The sachem of the Onondagas received me well and made me sit down on a mat. He spoke English and understood French; my guide knew Iroquois: conversation was easy. Among other things, the old man told me that, although his nation had always been at war with mine, he had always respected it. He complained of the Americans; he thought them greedy and unjust, and regretted that, in the division of the Indian territories his tribe had not gone to swell the lot of the English. The women served us with a meal. Hospitality is the last virtue left to the savages in the midst of European civilization; their hospitality is well known of old; the hearth had all the power of the altar. When a tribe was driven from its woods, or when a man came to demand hospitality, the stranger began what was called the dance of the supplicant. The child touched the door-sill and said: "Here is the stranger." And the chief replied: "Child, bring the man into the hut." The stranger entered, under the protection of the child, and sat down by the ashes on the hearth. The women sang the song of consolation: The stranger has found a mother and a wife; the sun will rise and set for him as of old. These customs seem borrowed from the Greeks: Themistocles, visiting Admetus, kisses the Penates and his host's young son (I have possibly at Megara trod upon the poor wife's hearthstone beneath which Phocion's cinerary urn lay concealed[478]); and Ulysses, visiting Alcinous, implores Arete: "Noble Arete, daughter of Rhexenor, after suffering cruel ills, I throw myself at your feet[479]." Having spoken these words, the hero goes towards the hearth and seats himself by the ashes. I took leave of the old chief. He had been present at the capture of Quebec. In the shameful years of the reign of Louis XV., the episode of the Canadian War comes to our consolation as though it were a page from our ancient history discovered in the Tower of London. Montcalm[480], left to defend Canada unaided against forces often relieved and four times his own in number, fights successfully for two whole years; he defeats Lord Loudon[481] and General Abercromby[482]. At last fortune forsakes him; he falls wounded beneath the walls of Quebec, and two days later breathes his last: his Grenadiers bury him in a hole dug by a shell, a grave worthy of the honour of our arms! His noble enemy Wolfe[483] dies facing him; he pays with his own life for Montcalm's life and for the glory of expiring upon a few French flags. Once more my guide and I mounted our horses. Our road became more difficult and was marked only by some felled trees. The trunks of these trees served as bridges over the streams or as hurdles in the bogs. The American population was at that time moving towards the Genesee grants. These grants were sold at prices more or less high according to the goodness of the soil, the quality of the trees, the current and abundance of the water.