They wore
long cloaks, and feathers waved from their heads. In the centre of the
canoe was what seemed a body under a pall, at its head and feet small
censers. The smell of the wood came to them, and a little trail of sweet
smoke was left behind as the canoe swiftly passed into the mist on the
other side and was gone.
It had been seen vaguely. No one spoke, no one challenged; it had come
and gone like a dream. What it was, no one, not even Iberville, could
guess, though he thought it a pilgrimage of burial, such as was sometimes
made by distinguished members of Indian tribes. Or it may have been--
which is likely--a dead priest being carried south by Indian friends.
The impression left upon the party was, however, characteristic. There
was none but, with the smell of the censers in his nostrils, made the
sacred gesture; and had the Jesuit Silvy or the Abbe de Casson been so
disposed, the event might have been made into the supernatural.
After a time the mist cleared away, and nothing could be seen on the path
they had travelled but the plain of clear water and the distant shore
they had left.
Ahead of them was another shore, and they reached this at last. Where
the mysterious canoe had vanished, none could tell.
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