University of Virginia Library


59

CANTO THIRD.

THE WAR DANCE.

Wake, children of Genundewah!

The tradition of the Seneca Indians, in regard to their birth, is, that they broke out of the earth from a large mountain at the head of Canandaigua Lake, and that mountain they still venerate as the place of their birth; thence they derive their name, “Ge-nun-de-wah,” or Great Hill, and are called, “The Great Hill People,” which is the true definition of the word Seneca. The great hill at the head of Canandaigua Lake from whence they sprung, is called Ge-nun-de-wah, and has for a long time past been the place where the Indians of that nation met in council, to hold great talks, and to offer up prayers to the Great Spirit, on account of its having been their birthplace; and also in consequence of the destruction of a serpent at that place in ancient time, in a most miraculous manner, which threatened the whole of the Senecas, and barely spared enough to commence replenishing the earth. The Indians say that the Fort on the Big Hill or Ge-nun-de-wah, near the head of Canandaigua Lake, was surrounded by a monstrous serpent, whose head and tail came together at the gate. A long time it lay there, confounding the people with its breath. At length they attempted to make their escape, some with their homminy-blocks, and others with different implements of household furniture; and in marching out of the fort, walked down the throat of the serpent. Two orphan children, who had escaped this general destruction by being left some time before on the outside of the fort, were informed by an oracle, of the means by which they could get rid of their formidable enemy; which was, to take a small bow and a poisoned arrow, made of a kind of willow, and with that shoot the serpent under its scales. This they did, and the arrow proved effectual; for on its penetrating the skin, the serpent became sick, and, extending itself, rolled down the hill, destroying all the timber that was in its way. At every motion a human head was discharged, and rolled down the hill into the lake, where they lie at this day in a petrified state, having the hardness and appearance of stones; and the pagan Indians of the Senecas believe that all the little snakes were made of the blood of the great serpent after it rolled into the lake. To this day the Indians visit that sacred place to mourn the loss of their friends, and to celebrate some rites that are peculiar to themselves. To the knowledge of white people there has been no timber on the Great Hill since it was first discovered by them, though it lay apparently in a state of nature for a great number of years, without cultivation. Stones in the shape of Indians' heads may be seen lying in the lake in great plenty, which are said to be the same that were deposited there at the death of the serpent.”

Life of Mary Jemision.
the cry

Of fierce Invasion floats upon the gale;
The spirits of the dead are rushing by,
And white-haired seers are prophesying bale:
The dove of peace hath left our lovely vale—
Great Yonnondio leads the host of France,
And in the coming battle will prevail,
If we neglect to sharpen knife and lance,
And round the red post wheel, in war's terrific dance.
Swear that the foe's insulting foot shall not
On one green grave in triumph be impressed;
For ever dear to brave men is the spot
Where the white bones of their forefathers rest.
The Land of Shadows, in the clear south-west,
Hath hunting grounds known only to the just,
And the red warrior of the dauntless breast:
Snatch, then, the buried tomahawk from dust,
And clothe its blade, once more, in battle's gory crust.

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I.

De Grai, in Christian Court, had seen
Anointed Louis on his throne,
Clad in appareling whose sheen
The lustre of the stars outshone,
While the bold Barons of the land,
Below him stood, a knightly band,
With churchmen proud the crosier bearing,
And dark, monastic vesture wearing;
And less of awe, while liegemen knelt
In presence of their monarch, felt,
Than by old Can-ne-hoot, attired
In shaggy toga, was inspired,
While, proudly as became a king,
Presiding in monarchal state,
His glance surveyed the tawny ring
Of counsellors that round him sate.

II.

Stern Time, in robbing form and face
Of youthful symmetry and grace,
Could not subdue his pride, or dim
The hawk-like fierceness of his gaze;
And brawny chest and iron limb
Unwasted were by length of days:
His lofty forehead was a page
Rough with the wrinkling lines of age;
His port majestical and proud,
His form commanding and unbowed,
Like some old oak, in ancient moss,
And rough, indented rind encased,
From whose gray trunk the vernal gloss
Had many a lustrum been effaced;
Still lifting loftily his head,
Without one bough decayed or dead,

61

Though many a howling storm had tried
In dust to hurl his honors down—
Asunder rend his arms of pride,
And scatter to the winds his crown.

III.

