The Island of Yellow Sands: An Adventure and Mystery Story for Boys

It was Le Forgeron who had knocked Ronald over the cliff. The Cree had been in the cave at the time, He had gone out in the canoe and had towed the unconscious boy into the adjoining cavern, where he had taken from him his gun and knife. Awishtoya had ordered him, the Indian said, to kill the lad, if he were not already dead, but because of a dream he had had the night before, which forbade him to take life, even the life of an animal, that day, the Cree had not given the death stroke. He had thought the boy would die anyway, for he did not believe he could get out of the cave without a boat to help him, and he felt sure that his companions would never find him there. Le Forgeron did not go into the hole where Ronald was, so he did not discover that his servant had not carried out his commands. As soon as he had disposed of the lad, the Indian had paddled to the place where the two were in the habit of descending the cliff, and had taken his master into the canoe. Then they had crossed a short stretch of water to a little, outlying, almost barren island, where they had lain hidden among the few stunted trees and bushes until nightfall. Before night the weather had cleared, so they could see the land away to the southwest.

Evidently Le Forgeron had made up his mind that the gold mine was not on the island where they had been staying. He had doubtless spied on the three and had seen no evidence of prospecting. After midnight he ordered the Cree to launch the canoe again, and they made a perilous crossing, with strong wind and high waves, to Minong. There they waited in the camp on the point for several days, one or the other of them on watch day and night for the coming of the gold-seekers’ canoe. As the days passed, the Frenchman grew more and more impatient. He was absent from camp most of the time, leaving the Indian to watch for the canoe. Finally Le Forgeron gave up waiting, and the two began a series of wanderings that the Cree evidently did not understand. To Nangotook, however, it was plain that the Blacksmith had been searching for the gold mine. They left the harbor where they had been camping, and explored the whole northern end of the big island, as well as the little islands off its shores. They penetrated to the interior of Minong, traveling along the ridges. In some places they remained for several days at a time, the Cree minding the camp while his master went off by himself. The northeaster did not disturb them seriously, for they were in camp with plenty to eat. At last they reached the cove where the copper mines were.

This was the sum of what Nangotook, by careful questioning and without appearing especially curious, had learned from the Cree. It proved to him that Le Forgeron had not followed the three by any exercise of mysterious powers. If he had used magic, it had been merely to save himself and his companion from storm and waves, and in that respect he had not been any better cared for than Nangotook and the boys. The fog, which had hidden their coming to Minong and had caused them to land many miles from Le Forgeron’s camp, had put him off their track, so that it was not until he reached the cove of the copper mines that he found himself in their neighborhood again. It was then that he discovered that he still had three persons, not two, to deal with. His anger at his Indian servant, for not obeying orders and taking Ronald’s life, had been so great that he had threatened to kill the Cree, and might have done so, had the latter not fled from him and kept away until his master’s fury cooled.

“It would seem,” said Jean, when the Indian had finished telling what he had learned, “that, if Le Forgeron thinks we are seeking gold about here somewhere, the wisest course for us is to leave at once, and get as far away as we can before he discovers we have gone. With a good start, and three paddles to his two, we may easily beat him to the Grande Portage and be rid of him. If he has deserted from the fleet, I do not believe he will show himself at any of the Company’s posts for some years to come.”

Ronald did not like the idea of running away, as he called it. His fiery temper had been aroused by the attempt to destroy his comrade and himself in such a cruel and cowardly way, as well as by the capture of Nangotook. His first impulse was to seek the Frenchman’s camp, and have it out with him, but, after a brief argument, the wiser and cooler counsels of Jean and the Ojibwa prevailed. The latter, while he would have liked well to avenge himself on Le Forgeron, felt responsible for the two boys, and was reluctant to expose them to a fight with the cruel and crafty Blacksmith. To be sure they were three to two, but the others had guns and ammunition, which gave them an overpowering advantage. So Nangotook was in favor of getting away first, and settling the score with the Frenchman at some later time. Although he did not say so to the boys, he was determined to seek out Awishtoya and make him pay that score, as soon as the two lads had been returned to their friends.

