Twelve fires, all good and large, burned gayly, throwing out ruddy flames from great beds of glowing coals, while the aroma of food was now much stronger and very appetizing.
The force numbered at least three hundred men, of whom about one third were Frenchmen or Canadians, all in uniform.

Robert recognized De Courcelles and near him Jumonville, his invariable comrade, and a little farther on a handsome and gallant young face.
"It's De Galissonniere of the Battalion Languedoc, whom we met in Quebec," he whispered to Tayoga.

"Now I wonder what he's doing here." "He's come with the others on a projected foray," Tayoga whispered back.

"But look beyond him, Dagaeoga, and you will see one more to be dreaded than De Courcelles or Jumonville." Robert's gaze followed that of the young Onondaga and was intercepted by the huge figure of Tandakora, the Ojibway, who stood erect by one of the fires, bare save for a breech cloth and moccasins, his body painted in the most hideous designs, of which war paint was possible, his brow lowering.
"Tandakora is not happy," said Tayoga.
"No," said Robert.

"He is thinking of the battle at Lake George that he did not win, and of all the scalps he did not take.