In the Ottawa camp the drummers sat beside a
post in the centre of a great circle of warriors, and Longuant stood
with them in the ring singing a war chant. His body was painted green
and he was hung with chains of wampum. I halted. He was one of the
sanest, the most admirable, of the war chiefs, and I listened to him.
He kept his eyes fixed on the westering sun, and yelped his recitation
in a sharp, barking voice. I heard of children dashed to death against
trees; of men disemboweled and left to the mercy of dogs and flies.
After the recitation of each exploit, he struck his hatchet against the
post, and the clamor of the drums doubled.
I found myself sick as well as faint. I beat the air with my clenched
fist, and Cadillac saw me, and begged me to go away alone till I had
myself in hand. But I pushed by him.
"My mind is clear," I said, and I spoke as coldly as a machine.
"Clearer than yours, for I see this as it is. Let me go. I have
undertaken this and I shall go through."
We were ready to march an hour before sunset. The fifty Sacs formed
the vanguard, and I was with them. The Winnebagoes followed, then the
French troops. The remaining tribes, and the Indians who carried the
stores, brought up the rear.
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