To Nangotook’s argument, Jean added the opinion that, if they should provoke a fight with Le Forgeron, or attack him, they would put themselves in the wrong, and make themselves liable to punishment for crime, if either of their enemies should escape from their assault, or if the matter should become known in any other way. “There is no way we could punish them except to kill them outright,” he said, “and while I do not doubt Le Forgeron well deserves death, I should be loath to attack him deliberately and in cold blood. If he should attack us, that would be different. Then I should have no compunctions.”

“He will attack us, that is certain, if he finds a chance,” replied Ronald. “It is open warfare between us, and it seems to me only good generalship to strike first and get the advantage.”

In the end, however, he yielded to the counsels of the others, and they prepared to leave their camp at once. The Indian had not taken long to tell his story, and the discussion that followed had lasted but a few minutes. So the morning was but little advanced when they were ready to start. If they paddled out of the cove and along shore, they could hardly hope to escape being seen by their enemies, yet they did not want to delay until nightfall. So they decided to cross the cove and go overland, portaging the canoe, to the bay the boys had found when they were searching for some trace of Nangotook.

They put their plan into execution at once. Paddling across the cove, they landed in a narrow little bay, climbed to the high ground, carrying the canoe, and went along at the top of the cliffs. They chose, so far as they could, ground open enough to allow the canoe to be taken through easily, but with growth sufficiently large and thick to prevent their being seen by any one on the water or on the outlying islands. Conditions on the whole were favorable, and they were able to make good speed without exposing themselves. They went rapidly, but carefully, leaving as little trace of their passage as possible, in the hope that Le Forgeron would not find their trail. The place had been much frequented by caribou, and a broken branch or a bruised bit of moss or lichen would naturally be laid to the animals, unless it bore plain signs of the human. Such plain signs it was their intention to avoid. In one respect, however, luck was against them, for, though they were in need of food, they saw but one caribou, and did not get near enough for a shot. As the boys had been over the ground before, they led the way. When they came to the rift that led down to the pebble beach, Nangotook, pointing to the island that lay out from it, said it was there he had been held a prisoner. He must have been carried down to the beach, while still unconscious, and taken across in Le Forgeron’s canoe.

The refugees launched their boat in a little lake the lads had found, and, after portaging around a beaver dam, paddled down a narrow stream to the great bay.

None of the three had had anything to eat since the night before. The loss of the caribou meat was a serious matter, for, instead of pushing on rapidly as they wished to do, they must delay to hunt and fish. Among the reefs and islands of the bay, they succeeded in catching enough fish for a meal, and, landing on a small island, broiled their catch. Wishing to leave as few traces as possible for Le Forgeron to find, they gathered up the fish cleanings, and even the embers and ashes from the fire, and threw them into the lake. Then Etienne covered the spot where the ashes had been with dry earth and fallen leaves, so cleverly that no one would have suspected that a fire had ever been kindled there.

Taking to the canoe, the voyageurs started to go on with their journey, but, as they paddled out from the shelter of the small island, they discovered that the wind was blowing a gale from the west. By keeping close to shore and taking advantage of every bit of shelter that little islands and points afforded, they managed to make their way through the bay. When they rounded a long point at the southwestern end, however, they found the waves rolling so high and the black clouds coming up the sky so threateningly, that they did not dare to continue along an open and unprotected shore. They were obliged to turn back into the little subsidiary harbor they had just skirted, which cut into the land in a south-*westerly direction at the end of the large bay.

In their anxiety to make speed, they would have tried to go on overland, but the storm broke before they had the canoe out of the water. In the heavy rain and boisterous wind, traveling over rough and unfamiliar ground, carrying the canoe was out of the question. They were forced to crawl under the upturned boat, and wait for the passing of the storm.

