Thayendanegea was the first to break the silence in the group at the fire. He turned his dark face to Sir John Johnson and said in his excellent English: “The king promised us that if we would take up arms for him against the Yankees, he would send a great army, many thousands, to help us. We believed him, and we took up the hatchet for him. We fought in the dark and the storm with Herkimer at the Oriskany, and many of our warriors fell. But we did not sulk in our lodges. We have ravaged and driven in the whole American border along a line of hundreds of miles. Now the Congress sends an army to attack us, to avenge what we have done, and the great forces of the king are not here. I have been across the sea; I have seen the mighty city of London and its people as numerous as the blades of grass. Why has not the king kept his promise and sent men enough to save the Iroquois?” Sir John Johnson and Thayendanegea were good friends, but the soul of the great Mohawk chief was deeply stirred. His penetrating mind saw the uplifted hand about to strike-and the target was his own people. His tone became bitterly sarcastic as he spoke, and when he ceased he looked directly at the baronet in a manner that showed a reply must be given. Sir John moved uneasily, but he spoke at last. “Much that you say is true, Thayendanegea,” he admitted, “but the king has many things to do. The war is spread over a vast area, and he must keep his largest armies in the East. But the Royal Greens, the Rangers, and all others whom we can raise, even in Canada, are here to help you. In the coming battle your fortunes are our fortunes.” Thayendanegea nodded, but he was not yet appeased. His glance fell upon the two Butlers, father and son, and he frowned. “There are many in England itself,” he said, “who wish us harm, and who perhaps have kept us from receiving some of the help that we ought to have. They speak of Wyoming and Cherry Valley, of the torture and of the slaughter of women and children, and they say that war must not be carried on in such a way. But there are some among us who are more savage than the savages themselves, as they call us. It was you, John Butler, who led at Wyoming, and it was you, Walter Butler, who allowed the women and children to be killed at Cherry Valley, and more would have been slain there had I not, come up in time.” The dark face of “Indian” Butler grew darker, and the pallid face of his son grew more pallid. Both were angry, and at the same time a little afraid. “We won at Wyoming in fair battle,” said the elder Butler. “But afterwards?” said Thayendanegea. The man was silent. “It is these two places that have so aroused the Bostonians against us,” continued Thayendanegea. “It is because of them that the commander of the Bostonians has sent a great army, and the Long House is threatened with destruction.” “My son and I have fought for our common cause,” said “Indian” Butler, the blood flushing through his swarthy face.