[Transcriber's Note: Italic text is surrounded by _underscores_.]
[Illustration: "IT WAS A DANGEROUS ASCENT."
"The Island of Yellow Sands." (See page 120)]
THE ISLANDS OF
YELLOW SANDS
AN ADVENTURE AND MYSTERY
STORY FOR BOYS
BY
E. C. BRILL
_ILLUSTRATED_
[Illustration]
CUPPLES & LEON COMPANY
PUBLISHERS NEW YORK
ADVENTURE AND MYSTERY
STORIES FOR BOYS
_By_ E. C. BRILL
Large 12 mo. Cloth. Illustrated.
THE SECRET CACHE
SOUTH FROM HUDSON BAY
THE ISLAND OF YELLOW SANDS
COPYRIGHT, 1932, BY
CUPPLES & LEON COMPANY
THE ISLAND OF YELLOW SANDS
PRINTED IN U. S. A.
CONTENTS
I. THE ISLE WITH THE GOLDEN SANDS 11
II. THE GRANDE PORTAGE 19
III. RONALD MAKES AN ENEMY 29
IV. LAUNCHED ON THE GREAT ADVENTURE 39
V. THE GRAVE OF NANABOZHO 46
VI. ALONG THE NORTH SHORE 56
VII. THE ROCK OF THE BEAVER 65
VIII. STORM AND WRECK 73
IX. THE HOME OF THE GULLS 81
X. THE ISLAND TO THE SOUTHWEST 89
XI. NANGOTOOK RECONNOITERS 98
XII. OVER THE CLIFFS 105
XIII. THE CAMP IN THE CAVE 112
XIV. LOST IN THE FOG 122
XV. STRANDED 132
XVI. ISLAND OR MAINLAND? 139
XVII. A CARIBOU HUNT 148
XVIII. MINONG 158
XIX. LE FORGERON TORDU AGAIN 168
XX. THE NORTHEASTER 178
XXI. COMPELLED TO GIVE UP THE SEARCH 186
XXII. THE INDIAN MINES 196
XXIII. MINING AND HUNTING 207
XXIV. NANGOTOOK'S DISAPPEARANCE 216
XXV. THE RED SPOT AMONG THE GREEN 223
XXVI. THE BURNING WOODS 232
XXVII. NANGOTOOK'S CAPTIVITY 241
XXVIII. FLEEING FROM LE FORGERON 255
XXIX. NEAR STARVATION 264
XXX. THE END OF THE TWISTED BLACKSMITH 271
XXXI. THE WINDIGO 278
XXXII. THE UPROOTED TREE 287
XXXIII. THE MINE 298
The Island of Yellow Sands
I
THE ISLE WITH THE GOLDEN SANDS
"My white brother speaks wisdom."
The two boys were startled. The red-haired one, who had been lying on
the ground, scrambled to his feet. The other, a wiry dark-skinned lad,
sprang from his seat on a spruce log and seized the newcomer by the
hand.
"Etienne, Nangotook," he cried, "how came you here?"
"Even as you, little brother, over those great waters." The Indian made
a gesture towards the lake, which gleamed between the long point and the
island that protected the bay of the Grande Portage from wind and waves.
"I have listened to the words of this other white brother and found them
good," he added, with a grave glance at the surprised face of the
red-haired boy. "He would deal justly with my people as with his own."
"That would he, even as I would," the dark lad exclaimed. "He is my good
friend and comrade Ronald Kennedy of Montreal. And this, Ronald," he
added, completing the introduction, "is Nangotook, the Flame, called by
the good fathers Etienne, friend of my father and of my own childhood."
The greetings over, the Indian seated himself on the log beside Jean.
"And will my little brother be a trader to steal the wits of the Indian
and take his furs away from him?" he asked.
"Not I, Nangotook, unless I can be an honest one and give the trapper
and hunter fair return for his pelts. Though," Jean added more
thoughtfully, "I am eager indeed to gain gold, and I know not how it is
to be done except through trade with the savages."
"Gold," said the Ojibwa thoughtfully. "White men would do all things for
gold. Why is my brother Jean in need of it? What could gold give him
better than this?" He stretched out his arm with a sweeping gesture that
embraced the water, still glowing with the soft light of the afterglow,
and the rocky wooded shores.
"It would give back the land and the house on the beautiful St.
Lawrence, the house where my father was born," Jean answered, his face
softening. "You know the place, Etienne, and you know how my father
loves it. And now, if he had but the money, he could buy it back, but it
is a great sum and he has it not."
The Indian nodded in silence. After a moment, fixing his dark eyes on
Jean's, he said slowly, "How then if some man should lead my brother and
his comrade with hair like the maple leaf before it falls, to a place
where they can gather much gold and load with it many canoes?"
The two boys stared at him.
"You are making game of us," cried Jean indignantly.
"Nay, little brother. I will tell you the story." And the Indian settled
himself more comfortably on the log.
"Among my people," he began, "a tale is told of an island lying far out
in the wide waters. On that island is a broad beach of sand, a beach
unlike any other, for the sand is of a yellow more bright and shining
than the birch leaf when the frost has touched it."
"Gold?" queried Jean. "I have heard that there is gold on the shores and
islands of this lake, but no white man has found it."
