Austin. How weak he must have been!
Hunter. In a short time he rose again, sitting in his full dress like the leader of a warlike tribe, and calmly and smilingly extended his hand to the chiefs and officers, to his wives and his children. But this, his last effort, exhausted his remaining strength. He was lowered down on the bed, calmly drew his scalping-knife from its sheath under his war-belt, where it had been placed, and grasped it with firmness and dignity. With his hands crossed on his manly breast, and with a smile on his face, he breathed his last. Thus passed away the spirit of Oseola.
Austin. Poor Oseola! He died like a chief, at last.
Hunter. He did, but not like a Christian, and, very likely, when he grasped his scalping-knife, before his last breath forsook him, some glowing vision of successful combat was before him. In the pride of his heart, perhaps, he was leading on his braves to mingle in the clash of battle and the death-grapple with his enemies. But is this a fit state of mind for a man to die in? Much as we may admire the steady firmness and unsubdued courage of an Indian warrior in death, emotions of pride and high-mindedness, and thoughts of bloodshed and victory, are as far removed as possible from the principles of Christianity, and most unsuitable to a dying hour. Humility, forgiveness, repentance, hope, faith, peace and joy, are needed at such a season; and the time will come, we trust, when Indians, taught better by the gospel, will think and feel so.
Mounted Chief.
CHAPTER XIV.
The holidays of the three brothers were drawing to a close; and this circumstance rendered them the more anxious to secure one or two more visits to the cottage, before they settled down in right earnest to their books. Brian and Basil talked much about the poisoned arrows, and the mystery man; but Austin’s mind was too much occupied with the Camanchee chief on his black war-horse, and the death of the Seminole chief Oseola, to think much of any thing else. He thought there was something very noble in the valour of a chief leading on his tribe to conquest; and something almost sublime in a warrior dressing himself up in his war-robes to die. Like many other young people of ardent dispositions, he seemed to forget, that when a victory is enjoyed, a defeat must be endured; and that before any one can rejoice in taking a scalp, some one must be rendered miserable or lifeless by losing it. The remarks of the hunter, respecting the inconsistency of such customs with the peaceful principles of religion, especially the solemnities of a dying hour, had not been made altogether in vain; yet still he dwelt on the image of Oseola grasping his scalping-knife, crossing his hands over his breast, and dying with a smile on his countenance.
On their next walk to the cottage, the way was beguiled by endeavouring to call to mind all that had been told them on their last visit; and, to do him justice, he acquitted himself uncommonly well. It is true, that now and then his brothers refreshed his memory on some points which had escaped him; but, on the whole, his account was full, connected, and clear.