“The bear-skin for Od-deen-yo spread,”
With courteous mien the sachem said—
“Though scion of a race I scorn,
And far beyond the Salt-Lake born;
Though pale his face, like dogwood-flowers,
And garb and language unlike ours,
Fill with ke-nic-kee-nic the bowl!
He is a Seneca in soul;
For, sundering the filial band
That bound him to his native land,
Here, where the herding red-deer roam,
With one fair flower he makes his home.”
De Grai the seat assigned him took,
With hesitating step and look;
For murmurs ran the circle round,
And many a warrior, gaunt and grim,
His teeth, in half-hushed anger, ground,
And scowled with fiendish hate on him.
Some, from long pipes of purple stain
Significant of battle, smoked;

“The calumet and all its ornaments, when they treat of war, are painted red. The size of the pipe and the degree of decoration correspond to the importance of the occasion.” Indian Wars. When war is contemplated, the tomahawk is also colored with red.


And plumes that decked each stem of cane,
Torn from the wild swan, owl and crane,
In slaughter had been soaked;
And others from their girdles drew
Pipe tomahawks of sanguine hue,
Adorned with shell and wampum-bead;
And fragrant clouds rose blue and wreathed,
While through the hollow haft they breathed
The vapors of the weed.

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IV.

On bosoms bare the figures rude
Of wolf and eagle were tatoo'd;

Each Indian nation has a distinct ensign, generally consisting of some beast, bird, or fish; and the pictures of these animals are pricked or painted on the arms or breast. The known mark of a tribe or chief on the person of a captive, is a protection from danger at other hands. Brant, at the destruction of Cherry Valley, saved a woman and her children by painting his cognizance upon them. See Stone's Life of Brant. “Each of the Five Nations is divided into three families of different ranks, bearing for their arms, and being distinguished by the names of the tortoise, the bear and the wolf.”—Smith. “Sometimes the design of a military expedition is painted on the naked trunk of a tree. By a deer, a fox or some other emblems, we discover against what nation they are gone out.”—

Smith.

And never knight of high descent,
At joust or glittering tournament,
Or on the trampled battle-field,
While blood was emptied out like wine,
Bore, on bright banneret and shield,
The badge and motto of his line
More proudly than each savage man
The wild escutcheon of his clan.

V.

Linked with armorial signs that blaze
On knightly armor of old days,
Are tales of high achievement done,
Great cities stormed, and conflicts won:
Hence scion of a line renowned
Feels eye dilate and pulses bound,
When he beholds, with burning glance,
His father's ancient cognizance:
The red man boasts no herald-roll,
But views, with equal pride of soul,
The painted symbol on his skin
Allied to memory of sires,
Famed for their prowess, while within
His bosom wakes heroic fires.
Like them he pants for stirring deeds;
In the swift chase the moose outspeeds;
Directs with skill his birchen bark,
Though wave be loud, and heaven be dark;
And scorns to fly, though round him rise
A myriad of enemies:
He swears, like them, no fear to know
When stake-bound by exulting foe;

“It is the first and the last study of the American Indians, to acquire the faculty of suffering with an obstinate and heroic courage when their fortitude is put to the proof. They harden their fibres by repeated trials, and accustom themselves to endure the most tormenting pain without a groan or a tear. In the northern division of the continent, a boy and a girl will put a flaming coal between their naked arms, and vie with one another in maintaining it in its place.” (Charlevoix III. 307.) “Forbear,” said an aged chief of the Iroquois to the French Indians, “forbear these stabs of your knife; and rather let me die by fire, that those dogs, your allies, may learn, by my example, to suffer like men.”



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And though around his tortured frame
In crimson volume rolls the flame,
And his flesh shrivels like the grass
When death-fires o'er the prairie pass,
He breathes in that dread moment out,
With taunting tone, his battle-shout;
Recounts, while glorying in pain,
The numbers he has scalped and slain,
And chaunts, with faint, expiring breath,
His stern, defying song of death.

VI.

Old Can-ne-hoot arose at last,
And back his shaggy mantle cast—
In the red girdle, round his waist,
His fur tobacco-pouch replaced—
On the grim throng a moment gazed;
Then, while his tinkling bracelets rung,
His arm with grace unstudied raised,

“The speakers deliver themselves with surprising force, and great propriety of gesture. The fierceness of their countenances, the flowing blanket, elevated tone, naked arm, and erect stature, with a half circle of auditors seated on the ground, and in the open air, cannot but impress upon the mind a lively idea of the ancient orators of Greece and Rome.”—

Smith.