"As the story is told among my people," Nangotook continued, without
heeding the interruption, "many summers ago three braves were driven by
the wind on the shore of that island. They loaded their canoe with the
sand, and started to paddle away. Then a man, as tall as a pine tree and
with a face like the lightning in its fierceness, appeared on the sands
and commanded them to bring back the gold. They did not heed, and he
waded into the water, and, growing greater and more terrible at every
step, gained on them swiftly. Then they were sick with fear, and agreed
to return to the land and empty out the yellow sand they had stolen.
When not one grain remained in the canoe, the manito of the sands
allowed them to go."
"That is the story of the Island of Yellow Sands," said Jean, as
Nangotook paused. "I recall it now. I heard it in childhood. Many have
sought that island, but none has found it. Do you mean that you know
where it is and can lead us there?"
The Ojibwa nodded. "My grandfather saw the island once many summers ago,
when a storm had driven him far out in the lake. But the wind was wrong
and the waves were rolling high on the beach, so he could not land. He
was close enough to see the sands gleaming in the sunlight. He knew them
for the same as the piece of yellow metal a medicine man of his clan had
taken from a Sioux prisoner. The Sioux had bought it from one whose
people lived far towards the setting sun. That metal was what the white
men call gold, and are always seeking. I heard my grandfather tell the
tale while the winter snow whistled around the lodge."
"And he told you how to reach the island?" asked Ronald. "Why did he not
go back and bring away some of the gold?"
"He had no need of the yellow sands, and he feared the manito that was
said to guard them."
"And do not you fear the manito?" Jean questioned.
The Indian shook his head. "I am a Christian," he said proudly, "and the
good fathers have taught me that I need fear no evil spirits, if I
remain true in my heart to the great Father above. Then too," he added
in a lower voice, "I have a mighty charm," his hand touched the breast
of his deerskin tunic, "which protects me from all the spirits of the
waters and the islands."
The two lads were not surprised at this strange intermingling of savage
superstition and civilized religion. Such a combination did not seem as
contradictory to them, in that superstitious age, as it would to a
modern boy. Jean merely replied very seriously that he had heard that
the golden sands of the island were guarded, not only by the spirit
himself, but by gigantic serpents, that came up out of the water, and
fierce birds and beasts which, at the command of the manito, attacked
the rash man who attempted to land.
At that the Indian smiled and, leaning forward from his log, said in a
low voice, "Nay, little brother, many tales are told that are not true.
May not the red men wish to keep the white men from the islands of this
great water, and so tell them tales to frighten them away? Is it not
right that we should keep something to ourselves, not the yellow sands
only but the red metal that comes from the Isle Minong? My brother has
heard tales of Minong, some white men call it the Isle Royale. Yet I
have been there and others with me, and after we had sacrificed to the
manito of the island, we carried away pieces of red metal, and no evil
befell us."
"My uncle," remarked Ronald, "told me of a man he knew, Alexander Henry,
once a partner in the Company, and even now connected with it, I
believe, who went in search of the Island of Yellow Sands. But when he
reached it, there were no golden sands at all, only the bones of dead
caribou."
"He never reached the island," said Nangotook scornfully. "Those who
guided him misled him, and let him think he had been to the right place.
The true Island of Yellow Sands is many days' journey from the island
where he landed."
"And you know where it is?"
"I know in what part of the waters it lies, where to leave the shore and
how to head my canoe," the Ojibwa replied confidently. "If my brothers
fear not a hard and dangerous journey, I will take them there. I know
not whether the charm I bear will protect them also," he added more
doubtfully.
"We are willing to risk that," Ronald answered promptly. "We're not
fearing a little danger and hardship, if there is chance of reaching the
island with the sands of gold."
"It is not that we fear to go," put in Jean, "but how can we find an
opportunity? We cannot ask for leave from the fleet, for then we must
tell our purpose, and that would never do."
"No," Ronald agreed, "we must be keeping our plans secret, so we may be
the first to land. Then the gold will be ours by right of discovery.
'Tis not likely we could obtain leave anyway, if we asked for it,
whatever our purpose, and----"
He was interrupted by the Indian, who made a gesture of silence.
Glancing about, the boys saw several men in the scarlet caps and sashes
of canoemen, approaching along the shore. Nangotook rose from the log.
"To-morrow, after the sun has gone to rest, I will speak to my brothers
again," he said in a low voice. "Let them be at this spot." Without
waiting for a reply, he slipped swiftly and silently away among the
trees.
Before the canoemen drew near enough to speak to them, the boys were
making their way towards the post. They kept back from the shore, in the
dusk of the woods, that they might not have to encounter the newcomers,
who appeared to be strangers to them.
Jean Havard and Ronald Kennedy had come to the Grande Portage, on the
northwest shore of Lake Superior, as canoemen in the service of the
Northwest Fur Company. Ronald's uncle was a partner in the Company, and
the boy had been ambitious to follow the life of the fur-trader. Both he
and Jean had found the long trip from the Sault interesting and well
worth while, in spite of its hardships and strenuous toil. They were
outdoor lads, with a plentiful share of the hardihood and adventurous
spirit of the outdoor men of their time. Since reaching the Portage,
however, they had begun to question whether they really wished to make
fur-trading their life-work. Ronald, especially, an honest,
straightforward Scot with a strong sense of fair play, had been sickened
and roused to indignation by many of the tales told by men from the
north and west who had come to the Portage with their loads of furs. It
seemed to the boy that most of the traders cared for nothing but gain
and were far from honest in their methods. They boasted of giving liquor
to the Indians, stealing their wits away, and obtaining their furs, the
earnings of a whole winter's work and hardship, for next to nothing. To
the boys this seemed a miserable, heartless way of doing business. Both
were eager for the life of the explorer. They longed to push through the
wilderness and see strange lands, but the regular work of the
fur-trader, carried on as it was by most of these men, had lost its
attractiveness.
