only, when suddenly the rain came in a dash so fierce that swamping
seemed inevitable. Jean and Ronald bailed for their lives. Fortunately
the wind had lessened with the burst of rain that seemed to flatten out
the waves, so it was possible for the lads to bail. Fast and frenziedly
as they worked, they refrained by instinct from moving their bodies any
more than was absolutely necessary. The chief danger for the moment was
that the canoe might fill and sink. Had the violent rain been of long
duration that disaster could not have been prevented, but luckily the
deluge lasted but a very few minutes, ceasing as suddenly as it had
begun.
With the passing of the rain, the wind steadied, blowing strong and
cold, instead of in shifting squalls. Evidently the weather was
clearing. Patches of star sprinkled sky began to appear and disappear
and appear again, as the storm clouds broke and scattered, scudding
before the wind. The waves were high, and the canoe was still in great
peril. It was borne along rapidly, and the Indian had his hands full to
keep the waters from overwhelming it. It was tossed up and down until it
seemed about to turn end over end. But Nangotook's trained judgment,
cool head and iron wrist and forearm continued to triumph in the
struggle.
As the sky cleared the boys could see, from the faintness of the stars,
that day was dawning. Then just as hope began to be renewed in them, the
sound of breakers ahead reached their ears. The Ojibwa gave his paddle a
twist to swerve the canoe to the right, but the wind counteracted his
effort, and before he could turn sufficiently, a dark mass of rocks
loomed up close by. As the canoe was lifted on the crest of a wave, he
could see the pale gleam of the spray that dashed against that rock
wall. With a supreme effort, and at the risk of overturning his craft,
he succeeded in swinging to the right, beyond the reach of the surf. He
had barely made the turn, when a big wave carried the canoe by the rock
wall, so close in that an outstretched hand could almost have touched
it.
The dangerous manoeuver of turning again, to run in on the lea side of
the rocks, was accomplished safely. Suddenly the three adventurers found
themselves in almost still water, so completely were they sheltered from
the wind. The Indian paddled slowly along, straining his eyes to find a
rift or a beach where a landing could be made. He had taken but a few
strokes when he discerned a blacker gap in the dark rock. That gap was
the entrance to a narrow passage, so pitchy black that he could not tell
whether it was long or short. Even his keen eyes could not see the
dangers ahead. The stern of the canoe had scarcely passed into the rift,
when the bow struck sharply on a submerged rock. A great hole was torn
in the birch bark, and the water rushed in.
As the canoe filled and settled, Nangotook climbed out on the rock where
the boat had struck, but Ronald and Jean were less fortunate. They could
not reach bottom and were compelled to swim. They had only a few strokes
to go in the cold water and black darkness, however, before their feet
touched solid rock. Scrambling up a slippery slope, they were soon out
of the water, on a narrow, shelving ledge running along a steep wall.
From near by Nangotook called to them. Making their way cautiously along
the ledge in the direction of his voice, they soon reached the head of
the rift, which the Indian had already gained.
There on a beach of sloping boulders and large pebbles, safe from wind
and waves, the three crouched. Whether the canoe and its contents could
be raised they would not know until daylight came, but they were too
thankful for their own safety to worry about anything else. Sincerely,
though silently, the two lads, each in his own way, thanked God for
their deliverance, while the Indian spoke a few words in his own
language and in a low voice. Whether his gratitude was directed to the
Christian God, to Nanabozho or some other manito of the lake, or to the
mysterious charm he carried in the breast of his tunic, the lads could
not tell, probably to a combination of the three.
There among the rocks, the seekers after the golden sands remained safe,
but chilled and miserable enough, until daylight came. They did not
talk, but the boys could not help wondering if the place where they had
taken refuge might not be some part of the Island of Yellow Sands
itself. To be sure, they had encountered no sand of any kind, only rocks
and pebbles, but whether the wonderful beach Etienne had described ran
clear around the mysterious island or only fringed a part of it they did
not know. Perhaps at that very moment of chilled misery the golden sands
might lie but a few feet away from them.
