and a hen." At the same time they took the
precaution of sleeping in mid-stream with their canoes abreast tied to
water-logged trees. A dull roar through the night mist foretold they
were nearing the great Chaudiere Falls; and at first streak of day dawn
there was a rush to land and cross the long portage before the mist
lifted and exposed them to the hostiles.

To any one who knows the region of Canada's capital the scene can
easily be recalled: the long string of canoes gliding through the gray
morning like phantoms; Rideau Falls shimmering on the left like a snowy
curtain; the dense green of Gatineau Point as the birch craft swerved
across the river inshore to the right; the wooded heights, now known as
Parliament Hill, {105} jutting above the river mist, the new foliage of
the topmost trees just tipped with the first primrose shafts of
sunrise; then the vague stir and unrest in the air as the sun came up
till the gray fog became rose mist shot with gold, and rose like a
curtain to the upper airs, revealing the angry, tempest-tossed cataract
straight ahead, hurtling over the rocks of the Chaudiere in walls of
living waters. Where the lumber piles of Hull on the right to-day jut
out as if to span Ottawa River to Parliament Hill, the voyageurs would
land to portage across to Lake Du Chene.

Just as they sheered inshore the morning air was split by a hideous din
of guns and war whoops. The Iroquois had been lying in ambush at the
portage. The Algonquins' bravado now became a panic. They abandoned
canoes and baggage, threw themselves behind a windfall of trees, and
poured a steady rain of bullets across the portage in order to permit
the other canoes to come ashore. When the fog lifted, baggage and
canoes lay scattered on the shore. Behind one barricade of logs lay
the French and Algonquins; behind another, the Iroquois; and woe betide
the warrior who showed his head or dared to cross the open. All day
the warriors kept up their cross fire. Thirteen Algonquins had
perished, and the French were only waiting a chance to abandon the
voyage. Luckily, that night was pitch-dark. The Algonquin leader blew
a long low call through his birch trumpet. All hands rallied and
rushed for the boats to cross the river. All the Frenchmen's baggage
had been lost. Of the white adventurers every soul turned back but
Groseillers and Radisson.

The Algonquins now made up in caution what they had at first lacked.
They voyaged