Ronald, as well as Jean, was poor and had his own way to make. He knew
that his uncle had planned to get him into the Northwest Company's
permanent service. From a practical point of view the opportunity would
be a good one. He would have a chance to advance. He might even become
some day a member of the Company, and make a fortune. But he hated the
idea of being compelled to use the methods which seemed a matter of
course to most of the "northmen". He had been vigorously expressing his
disgust with the whole sordid business, when Nangotook had interrupted
him. The Indian had made it plain that he had been listening to the
boy's remarks and had approved of them.
The Ojibwa's extraordinary proposition had put the rights and wrongs of
the fur trade quite out of the two lads' heads for the time being. They
were fired with a desire to go in quest of the wonderful island. It
might be a mere myth indeed, but they were willing to believe that it
was not. Nangotook's grandfather had seen it, and Jean declared that he
had never known Nangotook to lie. In those days, even in the last decade
of the eighteenth century, very little was known about the islands of
Lake Superior. The great central expanse of the lake was unexplored. Who
could tell what wonders it might contain?
II
THE GRANDE PORTAGE
That night and the next day the two lads' heads were full of the Island
of Yellow Sands. They wanted to be alone to discuss the Indian's tale,
but found it impossible to avoid their companions. Moreover they had few
idle moments, for the Northwest Fur Company's station was a busy place
that July day in 179--. Nearly a thousand men were gathered at the post,
and there was much work to be done.
The Bay of the Grande Portage, where the station was located, is on the
northwest shore of Lake Superior, a few miles south of the Pigeon River.
The river forms a part of the line between the United States and the
Dominion of Canada. Although the peace treaty that followed the
Revolution had been signed, defining the boundary, the Northwest
Company, a Canadian organization, still maintained its trading post on
United States ground. The place had proved a convenient and satisfactory
spot for the chief station, that marked the point of departure from Lake
Superior for the country north and west.
Separated from a much larger bay to the northeast by a long point of
land, and further cut off from the main lake by an outlying, wooded
island, Grande Portage was well screened from all winds except the
south. The land at the head of the bay formed a natural amphitheatre and
had been cleared of woods. On one side of the open ground, underneath a
hill more than three hundred feet high, with higher hills rising beyond,
a cedar stockade walled in a rectangular space some twenty-four rods
wide by thirty long. Within the stockade were the quarters of the men in
charge of the post, clerks, servants, artisans and visiting traders and
members of the Company, as well as the buildings where furs, supplies
and goods for trade were stored and business transacted. There also was
the great dining hall where proprietors, clerks, guides and interpreters
messed together.
Outside the stockade were grouped tents and upturned canoes, supported
on paddles and poles. The tents were the temporary homes of the
"northmen," the men who went to the far north and west for furs. The
"comers and goers" or "pork eaters," as the canoemen who made the trip
between Montreal and the Portage, but did not go on to the west, were
called, slept under their canoes. In that queer town of tents and boats,
men were constantly coming and going; clerks and other employees from
the fort; painted and befeathered Indians, many of them accompanied by
squaws and children; and French-Canadians and half-breed voyageurs,
strikingly clothed in blanket or leather tunics, leggings and moccasins
of tanned skins, and scarlet sashes and caps.
Offshore a small sailing vessel of about fifty tons burden lay at
anchor. This boat was to take a cargo of pelts back across the lake, but
the main dependence of the Company was placed upon the great fleet of
canoes. Other smaller canoes were arriving daily from the northwest or
setting out in that direction, the route being up the Rivière aux
Tourtres, now known as Pigeon River, the English translation of the
French name. The mouth of the stream is about five miles northeast of
Grande Portage Bay, and the falls and rapids near the outlet were so
many and dangerous that boats could not be paddled or poled through
them. So the canoes from the west had to be unloaded several miles above
the mouth of the river, and the packages of furs carried on the backs of
men over a hard nine-mile portage to the post, while provisions and
articles of trade were taken back to the waiting canoes in the same way.
This was the long or great portage that gave the place its name.
Busy with their work, and surrounded almost constantly by the other
voyageurs, the boys had no opportunity to discuss the prospect of
reaching the Island of Yellow Sands, but Jean found a chance to answer
some of Ronald's questions about the tall Ojibwa. The Indian's gratitude
and devotion to Jean's father dated from fifteen years back, when the
elder Havard had saved him from being put to death by white traders at
the Sault de Ste. Marie, for a crime he had not committed. Convinced of
Nangotook's innocence, Havard had induced the angry men to delay the
execution of their sentence, and had sought out and brought to justice
the real offender, a renegade half-breed. For that service the Indian
had vowed that his life belonged to his white brother. The Ojibwa and
the Frenchman had become fast friends, for Nangotook, or Etienne, as the
French priests, in whose mission school he had been trained, had
christened him, was one of the higher type of Indians, possessing most
of the better and few of the worse traits of his tribe. He visited
Havard at his home on the St. Lawrence, and there became the devoted
friend of little Jean, then a child of three.