And spoke thus in his woodland tongue:—

VII.

“Victors in many a forest fight,
The bird of peace has taken flight!
The tree in which she framed her nest,
Smoothed the bright feathers on her breast,
And tuned her throat to notes so clear
That the keen hunter paused to hear,
Is robbed of its majestic bough—
Is shorn of its broad, leafy shield;
And from its trunk, dishonored now,
Profaning hands the bark have peeled,
And given to the naked wood
The deep, terrific stain of blood.
Oft, brothers, have the paths of war
From home and country led us far—

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The Twig-twee, in his distant wild,
Our vow of vengeance heard, and smiled;
But vainly was his good bow strung,
While on the wind our war-cry rung—
As well might osier frail essay,
The whirlwind on its march to stay,
As tribe, who quaffs Miami's wave,
Abide fierce onslaught of the brave.
Our hatchet smote him on the head;
Wild wolves upon his flesh have fed;
Red, crackling flames devoured his cot;
Pappoose and squaw, we spared them not.

VIII.

“Our muffled tread at midnight deep,
The Huron heard not in his sleep—
Still as the dew by evening wept,
We stole upon him while he slept;
The knife, in darkness, pierced his side,
The gore upon his scalp is dried.
The prowling Eries of the Lake

The career of victory which began with the fall of the Adirondacks, was destined to be extended beyond all precedent in the history of the Indian tribes. They (the Iroquois) exterminated the Eries or Erigas, once living on the south side of the lake of their own name. They nearly destroyed the powerful Anderstez, and the Chouanons or Showanons. They drove back the Hurons and Ottawas among the Sioux of the Upper Mississippi, where they separated themselves into bands, “proclaiming, wherever they went, the terror of the Iroquois.”—

Herrick.

Our chain of friendship dared to break;
The waters moan upon the shore,
Their feet will print its sands no more.
As flame consumes the yellow leaves,
When the sad wind of autumn grieves,
Their warriors perished in the fire
Of our wild, unrelenting ire—
We took no captives, and their race
Among the tribes have now no place:
Well was the work of ruin done!
Their bones bleach in the rain and sun;
Hushed are the chase-grounds where they ranged;
To ashes cold their huts are changed;
Their bows are broken, and the deer,
Unscared by shaft, is browsing near.

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IX.

“Regardless of our ancient fame,
Our conquests, and our dreaded name,
Fierce Yonnondio and his band
Are thronging in our forest-land.
And ask ye why with banner spread
His force the Frank hath hither led?
We scorched with fire the skulking hounds
Who dared to cross our hunting-grounds,—
A trading, base, dishonest band,
Who, in exchange for pelts, had given
Guns, lead, and black explosive sand,
To tribes our power had westward driven;
The wise no vain distinction know
Between sly fox who arms a foe,
And hands that boldly deal the blow.

X.

“Shall warriors who have tamed the pride
Of rival nations, far and wide,
At their own hearths be thus defied?
Shall it be said the beast of prey
His den abandoned far away,
And, seeking out the hunter, found
His aim less true, less deep the wound?
Shall it be told in other days,
The tomahawk we feared to raise,
While the green hillocks, where repose
The cherished dust of woodland-kings,
Insulted by the march of foes,
Gave back indignant echoings?
Base is the bosom that will quake
With one degrading throb of fear,
When fame and country are at stake,
Though an armed troop of fiends are near!

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Oh! never can such craven tread
The happy chase-grounds of the dead;
Between him and that fount of bliss
Will yawn a deep and dread abyss;
And doomed will be his troubled ghost
To range that land forever more,
Upon whose lone and barren coast
The black and bitter waters roar.
The clime of everlasting day,
Where groves, all red with fruitage, wave,
And beauty never fades away,
Is only trodden by the brave.”

XI.

