bateau, and the following morning, before a light southwest breeze, the
lads set sail. Blaise knew nothing of this sort of water travel, but Hugh
had handled a sailboat before, though never one quite so clumsy as this
crude, heavy bateau. The boat was pointed at both ends, flat bottomed and
built of thick, hand-hewn boards. It carried a small, square sail on a
stubby mast. With axe and knife Hugh had made a crude rudder and had
lashed it to the stern in the place of the paddle the trappers had been
content to steer with. Blaise quickly learned to handle the rudder,
leaving Hugh free to manage the sail. It was a satisfaction to the older
boy to find something in which he excelled his younger brother and could
take the lead. It restored his self-respect as the elder. Blaise, on the
other hand, obeyed orders instantly and proved himself as reliable a
subordinate as he had been leader. The breeze holding steady, the bateau
made fairly good speed. They might possibly have made better time in a
canoe, but the new mode of travel was a pleasant change from the constant
labor of plying the blades.
Had the lads but known it, their wisest course would have been to cross
directly from the Grand Portage to the southwestern end of Isle Royale
and then skirt the island to its northeast tip. But they had no map to
tell them this. Indeed in those days the position of Isle Royale was but
imperfectly understood. It had been visited by scarcely any white men and
was avoided by the Indians. During the boys’ detention at the Grand
Portage, rain and fog had rendered the island, some eighteen or twenty
miles away, invisible. The day they set sail the sky was blue overhead,
but there was still haze enough on the water to obscure the distance. It
was not strange that they believed Isle Royale farther off than it really
was. From its northeastern end the _Otter_ had sailed to the
Kaministikwia, and Hugh took for granted that the shortest way to reach
the island must be from some point on Thunder Bay. He was aware of the
deep curve made by the shore to form the great bay, and realized that to
follow clear around that curve would be a loss of time. Instead of
turning north to follow the shore, he held on to the northeast, along the
inner side of a long line of narrow, rocky islands and reefs, rising from
the water like the summits of a mountain chain and forming a breakwater
for the protection of the bay.
It was from one of those islands, now called McKellar Island, south about
two miles from the towering heights of the Isle du Paté and at least
fifteen miles by water from the southern mouth of the Kaministikwia, that
the adventurers finally set out for Isle Royale. Before they dared
attempt the perilous sail across the long stretch of the open lake, they
remained in camp a day to let the southwest wind, which had risen to half
a gale, blow itself out. Wind they needed for their venture, but not too
much wind.
XIV
SAILING TOWARDS THE SUNRISE
“Truly the spirit of the winds favors us.” Blaise forgot for the moment
his Christian training and spoke in the manner of his Indian forefathers.
He had waked at dawn and, finding the lake merely rippled by a steady
west breeze, had aroused Hugh.
So anxious were the two to take advantage of the perfect weather that
they did not wait for breakfast, but hastily flung their blankets and
cooking utensils into the boat. With the two strong paddles included in
the purchase, they ran the bateau out of the little cove where it had
lain sheltered. Then, hoisting the sail, they steered towards the dawn.
Hugh Beaupré never forgot that sail into the sunrise. Ahead of him the
sky, all rose and gold and faint green blending into soft blue, met the
water without the faintest, thinnest line of land between. Before and
around the boat, the lake shimmered with the reflected tints that
glorified even the patched and dirty sail. Was he bound for the other
side of the world, for some glorious, unearthly realm beyond that
gleaming water? A sense of mingled dread and exultation swept over the
boy, his face flushed, his gray eyes sparkled, his pulse quickened. He
knew the feeling of the explorer setting out for new lands, realms of he
knows not what perils and delights.
The moment of thrill passed, and Hugh turned to glance at Blaise. The
younger boy, his hand on the tiller rope, sat like a statue, his dark
face tense, his shining hazel eyes betraying a kindred feeling to that
which had held Hugh in its thrall. Never before in all their days of
journeying together had the white lad and the half-breed felt such
perfect comradeship. Speech was unnecessary between them.
As the sun rose higher and the day advanced, Blaise was not so sure that
fortune was favoring the venture. The wind sank until the water was
broken by the merest ripple only. There was scarcely enough pressure
against the sail to keep the boat moving.
“At this rate we shall be a week in reaching the island,” said Hugh,
anxiously eying the canvas. “We can go faster with the paddles. Lash the
rudder and we’ll try the blades.”
