He nevertheless maintained in this state an admirable equanimity, joy, and gentleness, consoling his beloved companions and encouraging them to suffer courageously all the hardships of the way, assuring them that our Lord would not forsake them when he was gone. During this navigation he began to prepare more particularly for death, passing his time in colloquies with our Lord, with His holy mother, with his angel-guardian, or with all heaven. He was often heard pronouncing these words : "I believe that my Redeemer liveth," or "Mary, mother of grace, mother of God, remember me." Besides a spiritual reading made for him every day, he toward the close asked them to read him his meditation on the preparation of death, which he carried about him. He recited his breviary every day ; and, although he was so low that both sight and strength had greatly failed, he did not omit it till the last day of his life, when his companions induced him to cease, as it was shortening his days.

A week before his death he had the precaution to bless some holy water, to serve him during the rest of his illness, in his agony, and at his burial; and he instructed his companions how to use it.

The eve of his death, which was a Friday, he told them, all radiant with joy, that it would take place on the morrow. During the whole day he conversed with them about the manner of his burial, the way in which he should be laid out, the place to be selected for his interment; he told them how to arrange his hands, feet, and face, and directed them to raise a cross over his grave. He even went so far as to enjoin them, only three hours before he expired, to take his chapel-bell, as soon as he was dead, and ring it while they carried him to the grave. Of all this he spoke so calmly and collectedly that you would have thought that he spoke of the death and burial of another, and not of his own.

Thus did he speak with them as they sailed along the lake, till, perceiving the mouth of a river with an eminence on the bank which he thought suited for his burial, he told them that it was the place of his last repose. They wished, however, to pass on, as the weather permitted it and the day was not far advanced ; but God raised a contrary wind which obliged them to return and enter the river pointed out by Father Marquette.

They then carried him ashore, kindled a little fire, and raised for him a wretched bark cabin, where they laid him as little uncomfortably as they could; but they were so overcome by sadness that, as they afterward said, they did not know what they were doing.

The father being thus stretched on the shore, like Saint Francis Xavier, as he had always so ardently desired, and felt alone amid those forests, for his companions were engaged in unloading, he had leisure to repeat all the acts in which he had employed himself during the preceding days.

When his dear companions afterward came up all dejected, he consoled them, and gave them hopes that God would take care of them after his death in those new and unknown countries. He gave them his last instructions, thanked them for all the charity they had shown him during the voyage, begged their pardon for the trouble he had given them, and directed them also to ask pardon in his name of all our fathers and brothers in the Ottawa country, and then disposed them to receive the sacrament of penance, which he administered to them for the last time. He also gave them a paper on which he had written all his faults since his last confession, to be given to his superior to oblige him to pray more earnestly for him. In fine, he promised not to forget them in heaven ; and, as he was very kind-hearted and knew them to be worn out with the toil of the preceding days, he bade them go and take a little rest, assuring them that his hour was not yet so near but that he would wake them when it was time, as in fact he did two or three hours after, calling them when about to enter his agony.

When they came near, he embraced them for the last time, while they melted in tears at his feet. He then asked for the holy water and his reliquary, and, taking off his crucifix, which he wore around his neck, he placed it in the hands of one, asking him to hold it constantly opposite him, raised before his eyes. Then, feeling that he had but a little time to live, he made a last effort, clasped his hands; and, with his eyes fixed sweetly on his crucifix, he pronounced aloud his profession of faith, and thanked the Divine Majesty for the immense grace he did him in allowing him to die in the society of Jesus, to die in it as a missionary of Jesus Christ, and above all, to die in it, as he had always asked, in a wretched cabin amid the forests, destitute of all human aid.

On this he became silent, conversing inwardly with God; yet from time to time words escaped him: "Sustinuit anima mea in verba ejus," or "Mater Dei, memento mei," which were the last words he uttered before entering on his agony, which was very calm and gentle.

He had prayed his companions to remind him, when they saw him about to expire, to pronounce frequently the names of Jesus and Mary. When he could not do it himself, they did it for him; and, when they thought him about to pass, one cried aloud, "Jesus Maria, which he several times repeated distinctly, and then, as if at those sacred names something had appeared to him, he suddenly raised his eyes above his crucifix, fixing them apparently on some object which he seemed to regard with pleasure, and thus with a countenance all radiant with smiles he expired without a struggle, as gently as if he had sunk into a quiet sleep.

His two poor companions, after shedding many tears over his body, and having laid it out as he had directed, carried it devoutly to the grave, ringing the bell according to his injunction, and raised a large cross near it to serve as a mark for passers-by.