Standing on the deck and looking about, a feeling of exceeding smallness and loneliness came in upon me. I had seen nothing like this in New England, nor yet in Nova Scotia, for richness, for real magnificent bigness and beauty. The sky above seemed higher and bluer, the water below was clearer, the wind purer, the sweep of scenery finer than any my memory could recall. Was nature to help in compensating us for what we had lost and left behind? Had fate been cruel a year ago in order to be kinder now? At any rate I felt as I looked out over it all, then up at the small flag flaunting its red gaily against the blue, that with these hills about me, with this river in front and with that flag and God above me, I could be happy. I breathed a prayer, then I resolved to make a home for my mother and sisters on the River St. John. The evening of the second day on the river was approaching when I saw Father Bourg rise from his seat on the deck, and advancing to the vessel's prow, look eagerly up the stream. When he turned he said simply, 'De Indian; dey are coming in great number.' For some time I could see nothing; but under the direction of the good priest I was finally able to make out a long, thin line far up the river, stretching almost from bank to bank. 'Dese are canoe,' he said, and then leaving me to look and wonder, he was off to seek out Colonel Francklin and Mr. Simonds. In half an hour our vessel was surrounded by over five hundred warriors in ninety canoes. It was evident from the first that they were hostile. The flag at our masthead became a target for many arrows; now and then there sounded out sharply the crack of an American rifle; there was also much shouting and wild jeering such as I had never heard before. In one of the leading canoes waved a flag that bore stars and stripes upon it. It was the new flag of the rebel colonies, and had been presented to the chiefs by Washington. The sight of this filled me with much bitterness. As the canoe bearing the flag came nearer to our vessel, I saw some of the anxiety disappear from the face of Father Bourg. He said something I did not hear to Colonel Francklin, then the next moment advanced to the rail. 'Pierre Tomah,' he shouted, 'Pierre Tomah'; then still speaking very loudly in a language I had never heard before, he briefly addressed a distinguished-looking warrior who sat under the flag. When he had finished the warrior rose. He was a man of magnificent proportions. His tall plume swayed in the gentle wind, and his brilliant costume glittered in the evening sun. 'I baptize him feefteen years ago on de Restigouche,' I heard Father Bourg say in a low voice to Colonel Francklin. 'Dis is most fortunate: we may yet succeed.'