“Brothers—The white men are not friends to the Indians:—at first, they only asked for land sufficient for a wigwam; now, nothing will satisfy them but the whole of our hunting grounds, from the rising to the setting sun. Brothers, they want more than our hunting grounds—they wish to kill our warriors; they would even kill our old men, women, and little children.
“Brothers—Many winters ago, there was no land;—the sun did not rise and set:—all was darkness. The Great Spirit made all things. He gave the white people a home beyond the great waters. He supplied these grounds with game, and gave them to his red children, and he gave them strength and courage to defend them.
“Brothers—My people wish for peace,—the red men all wish for peace; but where the white people are, there is no peace for them, except it be on the bosom of our mother. The red men have borne many and great injuries. They ought to suffer them no longer. My people will not; they are determined on vengeance; they have taken up the tomahawk; they will make it fat with blood; they will drink the blood of the white people.
“Brothers—My people are brave and numerous, but the white people are too strong for them alone. I wish you to take up the tomahawk with them. If we all unite, we will cause the rivers to stain the great waters with their blood.
“Brothers—If you do not unite with us, they will first destroy us, and then you will fall an easy prey to them. They have destroyed many nations of red men, because they were not united,—because they were not friends to each other.
“Brothers—The Great Spirit is angry with our enemies,—he speaks in thunder, and the earth swallows up villages, and drinks up the Mississippi.—The great waters will cover their low lands,—their corn cannot grow, and the Great Spirit will sweep those who escape to the hills, with his terrible breath.
“Brothers—We must be united; we must smoke the same pipe; we must fight each others' battles; and more than all, we must love the Great Spirit;—he is for us,—he will destroy our enemies, and make all his red children happy.”
When Tecumseh had finished, Oloompa remained for some moments lost in reflection; his soul had been stirred to its inmost core: he had heard expressed, in glowing language, the thoughts which burned in his own bosom. The wrongs of the whites had been summed up and made to pass before him, and again he repeated to himself, the oath of eternal enmity, which he had sworn to his mother. When the excitement had a little subsided, a chief rising, moved an adjournment of the council until the next day, and Oloompa, scarcely knowing whither he was bound, left the council, to wander in the forest, and muse upon what he had heard. Days elapsed, and still the power of Tecumseh's eloquence caused him to falter in his determination; but, at the end of that time, again he continued his journey, resolving to accomplish, if possible, that which he had set out to perform, and then to link his fate with Tecumseh, and unite with him heart and soul in the enterprise he had projected.
It was now the second week since Oloompa's departure from the council, and in answer to his last inquiry for information, the reply had been that the wigwam of Netnokwa lay on the banks of the stream along which he was then journeying, and at a distance of only two or three miles. He had before ascertained that the captive maiden still remained with her, and buoyant with hope and joy he now moved forward. He saw before him the successful accomplishment of his journey,—he could now serve the hunter, redeem his promise, and then all obligations were cancelled, and he his inveterate foe. He felt for the little package which had been given him, to be delivered to the maiden, if found,—it was safe; he took it out and examined it; it was rubbed and worn, and while gazing on it, he thought it too small to contain any thing of much value, but his injunctions were positive, and he returned it to his belt.
His face now beamed with happiness, for he was approaching the end of his journey, and he also felt the consciousness of having succeeded in part in his undertaking. Besides this, he would soon be gratified in seeing her for whom he had taken so much trouble; and he was also anxious to see Netnokwa's daughter, whom he had heard spoken of as beautiful above any maid of the forest. He had now continued his journey in silence, for some distance, on the banks of the stream along which he was travelling, when suddenly there was heard a cracking of the bushes, and the running of an animal,—a moment more, and a deer passed.—Yet it bounded not as though it were wild and free, for an arrow had pierced and still stood fixed deep in its body; its life was fast ebbing away, for one might trace its path by the blood which sprinkled the ground where it moved along, and could see that each successive bound was less strong than the one before it. It continued its flight but a short distance farther, when it stopped, and turning its head back, gazed at the fatal shaft;—big tears fell from its eyes,—it nibbled the arrow with its mouth, and endeavoured to pull it out;—it was firmly fixed,—it tried to leap again,—it was too late,—it grew weaker, reeled, fell, and died. Oloompa gazed for a moment, and was hesitating whether or not he should go in pursuit, when he heard the sound of laughing voices,—then a joyous cry, and a form dashed by, as if borne on the wings of the hurrying blast.