CHAPTER XIX.
FRONTENAC.
The sun was dropping behind the western forests. From the lodges and cabins of the friendly Indians about the fort rose a hundred thin columns of smoke. Long rows of bateaux and canoes lined the beach below the log palisade; and others drew near the shore, laden with fish. There was a stir and bustle about the square within the stone bastions; orderlies hurried from quarters to barracks, bugles sounded, and groups of ragged soldiers sat about, polishing muskets and belts, and setting new flints. Men of the commissary department were carrying boxes and bales from the fort to a cleared space on the beach.
Menard walked across the square and knocked at the door of Major d’Orvilliers’s little house. Many an eye had followed him as he hurried by, aroused to curiosity by his tattered uniform, rusted musket, and boot-tops rudely stitched to deerskin moccasins. 384
“Major d’Orvilliers is busy,” said the orderly at the door.
“Tell him it is Captain Menard.”
In a moment the Major himself appeared in the doorway.
“Come in, Menard. I am to start in an hour or so to meet Governor Denonville, but there is always time for you. I’ll start a little late, if necessary.”
“The Governor comes from Niagara?”
“Yes. He is two or three days’ journey up the lake. I am to escort him back.”