, with a boat's crew, in the shallop
of the Joli. He was an impetuous young fellow, with more bravery than
prudence. Assuming that the Indians had stolen the blankets, and that
they were to be browbeaten and forced to make restitution by the
surrender of two of their boats, he advanced, upon his landing, in such
menacing military array as to frighten the Indians. Most of them fled
into the woods.

He entered the deserted cabins, picked up all the blankets he could
find, stole a number of very nicely tanned deer skins, and then,
seizing two of the best boats, put men on board of each, and commenced
his return to the ship. He was quite elated with his performance,
thinking it a heroic achievement. As they were paddling slowly down the
bay, the wind rose strongly against them. Night came on cold and dark.
It became necessary to land and wait for the morning.

They built a large fire. Wrapped in blankets, they threw themselves
upon the grass around, with their feet toward the glowing coals, and
soon all fell asleep. Sentinels had been stationed at a short distance
from the fire, but they slept also.

The Indians returned to their wigwams. They found their treasures gone
and two of their best boats stolen. As night came, they saw in the
distance the light of a camp fire, and understood full well what it
signified. With silent tread, and breathing vengeance, they crept
through the forest upon their sleeping foes. At a given signal, the
forest resounded with the dreadful war-whoop, and a shower of arrows
fell upon the sleepers. Two were killed outright; two were severely
wounded. The rest sprung to their arms, while some fled in terror.

The Indians, aware of the terrible power of the white man's musket, did
not wait for a battle. Having inflicted this deed of revenge, they
suddenly disappeared. One of the men, M. Moranget, a nephew of La
Salle, succeeded in reaching the encampment of his friends, though
faint and bleeding. One arrow had inflicted a terrible wound, almost
cutting its way through his shoulder. Another had cut a deep gash along
his bosom.

La Salle immediately sent an armed party to the spot. He was
exceedingly chagrined by the cruel blunder perpetrated by his envoy.
Though he could not blame the Indians, he knew full well that, their
vengeance being thus aroused, they would, if they could, doom all to
indiscriminate slaughter. It was necessary for him therefore to take
the most decisive action in self-def