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THE APOSTLE OF THE INDIANS
 AMONG the earliest of the French missionaries in Canada
there were two who will ever be remembered for their
courage and zeal. One was Charles Raymbault, whose
pious energy was far superior to his bodily strength.
The other was Isaac Jogues, a young man of scholarly
tastes, refined in manners, and gentle in disposition.
These men, hearing of wild tribes in the far Northwest,
determined to go to them.
In a light canoe, with a friendly Indian as guide, they
embarked on Lake Huron and set out for regions hitherto
unknown. It was in June when they started. It was in
September when they reached the end of their voyage.
They landed at the foot of some rapids which they named
the Sault de Sainte Marie (Falls of St. Mary). They
were only a short distance from the outlet of that
great fresh water sea which we not call Lake Superior.
 At the foot of the rapids there was a village of
Chippewa Indians; and on the hills farther back, nearly
two thousand savages of other tribes were encamped.
Every summer these people came to this place to catch
whitefish from the rapids.
Raymbault was unable to go farther. Overcome by the
hardships of the long voyage, his feeble body could
endure no more. He was carried into the wigwam of a
friendly Chippewa, and there Father Jogues nursed him
with loving care.
"I had hoped," said the dying man, "to pass through
this wilderness. . . . But God in his mercy has set me in
the path of heaven!"—and then he ceased to
With tears and prayers Father Jogues laid the body of
his brother in the grave, and then, after a very brief
stay with the Chippewas, set out on his return to
Canada. Early the next summer her was back at Quebec,
telling of his adventures and seeking to interest
others in the welfare of the tribes he had discovered
in the far Northwest.
Toward the end of July he started on a visit to some
missions near the foot of Lake Huron. He had with him
three Frenchmen and nearly forty
 Indians, most of them returning to their homes in the
Huron country. They embarked in twelve canoes and
paddled briskly up the St. Lawrence. The country south
of the great river was infested by the Iroquois, a
fierce race of savages who had sworn undying hatred to
the French and their Huron allies. The canoes,
therefore, kept quite close to the north shore, and
every place that might harbor a lurking foe was
The company reached Three Rivers in safety—the
only settlement at the time between Quebec and
Montreal. There they rested two nights and a day; and
there they were warned to be more than ever watchful
against the Iroquois, whose war parties were known to
be abroad. On the morning of the second day they
reëembarked and soon entered that beautiful
expansion of the river now known as the Lake of St.
Suddenly, when danger was least thought of, a fleet of
Iroquois canoes shot out from behind a sheltering
island. They were filled with savage warriors, who
advanced yelling the fierce war cries of their nation.
The Frenchman and Hurons were frightened almost out of
their wits. They paddled
 for the shore, and several escaped into the woods.
Father Jogues might have saved himself in the same way,
had he not seen some of his friends in the clutches of
"I will die with them," he said; and he gave himself
The victorious savages, with twenty-two prisoners,
hastened to return to their own country. They paddled
up the Richelieu River to Lake Champlain, and then
along the western shore of that water, until they
neared its southern end. There, at the mouth of a
turbulent stream from the west, the Indians shouldered
their canoes. They pushed onward through the woods and
over the hills, dragging their prisoners with them.
They made no pause until they reached another sheet of
water—a small but beautiful expanse surrounded on
every side by mountains. This, the most romantic of
all our eastern lakes, was known to the Indians as
Andiarocte, or the Place where the Great Water Ends.
Father Jogue named it the Lake of the Holy Sacrament.
We call it Lake George.
THEY PUSHED ONWARD THROUGH THE WOODS.
Suffering every kind of indignity from the cruel
Iroquois,—his body beaten with their clubs, his
 hands mangled by their teeth, his face scorched with
hot coals,—it is not likely that Father Jogues
gave much attention to the beauty of the scene around
him. His thoughts, we must believe, were rather with
his fellow-prisoners, some of whom were in worse case
even than himself.
After a short rest, the Iroquois again embarked in
their canoes. With their faces turned southward, they
paddled silently and without pause throughout the long
summer day. Near evening they landed at the spot where
Fort William Henry was to stand in later times. There
they hid their canoes in the thickets; and then, elated
by their success, they hastened through the woods,
reaching at last the Mohawk villages on the bank of the
river that is still called by the name of that fierce
The story of the cruelties inflicted upon Father Jogues
is too painful to repeat. For more than a year he was
made to suffer every abuse that savage ingenuity could
invent. He was led from town to town and tortured for
the amusement of the women and children. His life was
in danger ever hour. Yet he never lost his patience,
he never uttered a
 harsh word, he gave thanks daily that he was still
alive to suffer.
"These poor men have never been taught," he said.
"They know no better. God will forgive them."
Even in the midst of suffering and torture he was ready
and anxious to help any one that was in trouble. He
lifted up the fallen, he prayed for the sick, and asked
God's blessing upon the dying.
At length some Dutch settlers at Albany became
interested in his case and helped him to escape. A
small sailing vessel carried him down the Hudson to
Manhattan; and from that place he shortly afterward
took ship for Europe.
In France this gentlest of men was received with the
reverence due to one who had suffered much for God and
humanity. The ladies of the court showed him every
kindness, and the queen kissed his maimed hands. But
these attentions counted as but little to Father
Jogues. His heart was set upon returning to Canada and
to his work among the Indians. Early in the following
spring he was again at Quebec.
Two years later, he was permitted to do that
 which he had long desired. He went as a missionary to
the Mohawk villages where he had endured so many
cruelties. His friends protested. They savagery of
the people who had caused his sufferings stirred within
his heart no feelings but those of love and pity. He
felt that they needed his help. "I will go to them,
but I shall not return," he said, as he departed.
The fears of his friends, no less than his own farewell
words, proved only too well founded. Before the end of
the year he was dead—slain by the hatchet of a