The storm was in no haste to pass over. It developed into one of those cold, driving, wind-lashed, autumn rains that may last any length of time, from hours to days. The weather-wise Etienne soon decided that farther travel that day, either by water or land, was out of the question. The three might as well make themselves as comfortable as they could. They had one consolation at least. The storm would delay Le Forgeron as well, if he had succeeded in getting on their track. If he had not found their trail before the rain began, he would not find it at all, for all the traces they had left would be completely washed out.

They did not attempt to build a shelter, but cut evergreen branches, shook the water from them, and covered the ground under the canoe. The driving rain prevented them from finding food. Not an animal or bird ventured forth, and fishing from the shore was without result. So the three went supperless. When their canoe had disappeared from the burning island, the one remaining blanket had gone with it, for the blankets, folded or rolled, were always carried in the canoe to kneel upon or lean against. So the campers had no cover that night but the damp spruce and balsam branches they burrowed into, in the attempt to keep warm. Jean was the worst off, for he did not even have a coat.

XXIX

NEAR STARVATION

The next morning was foggy, but the water was calm, so the voyageurs made an early start. As they had nothing to eat, they did not have to delay for breakfast. In the thick mist, navigation was difficult, however, even for the experienced Ojibwa. Disaster came quickly. They ran too close to an island that lay off the end of the point separating their camping ground from the open lake, struck upon a sharp, submerged rock, and tore a bad hole in the bottom of the canoe. The water came in so rapidly that, to reach shore, Ronald and the Indian had to put all their strength and speed into their paddling, while Jean bailed as fast as he could. It was fortunate that they were only a few hundred feet from the point, or they could not have gained it before the boat filled. They had no time to choose a landing place, and, striking the rocks, damaged the canoe still more.

The bark covering was so badly torn that mending it would take considerable time. So the three decided that breakfast was the first essential. While Ronald gathered fire-wood and Etienne attempted to coax a blaze from the wet materials, Jean looked for a place where he could fish from the shore. From a pool among the rocks, he dipped up some tiny fish that he could use for bait, but neither he nor Ronald succeeded in catching anything large enough to be eaten. Finally they breakfasted on two squirrels that Ronald brought down with stones, scanty fare indeed for three men who had fasted for nearly twenty-four hours.

After they had finished the last drop of the squirrel stew, the two boys decided to go back around the shore to the mouth of a stream they had noticed the day before. There they might be able to catch some brook trout, while Etienne was repairing the canoe.

Accordingly, the two lads scrambled along the rocky point, to the head of the narrow little bay where they had spent the night. They knew that the stream entered the lake at the upper end of another subsidiary bay, that lay parallel to the one where they were. Instead of going around the intervening point, they risked losing themselves in the fog, and struck off through the woods. After climbing a ridge, they came upon the stream they sought, running through a swampy valley. It was not a favorable place for trout, so they continued on down the brook to its mouth, around the end of the little bay, and along higher ground for about two miles, to another larger and more rapid stream, that discharged into the lake through a break between the ridges. The fog was so thick that the lads, had they not been guided by the ridge they traveled along, might easily have become lost and have failed to find the stream they were seeking. Indeed they had underestimated the distance, and had begun to fear they had missed the place, when they came suddenly to the edge of the ravine where the brown waters flowed swiftly down to the lake. The little trout were biting so eagerly that the fishermen soon had fine strings. These were primitive, uneducated trout that had never been fished for, and did not have to be lured with bright colored, artificial flies, but were ready to rise to minnows and even to bare hooks.

The fog was still dense when the boys, well laden with fish, started to make their way back to their camping place, but when they climbed out of the ravine, they found it was no longer a motionless curtain of mist that hung about them, but waves of moisture driven before a raw northeast wind. Before they reached the point where Etienne was at work on the canoe, the fog had turned to rain, cold, fine and mist-like.

“Northeaster coming,” grunted the Indian, without even glancing at the strings of trout. “Find better place and make wigwam quick.”

