The Algonquins were in good courage, for, besides the muskets of the three Frenchmen, they were inspired by a dream of Champlain that he had seen the Iroquois drowning in a lake. As soon as the enemies saw each other, both began to utter loud cries and make ready their weapons. The Algonquins kept out on the water; the Iroquois went ashore and built a barricade. When the Algonquins had made ready for battle
they dispatched two canoes to the enemy to inquire if they wished to fight, to which the latter replied that they wished nothing else; but they said that at present there was not much light, and that it would be necessary to wait for day so as to be able to recognize each other; and that as soon as the sun rose they would offer us battle. This was agreed to by our side. Meanwhile the entire night was spent in dancing and singing, on both sides, with endless insults and other talk; as how little courage we had, how feeble a resistance we should make against their arms, and that when day came we should realize it to our ruin. Ours also were not slow in retorting, telling them that they would see such execution of arms as never before, together with an abundance of such talk as is not unusual in the siege of a town.
Care had been taken by the Algonquins that the presence of Champlain and his two companions should come to the Iroquois as a complete surprise. Each of the Frenchmen was in a separate canoe, convoyed by the Montagnais. At daylight each put on light armour and, armed with an arquebus, went ashore. Champlain was near enough the barricade to see nearly two hundred Iroquois, 'stout and rugged in appearance. They came at a slow pace towards us, with a dignity and assurance which greatly impressed me, having three chiefs at their head.' Champlain, when urged by his allies to make sure of killing the three chiefs, replied that he would do his best, and that in any case he would show them his courage and goodwill.
Then began the fight, which must be described in Champlain's own words, for in all his writings there is no more famous passage.
As soon as we had landed, they began to run for some two hundred paces towards their enemies, who stood firmly, not having as yet noticed my companions, who went into the woods with some savages. Our men began to call me with loud cries; and in order to give me a passage way they opened in two parts and put me at their head, where I marched some twenty paces in advance of the rest, until I was within about twenty paces of the enemy, who at once noticed me and, halting, gazed at me, as I did also at them. When I saw them make a move to fire at us, I rested my musket against my cheek and aimed directly at one of the three chiefs. With the same shot two fell to the ground; and one of their men was so wounded that he died some time after. I had loaded my musket with four balls. When our side saw this shot so favourable for them, they began to raise such loud cries that one could not have heard it thunder. Meanwhile the arrows flew on both sides. The Iroquois were greatly astonished that two men had been so quickly killed, although they were equipped with armour woven from cotton thread and with wood which was proof against their arrows. This caused great alarm among them. As I was loading again, one of my companions fired a shot from the woods, which astonished them anew to such a degree that, seeing their chiefs dead, they lost courage and took to flight, abandoning their camp and fort and fleeing into the woods, whither I pursued them, killing still more of them. Our savages also killed several of them and took ten or twelve prisoners. The remainder escaped with the wounded. Fifteen or sixteen were wounded on our side with arrow shots, but they were soon healed.
The spoils of victory included a large quantity of Indian corn, together with a certain amount of meal, and also some of the native armour which the Iroquois had thrown away in order to effect their escape. Then followed a feast and the torture of one of the prisoners, whose sufferings were mercifully concluded by a ball from Champlain's musket, delivered in such wise that the unfortunate did not see the shot. Like Montcalm and other French commanders of a later date, Champlain found it impossible to curb wholly the passions of his savage allies. In this case his remonstrances had the effect of gaining for the victim a coup de grâce—which may be taken as a measure of Champlain's prestige. The atrocious savagery practised before and after death is described in full detail. Champlain concludes the lurid picture as follows: 'This is the manner in which these people behave towards those whom they capture in war, for whom it would be better to die fighting or to kill themselves on the spur of the moment, as many do rather than fall into the hands of their enemies.'
Beyond the point at which this battle was fought Champlain did not go. At Ticonderoga he was within eighty miles of the site of Albany. Had he continued, he would have reached the Hudson from the north in the same summer the Half Moon[[2]] entered it from the mouth. But the Algonquins were content with their victory, though they candidly stated that there was an easy route from the south end of Lake George to 'a river flowing into the sea on the Norumbega coast near that of Florida.' The return to Quebec and Tadoussac was attended by no incident of moment. The Montagnais, on parting with Champlain at Tadoussac, generously gave him the head of an Iroquois and a pair of arms, with the request that they be carried to the king of France. The Algonquins had already taken their departure at Chambly, where, says Champlain, 'we separated with loud protestations of mutual friendship. They asked me whether I would not like to go into their country to assist them with continued fraternal relations; and I promised that I would do so.' As a contribution to geographical knowledge the expedition of 1609 disclosed the existence of a noble lake, to which Champlain fitly gave his own name. Its dimensions he considerably over-estimated, but in all essential respects its situation was correctly described, while his comments on the flora and fauna are very interesting. The garpike as he saw it, with amplifications from the Indians as they had seen it, gave him the subject for a good fish story. He was deeply impressed, too, by the richness of the vegetation. His attack on the Iroquois was not soon forgotten by that relentless foe, and prepared a store of trouble for the colony he founded. But the future was closed to his view, and for the moment his was the glorious experience of being the first to gaze with European eyes upon a lake fairer and grander than his own France could show.
Four years elapsed before Champlain was enabled to plunge once more into the depths of the forest—this time only to meet with the severest disappointment of his life. Much has been said already regarding his ambition to discover a short route to Cathay. This was the great prize for which he would have sacrificed everything save loyalty to the king and duty to the church. For a moment he seemed on the point of gaining it. Then the truth was brutally disclosed, and he found that he had been wilfully deceived by an impostor.
It was a feature of Champlain's policy that from time to time French youths should spend the winter with the Indians—hunting with them, living in their settlements, exploring their country, and learning their language. Of Frenchmen thus trained to woodcraft during Champlain's lifetime the most notable were Étienne Brulé, Nicolas Vignau, Nicolas Marsolet, and Jean Nicolet. Unfortunately the three first did not leave an unclouded record. Brulé, after becoming a most accomplished guide, turned traitor and aided the English in 1629. Champlain accuses Marsolet of a like disloyalty.[[3]] Vignau, with more imagination, stands on the roll of fame as a frank impostor.
Champlain, as we have seen, spent the whole of 1612 in France, and it was at this time that Vignau appeared in Paris with a tale which could not but kindle excitement in the heart of an explorer. The basis of fact was that Vignau had undoubtedly passed the preceding winter with the Algonquins on the Ottawa. The fable which was built upon this fact can best be told in Champlain's own words.