[Contents]CHAPTER XXXIICARIBOU ISLANDNo place in the heart of North America could be more suited for a real game of Robinson Crusoe than Caribou Island; but books were scarce in most American homes of the Colonial period and neither Ray nor Bruce had ever heard of Crusoe and his island. Nor did they know that the famous trader Alexander Henry had visited this island only a few years ago, attracted by the strange name, for Henry had at that time caught the “mining fever,” and he thought that the “yellow sand” of which the Indians spoke might be gold. Henry and his companions found the island well stocked with caribou and provided themselves with plenty of meat; and since Henry’s time, the island became known as Caribou Island and as such it appears on all modern maps.The fog lasted all night and all next day,[255]and the lads felt as if they and Ganawa were the only people on earth and that they had been cast away on an island in the sea. Even Ganawa, who was no stranger to solitude, confessed that he would be afraid without his white son that could make and sail a white man’s boat, and as the white boys sat and listened to the lapping of the waves, for Lake Superior like the ocean is never entirely quiet, and as they tried in vain to peer through the fog, the words of the Bible ran through their minds: “And the earth was without form and void, and darkness was upon the face of the deep. And the Spirit of God moved upon the face of the waters.”The second morning broke clear and warm, and as the lake was quiet, the three sailors launched their canoe and started to paddle around the small island. The first thing that attracted their attention was the host of big rocks, as Ray called them, that they found scattered over the shallow water south of the island. If they had struck one[256]of them they might have been wrecked within a stone’s throw of the island.With eyes and ears keenly alert and with throbbing hearts, the lads peered toward the land for signs of human beings. Unless they found some sign of Jack Dutton on this island, they would have to give up the search. Once Bruce thought he saw a man slip out of the spruce timber, but it was an animal, a deer. No, it was a caribou, Ganawa told them.And then Ray spied something that made them all stop. “Look there! Look!” Ray cried, and pointed to the top of the hill. “There is a rag tied to a pole. Some man must have been there.”They landed at once and climbed the hill. They found the signal. It was a piece of a butternut-dyed shirt. To the pole was also tied a piece of birch-bark with a message:“Am stranded here. My partner is gone. I have no ax. Camp on east shore, near south point. J. D. April 26.”[257]The lads cheered and danced around the pole and then all of them started for Jack Dutton’s camp. For the moment all their hardships and dangers were forgotten.They found his camp-site, but the camp had been moved, and they found no message. What did it mean? Had he been taken off by somebody? A man without an ax cannot build a raft or boat. If he is still on the island they ought to be able to find his camp-fire. Ganawa knew that there were several small shallow lakes in the interior, but a man who wishes to be taken off an island would not camp in the interior. He would set up his tent or tepee near shore and he would keep a fire going. So the three men paddled around the whole island and looked sharp for signs of a camp or a human being. From time to time they sang out Jack Dutton’s name, but no sign or sound greeted them in reply to their calls except the echo of their own voices. The mystery, which for a brief hour they had thought solved, had grown only deeper and darker. Jack Dutton[258]must either have been taken off the island by some chance trader, or he was lying dead somewhere in a thicket or swamp of the island. It seemed not probable that he had been taken off, for so rarely was the solitary island visited by either Indians or white men that neither traders nor Indians knew that the island was stocked with caribou. Although the existence of the island was known to the Indians with whom Alexander Henry traded, their information was vague and none of them had ever been to the island.That evening Ganawa and his sons were more downcast than they had ever been on their whole long journey. Even the rare treat of sweet tea with their supper of broiled lake trout failed to revive their spirits. Each drank his share of the tea, but most of the fine broiled fish was left on the birch-bark platter. And after the meal was over, hardly a word was spoken, as each man sat and stared blankly into the fire. And this time, the spirit of the white lads[259]had even drooped deeper than that of the old Indian hunter.“My sons,” he said when he poured water on the camp-fire, “to-morrow we shall hunt again for Jack Dutton. If he is alive we must find him, and if he is dead we must find him. If he is alive, maybe Ohnemoosh can find him, if we cross his tracks.”[260]
