For months there was an ominous calm. The winter of 1688-9 passed without incident, and so did the following summer. Marauding on the part of the Iroquois had so entirely ceased, that the opinion began to prevail in the colony that the enemy had lost courage, and were no longer disposed for war. Some rumours, it is true, reached the governor that mischief was brewing, but he paid little heed to them: no special measures of defence whatever were taken. A strange kind of somnolence seems to have crept over almost the entire population. The intendant, in a despatch written just about this time (6th November 1688), after speaking of the disastrous effect of brandy drinking upon the Indians, goes on to say: "The Canadians also ruin their health thereby; and, as the greater number of these drink a large quantity of it early in the morning, they are incapable of doing anything the remainder of the day." It may safely be assumed that the morning potations were indulged in without prejudice to a tolerably free use of the bottle in the evening. It is remarkable that so serious a judgment upon the habits of the people should have preceded by only a few months a striking and fatal example of their unreadiness and incapacity. The night of the 4th August 1689 was dark and stormy with rain and hail. It was just such a night as might serve to cover the approach of a stealthy foe; and the foe, vengeful and relentless, was at hand. Fourteen hundred Iroquois had descended the St. Lawrence and taken up their station on the south side of the Lake St. Louis, opposite Lachine. About midnight, amid the darkness and the noise of the elements, they crossed the lake, and, landing, posted themselves in small bands close to the dwellings of the slumbering inhabitants. An hour or so before daybreak, a war-whoop, the preconcerted signal, was raised. Instantly a thousand savage throats gave forth the dismal howl; and then began the work of slaughter that made "the massacre of Lachine" a name of terror for generations. The account of the disaster given by Charlevoix, who puts the number of the slain at two hundred, has been generally followed by later writers; but there is fortunately reason to believe that the massacre was much less in extent, and perhaps somewhat less horrible in character, than the reverend father represents. Judge Girouard,[31] who has gone into the matter in a most careful and painstaking manner, places the number of persons killed at Lachine--men, women, and children--at twenty-four. The place was defended by three forts, all of which had garrisons; but from these no help seems to have been afforded to the wretched inhabitants. The torch did its work as well as the tomahawk, and fifty-six houses were burnt. There were some regular troops--about two hundred--under an officer named Subercase, encamped about three miles off. A shot from one of the forts gave the alarm, and Subercase with his men marched to the scene of action. Many of the