barricade. Darkness fell over the forest. The Iroquois could not see
to fire. "They spared not their powder," relates Radisson, "but they
made more noise than hurt." Attaching a fuse to a barrel of powder,
Radisson threw this over into the Iroquois fort. The crash of the
explosion was followed by a blaze of the Iroquois musketry that killed
three of Radisson's men. Radisson then tore the bark off a birch tree,
filled the bole with powder, and in the darkness crept close to the
Iroquois barricade and set fire to the logs. Red tongues of fire
leaped up, there was a roar as of wind, and the Iroquois fort was on
fire. Radisson's men dashed through the fire, hatchet in hand. The
Iroquois answered with their death chant. Friend and foe merged in the
smoke and darkness. "We could not know one another in that skirmish of
blows," says Radisson. "There was noise to terrify the stoutest man."
In the midst of the mêlée a frightful storm of thunder and sheeted rain
rolled over the forest. "To my mind," writes the disgusted Radisson,
"that was something extraordinary. I think the Devil himself sent that
storm to let those wretches escape, so that they might destroy more
innocents." The rain put out the fire. As soon as the storm had
passed, Radisson kindled torches to search for the missing. Three of
his men were slain, seven wounded. Of the enemy, eleven lay dead, five
were prisoners. The rest of the Iroquois had fled to the forest. The
Upper Indians burned their prisoners according to their custom, and the
night was passed in mad orgies to celebrate the victory. "The sleep we
took did not make our heads giddy," writes Radisson.

The next day they encountered more Iroquois. Both sides at once began
building forts; but when he could, Radisson always avoided war. Having
gained victory enough to hold the Iroquois in check, he wanted no
massacre. That night he embarked his men noiselessly; and never once
stopping to kindle camp-fire, they paddled from Friday night to Tuesday