In answer to the bold harangue,
Each warrior from his bear-skin sprang,
And, ominous of coming strife,
Clashed tomahawk and scalping knife.
A signal by the chief was made
To close the Council, and obeyed:
His eloquence of look and word
Dark depths of every heart had stirred;
And 'twas no time in dull debate
For other tongues of war to prate,
Warned by the loud foreboding cry
Of his fleet scout that foes were nigh.
With joy in his stern mien, he scann'd
The waving scalp-locks of his band;
Heard, with pleased ear, their vengeful vows,
And marked with pride their frowning brows.
In single file he then arrayed
His quivered brethren of the shade,
And a slow dance, with measured tread,
Around the painted war-post led:

“When war is the result of their deliberations, a chief marches round in a circle, inviting those who are for war to join in the circuitous march, while a war-song serves to rouse their patriotic zeal to the highest pitch, till the whole assembly, kindling into the same ardor, becomes impatient to be led against the enemy.” The following list of the dances in use among the North American Indians, has been given by Mr. Long:—

Of these, the war dance is the most remarkable, and is frequently composed of several of the other dances. It is the exact image of an Indian campaign. It represents the departure of their warriors, their arrival at the confines of the hostile nation, their method of encampment, the attack, the scalping of such as fall into their hands, the return of the victorious tribe, and the tortures and heroism of the prisoners. In performing these parts, the savages exhibit a wonderful dexterity; and enter into them with such enthusiasm, that European spectators have forgotten for a moment that it was only a representation, and have shuddered at the imaginary scene. See Lafitan, Charlevoix, 5.


Well timing to the fall of feet,
The hollow-sounding drum was beat;

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Maize-kernels in dry gourd-shell swayed,
By hand of crone, dull rattling made,
And wildly rose the chaunted notes
Of battle from a thousand throats.

XII.

WAR SONG OF THE ON-GUI-HON-WI.

1.

Red sons of the forest! leave woman and hearth;
Too long have our tomahawks slumbered in earth;
Array'd in the garb that your ancestors wore,
With arrows of death fill the quiver once more.

2.

Our seer has beheld, in the visions of night,
The chieftains of yore, and they whisper of fight;
The song of the raven is sad in the wood,
Haste! gorge, on the morrow, her younglings with blood.

3.

That man of our tribe who flees basely away,
When dirge for brave men is the clash of the fray,
Thenceforth, in the garb of a squaw, shall be drest
With our totem erased by the knife

For cowardice in battle, an Indian is condemned to lose his totem, a punishment more to be dreaded than a lingering torture at the stake, be deprived of his name, and live a drudge in the lodge of some warrior, clad in the petticoat of a squaw.

from his breast.

4.

Untrodden no more, let the wild-herbage grow
In yon leaf-shaded trail that conducts to the foe;
But plain be the path by our war-parties worn,
While scalps, on red poles, by the bravest are borne.

In returning from a successful expedition, the bravest warrior of the band bears the scalps, stretched over hoops, and elevated upon a long red pole. See Life of Mary Jemison, p. 39.


5.

On-gui-hon-wi!—unite in one legion of dread,

“And they were, indeed, at all times ready (the Iroquois) and willing to cherish the sentiment of exaltation which they felt: they called themselves ‘On-qui-hon-wi,’ that is, men surpassing all others.”—

Clinton.

Like the turbulent river by mountain streams fed;
Then rushing, all painted and plumed for the fray,
Sweep the host of invasion, like drift-wood, away.

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XIII.

Like cougar, mad with taste of blood,
A warrior darted from the throng,
While the dim arches of the wood
Rang with their gathering song—
High overhead his hatchet raised,
While lightning from his eye-ball blazed,
Then buried in the solid oak
Its glittering blade with rending stroke.
Changed was the dance from measure slow
To frantic leap and deafening yell,
And on imaginary foe
An hundred weapons fell,
Till, hacked and splintered to the ground,
In fragments lay the post around.

XIV.

Wild and more wild the tumult grew,
Amid the crazed, demoniac crew;
Knives flashed, as man to man opposed;
Dark forms in mimic combat closed;
Upwhirled in clouds the summer dust;
Quick blows were aimed, and furious thrust;
With face convulsed the fallen gasped,
And murd'rous hands the scalp-lock grasped;
Some from the swathing-board cut loose,
With seeming hate, the swart pappoose,
Then raised it, struggling, by the heel,
And pointed at its throat the steel;
While others, on the trampled ground,
Limbs of the frantic mother bound,
And her shrill cry with laughter drowned.
Feigned were base flight and bold advance;
Poised was the long, bone-headed lance;
Stout arms the heavy war-club swayed;

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Elastic bows sharp twanging made;
And mocked, with modulated tone,
Was victor-shout or dying groan.

XV.

A quavering whistle of the chief
Hushed suddenly the combat brief;
Succeeding to the sounds of fray,
Heard were the wind and leaves at play;
Like graven figures of repose,
Stood friends and counterfeited foes,
Nor murmur breathed, nor member stirred,
Awaiting but the signal-word.
Like stillness broods o'er grove and plain,
When by hath rolled the hurricane;
Or on the bosom of the deep,
When bark hath found an ocean-sleep,
And shrieks, heard lately 'mid the roar
Of minute-guns, go up no more.

