But the Iroquois were brave. Of the Mohawk tribe, these. Instead of turning about, to get help, the eight warriors, whooping in rage, paddled furiously along the shore, to land at another spot and give battle.
Piskaret's Algonkins ran hard to head them off, and met the canoe again. At the shore one of the Iroquois sighted them, and stood up to fire. They shot him, so that he tumbled overboard and capsized the canoe.
The seven Mohawks were now in the water; but the water was shallow, and splashing through, they bored right in, like bulldogs.
The Piskaret Algonkins had need to shoot fast and true. The Mohawks feared nothing, and despised Algonkins. Besides, they now knew that Piskaret was before them, and his scalp they considered a great prize.
The Mohawks lost this battle. Before they could gain shelter, of their seven four had been killed, two had been captured, and there was only one who escaped.
No time was to be lost. The sounds of the battle probably had been heard.
"We have done well," said Piskaret. "Now we may run."
So they launched their canoes, and with two prisoners and eleven scalps they plied their paddles at best speed for the Richelieu.
Down the Richelieu, and down the St. Lawrence, nothing disagreeable happened, save that, when one of the Mohawks (a large, out-spoken warrior) defied the Algonkins to do their worst upon him, and called them weaklings, he was struck across the mouth, to silence him.
"Where are you taking us, then?"