They two, great chiefs, sat long in close converse5. Others-older men, chiefs, also-came at times and talked with them. But these two, proud, dominating, both singularly handsome men of the Indian type, were always there. Henry was almost ready to steal away when he saw a new figure approaching the two chiefs. The walk and bearing of the stranger were familiar, and HENRY knew him even before his face was lighted tip by the fire. It was Braxton Wyatt, the renegade, who had escaped the great battles on both the Ohio and the Mississippi, and who was here with the Iroquois, ready to do to his own race all the evil that he could. Henry felt a shudder6 of repulsion, deeper than any Indian could inspire in him. They fought for their own land and their own people, but Braxton Wyatt had violated everything that an honest man should hold sacred.
Henry, on the whole, was not surprised to see him. Such a chance was sure to draw Braxton Wyatt. Moreover, the war, so far as it pertained7 to the border, seemed to be sweeping8 toward the northeast, and it bore many stormy petrels upon its crest9.
He watched Wyatt as he walked toward one of the fires. There the renegade sat down and talked with the warriors10, apparently12 on the best of terms. He was presently joined by two more renegades, whom Henry recognized as Blackstaffe and Quarles. Timmendiquas and Thayendanegea rose after a while, and walked toward the center of the camp, where several of the bark shelters had been enclosed entirely13. Henry judged that one had been set apart for each, but they were lost from his view when they passed within the circling ring of warriors.
Henry believed that the Iroquois and Wyandots would form a fortified14 camp here, a place from which they would make sudden and terrible forays upon the settlements. He based his opinion upon the good location and the great number of saplings that had been cut down already. They would build strong lodges15 and then a palisade around them with the saplings. He was speedily confirmed in this opinion when he saw warriors come to the forest with hatchets16 and begin to cut down more saplings. He knew then that it was time to go, as a wood chopper might blunder upon him at any time.
He slipped from his covert17 and was quickly gone in the forest. His limbs were somewhat stiff from lying so long in one position, but that soon wore away, and he was comparatively fresh when he came once more to the islet in the swamp. A good moon was now shining, tipping the forest with a fine silvery gray, and Henry purveyed18 with the greatest satisfaction the simple little shelter that he had found so opportunely19. It was a good house, too, good to such a son of the deepest forest as was Henry. It was made of nothing but bark and poles, but it had kept out all that long, penetrating20 rain of the last three or four days, and when he lifted the big stone aside and opened the door it seemed as snug21 a place as he could have wished.
He left the door open a little, lighted a small fire on the flat stones, having no fear that it would be seen through the dense22 curtain that shut him in, and broiled23 big bear steaks on the coals. When he had eaten and the fire had died he went out and sat beside the hut. He was well satisfied with the day's work, and he wished now to think with all the concentration that one must put upon a great task if he expects to achieve it. He intended to invade the Indian camp, and he knew full well that it was the most perilous25 enterprise that he had ever attempted. Yet scouts27 and hunters had done such things and had escaped with their lives. He must not shrink from the path that others had trodden.
He made up his mind firmly, and partly thought out his plan of operations. Then he rested, and so sanguine28 was his temperament29 that he began to regard the deed itself as almost achieved. Decision is always soothing30 after doubt, and he fell into a pleasant dreamy state. A gentle wind was blowing, the forest was dry and the leaves rustled31 with the low note that is like the softest chord of a violin. It became penetrating, thrillingly sweet, and hark! it spoke32 to him in a voice that he knew. It was the same voice that he had heard on the Ohio, mystic, but telling him to be of heart and courage. He would triumph over hardships and dangers, and he would see his friends again.
Henry started up from his vision. The song was gone, and he heard only the wind softly moving the leaves. It had been vague and shadowy as gossamer33, light as the substance of a dream, but it was real to him, nevertheless, and the deep glow of certain triumph permeated34 his being, body and mind. It was not strange that he had in his nature something of the Indian mysticism that personified the winds and the trees and everything about him. The Manitou of the red man and the ancient Aieroski of the Iroquois were the same as his own God. He could not doubt that he had a message. Down on the Ohio he had had the same message more than once, and it had always come true.
He heard a slight rustling35 among the bushes, and, sitting perfectly36 still, he saw a black bear emerge into the open. It had gained the islet in some manner, probably floundering through the black mire37, and the thought occurred to him that it was the mate of the one he had slain38, drawn39 perhaps by instinct on the trail of a lost comrade. He could have shot the bear as he sat-and he would need fresh supplies of food soon-but he did not have the heart to do it.
