And so the Red Men learned to love and trust their great White Father—Onas they called him. For Onas is Indian for a pen, or a quill.
Such was William Penn’s happy welcome to the City of Brotherly Love.
THE PLACE OF KINGS
It was the last of November. The lofty forest trees on the shore of the Delaware had shed their summer attire. The ground was strewn with leaves. A Council-fire was burning brightly beneath a huge Elm, not far from the City of Brotherly Love.
It was an ancient Elm, which for over a hundred years had guarded Shackamaxon, the Place of Kings. For long before the Pale-faces had landed on the shore of the Delaware, Indian Sachems, Kings of the Red Skins, had held their friendly councils in its shade, and smoked many a Pipe of Peace.
On that November day, the tribes of the Lenni Lenapé under the wide-spreading branches of the Elm, were gathered around the Council-fire. They were seated in a half circle, like a half moon. They were all unarmed.
Among the Chiefs, was the Great Sachem Taminend, revered for his wisdom and beloved for his goodness. He sat in the middle of the half moon, with his council, the aged and wise, on either hand.
They waited.
Then, lo! a barge approached. At its masthead flew the broad pennant of Governor William Penn. The oars were plied with measured strokes, guiding the barge to land. And near the helm sat William Penn attended by his council.
He landed with his people, and advanced toward the Council-fire. A handsome man he was, only thirty-eight years old, athletic, and graceful. His manners were courteous, his blue eyes were friendly. He was plainly dressed, with a scarf of sky-blue network bound about his waist.