of spruce boughs, down at the water-side, that they might at the
earliest dawn draw their seine and set it again unmolested by the
stray shots from the opposite side, which, notwithstanding the
truce, had of late occasionally been fired. At the same season of
the year, the same operation can still be witnessed at the same
place--the narrow ledge beneath the cliff, along the river-bank,
especially near the abutment of the broken Suspension Bridge.

The elder of the two men was a sturdy Welshman--Jonas Evans by
name--a Methodist of the Lady Huntingdon connexion. The other, Jim
Larkins, was Canadian born, the son of a neighbouring farmer.
About four o'clock in the morning they emerged from their spruce
booth and began hauling with their rude windlass upon the seine,
heavily laden with fish.

"Hark!" exclaimed Jonas to his companion, "what noise is that? I
thought I heard the splash of oars."

"It is only the wash of the waves upon the shore or the sough of
the wind among the pines. You're likely to hear nothing else this
time o' day, or o' night rather."

"There it is again," said the old man, peering into the darkness,
"And I'm sure I heard the sound o' voices on the river. See
there!" he exclaimed as a long dark object was descried amid the
gloom. "There is a boat, and there behind it is another; and I
doubt not there are still others behind. Run, Jim, call out the
guard. The Lord hath placed us here to confound the devices of the
enemy."