tion of its rocky island, with its caverns, and its
numerous rapids and whirlpools; he named the name of La Longue Carabine,
and paused until the forest beneath them had sent up the last echo of a
loud and long yell, with which the hated appellation was received. He
pointed towards the youthful military captive, and described the death
of a favorite warrior, who had been precipitated into the deep ravine by
his hand. He not only mentioned the fate of him who, hanging between
heaven and earth, had presented such a spectacle of horror to the whole
band, but he acted anew the terrors of his situation, his resolution and
his death, on the branches of a sapling; and, finally, he rapidly
recounted the manner in which each of their friends had fallen, never
failing to touch upon their courage, and their most acknowledged
virtues. When this recital of events was ended, his voice once more
changed, and became plaintive, and even musical, in its low guttural
sounds. He now spoke of the wives and children of the slain; their
destitution; their misery, both physical and moral; their distance; and,
at last, of their unavenged wrongs. Then suddenly lifting his voice to a
pitch of terrific energy, he concluded, by demanding,--

"Are the Hurons dogs to bear this? Who shall say to the wife of Menowgua
that the fishes have his scalp, and that his nation have not taken
revenge! Who will dare meet the mother of Wassawattimie, that scornful
woman, with his hands clean! What shall be said to the old men when they
ask us for scalps, and we have not a hair from a white head to give
them! The women will point their fingers at us. There is a dark spot on
the names of the Hurons, and it must be hid in blood!"

His voice was no longer audible in the burst of rage which now broke
into the air, as if the wood, instead of containing so small a band, was
filled with the nation. During the foregoing address the progress of the
speaker was too plainly read by those most interested in his success,
through the medium of the countenances of the men he addressed. They had
answered his melancholy and mourning by sympathy and sorrow; his
assertions, by gestures of confirmation; and his boastings, with the
exultation of savages. When he spoke of courage, their looks were firm
and responsive; when he alluded to their injuries, their eyes kindled
with fury; when he mentioned the taunts of the women, they dropped their
heads in shame; but when he pointed out thei