CHAPTER IV.

The Ojibways from a distance Marked the slaughter of their game, And their untamed fiery spirits With revenge were all aflame. And Mitwaos, their brave leader, Summoned his chiefs once more; Their souls were fiercely chafing, And their savage hearts were sore.

And as bursts a pent-up torrent They pronounce for instant war Not one dissenting chieftain The unity to mar. The runners go swiftly forward The braves to summon now; And there’s hurried preparation, And sternness on each brow.

The young and fearless warriors Meet in the cedar shade The tender Indian maiden, And farewells are quickly made. And the stern, unbending chieftain Clasps his true-hearted wife, And kisses his dear papooses, And girds him for the strife.

Their dauntless leader, Mitwaos, Who to death will do his part, Seeks his wife, the Singing Redbird, And folds her to his heart. Ah! those heathen souls are tender For children, wife, or mother, Their nation, and a father’s love, For sister and for brother.

To the south of the Indian Fields Their rendezvous is made, Where the vines and the cedars cluster, And deeper glooms the shade. Here gather fast the Ojibways, Just at the twilight’s close, To await the dawn’s pale glimmer To fall upon their foes.

Now all girted up with wampum, With scalping-knife and spear, With tomahawk, bow and arrows, The foe they do not fear. And each chief hath his allotment Of braves to do his will; And well they know how to attack With cunning and with skill.

Directed all by Mitwaos, Whose plans are now complete, Each one his post of duty knows, And how the foe to meet. Then at the lonesome midnight hour, When the world ’s wrapped in sleep, The Ojibways form for battle, And on the foeman creep.

Proud Mitwaos in the centre, The whole at his command; Leaping Panther with the right wing, Who like a rock will stand; And Lone Wolf with the left wing, The red men love him well, And many an act of daring His nation of him tell.

The signal, an owl hoot, given, And stealthily through the gloom They move forward in position To victory or their doom. Aye, noiselessly gliding onward Through darkness dense and still, By the signal of the hooting owl Or the cry of whippoorwill.