The Belt of Seven Totems: A Story of Massasoit

by Kirk Munroe

"The Hurons have never yet been able to stand before an equal number of Iroquois," he said, "and to-day with all things in our favor it will be strange indeed if we do not wipe them out. But we may not delay, lest the spirits become angry and send their lightnings to punish our indifference to the favors they have shown. Let us, then, get to work and finish this business quickly, that we may the more speedily return to our own people."

Although Sacandaga was one of the most skilful warriors of his time, and well versed in all the tricks of his trade as practised by forest fighters, he saw fit in the present instance to lead his painted savages to the attack in a compact body. As the Hurons occupied the centre of a large cleared space so wide as to place them beyond the reach of arrows from forest covers, this plan was in a measure forced upon him. At the same time he hoped to overawe the enemy and terrify him by the number and ferocious appearance of his followers. So the Iroquois, half naked, painted, befeathered, decked with bears' claws and wolf-tails, dashed from the forest yelling and brandishing their weapons, and advanced with a rush to where the Hurons awaited them.

The latter appeared terrified, and seemed to shrink from the impending onslaught. Then their solid formation broke, leaving a wide gap, from which stepped a single figure. The Iroquois were not more than fifty paces distant; but at sight of this apparition they came to a sudden halt and stood as though petrified with amazement. The figure confronting them was indeed that described by Massasoit, only it loomed up larger than they had expected, and gleamed with a dazzling lustre in the bright sunlight. It had the form of a man, but its face was covered with a growth of hair that hung down on its breast.

The person who appeared so remarkable to the denizens of the forest that they deemed him a god was none other than the intrepid French explorer Samuel de Champlain, founder of the city of Quebec. With but two followers he had been induced to accompany a war-party of Canadian Indians on their foray into Iroquois territory, and was thus the first of his race to look upon the waters of the noble lake that has ever since borne his name.

For a few moments the Iroquois gazed awe-stricken upon this first white man they had ever seen. Then, relying upon the prophecy of Kaweras, that only thunder and lightning could prevent them from winning a victory, they bent their bows and let fly a cloud of arrows. Many of these were aimed at the white man standing so boldly before them, but, to their dismay, he remained unharmed. Nahma in particular, who had shot at the very centre of the shining breastplate, was amazed and terrified to see his arrow, after striking, bound back as though it had encountered a wall of rock.

But scant time was given for the consideration of this marvel; for, even as they shot at him, the mysterious being brought into position a strange-looking stick that he carried until it was pointed directly at them. Then came a flash of lightning, a roar of thunder, a cloud of smoke, and a dozen of the Iroquois fell to the ground as though smitten by the wrath of God. As was afterwards proved, but two of them were killed and one—Sacandaga—was grievously wounded, while the others had fallen from sheer fright. At the same time the Hurons rushed forward with triumphant yells and a flight of arrows.

For a moment the Iroquois wavered and seemed about to fly. Then Nahma, son of Longfeather, sprang to the front with a loud cry, and, swinging a stone war-club above his head, made straight for the thunder-god who had wrought such havoc. Champlain was in the act of drawing his sword when he was staggered by a terrific blow that would surely have killed him but for the steel cap that he wore. Before he could recover, and ere a second blow could be delivered, there came another flash of lightning accompanied by its thunderous roar from a clump of bushes at one side, and two more Iroquois were stricken with sudden death.

At this fresh proof that the all-powerful spirits were indeed fighting against them the hearts of the Iroquois melted, and they fled from the field a panic-stricken mob. Even Nahma joined in the mad flight; but he paused long enough to pick up his wounded chieftain, whom he hoped to be able to carry as far as the canoes.

At their heels streamed the exultant Hurons, striking down the fugitives by the score. One of these drove a spear through the body of Sacandaga; and Nahma, staggering under his burden, was knocked down by the force of the blow. As he disengaged himself from the dead sachem and regained his feet he found himself once more face to face with the awful being who held in his hands the thunders and lightning of a Manitou.