similar to that which a few years before had swept off the native
populations of New England, had begun its ravages among them. They
appeared at Three Rivers--this year the place of trade--in small numbers,
and in a miserable state of dejection and alarm. Du Plessis Bochart,
commander of the French fleet, called them to a council, harangued them,
feasted them, and made them presents; but they refused to take the
Jesuits. In private, however, some of them were gained over; then again
refused; then, at the eleventh hour, a second time consented. On the eve
of embarkation, they once more wavered. All was confusion, doubt,
and uncertainty, when Brebeuf bethought him of a vow to St. Joseph.
The vow was made. At once, he says, the Indians became tractable; the
Fathers embarked, and, amid salvos of cannon from the ships, set forth
for the wild scene of their apostleship.

They reckoned the distance at nine hundred miles; but distance was the
least repellent feature of this most arduous journey. Barefoot, lest
their shoes should injure the frail vessel, each crouched in his canoe,
toiling with unpractised hands to propel it. Before him, week after week,
he saw the same lank, unkempt hair, the same tawny shoulders, and long,
naked arms ceaselessly plying the paddle. The canoes were soon
separated; and, for more than a month, the Frenchmen rarely or never met.
Brebeuf spoke a little Huron, and could converse with his escort; but
Daniel and Davost were doomed to a silence unbroken save by the
occasional unintelligible complaints and menaces of the Indians, of whom
many were sick with the epidemic, and all were terrified, desponding,
and sullen. Their only food was a pittance of Indian corn, crushed
between two stones and mixed with water. The toil was extreme. Brebeuf
counted thirty-five portages, where the canoes were lifted from the water,
and carried on the shoulders of the voyagers around rapids or cataracts.
More than fifty times, besides, they were forced to wade in the raging