Swift and deep impressions were left upon the excited brain.

The tall figure of the Mohawk towered, gigantic, in the half light, and the spell that he threw over all was complete.
He spoke about half an hour, but when he stopped he did not sit down.
Henry knew by the deep breath that ran through the Long House that something more was coming from Thayendanegea.

Suddenly the red chief began to sing in a deep, vibrant voice, and this was the song that he sung: 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.