IX
THE HOME OF THE GULLS
At first all that the castaways knew of their situation was that they
were in a narrow cleft of rock. As the light increased, they discovered
that the vertical rock walls, which rose high above their heads, came
together a little way beyond where the three were huddled, forming a
V-shaped cove. The waters of the lake extended into the rift about half
its length. Then came a shelving beach of boulders and large, smooth,
rounded pebbles. With the dawn, gulls, in ever increasing numbers, began
to circle overhead, keeping up an incessant crying, now high pitched and
whining, now harsh and guttural.
As soon as the light was strong enough, Etienne and the boys, chilled
and stiff, scrambled down to the water's edge to look for the sunken
canoe. They were relieved to find that it had not drifted out into the
lake. There it lay, one end tilted up on the sharp edged rock, where it
had struck, the other in deep water. One of the paddles Etienne had
saved, the other had disappeared. The canoe and its contents must be
raised and brought ashore at once, before the castaways even climbed the
rocks to see where they were.
Their supplies were scanty enough. A few handfuls of corn had remained
of the food they had kept with them when in their lean-to on St. Ignace.
After leaving their camping ground there, they had lived on hare meat
and fish, and, before they had paddled away from the Rock of the Beaver,
they had wrapped the corn in a piece of birch bark. They rescued the
package, but it was not water-tight, and the corn was a pulp. The powder
that the boys had carried on their persons was wet, too, from their
plunge in the lake. Only the Indian, who had not been in over his knees,
had saved his dry. He had also saved his most precious possession, next
to his mysterious charm, his red stone pipe with the bowl carved in the
form of a beaver and the stem decorated with copper bands. All three
guns had had a thorough wetting.
The corn and powder was spread on convenient, flat-topped rocks, the
soaked blankets on the pebbles, to dry in the sun. Then Nangotook and
the lads succeeded in raising the canoe and carrying it up on the bit of
beach. Fortunately the roll of birch bark, the ball of spruce roots and
the pieces of gum, they had provided for repairs, were unharmed. The
hole in the bottom of the canoe was large and jagged, but by no means
beyond mending. Before they began that task, however, the castaways
decided to climb the rocks and have a look about them. They were
dripping wet, and, as Lake Superior water is cold even in summer, they
needed sun, wind and exercise to dry and warm them.
At the head of the fissure they found a place in the ribbed and seamed
rock wall, where they could scramble up. They had to go one at a time,
and it was Ronald who led the way. Around his head gulls whirled,
screaming, and, as he neared the top, they swooped down so threateningly
that he remembered the story of the ferocious birds and beasts that
guarded the Island of Yellow Sands. His heart beat quickly as he thrust
his head above the top of the wall and looked about him. The prospect
was not encouraging. Waving his arms to ward off the gulls, which darted
down, with menacing wings and beaks, almost in his face, he scrambled up
until he stood on the verge of the rift.
This place was surely not the Island of Golden Sands. There were no
sands of any kind, and such a heap of barren rocks could scarcely be
called an island. One glance showed him why the gulls had disputed his
way so fiercely. The lonely rock was a nesting place. The air seemed
full of great white birds, wheeling, sailing, swooping on their long
wings, and making a deafening din with their angry cries, harsh,
mocking, threatening. As Ronald moved forward, hundreds of brownish-gray
young birds plunged into the water and swam away to join the flocks of
old ones that were riding the waves a little distance out.
For the moment the boy took small interest in gulls, young or old. His
disappointment was too keen. He had actually hoped that he might be on
the mysterious island he was seeking. Instead he had been cast ashore
upon a bare pile of rocks. Jean and Nangotook soon joined him. The
French youth's long face and the Ojibwa's grunt of disgust showed
plainly their disappointment.
The three strained their eyes over the waters in every direction. The
sky was blue, but the light haze of morning lay on the lake, shrouding
the distance. Other scattered rocks could be discerned, but no
continuous shore line was visible. At first the two boys could see
nothing that gave them any hope. Nangotook, however, gazed intently
towards the southwest. Then he stretched out his arm and pointed.
"Island off there. Reach it in little while," he said.
"It is only a pile of rocks like this," replied Ronald in a disgusted
tone.
"No," the Indian returned quietly. "Larger, with trees."
