to have the murderers and to punish them.  He had the Great Sun, the Stung Serpent, and the Little Sun.  The latter was sent to bring the heads of the murderers, and he returned with three heads; but Bienville, after examining these, told the chiefs they had treacherously deceived him, and that those were not the heads of the murderers.  After a night’s consultation they concluded it was impossible to deceive him, and in the morning confessed the whole truth, proposing to send Stung Serpent to bring the real murderers.  But knowing the wily character of this chief and his influence with his tribe, he was not permitted to go.  The young Sun was dispatched, and succeeded in bringing the chief of the Beard and the chief of the Walnut Hills, with the two warriors; but Oyelape had fled and could not be had.  He had probed to the truth of the French expedition; and being guilty, cunningly and wisely made his escape.

The death sentence was passed upon these, and the two warriors were shot at once; but the two chiefs were reserved for execution to another day.  Upon the sentence being communicated to them they commenced to chant the death-song of their people, which they continued to do throughout all the time, night and day, until led forth for execution.

The Great Sun, Stung Serpent, his brother, and all the other Indians were brought out to witness the execution.  When the two condemned chiefs were brought forward, these witnesses of their death sang the death-song; but the chief of the Beard looked sternly at them, and defiantly at the executioners; and taking his position, turned to his people and, addressing them, said: 

“Let there be joy in the hearts of the Natchez.  A child is born to them of the race of their Suns.  A boy is born with a beard on his chin.  The prodigy still works on from generation to generation.’  So sang the warriors of my tribe when I sprang from my mother’s womb, and the shrill cry of the eagle, in the heavens, was heard in joyful response.  Hardly fifteen summers had passed over my head when my beard had grown long and glossy.  I looked around, and saw I was the only red man that had this awful mark on his face, and I interrogated my mother and she said: 

  “’Son of the chiefs of the Beard,
  Thou shall know the mystery
  In which thy curious eye wishes to pry,
  When thy beard from black becomes red.’

“Let there be joy in the hearts of the Natchez!  A hunter is born to them—­a hunter of the race of the Suns.  Ask of the bears, of the buffaloes, of the tigers, and of the swift-footed deer, whose arrows they fear most!  They tremble and cower when the footstep of the hunter with the beard on his chin is heard on the heath.  But I was born with brains in my head as well as a beard on my chin, and I pondered on my mother’s words.  One day, when a panther which I slaughtered had torn my breast, I painted my beard with my own blood, and I stood smiling before her.  She said nothing; but her eye gleamed with wild delight, and she took me to the temple when, standing by the sacred fire, she thus sang to me: