He died at his house at Wellington Square, after a long and painful
illness, on the 24th November, 1807, in the sixty-fifth year of his age.
His last thoughts were for his people, on whose behalf he had fought so
bravely, and whose social and moral improvement he was so desirous to
promote. His nephew, leaning over his bed, caught the last words that fell
from his lips: "Have pity on the poor Indians; if you can get any influence
from the great, endeavour to do them all the good you can."
His remains were removed to Mohawk Village, near Brantford, and interred
in the yard of the little church which he had built many years before, and
which was the first Christian church erected in Upper Canada. And there, by
the banks of the Grand River,
"After life's fitful fever he sleeps well."
Sufficient has been said in the course of the preceding sketch to enable
the reader to form a tolerably correct idea of the character of this
greatest representative of the heroic Six Nations. No expression of opinion
was evermore unjust than that which has persistently held him up to the
execration of mankind as a monster of cruelty.
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