Though the lads were unable to make out what Nangotook said he saw, they
were cheered by his words. They knew that, keen-eyed as they were, they
were no match for him in eyesight, and were content to take his word
that to the southwest of them, not far away, lay an island with trees.
Their spirits rose at once. Surely that must be the place they were
seeking. They did not know how many miles they had come after the clouds
had blotted out the guiding stars, or how far they might have been
driven from their course, but they were very ready to believe that they
could not be much out of the way, and that the land to the southwest
must be the sought-for island. Before they could reach it, though, the
canoe must be mended.
After scrambling about the rocks for a while, the gold-seekers returned
to the cove. There they found that the gulls had stolen most of the
corn. Leaving it unguarded had been an inexcusable piece of
carelessness, for which Etienne blamed himself. The birds must have
stolen his wits first, he said. The three were ravenously hungry, so
Ronald climbed out of the rift again to search for a place where he
could fish with some hope of success.
He took his station at the most favorable looking spot, where a
projecting wall of rock and a number of large fragments, broken off at
some time long past, sheltered the water. Into the quiet pool he dropped
his hook. While he fished, Jean and Etienne mended the canoe.
Soon after Ronald let down his line, he caught the smallest lake trout
he had ever seen, much too small for three. After that, luck forsook
him. Half the morning he patiently fished the pool, but did not get a
bite. The rest of the forenoon he spent climbing about the rocks,
seeking other spots to fish from and trying every place that was
possible. Then he gave it up for the time, cleaned his little fish, and
lighted a fire of dry moss and small sticks. The iron kettle had
disappeared. The boys could not understand how the waves had managed to
wash the heavy thing away, but all their searching had failed to bring
it to light. So Ronald split his trout and broiled it on green twigs.
Divided among the three, it only whetted their appetites.
Time passed slowly on the wind-swept rock. With small, tough spruce
roots, called "wattap" by the Indians and voyageurs, a neat patch of
bark was sewed over the hole in the canoe, and the seams carefully
daubed with heat-softened pine gum. As the day advanced, the wind came
up, and, by the time the canoe was ready to be put in the water, the
crests of the waves were breaking in foam. The lake was much too rough
to make leaving the rock advisable.
The boys fished continually, but without luck. It began to look as if
they must eat gull or go without food, and gulls are far from good
eating. Only intense hunger would have driven the lads to try one.
There were gulls' nests everywhere, although they could hardly be called
nests in the usual sense of the word, being mere collections of sticks,
leaves and bits of lichen and moss placed in crevices and hollows of the
rock. No fresh eggs were to be found. The mottled gray-brown plumage of
the young birds was scarcely distinguishable from the rock itself as
they crouched close to it. They were hard to catch for all were able to
swim, and immediately plunged into the water when disturbed. Most of
them had learned to fly too, and could rise circling overhead with the
white-winged adult birds.
Jean noticed one young gull hopping up and down in a strange manner,
flapping its wings. As he watched it, it ran down a sloping bit of rock,
still moving its wings, rose unsteadily in the air, made a few
uncertain, awkward motions, trying its wings and learning to manage
them, then flew out over the water as if it had always been used to
flying. He watched it circle about and then light in a clumsy and
inexperienced manner. Wings raised straight over its back, it dropped
heavily into the water, going clear under. Rising to the surface, it
arranged its feathers and swam about, holding its head high as if proud
of its achievement. Jean felt sure that was the young gull's first
flight, and was surprised at the rapidity with which it had learned to
sail and wheel about in the air.
It was nearly sunset before the castaways had any luck with their
fishing, and then it was Nangotook who made the catch. He had noticed
several gulls hovering over and swooping down into the lake at a little
distance out, near a solitary rock that raised its head two or three
feet above the water. It was evident that the birds were fishing. So the
Indian launched the mended canoe, and, taking Jean with him, went out to
the spot. With the sinking sun the wind was going down, and paddling was
no longer dangerous. Passing close to the rock, he handed the paddle to
Jean and dropped his line quietly over the side. In a few minutes there
was a strong pull. Then a battle began, the Ojibwa playing his fish with
skill, letting out his line when his game made a dash, pulling in the
slack swiftly hand over hand as the fish changed its mind and darted
towards the boat, or slowly, steadily drawing it in without pulling too
strongly. Jean devoted his attention to the canoe, which pitched about,
and had to be turned and paddled this way and that in accordance with
the actions of the fish and the Indian's sharp orders. Finally, after a
struggle that lasted for ten minutes or more, Nangotook succeeded in
bringing the tired fish almost up to the boat. Pulling in the line
quickly with one hand, he reached far out over the gunwale, Jean hastily
balancing by leaning the other way, and plunged his knife into the fish
just below the mouth. He held it up exultingly. It was a lake trout of
eight or ten pounds weight.
