who never ceased singing their death song.  In the midst of these horrors—­diableries, the Jesuits called them—­as if the very elements had been moved with pity, there burst over the darkened forest a terrific hurricane of hail and rain.  This put out the fires and drove all the tormentors away but a few impish children, who stayed to pluck nails from the hands and feet of the captives and shoot arrows with barbed points at the naked bodies.  Every iniquity that cruelty could invent, these children practised on the captives.  Red-hot spears were brought from the lodge fires and thrust into the prisoners.  The mutilated finger ends were ground between stones.  Thongs were twisted round wrists and ankles, by sticks put through a loop, till flesh was cut to the bone.  As the rain ceased falling, a woman, who was probably the wife of one of the murdered Mohawks, brought her little boy to cut one of Radisson’s fingers with a flint stone.  The child was too young and ran away from the gruesome task.

Gathering darkness fell over the horrible spectacle.  The exhausted captives, some in a delirium from pain, others unconscious, were led to separate lodges, or dragged over the ground, and left tied for the night.  The next morning all were returned to the scaffolds, but the first day had glutted the Iroquois appetite for tortures.  The friendly family was permitted to approach Radisson.  The mother brought him food and told him that the Council Lodge had decided not to kill him for that day—­they wanted the young white warrior for their own ranks; but even as the cheering hope was uttered, came a brave with a pipe of live coals, in which he thrust and held Radisson’s thumb.  No sooner had the tormentor left than the woman bound up the burn and oiled Radisson’s wounds.  He suffered no abuse that day till night, when the soles of both feet were burned.  The majority of the captives were flung into a great bonfire.  On the third day of torture he almost lost his life.  First came a child to gnaw at his fingers.  Then a man appeared armed for the ghastly work of mutilation.  Both these the Iroquois father of Radisson sent away.  Once, when none of the friendly family happened to be near, Radisson was seized and bound for burning, but by chance the lighted faggot scorched his executioner.  A friendly hand slashed the thongs that bound him, and he was drawn back to the scaffold.

Past caring whether he lived or died, and in too great agony from the burns of his feet to realize where he was going, Radisson was conducted to the Great Council.  Sixty old men sat on a circle of mats, smoking, round the central fire.  Before them stood seven other captives.  Radisson only was still bound.  A gust of wind from the opening lodge door cleared the smoke for an instant and there entered Radisson’s Indian father, clad in the regalia of a mighty chief.  Tomahawk and calumet and medicine-bag were in his hands.  He took his place in the circle of councillors.  Judgment was to be given on the remaining prisoners.