The bear sniffed40 a little at the wind, which was blowing the human odor away from him, and sat back on his haunches. Henry did not believe that the animal had seen him or was yet aware of his presence, although he might suspect. There was something humorous and also pathetic in the visitor, who cocked his head on one side and looked about him. He made a distinct appeal to Henry, who sat absolutely still, so still that the little bear could not be sure at first that he was a human being. A minute passed, and the red eye of the bear rested upon the boy. Henry felt pleasant and sociable41, but he knew that he could retain friendly relations only by remaining quiet.
“If I have eaten your comrade, my friend,” he said to himself, “it is only because of hard necessity.” The bear, little, comic, and yet with that touch of pathos42 about him, cocked his head a little further over on one side, and as a silver shaft43 of moonlight fell upon him Henry could see one red eye gleaming. It was a singular fact, but the boy, alone in the wilderness44, and the loser of his comrades, felt for the moment a sense of comradeship with the bear, which was also alone, and doubtless the loser of a comrade, also. He uttered a soft growling45 sound like the satisfied purr of a bear eating its food.
The comical bear rose a little higher on his hind46 paws, and looked in astonishment47 at the motionless figure that uttered sounds so familiar. Yet the figure was not familiar. He had never seen a human being before, and the shape and outline were very strange to him. It might be some new kind of animal, and he was disposed to be inquiring, because there was nothing in these forests which the black bear was afraid of until man came.
He advanced a step or two and growled48 gently. Then he reared up again on his hind paws, and cocked his held to one side in his amusing manner. Henry, still motionless, smiled at him. Here, for an instant at least, was a cheery visitor and companionship. He at least would not break the spell.
“You look almost as if you could talk, old fellow,” he said to himself, “and if I knew your language I'd ask you a lot of questions.”
The bear, too, was motionless now, torn by doubt and curiosity. It certainly was a singular figure that sat there, fifteen or twenty yards before him, and he had the most intense curiosity to solve the mystery of this creature. But caution held him back.
There was a sudden flaw in the light breeze. It shifted about and brought the dreadful man odor to the nostrils49 of the honest black bear. It was something entirely new to him, but it contained the quality of fear. That still strange figure was his deadliest foe50. Dropping down upon his four paws, he fled among the trees, and then scrambled51 somehow through the swamp to the mainland.
Henry sighed. Despite his own friendly feeling, the bear, warned by instinct, was afraid of him, and, as he was bound to acknowledge to himself, the bear's instinct was doubtless right. He rose, went into the hut, and slept heavily through the night. In the morning he left the islet once more to scout26 in the direction of the Indian camp, but he found it a most dangerous task. The woods were full of warriors hunting. As he had judged, the game was abundant, and he heard rifles cracking in several directions. He loitered, therefore, in the thickest of the thickets52, willing to wait until night came for his enterprise. It was advisable, moreover, to wait, because he did not see yet just how he was going to succeed. He spent nearly the whole day shifting here and there through the forest, but late in the afternoon, as the Indians yet seemed so numerous in the woods, he concluded to go back toward the islet.
He was about two miles from the swamp when he heard a cry, sharp but distant. It was that of the savages53, and Henry instinctively55 divined the cause. A party of the warriors had come somehow upon his trail, and they would surely follow it. It was a mischance that he had not expected. He waited a minute or two, and then heard the cry again, but nearer. He knew that it would come no more, but it confirmed him in his first opinion.
Henry had little fear of being caught, as the islet was so securely hidden, but he did not wish to take even a remote chance of its discovery. Hence he ran to the eastward56 of it, intending as the darkness came, hiding his trail, to double back and regain57 the hut.
He proceeded at a long, easy gait, his mind not troubled by the pursuit. It was to him merely an incident that should be ended as soon as possible, annoying perhaps, but easily cured. So he swung lightly along, stopping at intervals58 among the bushes to see if any of the warriors had drawn near, but he detected nothing. Now and then he looked up to the sky, willing that night should end this matter quickly and peacefully.
