Pathfinders of the West | Page 9

away from the cat? To the
Indians' amusement, instead of trying to escape, Radisson picked up a
spear and practised tossing it, till a Mohawk became so interested that
he jumped up and taught the young Frenchman the proper throws. That
day the Indians gave him the present of a hunting-knife. North of Lake
Champlain, the river became so turbulent that they were forced to land
and make a portage. Instead of lagging, as captives frequently did from
very fear as they approached nearer and nearer what was almost certain
to mean death-torture in the Iroquois villages--Radisson hurried over
the rocks, helping the older warriors to carry their packs. At night he
was the first to cut wood for the camp fire.
About a week from the time they had left Lake St. Peter, they entered
Lake Champlain. On the shores of the former had been enacted the
most hideous of all Indian customs--the scalp dance. On the shores of
the latter was performed one of the most redeeming rites of Indian
warfare. Round a small pool of water a coppice of branches was
interlaced. Into the water were thrown hot stones till the enclosure was
steaming. Here each warrior took a sweat-bath of purification to
prepare for reunion with his family. Invoking the spirits as they bathed,
the warriors emerged washed--as they thought--of all blood-guilt.[8]
[Illustration: Map of the Iroquois country in the days of Radisson.]
In the night shots sounded through the heavy silence of the forest, and
the Mohawks embarked in alarm, compelling their white prisoner to lie
flat in the bottom of the canoe. In the morning when he awakened, he
found the entire band hidden among the rushes of the lake. They spent

several days on Lake Champlain, then glided past wooded mountains
down a calm river to Lake George, where canoes were abandoned and
the warriors struck westward through dense forests to the country of the
Iroquois. Two days from the lake slave women met the returning
braves, and in Radisson's words, "loaded themselves like mules with
baggage." On this woodland march Radisson won golden opinions for
himself by two acts: struck by an insolent young brave, he thrashed the
culprit soundly; seeing an old man staggering under too heavy a load,
the white youth took the burden on his own shoulders.
The return of the warriors to their villages was always celebrated as a
triumph. The tribe marched out to meet them, singing, firing guns,
shouting a welcome, dancing as the Israelites danced of old when
victors returned from battle. Men, women, and children lined up on
each side armed with clubs and whips to scourge the captives. Well for
Radisson that he had won the warriors' favor; for when the time came
for him to run the gantlet of Iroquois diableries, instead of being slowly
led, with trussed arms and shackled feet, he was stripped free and
signalled to run so fast that his tormentors could not hit him. Shrieks of
laughter from the women, shouts of applause from the men, always
greeted the racer who reached the end of the line unscathed. A captive
Huron woman, who had been adopted by the tribe, caught the white
boy as he dashed free of a single blow clear through the lines of
tormentors. Leading him to her cabin, she fed and clothed him.
Presently a band of braves marched up, demanded the surrender of
Radisson, and took him to the Council Lodge of the Iroquois for
judgment.
Old men sat solemnly round a central fire, smoking their calumets in
silence. Radisson was ordered to sit down. A coal of fire was put in the
bowl of the great Council Pipe and passed reverently round the
assemblage. Then the old Huron woman entered, gesticulating and
pleading for the youth's life. The men smoked on silently with deep,
guttural "ho-ho's," meaning "yes, yes, we are pleased." The woman was
granted permission to adopt Radisson as a son. Radisson had won his
end. Diplomacy and courage had saved his life. It now remained to
await an opportunity for escape.

Radisson bent all his energies to become a great hunter. He was given
firearms, and daily hunted with the family of his adoption. It so
happened that the family had lost a son in the wars, whose name had
signified the same as Radisson's--that is, "a stone"; so the Pierre of
Three Rivers became the Orimha of the Mohawks. The Iroquois
husband of the woman who had befriended him gave such a feast to the
Mohawk braves as befitted the prestige of a warrior who had slain
nineteen enemies with his own hand. Three hundred young Mohawks
sat down to a collation of moose nose and beaver tails and bears' paws,
served by slaves. To this banquet Radisson was