Early that evening while Chaumonot, worn with travelling and overcome with sleep, threw himself to rest on a bed that was not made up since the creation of the world. Father Brebeuf, to escape for a time the acrid and pungent smoke that filled the cabin, went out to commune with God alone in prayer. Early as it was, there was no one moving around, for the night was bitterly cold, and every door was closed. As the priest passed through the bourg, flickering ribands of light gleamed across his path,-from out the lodges came laughter and sounds of boisterous merriment, for neighbors were telling to each other rude jokes and spicy stories. Brebeuf moved towards the margin of the woods, when presently he stopped as if transfixed. Far away to the south-east, high in air and boldly outlined, a huge cross floated; Suspended in mid-heaven. “Was it stationary?” No, it moved towards him from the land of the Iroquois. The saintly face lighted with unwonted splendor, for his saw in the vision the presage of the martyr’s crown.
Excerpted from Early Missions in Western Canada by the Very Rev. W.R. Harris, Dean of St. Catharines. Published by Hunter, Rose and Company, Toronto, 1893.