And then I went to work.  If I staggered as I made my stumbling, blinded way from war chief to war chief, there was none to know, for blood lust had closed eyes and ears.  Yet, though my muscles failed, my brain was clear.

The kettle-drums snarled and buzzed like lazy hornets.  They sounded spiteful rather than wicked, but I knew what their droning stood for, and my body grew cold.  In the Ottawa camp the drummers sat beside a post in the centre of a great circle of warriors, and Longuant stood with them in the ring singing a war chant.  His body was painted green and he was hung with chains of wampum.  I halted.  He was one of the sanest, the most admirable, of the war chiefs, and I listened to him.  He kept his eyes fixed on the westering sun, and yelped his recitation in a sharp, barking voice.  I heard of children dashed to death against trees; of men disemboweled and left to the mercy of dogs and flies.  After the recitation of each exploit, he struck his hatchet against the post, and the clamor of the drums doubled.

I found myself sick as well as faint.  I beat the air with my clenched fist, and Cadillac saw me, and begged me to go away alone till I had myself in hand.  But I pushed by him.

“My mind is clear,” I said, and I spoke as coldly as a machine.  “Clearer than yours, for I see this as it is.  Let me go.  I have undertaken this and I shall go through.”

We were ready to march an hour before sunset.  The fifty Sacs formed the vanguard, and I was with them.  The Winnebagoes followed, then the French troops.  The remaining tribes, and the Indians who carried the stores, brought up the rear.  Our intention was to march as quietly as possible while daylight lasted, then work our way by dark and starlight till we were near the Seneca camp.  We would then drop on the ground, and lie in ambush till it grew light enough to attack.  We hoped to surprise the camp.  They had fortified themselves, but apparently had no scouts at work, and from all we could learn they were feasting and drinking in Babylonish security, celebrating the return of their messengers from Michillimackinac.  With that exploit in mind it was small wonder that they felt arrogant and unassailable.  Now was indeed our time.

Our ranks were formed, and I looked them over man by man.  Each savage carried a bag with ten pounds of maize flour, a light covering, a bow and arrows, or a fusee.  The Winnebagoes I had put well in the lead, for they were protected by great shields of dried buffalo skin.  I tried one of the skin shields and found it like iron.  It would turn a hatchet.

Cadillac’s bugler sounded the call and we started.  The late sun was unclouded and warm, and the smell of paint and breath and unwashed bodies filled my lungs.  The stench was hot and brutish in my nostrils, and it was the smell of war.