When the two boys, rolled in their blankets, lay down that night in a
crevice of the rock, where moss and trailing cedar made a thin but not
to be despised bed, they were feeling very hopeful. They had eaten a
good meal of trout, the night was fair, the wind had subsided, the
prospect of reaching the island to the southwest was good. In
discouragement over their surroundings, they had rather forgotten at
times during the day, their thankfulness for having been saved from the
storm of the night before. Now, however, with renewed hope and bodily
comfort, their gratitude for their rescue returned, and with it a very
kindly feeling for the barren rock that had sheltered them from the fury
of the lake. Surely that land to the southwest must be the Island of
Yellow Sands. As the air had cleared during the day, they had been able
to make it out more plainly, and the lads had become convinced by their
own eyes that it was no mere rock like the one they were on. Ronald had
asked whether it might not be some point or headland of the lake shore,
but Etienne had shaken his head.
"South shore too far away," he had replied. "Island out there. Island of
Yellow Sands, just like my grandfather said."
X
THE ISLAND TO THE SOUTHWEST
The breeze still blew from the north the next morning, but the waves
were not high enough to forbid crossing the three or four miles of open
water that separated the adventurers from the land to the southwest.
Before starting out, Nangotook, to gain the good favor of the manito,
threw into the lake another offering of tobacco, though he had little
left. The two paddles, that had remained in the canoe when it sank, had
evidently been washed out of the cove, so the trip had to be made with
one blade, the Indian wielding it.
The boys' minds were full of the land they were approaching, and they
discussed its possibilities earnestly, but the Ojibwa was silent,
apparently devoting his whole attention to his paddling. As they drew
near the unknown island, the lads searched it eagerly with their eyes,
but they could discover no indication of a sand beach. A rocky point,
spotted with the white bodies of the gulls resting upon it, ran out into
the water. Back from the point rose high ground covered with trees.
Clouds had begun to fleck the blue sky, and the breeze had gained in
force. The rocks, exposed to the wind and dashed with spray, afforded no
good landing place. So the three went on between the point and the small
rock islands and reefs that lay out from it, the boys on the watch for
the gleam of golden sands. Nangotook, heedful of hidden points and
reefs, kept his eyes on the water most of the time.
No yellow sands came into view. There was one stretch of beach, but it
showed no gleam of gold. Apparently it was just ordinary sand, and
Nangotook did not think landing worth while, but paddled by. Beyond
another stretch of broken and tumbled rocks, a small opening, cutting
into the island between high portals, came into view. The Indian's
curiosity must have been aroused, for he headed the canoe into the
narrow channel.
Then an unexpected and beautiful sight met the eyes of the wanderers.
They found themselves in a peaceful harbor, almost round, and wooded
with evergreens to the water line. Directly in front of them, as they
entered, the ground was low, but to right and left it rose high, spruces
and balsam firs standing in thick ranks to the summit. The gap through
which they had come was a mere cut in a tree-clothed ridge, which
stretched away on either side. Ronald confided to Jean that it looked as
if some giant manito had taken a bite out of the ridge, but he was
careful not to let Nangotook overhear the remark. There was no sand of
any kind to be seen, but, in spite of their disappointment, the boys
voiced their admiration of this beautiful, landlocked harbor. The
Ojibwa's usually impassive face wore a look in which relief seemed
mingled with surprise, and he spoke a few words in his own language, and
quickly cast a pinch of tobacco into the water. It was no wonder that he
felt such an attractive place must be the dwelling of some spirit.
