Traveling only at night, and hiding during the day, the fugitives crossed Lake Champlain, entered the Richelieu, and, after many portages, finally swept out upon the wide surface of Lake St. Peter, in the St. Lawrence. They paddled hard and were soon within a day’s journey of Three Rivers, yet they were in greater danger then than at any time in the hazardous trip, as the Iroquois had infested this part of the St. Lawrence for more than a year, and often lay hidden in the rush-grown marshes and the wooded islands, waiting for some unsuspecting French Canadian to pass by. It was four o’clock in the morning when the Algonquin and white boy reached the side of Lake St. Peter. They cooked their breakfast, covered the fire, and lay down to sleep. At six o’clock, the Algonquin shook Pierre by the shoulder, urging him to cross the lake to the Three Rivers side. “The Iroquois are lurking about here,” the French boy answered. “I am afraid to go. Let us wait until dark. Then, all will be well.” “No, no,” answered the brave. “Let us paddle forward. We are past fear. Let us shake off the yoke of these whelps who have killed so many French and black robes (priests). If you do not come now, I will leave you, and I will tell the Governor that you were afraid to come.” Radisson consented to take a chance at getting to the stockade, although his judgment told him to wait until dark. So the canoe was pushed out from the rushes, and, with strong strokes, the flimsy boat was driven towards the north shore. They were half way across, when Pierre called out: “I see shadows on the water ahead.” The Indian, who was in the stern, stood up, saying: “It is but the shadow of a flying bird. There is no danger.” So they kept on; but, as they progressed, the shadows multiplied, for they were the reflections of many Iroquois, hidden among the rushes. The fugitives now saw them, and, heading their canoe for the south shore, fled for their lives. On, on they went; but, on, on, came the Iroquois. The redskins came nearer and nearer, there was a crash of musketry and the bottom of the canoe was punctured by a ball. The Algonquin fell dead with two bullet wounds in his head, while the canoe gradually filled with water, settled, and sank, with the young Frenchman clinging to the side. Now a firm hand seized him, and he was hauled into one of the canoes of the Iroquois. The victors set up a shrill yelp of triumph. Then they went ashore, kindled a great fire, tore the heart out of the dead Algonquin, put his head on a pike, and cast the mutilated body into the flames. Radisson was bound, roped around the waist, and thrown down upon the ground, where he lay with other captives: two Frenchmen, one white woman, and twenty Hurons. In seventeen canoes, the Iroquois now paddled up the Richelieu River for their own country, frequently landing to camp and cook, at which times young Pierre was pegged out on the sand, and left to be tortured by sand-flies and mosquitoes.