Three days later the shore of the river in front of our home was lined for a full half-mile with a strangely mixed crowd of expectant people. The governor's vessel was in full view on the river--and coming slowly up. Father Bourg was there with a group of Indians; there were many French from Sainte Ann's; the Loyalists were present from the surrounding country in hundreds. As the governor stepped ashore, a mighty cheer went up that seemed to set the very bed of the river quivering. The people saw in this representative, the King they loved, and for whom they had sacrificed. After a loyal address, a reply, and much good humour on all sides, the people dispersed. With the governor had come Colonel Francklin and Doctor Canfield. They had tents and provisions sufficient for two weeks in the woods, and it was arranged that Duncan Hale, myself and two Indian guides should accompany them across the country by portage some twenty miles into the very heart of the forest, to a trout stream that ran at a sharp angle to the river, emptying into it some ten miles below. Our plan was to strike the stream about thirty miles from its mouth, and fish down to the main St. John. But not all plans are carried out. We reached the stream in safety, and I sent the team back to the settlement. It was late June, and the whole forest seemed to throb with life. The governor was delighted. He was a lover of the woods, and insisted upon taking long rambles back from the stream, following the winding, logging roads. It was owing to one of these rambles that our original plan was not carried out. It was our fourth day in the woods. We were camped some five miles below the point where we had reached the stream. A little after noon, the governor, having fished for some time, left us, and wandered into the forest. The middle of the afternoon, then evening, then dusk came--and passed,--and he did not return. 'I cautioned him,' I heard Colonel Francklin say to Doctor Canfield; 'telling him the woods were deceptive, also that there were many beasts of prey.' He had scarcely spoken, when down over the forest, low but clear, came a long, wailing sound as of a spirit in distress. Instantly I saw Emile and Louis, our Indian guides, who bore the French baptismal names given them by Father Bourg, start, and hastily make the sign of the cross before their foreheads. A great fear overspread their faces; they trembled and went pale. And then there flashed into my mind the tales I had heard from the old inhabitants on the river, of the dread Loup-garou, or Indian devil as many called it. The low, clear, sound; its paralysing effect on the Indians; the time of day--just as evening was shading into night--the rise and fall of the long, fear-filling, distant wail; all these were exactly as described to me more than once by Father Bourg and others who knew the remoter woods of the province.