1763.] THE WAR-FEAST. 197 



flock around and listen to his wild harangue. He 

 calls on them to avenge the blood of their slaugh- 

 tered relatives ; he assures them that the Great 

 Spirit is on their side, and that victory is certain. 

 With exulting cries they disperse to their wigwams, 

 to array themselves in the savage decorations of 

 the war-dress. An old man now passes through 

 the camp, and invites the warriors to a feast in the 

 name of the chief. They gather from all quarters 

 to his wigwam, where they find him seated, no 

 longer covered with black, but adorned with the 

 startling and fantastic blazonry of the war-paint. 

 Those who join in the feast pledge themselves, by 

 so doing, to follow him against the enemy. The 

 guests seat themselves on the ground, in a circle 

 around the wigwam, and the flesh of dogs is placed 

 in wooden dishes before them, while the chief, 

 though goaded by the pangs of his long, unbroken 

 fast, sits smoking his pipe with unmoved counte- 

 nance, and takes no part in the feast. 



Night has now closed in ; and the rough clear- 

 ing is illumined by the blaze of fires and burning 

 pine-knots, casting their deep red glare upon the 

 dusky boughs of the surrounding forest, and upon 

 the wild multitude who, fluttering with feathers 

 and bedaubed with paint, have gathered for the 

 celebration of the war -dance. A painted post is 

 driven into the ground, and the crowd form a wide 

 circle around it. The chief leaps into the vacant 

 space, brandishing his hatchet as if rushing upon 

 an enemy, and, in a loud, vehement tone, chants 

 his own exploits and those of his ancestors, enact- 



