Three
hours and twenty minutes brought me to Isle St. Vital, behind which we
got shelter. The good saint who presides over the island of gravel and
sand permitted me to take a glass of cordial from my basket, and to
refresh myself with a slice of cold tongue and a biscuit. Who this St.
Vital may have been, I know not, having been brought up a Protestant;
but I suppose the Catholic calendar would tell. If his saintship was as
fond of good living as some of his friends are said to be, I make no
doubt but he will freely forgive this trespass upon his territory.
Taking courage by this refreshment, we again put out before the gale,
and got in to the De Tour, and by seven o'clock, P.M., were safely
encamped on an island in St. Mary's Straits, opposite St. Joseph's. The
wind was here ahead.
On entering the straits, I found a vessel at anchor. On coming alongside
it proved to be the schooner Harriet, Capt. Allen, of Mont Clemens, on
her way from the Sault. A passenger on board says that he was at Mr.
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