XVI.

Pleased was De Grai to mark the power
Of Can-ne-hoot in that dread hour;
The spell by which a breath subdued
The red man, in his wrathful mood,
And deference to rank, displayed
By those grim warriors of the shade,
In prompt compliance, tamed and still,
To one whose law was kingly will.
At length the sachem waved his hand,
And suddenly dispersed the band.
Repairing to his lodge, each brave
Fresh coat of paint his visage gave,
In the grim process trying well
His genius for the terrible;
Inspected, with a careful glance,
Bow, arrows, knife and tapering lance-

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Precaution that tried veteran takes,
Ere noiseless march on foe he makes

XVII.

Approaching, grave of look, the place
Where stood De Grai with thoughtful face,
Him thus old Can-ne-hoot addrest:
“My totem gleams upon your breast,
But countrymen of thine are foes,
Who soon will hear our twanging bows:
Between these plains and their array,
Will lie an unobstructed way
That my adopted son may tread,
Without hair injured on his head.”
“Thanks, father, thanks!—I duly prize
Thy noble offer; but these eyes
May never, I devoutly pray,
See sunlight of another day,
When comes the hour that we are found
Antagonists on conflict-ground!
I deem that wild ambition's lust
Impels great Yonnondio on,
To wage with thee a war unjust,
And never shall my sword be drawn,
Save on the side of truth and right;—
As neutral I will shun the fight.”

XVIII.

“Enough!—ere shriek of death is heard,
Find refuge for thy singing bird;
Then, far from battle's crushing stroke,
Sit on the mat of peace, and smoke:
In yon thick-walled and guarded hold,
Will crowd the helpless and the old,
And thither thy beloved one bear,
Ere fall of night's embrowning shades.”

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In view arose a gloomy square,

“Whenever a considerable number of huts are collected, they have a castle, as it is called, consisting of a square without bastions, surrounded with palisadoes. They have no other fortification; and this is only designed as an asylum for their old men, their wives and children, while the rest are gone out to war.”—

Smith.

Hedged round with massy palisades,
By fallen trees, on every side,
Of ponderous trunk, well fortified,
Through which, though numerous and fierce,
Unscathed no charging band could pierce,
If missiles by the sheltered foe
Were boldly launched from gun and bow.

XIX.

“How can Od-deen-yo e'er repay
His generous father?”—cried De Grai;
“Ahungered and on weary feet
Came the pale wanderer and his spouse;
You gave him venison to eat,
A cabin and a pleasant seat
Beneath the woodland boughs.”
“Talk not of recompense,”—replied
The chief in tones of wounded pride:
“Scorned ever be that tribesman's name,
Unworthy of heroic sires,
Who basely would requital claim,
If pinched with want and weak of frame,
Sworn foeman food requires;
Or roof above a hearth-stone warm,
To guard him from the pelting storm.
Who ever sought in peace my hut,
And found its door unkindly shut?
Who ever, languishing in pain,
Asked Can-ne-hoot for help in vain?
The wealth of that enchanted Isle
Chased vainly on the waters blue,

“They further say that these hunters had a view of the settlements of this peculiar Indian race, whose women are incomparably beautiful, situated on the banks of an island, a terrestrial paradise, in a beautiful lake; but that in their endeavors to approach it, they were in perpetual labyrinths, and, like enchanted land, still as they imagined they had first gained it, it seemed to fly before them, alternately appearing and disappearing.”—

Bartram's Travels.

Though bending to his oar, the while,
The hunter speeds his bark canoe,
If piled before me in return
For friendly office, I would spurn!”

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XX.

