THE WHITE AND THE GOLD

The exalted deaths of the Midland martyrs

With machinelike precision the Iroquois dismembered the once~mighty Huron nation. And with the Hurons died two Jesuit martyrs whose names today shine as brightly as the dreadful fires that destroyed them

THOMAS B. COSTAIN May 1 1954
THE WHITE AND THE GOLD

The exalted deaths of the Midland martyrs

With machinelike precision the Iroquois dismembered the once~mighty Huron nation. And with the Hurons died two Jesuit martyrs whose names today shine as brightly as the dreadful fires that destroyed them

THOMAS B. COSTAIN May 1 1954

The exalted deaths of the Midland martyrs

THE WHITE AND THE GOLD

PART FOUR

THOMAS B. COSTAIN

With machinelike precision the Iroquois dismembered the once~mighty Huron nation. And with the Hurons died two Jesuit martyrs whose names today shine as brightly as the dreadful fires that destroyed them

IN THE MIDDLE 1640s, the mighty warriors of the Five Nations relaxed their sporadic siege of the isolated but strangely tough little French colony of Montreal and turned their attention to an older task.

Before the decade was over, they had accomplished as dreadful a feat

of arms as any known to the history of Canada—the destruction of their most numerous rivals, the Hurons.

The Iroquois did not owe their supremacy over the other Indian tribes to their courage and ferocity alone. With their great physical strength they combined a high degree of intelligence and a capacity for organization which the others lacked. The hit-and-miss Huron, the lackadaisical Neutral, the erratic Erie, were creatures of impulse. The men of the Five Nations proceeded always according to plan. They had created a parliamentary procedure for arriving at decisions and this led to a Spartan-like unity of purpose in carrying out what they had decided.

The chiefs of the Five Nations were chosen by a system which was partly hereditary and partly selective. A dead chief’s successor was never chosen from among his sons—there was always some doubt of paternity—but from his relatives on the distaff side. If none of the cousins and nephews seemed strong enough to suit the opinionated and outspoken rank and file, a council would be called to select the warrior best fitted to assume charge. This entitled the new chief, among other privileges, to sit in the supreme upper

council of the Five Nations, which was made up of fifty sachems, each of the tribes having a definite allotment. It was in this upper chamber, this meeting place of senators, that all matters of importance were decided, particularly the questions of war and peace.

The fifty sachems gathered by established custom in the council-house at the Valley of Onondaga, the Onondagas being the tribe centrally located. Generally the whole Iroquois population would move out of the rolling hills and valleys of their fruitful country and follow their leaders to Onondaga, there to sit in dense groups and hold their own conclaves while the great men talked in the council-house. The concerted wisdom of these open-air forums, including those of the women who were always given a hearing, would be conveyed by delegates to the solemn council of the sachems and would be fully considered before any final decisions were reached. Once made, a decision had the unanimous support of all the Five Nations.

It was an intense pride of race which made them conquerors. In the early years of the 18th century they were to admit to their confederacy a tribe which had been forced out of South Carolina and had migrated to the north, the Tuscaroras. They called themselves thereafter t he Six Nations but their attitude to the Tuscaroras was always condescending and resentful.

The habits, the beliefs, the likes, the dislikes, of all the aborigines of North America were, of course, diametrically

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opposed to those of Europeans. The Indian found the smell of grease and oil, which he daubed all over his body, most agreeable to his senses, whereas it was like carrion to the French. On the other hand, “the rose, the pink, the clove, the nutmeg are insipid to him.” The same divergence was to be found in all respects.

Civilized music was nothing but a confusion of sound in the savage ear. The warrior, who never seemed to sing except when under torture or at the approach of death, considered his own heavy and dismal songs “as beautiful as the blush of dawn.”

In the matter of food the Indian liked his meat smoked, which gave it to the French palate a taste like soot. “Yellow porridge,” the Indian term for mustard, was the most obnoxious of all foods to the Indian since the day when one of their number, offered a dish of mustard, scooped up the whole contents and took it down at a single gulp. Tears which he could not check poured from his eyes but otherwise he concealed his suffering as any victim at the torture stake. From that moment to proffer yellow porridge was a deadly insult.

The Indians admired their own small black eyes and long features. Contrary to the general impression they disliked the white skins of the French. They found curly hair grotesque while beards seemed nothing short of loathsome. A savage would often look into the face of a bearded Frenchman, shudder and say, “Ugh, how ugly you are!” The Indians were surprised at the roughness of European skins; their own were soft and delicate, as a result of the constant application of oil and grease.

