This was the roll of you,
All hail! All hail! All hail!

You that joined in the work,
All hail! All hail! All hail!

You that finished the task,
All hail! All hail! All hail!

The Great League,
All hail! All hail! All hail!


There was the same incessant repetition of "Haih haih!" that
Henry had noticed in the chant at the edge of the woods, but it
seemed to give a cumulative effect, like the roll of thunder, and
at every slight pause that deep breath of approval ran through
the crowd in the Long House. The effect of the song was
indescribable. Fire ran in the veins of all, men, women, and
children. The great pulses in their throats leaped up. They
were the mighty nation, the ever-victorious, the League of the
Ho-de-no-sau-nee, that had held at bay both the French and the
English since first a white man was seen in the land, and that
would keep back the Americans now.

Henry glanced at Timmendiquas. The nostrils of the great White
Lightning were twitching. The song reached to the very roots of
his being, and aroused all his powers. Like Thayendanegea, he
was a statesman, and he saw that the Americans were far more
formidable to his race than English or French had ever been. The