ularly every month, Fluellina, accompanied by her son, visited a
Moravian missionary who dwelt with his family on the site of the once
flourishing station of Gnadenhutten, where, in 1782, was enacted one of
the darkest episodes in American history. It was here the infamous
monster, Colonel Williamson, murdered the one hundred Moravian
Indians--a crime for which it seems a just God would have smitten him
and his followers to the earth. Here this faithful Huron woman and her
son received instruction in holy things from the aged missionary--a
white man who alone knew the relation which she bore to the famous
Huron, Oonomoo, and who never betrayed it to his dying day. By this
means, her regular visits were rendered safe and free from the
annoyance of being watched--an exemption she never could have had, had
any one else suspected the truth.

Fluellina succeeded in inducing her husband to visit this missionary on
several occasions, when he proved an attentive listener to the aged
disciple of God. He took in every doctrine and subscribed to every
truth except one--that of loving his enemies. He believed he never
could love the Shawnees--they who had first caused his father to be
broken of his chiefdom, and then had murdered his mother. He had sworn
eternal hatred against them, and in the interior of his lodge hung such
an incredible number of their scalps that we decline to name
it--knowing that we should be suspected of trifling with the credulity
of our readers. He had never taken the scalp of a white man, and would
promise never to harm any being except the Shawnees; but, toward them
his feelings must be those of the deadliest enmity.

The sublime truths of the great Book of books, its glorious promises,
and its awful mysteries, thrilled the soul of the Huron to its center,
and many a time when wandering alone through the great, solemn forests,
he felt his spirit expanding within him, until his eyes overflowed, and
he, the mighty, scarred warrior, wept like a child. The sweet
instruction, too, of the gentle Fluellina had not been lost entirely
upon him. It was owing to these that for a year he had not taken the
scalp of a Shawnee, though he had been sorely tempted and had slain
more than one. He could not yet bring himself to the point of letting
them go free altogether.

With this somewhat lengthy parenthesis, we will now return to the
present visit of the Huron to his island home.

Oonomoo was about to pass