CHAPTER XIII TO THE LODGES OF THE WHITE MAN
Realizing that for some reason the all-powerful white man who had that day given them a victory over their enemies was displeased, the Hurons agreed after a long consultation that it must be because the only one among the Iroquois who had dared attack him was still allowed to live. So, although such pleasures were generally reserved for their home-returning, they determined to sacrifice the audacious young warrior on the spot with the hope of thus regaining the favor of their allies. In order that he might thoroughly comprehend what was in store for him, they decided that he should first witness the torture of one of his companions. For this purpose a victim was selected at random from among the captives, and the two young men, facing each other, were securely bound to saplings standing but a few yards apart.
About the feet of each was piled a quantity of dry wood, and they were ordered to chant their death-songs if they dared. The Maqua immediately began in defiant tones to recount his own deeds of prowess on the war-path, and tell how many Hurons he had slain. He hurled defiance at his enemies, taunted them with their cowardice, and sought to so enrage them that they would kill him at once; but Nahma remained dumb. He had no deeds to tell of, nor was he in a humor to invent any.
Suddenly the Hurons made a rush at the one who thus defied them, and for a few minutes a fierce struggle raged about the helpless form. When next it appeared in view its scalp had been torn off, while the still living body was gashed and mutilated almost beyond recognition; but defiant words still issued chokingly from its trembling lips. The poor mortal frame was nearly spent, but its brave spirit was undaunted. The next act of torture was by fire. Blazing splinters of fat pine were thrust into the mangled body and hot ashes were poured on its bleeding head. Then a light was applied to the dry wood, and in another minute the eager flames were leaping high about their victim.
The awful tragedy was accompanied by shrieks of laughter, mocking yells, and a frantic dancing about the two young warriors, one of whom was thus made to serve as a hideous object lesson to the other. When the first was so nearly dead that his defiant utterances were reduced to mere gaspings for breath, the dancing demons turned their attention to the second victim, and prepared to inflict upon him a series of still more devilish torments.
Nahma had witnessed everything with fascinated gaze; but though sickened to the point of fainting, had made no movement nor uttered a sound to betray the agony of his thoughts. He now knew what to expect, and was nerving himself to endure to the end, as became a warrior. Aeana would never know, of course; but if by any chance the story of his last hour should reach her ear, she must have no excuse to call him "squaw."
One of his tormentors approached with a bar of iron heated until it glowed; for, through trading with the French, this metal was now known to the Indians of the St. Lawrence valley.