Hungry though they were, the three did not even wait to cook their fish, but, seizing the canoe, made speed back along the point to look for a sheltered camping spot. The northeast wind swept the whole length of the bay, and it was not until they reached thick woods at its head, that they found a good place. A bit of partly open ground surrounded by trees was hastily cleared and leveled, and a wigwam erected. Not until the hut was finished and a good supply of fire-wood cut and piled inside, did Nangotook allow the boys to even clean their fish. By that time the cold rain was coming down hard, and the wind was bending the tree tops. Within their bark shelter the three, wet, chilled and painfully hungry, sat around their little fire and waited impatiently for the fish to broil. It was well that the lads had brought back long strings, for to their hunger one little trout was scarcely more than a mouthful.

Nangotook’s prophecy was correct. Another northeaster was upon them, not quite so violent as the one they had passed through a short time before, but even more long continued. Four days, the cold, driving storm of rain, wind, sleet and snow lasted, with never a long enough lull to let the waves, that dashed furiously the length of the big, open bay, subside so a canoe could be launched. It was a time of misery for the three wanderers. They had no blankets or furs for covering, but could only burrow down among evergreen branches to keep out the bitter cold. Jean did not even have a coat, and his shirt, like Ronald’s, was worn and ragged. Neither boy had a change of clothing left. Their moccasins were in rags, and they had no deerskin to make new. Fuel was plenty, but hard to get in the icy storm, and slow to dry so it would burn well enough to give off anything but smoke.

Their greatest misery, however, was due to lack of food. If there were any animals in that part of Minong, they kept to their holes and dens. It was impossible to go out in the canoe, and fishing from the shore brought little result. Once when the storm lulled slightly, Nangotook and Ronald tried to reach the stream where the boys had caught the trout, but before they had fought their way through snow and wind for half a mile, the storm came on again with such violence that they were obliged to turn back. In the quieter intervals they sought for anything eatable that the woods near their wigwam afforded, digging through the frozen snow for roots, picking every nut and seed and dried berry that remained on the bushes, and even stripping the tender inner bark of willows and birches and chewing it. To ease his hunger, Nangotook smoked incessantly. He was out of tobacco, but used bearberry leaves and willow bark in his pipe. He spent most of his time, when compelled by the storm to remain within the lodge, making new bows and arrows and twisting stout cord from the inner bark of the white cedar to weave into a fishing net. In this work the boys joined him.

They attempted to forget their suffering in talk. Jean told all the strange French-Canadian tales and sang all the songs he could remember, from “Marlborough Has Gone to War,”

“Malbrouk se’n va-t-en guerre,Mironton, mironton, mirontaine,”

a song brought from old France many years before, to the purely Canadian “Petit Rocher de la Haute Montagne.”

The two lads had heard the latter song many times and were familiar with its story, but they had never felt the tragedy of it so strongly before. It is the death lament of the brave Cadieux, voyageur, trader and interpreter. Cadieux was living with his Algonquin wife and others of her tribe at the Portage of Sept-chutes, or Seven Falls, on the Ottawa River, when news arrived of the approach of a party of Iroquois. The Iroquois would certainly ambush the portage. The only way of escape lay through the rapids. Some one must draw the enemy into the woods and far enough away to give the refugees chance to escape by water unseen. Cadieux and a young Algonquin volunteered for the perilous service. Exposing themselves to view, they drew the Iroquois away from the river, while the rest of the little settlement ran the rapids and escaped. Cadieux and his Algonquin companion became separated, either by accident or design, and the Indian was killed. Three days and nights the Iroquois pursued the white man, who went without sleep all that time. In the meantime his wife and her companions reached safety. Days passed, and Cadieux did not rejoin them as he had agreed to. At last three men set out to seek for him. At Sept-chutes, near the Petit Rocher, or Little Rock, they found a lodge of branches, and beside it, lying in a shallow trench with a cross at its head, the wasted body of Cadieux. On his breast, under his folded hands, was a sheet of birch bark covered with writing, the words, according to tradition, of his death lament. He had become lost in his wanderings and had returned to his starting place, where he had died of exhaustion and starvation.