[Contents]CHAPTER XXXIICARIBOU ISLANDNo place in the heart of North America could be more suited for a real game of Robinson Crusoe than Caribou Island; but books were scarce in most American homes of the Colonial period and neither Ray nor Bruce had ever heard of Crusoe and his island. Nor did they know that the famous trader Alexander Henry had visited this island only a few years ago, attracted by the strange name, for Henry had at that time caught the “mining fever,” and he thought that the “yellow sand” of which the Indians spoke might be gold. Henry and his companions found the island well stocked with caribou and provided themselves with plenty of meat; and since Henry’s time, the island became known as Caribou Island and as such it appears on all modern maps.The fog lasted all night and all next day,[255]and the lads felt as if they and Ganawa were the only people on earth and that they had been cast away on an island in the sea. Even Ganawa, who was no stranger to solitude, confessed that he would be afraid without his white son that could make and sail a white man’s boat, and as the white boys sat and listened to the lapping of the waves, for Lake Superior like the ocean is never entirely quiet, and as they tried in vain to peer through the fog, the words of the Bible ran through their minds: “And the earth was without form and void, and darkness was upon the face of the deep. And the Spirit of God moved upon the face of the waters.”The second morning broke clear and warm, and as the lake was quiet, the three sailors launched their canoe and started to paddle around the small island. The first thing that attracted their attention was the host of big rocks, as Ray called them, that they found scattered over the shallow water south of the island. If they had struck one[256]of them they might have been wrecked within a stone’s throw of the island.With eyes and ears keenly alert and with throbbing hearts, the lads peered toward the land for signs of human beings. Unless they found some sign of Jack Dutton on this island, they would have to give up the search. Once Bruce thought he saw a man slip out of the spruce timber, but it was an animal, a deer. No, it was a caribou, Ganawa told them.And then Ray spied something that made them all stop. “Look there! Look!” Ray cried, and pointed to the top of the hill. “There is a rag tied to a pole. Some man must have been there.”They landed at once and climbed the hill. They found the signal. It was a piece of a butternut-dyed shirt. To the pole was also tied a piece of birch-bark with a message:“Am stranded here. My partner is gone. I have no ax. Camp on east shore, near south point. J. D. April 26.”[257]The lads cheered and danced around the pole and then all of them started for Jack Dutton’s camp. For the moment all their hardships and dangers were forgotten.They found his camp-site, but the camp had been moved, and they found no message. What did it mean? Had he been taken off by somebody? A man without an ax cannot build a raft or boat. If he is still on the island they ought to be able to find his camp-fire. Ganawa knew that there were several small shallow lakes in the interior, but a man who wishes to be taken off an island would not camp in the interior. He would set up his tent or tepee near shore and he would keep a fire going. So the three men paddled around the whole island and looked sharp for signs of a camp or a human being. From time to time they sang out Jack Dutton’s name, but no sign or sound greeted them in reply to their calls except the echo of their own voices. The mystery, which for a brief hour they had thought solved, had grown only deeper and darker. Jack Dutton[258]must either have been taken off the island by some chance trader, or he was lying dead somewhere in a thicket or swamp of the island. It seemed not probable that he had been taken off, for so rarely was the solitary island visited by either Indians or white men that neither traders nor Indians knew that the island was stocked with caribou. Although the existence of the island was known to the Indians with whom Alexander Henry traded, their information was vague and none of them had ever been to the island.That evening Ganawa and his sons were more downcast than they had ever been on their whole long journey. Even the rare treat of sweet tea with their supper of broiled lake trout failed to revive their spirits. Each drank his share of the tea, but most of the fine broiled fish was left on the birch-bark platter. And after the meal was over, hardly a word was spoken, as each man sat and stared blankly into the fire. And this time, the spirit of the white lads[259]had even drooped deeper than that of the old Indian hunter.“My sons,” he said when he poured water on the camp-fire, “to-morrow we shall hunt again for Jack Dutton. If he is alive we must find him, and if he is dead we must find him. If he is alive, maybe Ohnemoosh can find him, if we cross his tracks.”[260]
CHAPTER XXXIICARIBOU ISLAND