Since that first visit, Nangotook had appeared at the Havard home a
number of times, after irregular intervals of absence, sometimes of
months, again of years. Although, until the night before, it had been
more than four years since Jean had seen him, the Ojibwa had apparently
not forgotten either his gratitude to the elder Havard or his affection
for the boy. That gratitude and affection had led him to offer to guide
the two lads to the wonderful island. Jean and his father needed gold,
so Nangotook intended that they should have gold, if it was in his power
to help them to it. Ronald was Jean's friend, and the Indian was willing
to include him also. Moreover what he had overheard of the Scotch boy's
remarks about the way some of the traders treated the Indians had
pleased Nangotook. He had taken the teachings of the missionary priests
seriously and had grasped at least a little of their meaning. By nature
moderate and self-controlled, he realized the disasters that were coming
upon his people through the physical degradation, idleness and other
evils that followed overindulgence in the white man's liquor. So
Ronald's disgust at the unscrupulousness of many of the traders in their
dealings with the savages had met with his approval, and had made the
Indian the lad's friend.
It was nearly sunset when the two boys slipped away from the camp to the
secluded spot where they were to meet Etienne. Seating themselves on the
fallen tree trunk, they began at once to talk of the subject uppermost
in their thoughts. In a week or two the canoes would be ready to start
back around the shore of the lake to the Sault, and thence to Montreal,
where they would arrive late in September. Jean and Ronald, however,
were not obliged to return the whole distance, although, up to the night
before, they had intended to do so. They had spent the previous winter
at the Sault de Ste. Marie, the falls of the river St. Mary which
connects Lake Superior with Lake Huron. Jean had been staying with a
French family there, friends of his father, while Ronald, who had made
the trip from Montreal with his uncle in the autumn, had remained, after
the latter's return, as a volunteer helper to the Company's agent at the
Sault. Before pledging him to the Company's service for a term of years,
his uncle had wished him to learn whether he really liked the business
of fur-trading. When, in the spring, the canoe fleet from Montreal had
arrived at the Sault, it had been short handed. Two men had been killed
and several seriously injured in an accident on the way. So it happened
that Jean and Ronald, expert canoemen and eager to make the Superior
trip, had been engaged with three others. Their contracts were only for
the voyage from the Sault to the Grande Portage and back again to the
Sault, and they were under no obligation to go on with the fleet to
Montreal.
Whether there would be time, before cold weather and winter storms set
in, to come back to the lake and join the Indian in a search for the
Island of Yellow Sands, they could not be sure until they had consulted
him. They hoped ardently that they could make the attempt that year, for
who could tell what might happen before another spring? As Ronald
pointed out, Etienne alone knew how to reach the island. If anything
should go wrong with him, they would have no guide. Moreover, in the
interval, some other white man might discover the place. Indeed Etienne,
though Jean thought that unlikely, might take it into his head to lead
some one else there.
They were discussing this question, when, just as the sun was sinking,
the Indian joined them. It soon became evident that he was bent on
leading them on the adventure, and they were quite as eager to follow
him. He seemed certain that there would be ample time, unless they were
delayed by unusually bad weather, to make at least one trip from the
Sault to the mysterious island and back, before winter set in. He would
furnish a small canoe, and would bargain at the trading post for the
supplies they would need. He was well known at the Sault, and his
arrival there would excite no comment. But he cautioned them to keep
their plans secret, lest others should forestall them in the discovery
of the gold. They must disappear quietly and join their guide at a spot
agreed upon, several miles from the little settlement. As rapidly as
possible they would paddle along the north shore of Lake Superior to the
place where they must strike out into the open lake. The voyage from
shore to island could be undertaken only in the best of weather, but it
could be made, he assured them, in a few hours. After they had loaded
their canoe with as much sand as it would carry, they would return to
the shelter of the shore, and make their way back to the eastern end of
the lake. Not far from the Sault he knew a safe, well hidden spot where
they could secrete the bulk of their precious cargo, until they could
find an opportunity to return to the island for more.
Any scruples the lads might have felt at leaving the Sault without
letting their friends know where they were going, were soon overcome by
the lure of the adventure as well as of the gold itself. They comforted
their consciences with the thought that, once they had found the yellow
sands, they would make everything right by taking Jean's father and
Ronald's uncle into confidence and partnership. Then they would secure,
or build, a small sailing vessel, and bring away from the island all the
gold they would ever need. M. Havard could buy back the old home on the
St. Lawrence that financial reverses had forced him to lose. Jean glowed
with the thought of the happiness his father and mother would feel at
returning to their dearly loved and much mourned home. Ronald was an
orphan, the uncle in Montreal being his only near relative, and the
latter was wealthy and not in need of help. But the boy had already
planned a great future for himself. First he would go to college in
Montreal and perhaps even in England for a time, until he learned all
the things an explorer ought to know. Then he would make up an
expedition to the north and west, and, not being dependent on trade for
gain, would penetrate to new lands and would add, not only to his own
glory and renown, but to that of his country as well.