In spite of the supremacy of the Iroquois, the credit for producing the greatest individual warrior of that day belongs to the Algonquins. His name was Piskiart.

Piskiart lived in the Ottawa country and had become a Christian; almost certainly, it was said, with an eye to receiving the musket which the French sometimes felt safe in confiding into the hands of converts. Tf the great Piskiart had taken the vows with an ulterior motive in the first place, he made up for it later by becoming thoroughly devout in his declining years; and certainly he made good use of the musket. He was a tall fellow with the agility of a panther and the face of an eagle; a lone wolf, moreover, for he preferred to fight alone. His greatest feat was when he stole down into the enemy country, a war party of one. Reaching a Mohawk village after night had fallen, he located a huge pile of wood at the edge of the nearby forest and made a hiding place under it. Then he stole into the village and killed all the occupants of one lodge, men, women and children, never using more than a single blow to split open a skull. In his secret and convenient niche under the woodpile, he heard the commotion next morning when the catastrophe was discovered; the lamentations, the shouts of rage, the departure of parties to track him down, the return of the discomfited avengers emptyhanded.

The second night, believing that the killer would not dare to return, the village sank again into heavy slumbers and Piskiart repeated his sanguinary feat by slaughtering the occupants of another lodge. The second day was a repetition of the first hut when the insatiable and confident Piskiart emerged

from his woodpile the third night, he discovered that a string of sentries had been set about the village. Having to be content with killing one of them, he raised a wild cry of triumph, and departed. The Iroquois sent a party after him. This time he made no effort to conceal himself but boldly set out for his own country. All through the day the chase went on. The pursuing braves followed the usual plan of taking turns at setting the pace so that he was forced to travel at high speed through most of the day. Among his other accomplishments Piskiart seems to have been the fleetest of all runners. At any rate he showed his heels to the lot of them. The pursuing party finally gave up and settled down to a night’s sleep in a state of complete exhaustion; upon which the bold Algonquin slipped back and brained them all with his well-

reddened tomahawk. But the Hurons had no Piskiarts, nor is it likely that a hundred Piskiarts could have saved them once the businesslike Iroquois had resolved to wipe them out.

Of all Indian tribes the Hurons seemed to respond most readily to Christian teachings and in each of the four tribal families into which they were divided, the Bear, the Rock, the Cord and the Deer, the number of converts had been rising in a steady tide. The pagans were still in a majority but counts made in the forties varied from one Jesuit priest’s estimate of 8,000 to a more conservative figure of 1,300 baptisms.

This reduced the effectiveness of the Hurons as warriors. The converts, accepting the teachings of Christ wholeheartedly, became gentle and asked nothing better than to hunt and fish and tend their maize and pumpkin patches near the shores of Georgian Bay and to follow the injunctions of their spiritual fathers. As a further handicap, few of them had firearms. By this time the Iroquois were wellsupplied with guns and had acquired skill in the use of them.

The Jesuits had established twelve missions in this beautiful country. It was a small corner of Ontario, somewhat less than forty miles deep and twenty miles wide, a land of rolling hills and many rivers with a maze of villages around which the land had been cleared. An attempt had been made to make the chapels attractive because the natives responded quickly to beauty and mystery. Each mission had a bell or as a substitute a kettle

or any other utensil of metal from which sounds could be produced. Crosses had been raised in forest glades and at junction points of the trails so that the eyes of the natives would be continuously filled with reminders of the faith which held out its arms to them.

The main mission, which served the double purpose of an administrative centre and a retreat for the priests, was that of Ste. Marie. It stood near the mouth of the Wye River, a group of buildings of impressive size.

Although supplies and tools had to be brought in by canoe over many hundred miles of water, the engineers and their mission helpers erected and fortified a cluster of substantial buildings and supplied them with ingenious defense measures, the most astonishing being an underground water passage through which canoes could enter and leave without being seen.

The clump of frame buildings on stone foundations which made up the chief part of Ste. Marie was surrounded by a stone wall with strong bastions at each corner. There was in addition a deep moat protected by a barbican of timber. The stone wall was 175 feet long and 90 wide, a far cry from the wood palisades which had been the main feature of fortifications up to this time. Tt was believed that the mission could be held against any Indian attack.