No place in the heart of North America could be more suited for a real game of Robinson Crusoe than Caribou Island; but books were scarce in most American homes of the Colonial period and neither Ray nor Bruce had ever heard of Crusoe and his island. Nor did they know that the famous trader Alexander Henry had visited this island only a few years ago, attracted by the strange name, for Henry had at that time caught the “mining fever,” and he thought that the “yellow sand” of which the Indians spoke might be gold. Henry and his companions found the island well stocked with caribou and provided themselves with plenty of meat; and since Henry’s time, the island became known as Caribou Island and as such it appears on all modern maps.The fog lasted all night and all next day,[255]and the lads felt as if they and Ganawa were the only people on earth and that they had been cast away on an island in the sea. Even Ganawa, who was no stranger to solitude, confessed that he would be afraid without his white son that could make and sail a white man’s boat, and as the white boys sat and listened to the lapping of the waves, for Lake Superior like the ocean is never entirely quiet, and as they tried in vain to peer through the fog, the words of the Bible ran through their minds: “And the earth was without form and void, and darkness was upon the face of the deep. And the Spirit of God moved upon the face of the waters.”The second morning broke clear and warm, and as the lake was quiet, the three sailors launched their canoe and started to paddle around the small island. The first thing that attracted their attention was the host of big rocks, as Ray called them, that they found scattered over the shallow water south of the island. If they had struck one[256]of them they might have been wrecked within a stone’s throw of the island.With eyes and ears keenly alert and with throbbing hearts, the lads peered toward the land for signs of human beings. Unless they found some sign of Jack Dutton on this island, they would have to give up the search. Once Bruce thought he saw a man slip out of the spruce timber, but it was an animal, a deer. No, it was a caribou, Ganawa told them.And then Ray spied something that made them all stop. “Look there! Look!” Ray cried, and pointed to the top of the hill. “There is a rag tied to a pole. Some man must have been there.”They landed at once and climbed the hill. They found the signal. It was a piece of a butternut-dyed shirt. To the pole was also tied a piece of birch-bark with a message:“Am stranded here. My partner is gone. I have no ax. Camp on east shore, near south point. J. D. April 26.”[257]The lads cheered and danced around the pole and then all of them started for Jack Dutton’s camp. For the moment all their hardships and dangers were forgotten.They found his camp-site, but the camp had been moved, and they found no message. What did it mean? Had he been taken off by somebody? A man without an ax cannot build a raft or boat. If he is still on the island they ought to be able to find his camp-fire. Ganawa knew that there were several small shallow lakes in the interior, but a man who wishes to be taken off an island would not camp in the interior. He would set up his tent or tepee near shore and he would keep a fire going. So the three men paddled around the whole island and looked sharp for signs of a camp or a human being. From time to time they sang out Jack Dutton’s name, but no sign or sound greeted them in reply to their calls except the echo of their own voices. The mystery, which for a brief hour they had thought solved, had grown only deeper and darker. Jack Dutton[258]must either have been taken off the island by some chance trader, or he was lying dead somewhere in a thicket or swamp of the island. It seemed not probable that he had been taken off, for so rarely was the solitary island visited by either Indians or white men that neither traders nor Indians knew that the island was stocked with caribou. Although the existence of the island was known to the Indians with whom Alexander Henry traded, their information was vague and none of them had ever been to the island.That evening Ganawa and his sons were more downcast than they had ever been on their whole long journey. Even the rare treat of sweet tea with their supper of broiled lake trout failed to revive their spirits. Each drank his share of the tea, but most of the fine broiled fish was left on the birch-bark platter. And after the meal was over, hardly a word was spoken, as each man sat and stared blankly into the fire. And this time, the spirit of the white lads[259]had even drooped deeper than that of the old Indian hunter.“My sons,” he said when he poured water on the camp-fire, “to-morrow we shall hunt again for Jack Dutton. If he is alive we must find him, and if he is dead we must find him. If he is alive, maybe Ohnemoosh can find him, if we cross his tracks.”[260]
No place in the heart of North America could be more suited for a real game of Robinson Crusoe than Caribou Island; but books were scarce in most American homes of the Colonial period and neither Ray nor Bruce had ever heard of Crusoe and his island. Nor did they know that the famous trader Alexander Henry had visited this island only a few years ago, attracted by the strange name, for Henry had at that time caught the “mining fever,” and he thought that the “yellow sand” of which the Indians spoke might be gold. Henry and his companions found the island well stocked with caribou and provided themselves with plenty of meat; and since Henry’s time, the island became known as Caribou Island and as such it appears on all modern maps.
