A noble woman came to join herself to the number of victims of her own accord, being engaged by the friendship she bore the _Stung Serpent_ to follow him into the other world. The Europeans called her the _haughty_ lady, on account of her majestic deportment and her proud air, and because she only frequented the company of the most distinguished Frenchmen. They regretted her much, because she had the knowledge of several simples with which she had saved the lives of many of our sick. This moving sight filled our people with grief and horror. The favorite wife of the deceased rose up and spoke to them with a smiling countenance: “I die without fear;” said she, “grief does not embitter my last hours. I recommend my children to you; whenever you see them, noble Frenchmen, remember that you have loved their father, and that he was till death a true and sincere friend of your nation, whom he loved more than himself. The disposer of life has been pleased to call him, and I shall soon go and join him; I shall tell him that I have seen your hearts moved at the sight of his corps; do not be grieved; we shall be longer friends in the _country of the spirits_ than here, because we do not die there again.”[91*] These words forced tears from the eyes of all the French; they were obliged to do all they could to prevent the Great Sun from killing himself, for he was inconsolable at the death of his brother, upon whom he was used to lay the weight of government, he being great chief of war of the Natches, i.e. generalissimo of their armies; that prince grew furious by the resistance he met with; he held his gun by the barrel, and the Sun, his presumptive heir, held it by the lock, and caused the powder to fall out of the pan; the hut was full of Suns, Nobles, and Honorables[92*] but the French raised their spirits again, by hiding all the arms belonging to the sovereign, and filling the barrel of his gun with water, that it might be unfit for use for some time. As soon as the Suns saw their sovereign’s life in safety, they thanked the French, by squeezing their hands, but without speaking; a most profound silence reigned throughout, for grief and awe kept in bounds the multitude that were present.