After their plans had been perfected, so far as they could be at that
time, Nangotook left them, but the two lads lingered to discuss their
hopes and dreams. As they were sitting on the log, watching the
moonlight on the peaceful waters of the bay, and talking in low but
eager voices, Jean's keen ears caught the sound of a snapping twig and a
slight rustle among the trees behind him. He rose quickly to his feet
and peered into the shadows, but could distinguish nothing that could
have made the sounds. Ronald also took alarm. They ceased their
conversation, and slipped quietly back among the trees and bushes. In
the darkness they could find no trace of anything disturbing, but the
thread of their thoughts had been broken, and they felt strangely
uneasy. With one accord they turned in the direction of the camp, and
made their way towards it without speaking. As they approached the edge
of the clearing, they saw ahead of them the dark figure of a man slip
out from among the trees and go swiftly, but with an awkward gait,
across the open. His stiff ankle and out-turning right foot betrayed
him.
"Le Forgeron Tordu," exclaimed Ronald. "Do you suppose he was listening
to us?"
"I fear it," answered Jean. "We were fools not to be more cautious. I
would give much to know just what he overheard."
"He may not have been listening at all," Ronald returned. "Perhaps he
was merely passing through the woods and didn't hear us, or paid no heed
even if he caught the sound of our voices. Unless he were close by he
couldn't have understood, for we were speaking softly."
Jean shook his head doubtfully. "I hope he heard nothing," he said.
"There is not another man in the fleet I would so fear to have know our
plans. He is not to be trusted for one moment. There is nothing evil he
would shrink from, if he thought it to his advantage."
"Well," was Ronald's answer, "he's not fond of you and me, that is
certain, but what harm can he do? Since Etienne left, I am sure we have
not been saying anything about the island itself or how to reach it.
Indeed he told us little enough. He merely said it lies south of a point
on the north shore, the Rock of the Beaver he called it, but he didn't
tell us where on the north shore that rock is. Have you ever heard of
such a place, Jean?"
The French lad shook his head, then said with an air of relief, "It is
true Le Forgeron can have learned nothing of importance, if he has been
listening. He was not near when Etienne was there or Etienne would have
discovered him. Trust Nangotook not to let an enemy creep up on him
without his knowing it. But we must be more careful in the future."
The camp was ruddy with the light of fires and noisy with the voices of
men, talking, laughing, singing, quarreling. Many of the voyageurs were
the worse for too much liquor, which flowed far too freely among the
canoemen. But the canoe where the boys lodged was near the edge of the
camp, and they were able to avoid the more noisy and boisterous groups.
The night was fine, and they had no need of shelter. Wrapping themselves
in their blankets, they stretched out, not under the canoe, but in its
shadow, a little way from the fire. Around the blaze the rest of the
crew were gathered, listening to the tale that one of the Frenchmen was
telling with much animation and many gestures. Ordinarily the boys would
have paused to hear the story, for they usually enjoyed sitting about
the camp-fire to listen to the tales and join in the songs. They had no
taste for the excesses and more boisterous merry-making of many of the
men and youths who were their companions, but, as both boys were plucky,
good-natured, and always willing to do their share of the work, their
temperate and quiet ways did them no harm with most of their rough
fellows, and they were by no means unpopular. That night, however, they
took no interest in song or story. Their minds were too full of the
fascinating adventure in which they had enlisted.
III
RONALD MAKES AN ENEMY
During the days that passed before their departure from the Portage, the
two lads saw Etienne only twice more and then for but a few minutes. The
last of the northmen arrived, the portaging was completed, the furs
sorted and made into packages of ninety to one hundred pounds each, and
everything was ready for the homeward trip.
One fine morning, when the sky was blue and the breeze light, the first
canoes of the great return fleet put out from shore. The birch canoes of
the traders were not much like the small pleasure craft we are familiar
with to-day. Frail looking boats though they were, each was between
thirty and forty feet long, and capable of carrying, including the
weight of the men that formed the crew, about four tons. In each canoe
were a foreman and a steersman, skilled men at higher wages than the
others and with complete authority over the middlemen. The foreman was
the chief officer of the boat, always on the lookout to direct the
course and passage, but he shared responsibility with the steersman in
the stern. Three or four boats made up a brigade, and each brigade had a
guide who was in absolute command.
The long, slender, graceful canoes, picturesque in themselves, were
filled with even more picturesque canoemen: Indians, French half-breeds,
many of them scarcely distinguishable from their full-blooded Indian
brothers, and white men, French-Canadians for the most part, in pointed
scarlet caps that contrasted strongly with their swarthy, sun-bronzed
faces. Singing boat songs, the men dipped their paddles with swift and
perfect unison and rhythm, and the canoes slipped over the quiet water
as smoothly and easily as if they were themselves alive. The clear
depths of the lake reflected the deep blue of the sky, while the rocky
shores, crowned or covered to the water's edge with dark evergreens and
bright-leaved birches, made a fitting background.
