The women come to meet them, uttering frightful howls on the supposition that they will have to weep the death of their husbands or brothers. A herald calls out the circumstantial details of the expedition; the roll of the warriors is called, and their silence indicates that they have succumbed. Then the piercing cries of the women are renewed and their despair presents a scene of rage and grief that passes imagination. The last ceremony is the announcement of the victory; forgetting at once their own troubles, they [the women] hasten to celebrate the triumph of their nation; by an inexplicable transition, they pass in an instant from frantic sorrow to the most extravagant joy.
I could not find words to describe to you the torments that they [the men] inflict upon the poor prisoner devoted to death; one tears out his nails by the roots, another chews the flesh off his fingers, sticks the torn finger into his pipe and smokes its blood; they crush their toes between two stones, apply red-hot irons to all parts of their bodies, skin them alive and feed upon their quivering flesh. These cruelties continue for several hours, sometimes for a whole day, until the victim succumbs to so many fearful torments. The women, like veritable furies, often outdo the men in cruelty in these scenes of horrors. During all this horrible drama, the chiefs of the tribe are tranquilly seated about the stake where the victim is writhing; they smoke and look on at these tragic scenes without the slightest emotion. Often the prisoner dares to brave his executioners with a coolness truly stoical: " I do not fear death," he cries; " those who dread your torments are cowards, they are lower than women. May my enemies be confounded; they shall not draw a groan from me; let them rage and despair. Oh! if I could devour them and drink their blood in their own skulls to the last drop! " At last we came to the big village of the Aricaras, which is only ten miles from that of the Mandans. The Fur