Listen; but
wait, wait! Let time prove his beautiful tale; let the moons go by
over the Village of Peace.
"Wingenund does not flaunt his wisdom. He has grown old among his
warriors; he loves them; he fears for them. The dream of the
palefaces' beautiful forest glimmers as the rainbow glows over the
laughing falls of the river. The dream of the paleface is too
beautiful to come true. In the days of long ago, when Wingenund's
forefathers heard not the paleface's ax, they lived in love and
happiness such as the young White Father dreams may come again. They
waged no wars. A white dove sat in every wigwam. The lands were
theirs and they were rich. The paleface came with his leaden death,
his burning firewater, his ringing ax, and the glory of the redmen
faded forever.
"Wingenund seeks not to inflame his braves to anger. He is sick of
blood-spilling--not from fear; for Wingenund cannot feel fear. But
he asks his people to wait. Remember, the gifts of the paleface ever
contained a poisoned arrow. Wingenund's heart is sore. The day of
the redman is gone. His sun is setting. Wingenund feels already the
gray shades of evening."
He stopped one long moment as if to gather breath for his final
charge to his listeners. Then with a magnificent gesture he
thundered:
"Is the Delaware a fool? When Wingenund can cross unarmed to the Big
Water he shall change his mind.
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