“Silence!”—cried a voice which had something in it of an unearthly sound; they were hushed as still as the grave, and the Prophet rose. “Warriors, listen; it is the chosen of the Great Spirit who speaks to you. We are not ready for battle. When we strike, all the red men must know it. We must move like a great flood over the land. We are now but a small stream. Our brothers on the Wabash must be calm. They must suffer a little longer if they wish to see our rivers run red with the blood of the whites. Tecumseh, hurry away, and tell them the time has not yet come. They must disperse. It is the Prophet of the Great Spirit who commands it.” He then seated himself, and Tecumseh, making no reply, for the words of the Prophet were by his followers deemed as unchangeable as the laws of the Medes and Persians, the council then adjourned. “But stay,” said Tecumseh, addressing his warriors, “what will become of Netnokwa and her daughter?” “We will away to our own country,” said Netnokwa, who, with her daughter, was standing a little apart from the crowd, “‘Red Sky of the morning’ would not detain her chief from duty:—when the sky is clear, the Shawanee brave can find our wigwam.” “Yes,” said Tecumseh, “if I live, I will find it, but does Netnokwa look for a clear sky? Clouds are thickening; there may be peace between the red men and white, but, I fear, it will only be, when the white man's plough runs over our graves; never before. The pale face, like a lean dog, is always hungry.” “The red man is strong in battle,” said Netnokwa, “let him go forth; when roused to vengeance who can withstand him; the Great Spirit is with him.” “We are strong,” said Tecumseh, “and were all united, we could sweep over the settlements like a fire over the prairie. But we are divided, and must not strike till all are one. Then the earth shall tremble under the tramp of our feet, as we march along. We must stop our brothers on the Wabash. The Prophet orders it. I must away. You will return. Some of my warriors must conduct to her lodge ‘Red Sky of the morning.’” “Let your warriors stay;” said Netnokwa, “the clouds are darkening. The pale faces may come down upon our lands. You may need them. I, and my daughter can thread the forest.” “But my Ottawa maiden will want for food,” said Tecumseh. “‘Red Sky of the morning’ is fleeter than the doe,” said Netnokwa, “her arrow never misses it's mark.” Pleased by this compliment from her mother, she gracefully bent a bow which was near her, “will the Shawanee chieftain bring me that bird?” said the maiden, pointing to one which was sitting on a tree hard by. “The distance is great; before I approach, it will fly:—” said the warrior. “No,” said the maiden. “I may not hit it,” said the warrior. “I will,” said the maiden. The warrior became confused, and hesitated. “Will you bring me the bird?” said the maiden. Still more confused, he bent his bow, and started forward.