sed to the fierce winds blowing down
the river, was fearfully cold. Ice floated by in great masses,
frequently cutting off the settlers from the mainland and from their
supplies of wood and water. The terror of those days, the scurvy, soon
appeared, and by the spring nearly half of the seventy-nine men lay in
the little cemetery. Of the survivors the greater number had no other
desire than to flee from the scene of so much misery. They were
cheered, however, when Pontgrave arrived from France with supplies and
forty new men.

In the hope of securing a more favorable site in a warmer latitude,
Champlain, who already had explored a part of the coast and had visited
and named the island of Mount Desert, set out in a small vessel with
Monts and about thirty men on a voyage of discovery. They followed the
shores of Maine closely, and by the middle of July were off Cape Ann.
Then they entered {109} Massachusetts Bay. The islands of Boston
Harbor, now so bare, Champlain describes as covered with trees. The
aboriginal inhabitants of the region seem to have felt a friendly
interest in the distinguished strangers. Canoe-loads of them came out
to gaze on the strange spectacle of the little vessel, with its bearded
and steel-clad crew.

Down the South Shore the voyagers held their way, anchoring for the
night near Brant Rock. A head wind drove them to take shelter in a
harbor which Champlain called Port St. Louis, the same which, fifteen
years afterward, welcomed the brave Pilgrims. The shore was at that
time lined with wigwams and garden-patches. The inhabitants were very
friendly. While some danced on the beach, others who had been fishing
came on board the vessel without any sign of alarm, showing their
fish-hooks, which were of barbed bone lashed to a slip of wood.[5]

The glistening white sand of a promontory {110} stretching out into the
sea suggested to Champlain the name which he bestowed, Cap Blanc (White
Cape, now Cape Cod). Doubling it, he held his way southward as far as
Nausett Harbor. Here misfortune met the party. As some sailors were
seeking fresh water behind the sandhills, an Indian snatched a kettle
from one of them. Its owner, pursuing him, was killed by his comrades'
arrows. The French fired from the vessel, and Champlain's arquebuse
burst, nearly killing him. In the meantime several Indians who were on
board leaped so quickly into the water that only one was caught. He
was afterward human