to die presently. 'You are my son,' replied the Iroquois chief, 'I do
not want you to die; prepare the feast and we shall eat everything.' No
one was absent; some of the French who were invited made music to charm
the guests. They ate so much, according to the rules of Indian civility,
that they said to their host, 'Take pity on us, and let us go and rest.'
'You want me to die, then?' 'Oh, no!' And they betook themselves to
eating again as best they could. During this time the other Frenchmen
were carrying to the river the boats and provisions. When all was ready
the young man said: 'I take pity on you, stop eating, I shall not die. I
am going to have music played to lull you to sleep.' And sleep was not
long in coming, and the French, slipping hastily away from the banquet
hall, rejoined their comrades. They had left the dogs and the fowls
behind, in order the better to deceive the savages; a heavy snow,
falling at the moment of their departure, had concealed all traces of
their passage, and the banqueters imagined that a powerful Manitou had
carried away the fugitives, who would not fail to come back and avenge
themselves. After thirteen days of toilsome navigation, the French
arrived in Montreal, having lost only three men from drowning during the
passage. It had been thought that they were all massacred, for the plans
of the Iroquois had become known in the colony; this escape brought the
greatest honour to Captain Dupuis, who had successfully carried it out."

M. d'Argenson, then governor, did not approve of the retreat of the
captain; this advanced bulwark protected the whole colony, and he
thought that the French should have held out to the last man. This
selfish opinion was disavowed by the great majority; the real courage of
a leader does not consist in having all his comrades massacred to no
purpose, but in saving by his calm intrepidity the largest possible
number of soldiers for his country.