In fact, all through the night the Iroquois tried every stratagem of their savage warfare.  With ear-splitting yells they came close up to the stockade, and in one such charge two or three of their young men even managed to climb to the tops of the pointed stakes, though but to meet their death at the muzzles of the muskets within.  Then there arose curving lines of fire from without the walls, half circles which terminated at last in little jarring thuds, where blazing arrows fell and stood in log, or earth, or unprotected roof.  These projectiles, wrapped with lighted birch bark, served as fire brands, and danger enough they carried.  Yet, after some fashion, the little garrison kept down these incipient blazes, held together the terrified Illini, repulsed each repeated charge of the Iroquois, and so at last wore through the long and fearful night.

The sun was just rising across the tops of the distant groves when the Iroquois made their next advance.  It came not in the form of a concerted attack, but of an appeal for peace.  A party of the savages left their cover and approached the fortress, waving their hands above their heads.  One of them presently advanced alone.

“What is it, Pierre?” asked Law.  “What does the fellow want?”

“I care not what he wants,” said Pierre Noir, carefully adjusting the lock of his piece and steadily regarding the savage as he approached; “but I’ll wager you a year’s pay he never gets alive past yonder stump.”

“Stay!” cried Pembroke, catching at the barrel of the leveled gun.  “I believe he would talk with us.”

“What does he say, Pierre?” asked Law.  “Speak to him, if you can.”

“He wants to know,” said Pierre, as the messenger at length stopped and began a harangue, “whether we are English or French.  He says something about there being a big peace between Corlaer and Onontio; by which he means, gentlemen, the governor at New York and the governor at Quebec.”

“Tell him,” cried Pembroke, with a sudden thought, “that I am an officer of Corlaer, and that Corlaer bids the Iroquois to bring in all the prisoners they have taken.  Tell him that the French are going to give up all their prisoners to us, and that the Iroquois must leave the war path, or my Lord Bellomont will take the war trail and wipe their villages off the earth.”

Something in this speech as conveyed to the savage seemed to give him a certain concern.  He retired, and presently his place was taken by a tall and stately figure, dressed in the full habiliments of an Iroquois chieftain.  He came on calmly and proudly, his head erect, and in his extended hand the long-stemmed pipe of peace.  Pierre Noir heaved a deep sigh of relief.

“Unless my eyes deceive me,” said he, “’tis old Teganisoris himself, one of the head men of the Onondagos.  If so, there is some hope, for Teganisoris is wise enough to know when peace is best.”

It was, indeed, that noted chieftain of the Iroquois who now advanced close up to the wall.  Law and Pembroke stepped out to meet him beyond the palisade, the old voyageur still serving as interpreter from the platform at their back.