Upon reaching home, Acashee found that circumstances were favoring her designs against Hope, even beyond her expectations; for a council was already convened whose object was to secure her person. Acashee, though not allowed to be seated in council, was too wise and too much respected to be excluded therefrom; hence, she leaned against a tree behind her father, and listened.
“For many years the corn failed us, and the venison was poor; the fish showed their dead white bellies all along the sea-shore; the burial-places of our people were heaped with our dead; and then came these pale-faces!”
Thus commenced a white-haired chief, recalling the misfortunes of his people.
“Our medicine-men, our prophets, foretold their coming,” returned another.
“Yes, my brother, and they foretold the ruin of the tribes. I see already our people fading, fading, like the mist as the sun comes up.”
“Why look only at black omens, my father? Maybe the pale-faces have brought to us one who can show us how to avert the calamities of our people.”
Acashee started forward like a young panther at these words of her father, and exclaimed:
“Thou hast well said, my father.”
Samoset lifted his hand and waved his daughter back; then he said, in a low voice, meant for her ear alone:
“The net-weaver is keen and subtle; let her beware, or she may be caught in her own trap.”