e land, and that would keep back
the Americans now.

Henry glanced at Timmendiquas. The nostrils of the great White Lightning
were twitching. The song reached to the very roots of his being, and
aroused all his powers. Like Thayendanegea, he was a statesman, and he
saw that the Americans were far more formidable to his race than
English or French had ever been. The Americans were upon the ground, and
incessantly pressed upon the red man, eye to eye. Only powerful leagues
like those of the Iroquois could withstand them.

Thayendanegea sat down, and then there was another silence, a period
lasting about two minutes. These silences seemed to be a necessary part
of all Iroquois rites. When it closed two young warriors stretched an
elm bark rope across the room from east to west and near the ceiling,
but between the high chiefs and the minor chiefs. Then they hung dressed
skins all along it, until the two grades of chiefs were hidden from the
view of each other. This was the sign of mourning, and was followed by a
silence. The fires in the Long House had died down somewhat, and little
was to be seen but the eyes and general outline of the people. Then a
slender man of middle years, the best singer in all the Iroquois nation,
arose and sang:

To the great chiefs bring we greeting,
All hail! All hail! All hail!

To the dead chiefs, kindred greeting,
All hail! All hail! All hail!

To the strong men 'round him greeting,
All hail! All hail! All hail!

To the mourning women greeting,
All hail! All hail! All hail!

There our grandsires' words repeating,
All hail! All hail! All hail!

Graciously, Oh, grandsires, hear,
All hail! All hail! All hail!

The singing voice was sweet, penetrating, and thrilling, and the song
was sad. At the pauses deep murmurs of sorrow ran through the crowd
in the Long House. Grief for the dead held them all. When he finished,
Satekariwate, the Mohawk, holding in his hands three belts of wampum,
uttered a long historical chant telling of their glorious deeds, to
which they listened patiently. The chant over, he handed the belts to
an attendant, who took them to Thayendanegea, who held them for a few
moments and looked at them gravely.

One of the wampum belts was black, the sign of mourning; another was
purple, the sign of war; and the third was white, the sign of peace.
They were beautiful pieces of workmanship, very old.

When Hiawatha left the Onondagas an