His wish seemed near fulfillment. An uncommonly59 brilliant sun was setting. The whole west was a sea of red and yellow fire, but in the east the forest was already sinking into the dark. He turned now, and went back toward the west on a line parallel with the pursuit, but much closer to the swamp. The dusk thickened rapidly. The sun dropped over the curve of the world, and the vast complex maze60 of trunks and boughs61 melted into a solid black wall. The incident of the pursuit was over and with it its petty annoyances62. He directed his course boldly now for the stepping stones, and traveled fast. Soon the first of them would be less than a hundred yards away.
But the incident was not over. Wary63 and skillful though the young forest runner might be, he had made one miscalculation, and it led to great consequences. As he skirted the edge of the swamp in the darkness, now fully come, a dusky figure suddenly appeared. It was a stray warrior11 from some small band, wandering about at will. The meeting was probably as little expected by him as it was by Henry, and they were so close together when they saw each other that neither had time to raise his rifle. The warrior, a tall, powerful man, dropping his gun and snatching out a knife, sprang at once upon his enemy.
Henry was borne back by the weight and impact, but, making an immense effort, he recovered himself and, seizing the wrist of the Indian's knife hand, exerted all his great strength. The warrior wished to change the weapon from his right band, but he dared not let go with the other lest he be thrown down at once, and with great violence. His first rush having failed, he was now at a disadvantage, as the Indian is not generally a wrestler64. Henry pushed him back, and his hand closed tighter and tighter around the red wrist. He wished to tear the knife from it, but he, too, was afraid to let go with the other hand, and so the two remained locked fast. Neither uttered a cry after the first contact, and the only sounds in the dark were their hard breathing, which turned to a gasp65 now and then, and the shuffle66 of their feet over the earth.
Henry felt that it must end soon. One or the other must give way. Their sinews were already strained to the cracking point, and making a supreme67 effort he bore all his weight upon the warrior, who, unable to sustain himself, went down with the youth upon him. The Indian uttered a groan68, and Henry, leaping instantly to his feet, looked down upon his fallen antagonist69, who did not stir. He knew the cause. As they fell the point of the knife bad been turned upward, and it had entered the Indian's heart.
Although he had been in peril24 at his hands, Henry looked at the slain man in a sort of pity. He had not wished to take anyone's life, and, in reality, he had not been the direct cause of it. But it was a stern time and the feeling soon passed. The Wyandot, for such he was by his paint, would never have felt a particle of remorse70 had the victory been his.
The moon was now coming out, and Henry looked down thoughtfully at the still face. Then the idea came to him, in fact leaped up in his brain, with such an impulse that it carried conviction. He would take this warrior's place and go to the Indian camp. So eager was he, and so full of his plan, that he did not feel any repulsion as he opened the warrior's deerskin shirt and took his totem from a place near his heart. It was a little deerskin bag containing a bunch of red feathers. This was his charm, his magic spell, his bringer of good luck, which had failed him so woefully this time. Henry, not without a touch of the forest belief, put it inside his own hunting shirt, wishing, although he laughed at himself, that if the red man's medicine had any potency71 it should be on his own side.
Then he found also the little bag in which the Indian carried his war paint and the feather brush with which he put it on. The next hour witnessed a singular transformation72. A white youth was turned into a red warrior. He cut his own hair closely, all except a tuft in the center, with his sharp hunting knife. The tuft and the close crop he stained black with the Indian's paint. It was a poor black, but he hoped that it would pass in the night. He drew the tuft into a scalplock, and intertwined it with a feather from the Indian's own tuft. Then he stained his face, neck, hands, and arms with the red paint, and stood forth73 a powerful young warrior of a western nation.
He hid the Indian's weapons and his own raccoon-skin cap in the brush. Then he took the body of the fallen warrior to the edge of the swamp and dropped it in. His object was not alone concealment74, but burial as well. He still felt sorry for the unfortunate Wyandot, and he watched him until he sank completely from sight in the mire. Then he turned away and traveled a straight course toward the great Indian camp.
He stopped once on the way at a clear pool irradiated by the bright moonlight, and looked attentively75 at his reflection. By night, at least, it was certainly that of an Indian, and, summoning all his confidence, he continued upon his chosen and desperate task.
Henry knew that the chances were against him, even with his disguise, but he was bound to enter the Indian camp, and he was prepared to incur77 all risks and to endure all penalties. He even felt a certain lightness of heart as he hurried on his way, and at length saw through the forest the flare78 of light from the Indian camp.
