The Iroquois prisoner was led into the longhouse just after eight in the evening, and the Huron war chief gave the order that at first they were to burn only his legs, so that he might hold out until daybreak. Eleven fires were already lit along the length of the house, spaced about a brass apart, and the crowd pressed in so thick that there was hardly a passage between the flames. Cries of joy resounded on all sides. Every man had armed himself with a firebrand or a piece of burning bark.

This was the fate that awaited the man who now stood among them, a captive of perhaps fifty years or more, taken from a fishing party on the lake the French called Lake Ontario. It had not been long before that he and some twenty-five or thirty other Iroquois had been surprised there by a Huron war party. Eight of them were captured; the rest fled. Of the eight brought back toward Huronia, only seven remained alive.

The eighth man’s head was all that was kept, carried home as a trophy among the spoils of war. The land into which the prisoner was brought had belonged to the Huron people for hundreds, if not thousands, of years. Situated between Lakes Huron, Simcoe, and Ontario, in what is now central Ontario in Canada, it sat east of Michigan and west of upstate New York, a world away from the colonial settlements beginning to rise near Montreal. The Huron Confederacy had made allies of the French who settled there, and bitter enemies of the Iroquois, who in turn were backed by the Dutch and the English.

By the late 1640s, the two peoples were locked in a constant state of war, and the prisoner was the fruit of that endless conflict. Even before the war party reached home, the Hurons had halted beyond the reach of the enemy and held a council to decide the captives’ fates. It was determined that six of them should be given to the Ataronchraton and the Arendaronon, two of the nations that made up the confederacy, and the seventh to the Atigouantan, the people among whom the Jesuits then lived. The prisoners were divided among these three nations because it was these three that had composed the war party.

When they arrived in Huronia, a second council was held, this time among the old men of the villages. It was they who received the spoils the young warriors brought back from war and distributed them as they saw fit. By custom, a captive was given to a notable person who had lost a relative in battle, so that the gift might dry his tears and partly assuage his grief. When the Jesuits arrived at the village to which this prisoner was being brought, they saw him coming from a distance, singing in the midst of thirty or forty Indians who were escorting him.

He was dressed in a beautiful beaver robe, with one string of wampum beads around his neck and another wound in the form of a crown around his head. A large crowd had gathered for his arrival. The captive was made to sit down at the entrance of the village while it was decided who would make him sing. He had already been roughly handled.

One of his hands was badly bruised by a stone. One finger had been violently wrenched away. The thumb and forefinger of his other hand had been nearly taken off by a hatchet blow. One of his arm joints had a deep cut, and both arms were badly burned.

And yet, from time to time, he was commanded to sing. He sang with much vigor, especially in view of the fact that he was over fifty years old and had done nothing else, day and night, since his capture. Meanwhile, the chief addressed him. “My nephew,” he said, “you have good reason to sing, for no one is doing you any harm.

Behold yourself now among your kindred and friends. ”

In all the places through which the prisoner had passed, he had been given something with which to make a feast, and the same courtesy was extended in this village. A dog was put into a kettle, and while it cooked, the captive was brought into the house where the people were to gather. As soon as the dog was cooked, the prisoner was made to eat a large piece of it.

It was put into his mouth, for he was unable to use his hands. He shared it with those who were near him. His hands caused him so much pain that he asked to go outside the house to get a little air. His request was granted.

His hands were unwrapped, and fresh water was brought to refresh them. They were half putrefied, swarming with worms, and gave off an almost unbearable smell. He asked that the worms be removed, and they were. Meanwhile, he sang from time to time, and the people at the feast continued to give him something to eat.

Through a good part of the night, the old men of the village and some of the chiefs who were guarding him talked with the prisoner about his capture and the affairs of his country. The next day, he went well escorted and singing as usual to another village a league away. That evening he made a feast there and sang and danced for most of the night. The next day, the people of the village were still awaiting the return of the chief who had gone trading, for it was he who would fix the day and place of the captive’s fate, as this prisoner was entirely at his disposal.