The canoes of each brigade kept as close together as possible, but all
the brigades did not start at the same time. When the last one was ready
to put off, the first was apt to be a number of days and many miles
ahead. In calm weather the canoes, though heavily loaded, made good
speed, four miles an hour being considered satisfactory progress. The
trips to and from the Sault were always made as rapidly as wind and
waves would permit, but the number of days required depended on the
weather encountered. The birch canoes could not plow through the middle
of the lake as the steamers of to-day do, but were obliged to skirt the
shore and take advantage of its shelter. The daring voyageurs often took
chances that would seem reckless to us, and paddled their frail boats
through seas that would have swamped or destroyed them, had they not
been handled with wonderful skill by the experienced Canadians and
Indians. But there were always periods of storm and rough weather when
the boats and their precious cargoes could not be trusted to the mercy
of the waters. Then the canoemen had to remain in camp on shore or
island, sometimes for a few hours, sometimes for days. During the
outward trip delays had not disturbed Jean and Ronald, but had been
enjoyed as welcome periods of rest from the hard and incessant labor of
paddling. On the return journey, however, the two were all impatience.
On the way out the two lads had traveled in the same canoe, but for the
trip back, they were assigned, much to their disgust, to different
boats. It did not add to Ronald's satisfaction to find that he had been
placed in the same canoe with the man whom he had suspected of listening
when he and Jean had been talking over their plans. Le Forgeron Tordu
was the steersman. The foreman was Benoît Gervais, Benoît le Gros or Big
Benoît he was usually called, a merry giant of a Frenchman, with a
strain of Indian blood, who, in spite of his usual good nature, could be
trusted to keep his crew in admirable control and to handle even the
evil tempered Le Forgeron. The latter was known far and wide throughout
the Indian country. He was always called Le Forgeron, the blacksmith, or
in Ojibwa, Awishtoya. His real name no one seemed to know, but the
nickname had evidently been given him because of his unusual skill as a
metal worker. The epithet "tordu" or "twisted" referred to his
deformity, his right leg from the knee down being twisted outward, and
his ankle stiff. His nose also was twisted to one side, and there was an
ugly scar on his chin. It was said that these disfigurements were the
marks of the tortures he had suffered, when scarcely more than a boy, at
the hands of the Iroquois.
Skilled smith though he was, Le Forgeron Tordu did not choose to settle
down and work at his trade. Occasionally he took employment for a short
period at one of the trading posts or as a voyageur. He had tremendous
physical strength and far more intelligence than the average canoeman,
but his violence, ugly temper, and treacherous craftiness made him a
dangerous employee or companion. Most of the time he lived with the
Indians, among whom he had the reputation of a great medicine man or
magician. Yet he professed to be of pure Norman French blood, and did
not have the appearance of a half-breed, though cruel enough in
disposition for an Iroquois.
For the first two days everything went well with the brigade to which
the boys belonged, for the skies were blue and the winds light. To make
the most of the good weather the men paddled long hours and slept short
ones. On the beaches where they camped, after they had made their fires
and boiled their kettles, they needed no shelter but their blankets
wrapped about them, as they lay stretched out under the stars.
The two lads' muscles had been hardened on the outward trip, and they
were in too much haste to reach the Sault to complain of the long hours
of work. Neither did they have any fault to find with the food,
monotonous enough as such meals would seem to boys of to-day. The fare
of the voyageurs consisted almost entirely of corn mush. The corn had
been prepared by boiling in lye to remove the outer coating of the
kernels, which were then washed, crushed and dried. This crushed corn
was very much like what is now called hominy, an Indian name. It was
mixed with a portion of fat and boiled in kettles hung on sticks over
the fire. When time and weather permitted, nets and lines were set at
night and taken up in the morning, supplying the canoemen with fish, but
there was never any time for hunting or gathering berries, except when
bad weather or head winds forced the voyageurs to remain on shore.
The third day of the trip a sudden storm compelled the brigade to seek
the refuge of a sheltered bay. The two canoes in which the boys traveled
were beached nearly half a mile apart. During the storm, which lasted
into the night, the lads were unable to get together. The next morning
the sky was clear again, but a violent northwest wind prevented the
launching of the boats. Since they could not go on, the canoemen were at
liberty to follow their own devices. Some of them sat around the fires
they had kindled in the lea of rocks and bushes, mended their moccasins
and other clothing, and told long tales of their adventures and
experiences. Others wandered about the beach and the adjacent woods,
seeking for ripe raspberries or hunting squirrels, hares and wood
pigeons. A group of Indian wigwams on a point was visited by a few of
the men, who bartered with the natives for fish, maple sugar and
deerskin moccasins.
For Ronald the Indian fishing camp had no particular attraction, and he
started to walk around the bay to the place where Jean's canoe was
beached. On the way he climbed a bluff a little back from the water, and
lingered to eat his fill of the ripe wild raspberries that grew along
the top. As he pushed his way through the brush, he heard the sound of
voices from the beach below and recognized the harsh, rough tones of Le
Forgeron. Just why he turned and went to the edge of the bluff in the
direction of the voices, Ronald did not know. Instinct seemed to tell
him that the Twisted Blacksmith was up to some mischief. Parting the
bushes, he looked down on an Indian lodge. He was surprised to see a
wigwam in that place, for it was at least a quarter of a mile from the
point where the temporary village stood. Near the wigwam Le Forgeron was
sitting cross-legged on a blanket, smoking at his ease, while a squaw,
bending over a small cooking fire, was preparing food for him, venison,
the boy's nose told him, as the savory odor rose on the wind.
"Make haste there, thou daughter of a pig," the Blacksmith was saying
roughly, "and take care that the meat is not burned or underdone or I
will burn thee alive in thine own fire."