De Grai rejoined not;—loud and high
Rose yell that ended colloquy;
Fixed, piercing glance the sachem turned
On point whence came that signal-call,
And lo! his trusty scout discerned,
Staggering toward the Council-Hall!
Dishevelled was his plumy crest;
An arrow quivered in his breast;
Deeply-ensanguined was his skin
From naked waist to moccasin,
And feebly was his form upborne
By limbs relaxing, bruised and torn.
While reeling through the wondering crowd,
Gleamed his wild eye with triumph proud;
For, baffling hounds, the worried bear,
Though sorely galled, had reached his lair.
With hand in his own life-blood drenched,
The chivalrous scalp-lock he clenched,
Denoting, by that gesture fierce,
That vainly did the arrow pierce,
Long as that martial lock of hair
Streamed like a flag in troubled air,

The same chivalrous principle of action that prompts the civilized soldier to preserve the colors of his regiment from the disgrace of capture, incites the red forest-warrior, though faint with a death-wound, to preserve his scalp from drying in the lodge of an enemy. This trait of Indian character is well illustrated by the personal combat, in Cooper's Prairie, between Mahtoree and Hard Heart. The latter having received a mortal wound, with a last effort plunges into the stream, hoping vainly that the tide would rob his Pawnee foe of the trophy that he so much craved.


Preserved, 'mid danger, flight and strife,
From mangling edge of hostile knife.

XXI.

“What news?—and why, like hunted deer,
Though strong of arm and fleet of foot,
Pierced by the barb, comes Yuk-wi here?”
In calm, deep tone asked Can-ne-hoot.
“A bow-shot from the Hon-e-oye,
Armed and impatient to destroy,
Out-lying Hurons raised the yell:

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Wounded, the fleetest of their race
I distanced in a weary chase,
Through thicket, brake and fell.
An hundred rods or more beyond
The outlet of Au-tau-gua Pond,
Where, by dark stream, the trail is cross'd,
Glimpse of the skulking knaves I lost.
When air the swift bald eagle cleaves,
Lean, cawing crows behind he leaves—
Round my remains the wolfish crew
Will never raise the death-halloo;
For, thanks to Ou-we-nee-you, still
My scalp is”—
He could speak no more,
But trembled with a wintry chill,
And from his throat in crimson rill
Gushed forth the strangling gore:
He groped about, as if dun night
Had suddenly excluded light;
For weapon in his beaded belt
Instinctively the fingers felt,
As if the warrior wished to try,
With rending death, the mastery;
Then, gasping, fell upon the sod,
A reddened corse—a lifeless clod.

XXII.

Sped from the throng, to wail his fate,
His young, untimely-widowed mate;
Tore her long hair of raven gloss,
At thought of her distracting loss;
Then flung herself upon the dead,
With piercing shriek and arms outspread.
Nor moved, nor saddened, nor amazed,
Upon that scene the sachem gazed:
Deep calm upon his brow reposed,

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Commanding will emotion curbed,
And not one outward sign disclosed
That inly was the soul disturbed.
De Grai the luckless scout had heard,
With heart by drear foreboding stirred,
For near his cot, embowered in green,
Last was the prowling Huron seen.
Unmindful of deportment grave,
That well becomes an Indian brave,
Though babes and women load the gale
With the wild notes of woe and wail,
On-yit-ha stood with flashing eye,
And muttered in an angry voice,
Assured that danger hovered nigh
The dusky maiden of his choice:
Then, holding with his sire discourse,
Besought him quickly to detail
A score of bowmen from his force;
Northward to scour the river-vale,
Then safely to the fortress guide
Od-deen-yo's fair, endangered bride.
Permission prompt the sachem gave;
And, guarded by an escort brave,
Led by the Knight-Hawk of his clan,
De Grai, through swamp and bosky dell,
Pursued a path that parallel
With the dark river ran.

XXIII.

While on the scouting party fared,
Old Can-ne-hoot for march prepared,
With the main body of his braves,
To guard his nation's hallowed graves.
“Loved grove, in which our dead are laid,—
Where droop long boughs their beds to shade,
Will be our place of ambuscade;

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And those degenerate hounds
May Ut-co bear to realms of night,

The author's mother, who speaks the Seneca fluently, informed him that by using the term Utco, the Indian referred to the diabolical power from which witches and wizards derive their spirit of mischief. This Great Doer of Evil dwells in an abode of darkness, and controls a countless number of subordinate ministers of ill, who must daily perform their allotted tasks—some sowing the seeds of disease and death, while others bring blight to the corn-field, scare the deer, and derange the hunter's aim.


Who will not, like their fathers, fight
For home and hunting-lands in sight
Of those green, mossy mounds!”
Thus speaking, by a low, shrill whoop,
The chief in single file his troop
Formed, eager for the fray:
A swamp, of depth unsunn'd and dread,
In rear of his rude castle spread;
And thither the red monarch led,
With rapid, light and stag-like tread,
His picturesque array.
END OF CANTO THIRD.
 

White Chief.

The Bear.