He approached cautiously at first in order that he might take a good look into the camp, and he was surprised at what he saw. In a single day the village had been enlarged much more. It seemed to him that it contained at least twice as many warriors. Women and children, too, had come, and he heard a stray dog barking here and there. Many more fires than usual were burning, and there was a great murmur79 of voices.
Henry was much taken aback at first. It seemed that he was about to plunge80 into the midst of the whole Iroquois nation, and at a time, too, when something of extreme importance was going on, but a little reflection showed that he was fortunate. Amid so many people, and so much ferment81 it was not at all likely that he would be noticed closely. It was his intention, if the necessity came, to pass himself off as a warrior of the Shawnee tribe who had wandered far eastward, but he meant to avoid sedulously82 the eye of Timmendiquas, who might, through his size and stature83, divine his identity.
As Henry lingered at the edge of the camp, in indecision whether to wait a little or plunge boldly into the light of the fires, he became aware that all sounds in the village-for such it was instead of a camp-had ceased suddenly, except the light tread of feet and the sound of many people talking low. He saw through the bushes that all the Iroquois, and with them the detachment of Wyandots under White Lightning, were going toward a large structure in the center, which he surmised84 to be the Council House. He knew from his experience with the Indians farther west that the Iroquois built such structures.
He could no longer doubt that some ceremony of the greatest importance was about to begin, and, dismissing indecision, he left the bushes and entered the village, going with the crowd toward the great pole building, which was, indeed, the Council House.
But little attention was paid to Henry. He would have drawn none at all, had it not been for his height, and when a warrior or two glanced at him he uttered some words in Shawnee, saying that he had wandered far, and was glad to come to the hospitable85 Iroquois. One who could speak a little Shawnee bade him welcome, and they went on, satisfied, their minds more intent upon the ceremony than upon a visitor.
The Council House, built of light poles and covered with poles and thatch86, was at least sixty feet long and about thirty feet wide, with a large door on the eastern side, and one or two smaller ones on the other sides. As Henry arrived, the great chiefs and sub-chiefs of the Iroquois were entering the building, and about it were grouped many warriors and women, and even children. But all preserved a decorous solemnity, and, knowing the customs of the forest people so well, he was sure that the ceremony, whatever it might be, must be of a highly sacred nature. He himself drew to one side, keeping as much as possible in the shadow, but he was using to its utmost power every faculty87 of observation that Nature had given him.
Many of the fires were still burning, but the moon had come out with great brightness, throwing a silver light over the whole village, and investing with attributes that savored88 of the mystic and impressive this ceremony, held by a savage54 but great race here in the depths of the primeval forest. Henry was about to witness a Condoling89 Council, which was at once a mourning for chiefs who had fallen in battle farther east with his own people and the election and welcome of their successors.
The chiefs presently came forth from the Council House or, as it was more generally called, the Long House, and, despite the greatness of Thayendanegea, those of the Onondaga tribe, in virtue90 of their ancient and undisputed place as the political leaders and high priests of the Six Nations, led the way. Among the stately Onondaga chiefs were: Atotarho (The Entangled), Skanawati (Beyond the River), Tehatkahtons (Looking Both Ways), Tehayatkwarayen (Red Wings), and Hahiron (The Scattered). They were men of stature and fine countenance91, proud of the titular92 primacy that belonged to them because it was the Onondaga, Hiawatha, who had formed the great confederacy more than four hundred years before our day, or just about the time Columbus was landing on the shores of the New World.
Next to the Onondagas came the fierce and warlike Mohawks, who lived nearest to Albany, who were called Keepers of the Eastern Gate, and who were fully worthy93 of their trust. They were content that the Onondagas should lead in council, so long as they were first in battle, and there was no jealousy94 between them. Among their chiefs were Koswensiroutha (Broad Shoulders) and Satekariwate (Two Things Equal).
Third in rank were the Senecas, and among their chiefs were Kanokarih (The Threatened) and Kanyadariyo (Beautiful Lake).
These three, the Onondagas, Mohawks, and Senecas, were esteemed95 the three senior nations. After them, in order of precedence, came the chiefs of the three junior nations, the Oneidas, Cayugas, and Tuscaroras. All of the great chiefs had assistant chiefs, usually relatives, who, in case of death, often succeeded to their places. But these assistants now remained in the crowd with other minor96 chiefs and the mass of the warriors. A little apart stood Timmendiquas and his Wyandots. He, too, was absorbed in the ceremony so sacred to him, an Indian, and he did not notice the tall figure of the strange Shawnee lingering in the deepest of the shadows.
