The young Jesuit spoke freely when once convinced that our party journeyed to the Illinois country, and was antagonistic to La Salle, who had shown small liking for his Order. The presence of Père Allouez overcame his first suspicion at recognition of De Artigny, and he gave free vent to his dislike of the Recollets, and the policy of those adventurous Frenchmen who had dared oppose the Jesuits. He produced a newly drawn map of the great lake we were to traverse, and the men studied it anxiously while the two priests and the _engagé_ prepared a simple meal. For the moment I was forgotten, and left alone on a rude bench beside the great fireplace, to listen to their discussion, and think my own thoughts. We remained at St. Ignace three days, busily engaged in repairing our canoes, and rendering them fit for the long voyage yet before us. From this point we were to venture on treacherous waters, as yet scarcely explored, the shores inhabited by savage, unknown tribes, with not a white man in all the long distance from Green Bay to the Chicago portage. Once I got out the map, and traced the distance, feeling sick at heart as I thus realized more clearly the weary journey. Those were dull, lonely days I passed in the desolate mission house, while the others were busy at their various tasks. Only at night time, or as they straggled in, to their meals, did I see anyone but Père Allouez, who was always close at hand, a silent shadow from whose presence I could not escape. I visited the priest's garden, climbed the rocks overlooking the water, and even ventured into the dark forest, but he was ever beside me, suave but insistent on doing his master's will. The only glimpse I had of De Artigny was at a distance, for not once did he approach the mission house. So I was glad enough when the canoes were ready, and all preparations made for departure. Yet we were not destined to escape thus easily from St. Ignace. Of what occurred I must write as it happened to me then, and not as its full significance became later clear to my understanding. It was after nightfall when Cassion returned to the mission house. The lights were burning on the table, and the three priests were rather impatiently waiting their evening meal, occasionally exchanging brief sentences, or peering out through the open window toward the dark water. As long as daylight lasted this had been my post of observation, while watching the distant figures busily engaged in reloading the canoes for the morrow's journey. They were like so many ants, running across the brown sands, both soldiers and Indians stripped to the waist, apparently eager enough to complete their task. Occasionally the echo of a song reached my ears, and the distance was not so great but that I could distinguish individuals. Cassion sat upon a log directing operations, not even rising to lend a hand, but Chevet gave his great strength freely.