The eyes of Captain Godfrey followed the Red man to the shore and watched him until he disappeared among the trees on the river bank.  The sloop was kept on her course up the river.  Just after the sun had sunk beneath the horizon, Captain Godfrey, by the persuasion of his wife, anchored the sloop in a small recess in the shore.  From the time the Indian had reached the bank the Captain’s wife scarcely ever lifted her eyes from gazing on the right bank of the river.  Was she watching for a place to safely anchor at night?  Or was she watching for the Indian’s return?  These questions were agitating the Captain’s thoughts.

Captain Godfrey had never fully recovered from a weakness to his nervous system, caused by the severe hardships he had endured in the Gulf of St Lawrence.  He was strongly opposed to anchoring the sloop so near the shore.  He felt fearful that during the long watches of the night all on board might be murdered.  The armament of the vessel consisted of two muskets, two pistols, and a sword.  Her cargo was valued at over two thousand pounds sterling.  She was deeply laden, and it was with great difficulty that all the goods and chattels had been stowed on board; several boxes and bundles being closely packed and lashed on deck.

After everything had been made snug on board, sails furled, &c., the Captain and his wife asked the blessing of the all-seeing One during the hours of the night.  The Captain was very tired, and the events of the day had not added to his comfort.  His wife persuaded him to go into the small cabin and rest.  She promised to call him if the least danger appeared.  She said that she was only too willing to stand as sentinel until the sun-rise.  It was only through a knowledge of the determined spirit, good judgment, quick eye, and self possession of his wife that he was induced to retire to rest.

The children unconscious of the dangers surrounding them, were nestled together in the small cabin like young birds in a nest.  During four long hours nothing unusual occurred to break the stillness of the night.  The rustling of the leaves on the trees not many yards distant, and the rippling of the water were all that could be heard, a dense darkness, a blackness doubly deep appeared to settle over and around the little vessel.  The sentinel placed her soft white hand close to her face but could not even distinguish its outlines.

At this moment there flashed through her mind the words, “Watchman, what of the night.”  The words were accompanied by a hand gently laid upon her shoulder.  She remained as motionless as a statue in the gloom.  A gentle breath whispered in her ear, “me Paul;” “come tell you Indians on other bank river;” adding strength to the expression by taking her hand and pointing it to the opposite bank.  He then again whispered, “Fire gun next setting sun, where stop,” and then suddenly left her side, and she saw nothing more that night of Paul Guidon, for such was the Indian’s name.