As we paddled on at a rather brisk rate I sat thinking how beautiful the river, the mountains, and the morning were.  I had not settled myself to watch seriously for the Nascaupee camp, when suddenly George exclaimed, “There it is.”

There it was indeed, a covered wigwam, high up on a sandy hill, which sloped to the water’s edge, and formed the point round which the river flowed to the lake among the mountains.  Soon a second wigwam came in sight.  We could see no one at the camp at first.  Then a figure appeared moving about near one of the wigwams.  It was evident that they were still unconscious of our presence; but as we paddled slowly along the figure suddenly stopped, a whole company came running together, and plainly our sudden appearance was causing great excitement.  There was a hurried moving to and fro and after a time came the sound of two rifle shots.  I replied with my revolver.  Again they fired and I replied again.  Then more shots from the hill.

As we drew slowly near, the men ran down towards the landing, but halted above a narrow belt of trees near the water’s edge.  There an animated discussion of the newcomers took place.

We all shouted, “Bo Jou!  Bo Jou!” (Bon Jour).

A chorus of Bo Jous came back from the hill.

George called to them in Indian, “We are strangers and are passing through your country.”

The sound of words in their own tongue reassured them and they ran down to the landing.  As we drew near we could hear them talking.  I, of course, could not understand a word of it, but I learned later from George what they said.

“Who are they?”

“See the man steering looks like an Indian.”

“That surely is an Indian.”

“Why, there is an English woman.”

“Where have they come from?”

As the canoe glided towards the landing, one, who was evidently the chief, stepped forward while the others remained a little apart.  Putting out his band to catch the canoe as it touched the sand he said, “Of course you have some tobacco?”

“Only a little,” George replied.  “We have come far.”

Then the hand was given in greeting as we slipped ashore.

It was a striking picture they made that quiet Sabbath morning, as they stood there at the shore with the dark green woods behind them and all about them the great wilderness of rock and river and lake.  You did not see it all, but you felt it.  They had markedly Indian faces and those of the older men showed plainly the battle for life they had been fighting.  They were tall, lithe, and active looking, with a certain air of self-possession and dignity which almost all Indians seem to have.  They wore dressed deer-skin breeches and moccasins and over the breeches were drawn bright red cloth leggings reaching from the ankle to well above the knee, and held in place by straps fastened about the waist.  The shirts, some of which were of cloth and some of dressed deer-skin, were worn outside the breeches and over these a white coat bound about the edges with blue or red.  Their hair was long and cut straight round below the ears, while tied about the head was a bright coloured kerchief.  The faces were full of interest.  Up on the hill the women and children and old men stood watching, perhaps waiting till it should appear whether the strangers were friendly or hostile.