s
fiercer than the cry of a wolf, and it came back from the dark forest in
terrifying echoes.

"It's not a woman, but a fiend," whispered Henry; and, as before, his
comrades nodded in assent.

The woman stood erect, a tall and stalwart figure, but the beauty that
had once caused her to be received in colonial capitals was long since
gone. Her white half of blood had been submerged years ago in her Indian
half, and there was nothing now about her to remind one of civilization
or of the French Governor General of Canada who was said to have been
her father.

The Iroquois stood respectfully before her. It was evident that she had
lost none of her power among the Six Nations, a power proceeding partly
from her force and partly from superstition. As the bodies were brought
ashore, one by one, and laid upon the ground, she uttered the long
wailing cry again and again, and the others repeated it in a sort of
chorus.

When the bodies-and Henry was sure that they must all be those of
chiefs-were laid out, she tore her hair, sank down upon the ground, and
began a chant, which Tom Ross was afterwards able to interpret roughly
to the others. She sang:

The white men have come with the cannon and bayonet,
Numerous as forest leaves the army has come.
Our warriors are driven like deer by the hunter,
Fallen is the League of the Ho-de-no-sau-nee!

Our towns are burned and our fields uprooted,
Our people flee through the forest for their lives,
The king who promised to help us comes not.
Fallen is the League of the Ho-de-no-sau-nee!

The great chiefs are slain and their bodies lie here.
No longer will they lead the warriors in battle;
No more will they drive the foe from the thicket.
Fallen is the League of the Ho-de-no-sau-nee!

Scalps we have taken from all who hated us;
None, but feared us in the days of our glory.
But the cannon and bayonet have taken our country;
Fallen is the League of the Ho-de-no-sau-nee!

She chanted many verses, but these were all that Tom Ross could ever
remember or translate. But every verse ended with the melancholy
refrain: "Fallen is the League of the Ho-de-no-sau-nee!" which the
others also repeated in chorus. Then the warriors lifted up the bodies,
and they moved in procession toward the town. The three watched them,
but they did not rise until the funeral train had reached the fruit
trees. Then they stood up, looked at one another, and breathed sighs of
re