with his Algonquin wife, for in his opinion she was already too fond of the French Christians. He did not wish her to have his tiny, new-born daughter signed with the ill-omened cross, and to have the water of baptism poured on her head. So Ondessonk came and went, passing near, but not finding Tekakwitha's mother, who still cherished the Christian faith in her heart. When she knew that he was gone, it must have been with many a sigh and many a thought of her northern home, that she tied her baby to its cradle-board, all carved and curtained after the Indian fashion, and then loaded with the precious burden, went off as usual to her work in the corn-fields. From time to time she would pause for a moment to smile at her little breathing bundle as it swung from the branch of a tree near by, and we may be sure, too, that as she gathered in the harvest for the winter, she whispered many a prayer for peace and for the coming of the blackgown to dwell in the land, that her child might grow up a Christian. Let us hope some distant echo reached her in the Mohawk corn-field from the shores of Onondaga Lake. For there, where the city of Syracuse now sits among the hills, a crowd of Iroquois were gathered at that very time into the rough bark chapel of St. Mary's of Ganentaha, listening to the Christian law of marriage preached then for the first time in their land. Quick to understand the new dignity it gave them, the Onondaga women silently made up their minds to learn "the prayer," by which they meant Christianity. All the while that the blackgown was speaking, the captive Hurons who were in the throng gazed with pent-up joy at the face of their beloved Echon (Chaumonot, the namesake of Brebeuf), whose voice they had often heard at the mission forts in their own country. Soon after Echon's visit other fathers came among the Iroquois nations with a colony of Frenchmen; these last had been cordially invited to Onondaga. The reason for this invitation was that its people, hard pressed by their savage enemies, wanted peace with Onnontio, the French governor, and thought to secure it in this way; the Mohawks, however, took no part in this temporary peace. They were angry with the Onondagas for claiming their captives from the Isle Orleans, and they continued their raids on the French frontier regardless of a treaty made by their brother nation. It must be remembered, though, that these Indians, while warring with the French were then and always at peace with the Dutch of Fort Orange. From them they obtained the fire-arms that were used so effectively in their warfare in Canada.

The wife of the Mohawk warrior at Gandawague may have heard rumors of the treaty made with Onnontio; but she saw the great kettle prepared as usual in the Turtle village for the annual war-dance, and all hope of a peace with the French died out once more from her heart.

It was the custom of the Mohawks to set this kettle to boil in the early winter; and from time to time each warrior dropped something in to keep it going and thus to signify his intention of joining the next expedition. By February all was in readiness for the great dance of the nation. A war-dance among the Indians is conducted in some such way as this: Stripped of all but the breech-cloth, gay with war-paint and feathers, the dried head of a bear, if that be the totem of his clan, fastened on head or shoulder, and with rattling deer-hoofs strapped to his knees, each warrior springs to his place, and the wild dance begins, accompanied by the beating of a drum. Wilder and wilder grow their antics, and more boastful the words of their chant, as they catch the spirit of the dance, till at last they seem the very incarnation of war. With all the vividness of Indian pantomime, they act out the scenes of battle before the eyes of the crouching women and children gathered in silent awe to witness this great savage drama. At first the warriors seem to be creeping along the forest trail with every faculty alert; and then with fearful whoops they whirl their tomahawks through the air at a senseless post, springing back as if in self-defence, falling again upon the imaginary foe, hacking with violence, and mingling shrieks with their victorious shouts, till in the flickering light of the fire and the weird shadows of surrounding objects, the assembled crowd, completely carried away by the vividness of the pantomime, see human victims falling beneath their strokes.

During the progress of the annual war-dance at Gandawague a group of Indian boys stand gazing with wide-open eyes at the heroes of the Kanienke-ha-ka whose past and future deeds are thus pictured before them. With swelling hearts they listen to the wild refrain, "Wah-hee! Ho-ha!" that comes at intervals. Among the smallest of the group we have in view is Tekakwitha's little brother, and her father is taking part in the dance. His voice, as it leads a louder swell of the war-song, startles her from her baby dreams, and she nestles close in her mother's arms. Later she hears the same voice in the lodge,—a few brief words rolling from the tongue[9] of the warrior in the low musical tones of the Mohawk language; and it only lulls her into sounder sleep. The dance is over, and the crowd scattered; but still we linger about to see what will happen next. A death-like silence reigns in the village. There is not one sentinel on watch. It would be well if they were more vigilant, but for the present they are safe. Their foes are far away, and the high palisade keeps off the prowling beasts. The darkness of night has closed over them. It is the hour for dreams, and dreams are the religion of the red-man. They are treasured up and told to the medicine-man or sorcerer, the influential being who is both priest and doctor in the village. When the excitement of the war-dance has subsided and the people are all sleeping soundly, this mysterious personage with stealthy tread may be seen to issue from the silent cluster of houses, and by the light of the moon he gathers his herbs and catches the uncanny creatures of the night with which to weave his spells. He knows that the young warriors will be coming to him for some inkling of their fate on the war-path, and besides he must supply a certain cure for their wounds. When he has found it for them he will gather them all in the public square at Gandawague, and after other exhibitions of his skill will perhaps cut his own lip, and when the blood is flowing freely, will stanch it and cure it in a moment by applying his magic drug. It will be well for his fame if there be not the keen eye of a French Jesuit in the crowd to watch him as he quickly sucks the blood into his mouth. He knows that the warriors are easily duped by his cunning, and will probably buy his mixture. Happy in its possession, they will fear no evil effects from their wounds. Their sweethearts too seek the sorcerer to have their fortunes told, and the old men and women come to him with their ailments. Even the orators are glad of a hint from his fertile brain; and the oyander or matron of rank who is about to nominate a new chief may perhaps consult him. If her choice has been already made, however, it is no easy task to persuade her to change her mind.

With the month of March comes the Dream-Feast, and then the medicine-man is in his glory. For three days the town is in a hubbub, given up to every freak of the imagination. All the dreams of its people, no matter how foolish and unreasonable, must be fulfilled in some way to the dreamer's satisfaction. The wiser heads among them have to tax their ingenuity to the utmost to prevent the worst excesses of this crazy celebration. The Christian