For the first time since they had changed from canoe to sailboat Blaise
voiced an objection. “To paddle this heavy bateau is hard work,” he said.
“We cannot keep at it all day and all night, as we could in a bark canoe.
As long as the wind blows at all and we move onward, even slowly, we had
best save our strength. Soon we shall need it. Before the sun is
overhead, there will be no wind at all, and then we must paddle.”
Hugh nodded agreement, but, less patient than his half-brother, he found
it trying to sit idle waiting for the gentle breeze to die. Blaise had
prophesied truly. Before noon the sail was hanging loose and idle, the
water, blue under a cloudless sky, was without a wrinkle. It is not often
really hot on the open waters of Lake Superior, but that day the sun
glared down upon the little boat, and the distance shimmered with heat
haze. The bateau had no oars or oarlocks, only two stout paddles, and
paddling the heavy, clumsy boat was slow, hot work.
Pausing for a moment’s rest after an hour’s steady plying of his blade,
Hugh uttered an exclamation. “Look, Blaise,” he cried. “We haven’t so far
to go. There is the Isle Royale ahead, and not far away either.”
He pointed with his blade to the hazy blue masses across the still water.
High the land towered, with points and bays and detached islands.
Encouraged by the sight, the two bent to their paddles.
In a few minutes Hugh cried out again. “How strange the island looks,
Blaise! I don’t remember any flat-topped place like that. See, it looks
as if it had been sliced off with a knife.”
The distant shore had taken on a strange appearance. High towering land
it seemed to be, but curiously level and flattened at the top, like no
land Hugh had seen around Lake Superior.
“There is something wrong,” the boy went on, puzzled. “We must be off our
course. That is not Isle Royale, at least not the part I saw. Where are
we, Blaise? Are we going in the wrong direction? Can that be part of the
mainland?”
“It is not the mainland over that way,” Blaise made prompt reply. “It
must be some part of Minong.” He used the Indian name for the island.
“But I saw nothing the——” Hugh began, then broke off to cry out, “Look,
look, the island is changing before our eyes! It towers up there to the
right, and over there, where it was high a moment ago, it shrinks and
fades away!”
“It is some enchanted land,” the younger boy murmured, gazing in wonder
at the dim blue shapes that loomed in one place, shrank in another,
changed size and form before his awestruck eyes. “It is a land of
spirits.” He ceased his paddling to cross himself.
For a moment Hugh too was inclined to believe that he and his brother
were the victims of witchcraft. But, though not free from superstition,
he had less of it than the half-breed. Moreover he remembered the looming
of the very boat he was now in, when he had first seen it in the mists of
dawn, and also the rock that had looked like an island, when he was on
his way from Michilimackinac. The captain of the ship had told him of
some of the queer visions called mirages he had seen when sailing the
lakes. Turning towards Blaise, Hugh attempted to explain the strange
sight ahead.
“It is the mirage. I have heard of it. The Captain of the _Athabasca_
told me that the mirage is caused by the light shining through mist or
layers of cloud or air that reflect in some way we do not understand,
making images of land appear where there is no land or changing the
appearance of the real land. Sometimes, he said, images of islands are
seen upside down in the sky, above the real water-line. It is all very
strange and no one quite understands why it comes or how, but there is no
enchantment about it, Blaise.”
The younger boy nodded, his eyes still on the changing, hazy shapes
ahead. Without reply, he resumed his paddling. How much he understood of
his elder brother’s explanation, Hugh could not tell. At any rate Blaise
was too proud to show further fear of something Hugh did not seem to be
afraid of.
In silence the two plied their paddles under the hot sun, but the heavy
wooden boat did not respond like a bark canoe to their efforts. Progress
was very slow. White clouds were gathering in the south, moving slowly up
and across the sky, though the water remained quiet. The clouds veiled
the sun. The distant land shrank to a mere blue line, its natural shape
and size, and seemed to come no nearer for all their efforts. Both boys
were growing anxious. After the heat and stillness of the day, the
clouds, slow moving though they were, threatened storm. The two dug their
blades into the water, straining muscles of arms and shoulders to put all
their strength into the stroke.
A crinkle, a ripple was spreading over the green-blue water. A breeze was
coming up from the southwest. Hugh laid down his blade to raise the sail.