By that time the sky had become thickly overcast, and, as the
gold-seekers circled the wooded shore, rain began to fall. They made a
landing on the trunk of a cedar, that had tilted over until it lay
almost flat on the water, and lifting out the canoe, hid it in the thick
growth. In spite of the rain, the boys were eager to explore. They had
seen nothing very encouraging so far, but they were by no means
convinced that this was not the mysterious island they sought. How could
they be sure the golden sands did not lie just over there beyond the
forest?
Curiously enough it was the Indian who hung back and wanted to delay
exploration until the weather cleared. He did not give any good reason
for waiting, but his disinclination to begin the search was so plain,
that the boys grew impatient and told him if he did not want to go he
could stay behind. They were going to see what was on the other side of
the woods. When he found they were determined, he joined them, but,
contrary to his usual custom, he did not lead the way. It was the Scotch
boy who took the lead.
Striking through the woods where they had landed, they went up the
ridge. As they climbed, the way became steep and rocky. The spruces and
balsams stood less thickly on the summit, and, if the weather had been
clear, the adventurers might have obtained a good view of their
surroundings, but the rain was falling so thick and fine, more like a
dense mist than rain, that they could see only a few feet beyond where
they stood. It was quite impossible to tell what sort of shore lay
beyond and below the woods.
"It is scarcely worth while to seek for golden sands or anything else in
this thick weather," Jean remarked. "We must wait until it passes."
"Go back to bay, make camp, catch some fish," said Etienne, in his
brief, abrupt way.
Ronald was reluctant to give up, but there seemed nothing else to do,
and the mention of fish reminded him he was very hungry, so he yielded,
not very good-naturedly. It was the Ojibwa that led the way this time,
and a steep, dripping, slippery way it was, down through the woods to
the bay.
Probably that bay had never been fished by any creature but the gulls
that swooped down on the small fishes that swam too near the surface.
The water abounded in little fish, but they were lake herring, which are
really not herring at all, and will not take a hook. The lads had no
net, and failing to catch anything in the bay, were obliged to go out
through the channel. There, above a sunken reef, they secured three good
sized lake trout.
In the meantime Etienne had found and made ready a camping place, and
had built a small bark lodge. The rain continued steadily, and the three
spent the rest of the day under shelter.
Rain was still coming down the next morning, and the weather had turned
so cold that the boys would not have been surprised if snow had fallen,
though it was still early in September. By the time another supply of
fish had been caught and fire-wood cut, they were glad to seek the
wigwam. There they remained most of the day, resting on couches of
balsam and spruce, covered with blankets, and passing the time talking,
mending their moccasins and dozing. In the center of the wigwam they
kept a small fire going, the smoke finding its way out through a hole in
the roof. The lads tried to persuade Nangotook to tell of his adventures
and exploits, but he seemed disinclined to talk, and passed the day in
morose and sullen silence. Jean could not imagine what had come over the
usually good-natured Ojibwa.
Late in the afternoon the rain ceased, and Jean and Ronald climbed up
over their trail of the day before. Nangotook only grunted when they
proposed the trip, and did not accompany them. The sky was still
overcast and the distance hazy, but from the top of the ridge, a hundred
feet or more above the lake, the two lads could look down upon a rocky
shore to their left and across a stretch of lower land to the right.
What the shore was like beyond that low land they could not tell. There
might be, indeed it seemed probable from the lay of the land that there
was, a beach on that side of the island. Ahead of them the trees
obstructed the view.
They made their way along the ridge, a rough way, over slippery rocks,
along the verge of steep declivities, among spruce and balsam trees,
until they came out from woods on almost bare rocks. They had reached
the southern end of the island, where rock walls and slopes descended to
the water, vertically in some places, more gently in others. Everywhere
there was rock, no beaches, no sand.
The sun had set behind heavy clouds, and the gray sky shed little light.
No land was visible across the water, in the growing darkness and haze
of the gloomy, sullen evening. Depressed and silent, the two lads
stumbled back along their trail, finding it with difficulty in the
blackness of the woods. Their confidence was dwindling, though they
tried to comfort themselves with the thought that they had not explored
all of the island yet. The shore beyond the lower land to the west of
the ridge was their only real hope.