devotion which the rule of St. Ignatius enjoins. About midsummer,
however, their quiet was suddenly broken. The crops were withering under
a severe drought, a calamity which the sandy nature of the soil made
doubly serious. The sorcerers put forth their utmost power, and, from
the tops of the houses, yelled incessant invocations to the spirits.
All was in vain; the pitiless sky was cloudless. There was thunder in
the east and thunder in the west; but over Ihonatiria all was serene.
A renowned "rain-maker," seeing his reputation tottering under his
repeated failures, bethought him of accusing the Jesuits, and gave out
that the red color of the cross which stood before their house scared the
bird of thunder, and caused him to fly another way. [ 1 ] On this a
clamor arose. The popular ire turned against the priests, and the
obnoxious cross was condemned to be hewn down. Aghast at the threatened
sacrilege, they attempted to reason away the storm, assuring the crowd
that the lightning was not a bird, but certain hot and fiery exhalations,
which, being imprisoned, darted this way and that, trying to escape.
As this philosophy failed to convince the hearers, the missionaries
changed their line of defence.

[ 1 The following is the account of the nature of thunder, given to
Brebeuf on a former occasion by another sorcerer.

"It is a man in the form of a turkey-cock. The sky is his palace,
and he remains in it when the air is clear. When the clouds begin to
grumble, he descends to the earth to gather up snakes, and other objects
which the Indians call _okies_. The lightning flashes whenever he opens
or closes his wings. If the storm is more violent than usual, it is
because his young are with him, and aiding in the noise as well as they
can."--Relation des Hurons, 1636, 114.