Within the walls were two main buildings, the larger being a two-story structure used as living quarters for the priests. The other main building was the chapel which was sufficiently impressive to make it in the eyes of the natives the first wonder of the world. There were also sundry structures of lesser size, kitchens and service buildings as well as storage sheds.

This was only the inner core of the mission. The outer portions, which provided adequate quarters for the natives, were enclosed by a double wooden palisade nearly 800 feet long. Four buildings stood inside the palisades, including an Indian long house where the dusky visitors slept, a hospital of European construction with a large stone fireplace, and two smaller structures which served probably for storage purposes. In this enclosure the hospitable fathers had looked after as many as 700 Christian Indians in a twoweek period, feeding them three bountiful meals a day as well as serving their spiritual needs. It was the desire to be tended in illness and buried in death which brought most of them to Ste. Marie. There was a large and welltended cemetery within the high palisades.

The mission, over which Father Ragueneau presided as Superior, had a rather considerable European population. The highest number recorded was in 1645 when the total reached 58, which included 22 soldiers, 18 priests and a full complement of lay members.

Around Ste. Marie were great stretches of tilled land where crops of grain and vegetables were raised, and fruit trees of all kinds. In the fields the white workers were assisted by converts and the agricultural branch was so well handled that in the spring of 1649, when the threat of Iroquois aggression obscured the sky like a dark cloud, a surplus of food was reported sufficient for three years.

Alarming rumors had come as early as the winter of 1647-8. The Iroquois had broken the peace. A war party of unprecedented size—the Huron scouts said it numbered 1,200 braves—had ascended the Ottawa and were wintering in the country around Lake N¡pissing. This intelligence inspired so much terror that free communication with the French settlements in the east

came to an abrupt stop. The fur fleets did not go down the Ottawa as usual. However, the Huron hunters used up their supplies so quickly that they were dependent on the French for their metal weapons and utensils. It became necessary to reach Quebec and in the early summer an effort was made to get in touch with the east. So great was the fear inspired by the Iroquois, that an escort of 250 warriors was provided. The departure of this large body of fighting men, which was a serious mistake on the part of the Hurons, served as a signal to the enemy to begin operations. They came silently down the river, traveling by night, their fierce eyes turned to the west where the nation lived which they had sworn to destroy.

The most vulnerable of the Huron villages was SL Joseph, or Teanostaiae, because it lay on the extreme south border and could not obtain assistance quickly. Normally, it was the largest, having 2,000 inhabitants, but many able-bodied men were with the party going via the Ottawa to Montreal.

On July 4, Father Antoine Daniel, the Jesuit in charge of the St. Joseph mission, was celebrating early Mass and an unusually large gathering filled the chapel. It promised to be a warm day and already a strong sun was flooding through the windows and lighting the interior. Suddenly the resonant voice of the priest was interrupted by a cry from the palisades, “The Hotinonsionni! The Hotinonsionni!”

The Arrow Foiled Them

Father Daniel raised his hand as a signal that the service could not be continued and then hurried to the door of the chapel. To his dismay he saw that the Iroquois had already made a breach in the palisade and were pouring into the town. Naked warriors, armed with guns and mad with blood lust, were pouring through the breach. The din was unearthly, horrible, indescribable.

The priest realized that this was the end, for the village, for his flock and for him. He went back and baptized the panic-stricken people who crowded about him, pleading for protection. Then, in his white alb and red stole and carrying a large cross in front of him, he strode to the entrance.

By this time the Iroquois were in almost complete possession and the work of butchery had begun. The screams of the victims mingled with the bestial cries of the attackers. It is said that the Iroquois paused when they first glimpsed the figure of the fearless priest emerging from the chapel with unhurried steps, raising the cross high above his head. If they did, it was for a moment only. They surged about him and an overzealous arrow (the accurate aim robbing them of what they desired most, a Black-Gown as a captive) struck him down.

The town was set on fire and for a day and night thereafter a heavy pall of smoke rose above the treetops to tell the rest of the Huron country that aggression had struck. The victors then made off as fleetly and silently as they had come, taking 700 terrified prisoners. The mind recoils from contemplation of the orgies which followed when they reached their villages among the Finger Lakes in what is now northern New York.

The summer passed with no more than small and sporadic attacks but in the fall a second Iroquois party made its way up the Ottawa, to winter in the woods of the north. This meant another attack and the Hurons had no difficulty in deciding where it would fall. The eastern frontier was open to attack and the enemy might be ex-

THE HEROIC STAND AT LONG SAULT

rhomas B. Costain retells the thrilling and inspiring story of how Adam Dollard and his handful of patriots gave their lives three hundred years ago to save Montreal from the hordes of the murderous Iroquois.

