“And couldn’t you resist it?”
“I could—yes. But many can’t—as you have witnessed. Hush—he is speaking.”
The Prophet was saying:
“Arise, my children. The Great Spirit forgives you—I pardon you. Have no fear; no harm shall befall you. Go and prepare for your journey. We must leave this sacred spot; the white man’s presence has defiled it. But the Great Spirit will go with us. He has promised. At another time, He will give us the victory over our enemies. The noble Winnemac shall sleep no longer. See!”
Tenskwatawa, clapping his hands thrice in quick succession, cried sharply:
“Winnemac, awake—arise!”
The Pottawatomie suddenly opened his eyes; and, springing to his feet, gazed wildly around him, a bewildered expression upon his face. Little by little he recovered his scattered faculties and remembered where he was and what had happened. A horrified look settled on his countenance, as his eyes rested upon the Prophet. He shivered like one with an ague; and his teeth chattered.
“The bold and warlike Winnemac has been asleep in the early morning,” Tenskwatawa remarked sneeringly.
“Ugh!” was the guttural reply.