He did not talk to me,
he talked to the skies and the clouds and the forces that dwelt in
them. It was the call of a savage king to the soul of the wild earth
that had cradled him.
So swept away was I that I could not have translated. But it was not
necessary. He had spoken in Algonquin, which all but the French and
Hurons understood. The war chiefs rose. It is strange. An Indian may
scalp and torture, yet have at heart much of the seer and poet. The
chiefs came forward and laid their bows and quivers full of arrows at
my feet.
For a moment Outchipouac's speech had warmed me as I thought I might
not be warm again. But when I saw the chiefs advancing I became stone.
"I cannot lead you," I said in Algonquin, and I knew my voice was
blank. "Outchipouac is wrong. I am no manitou, but a man so weak he
does not know the truth even for himself. How can he lead others?
When I brought you here the sun shone brightly, and I thought I saw the
way ahead. Now I am in darkness and mist. Go. Leave me. Find a
leader whose sight is not clouded." I turned my back and stood with my
head down.
A murmur rose. I had broken the illusion. We had all been riding the
clouds of fancy, and I had dashed us to earth again.
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