In his anger
he kills, and its mercy shuts his eyes and his heart away from the
wrongs and the miseries of his people. I have lived and I will die the
white man's enemy. I have done you all the harm in my power. If I
could, I would do you more. My tongue is not forked like yours, my
heart has no lies to make it speak to deceive. Strike, and let me go
to the happy hunting-grounds where all my people are."
He sat down upon the ground, and, in a low, monotonous, melancholy
tone, chanted the death-song.
"Who-ah-who-allee! wait for me, I am coming. Who-ah-who-allee! prepare
the feast, the great warrior's feast. Who-ah-who-allee! let my boys
and my braves come down to welcome me. Who-ah-who-allee! those who
went before me, tell them the old warrior is coming. Who-ah-who-allee!
the white man has come, he treads on their graves, and the graves of
their fathers. Who-ah-who-allee! the last of the Onchee is coming,
prepare--his bow is broken, his arrows are all gone. Who-ah-who-allee!"
Concluding his song with one shrill whoop, he dropped his head and
lifted up his hands--then prone upon the earth he threw himself,
kissed it, rose up, and seemed prepared for the fate he surely
expected.
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