It was a virgin solitude, unmarked by habitation, destitute of human inmate, abundant with game; for it was the debatable land between warring tribes, traversed only by hostile bands, the battle-ground of Iroquois and Algonquin hordes.  None could dwell here in safety; even hunting-parties had to be constantly prepared for war.  Through this region of blood and terror the canoes made their way, now reduced to twenty-four in number, manned by sixty warriors and three white allies.  The advance was made with great caution, for danger was in the air.  Scouts were sent in advance through the forests; others were thrown out on the flanks and rear, hunting for game as they went; for the store of pounded and parched maize which the warriors had brought with them was to be kept for food when the vicinity of the foe should render hunting impossible.

The scene that night, as described by Champlain was one to be remembered.  The canoes were drawn up closely, side by side.  Active life pervaded the chosen camp.  Here some gathered dry wood for their fires; there others stripped off sheets of bark, to cover their forest wigwams; yonder the sound of axes was followed by the roar of falling trees.  The savages had steel axes, obtained from the French, and, with their aid, in two hours a strong defensive work, constructed of the felled trunks, was built, a half-circle in form, with the river at its two ends.  This was the extent of their precautions.  The returning scouts reported that the forest in advance was empty of foes.  The tawny host cast themselves in full security on the grassy soil, setting no guards, and were soon lost in slumber, with that blind trust in fortune which has ever been one of the weak features of Indian warfare.

They had not failed, however, to consult their oracles, those spirits which the medicine-man was looked upon as an adept at invoking, and whose counsel was ever diligently sought by the superstitious natives.  The conjurer crept within his skin-covered lodge, where, crouched upon the earth, he filled the air with inarticulate invocations to the surrounding spirits; while outside, squatted on the ground, the dusky auditors looked and listened with awe.  Suddenly the lodge began to rock violently, by the power of the spirits, as the Indians deemed, though Champlain fancied that the arm of the medicine-man was the only spirit at work.

“Look on the peak of the lodge,” whispered the awed savages.  “You will see fire and smoke rise into the air.”  Champlain looked, but saw nothing.

The medicine-man by this time had worked himself into convulsions.  He called loudly upon the spirit in an unknown language, and was answered in squeaking tones like those of a young puppy.  This powerful spirit was deemed to be present in the form of a stone.  When the conjurer reappeared his body streamed with perspiration, while the story he had to tell promised an auspicious termination of the enterprise.