We should go now to
Michillimackinac and march from there to conquest and empire. All the
bubble dreams of sovereignty, from Nineveh on, glittered in his words.
I translated faithfully.
Outchipouac answered. I had somehow won his spirit, which was brave
and vigorous. Perhaps he repented his distrust of me. My silver chain
was on his neck, and he fingered it. He said that where I led the
Malhominis would follow. His wild imagery swept like the torrent of an
epic. The man was warrior, dreamer, fatalist. He called on the chiefs
of the tribes to witness what I was, what I had done. Water could not
drown me, arrows could not harm me. I wore the French garb and my face
was white, but I was something more universal than any race. I spoke
all tongues. I was like the air which belonged to French and Indian
alike. I was a manitou; I had been sent to lead the Indians back to
the supremacy that they had almost lost.
I could believe him as I listened. I did not remember that he spoke of
me. He was talking of some great principle, some crystallization of
the forces of the woods in man's shape. The woods that had nurtured
the Indian should protect him. At last, out from the woods had come
this spirit,--this spirit that was their voice.
Pages:
383
384
385
386
387
388
389
390
391
392
393
394
395
396
397
398
399
400
401
402
403
404
405
406
407