of feet and he was grasped by the arm on either side and hurried forward. He knew they were following the course of the ravine, for he could hear the wash of the creek. Suddenly his conductors came to a halt and there was a pause, until a faint chirrup was heard. Then the bank was climbed and, emerging on a clearance, Morton saw the tents of the American camp some distance to his left, lit up by the smoldering fires that burned dimly between the rows. Looking round, he for the first time saw his companions, who were, as he suspected, a band of Indians. Taking advantage of every available cover the Indians glided, in single file, across the bit of open that intervened between where they stood and the bush. When its shelter was gained, they halted on a dry knoll, and squatted, when they began to giggle and to chatter in their native tongue, plainly exulting over the success of their raid. Morton tried to communicate with them, but found they could not speak English, and the only word they uttered which he recognized was “Hemlock,” altho’ that great chief was not among them. One of them could speak a little French, which, however, Morton did not understand. When daylight began to creep in upon the darkness, they became alert, and as soon as it was clear enough to see where they were going they started; Morton had no idea in what direction. All he knew was, that their course led them over a swampy country intersected by stony ridges, and that had it not been that the leaders of the file broke a path he could never have followed. The exertion was exhausting and he would have succumbed at the end of the first hour had it not been that the spirit of freedom elated him, and the knowledge that every mile he overtook increased the distance between him and the hated bondage from which he had escaped spurred him on. On the edge of an apparently limitless swamp they paused before entering upon it to have a smoke. It was apparent that they carried no food. Morton sank upon a pile of leaves that had drifted against a log and stretched his wearied legs. Refreshed by the rest, he faced the swamp with courage, soon finding, however, that, without the help of the Indians, he could have made little headway. With the light step and agility of cats they stepped over quaking surfaces and sprang from log to log until solid land was reached, and with it came the sound of rushing water. Escaping from the brush, a broad river, dashing impetuously over a rocky channel, burst in view. Following its bank in single file, Morton saw it grew wider, until it expanded into a lake, when he knew it was the St Lawrence. On coming opposite the promontory that marked the inlet of the river from the lake, the Indians eagerly scrutinized it. Gathering some damp leaves they made a smoke. The signal was seen by those opposite, for a long-boat was launched from under the trees and rapidly approached them. Morton’s heart leapt with joy when he distinguished that the