the cape,--whose precipices, with a chaos of loose rocks, thrust
themselves at that day into the deep tidewater,--he dragged down upon
himself the trunk of a fallen tree, which, in its descent, well nigh
swept him into the river. The peril past, he presently reached his
destination. Here, among the lodges of bark, were stretched innumerable
strings of hide, from which hung to dry an incredible multitude of eels.
A boy invited him into the lodge of a withered squaw, his grandmother,
who hastened to offer him four smoked eels on a piece of birch bark,
while other squaws of the household instructed him how to roast them on a
forked stick over the embers. All shared the feast together, his
entertainers using as napkins their own hair or that of their dogs; while
Le Jeune, intent on increasing his knowledge of Algonquin, maintained an
active discourse of broken words and pantomime. [ Le Jeune, Relation,
1633, 2. ]

The lesson, however, was too laborious, and of too little profit, to be
often repeated, and the missionary sought anxiously for more stable
instruction. To find such was not easy. The interpreters--Frenchmen,
who, in the interest of the fur company, had spent years among the
Indians--were averse to Jesuits, and refused their aid. There was one
resource, however, of which Le Jeune would fain avail himself. An Indian,
called Pierre by the French, had been carried to France by the Recollet
friars, instructed, converted, and baptized. He had lately returned to
Canada, where, to the scandal of the Jesuits, he had relapsed into his
old ways, retaining of his French education little besides a few new
vices. He still haunted the fort at Quebec, lured by the hope of an
occasional gift of wine or tobacco, but shunned the Jesuits, of whose
rigid way of life he stood in horror. As he spoke good French and good
Indian, he would have been invaluable to the embarrassed priests at the
mission. Le Jeune invoked the aid of the Saints. The effect of his