When the chief arrived, he had a talk with the prisoner. “My nephew,” he said, “you must know that when I first received news that you were at my disposal, I was wonderfully pleased, fancying that he whom I lost in war had been, as it were, brought back to life and was returning to his country. At the same time, I resolved to give you your life. I was already thinking of preparing you a place in my house and thought that you would pass the rest of your days pleasantly with me.

But now that I see you in this condition, your fingers gone and your hands half rotten, I change my mind. I am sure that you yourself would now regret to live longer. I shall do you a greater kindness to tell you that you must prepare to die. Is that not so?

It is the Tontorats that have treated you so ill and who also caused your death. Come then, my nephew, be of good courage. Prepare yourself for this evening and do not allow yourself to be cast down through fear of the tortures. ”

The captive asked the chief how he would be tortured, and the chief replied that he would die by fire.

While the chief was talking, a sister of the deceased Huron whom the captive replaced by adoption brought the prisoner his food. She showed great solicitude for him and treated him almost as if he were her own son. Her face was very sad, and her eyes were full of tears. The chief often put his own pipe into the prisoner’s mouth, wiped the sweat from his face, and fanned him with a feather fan.

About noon, the captive made his atatayon, his farewell feast. Everyone was free to come, and people were there in crowds. Before the feast began, the prisoner walked through the middle of the house and said in a loud and confident voice: “My brothers, I am going to die. Amuse yourselves boldly around me.

I fear neither tortures nor death. ”

Then he began to sing and dance through the entire length of the house, and some others also sang and danced in their turn. Next, food was given to those who had plates, while those who had none watched the others eat. The feast over, the captive was taken back to the village to which he had originally been brought, to die.

The torture took place in the house of the war chief, the house where all war councils were held. Before the prisoner was brought in, a chief encouraged all to do their duty and told them of the importance of this act, which was viewed by the sun and by the god of war. He ordered that at first they should burn only his legs, so that he might hold out until daybreak. He also said that for this night they were not to go and amuse themselves in the woods.

Shortly after he had finished speaking, the captive entered. The cries redoubled at his arrival. He was made to sit down upon a mat, and his hands were bound. Then he rose and made a tour of the house, singing and dancing.

After he had returned to his place, the war chief took his robe and said that a particular chief would despoil him of it. He added that the Adarondacks would cut off his head, which would be given to the Odesseny with one arm and the liver, to make a feast. After this, each man armed himself with a brand or a piece of burning bark, and as the captive ran around the fires, each attempted to burn him as he passed. He shrieked, and the whole crowd imitated his cries, or rather smothered them with shouts.

They often stopped him at one end of the house. Some broke the bones of his hands. Others pierced his ears with sticks, which they left in them. Others roughly bound his wrists with cords and pulled each end with all their might.

After he had made each round and could pause to catch his breath, he was made to rest on hot ashes and burning coals. On the seventh round, his strength failed him. After he had rested a short time on the embers, they tried to make him rise as usual, but he did not move. One Indian applied a brand to his loins, and he fainted.

The chiefs ordered them to cease torturing him, saying that it was important that he live until daybreak. He was put on a mat. Most of the fires were extinguished, and many people left. After an hour, he began to revive a little and was commanded to sing.

At first he did so in a broken and dying voice, but finally he sang so loudly that he could be heard outside the house. The youth assembled and began torturing him again. As they took turns, they had leisure in which to devise other methods to make him feel the fire more keenly. He was scarcely burned anywhere except on his legs, but the flesh on them was in shreds.

Some applied burning brands to them and did not withdraw them until he cried out. As soon as he stopped shrieking, they burned him again, repeating this seven or eight times, often reviving the fire by blowing on it. Others bound cords around him and then set them on fire, thus slowly burning him. Some made him put his feet on red-hot hatchets and then pressed down on them.

They struck him with clubs on the head, passed small sticks through his ears, broke the rest of his fingers, and stirred the coals. As they burned him, they made various remarks. One said, “Here, uncle, I must burn you. ” Later, another called the prisoner a canoe.

“Come, let me caulk and pitch my canoe. It is a beautiful new canoe which I lately traded for. I must stop all the water holes well,” he said, passing the brand along the captive’s legs. Another asked him, “Come, uncle, where do you prefer that I should burn you?

