It was well nigh too late for Wabashaw. His limbs were thin, and his
strength had failed for want of the fresh air of his native hills.
Little did the prisoners care to look around as they retraced their
steps. They knew they were going home. But when the waters of the
Mississippi again shone before them, when the well-known bluffs met
their eager gaze; when the bending river gave to view their native
village, then, indeed, did the new-made chief cast around him the "quiet
of a loving eye." Then, too, did he realize what he had suffered.
He strained his sight--for perhaps his wife might have wearied of
waiting for him--perhaps she had gone to the Land of spirits, hoping to
meet him there.
His children too--the young warriors, who were wont to follow him and
listen to his voice, would they welcome him home?
As he approached the village a cloud had come between him and the sun.
He could see many upon the shore, but who were they? The canoe swept
over the waters, keeping time to the thoughts of those who were
wanderers no longer.
As they neared the shore, the cloud passed away and the brightness of
the setting sun revealed the faces of their friends; their cries of joy
rent the air--to the husband, the son, the brother, they spoke a
welcome home!
Wabashaw, by the command of the English Governor, was acknowledged by
the Dahcotahs their first chief; and his influence was unbounded.
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