THE GRAVE OF THE INDIAN KING. 239 



The huts and the rude works of the Indians were already in ashes. 

 The old chief, Thurensera, was found by the trunk of the elm, with 

 the same stoical composure with which he had been left; and 

 Frontenac's Indians had, by his permission, the pleasure of torment- 

 ing him. He bore their tortures with unflinching firmness. Not a 

 muscle moved, not a limb quivered : not a sigh, not a groan escaped 

 him. At length they stabbed him in several places. 



" Go on, ye tormentors ! " he exclaimed, with an energy belonging 

 to former days : " the old eagle has received the death-arrow in his 

 breast. He will never soar again but in the bright skies of the Great 

 Spirit. You cannot harm him. The Great Spirit/' he continued, 

 " has touched my eyes, and I see through the clouds of death the 

 warriors who have raised the war-cry with me in other times. They 

 are walking on the winds and playing on the clouds. I see the dark 

 waters which all must pass. Those dark waters are the tears shed 

 by the Great Spirit for the evil deeds of his children. Go on, ye 

 tormentors ! ye Indians who take the scalp for Yonnondio ! ye dogs 

 of dogs ! but why stab me with the long knife ? You had better 

 burn me with fire, that the Frenchman may know how to die. Tear 

 me to pieces : roast me at the war-feast : scatter my ashes to the 

 winds : crumble my bones in the salt lake. Yonnondio's Indians ! 

 listen to the voice of the Manitto, while he bids Thurensera tell what 

 is to come upon you. Your race is to be as the river dried up as 

 the dead trees of the forest, when the fire has gone over it. The 

 white man who sent Yonnondio over the great salt lake, in the big 

 canoe, will lose his power. A Wolf is to walk abroad, that will 

 scatter the pale-faces at Quebec like a flock of sheep, and drive 

 them out of the red man's land. The white men with Cayenguir- 

 ago, who is our friend, will come over the land like the leaves. The 

 panther is bounding to the setting sun ; the bear moves slowly off 

 the ground ; the deer and the buffalo leap over the mountains and 

 are seen no more. The forest bows before the white man. The 

 great and little trees fall before his big hatchet. The white man's 

 wigwams rise like the hill tops, and are as white as the head of the 

 bald eagle. The waters shall remain ; and when the red man is no 

 more, the names he gave them shall last. The Great Spirit has said 

 it. A hundred warriors are coining to lead me on the trail to the 

 happy hunting grounds. Think of me, ye tormentors, when my 

 sons come upon you like the chafed panther in his swiftness and 

 his strength. Great Spirit ! I come ! v Thus died Thurensera, 

 with a greatness of soul worthy of a sachem of the Five Nations. 



When the invader had retired, the Onondagoes conveyed the re- 

 mains of the lofty Thurensera to the hill of the Skancatelas, and 



