Striking back his own warriors with a great show of sincerity, he bade the Hurons run for refuge to the top of the hill.  No sooner had the Hurons broken rank, than there rushed from the woods scores of Iroquois, daubed in war-paint and shouting their war-cry.  This was the hunt to which the young braves had dashed from the canoes to be in readiness behind the thicket.  Before the scattered Hurons could get together for defence, the Onondagas had closed around the hilltop in a cordon.  The priest ran here, there, everywhere,—­comforting the dying, stopping mutilation, defending the women.  All the Hurons were massacred but one man, and the bodies were thrown into the river.  With blankets drawn over their heads that they might not see, the women huddled together, dumb with terror.  When the Onondagas turned toward the women, the Frenchmen stood with muskets levelled.  The Onondagas halted, conferred, and drew off.

[Illustration:  Paddling past Hostiles.]

The fight lasted for four hours.  Darkness and the valor of the little French band saved the women for the time.  The Iroquois kindled a fire and gathered to celebrate their victory.  Then the old priest took his life in his hands.  Borrowing three belts of wampum, he left the huddling group of Huron women and Frenchmen and marched boldly into the circle of hostiles.  The lives of all the French and Hurons hung by a thread.  Ragueneau had been the spiritual guide of the murdered tribe for twenty years; and he was now sobbing like a child.  The Iroquois regarded his grief with sardonic scorn; but they misjudged the manhood below the old priest’s tears.  Ragueneau asked leave to speak.  They grunted permission.  Springing up, he broke into impassioned, fearless reproaches of the Iroquois for their treachery.  Casting one belt of wampum at the Onondaga chief’s feet, the priest demanded pledges that the massacre cease.  A second belt was given to register the Onondaga’s vow to conduct the women and children safely to the Iroquois country.  The third belt was for the safety of the French at Onondaga.

The Iroquois were astonished.  They had looked for womanish pleadings.  They had heard stern demands coupled with fearless threats of punishment.  When Ragueneau sat down, the Onondaga chief bestirred himself to counteract the priest’s powerful impression.  Lounging to his feet, the Onondaga impudently declared that the governor of Quebec had instigated the massacre.  Ragueneau leaped up with a denial that took the lie from the scoundrel’s teeth.  The chief sat down abashed.  The Council grunted “Ho, ho!” accepting the wampum and promising all that the Jesuit had asked.