“Of all red men, as I most sincerely believe.  You are now red, but once all of your people were fairer than the fairest of the pale-faces.  It is climate, and hardships, and sufferings that have changed your color.”

“If suffering can do that,” returned Peter, with emphasis, “I wonder we are not black.  When all our hunting-grounds are covered with the farms of your people, I think we shall be black.”

Signs of powerful disgust were now visible among the listeners, an Indian having much of the contempt that seems to weigh so heavily on that unfortunate class, for all of the color mentioned.  At the south, as is known, the red man has already made a slave of the descendants of the children of Africa, but no man has ever yet made a slave of a son of the American forests!  That is a result which no human power has yet been able to accomplish.  Early in the settlement of the country, attempts were indeed made, by sending a few individuals to the islands; but so unsuccessful did the experiment turn out to be, that the design was soon abandoned.  Whatever may be his degradation, and poverty, and ignorance, and savage ferocity, it would seem to be the settled purpose of the American Indians of our own territories—­unlike the aborigines who are to be found farther south—­to live and die free men.

“My children,” answered the missionary, “I pretend not to say what will happen, except as it has been told to us in the word of God.  You know that we pale-faces have a book, in which the Great Spirit has told us his laws, and foretold to us many of the things that are to happen.  Some of these things have happened, while some remain to happen.  The loss of the ten tribes was foretold, and has happened; but their being found again, has not yet happened, unless indeed I am so blessed as to be one of those who have been permitted to meet them in these openings.  Here is the book—­it goes where I go, and is my companion and friend, by day and by night; in good and evil; in season and out of season.  To this book I cling as to my great anchor, that is to carry me through the storms in safety!  Every line in it is precious; every word true!”

Perhaps half the chiefs present had seen books before, while those who now laid eyes on one for the first time, had heard of this art of the pale-faces, which enabled them to set down their traditions in a way peculiar to themselves.  Even the Indians have their records, however, though resorting to the use of natural signs, and a species of hieroglyphics, in lieu of the more artistical process of using words and letters, in a systemized written language.  The Bible, too, was a book of which all had heard, more or less; though not one of those present had ever been the subject of its influence.  A Christian Indian, indeed—­and a few of those were to be found even at that day—­would hardly have attended a council convened for the objects which had caused this to be convened.  Still, a strong but regulated curiosity existed, to see, and touch, and examine the great medicine-book of the pale-faces.  There was a good deal of superstition blended with the Indian manner of regarding the sacred volume; some present having their doubts about touching it, even while most excited by admiration, and a desire to probe its secrets.