The head chiefs, walking solemnly and never speaking, marched across the clearing, and then through the woods to a glen, where two young warriors had kindled97 a little fire of sticks as a signal of welcome. The chiefs gathered around the fire and spoke together in low tones. This was Deyuhnyon Kwarakda, which means “The Reception at the Edge of the Wood.”
Henry and some others followed, as it was not forbidden to see, and his interest increased. He shared the spiritual feeling which was impressed upon the red faces about him. The bright moonlight, too, added to the effect, giving it the tinge98 of an old Druidical ceremony.
The chiefs relapsed into silence and sat thus about ten minutes. Then rose the sound of a chant, distant and measured, and a procession of young and inferior chiefs, led by Oneidas, appeared, slowly approaching the fire. Behind them were warriors, and behind the warriors were many women and children. All the women were in their brightest attire99, gay with feather headdresses and red, blue, or green blankets from the British posts.
The procession stopped at a distance of about a dozen yards from the chiefs about the council fire, and the Oneida, Kathlahon, formed the men in a line facing the head chiefs, with the women and children grouped in an irregular mass behind them. The singing meanwhile had stopped. The two groups stood facing each other, attentive76 and listening.
Then Hahiron, the oldest of the Onondagas, walked back and forth in the space between the two groups, chanting a welcome. Like all Indian songs it was monotonous100. Every line he uttered with emphasis and a rising inflection, the phrase “Haih-haih” which may be translated “Hail to thee!” or better, “All hail!” Nevertheless, under the moonlight in the wilderness and with rapt faces about him, it was deeply impressive. Henry found it so.
Hahiron finished his round and went back to his place by the fire. Atotarho, head chief of the Onondagas, holding in his hands beautifully beaded strings101 of Iroquois wampum, came forward and made a speech of condolence, to which Kathlahon responded. Then the head chiefs and the minor chiefs smoked pipes together, after which the head chiefs, followed by the minor chiefs, and these in turn by the crowd, led the way back to the village.
Many hundreds of persons were in this procession, which was still very grave and solemn, every one in it impressed by the sacred nature of this ancient rite102. The chief entered the great door of the Long House, and all who could find places not reserved followed. Henry went in with the others, and sat in a corner, making himself as small as possible. Many women, the place of whom was high among the Iroquois, were also in the Long House.
The head chiefs sat on raised seats at the north end of the great room. In front of them, on lower seats, were the minor chiefs of the three older nations on the left, and of the three younger nations on the right. In front of these, but sitting on the bark floor, was a group of warriors. At the east end, on both high and low seats, were warriors, and facing them on the western side were women, also on both high and low seats. The southern side facing the chiefs was divided into sections, each with high and low seats. The one on the left was occupied by men, and the one on the right by women. Two small fires burned in the center of the Long House about fifteen feet apart.
It was the most singular and one of the most impressive scenes that Henry had ever beheld103. When all had found their seats there was a deep silence. Henry could hear the slight crackling made by the two fires as they burned, and the light fell faintly across the multitude of dark, eager faces. Not less than five hundred people were in the Long House, and here was the red man at his best, the first of the wild, not the second or third of the civilized104, a drop of whose blood in his veins105 brings to the white man now a sense of pride, and not of shame, as it does when that blood belongs to some other races.
The effect upon Henry was singular. He almost forgot that he was a foe among them on a mission. For the moment he shared in their feelings, and he waited with eagerness for whatever might come.
Thayendanegea, the Mohawk, stood up in his place among the great chiefs. The role he was about to assume belonged to Atotarho, the Onondaga, but the old Onondaga assigned it for the occasion to Thayendanegea, and there was no objection. Thayendanegea was an educated man, he had been in England, he was a member of a Christian106 church, and he had translated a part of the Bible from English into his own tongue, but now he was all a Mohawk, a son of the forest.
