By the time we were down the Cape shore––down Canso way––and among the fleet again, we had lost a week.
So Elizabeth did not go to Canso, where the hospitals had been removed.
The fleet, in gaining the Gut of Canso, had been assailed by dangers.
On the 4th of April, 1745, the expedition had arrived at Canso.
The same gale had swept the coast from Hatteras to Canso with destructive fury.
From this was developed the Canso, the most usual of Provençal forms.
It was as black as could be––squalls sweeping down––and Canso is not the easiest harbor in the world to make at night.
There could not be a more magnificent night in which to ride towards that geographical mystery of our boyhood, the Gut of Canso.
Another raid was made on Canso, and another batch of prizes was captured.
On this now decaying porch no doubt lovers sat in the moonlight, and vowed by the Gut of Canso to be fond of each other forever.