William Thomas Wilson, For the Love of Lady Margaret: A Romance of the Lost Colony
“ The tomahawk sped onward and struck him with a dull thud full in the face, braining him at a blow, and spattering blood upon those who stood beside him. Throwing up his hands, he fell at full length upon the ground. An instant thus I stood, with my hand raised as I had thrown the tomahawk, and then from somewhere back in the crowd there arose a voice, shrill and piercing:"How long will the Cherokees bow their heads like squaws, while this strange Eagle soars into their lodges, winning their loveliest maiden, and strikes down with his talons their braves? ”