The fog lasted all night and all next day,[255]and the lads felt as if they and Ganawa were the only people on earth and that they had been cast away on an island in the sea. Even Ganawa, who was no stranger to solitude, confessed that he would be afraid without his white son that could make and sail a white man’s boat, and as the white boys sat and listened to the lapping of the waves, for Lake Superior like the ocean is never entirely quiet, and as they tried in vain to peer through the fog, the words of the Bible ran through their minds: “And the earth was without form and void, and darkness was upon the face of the deep. And the Spirit of God moved upon the face of the waters.”
The second morning broke clear and warm, and as the lake was quiet, the three sailors launched their canoe and started to paddle around the small island. The first thing that attracted their attention was the host of big rocks, as Ray called them, that they found scattered over the shallow water south of the island. If they had struck one[256]of them they might have been wrecked within a stone’s throw of the island.
With eyes and ears keenly alert and with throbbing hearts, the lads peered toward the land for signs of human beings. Unless they found some sign of Jack Dutton on this island, they would have to give up the search. Once Bruce thought he saw a man slip out of the spruce timber, but it was an animal, a deer. No, it was a caribou, Ganawa told them.
And then Ray spied something that made them all stop. “Look there! Look!” Ray cried, and pointed to the top of the hill. “There is a rag tied to a pole. Some man must have been there.”
They landed at once and climbed the hill. They found the signal. It was a piece of a butternut-dyed shirt. To the pole was also tied a piece of birch-bark with a message:
“Am stranded here. My partner is gone. I have no ax. Camp on east shore, near south point. J. D. April 26.”[257]
The lads cheered and danced around the pole and then all of them started for Jack Dutton’s camp. For the moment all their hardships and dangers were forgotten.
They found his camp-site, but the camp had been moved, and they found no message. What did it mean? Had he been taken off by somebody? A man without an ax cannot build a raft or boat. If he is still on the island they ought to be able to find his camp-fire. Ganawa knew that there were several small shallow lakes in the interior, but a man who wishes to be taken off an island would not camp in the interior. He would set up his tent or tepee near shore and he would keep a fire going. So the three men paddled around the whole island and looked sharp for signs of a camp or a human being. From time to time they sang out Jack Dutton’s name, but no sign or sound greeted them in reply to their calls except the echo of their own voices. The mystery, which for a brief hour they had thought solved, had grown only deeper and darker. Jack Dutton[258]must either have been taken off the island by some chance trader, or he was lying dead somewhere in a thicket or swamp of the island. It seemed not probable that he had been taken off, for so rarely was the solitary island visited by either Indians or white men that neither traders nor Indians knew that the island was stocked with caribou. Although the existence of the island was known to the Indians with whom Alexander Henry traded, their information was vague and none of them had ever been to the island.
That evening Ganawa and his sons were more downcast than they had ever been on their whole long journey. Even the rare treat of sweet tea with their supper of broiled lake trout failed to revive their spirits. Each drank his share of the tea, but most of the fine broiled fish was left on the birch-bark platter. And after the meal was over, hardly a word was spoken, as each man sat and stared blankly into the fire. And this time, the spirit of the white lads[259]had even drooped deeper than that of the old Indian hunter.
“My sons,” he said when he poured water on the camp-fire, “to-morrow we shall hunt again for Jack Dutton. If he is alive we must find him, and if he is dead we must find him. If he is alive, maybe Ohnemoosh can find him, if we cross his tracks.”[260]