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

by Ethel C. Brill

For future use in lodge building, they prepared several apakwas, as Etienne called them, long strips composed of squares of birch bark sewed together with the cedar twine. These apakwas could be rolled and carried in the canoe, and were all ready to be wrapped around the framework of a wigwam.

During all that week the gold-seekers found no new traces of Le Forgeron, though they took advantage of an east wind one day to explore the caves on the northwest side of the island. The withered evergreen couches and the ashes of the fire were still on the beach in the largest cave, but there was nothing to indicate that any one had been there since Ronald’s visit.

A favorable day dawned at last, with a light breeze and blue sky, although a filmy haze lay on the water in the distance. The Ojibwa feared fog, but Ronald would wait no longer.

“There will never be a morning when something may not happen,” he cried impatiently. “If we fail to take this opportunity, there may not be another for days to come. We can be turning back any moment danger threatens, but we must take some chances no matter how good the conditions. Surely not one of us is fearing a risk, when there’s so much to gain, if we’re successful.”

Ronald had tried to speak without offense, but the Indian knew that the boy was making a direct appeal to his courage, and he was too proud to hesitate longer.

“Come then,” he said, “and may the manitos,—and the good God be kind to us.”

Their course of action, as soon as the weather should be favorable, had been decided long before. From the northern end of the island they would travel directly east for two hours, then turning north they would go in that direction for the same length of time, when, if they had not caught sight of the island they sought, they would turn to the east again for an hour’s paddling, then to the north for another hour and so on. If by sunset they were not in sight of their destination, Ronald consented to give up the search, and make for the nearest land, or if no land was in sight, to steer straight for the north shore. Indeed it seemed likely that by that time, unless they were hindered by contrary winds, they might be able to discern the shore and make directly towards it. The plan was a desperate one. Their only possibility of success, or even of reaching the north shore alive, lay in the continuance of good weather, and all three were familiar enough with the uncertainty and fickleness of Lake Superior winds and storms to realize in some degree the recklessness of the attempt. But the boys were young and rash. They had come through many dangers without serious accident. The very fact that their canoe had outridden the fearful storm on the night when they left the Rock of the Beaver, encouraged them to believe that they might get through safely even though the weather should change for the worse. Whatever the Ojibwa’s feelings were, he gave no sign, taking his place in the canoe in silence, and without a trace of emotion on his impassive face.

At first all went well, the wind was light, the waves scarcely high enough to be called waves, and the canoe made good speed to the east. To the north over the water they could see, among its companion islets, the rock that had sheltered them from the force of the storm. It was to the east, however, that they gazed eagerly. They went on in that direction for the agreed upon two hours, estimating the time by counting their paddle strokes. No island came into view. So they turned to the north. For two hours more they traveled steadily, but, though their eyes searched the water ahead and to either side, they caught no glimpse of land. The sun was shining and the sky blue overhead, yet a thin haze, diffused through the air, made it impossible to see any great distance. After two hours’ journey to the north they turned again to the east. Before they had gone far they noticed that the weather was beginning to thicken, the blue overhead was turning to gray, the breeze that had been so light all the morning was freshening, and becoming northeasterly. The signs made the boys uneasy, but Nangotook gave no indication of noticing them.

By the time they had traveled their hour to the east and had turned north again, the wind had strengthened so that paddling at an angle against it became hard work. The sky had grown lead gray, and, without the sun to guide them, the boys wondered how they were to keep their course. The distance was too hazy to afford any chance of discerning the north shore. They held on doggedly, but they had not been paddling north an hour when rain began to fall, fine and cold. It was driven from the northeast by the wind, that grew constantly stronger, penetrating their heavy clothes with its damp chill. All hope of finding the Island of Yellow Sands that day vanished from their hearts. Moreover the north shore must still be far away, and there seemed no chance of gaining it against a northeast storm that was steadily increasing in fury.

They struggled forward against wind and waves for a little while longer, but their paddles were of almost no avail to make headway. The most they could do was to keep the canoe right side up and avoid shipping water enough to sink it. At last the Indian did the only wise thing he could do under the circumstances. He gave the order to turn the boat and run with the wind. They could no longer make way against it, but, if they could keep the canoe from being swamped by following waves, the gale might bear them back to Minong and safety. The northwest direction of the storm was at least favorable to the attempt. The chief danger in running with the wind would be from the following waves that might easily overwhelm them. To increase their speed the boys tried to raise a sail, but a sudden gust, accompanied by sleet, which drove down upon them with great force, tore the blanket from their hands and blew it away. They could ill afford to spare their blankets, and they made no further attempt at sailing.