The red fagots were rapidly displacing the white, and the secret
councils of the fifty sachems were filled with anxiety, but they hid all
their disquietude from the people, and much of it from the chiefs. But,
to their eyes, all the heavens were scarlet and the world was about to
be in upheaval. It was a time for every sachem to walk with cautious
steps and use his last ounce of wisdom.
On the fourth night a powerful ally of St. Luc's arrived, although the
chevalier had not called him, and did not know until the next day that
he had come. He was a tall, thin man of middle years, wrapped in a black
robe with a cross upon his breast, and he had traveled alone through the
wilderness from Quebec to the vale of Onondaga. He carried no weapon but
under the black robe beat a heart as dauntless as that of Robert, or of
Willet, or of Tayoga, and an invincible faith that had already moved
mountains.
Onondaga men and women received Father Philibert Drouillard, and knelt
for his willing blessing. Despite the memories of Champlain and
Frontenac, despite the long and honored alliance with the English, the
French missionaries, whom no hardships could stop, had made converts
among the Onondagas, an enlightened nation with kindly and gentle
instincts, and of all these missionaries Father Drouillard had the most
tenacious and powerful will.
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