them to the mouth of the river, in prospect of the Atlantic.
The Indians arranged that he was to hoist the English flag, the colours of an unfortunate brig named the "Avon," which had been shipwrecked on the coast, and which they had plundered some time before, and then to walk the shore to attract the islanders. They could just perceive the figures of men moving upon one part of the island, but although Bourne waved his signal all day he obtained no response. Snow, sleet, and rain fell during the night, increasing his misery, and on the morrow the weather continued squally. On the beach he found a strip of board, to which he fastened the colours, and planted them on the sands, while he kindled a fire of the bushes around, which had an oily leaf; but though they could still perceive objects moving on the distant island, no relief came. Another night passed in restless anxiety, while the Indians began to be impatient of the delay. "The weather," says Bourne, "had been fair during the night, but there were now indications of another snow-storm. I waited long and impatiently for my companions to awake, and at last started off in quest of fuel; on returning with which they bestirred themselves and kindled a fire, which warmed our half-benumbed limbs. There lay the little island, beautiful to eyes that longed, like mine, for a habitation of sympathizing men, about a mile and a half distant; it almost seemed to recede while I gazed, so low had my hopes sunken under the pressure of disappointment and bitter uncertainty. A violent snow-storm soon setting in, it was hidden from view; everything seemed to be against me. It slackened and partially cleared up; then came another
