IROQUOIS MYTHS AND LEGENDS 1 25 



For fifty years, war between the Algonquins and the Iroquois 

 had raged with direful fury ; for fifty years their hate had shown no 

 mercy; and for fifty years their slain warriors had been passing to 

 eternity, leaving the bloody strife an inheritance for their de- 

 scendants. Fifty years of the oppressor and the oppressed, of 

 Algonquin persecution and Iroquois defense; and now, Hon-do- 

 sa, a young Algonquin chief, stoically awaited the Seneca's doom 

 of death at the stake. 



Hon-do-sa had been captured in a battle where the son of the 

 sachem was killed, and the blood of the Algonquin must atone 

 for his death. 



It was an early custom, that during the time preceding the 

 putting to death of a captive, he should receive the utmost hospi- 

 tality, be treated rather as a guest than a prisoner, and while 

 strongly guarded to prevent his escape, he was given the best 

 lodge in the canton, the softest furs were his bed, and provided 

 with the choicest food by a female attendant, chosen for her beauty. 

 Wan-nut-ha, the sachem's daughter, the most beautiful maiden of 

 the tribe, was selected to attend the Algonquin, and for many days 

 had cared for him. But with the days, the stoical, quiet resigna- 

 tion of Hon-do-sa had not passed unnoticed by Wan-nut-ha, and 

 a feeling like that of pity had unconsciously come upon her. He 

 had been brave in battle, and now though a captive who must 

 die, was haughty in his silence, and defiantly awaited his doom. 

 Yet Wan-nut-ha softened toward him. " So near death, and so 

 brave and how fair to die!" she sighed. But the days of his cap- 

 tivity had passed; on the morrow at sunrise he must die. For 

 the last time Wan-nut-ha carried the food to his lodge, and she 

 lingered. Why did she tarry? What new emotion stirred her 

 heart to detain her? He was a foe of her people, why should she 

 pity? But at the last, when his eyes spoke to her's a silent fare- 

 well, she then knew; and quick flashed the thought of her canoe 

 on the lake that could bear him away. " Tonight," she whispered, 

 " when the owl cries the midnight and the bittern screams sad by 

 the lake shore, listen. Wan-nut-ha will be near." 



At midnight she cautiously neared the lodge. The guard was 

 asleep, though thonged to the captive! A stir might awake him. 

 Faster her heart throbbed, and the life of Hon-do-sa seemed as her 

 own, but she faltered not. The guard slept as she loosened the 

 thongs and silently they fled through the tangled marshes, hand 

 clasped in hand, down to the lake where rocked her canoe. 



Had the horrors of the fifty years strife paled Wan-nut-ha 's blood 



