XXI COMPELLED TO GIVE UP THE SEARCH

In the woods back from the beach, the castaways built a rough wigwam. Even in the partial protection of the trees, it was hard work in the driving rain and sleet, but all three were soaking wet and bitterly chilled. They had to have shelter and warmth. Fortunately the roll of apakwas had been saved. Poles were set up, and Nangotook and Jean, beginning at the bottom, wrapped the apakwas around the framework, each strip overlapping the one below, so that the water could not run down between. More poles and branches were tied with withes over the bark covering to hold it in place.

In the meantime Ronald had been cutting fuel. The wood was wet and coated with ice. Even the Indian might have striven in vain for a blaze had he not been lucky enough to find a small, dead birch, that contained, within its protecting bark, dry heart wood that crumbled to powder. With this tinder he succeeded in kindling bark and fine shavings. Then he added dead limbs split into strips, and finally larger birch wood and resinous spruce. On one side of the fire, which had been made within the lodge, Ronald piled the wood he had cut, and on the other the three crouched to dry their soaked clothes and warm their chilled bodies. They had nothing to eat, and no way of getting anything in the bitter, driving storm, which was continually growing worse.

A miserable night they spent in that rude shelter, huddled together on damp evergreen branches, under their one remaining blanket, which they had dried before the fire. Surf lashed the beach, and the wind roared in the tree tops, that swayed and clashed together, the trunks creaking as if they must snap off and be hurled down on the wigwam. Sleet and frozen snow rattled on the bark covering. It was lucky indeed for the treasure-seekers that they had been cast ashore before the storm reached its height. Long before nightfall it had grown so violent that there was not one chance in a thousand for a canoe to live through it.

The northeaster continued to rage with varying degrees of fury for two more days. Rain, sleet and snow did not fall constantly, but came in showers and squalls, with intervals between, while the gale blew unceasingly, though not always with equal violence, and the sun never showed itself. In the quieter intervals Nangotook and the boys cut fuel for the fire and sought for food, but during the more furious spells they were compelled to remain under shelter. Even if the canoe had not been too badly damaged to float, they could not have gone on the water to fish, and all efforts to catch anything from the shore failed. If there were any animals in the vicinity, they were not abroad in the storm, but remained snug in their holes and lairs, and, the ground being covered with icy snow, no tracks revealed their hiding places. Nangotook dug down through snow and ice for some roots he knew to be edible, and the boys found a few hazelnuts. It was too late for berries; they had all fallen or been eaten by birds and animals. So little could the castaways find that was eatable that they were even glad of alder seeds. Under-nourished as they were, they felt the chilling cold all the more severely, and both boys agreed that they had never put through so miserable a period as those three nights and two days.

It was no wonder that Nangotook felt this to be the final and unmistakable warning of the manito that they must give up the search for the treasure that belonged to him. On the second night of the storm he had a dream that strengthened his conviction. Very seriously and impressively he related the dream to the lads in the morning.

“While my body slept,” he said, “Amik, the Great Beaver, appeared to me. He was larger than the greatest moose. His body filled the wigwam. There was no room for his tail, so it stuck out of the door. He looked at me sternly, and in a voice that drowned the clashing of the trees in the wind and the rattling of the sleet against the bark, he asked me why I had not heeded the warnings. I tried to answer, but could not, for my tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth. Then he spoke again, and forbade me, and the white men with me, to go farther out into the lake. We must turn back to shore, he said, and again he asked why I had not gone back when I had been warned the first time, and the second time, and the third time. Then I loosened my tongue from the roof of my mouth, and answered that the white youths were young and rash and would not turn back. ‘The manitos of the waters and the islands are angry with you,’ Amik replied. ‘If the white youths will not turn back, they must be destroyed. I warn you because you are of my blood. Leave them to their fate, and return to the shore before it is too late.’ But I gathered up my courage and answered Amik. ‘Grandfather,’ I said, ‘I cannot leave them. It was I who led them on this adventure, and if I should leave them and go back without them, I should be a coward and dishonored. If they must perish, I too must perish.’ The Great Beaver looked at me, and was silent a long time. ‘If you will not leave them, make them turn back,’ he said, and his voice was like thunder rolling in the wigwam and his look was even sterner than before. ‘Make them turn back. The manitos are angry. They lose patience. I have warned you.’ And then he disappeared and I woke, and the flesh stood up in little points all over my body, and my tongue was dry, and my hair prickled at the roots, and I knew I must heed Amik’s warning. Turn back, my brothers, before it is too late!”

Even Ronald felt no inclination to laugh at Nangotook’s vision. While he had no faith in such a creature as the Great Beaver, the dream itself impressed him deeply. Belief in the mysterious character and meaning of dreams was common among all men at that time. The boy was not less superstitious than the average man of his period and race. From childhood he had heard the Scottish tales of dreams and warnings and second sight, and to these old world superstitions had been added others native to the new world. He had refused to regard the northern lights or the sudden appearance of the Sleeping Giant as a warning, but such a dream as this was a different matter. In spite of its fantastic form he felt, with the superstitious feeling of the time, that it might be a real warning or foreshadowing of disaster to come. He strove to shake off the impression the dream had made upon him, but found he could not. Indeed it affected him even more than it seemed to affect Jean.

