I asked the girl how far it was to the United States.  She said it was two miles to Hogansburg, and that was in the States.  We then asked the man to take us in his canoe to the village of St. Regis on the other side of the river.  He consented, but, I thought, with some reluctance, and before he allowed us to land, he conversed some minutes with the Indians who met him on the shore.  We could not hear what they said, but my fears were at once awakened.  I thought they suspected us, and if so, we were lost.  But the man came back at length, and, assisted us from the boat.  If he had any suspicions he kept them to himself.

Soon after we reached the shore I met a man, of whom I enquired when a boat would start for Hogansburg.  He gazed at us a moment, and then pointed to five boats out in the river, and said those were the last to go that day.  They were then ready to start, and waited only for the tow-boat to take them along.  But they were so far away we could not get to them, even if we dared risk ourselves among so many passengers.  What could we do?  To stay there over night, was not to be thought of for a moment.  We were sure to be taken, and carried back, if we ventured to try it.  Yet there was but one alternative; either remain there till the next day, or try to get a passage on the tow-boat.  It did not take me a long time to decide for myself, and I told the nun that I should go on, if the captain would take me!  “What! go on the tow-boat!” she exclaimed, “There are no ladies on that boat, and I do not like to go with so many men.”  “I am not afraid of the men,” I replied, “if they are not Romanists, and I am resolved to go.”  “Do not leave me,” she cried, with streaming tears.  “I am sure we can get along better if we keep together, but I dare not go on the boat.”  “And I dare not stay here,” said I, and so we parted.  I to pursue my solitary way, she to go, I know not whither.  I gave her the parting hand, and have never heard from her since, but I hope she succeeded better than I did, in her efforts to escape.

I went directly to the captain of the boat and asked him if he could carry me to the States.  He said he should go as far as Ogdensburg, and would carry me there, if I wished; or he could set me off at some place where he stopped for wood and water.  When I told him I had no money to pay him, he smiled, and asked if I was a run-a-way.  I frankly confessed that I was, for I thought it was better for me to tell the truth than to try to deceive.  “Well,” said the captain, “I will not betray you; but you had better go to my state-room and stay there.”  I thanked him, but said I would rather stay where I was.  He then gave me the key to his room, and advised me to go in and lock the door, “for,” said he, “we are not accustomed to have ladies in this boat, and the men may annoy you.  You will find it more pleasant and comfortable to stay there alone.”  Truly grateful for his kindness, and happy to escape from the gaze of the men, I followed his direction; nor did I leave the room again until I left the boat.  The captain brought me my meals, but did not attempt to enter the room.  There was a small window with a spring on the inside; he would come and tap on the window, and ask me to raise it, when he would hand me a waiter on which he had placed a variety of refreshments, and immediately retire.