The Mohawk squaw could not see the hearth of her white brothers
desolate; she took the canoe, she to the lodge of the great father of his
tribe, and she says to him, 'Give back the white squaw to her home on the
Rice Lake, and take in her instead the rebellious daughter of the Ojebwa's
enemy, to die or be his servant; she fears nothing now the knife or the
tomahawk, the arrow or the spear: her life is in the hand of the great
chief.'" She sank on her knees as she spoke these last words and bowing
down her head on her breast remained motionless as a statue.
There was silence for some minutes, and then the old man rose and said:--
"Daughter of a brave woman, thou hast spoken long, and thou hast spoken
well; the ears of the Bald Eagle have been open. The white squaw shall be
restored to her brother's lodge--but thou remainest. I have spoken."
Catharine in tears cast her arms around her disinterested friend and
remained weeping--how could she accept this great sacrifice? She in her
turn pleaded for the life and liberty of the Mohawk, but the chief turned
a cold ear to her passionate and incoherent pleading.
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