He spoke to the listening crowd of the glories of the Six Nations, how Hah-gweh-di-yu (The Spirit of Good) had inspired Hiawatha to form the Great Confederacy of the Five Nations, afterwards the Six; how they had held their hunting grounds for nearly two centuries against both English and French; and how they would hold them against the Americans. He stopped at moments, and deep murmurs108 of approval went through the Long House. The eyes of both men and women flashed as the orator109 spoke of their glory and greatness. Timmendiquas, in a place of honor, nodded approval. If he could he would form such another league in the west.
The air in the Long House, breathed by so many, became heated. It seemed to have in it a touch of fire. The orator's words burned. Swift and deep impressions were left upon the excited brain. The tall figure of the Mohawk towered, gigantic, in the half light, and the spell that he threw over all was complete.
He spoke about half an hour, but when he stopped he did not sit down. Henry knew by the deep breath that ran through the Long House that something more was coming from Thayendanegea. Suddenly the red chief began to sing in a deep, vibrant110 voice, and this was the song that he sung:
This was the roll of you,
All hail! All hail! All hail!
You that joined in the work,
All hail! All hail! All hail!
You that finished the task,
All hail! All hail! All hail!
The Great League,
All hail! All hail! All hail!
There was the same incessant111 repetition of “Haih haih!” that Henry had noticed in the chant at the edge of the woods, but it seemed to give a cumulative112 effect, like the roll of thunder, and at every slight pause that deep breath of approval ran through the crowd in the Long House. The effect of the song was indescribable. Fire ran in the veins of all, men, women, and children. The great pulses in their throats leaped up. They were the mighty113 nation, the ever-victorious, the League of the Ho-de-no-sau-nee, that had held at bay both the French and the English since first a white man was seen in the land, and that would keep back the Americans now.
Henry glanced at Timmendiquas. The nostrils of the great White Lightning were twitching114. 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 incessantly115 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 lasting116 about two minutes. These silences seemed to be a necessary part of all Iroquois rites117. 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 and fled to the Mohawks he crossed a lake supposed to be the Oneida. While paddling along he noticed that man tiny black, purple, and white shells clung to his paddle. Reaching the shore he found such shells in long rows upon the beach, and it occurred to him to use them for the depiction118 of thought according to color. He strung them on threads of elm bark, and afterward107, when the great league was formed, the shells were made to represent five clasped hands. For four hundred years the wampum belts have been sacred among the Iroquois.
Now Thayendanegea gave the wampum belts back to the attendant, who returned them to Satekariwate, the Mohawk. There was a silence once more, and then the chosen singer began the Consoling Song again, but now he did not sing it alone. Two hundred male voices joined him, and the time became faster. Its tone changed from mourning and sorrow to exultation119 and menace. Everyone thought of war, the tomahawk, and victory. The song sung as it was now became a genuine battle song, rousing and thrilling. The Long House trembled with the mighty chorus, and its volume poured forth into the encircling dark woods.
All the time the song was going on, Satekariwate, the Mohawk, stood holding the belts in his hand, but when it was over he gave them to an attendant, who carried them to another head chief. Thayendanegea now went to the center of the room and, standing120 between the two fires, asked who were the candidates for the places of the dead chiefs.
The dead chiefs were three, and three tall men, already chosen among their own tribes, came forward to succeed them. Then a fourth came, and Henry was startled. It was Timmendiquas, who, as the bravest chief of the brave Wyandots, was about to become, as a signal tribute, and as a great sign of friendship, an adopted son and honorary chief of the Mohawks, Keepers of the Western Gate, and most warlike of all the Iroquois tribes.
As Timmendiquas stood before Thayendanegea, a murmur of approval deeper than any that had gone before ran through all the crowd in the Long House, and it was deepest on the women's benches, where sat many matrons of the Iroquois, some of whom were chiefs-a woman could be a chief among the Iroquois.
The candidates were adjudged acceptable by the other chiefs, and Thayendanegea addressed them on their duties, while they listened in grave silence. With his address the sacred part of the rite was concluded. Nothing remained now but the great banquet outside—although that was much—and they poured forth to it joyously121, Thayendanegea, the Mohawk, and Timmendiquas, the Wyandot, walking side by side, the finest two red chiefs on all the American continent.
