Spreading out on the river, they
beat their paddles on the gunwales of the canoes, shot off guns, and
uttered the shrill war-cry--"Ah-oh! Ah-oh! Ah-oh!" [7] Lest this
were not sufficient defiance to the penned-up fort on the river bank,
the chief stood up in his canoe, signalled silence, and gave three
shouts. At once the whole company answered till the hills rang; and
out swung the fleet of canoes with more shouting and singing and firing
of guns, each paddle-stroke sounding the death knell to the young
Frenchman's hopes.
By sunset they were among the islands at the mouth of the Richelieu,
where muskrats scuttled through the rushes and wild-fowl clouded the
air. The south shore of Lake St. Peter was heavily forested; the
north, shallow. The lake was flooded with spring thaw, and the Mohawks
could scarcely find camping-ground among the islands. The young
prisoner was deathly sick from the rank food that he had eaten and
heart-sick from the widening distance between himself and Three Rivers.
Still, they treated him kindly, saying, "Chagon! Chagon!--Be merry!
Cheer up!" The fourth day up the Richelieu, he was embarked without
being fastened to the cross-bar, and he was given a paddle. Fresh to
the work, Radisson made a labor of his oar. The Iroquois took the
paddle and taught him how to give the light, deft, feather strokes of
the Indian canoeman. On the river they met another band of warriors,
and the prisoner was compelled to show himself a trophy of victory and
to sing songs for his captors.
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