At five o'clock in the afternoon all that was mortal of Paul Guidon was lowered into its last abode.
"They laid them fondly side by side, And near their icy hearts They placed their arrows and their bows, Their clubs, and spears, and darts; For use when they with life are crowned In heaven's happy hunting ground." Margaret Godfrey read the burial service from the old service book, while rivers of tears flowed down a score of swarthy faces, and an occasional low wail uttered by the Indians standing round the open grave, told of their sorrow and superstitious fear.

The British ensign was then placed over the dead Iroquois.

It was the flag under which he had lived and died, and a fit emblem to cover the remains of so true and brave a man.

(The characters of American sympathizers, of traitors and rebels, as black as they appear in Colonial History, will appear deeper-dyed as they stand in contrast to the loyalty of this true Indian.) Margaret Godfrey spoke to them as follows: "I believe it to be my solemn duty, yea, my special duty on this most sorrowful occasion, that I should express my feelings.

If there ascends from my heart a prayer to the throne of the Great Chief, in behalf of this youthful widow and in behalf of you people, let it be a prayer that the Great Chief may turn the hearts of all from the thoughts of war to sentiments of mercy and peace, such as our dear brother, whose remains we have just committed to the grave, possessed in his life.