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1
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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dreaded
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| adj.令人畏惧的；害怕的v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的过去式和过去分词) | |
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surmise
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| v./n.猜想，推测 | |
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portended
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| v.预示( portend的过去式和过去分词 )；预兆；给…以警告；预告 | |
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converse
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| vi.谈话，谈天，闲聊；adv.相反的，相反 | |
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6
shudder
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| v.战粟，震动，剧烈地摇晃；n.战粟，抖动 | |
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pertained
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| 关于( pertain的过去式和过去分词 )； 有关； 存在； 适用 | |
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8
sweeping
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| adj.范围广大的，一扫无遗的 | |
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9
crest
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| n.顶点；饰章；羽冠；vt.达到顶点；vi.形成浪尖 | |
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10
warriors
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| 武士，勇士，战士( warrior的名词复数 ) | |
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warrior
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| n.勇士，武士，斗士 | |
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12
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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13
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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14
fortified
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| adj. 加强的 | |
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15
lodges
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| v.存放( lodge的第三人称单数 )；暂住；埋入；（权利、权威等）归属 | |
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16
hatchets
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| n.短柄小斧( hatchet的名词复数 )；恶毒攻击；诽谤；休战 | |
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17
covert
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| adj.隐藏的；暗地里的 | |
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18
purveyed
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| v.提供，供应( purvey的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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19
opportunely
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| adv.恰好地，适时地 | |
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20
penetrating
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| adj.（声音）响亮的，尖锐的adj.（气味）刺激的adj.（思想）敏锐的，有洞察力的 | |
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21
snug
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| adj.温暖舒适的，合身的，安全的；v.使整洁干净，舒适地依靠，紧贴；n.（英）酒吧里的私房 | |
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22
dense
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| a.密集的，稠密的，浓密的；密度大的 | |
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23
broiled
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| a.烤过的 | |
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24
peril
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| n.(严重的)危险；危险的事物 | |
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25
perilous
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| adj.危险的，冒险的 | |
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26
scout
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| n.童子军，侦察员；v.侦察，搜索 | |
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27
scouts
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| 侦察员[机，舰]( scout的名词复数 )； 童子军； 搜索； 童子军成员 | |
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28
sanguine
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| adj.充满希望的，乐观的，血红色的 | |
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29
temperament
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| n.气质，性格，性情 | |
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30
soothing
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| adj.慰藉的；使人宽心的；镇静的 | |
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31
rustled
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| v.发出沙沙的声音( rustle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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32
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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33
gossamer
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| n.薄纱，游丝 | |
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34
permeated
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| 弥漫( permeate的过去式和过去分词 )； 遍布； 渗入； 渗透 | |
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35
rustling
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| n. 瑟瑟声，沙沙声 adj. 发沙沙声的 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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37
mire
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| n.泥沼，泥泞；v.使...陷于泥泞，使...陷入困境 | |
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38
slain
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| 杀死，宰杀，杀戮( slay的过去分词 )； (slay的过去分词) | |
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39
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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40
sniffed
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| v.以鼻吸气，嗅，闻( sniff的过去式和过去分词 )；抽鼻子（尤指哭泣、患感冒等时出声地用鼻子吸气）；抱怨，不以为然地说 | |
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41
sociable
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| adj.好交际的，友好的，合群的 | |
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42
pathos
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| n.哀婉，悲怆 | |
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43
shaft
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| n.(工具的)柄，杆状物 | |
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44
wilderness
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| n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等，荒漠 | |
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45
growling
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| n.吠声, 咆哮声 v.怒吠, 咆哮, 吼 | |
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46
hind
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| adj.后面的，后部的 | |
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47
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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48
growled
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| v.（动物）发狺狺声， （雷）作隆隆声( growl的过去式和过去分词 )；低声咆哮着说 | |
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49
nostrils
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| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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50
foe
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| n.敌人，仇敌 | |
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51
scrambled
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| v.快速爬行( scramble的过去式和过去分词 )；攀登；争夺；（军事飞机）紧急起飞 | |
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52
thickets
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| n.灌木丛( thicket的名词复数 )；丛状物 | |
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53
savages
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| 未开化的人，野蛮人( savage的名词复数 ) | |
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54
savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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55
instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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56
eastward
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| adv.向东；adj.向东的；n.东方，东部 | |
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57
regain
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| vt.重新获得，收复，恢复 | |
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58
intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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59
uncommonly
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| adv. 稀罕(极，非常) | |
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60
maze
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| n.迷宫，八阵图，混乱，迷惑 | |
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61
