Lawrence below Montreal. On down
the St. Lawrence, thick with melting ice, hastened the canoes, until
Quebec, the capital of the province, was within sight.

Four miles above Quebec there had been founded another mission for
Christian Indians. It was named Sillery. Here a number of Algonkins
had erected a village of log huts, on a flat beside the river, under
the protection of a priests' house, church and hospital.

As they approached Sillery, the Piskaret party raised their eleven
scalps on eleven long poles. While they drifted, they chanted a song
of triumph, and beat time to it by striking their paddles, all
together, upon the gunwales of their canoes.

The two captives, believing that the hour of torture was near, sang
their own songs of defiance.

That was a strange sight, to be nearing Sillery. So the good father in
charge of Sillery sent a runner to Quebec. He himself, with his
assistants, joined the crowd of Algonkins gathered at the river shore.

The canoes came on. The scalps and the two prisoners were plain to be
seen. Piskaret! It was the noted warrior Piskaret! Guns were being
fired, whoops were being exchanged, and the mission father waited,
hopeful and astonished.

Now the chief of the Sillery Algonkins, who had been baptised to the
name of Jean Baptiste, made a speech of welcome, from the shore.
Standing upright in his canoe, Piskaret the champion replied. And now
a squad of French soldiers, hurrying in from Quebec, added to the
excitement with a volley of salute.

Piskaret landed, proud not only that he had again whipped the Iroquois,
but that he had acted like a Christian toward his captives. He had not
burned them nor gnawed off their finger tips. And instead of giving
them over for torture by other Algonkins, he had brought them clear
down the river, to the governor.

The scalp trophies were planted, like flags, over the doorways of the
Sillery lodges. The two captives were placed under guard until the
governor should arrive from Quebec. The happy Father Jesuit bade
everybody feast and make merry, to celebrate the double victory of
Piskaret.

The governor of this New France hastened up from Quebec, hopeful that
at last a way had been opened to peace with the dread Iroquois.

Clad in his brilliant uniform of scarlet and lace, he sat in council at
the mission house, to receive Piskaret and the captives. With him sat
the Father Jesuit, the head of the mission, and around the