ir craft considerably the worse for the
journey, steering with a pair of oars in place of a rudder, reached the
landing-place and battered, weary and dilapidated, came up to the fort.
They were surprised and disappointed to see no one about except a few
curious Indians peeping from the woods.

As they neared the wooden gateway it was suddenly flung open, and out
marched a procession of masquers, headed by Neptune in full costume of
shell-fringed robe, diadem, trident, and garlands of kelp and sea-moss,
attended by tritons grotesquely attired, and fauns, reinforced by a
growing audience of Indians, squaws and papooses. This merry company
greeted the wanderers with music, song and some excellent French verse
written by Lescarbot for the occasion. Refreshed with laughter and the
relief of finding all so well conducted, Champlain, Poutrincourt and
their men went in to have something to eat and drink. Then they spent
the rest of the day hearing and telling the story of the last three
months.

It is written down, adorned with drawings, in the journals of Champlain,
and it was all told over as the men sat around their blazing fires and
talked, all together, while a light November snow flurried in the air
outside.

"So you see we lost our rudder in a storm off Mount Desert--" "And the
autumn gales drove us back before we had fairly passed Port Fortune--"
"It came near being Port Malheur for us, and it was for Pierre and
Jacques le Malouin, poor fellows. They and three others stayed ashore
for the night and hundreds of Indians attacked them,--oh, but hundreds.
Well, we heard the uproar--naturally it waked us in a hurry--and up we
jumped and snatched any weapon that was handy, and piled into the boat
in our shirts. Two of the shore party were killed and we saw the other
three running for their boat for dear life, all stuck over with arrows
like hedgehogs, my faith! So then we landed and charged the Indians, who
must have thought we were ghosts, for they left off whooping and ran for
the woods. Our provisions were so far spent that we thought it best to
return after that, and in any case--it would be as bad, would it not, to
die of Indians as to die of scurvy?"

"But tell me, my dear fellow," said Champlain when the happy hubbub had
a little subsided, "how have your gardens prospered? Truly I need not
ask, in view of the abundance of the dinner you gave us."

Lescarbot smiled. "I think that the saints must have whispered to t