es of tormentors. The
captives were ordered to sing. If one refused or showed fear, a Mohawk
struck off a finger with a hatchet, or tore the prisoners' nails out,
or thrust red-hot irons into the muscles of the bound arms.[10] As
Radisson appeared, he was recognized with shouts of rage by the friends
of the murdered Mohawks. Men, women, and children armed with rods and
skull-crackers--leather bags loaded with stones--rushed on the slowly
moving file of prisoners.

"They began to cry from both sides," says Radisson; "we marching one
after another, environed with people to witness that hideous sight,
which seriously may be called the image of Hell in this world."

The prisoners moved mournfully on. The Hurons chanted their death
dirge. The Mohawk women uttered screams of mockery. Suddenly there
broke from the throng of onlookers the Iroquois family that had adopted
Radisson. Pushing through the crew of torturers, the mother caught
Radisson by the hair, calling him by the name of her dead son, "Orimha!
Orimha!" She cut the thongs that bound him to the poles, and wresting
him free shoved him to her husband, who led Radisson to their own lodge.

"Thou fool," cried the old chief, "thou wast my son! Thou makest
thyself an enemy! Thou lovest us not, though we saved thy life!
Wouldst kill me, too?" Then, with a rough push to a mat on the ground,
"Chagon--now, be merry! It's a merry business you've got into! Give
him something to eat!"

Trembling with fear, young Radisson put as bold a face on as he could
and made a show of eating what the squaw placed before him. He was
still relating his adventures when there came a roar of anger from the
Mohawks outside, who had discovered his absence from the line. A
moment later the rabble broke into the lodge. Jostling the friendly
chief aside, the Mohawk warriors carried Radisson back to the orgies of
the torture. The prisoners had been taken out of the stocks and placed
on several scaffoldings. One poor Frenchman fell to the ground bruised
and unable to rise. The Iroquois tore the scalp from his head and
threw him into the fire. That was Radisson's first glimpse of what was
in store for him. Then he, too, stood on the scaffolding among the
other prisoners, 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 terrifi