The Indian woman shrank back as if frightened, and, as she turned her
head, Ronald saw that she was old and withered, and, from the way she
groped about, he judged her to be nearly if not quite blind. She made a
motion to withdraw from the fire the piece of venison she was broiling
on a wooden spit, that rested on two sticks driven into the ground, but,
whether through fear or blindness, she struck the stick with her hand
instead of grasping it, and spit and meat went into the fire.
Le Forgeron uttered an ugly oath and sprang to his feet. "I'll teach you
how to broil meat, old witch," he cried. Before Ronald could free
himself from the bushes, the Blacksmith had seized the frightened old
woman and had thrust her moccasined foot and bare ankle, for she wore no
leggings, into the fire. She gave a scream of pain and terror, and
Ronald, without pausing to think, launched himself over the edge of the
bluff in a flying leap. He landed on the sand close to where the old
squaw was struggling in Le Forgeron's grasp, and brought a stout stick,
that he had used a few moments before to kill a snake, down on the
Blacksmith's neck and shoulder. Surprised at the attack, Le Forgeron
flung the squaw from him and turned on the boy, reaching for his knife
as he did so. He made a quick lunge at Ronald, who jumped aside just in
time and seized him by the arm that held the knife. At the same moment
he heard a shout from beyond the lodge and recognized Jean's voice.
Ronald, though a strong and sturdy lad, was no match for Le Forgeron,
but he hung on to the Frenchman's right arm like a bulldog. The
Blacksmith flung his left arm out and around the boy's waist, to crush
him in his iron grasp. Ronald heard Jean's shout close by, and then,
just as he thought his body would be crushed in the Blacksmith's
terrible grip, there came from the top of the bluff a roar like that of
a mad bull, and Benoît le Gros launched his great body down on the
struggling pair as if to bury them both.
But Big Benoît did not bury Ronald. The boy went down on the sand, found
himself loose, rolled completely over and picked himself up, just in
time to see the giant foreman hurl his steersman into the breakers that
were rolling on the beach. Then he strode in after him, seized him by
the back of the neck and pulled him out again, dazed, bloody, choking
with the water he had swallowed. Le Forgeron Tordu was beaten. There was
no fight left in him for the time being, but he was far from being
subdued. He cast an ugly look at the two boys, but for the moment he was
unable even to swear. With an imperious gesture Big Benoît motioned him
to go back down the beach towards camp. Le Forgeron went, but as he
passed Ronald he gave him a look so full of vindictive hatred it fairly
chilled the lad's blood. There was no need of voice or words to express
the threat of vengeance. That look was enough.
In the meantime the Indian woman had disappeared, and, though the boys
sought for her to discover how badly she had been burned and to see if
they could do anything to relieve her suffering, they could not find
her. When Ronald returned to the camping place of his own crew, he found
the brigade guide in conversation with Big Benoît. The boy was summoned
to tell his story, and did so in a few words. He admitted having
attacked Le Forgeron first and gave his reason. Benoît added his
evidence, for he had seen the Indian woman crawl away and thrust her
smoking, blackened moccasin into the water. The guide grunted a
malediction upon Le Forgeron, whom he called the "king of fiends," and
dismissed the boy. Later Benoît informed him that he had been
transferred to the canoe where Jean was, and added, with a grin, that he
was sorry to lose a lad who was not afraid to attack the Blacksmith, but
that it was best the two should be separated. "Look to yourself, my
son," he said, laying a kindly hand on the boy's shoulder. "Le Forgeron
does not forget a grudge."
For two days strong winds prevented the continuance of the journey, but
Ronald, having been transferred to the same canoe with Jean, kept clear
of Le Forgeron.
The delay vexed the impatient boys, who felt that every lost hour was
shortening the time they could give to the search for the strange
island. At last, during the night, the wind changed to another quarter
and went down, and for the remainder of the voyage the weather was
generally favorable. There were several delays, but none so long as the
first, and the Sault was reached in fairly good time.
The visits of the brigades were the great events of the year at the
trading post of Sault de Ste. Marie. The few whites and half-breeds that
formed the little settlement, and most of the Indians of the Ojibwa
village near by, were on hand to receive the voyageurs. But Nangotook,
who should have been awaiting the boys, was nowhere to be seen.
The Northwest Company's agent and Jean's friends had expected the lads
to go on to Montreal with the fleet, and the two were hard put to it to
find excuses for lingering. The men who had been injured in the accident
of the spring before, and who had been left behind to recover, were
strong enough to resume their places at the paddles, so the lads'
services were not actually needed, and no pressure was put upon them to
go on. As day after day of impatient waiting passed without any sign of
their Indian guide, Jean and Ronald began to wonder if they had been
foolish to remain behind. Until the prospect of adventure and riches had
opened before them, they had not dreamed of spending another winter at
the Sault. Even when they had decided not to go on with the fleet, they
had hoped that they might accomplish their treasure-seeking trip in time
to allow them to return to Montreal or at least to Michilimackinac,
under Etienne's guidance, before winter set in.