boughs
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| 大树枝( bough的名词复数 ) | |
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62
annoyances
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| n.恼怒( annoyance的名词复数 )；烦恼；打扰；使人烦恼的事 | |
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63
wary
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| adj.谨慎的，机警的，小心的 | |
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64
wrestler
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| n.摔角选手，扭 | |
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65
gasp
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| n.喘息，气喘；v.喘息；气吁吁他说 | |
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66
shuffle
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| n.拖著脚走，洗纸牌；v.拖曳，慢吞吞地走 | |
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67
supreme
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| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
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68
groan
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| vi./n.呻吟，抱怨；(发出)呻吟般的声音 | |
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69
antagonist
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| n.敌人，对抗者，对手 | |
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70
remorse
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| n.痛恨，悔恨，自责 | |
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71
potency
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| n. 效力，潜能 | |
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72
transformation
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| n.变化；改造；转变 | |
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73
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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74
concealment
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| n.隐藏, 掩盖，隐瞒 | |
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75
attentively
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| adv.聚精会神地；周到地；谛；凝神 | |
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76
attentive
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| adj.注意的，专心的；关心(别人)的，殷勤的 | |
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77
incur
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| vt.招致，蒙受，遭遇 | |
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78
flare
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| v.闪耀，闪烁；n.潮红；突发 | |
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79
murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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80
plunge
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| v.跳入，(使)投入，(使)陷入；猛冲 | |
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81
ferment
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| vt.使发酵；n./vt.（使）激动，（使）动乱 | |
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82
sedulously
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| ad.孜孜不倦地 | |
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83
stature
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| n.（高度）水平，（高度）境界，身高，身材 | |
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84
surmised
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| v.臆测，推断( surmise的过去式和过去分词 )；揣测；猜想 | |
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85
hospitable
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| adj.好客的；宽容的；有利的，适宜的 | |
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86
thatch
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| vt.用茅草覆盖…的顶部；n.茅草(屋) | |
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87
faculty
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| n.才能；学院，系；(学院或系的)全体教学人员 | |
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88
savored
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| v.意味，带有…的性质( savor的过去式和过去分词 )；给…加调味品；使有风味；品尝 | |
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89
condoling
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| v.表示同情，吊唁( condole的现在分词 ) | |
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90
virtue
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| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
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91
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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92
titular
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| adj.名义上的，有名无实的；n.只有名义（或头衔）的人 | |
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93
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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94
jealousy
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| n.妒忌，嫉妒，猜忌 | |
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95
esteemed
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| adj.受人尊敬的v.尊敬( esteem的过去式和过去分词 )；敬重；认为；以为 | |
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96
minor
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| adj.较小(少)的，较次要的；n.辅修学科；vi.辅修 | |
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97
kindled
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| （使某物）燃烧，着火( kindle的过去式和过去分词 )； 激起（感情等）； 发亮，放光 | |
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98
tinge
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| vt.(较淡)着色于，染色；使带有…气息；n.淡淡色彩，些微的气息 | |
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99
attire
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| v.穿衣，装扮[同]array；n.衣着；盛装 | |
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100
monotonous
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| adj.单调的，一成不变的，使人厌倦的 | |
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101
strings
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| n.弦 | |
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102
rite
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| n.典礼，惯例，习俗 | |
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103
beheld
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| v.看，注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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104
civilized
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| a.有教养的，文雅的 | |
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105
veins
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| n.纹理；矿脉( vein的名词复数 )；静脉；叶脉；纹理 | |
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106
Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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107
afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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108
murmurs
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| n.低沉、连续而不清的声音( murmur的名词复数 )；低语声；怨言；嘀咕 | |
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109
orator
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| n.演说者，演讲者，雄辩家 | |
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110
vibrant
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| adj.震颤的，响亮的，充满活力的，精力充沛的，(色彩)鲜明的 | |
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111
incessant
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| adj.不停的，连续的 | |
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112
cumulative
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| adj.累积的，渐增的 | |
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113
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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114
twitching
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| n.颤搐 | |
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115
incessantly
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| ad.不停地 | |
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116
lasting
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| adj.永久的，永恒的；vbl.持续，维持 | |
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117
rites
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| 仪式，典礼( rite的名词复数 ) | |
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118
depiction
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| n.描述 | |
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119
exultation
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| n.狂喜，得意 | |
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120
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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121
joyously
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| ad.快乐地, 高兴地 | |
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