Long and earnest were the deliberations of the Council of War. The
reports of the commanding officers from all points of the frontier
were carefully studied. Plans of present defence and future
conquest were discussed with reference to the strength and weakness
of the Colony, and an accurate knowledge of the forces and designs
of the English obtained from the disaffected remnant of Cromwellian
republicans in New England, whose hatred to the Crown ever
outweighed their loyalty, and who kept up a traitorous correspondence,
for purposes of their own, with the governors of New France.
The lamps were lit and burned far into the night when the Council
broke up. The most part of the officers partook of a cheerful
refreshment with the Governor before they retired to their several
quarters. Only Bigot and his friends declined to sup with the
Governor: they took a polite leave, and rode away from the Chateau
to the Palace of the Intendant, where a more gorgeous repast and
more congenial company awaited them.
The wine flowed freely at the Intendant's table, and as the
irritating events of the day were recalled to memory, the pent-up
wrath of the Intendant broke forth.
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