Laying a
finger suddenly on the shoulder of Meek, he interrupted him, by saying--
"My father forgets that the skin of his son is red. The path to the happy
hunting-grounds of just Indians lies before him."
"Heathen, in thy words hath the Master Spirit of Delusion and Sin uttered
his blasphemies!"
"Hist!--Did my father see that which stirred the bush?"
"It was the viewless wind, idolatrous and idle-minded infant, in the form
of adult man!"
"And yet my father speaks to it," returned the Indian, with the grave but
cutting sarcasm of his people. "See," he added, haughtily, and even with
ferocity; "the shadow hath passed the root of the tree. Let the cunning
man of the Pale-faces stand aside; a Sachem is ready to die!"
Meek groaned audibly, and in real sorrow; for, notwithstanding the veil
which exalted theories and doctrinal subtleties had drawn before his
judgment, the charities of the man were grounded in truth. Bowing to what
he believed to be a mysterious dispensation of the will of Heaven, he
withdrew to a short distance, and, kneeling on a rock, his voice was
heard, during the remainder of the ceremonies lifting its tones in fervent
prayer for the soul of the condemned.
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