Such was the origin of one of those strange sepulchres which are the
wonder and perplexity of the modern settler in the abandoned forests of
the Hurons.

The priests were soon to witness another and a more terrible rite,
yet one in which they found a consolation, since it signalized the saving
of a soul,--the snatching from perdition of one of that dreaded race,
into whose very midst they hoped, with devoted daring, to bear hereafter
the cross of salvation. A band of Huron warriors had surprised a small
party of Iroquois, killed several, and captured the rest. One of the
prisoners was led in triumph to a village where the priests then were.
He had suffered greatly; his hands, especially, were frightfully
lacerated. Now, however, he was received with every mark of kindness.
"Take courage," said a chief, addressing him; "you are among friends."
The best food was prepared for him, and his captors vied with each other
in offices of good-will. [ This pretended kindness in the treatment of a
prisoner destined to the torture was not exceptional. The Hurons
sometimes even supplied their intended victim with a temporary wife. ]
He had been given, according to Indian custom, to a warrior who had lost
a near relative in battle, and the captive was supposed to be adopted in
place of the slain. His actual doom was, however, not for a moment in
doubt. The Huron received him affectionately, and, having seated him in
his lodge, addressed him in a tone of extreme kindness. "My nephew,
when I heard that you were coming, I was very glad, thinking that you
would remain with me to take the place of him I have lost. But now that
I see your condition, and your hands crushed and torn so that you will
never use them, I change my mind. Therefore take courage, and prepare to
die tonight like a brave man."