When Eliot had ended, another Indian arose, and said:  “That their friends, the long robes, among the French, had also books, and he had seen them; but he had never seen a book which could speak the Indian language.  He thought if the Great Spirit had a message in a book for them, it would be in the Indian language, and that the Great Spirit would teach the Indians how to read it.  He hoped his white brothers would not be offended if he said, that he should doubt whether the Great Spirit had a message for them in a book, until he saw the book itself and heard it talk Indian.  That was all he had to say.”

It was then that Eliot formed the resolution, by God’s grace, to translate the Bible into the language of the Indians, a work to which he devoted so many years of his life, and which, in connection with his unwearied labor of love among the natives, conferred upon him the honorable and well-merited title of “The Apostle of the Indians.”

Various speeches were made after this, on both sides, of which it is necessary for our purpose to record only one.  This was made by one of the youngest and finest looking of the Taranteens.  His roving eyes, in wandering over the assemblage, had detected the figure of Waqua; and, as they fell on him, they lighted up with an ominous gleam.  He directed the attention of the Indian next to him, a young man like himself, to the discovery, who seemed in like manner disturbed.  The two fastened their eyes full on Waqua, but their gaze was returned by him with a look as bold and stern as theirs.  At the first opportunity, the one who had first observed Waqua rose and spoke.

“Pieskaret,” he said, “is a young man, but this is not the first time his nation has thought him worthy to speak in her councils, and the winds have blown his name through the forests of Canada, and many days travel along the margin of the great salt lake.  When the deer and the Aberginians hear it, they fly, though they are afar off.”

While uttering these words, he had kept his eyes fastened on the face of Waqua, as if to watch their effect; and he paused.  But the features of Waqua remained undisturbed, and he steadily returned the fiery glances of the speaker.

“Pieskaret asks,” resumed the Taranteen, “what have the Aberginians to do with our treaties?  Who invited one of them, or did he slink without being whistled for between the legs of men into our midst?”

Again the speaker paused, but yet the calm Waqua moved not from his place, nor did he betray emotion.

“The Aberginians,” begun the Taranteen again, with a gesture of contempt, “are cowards and dumb dogs:  if spoken to, they dare not reply, even with a whine:  the Taranteens have put petticoats on them, and there is nothing baser than themselves except their allies, the Pequots.”

The hitherto undisturbed mien of Waqua changed at these last words, as by magic.  With a clear, steady voice, while his stature seemed to increase, he suddenly cried out: