In the war waged by Britain against the United States in 1812-15, he
allied himself, it is well known, with the British. He bridled license and
excess among his people, and strove to add lustre to the British arms,
by dissuading them from giving rein to any of those practices, nay, by
putting his stern interdict on all those practices, into which Indian
tribes are so prone to be betrayed, and to which they are frequently
incited by merciless chiefs. He posed, indeed, during the war as the
apostle of clemency, not as the upholder of the traditional cruelty of
the Indian.

He always displayed conspicuous bravery, and was the exponent, in his
own person, of that intense and unflinching loyalty, which I verily
believe to be bound up with the life of every Indian.

His loyalty was untainted with the slightest suspicion of treachery,
another vile characteristic from which he redeemed the Indian nature.

The position of Brant and of Sir Walter Scott, so far as each has
left living descendant to uphold his name, is almost analogous, and
marks a rather interesting coincidence. The male line in both families
is extinct. Sir Walter's blood runs now only in the daughter of his
grand-daughter: two daughters alone of a grand-daughter are living,
who own the blood of Brant.

Brant is buried in the graveyard of the old Mohawk Church, a building
instinct with memories of the departed might and prowess of the Indian.