” And the captive had to indicate some particular place. Someone else said, “For my part, I do not know anything about burning. It is a trade that I have never practiced,” and then performed tortures more cruel than those of the others. Some tried to make him believe he was cold.

“Ah, it is not right that my uncle should be cold,” said one. “I must warm you. ” Another added, “Now as my uncle has kindly come to live and die among the Hurons, I must give him a present. I must give him a hatchet.

” And with that, he applied a red-hot hatchet to his feet. Another made him a pair of stockings from old rags, which he then set on fire. Often, after having made him utter loud cries, he asked him, “And now, uncle, have you had enough? ” And when he replied, “Onontio onna, yes, nephew, it is enough.

It is enough,” they replied, “No, it is not enough,” and continued to burn him at intervals, demanding of him every time if it was enough. From time to time, they gave him something to eat and poured water into his mouth, so that he would last until morning. At the fire, there might be green ears of corn roasting at the same time as the red-hot hatchets were heated. And sometimes, while they were giving him ears to eat, they were putting hatchets on his feet.

If he refused to eat, they said, “Indeed, do you think you are master here? ” And so added, “For my part, I believe you were only chief in your country. But let us see, were you not very cruel to prisoners? Now just tell us, did you not enjoy burning them?

You did not think you were to be treated in the same way, but perhaps you did think you had killed all the Hurons. ”

As the day began to break, fires were lighted outside the village in order to display the cruelties to the sun. The victim was led to this place. Two Indians took hold of him and made him mount a scaffold six or seven feet high.

Three or four followed him. They tied him to a tree that passed across the scaffold in such a way that he was free to turn around. Then they began to burn him more severely than ever, leaving no part of his body untouched by fire. When he tried to avoid one torture, he fell into the hands of another.

From time to time, the torturers were supplied with new brands, which they thrust down his throat and even forced into his fundament. They burned his eyes. They applied red-hot irons to his shoulders. They hung some around his neck, putting them first on his back, then on his breast, according to the position he took to avoid their weight.

If he tried to sit or crouch down, someone thrust a brand up from under the scaffolding, which made him arise. They so harassed him that they finally put him out of breath. Then they poured water into his mouth to strengthen his heart, and the chief said he should take a little breath. But he remained still.

Fearing that he would die other than by the knife, one of them cut off a foot, another a hand, and almost at the same time, a third cut off his head. The head was thrown to the crowd, where someone caught it and took it to the village chief to whom it had been promised, so that he could make a feast. The trunk remained in the village where he had been killed, and a feast was made of it the same day. If the prisoner had been particularly brave before he died, the Indians would eat his heart, blood, and roasted flesh in order to be courageous also.

Sometimes a man made an incision in the upper part of his neck and let the blood of the tortured prisoner run into it. Since the enemy’s blood had mingled with his own, he would never be surprised by the enemy, no matter how secret that knowledge might be. The dead prisoner might be cut up and put piece by piece into a kettle to be cooked. At other feasts, the head of an animal—bear, dog, deer, or large fish—was given to the chief.

But at this feast, it was given to the lowest person in the company. Some ate of the prisoner with horror, others with relish. The war song was sung on other occasions in addition to the farewell feast and the torture. The doleful chant the Jesuits mentioned—the singing of the Indians when they despaired of their lives, as before going to war or while in the midst of a storm on the lake—was probably this same song.

After sunset on the day the captive was tortured to death, his soul was expelled from the houses by making a horrible and universal noise. Souls of enemies who died in other ways, and those of friends and relatives, were not feared. The Iroquois tortured their prisoners in a similar way, and in 1649, the same year this man died, they conquered and dispersed the Hurons entirely. This account, recorded by the Jesuits who witnessed it firsthand, became one of the only written records of the Huron people.

Beginning in 1650, different branches of the Hurons relocated. One branch, the Wyandots, moved into the area near Detroit, Michigan, and would often engage in depredations on American frontier settlements, especially during the French and Indian War, Pontiac’s War, the American Revolution, and the Northwest Indian War that took place during George Washington’s presidency. But for this Iroquois man, there was no such future—only the fires of the longhouse, the scaffold at dawn, and the feast that followed.