His copper-colored, repulsive visage compelled fear; it
breathed vindictiveness and malignity. A singular action of his was
that he always, in what must have been his arrogant vanity, turned
his profile to those who watched him, and it was a remarkable one;
it sloped in an oblique line from the top of his forehead to his
protruding chin, resembling somewhat the carved bowl of his pipe,
which was of flint and a famed inheritance from his ancestors. From
it he took his name. One solitary eagle plume, its tip stained
vermilion, stuck from his scalp-lock. It slated backward on a line
with his profile.
Among all these chiefs, striking as they were, the figure of
Wingenund, the Delaware, stood out alone.
His position was at the extreme left of the circle, where he leaned
against a maple. A long, black mantle, trimmed with spotless white,
enveloped him. One bronzed arm, circled by a heavy bracelet of gold,
held the mantle close about his lofty form. His headdress, which
trailed to the ground, was exceedingly beautiful. The eagle plumes
were of uniform length and pure white, except the black-pointed
tips.
At his feet sat his daughter, Whispering Winds. Her maidens were
gathered round her. She raised her soft, black eyes, shining with a
wondrous light of surprise and expectation, to the young
missionary's face.
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