In the west the rays of the setting sun were breaking through the clouds
and dyeing them crimson, flame and orange. He was glad to see the sun
again, for it brought him assurance that he was keeping the course, not
swinging too far to north or south.
The breeze, very light at first, strengthened after sunset and became
more westerly, the most favorable direction. The clumsy boat and square
sail could not be made to beat against the wind, but Hugh’s course was a
little north of east. He could sail directly with the wind and yet be
assured of not going far out of his way. The farthest tip of land ahead,
now freed from the false distortions of mirage, he took to be the end of
the long, high shore, where, in the fissure, he and Baptiste had found
the old bateau. That land was still very far away, other islands or
points of the main island lying nearer.
As darkness gathered, the breeze swept away the clouds, and stars and
moon shone out. Sailing over the gently heaving water, where the
moonlight made a shimmering path, was a pleasant change from paddling the
heavy boat in the heat of the day. The boys’ evening meal consisted of a
few handfuls of hulled corn and some maple sugar, with the clear, cold
lake water for drink. Both Blaise at the tiller and Hugh handling the
sheet found it difficult to keep awake. The day had been a long one, but
they must remain alert to hold their course and avoid disaster.
They were approaching land now. In the moonlight, to avoid islands and
projecting rocks was not difficult. Sunken reefs were harder to discern.
Only the breaking of waves upon the rocks that rose near to the surface
betrayed the danger. So the steersman shunned points and the ends of
islands from which hidden reefs might run out. Hugh would have been glad
to camp on the first land reached, but he knew he ought to take advantage
of the favorable wind and get as near as possible to the spot where the
wreck lay. Shaking off his drowsiness, he gave his whole attention to
navigation.
Several islands and a number of points, that might belong either to the
great island or to smaller bordering ones, were passed before reaching a
low shore, well wooded, which Hugh felt sure he recognized. He remembered
that the _Otter_ had been obliged to go far out around the tip to avoid a
long reef. He warned Blaise to steer well out, but the latter did not go
quite far enough and the boat grazed a rock. No damage was done, however.
The bateau was now headed for a strip of much higher land, showing dark
between sky and water. Hugh thought that must be the towering,
tree-crowned, rock shore he recalled. To land there tonight was out of
the question. The moon had gone down, and to run, in the darkness, up the
bay to the spot where the _Otter_ had taken shelter might also prove
difficult. Hugh decided they had better tie up somewhere on the point
they had just rounded. He lowered the sail and both boys took up their
paddles. For some distance they skirted the steep, slanting rock shore
where the trees grew down as far as they could cling.
One mountain ash had lost its footing and fallen into the lake. To the
fallen tree Hugh tied the boat, in still water and under the shadow of
the shore. Then he and Blaise rolled themselves in their blankets and lay
down in the bottom. Heedless of the dew-wet planking they were asleep
immediately. The water rippled gently against the rough sides of the
boat, an owl in a spruce sent forth its eerie hoots, from across the
water a loon answered with a wild, mocking cry, but the tired lads slept
on undisturbed.
XV
THE RIFT IN THE ROCK
The brothers were in the habit of waking early, but it had been nearly
dawn when they lay down, and, in the shadow of the trees, they slept
until the sun was well started on his day’s journey. When they did wake,
Hugh’s first glance was towards the land across the water.
There was no mistaking that high towering shore, steep rocks at the base,
richly forest clad above. It was the same shore he had seen weeks before,
the first time dimly through fog and snow, again clear cut and distinct,
when he and Baptiste had rowed Captain Bennett out of the bay, and yet a
third time from the deck of the _Otter_ as she sailed away towards
Thunder Cape.
“We have come aright, Blaise,” said Hugh with satisfaction. “That is the
place we seek, and it can’t be more than a mile away. Do you see that
spot where the trees come to the water, that tiny break in the rocks? It
is a little cove with a bit of beach, and in that stretch of rocks to the
left is the crack where the old boat lies. I’m sure of the spot, because
from the _Otter_, when we were leaving, I noticed the bare rock pillars
of that highest ridge away up there, like the wall of a fort among the
trees. It doesn’t show quite so plainly now the birches are in leaf, but
I’m sure it is the same. There are two little coves almost directly below
that pillared rock wall, and the cliff is a little farther to the left.
Oh, but I am hungry,” he added. “We must have a good breakfast before we
start across.”
