“The white chief offered me one hundred rifles, two hundred square Mackinaw blankets, five kegs of gunpowder, fifteen bales of cloth and one hundred shot belts, besides beads, knives, and small articles. For this he desires to have possession of the hill as far as the borders of the settlement, and the strip of land lying along the shore of the bay.
“I have told you this with no remark of my own to influence your decision. To you, brothers, I leave it, whatever it may be Oluski will abide by it.”
Saying this, he sat down.
The young warrior who had already spoken, once more rose to his feet and addressed himself to his chief.
“Why does Oluski ask us to decide? The land is his, not ours.”
Without rising the chief replied to the question. His voice was sad and subdued, as though he were speaking under compulsion.
“I have asked you, my sons,” said he, “for good reason. Although the land is my own, the graveyard of our ancestors, which adjoins the property, belongs not only to the whole tribe, but to the children of the tribe for ever!”
A silence, such as precedes a storm fell upon the assembly.
Then every voice within the council chamber was simultaneously raised in loud protestations, and had Elias Rody seen the flashing eyes and angry gestures, or heard the fierce invective hurled back to his proposal, he would have hesitated to renew it.
Amidst the wild tumult Oluski sate, with head bowed upon his breast, a feeling of sorrow in his heart.