nes were transpiring far away upon the
banks of these apparently solitary waters.

They had ascended the Mississippi several hundred miles, when, about
two o'clock in the afternoon of the 11th of April, they were startled
by seeing suddenly coming round a near headland, thirty large bark
canoes, crowded with Indians, plumed, painted, and armed for battle. It
was a gorgeous as well as an appalling spectacle. The blades of their
paddles sparkled in the sunlight. The savages were dressed in the
highest style of barbaric splendor. Their brilliantly colored feathers,
fringed garments, and highly decorated bows, war-clubs and javelins,
surpassed, in picturesque beauty, any of the ordinary military trapping
of civilized life.

The moment the savages caught sight of the Frenchmen's boat, they
simultaneously raised a shout or yell, which reverberated along the
banks of the river and struck the hearts of the voyagers with dread.
Escape was impossible. Resistance was not to be thought of. The little
fleet of canoes, descending the river by the aid both of the current
and their paddles, approached with great rapidity. Father Hennepin
stood up in his boat and in his hands extended toward the savages, the
calumet of peace. Speedily he was surrounded, the calumet was snatched
from him, and his canoe was taken to the shore, while all the others
followed. During all the time the savages were raising frightful cries
and yells, the signification of which, whether welcoming or
threatening, could not be understood. It was probably near the mouth of
the Wisconsin River that this capture took place.

Father Hennepin had been so long among the Indians, visiting various
tribes, and had so long been accustomed to contemplate his violent
death as an event which might any day take place, that he was far more
tranquil in mind than most persons could have been under these
circumstances. Speedily his well-trained eye recognized the chief of
the savages. He presented him some tobacco, and then endeavored by
signs to enter into conversation with him.

The two head chiefs conferred together. They declined smoking the peace
calumet, and were by no means cordial in their reception of the
strangers. There was evidently a diversity of opinion among them, as to
the disposition they should make of their captives. Three blows of the
tomahawk would silence them all in death. Their bodies could be thrown
into the stream, and their canoe, with all its freight