that he could not cease to think of it if he would make every attempt. [Pg 59] When the bottle was nearly empty he said that if his hearer would promise great secrecy he would relate[Pg 60] the narrative of the Indian. The other gave the required assurances. Three times however the doctor repeated one specific caution,—"Would he promise not to tell it to his wife?" and receiving three most earnest pledges, that no curtain inquisition should exert its rack so successfully, as to extort any fragment of the confidence, the relater proceeded without fear. I will tell you, said he, how the red-skin doctor influenced the welfare of a great Indian Prince. [Pg 60] Awaha was king of a tribe whose territory bordered on one of the great northern lakes. The eagle soaring when the heavens were filled with the winged tribes, was not more conspicuous and more supreme in grandeur, than he, when he stood among all the assembled warriors of the north. As the thunder-peal when the bolt tore the great oak on the mountains, so that it must wither and die, exceeded all the other tumult of the storm, so the shout he uttered in battle was heard amid the fierce cries of conflict. The hearts of all the beautiful maidens moved at his approach, as the graceful flags and wild-flowers move when the breath of the evening wind seems to seek rest as it passes over the quiet lake. The Indian mothers said that it was strange that he sought no wife, when his deeds had gone before him, and seemed to have softened the hearts of such as the wisest of his race might have chosen for him. He had come from[Pg 61] the battles a great warrior. Were there not daughters of his tribe, who became more stately and more grave, as though they heard great battle songs when he came near? Were not these fitted to be the wives of great braves,—the mothers of sons whose fame would last in war-songs? Surely the great warrior had need to speak to one who would be saddest of all when he was away, and most glad when his shadow fell upon the threshold! He speaks not, and the air around him is too still. The sunbeams seemed wintry, waiting for his voice. He seemed to leave the paths through the forest very lonely. The great mountain's summit must not ever be alone, covered with ice and snow, bright in the sun and in the moonbeams. Let spring come and cover it with soft green, and let the sweet song fill its trees, as the warm light streamed over it from the morning. [Pg 61] Many of the
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