The White and the Gold - Part V

IN THE NEXT I S S U E O N S A L E M A Y 5

pected to cross the Severn and, putting the North River and the Coldwater behind them, fall upon St. Ignace and St. Louis and the nest of smaller villages scattered about them. An idea of the compactness of the Huron country is .supplied by the fact that St. Ignace, which was regarded as dangerously exposed, was only eight miles east of the stone ramparts of Ste. Marie.

Had a little more time been granted, the village of St. Ignace would have been made impregnable to any attack the Iroquois might launch. It was situated on a high flat ridge, six acres in extent, which protruded from the wooded hills behind it like the blunted head of an arrow. The sides of this elevated ground were so steep that they could not be scaled. To defend the relatively level approach, the elder statesmen of the community had planned strong fortifications across this strip which was no more than a hundred yards wide. There were to be triple palisades with bastions extending out far enough to cover all approaches, and the main I entrance was to be massive. It was intended, in fact, to make St. Ignace an outer fort of great strength for the whole of the Huron country.

The Best-Loved Father

Such was the plan. There had been much procrastination during the winter months, however. The men of St. Ignace had hugged their fires according to custom and had done little. This must have dismayed the two priests who were responsible for the welfare of the nest of villages which lay behind St. Ignace. Father Jean de Brébeuf had this part of the country in his charge, with the assistance of Father Gabriel Lalemant.

St. Louis lay halfway between St. Ignace and Ste. Marie and here the two priests had established themselves. Often during the lpng winter the brave pair left their small fire at St. Louis and tramped over the rolling hills to the outpost village to urge that the work be continued. They presented a marked contrast, these two faithful shepherds. Father Brébeuf was a massive man, far above the average in height and strongly built. Father Lalemant was small and of uncertain health. The older man always strode ahead, his puny assistant following at his heels. The Hurons had great respect for each of them; but nothing could stir them out of their apathy, not even the prospect of an attack when the snows melted.

Jean de Brébeuf was, without a doubt, the best loved of all the missionary priests. A Norman by birth and of good family, he had joined the Society early. He had now been 22 years in the mission field and during that time he had been unfailingly kind

and brave, bringing to his work the devotion of a sublime faith. As the years rolled on and the shoulders of the tall priest became a little bent and his dark hair and beard turned to grey, the Hurons grew so attached to hire that his absence would seem the greatest of misfortunes. They called hire affectionately Echón. Once he had been away from them on a long journey and when his tall figure in its tight black soutane was seen approaching through the woods, they rushed out to greet him.

Everyone in the village saluted him, touching his hand and saying over and over, “Echón, my nephew, my brother, my cousin, hast thou then come again?”

On the trail he always took the heaviest loads at the portages and made the most frequent trips. He rowed or paddled without stopping from the start to the finish of the day.

“I am an ox,” he would say, referring to his name, “and fit only to bear burdens.”

Because he often said, “God has treated me with so much mildness,” it was in his thought that he would die by violence. At times he had been visited by a recurring vision, Death attached to a post with hands bound behind.

The blow fell on the morning of March 16 of this sanguinary year 1649. Although they were prepared in Huronia for an attack there was no thought it would come as early as this. The ice had not broken on the rivers, there was still heavy snow on the ground, the winds from the north still blew with relentless vigor. The elder statesmen at St. Ignace drowsed over their pipes and the permanent palisades had not been raised over that hundred-yard strip. So many of the able-bodied men were hunting in the woods that most of the houses were unoccupied except for the very old and the very young.

The tall priest and the puoy one were at St. Louis, having walked over together the night before from a week end of retreat and contemplation at Ste. Marie. The community was roused before dawn by the frantic cries of three Hurons who came racing through the woods, their faces filled with terror. The Iroquois had struck St. Ignace, scaling the makeshift walls before anyone in the doomed village was awake. These three alone had been able to get away and the answers they gave to the hysterical questions showered on them contained no grain of comfort. The men of the Long House were as numerous as the empty shells on the shore (there were, it developed, a thousand Mohawk and Seneca warriors in the party) and they were all armed with guns. They would soon be swarming through the woods to add the destruction of St. Louis to the

dreadful sacking of St. Ignace.

