[504] At five in the afternoon they reached the
place where the Indians, having finished their rattlesnake hunt, were
smoking their pipes and waiting for the army. The red warriors embarked,
and joined the French flotilla; and now, as evening drew near, was seen
one of those wild pageantries of war which Lake George has often
witnessed. A restless multitude of birch canoes, filled with painted
savages, glided by shores and islands, like troops of swimming
water-fowl. Two hundred and fifty bateaux came next, moved by sail and
oar, some bearing the Canadian militia, and some the battalions of Old
France in trim and gay attire: first, La Reine and Languedoc; then the
colony regulars; then La Sarre and Guienne; then the Canadian brigade of
Courtemanche; then the cannon and mortars, each on a platform sustained
by two bateaux lashed side by side, and rowed by the militia of
Saint-Ours; then the battalions of Bearn and Royal Roussillon; then the
Canadians of Gaspe, with the provision-bateaux and the field-hospital;
and, lastly, a rear guard of regulars closed the line. So, under the
flush of sunset, they held their course along the romantic lake, to play
their part in the historic drama that lends a stern enchantment to its
fascinating scenery. They passed the Narrows in mist and darkness; and
when, a little before dawn, they rounded the high promontory of Tongue
Mountain, they saw, far on the right, three fiery sparks shining through
the gloom.
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