leave take your canoe and go." He made no reply to the Captain. The
sloop was slipping down the harbour and had passed the lower island
before the Indian seemed to recognize his situation. He looked wildly
first at the shore, then on the other side at the great waters, and
burst into a flood of tears.

Margaret stepped to his side and said, "Paul, do you feel ill?"

He shook his head, and with his hand pointed at the vast waters of the
bay.

Margaret proceeded to get dinner, and the red man was left alone. Paul
was asked to the lunch, but replied not.

The sloop ran leisurely along the shore all day, the wind being light
and the water quite smooth. All were compelled to rest on deck during
the night, which was bright, and the moon made it almost like day,--the
little cabin was besieged with mosquitoes. About midnight the Indian,
who had not spoken since leaving the St. John, suddenly sprang to his
feet and peered over the moon-lit water in the direction of the shore.
Captain Godfrey, who was at the helm, seeing him, thought he was about
to make a plunge overboard, and called to his wife who was asleep. She
sprang up, asking what was the matter. At this moment Paul sang out,
"Indians coming." Margaret went to the cabin, got the musket and pointed
toward the canoes, three in number, and fired. The canoes soon after
disappeared in the direction of the shore. Paul sank back into his
former position, and in a short time all were asleep except the Captain
and the Indian. Nothing unusual occurred during the remainder of the
night, and in the morning, the wind growing stronger, the little ship
made greater headway. The day was a beautiful one, and Paul was as quiet