The terrified trio were right on the last point. As the sun came up over the trees, the topknot of the first Mohawk was seen in the woods; and in a matter of seconds the space around the palisades of the village was filled with terrifying figures. The Iroquois had smeared the blood of the dead at St. Ignace over their heads and faces and they were screeching with great frenzy for more victims.

There were only eighty Huron warriors in St. Louis but with a courage which amounted to rashness, they had decided to stay and fight it out instead of seeking sanctuary behind the stone walls of Ste. Marie. Stephen Annaotaha, one of the bravest of Huron chiefs, was there and had been firm in the resolution to fight. The sick and the old had been routed out and sent to Ste. Marie.

“My brothers, save yourselves!” the chief had said to the two priests. “Go now, while there is time!”

Father Brébeuf must have known that at last the fate he had apprehended had found him but he knew also how great would be the need for him before this day of blood was over. He would not leave. Father Lalemant, whose delicacy of constitution had made life in the wilds an incredible hardship, was equally determined to remain with the doomed flock.

It did not take long for the attacking party to make a breach in the walls. They swarmed into the village, a thousand strong; and the eighty Hurons, fighting doggedly and repelling the first thrusts, were soon killed or captured. Brébeuf and his companions were in the thick of it, tending the wounded and administering the last rites to the dying. Unfortunately for them they were not killed as Father Daniel had been. They were captured and led away when the screeching horde decided to enjoy their victory orgies at St. Ignace.

Jean de Brébeuf and Gabriel Lalemant were led out to the platform which had been raised for the torturing of the prisoners, raised up high so that all of the bloodthirsty mob could watch and take delight in the “caressing” of the victims. The two priests had been stripped to the skin and the younger man, conscious of the boniness of his frame and filled with a sense of shame, quoted to his companion the words of St. Paul, “Truly,

this day, Father, we are made a spectacle to the world, and to angels and to men.”

Father Brébeuf was to die first; Lalemant, for a time, was to watch. The tall priest kissed the stake before they chained him to it, and in a loud voice he exhorted his companions in misfortune to keep stout hearts. He was first scorched from head to foot with blazing torches and all the nails were torn from his fingers. A Huron renegade, who had been baptized by the good priest, cried out, “Echón, thou sayest that the sufferings of this life lead straight to paradise: thou wilt

go soon, for I am going to baptize thee.” The renegade then took kettles filled with boiling water and poured them over the grey head which was held so high, crying out with a mad delight, “Go to heaven, for thou art well baptized.”

His Flesh Was Roasted

'The most frightful of all the tortures practiced was the application of the collar. This had been used often enough by the Hurons and Algonquins as well as the Iroquois, and it seems to have been with all of them their favorite refinement of cruelty. They took a large withe of green wood and attached to it six hatchets which had been heated white-hot over the flames. This they hung over the shoulders of the man at the stake. If the victim leaned forward to rid his chest of the excruciating pain of this diabolical necklace, the sizzling iron sank deeper into the back; and so every move, every instinctive shrinking of the flesh, added to the torment. There was intense excitement, a depravity of slavering jowls, among the capering, jeering braves, when this infernal instrument was placed around the neck of Father Brébeuf. The smell of scorching flesh could be detected at once; but that indomitable man disappointed them by making no move, by uttering no sound.

Then they proceeded to encase his mutilated body in a bark weasand belt which had been made inflammable with pitch and resin, and to this they set fire. His flesh, already torn and scalded, began to roast in this sheath of fire but his deep voice never faltered nor broke as he continued to exhort the watchers and to beg forgiveness for them. To stop that brave voice the angry tribesmen cut off both his lips

îiftd part of liis tongue. Then they stripped the flesh from his thighs and arms, roasting it in the fire which was consuming him and eating it before his eyes, in which a faint spark of consciousness still burned.

Father Brébeuf had been the most conversant of all the priests with the native tongues and one of his labors had been the translation of the Lord’s Prayer into Huron. Perhaps the strange words came back into his tortured mind and, while his lips still held a power of utterance, he began to pronounce them; a final act of devotion as the shades closed about him:

“Onaistan de aronhise isteire. Sasin tehon . .

Father Brébeuf, the much-loved Echón, was tortured from noon of | that red and wrathful day until four in the afternoon. When his heart had been torn from his body and eaten—it was scrambled for because he had died so bravely—they threw his broken body into the flames; but the embers were dying down about the stake and what was left of him, resolute even in death, refused to be consumed.

