La Salle selected a spot on the banks of the Niagara River above the falls at the mouth of what is now called Cayuga Creek, where the water was quiet, being sheltered by an island from the current of the river--a little village near that spot still bears his name. Hither the little company of thirty men, heavily laden with tools and provisions, journeyed laboriously through the snow on one of the last days of January, 1679. Two Mohegan hunters, who were with the party, set about making bark wigwams for the men and a chapel for Father Hennepin, who had travelled the twelve miles with his portable altar lashed to his back. The ship carpenters went to work at once, and in four days the keel of the vessel was ready. La Salle invited Father Hennepin to drive the first bolt, “but the modesty of my religious profession,” he says, “compelled me to decline this honor.” So La Salle himself drove the first nail in the ship. Fortunately the majority of the Iroquois warriors had gone on the war-path beyond Lake Erie; but although those who had remained at home were less insolent because of the absence of the rest, yet they did not fail to visit the shipyard frequently, loitering sullenly about and exhibiting their displeasure. One of them, pretending to be drunk, attacked the blacksmith, and tried to kill him; but the blacksmith vigorously defended himself with a red-hot bar of iron. This, together with the severity of the reprimand administered by Father Hennepin, who always represents himself as indispensable on every occasion, induced the savages to depart for the moment. The work went rapidly on, and as the great “wooden canoe” began to show its proportions the Indians became more and more alarmed. A few days later a squaw told the French that they meant to burn the vessel on the stocks, and had not a very close watch been kept they would undoubtedly have done so. These frequent alarms, the steady cold, and the shortage of supplies owing to the loss of La Salle’s vessel and the enmity of the Iroquois, who refused to sell them food, discouraged the shipbuilders. They would certainly have deserted had not La Salle and Hennepin taken great pains to reassure and cheer them on. Toward spring La Salle set out on foot for Fort Frontenac to procure food and supplies and to attend to his personal affairs. His presence was needed there because his enemies had persuaded his creditors that the undertaking was a rash one, and had instigated them to seize all his goods, although Fort Frontenac alone was more than sufficient to pay his debts. During La Salle’s absence from Niagara one of the workmen endeavored to stir up the others to desert. “This bad man,” announces Hennepin, “would infallibly have perverted our carpenters, had not I confirmed them in their good resolution by the exhortations I made them after divine service.”