Suffering from cold and hunger, huddled around the fire in their little wigwam, the wind roaring through the trees overhead, and the snow and sleet beating upon the bark, the lads realized as never before the tragedy of Cadieux’s fate. Unless the storm ceased soon and they found food promptly, they, too, might perish in the wilderness far from human aid. It was no wonder that Jean’s voice, hoarse from cold and weak from hunger, trembled as he sang the closing lines.

“Ces done ici que le mond m’abandonne,Mais j’ai secours en vous, Sauveur des hommes!Tres-Sainte Vierge, ah, m’abandonnez pas,Permettez-moi d’mourir entre vos bras!”“Here all alone the world abandons me,In the Saviour of men may my help still be!Most blessed Virgin, let me not forsaken lie,But clasped in thine arms, oh allow me to die!”

XXX

THE END OF THE TWISTED BLACKSMITH

Somewhat to the boys’ surprise, Nangotook showed no signs, during all those days of suffering, of the sullen moroseness that had characterized his behavior in former periods of misfortune. The Ojibwa was no physical coward, and now that his companions had ceased to defy the spirits of the lake and had turned towards home, he displayed no more fear or hesitation. He was unusually talkative and cheerful, and helped to pass the long hours by relating the interesting experiences of his varied and adventurous life and all the Ojibwa tales and myths he knew, many of them devoted to the adventures and mishaps of the great Nanabozho.

The three made use of every device they could think of to keep up their spirits, but when, at last, the sleet and snow ceased, and morning dawned clear and bright, the two lads were weak with hunger, and Ronald, though more heavily dressed than Jean, had a racking cough that shook him from head to foot. Nangotook showed the effects of privation less than the other two, though he had scarcely eaten his share of the scanty food they had been able to collect.

The wind still blew a gale, a bitterly cold gale from the north, and even the little bay was too rough for travel. Icy snow lay several inches deep in the woods and loaded the evergreens. All that day the three searched the woods and ridges for game, but obtained nothing but a squirrel and two blue jays. There was little indeed to the jays, once their feathers were off. Nangotook put them into the bark pot with the squirrel, and added a handful of hazelnuts and some tubers he had dug, which he called “bear potatoes.” The resulting broth was hot and comforting, if not a very nourishing meal for three starved men.

All the next day the wind continued to blow so hard that the canoe could not be launched or the net set, but Nangotook and Jean went through the woods and over the ridges to the trout stream, and caught good strings of fish. The soup of the night before had made Ronald, in his half starved condition, ill, and he was so weak and coughed so hard that the Indian bade him remain in camp and keep warm and dry.

In spite of the cold wind, the snow had melted rapidly where the sun reached it, and had softened in the woods. By that night the rocks and open places were bare again. The hunters scanned the softened snow eagerly for tracks, but found no signs of hare or caribou, nothing but a few squirrel prints.

All three slept soundly that night, after their meal of broiled trout. By morning the wind had gone down and the waves had subsided so that the canoe could be launched. The voyageurs put out from shore at once. After setting their net in a favorable place, they tried line fishing. While paddling around a group of three small islands that lay in a direct line with the point, they caught two good lake trout. They promptly decided to go ashore, and have breakfast at once. So many rocks sprinkled the water about the islands that they were difficult to approach. A safe landing was made, however, on a shelving rock beach, near an upright heap of boulders with bushes projecting from cracks and crannies.

While Jean was cleaning the fish, Etienne and Ronald, seeking for fire-wood, rounded the heap of rocks, and came suddenly on the remains of a camp. Branches slanted against the rock formed a rude shelter, and near it were the ashes of a fire. Glancing down at the blackened embers, Ronald touched with the toe of his moccasin a charred bone.

“Those fellows had more meat than we’ve seen lately,” he said. “They must have killed a caribou.”

The Indian was staring down at the bone. He stooped and picked it up, examined it a moment, and then held it out to Ronald.

“No addick ever had bone like that,” he said.

“What was it then, a moose?” asked the boy, holding out his hand for it. As he looked at it, his expression of curiosity changed to horror. He glanced up at Nangotook, and saw his own feelings reflected on the Ojibwa’s face. “The leg bone of a man,” the lad said chokingly.