At Hawkshaw Bridge

was spared on condition that she should guide the war party to the doomed village by a safe path. (One version has it that it was a Maliceet maiden who was thus captured.) She was placed in the chief’s canoe and guided them safely over the portage by the Mada- waska Falls and into the St. john River.

Assured by their guide that there were. no more falls to pass, the canoes were lashed together and drifted down the tide while the weary Mohawks sank in slumber. By and bye a sound of falling water aroused one of the chiefs; but being told that it was only the noise of the waterfall at the mouth of a nearby river, he again slept. But suddenly the full roar of the tremendous cataract strikes on the ears of the sleepers. Springing to their feet the horror of the situa~ tion is at once apparent. Paddles are seized and frantic efforts are made to stem the fierce tide. It is useless, and a terrible cry of despair goes up as they are swept to the brink of the foaming cataract. She had saved her father and her native Village :

”Then with a shout of triumph, the Indian maiden cried, ‘Listen, ye Mohawk warriors, which sail on Death's dark tide!

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