As the news got about that Verrieul had arrived, more and more Indians came in to see him, among them several bearing the good old New England name of Stacy, and a number of Williamses, all of them descendants of white captives.

How Verrieul accomplished what he did, I don’t know. One of his Dartmouth friends spoke with him a while, went away, and shortly thereafter returned with a peculiarly stupid-looking Indian who, I later suspected, had been told what to say. He was as large as a western Indian, with skin the color of new copper. His hair, hacked off at the nape of his neck, was made fast around his forehead with a band cut from an old beaver hat. He wore a belt cloth, leggins, moccasins and a tobacco bag the size of a woodchuck. His manner toward Verrieul was almost insulting, which seemed to me strange. Then I learned that he was Lewis Vincent, the Huron with whom Verrieul had become drunk at Payne’s Tavern in Hanover. Thus I realized that his insulting manner had been assumed to help us.

“What is the reason,” Lewis Vincent asked Verrieul, “that our brothers were placed in the rear by that great officer Langlade? The rear is where old women are placed, and children.”

He spoke in the Abenaki language, as Verrieul explained, hastily translating, and Sponge-belly and our brothers of the Sacs understood Abenaki well enough. Thus the conversation proceeded; and with the aid of Verrieul and what knowledge of Indian languages I had picked up, I understood pretty well myself.

Verrieul’s reply was dignified. “We are neither old women nor children. We are led by a great chief, the great chief Shabonock.”

“Then Langlade is afraid,” Lewis Vincent said. “He is afraid the great chief Shabonock, unless placed in the rear, will be recognized by the white men as a greater warrior than himself. He is afraid that if Shabonock is seen first by the British, it will be Shabonock who will receive the rum and medals that Langlade wishes for himself. I suspected he was afraid when he said to one of our braves that he was going to Quebec.”

“Quebec!” Verrieul exclaimed. “Langlade’s going all the way to Quebec?” He turned inquiringly to Sponge-belly, who looked murderous.

“I know one thing,” Lewis Vincent added. “If Langlade called me an old woman by placing me in the rear instead of in the van, I’d teach him a lesson!”

“Would you?” Verrieul asked. “And what would you do?”