To add to the romance of the surroundings, some Indians approached within view; they were about to get into a canoe. One of them told us that they were from far away down the Sound; he was a boy, much darker than the Indians of our neighborhood, but with light, clear eyes, and an intelligent expression. Indeed he was surprisingly handsome, but like all Indians he was dirty, with nothing on but a soiled hickory shirt. On his back he ‘carried a basket of small potatoes which he had obtained from the soldiers. Later, as twilight came on, the clear surface of the water was marked by the light gliding of Indians in their canoes, spearing for fish, of which there was great abundance. They filled the air with their wild discordant songs. It revealed the poetry of Indian life, to which the many stern realities bear a sad contrast.