A solemn gravity, even beyond the
ordinary measure of Indian deliberation, sat upon the countenance of
each chief and prophet, indicating that matters of high importance
were impending. These sat in a circle around the great fire, their
eyes cast upon the earth, and all silent as a grove of oaks in a calm
morning. Without the circle of chiefs and prophets stood promiscuously
grouped the remainder of the tribe--men, women, and children--all
discovering more than common anxiety to learn the reason of the
extraordinary call.

But let me not anticipate the circumstances that attended, nor the
events that followed, the _Warning_ of Tekarrah[A], as recited by
Wonnehush, chief of the Onondagas.

[Footnote A: Tekarrah, i.e. [Greek: angelos], messenger, of the Great
Spirit.]

From a remote corner of the camp, this aged man intimated an intention
to speak. A deep silence pervaded the whole crowd, and every eye was
fixed upon him. After a short pause, he slowly rose, and cast an
anxious eye around the room in which the fire was lighted. But his
eye, although it retained proof of its former power and lustre, had
now become dim with age. His furrowed brow, his whitened locks, and
bended form, once as straight as the arrow that sped from his youthful
bow, evinced the ravages which time had made on his noble form. Yet
his voice was still strong and clear. At length, adjusting the folds
of his blanket, he stretched forth his withered arm, and, with the
dignity of one from the Land of Souls, and with all the eloquence of
his race, thus addressed the wandering inmates of the camp:--

Brothers, shall Wonnehush tell you a lie? No! Let the white man, whose
heart is the heart of a fawn, and whose ways are the ways of the
serpent, let him speak with a forked tongue. It is for him that lives
in great towns, and buys his bread by selling strong waters, to poison
the red men--it is for him to deal in lies. The red man hunts the
buffalo, and traps the beaver in the woods that were given him by the
Great Spirit. He crosses the big mountain, and enters the deep valleys
beyond it, and no man dares to stop his path. He has a great heart,
and scorns to tell a lie. Hear, then, the words of Wonnehush!

Brothers, I am an oak of the forest. The snows of a hundred winters
have fallen on my branches. Once the tree was covered with green
leaves, but they have dropped at my side, and the sap, which once made
the tree strong and flourishing, has left the