The river forces a passage through this dark and solid barrier. It is equally rapid and dangerous for canoes above and below. It cannot be crossed direct. After the firing began, Wabojeeg landed and brought up his men. He directed a part of them to extend themselves in the wood around the small neck, or peninsula, of the portage, whence alone escape was possible. Both parties fought with bravery; the Foxes with desperation. But they were outnumbered, overpowered, and defeated. Some attempted to descend the rapids, and were lost. A few only escaped. But the Chippewas paid dearly for their victory. Wabojeeg was slightly wounded in the breast: his brother was killed. Many brave warriors fell. It was a most sanguinary scene. The tradition of this battle is one of the most prominent and wide spread of the events of their modern history. I have conversed with more than one chief, who dated his first military honours in youth, to this scene. It put an end to their feud with the Foxes, who retired from the intermediate rice lakes, and fled down the Wisconsin. It raised the name of the Chippewa leader, to the acme of his renown among his people: but Wabojeeg, as humane as he was brave, grieved over the loss of his people who had fallen in the action. This feeling was expressed touchingly and characteristically, in a war song, which he uttered after this victory which has been preserved by the late Mr. Johnston of St. Mary's, in the following stanzas. On that day when our heroes lay low--lay low, On that day when our heroes lay low, I fought by their side, and thought ere I died, Just vengeance to take on the foe, Just vengeance to take on the foe. On that day, when our chieftains lay dead--lay dead, On that day when our chieftains lay dead, I fought hand to hand, at the head of my band, And here, on my breast, have I bled, And here, on my breast, have I bled. Our chiefs shall return no more--no more, Our chiefs shall return no more, Nor their brothers of war, who can show scar for scar, Like women their fates shall deplore--deplore, Like women their fate shall deplore. Five winters in hunting we'll spend--we'll spend, Five winters in hunting we'll spend, Till our youth, grown to men, we'll to war lead again, And our days, like our fathers, we'll end, And our days, like our fathers, we'll end.