ed his victim--the doom had been already given, but the
ceremony of expatriation and outlawry was yet to follow, and under the
direction of the prophet, the various castes and classes of the nation
prepared to take a final leave of one who could no longer be known
among them. First of all came a band of young marriageable women, who,
wheeling in a circle three times about him, sang together a wild
apostrophe containing a bitter farewell, which nothing in our language
could perfectly embody.

"Go,--thou hast no wife in Yemassee,--thou hast given no lodge to the
daughter of Yemassee,--thou hast slain no meat for thy children. Thou
hast no name--the women of Yemassee know thee no more. They know thee
no more."

And the final sentence was reverberated from the entire assembly,
"They know thee no more, they know thee no more."

Then came a number of the ancient men,--the patriarchs of the nation,
who surrounded him in circular mazes three several times, singing as
they did so a hymn of like import.

"Go--thou sittest not in the council of Yemassee--thou shalt not
speak wisdom to the boy that comes. Thou hast no name in Yemassee--the
fathers of Yemassee, they know thee no more."

And again the whole assembly cried out, as with one voice, "They know
thee no more, they know thee no more."

These were followed by the young warriors, his old associates, who
now, in a solemn band, approached him to go through a like
performance. His eyes were shut as they came, his blood was chilled in
his heart, and the articulated farewell of their wild chant failed
seemingly to reach his ear. Nothing but the last sentence he heard--

"Thou that wast a brother,
Thou art nothing now,
The young warriors of Yemassee,
They know thee no more."

And the crowd cried with them, "They know thee no more."

"Is no hatchet sharp for Occonestoga?" moaned forth the suffering
savage. But his trials were only then begun. Enoree-Mattee now
approached him with the words, with which, as the representative of
the good Manneyto, he renounced him,--with which he denied him access
to the Indian heaven, and left him a slave and an outcast, a miserable
wanderer amid the shadows and the swamps, and liable to all the doom
and terrors which come with the service of Opitchi-Manneyto.

"Thou wast the child of Manneyto,"

sung the high priest in a solemn chant, and with a deep-toned voice
that thrilled strangely amid the silence of the scene