IV
LAUNCHED ON THE GREAT ADVENTURE
On the morning of the third day after the departure of the last brigade
of the fleet, Etienne appeared at the Sault. At the post he purchased a
supply of corn, a piece of fat pork, some ammunition and tobacco and two
blankets, and was given credit for them, promising to pay in beaver
skins from his next winter's catch. Of the two lads he took no notice
whatever, but his behavior did not surprise them. They knew exactly what
was expected of them, and in the afternoon of the day he made his
purchases, they left the post quietly. Wishing to give the impression
that they were going for a mere ramble, they took no blankets, but each
had concealed about him fish lines, hooks, as much ammunition as he
could carry comfortably and various other little things. The fact that
they were carrying their guns, hunting knives and small, light axes, did
not excite suspicion. Game was extremely scarce, especially at that time
of year, in the vicinity of the post, the Indians and whites living
largely on fish. One of the half-breeds laughed at the boys for going
hunting, but they answered good-naturedly that they were not looking for
either bears or moose.
While in sight of the post and the Indian camp, the two lads went at a
deliberate pace, as if they had no particular aim or purpose, but as
soon as a patch of woods had hidden the houses and lodges from view,
they increased their speed and made directly for the place where they
were to meet Etienne. The spot agreed upon was above the rapids, out of
sight of the post, where a thick growth of willows at the river's edge
made an excellent cover. There they found the Ojibwa, in an opening
among the bushes, going over the seams of his canoe with a piece of
heat-softened pine gum. He grunted a welcome, but was evidently not in a
talkative mood, and the boys, knowing how an Indian dislikes to be
questioned about his affairs, forbore to ask what had caused his long
delay. They had expected to start at once, but Etienne seemed in no
hurry. When he had made sure that the birch seams were all water-tight,
he settled himself in a half reclining position on the ground, took some
tobacco from his pouch, cut it into small particles, rubbed them into
powder and filled the bowl of his long-stemmed, red stone pipe. He
struck sparks with his flint and steel, and, using a bit of dry fungus
as tinder, lighted the tobacco. After smoking in silence for a few
minutes, he went to sleep.
"He thinks it best not to start until dark," whispered Jean to his
companion. "Doubtless he is right. We might meet canoes on the river and
have to answer questions."
Ronald nodded, but inaction made him restless, and presently he slipped
through the willows and started to make his way along the shore of the
river. In a few moments Jean joined him, and they rambled about until
the sun was setting. When they returned to the place where Etienne and
the canoe were concealed, they found the Indian awake. He had made a
small cooking fire and had swung his iron kettle over it. As soon as the
water boiled, he stirred in enough of the prepared corn and fat to make
a meal for the three of them. While they ate he remained silent and
uncommunicative.
Dusk was changing into darkness when the three adventurers launched
their canoe. They carried it into the water, and Ronald and Jean held it
from swinging around with the current while Nangotook loaded it. To
distribute the weight equally he placed the packages of ammunition,
tobacco, corn and pork, a birch-bark basket of maple sugar he had
provided, the blankets, guns, kettle and other things on poles resting
on the bottom and running the entire length of the boat. A very little
inequality in the lading of a birch canoe makes it awkward to manage and
easy to capsize. When the boat was loaded Ronald held it steady, while
the Indian and Jean stepped in from opposite sides, one in the bow, the
other in the stern. Ronald took his place in the middle, and they were
off up the River Ste. Marie, on the first stage of their adventure.
Where the river narrows opposite Point aux Pins, which to this day
retains its French name meaning Pine Point, there was a group of Indian
lodges, but the canoe slipped past so quietly in the darkness that even
the dogs were not disturbed. The voyageurs rounded the point and,
turning to the northwest, skirted its low, sandy shore. The water was
still, and in the clear northern night, traveling, as long as they kept
out from the shore, was as easy as by daylight.
As they neared Gros Cap, the "Big Cape," which, on the northern side,
marks the real entrance from Ste. Mary's River into Whitefish Bay,
Nangotook, in the bow, suddenly made a low hissing sound, as a warning
to the boys, and ceased paddling, holding his blade motionless in the
water. The others instantly did the same, while the Indian, with raised
head, listened intently. Evidently he detected some danger ahead, though
no unusual sound came to the blunter ears of the white boys.
Suddenly resuming his strokes, Nangotook swerved the canoe to the right,
the lads lifting their blades and leaving the paddling to the Ojibwa. As
they drew near the shadow of the shore, the boys discovered the reason
for the sudden change of direction. Very faintly at first, then with
increasing clearness, came the sound of a high tenor voice, singing. It
was an old song, brought from old France many years before, and Jean
knew it well.
"Chante, rossignol, chante,
Toi qui a le cocur gai;
Tu as le coeur a rire,
Moi je l'ai-t-a pleurer,"
sang the tenor voice. Then other voices joined in the chorus.
"Lui ya longtemps que je t'aime,
Jamais je ne t'oublierai."
A rough translation would be something like this:
"Sing, nightingale, sing,
Thou who hast a heart of cheer,
Hast alway the heart to laugh,
But I weep sadly many a tear.
A long, long time have I loved thee,
Never can I forget my dear."
By the time these words could be heard distinctly, the adventurers had
reached a place of concealment in the dark shadow of the tree-covered
shore. There they remained silent and motionless, while three canoes,
each containing several men, passed farther out on the moonlit water.
They were headed for the Sault, and were evidently trappers or traders
from somewhere along the north shore, coming in to sell or forward their
furs and to buy supplies. Not until the strangers were out of sight and
hearing, did the treasure-seekers put out from the shadows again.