Our intention was to march as quietly as
possible while daylight lasted, then work our way by dark and starlight
till we were near the Seneca camp. We would then drop on the ground,
and lie in ambush till it grew light enough to attack. We hoped to
surprise the camp. They had fortified themselves, but apparently had
no scouts at work, and from all we could learn they were feasting and
drinking in Babylonish security, celebrating the return of their
messengers from Michillimackinac. With that exploit in mind it was
small wonder that they felt arrogant and unassailable. Now was indeed
our time.
Our ranks were formed, and I looked them over man by man. Each savage
carried a bag with ten pounds of maize flour, a light covering, a bow
and arrows, or a fusee. The Winnebagoes I had put well in the lead,
for they were protected by great shields of dried buffalo skin. I
tried one of the skin shields and found it like iron. It would turn a
hatchet.
Cadillac's bugler sounded the call and we started. The late sun was
unclouded and warm, and the smell of paint and breath and unwashed
bodies filled my lungs. The stench was hot and brutish in my nostrils,
and it was the smell of war.
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