Then a slender man of middle years, the best singer in all the Iroquois nation, arose and sang: To the great chiefs bring we greeting, All hail! All hail! All hail! To the dead chiefs, kindred greeting, All hail! All hail! All hail! To the strong men 'round him greeting, All hail! All hail! All hail! To the mourning women greeting, All hail! All hail! All hail! There our grandsires' words repeating, All hail! All hail! All hail! Graciously, Oh, grandsires, hear, All hail! All hail! All hail! The singing voice was sweet, penetrating, and thrilling, and the song was sad.

At the pauses deep murmurs of sorrow ran through the crowd in the Long House.

Grief for the dead held them all.

When he finished, Satekariwate, the Mohawk, holding in his hands three belts of wampum, uttered a long historical chant telling of their glorious deeds, to which they listened patiently.

The chant over, he handed the belts to an attendant, who took them to Thayendanegea, who held them for a few moments and looked at them gravely.
One of the wampum belts was black, the sign of mourning; another was purple, the sign of war; and the third was white, the sign of peace.
They were beautiful pieces of workmanship, very old.
When Hiawatha left the Onondagas and fled to the Mohawks he crossed a lake supposed to be the Oneida.