penn, and stood beside him when he met your fathers at Shackamaxon.
"When a little child, I have sat upon his knees, and heard him tell what William Penn said to the Delawares,—that he considered them one flesh and blood with his people, and as though one man's body was divided in two parts; and the Delawares said that they would live in love and friendship with William Penn and his children as long as the sun and moon endured."
During her address, every trace of ferocity vanished from the features of the Indians, and was replaced by an expression of curious interest and respect.
She paused a moment to collect her thoughts, when the chief said,—
"Brother, let the woman speak on. The ears of the Delawares are open; and they desire to wipe the tears from her eyes."
Thus encouraged, she said, while her voice trembled with emotion,—