The bullets of these new assailants added to the terror of the Iroquois.  They writhed and darted to and fro to escape the leaden missiles that tore through their frail barricade.  At a signal from Champlain the allies rushed from their leafy covert, flew to the breastwork, tore down or clambered over the boughs, and precipitated themselves into the fort, while the French ceased their firing and led a party of Indians to the assault on the opposite side.

The howls of defiance, screams of pain, deafening war-whoops, and dull sound of deadly blows were now redoubled.  Many of the Iroquois stood their ground, hewing with tomahawks and war-clubs, and dying not unrevenged.  Some leaped the barrier and were killed by the crowd outside; others sprang into the river and were drowned; of them all not one escaped, and at the end of the conflict but fifteen remained alive, prisoners in the hands of their deadly foes, destined victims of torture and flame.

On the next day a large party of Hurons arrived, and heard with envy the story of the fight, in which they were too late to take part.  The forest and river shore were crowded with Indian huts.  Hundreds of warriors assembled, who spent the day in wild war-dances and songs, then loaded their canoes and paddled away in triumph to their homes, without a thought of following up their success and striking yet heavier blows upon their dreaded enemy.  Even Champlain, who was versed in civilized warfare, made no attempt to lead them to an invasion of the Iroquois realm.  He did not dream of the deadly reprisal which the now defeated race would exact for this day of disaster.

Of the further doings of Champlain we shall relate but one incident,—­a thrilling adventure which he tells of his being lost in the interminable woodland depths.  Year after year he continued his explorations; now voyaging far up the Ottawa; now reaching the mighty inland sea of Lake Huron, voyaging upon its waters, and visiting the Indian villages upon its shores; now again battling with the Iroquois, who, this time, drove their assailants in baffled confusion from their fort; now joining an Indian hunting-party, and taking part with them in their annual deer-hunt.  For this they constructed two lines of posts interlaced with boughs, each more than half a mile long, and converging to a point where a strong enclosure was built.  The hunters drove the deer before them into this enclosure, where others despatched them with spears and arrows.  It was during this expedition that the incident referred to took place.

Champlain had gone into the forest with the hunters.  Here he saw a bird new to him, and whose brilliant hue and strange shape struck him with surprise and admiration.  It was, to judge from his description, a red-headed woodpecker.  Bent on possessing this winged marvel, he pursued it, gun in hand.  From bough to bough, from tree to tree, the bird fitted onward, leading the unthinking hunter step by step deeper into the wilderness.  Then, when he surely thought to capture his prize, the luring wonder took wing and vanished in the forest depths.