The frail body of Father Lalemant, who was called by his flock Atironta, resisted death for eleven hours.

Only Thirty Hurons Survive

Following the capture of St. Louis | and the killing of the two priests, Huron warriors from other parts of the country came up to assist in repelling the attacks. The largest band came from the populous village of Ossossané, the headquarters of the j family of the Bear. They drove the invaders who had remained at St. Louis back into the smoking ruins of the stockade. Iroquois scouts carried the j word to St. Ignace. The men of the Five Nations, glutted with blood and their victory feast, turned savagely to | meet the attack. The Bear warriors j found themselves outnumbered three to j one and were surrounded in turn. They fought bravely and the struggle lasted for the better part of a day. In the j end, of course, numbers prevailed and all but thirty of the Hurons were killed.

This bold effort, without a doubt, j saved Ste. Marie. Since the tragic | moment when the smoke of St. Ignace j had first been visible above the treetops, the Frenchmen had stationed themselves on guard on the stone walls, forty in all. They expected to be attacked at any moment and had small hope of withstanding a siege by such a large band. At one stage they sighted Iroquois scouts in the edge of the forest and they looked well to the priming of their guns, thinking that the moment had come. At this point, however, the rescue party from Ossossané struck at St. Louis and the struggle there engaged the full attention of the invaders.

It was then that a strange misapprehension took possession of the Iroquois leaders. They had everything in their own hands. Only a few small Huron parties remained at large in the woods. Somehow the invaders became convinced that large forces were gathering to hem them in and a sense almost of panic showed itself in their councils.

It was decided that they had accomplished as much as they could hope to and that the time had come to retire to their own country. They moved with extraordinary speed. With savage temper they drove their prisoners before them, dispatching any who showed physical weakness or an inability to hold the pace.

The unexpected withdrawal of the Iroquois came too late to save the Huron nation. Certain that the relentless warriors from the Finger Lakes would come back, and keep coming

back until no one was left to oppose them, the despondent Hurons began to scatter. Not knowing what to do, the homeless Huron Christians, most of them women and children, wandered into the Petun country and begged to be taken in. Others migrated still farther south, after burning their villages and destroying their crops, to find sanctuary with the Neutrals and the Eries. The few who remained betook themselves to Ste. Marie where the busy mission staff had to serve 6,000 meals in the first few days.

The few survivors had no will to remain in their own land. They moved to a large island off the northern tip of Nottawasaga which the French named later St.. Joseph’s. It was a large island and capable of accommodating the refugees. The thoroughly demoralized Hurons, believing they would be safe there, urged the mission staff at Ste. Marie to follow them.

With the utmost reluctance the Jesuit fathers at Ste. Marie decided they would have to move. Their charges had deserted them and they could serve no good purpose by remaining in the desolation to which this onee populous land had been reduced. On May 15 they set. fire to all the buildings and removed to the island, using one fishing boat and a very large raft for the transportation of their livestock, and a large store of corn and vegetables.

It, became apparent at once that the food surplus would be needed. The poor Hurons, who seemed to have lost all energy and initiative, were subsisting on acorns and a bitter root they called otsa, sometimes being reduced to living off garlic which they baked under ashes. Fish abounded in the waters about the island but they lacked boats to take advantage of this and were not attempting to build any new ones.

The Jesuit fathers provided food for the starving refugees and they began to build a very strong fort against the possibility of future attacks which they named Ste. Marie II. Their own tragic losses in no wise deterred the Jesuit missionaries. More came eagerly to the perilous task, asserting ‘‘the blood of the martyrs is the seed of the Church.” They received the one reward for which they might have asked: The Hurons, in their despair, turned to the teachings of the missionaries. During this tragic period more than fourteen hundred were baptized and admitted to the church.

But the first objective of the Iroquois had been achieved. The Hurons no longer existed as a nation. Scattered in all directions, they would never again draw themselves together. A few remained permanently on the islands of Georgian Bay and more still moved westward to Mackinac Island at the northern end of Lake Huron. Those who had taken refuge with the Neutral Nations gradually lost their identity. For 22 years the missionaries had labored among them and now not a single living soul was left in all of that once beautiful land. The forests were as silent as before the coming of man. The only evidences left of Huron occupation were the trails through the forest, the blackened ruins of the villages, and at St. Ignace, perhaps, the charred stake where Jean de Brébeuf had given up his life. ★

NEXT ISSUE • PART FIVE

The Heroic Stand at Long Sanlt