Over the short stretch of water that separated the low point from the
high shore, the bateau sailed before the brisk wind. The stretch of gray,
pillared rock, like the wall of a fortress, high up among the greenery,
served as a guide. As the boat drew nearer, the twin coves, shallow
depressions in the shore line separated by a projecting mass of rock,
came clear to view.
“Steer for the cliff just beyond the left hand cove,” Hugh ordered.
“We’ll run in close and then turn.”
Blaise obediently steered straight for the mass of rock with the vertical
fissures, as if his purpose were to dash the boat against the cliff. As
they drew close, Hugh gave a shout.
The crack had come into view, a black rift running at an angle into the
cliff. As the boat swung about to avoid going on the rocks, the younger
boy’s quick eye caught a glimpse, in that dark fissure, of the end of a
bateau. To give him that glimpse, Hugh had taken a chance of wrecking
their own boat. Now he was obliged to act quickly, lowering the sail and
seizing a paddle.
In the trough of the waves, they skirted, close in, the steep, rugged
rocks. Almost hidden by a short point was the bit of beach at the end of
the first of the twin coves. With a dexterous twist of the paddles, the
boys turned their boat and ran up on the beach. Landing with so much
force would have ground the bottom out of a birch canoe, but the heavy
planks of the bateau would stand far worse battering.
The appearance of the cove had changed greatly since that day when Hugh
and Baptiste had rowed past. Then the bushes, birches and mountain ash
trees that ringed the pebbles had been bare limbed. Now, with June more
than two-thirds gone, they were all in full leaf. Big clusters of buds
among the graceful foliage of the mountain ashes were almost ready to
open into handsome flowers. The high-bush cranberries bore white blossoms
here and there, and the ninebark bushes were covered with masses of
pinkish buds. Though Hugh’s mind was on the wreck, his eyes took note of
the almost incredible difference a few weeks had made. His nose sniffed
with appreciation the spicy smell of the fresh, growing tips of the
balsams, mingled with the heliotrope-like odor of the tiny twin-flowers
blooming in the woods. He did not let enjoyment of these things delay
him, however.
“Now,” he cried, when he and Blaise had pulled up the boat, “we must get
into that crack. We can’t reach it from the water in this wind. Perhaps
we can climb down from the top.”
Up a steep rock slope, dotted with fresh green moss, shiny leaved
bearberry, spreading masses of juniper and a few evergreen trees growing
in the depressions, he hastened with Blaise close behind. Along the top
of the cliff they made their way until they reached the rift. Though the
sides of the crack were almost vertical, trees and bushes grew wherever
they could anchor a root. Through branches and foliage, the boys could
get no view of the old boat at the bottom.
“We must climb down,” said Hugh.
“It will be difficult,” Blaise replied doubtfully. “To do it we must
cling to the roots and branches. Those trees have little soil to grow in.
Our weight may pull them over.”
“We must get down some way,” Hugh insisted. “We shall have to take our
chances.”
“The wind and waves will calm. We have but to wait and enter from the
water.”
Hugh had not the Indian patience. “The wind is not going down, it is
coming up,” he protested. “It may blow for a week. I didn’t come here to
wait for calm weather. I’m going down some way.”
He wriggled between the lower branches of a spruce growing on the very
verge of the crack and let himself down a vertical wall, feeling with his
toes for a support. Carefully he rested his weight on the slanting stem
of a stunted cedar growing in a niche. It held him. Clinging with fingers
and moccasined feet to every projection of rock and each branch, stem or
root that promised to hold him, he worked his way down. He heeded his
younger brother’s warning in so far as to test every support before
trusting himself to it. But in spite of his care, a bit of projecting
rock crumbled under his feet. His weight was thrown upon a root he had
laid hold of. The root seemed to be firmly anchored, but it pulled loose,
and Hugh went sliding down right into the old boat. The ice, which had
filled the wreck when he first saw it, had melted. The bateau was more
than half full of water, into which he plumped, splashing it all over
him. He was not hurt, however, only wet and shaken up a bit.
Blaise had already begun to follow his elder brother into the cleft, when
he heard Hugh crash down. Halfway over the edge, the younger boy paused
for a moment. Then Hugh’s shout came up to him. “All right, but be
careful,” the elder brother cautioned.
Light and very agile, the younger lad had better luck, landing nimbly on
his feet on the cross plank of the old boat. It was the vermilion painted
thwart that had held the mast. Eagerly both lads bent over it to make
out, in the dim light, the black figures on the red ground.
