When three moons had waxed and waned,
The voyageurs, returning, came
From over the western waters,
Lit by the sunset’s flame.
And they drew up at the Narrows,
The Carrying Place again,
A “cut” in the cedar hillocks
Aglow with autumn’s flame.
De Orville, their gallant leader,
And Pontgravé and Le Jeune,
Knew their followers were weary,
And made decision soon
To bivouac near the marshlands
For a day of needed rest,
And to replenish their commissariat
With fish and game the best.
The camp-fires were all alighted
At the eve’s afterglow,
And the pines and cedars quivered,
And the waves made murmur low.
The scene was worthy a Rembrandt,
So rich the light and shade,
And the starry vault above them,
And the winds that whisper made.
“A song! a song!” de Orville cried,
“The night is rife with glory.
Let’s while a merry hour away
In singing and in story.”
“A song! a song!” as one they cry,
“Life hath enough of sorrow;
Sing while we may with hearts so gay,
Care cometh with the morrow.”
“Le Jeune! Le Jeune! lead on, lead on,
The stars are laughing o’er us;
Give us thy latest and thy best,
And we will join the chorus.”
Le Jeune had a poetic soul,
And voice of wondrous sweetness;
He reached men’s better, nobler part,
And won them to completeness.
And the groups about the camp-fires,
A picturesque, gay throng,
Heard many a quaint old story,
Pun, laugh, and ringing song;
And thus ’mid the wilds of nature
Passed the joyous hours away.
Light-hearted, merry Voyageurs,
Ever gallant and gay,
Beside the deep glowing embers,
Passed the night in calm repose,
And in the soft early dawning
Refreshened they uprose;
And with arquebuse and musketoon,
Spear, trap, and fishing-line,
They scattered o’er the marshlands
And ’neath the haunts of pine.
And from the Narrows and the shore,
Marshlands and wide lagoons,
There burst the crash of arquebuse
And roar of musketoons.
And all day long the sport went on;
At eve they counted o’er
A tempting hoard of luscious game,
Right welcome to their store.
CHAPTER IV.
The Ojibways from a distance
Marked the slaughter of their game,
And their untamed fiery spirits
With revenge were all aflame.
And Mitwaos, their brave leader,
Summoned his chiefs once more;
Their souls were fiercely chafing,
And their savage hearts were sore.