In an instant the air was filled with deafening cries.  Tidings of battle were to the Indians like a fresh scent to hounds of the chase:  The Montagnais flew to their canoes, and paddled with frantic haste to the opposite shore, loudly calling on Champlain and his fellow-whites to follow.  They obeyed, crossing the stream in canoes.  As the shore was reached the warriors flung down their paddles, snatched up their weapons, and darted into the woods with such speed that the Frenchmen found it impossible to keep them in sight.  It was a hot and oppressive day; the air was filled with mosquitoes,—­“so thick,” says Champlain, “that we could hardly draw breath, and it was wonderful how cruelly they persecuted us,”—­their route lay through swampy soil, where the water at places stood knee-deep; over fallen logs, wet and slimy, and under entangling vines; their heavy armor added to their discomfort; the air was close and heavy; altogether it was a progress fit to make one sicken of warfare in the wilderness.  After struggling onward till they were almost in despair, they saw two Indians in the distance, and by vigorous shouts secured their aid as guides to the field of battle.

An instinct seemed to guide the savages through that dense and tangled forest.  In a short time they led the laboring whites to a point where the woodland grew thinner, and within hearing of the wild war-whoops of the combatants.  Soon they emerged into a partial clearing, which had been made by the axes of the Iroquois in preparing their breastwork of defence.  Champlain gazed upon the scene before him with wondering eyes.  In front was a circular barricade, composed of trunks of trees, boughs, and matted twigs, behind which the Iroquois stood like tigers at bay.  In the edge of the forest around were clustered their yelling foes, screaming shrill defiance, yet afraid to attack, for they had already been driven back with severe loss.  Their hope now lay in their white allies, and when they saw Champlain and his men a yell arose that rent the air, and a cloud of winged arrows was poured into the woodland fort.  The beleaguered Iroquois replied with as fierce a shout, and with a better-aimed shower of arrows.  At least Champlain had reason to think so, for one of these stone-headed darts split his ear, and tore a furrow through the muscles of his neck.  One of his men received a similar wound.

Furious with pain, Champlain, secure in his steel armor, rushed to the woodland fort, followed by his men, and discharged their arquebuses through its crevices upon the dismayed savages within, who, wild with terror at this new and deadly weapon, flung themselves flat upon the earth at each report.

At each moment the scene of war grew more animated.  The assailing Indians, yelling in triumph, ran up under cover of their large wooden shields, and began to tug at the trees of the barricade, while other of them gathered thickly in the bushes for the final onset.  And now, from the forest depths, came hurrying to the scene a new party of French allies,—­a boat’s crew of fur-traders, who had heard the firing and flown with warlike eagerness to take part in the fight.