“It is our father’s sign,” Blaise said quietly, “our father’s sign, just
as I have seen it many times. This was his bateau, but whether it was
wrecked here or elsewhere we cannot tell.”
“I believe it was wrecked here,” Hugh asserted. “See how the end is
splintered. This boat was driven upon these very rocks where it now lies,
the prow smashed and rents ripped in the bottom and one side. But it is
empty. We must seek some sign to guide us to the furs. We need more
light.”
“I will make a torch. Wait but a moment.”
Blaise straightened up, hooked his fingers over the edge of a narrow,
rock shelf, swung himself up, and ascended the rest of the way as nimbly
as a squirrel. In a few minutes he came scrambling down again, holding in
one hand a roughly made torch, resinous twigs bound together with a bit
of bearberry vine. With sparks from his flint and steel, he lighted the
balsam torch. It did not give a very bright light, but it enabled the
boys to examine the old bateau closely. The only mark they could find
that might have been intended as a guide was a groove across the fore
thwart. At one end of the groove short lines had been cut diagonally to
form an arrow point.
“The cache, if it is on the island, must be sought that way,” said
Blaise.
“The arrow surely points up the crack. We’ll follow it.”
The smashed bow of the boat was firmly lodged among the fragments of rock
upon which it had been driven. Over those fragments, up a steep slope,
the boys picked their way for a few yards, until the walls drew together,
the fissure narrowing to a mere slit. By throwing the light of the torch
into the slit and reaching in arm’s length, Hugh satisfied himself that
there were no furs there. Nevertheless the arrow pointed in that
direction. He looked about him. The left hand wall was almost
perpendicular, solid rock apparently, with only an occasional vertical
crack or shallow niche where some hardy bit of greenery clung. But from
the right wall several blocks had fallen out. On one of those blocks Hugh
was standing. He held the torch up at arm’s length.
“There’s a hole up there. Such a place would make a good cache.”
“Let me up on your shoulders,” Blaise proposed, “and I will look in.”
Sitting on Hugh’s shoulders, Blaise threw the light of the torch into the
hole. Then he reached in his arm. “There are no furs here,” he said.
Hugh had been almost certain he had found the cache. He was keenly
disappointed. “Are you sure?” he cried.
“Yes. It is a small place, just a hole in the rock. Let me down.”
“There are no furs there,” Blaise repeated, when he had jumped down from
Hugh’s shoulders. “But something I found.” He held out a short piece of
rawhide cord.
Hugh stared at the cord, then at his half-brother. “You were not the
first to visit that hole then. What is the meaning of this?” He took the
bit of rawhide in his fingers.
“I think it means that the furs have been there, but have been taken
away,” was the younger lad’s slow reply. “It is a piece from the thong
that bound a bale of furs. That is what I think.”
“Someone has found the cache and taken away the pelts.”
“I fear it,” agreed Blaise. Though he spoke quietly, his disappointment
was as strong as Hugh’s.
“That someone is probably one of the Old Company’s men. Then the furs are
lost to us indeed. Yet we do not know. How did anyone learn of the cache?
It may have been Black Thunder of course, but then what was the meaning
of the blood-stained shirt? No, we don’t know, Blaise. Our furs may be
gone for good, but we can’t be sure. Father may have put them in there
out of reach of the storm and later moved them to some other place, or
they may never have been in that hole at all. Some animal may have
carried that bit of rawhide there.”
Blaise shook his head. “What animal could go up there?”
“A squirrel perhaps, or a bird, a gull. Anyway we can’t give up the
search yet, just because we have found a bit of rawhide in a hole in the
rocks. That would be folly. Perhaps the arrow points up the rift to some
spot above. We can’t climb up here. We must go back.”
The two returned to the wreck and climbed up the way they had come down.
Hugh again in the lead, they followed along the top of the rift to its
head. There they sought earnestly for some sign that might lead them to
the cache, but found none. When at sunset they gave up the search for
that day, their fear that the furs had been stolen from the hole in the
rock had grown near to a certainty. Well-nigh discouraged, they went back
to the beach in the shallow cove where they had left their boat.
“Why is it, Blaise,” Hugh asked, as they sat by the fire waiting for the
kettle to boil, “that no Indians dwell on this big island? It is a
beautiful place and there must be game and furs for the hunting.”