The storm could not last forever, and when, on the third morning, the castaways found that the wind had abated and the sun was breaking through the clouds, they were encouraged to believe that the worst was over. They had thought themselves on a point of the main island, but soon discovered that their refuge was in reality a narrow island about two miles long. Other land lay close by, but before they could reach it or even fish successfully, they must repair the canoe. So Etienne set about the task, replacing the broken ribs and sheathing, sewing on patches and gumming the strained seams. During the storm it had been impossible to do such work in the open, and the hut had been too small to hold both the canoe and its crew.

While Etienne worked on the canoe, the boys made another search for food. Through the icy snow, which was disappearing rapidly wherever the sun could reach it, they tramped and scrambled about among the trees and along the pebbly beaches, rocks and boulders, but obtained nothing except a few hazelnuts and one squirrel that Ronald killed with a stone.

Jean caught sight of the glossy brown, rat-like head of a mink swimming near shore, saw the head go under suddenly, and waited to see if the small fisher would secure its prey. In a moment the head reappeared, and the slim-bodied little animal swam to shore, a small fish in its mouth. It laid the fish down to kill it by biting it through the neck, but at that instant Jean sprang forward. A mink is very fierce and brave for its size, and this one stood over its catch for a moment snarling, then, with an almost incredibly swift movement, seized the fish, turned and took to the water. Farther along the bank it landed again, and, like a brown streak, it was away and out of sight, long before the boy had gone half-way to its landing place. His plan to frighten it, so it would leave its catch, had failed completely.

The canoe having been repaired, and a slender meal of squirrel broth and hazelnuts eaten, the three set out from the south shore of the little island. To the southwest, separated by a very narrow channel, was more land. The water was quiet, and they paddled slowly along, fishing lines out. Soon they discovered that they were in a bay, the land closing in ahead of them. Lake herring were jumping about them, and, with a bark scoop attached to a pole, Ronald succeeded in taking a few to be used as bait for larger fish. The fishermen circled the bay, and rounded a point almost opposite the southern end of the island where they had been storm-bound. They found themselves in a very narrow cove, scarcely a quarter of a mile broad in its widest part and perhaps two miles long. In that narrow harbor they caught in quick succession, with the herring bait, three large pickerel, each one giving them a lively fight before it was landed. Another they lost when it snapped the line. Elated over their good luck, they returned to their camp to clean and cook their fish.

The hearty meal put new strength into the boys, and for the first time since they were cast ashore in the storm they felt equal to making plans for the future. The prospect was serious enough. October, “the moon of the falling leaf,” as the Ojibwa called it, had come, and the storm and snow of the last few days had given the wanderers a foretaste of winter. There might be, probably would be, many good days before winter set in in earnest, but on the other hand, they knew that genuine winter might come at any time, for the autumn season on Lake Superior is a very uncertain one. Real winter might hold off until well into November or December and give them time to reach the Sault in safety, but it had been known to arrive in October. They could put little trust in the weather, and the way back to the River Ste. Marie was long. Moreover if they were to make the journey with any show of speed, they must be provisioned for it. The first necessity was a supply of food.

Even Ronald had given up hope of finding the Island of Yellow Sands that year. They could spend no more time in seeking for it. The risk of the search, in the autumn storms and rough weather, had become too great even for him. The adventurers had been almost miraculously saved three times, from thunder storm, fog and northeaster, but surely it would be tempting Providence to undertake any more such rash voyages. He did not admit that Nangotook’s dream had anything to do with his decision, but in reality the dream had not been without influence. Had conditions been favorable, the warning alone would not have turned him back, though it might have made him apprehensive and uneasy, but all the conditions were unfavorable, and common sense and superstition both urged abandonment of the search.

Nangotook emphatically declared that he would have nothing to do with any further search for the island that autumn. He could never look Jean’s father in the face again, he said, if he did not take the boy back safe. The Indian showed such determination that the boys realized nothing could move him from his decision. He would find some means of preventing the others from making another attempt, if they showed any disposition to do so. “He would knock us over the head to keep us quiet, and paddle off with us in the opposite direction, if he could not handle us any other way,” Ronald confided to Jean later.

So, with reluctance, but from a necessity they could not blind their eyes to, the boys postponed the search for the golden island, and turned their thoughts to getting back to the Sault. To strike out directly for the north shore seemed as perilous as seeking the island. Yet they must reach the mainland some way. Nangotook counseled that, instead of traveling to the north, they try to reach the northwest shore, Grande Portage, if possible, by going west. They were now somewhere on the northwest side of Minong. A number of years before, Nangotook, with others of his tribe, had crossed to the island from a point on the shore a little to the north of Grande Portage. They had steered southeast, he said, and making the journey between sunrise and noon, had reached Minong at its lower end. From there they had gone northeast along the shore of the island to a cove with a narrow entrance, where they had obtained a store of copper. The band or bracelet, decorated with a pattern of incised lines, which he wore on his arm, was made from that copper, he said. Returning the same way, they had again crossed safely. The leader of the party had said that his tribe, from times long past, had always taken that route to Minong, because the distance from the shore was shortest that way. If the weather turned bad, the trip from the lower end of the island to the cove, where copper was so plentiful, could be made overland. The Ojibwa advised accordingly that the three try first to make their way along shore, by water if they could, by land if necessary, to the southwest end of the island, and then across to Grande Portage. There they could get a supply of food and ammunition, blankets and other things for the long trip to the Sault, or, if winter came early, they might remain at the Portage until spring. His plan seemed a wise one, and the lads readily agreed to it. There was something cheering in the thought that the trading post at the Grande Portage lay no farther away. Surely there was a good chance of reaching it before winter set in. The Sault de Ste. Marie seemed terribly remote.