Noel
28 Noel 1639 He returned in April when the ice was melting, so weak and sick I hardly knew him, his eyes black and sunken like the holes of burned out stumps, a terrible wound on the side of his head where the Hiroquois had cut him. Though I warned that he would die and never reach the southern tribes he would not wait. So we took our bark canoe, and went upon the river. By the second week the bloody flux was fully on him. We stopped for rest and I made a hut of limbs of fir and he lay in it. 29 Even water passed quickly through him, and he grew weaker. He said he’d die tomorrow, but I didn’t yet believe it and vainly tried to clean him. At the end he mumbled and stared hard at something in the trees then died so quietly, I thought that he was sleeping. ...
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