The English characters cannot be brought any nearer to the true pronunciation of the Indian words, than as above set down: so that former writers have notoriously strayed, by writing conjecturally, or taking things on the wing of fame. What Indian words we had, being exceedingly mangled, either by the fault of the press, or of torturing pens, heretofore induced skilful persons to conjecture them to be hieroglyphical characters, in imitation of the ancient Egyptian manner of writing their chronicles. The Indians express themselves with a great deal of vehemence, and with short pauses, in all their set speeches; but, in common discourse, they express themselves according to our usual method of speech, only when they scold each other: which I never observed, unless they were intoxicated with spiritous liquors, or casually overheard a husband when sober in his own family. They always act the part of a stoic philosopher in outward appearance, and never speak above their natural key. And in their philosophic way of reasoning, their language is the more sharp and biting, like keen irony and satyr, that kills whom it praises. They know, that thus they correct and subdue the first boilings of anger; which, if unchecked, proves one of the most dangerous passions to which human nature is subject. So that remote savages, who have heard only the jarring screeches of night-owls, and the roaring voices of ravenous beasts of prey, in this respect give lessons, and set a worthy example to our most civilized nations. I have heard several eloquent Indian leaders, just as they were ready to set off for war, to use as bold metaphors and allegories in their speeches—and images almost as full and animating, as the eloquent penman of the old divine book of Job, even where he is painting, with his strong colours, the gladness and contempt of the beautiful war-horse, at the near approach of the enemy. I heard one of their captains, at the end of his oration for war, tell the warriors that stood outermost, he feelingly knew their guns were burning in their hands; their tomohawks thirsty to drink the blood of their enemy; and their trusty {63} arrows impatient to be on the wing; and, lest delay should burn their hearts any longer, he gave them the cool refreshing word, “Join the holy ark, and away to cut off the devoted enemy.” They immediately sounded the shrill whoo-whoop, and struck up the solemn, awful song, _Yo_, &c.