rior who had distinguished himself in the battle. He was severely wounded, so as with difficulty to keep on his horse, but he preserved a serene and steadfast countenance, as if perfectly unharmed. His mother had heard of his condition. She broke through the throng and, rushing up, threw her arms around him and wept aloud. He kept up the spirit and demeanor of a warrior to the last, but expired shortly after he had reached his home.
"The village was now a scene of the utmost festivity and triumph. The banners and trophies and scalps and painted shields were elevated on poles near the lodges. There were war feasts and scalp dances, with warlike songs and savage music; all the inhabitants were arrayed in their festal dresses; while the old heralds went round from lodge to lodge, promulgating with loud voices the events of the battle and the exploits of the various warriors.
"Such was the boisterous revelry of the village," Irving continues; "but sounds of another kind were heard on the surrounding hills: piteous wailings of the women who had retired thither to mourn in darkness and solitude for those who had fallen in battle. There the poor mother of the youthful warrior who had returned home in triumph but to die gave full vent to the anguish of a mother's heart. How much does this custom among the Indian women, of repairing to the hilltops in the night and pouring forth their wailings for the dead, call to mind the beautiful and affecting passage of Scripture, 'In Rama was there a voice heard, lamentation and weeping and great mourning; Rachel weeping for her children, and would not be comforted because they are not.'"
