15CHAPTER II
ELLEN’S ISLE
“My breakfast, ’tis of thee,
Sweet bunch of hominy,
Of thee I sing!”
sang the Captain in a quavering baritone, as he stirred the hominy cooking in a kettle swung over a wood fire in the “kitchen” on Ellen’s Isle.
“Oh, I say, look out, you’re getting ashes into it,” called Katherine warningly, looking up from her little “toast fire” nearby, where she was crisping slices of bread held on the end of a forked stick.
Katherine and the Captain were cooks that morning and had the job of getting breakfast while the rest took an early dip in the lake. It was the first week in July. Three days ago Ellen’s Isle was an uninhabited wilderness and the only sound which broke the stillness of its dark woods was the rushing of the wind in the pine trees, or the lapping of the water on the little beach. Moreover, it bore the plebian name of Murphy’s Island, after the president of the ill-fated Mineral Spring Water Company. Then one day had changed everything. A procession of boats had set out from St. Pierre, the little town on the mainland, which was the nearest 16 stop of the big lake steamer, headed straight for Murphy’s Island and unloaded its cargo and crew on the beach, who formally took possession of the island by setting up a flag in the sand right then and there.
The invading fleet was composed of two launches, one very large and one smaller; five rowboats fastened together and towed by the one launch, and five canoes towed by the other. The crew comprised two men and two women, six merry-eyed girls and six jolly boys. The explorers had evidently come to stay. They immediately set about raising tents and nailing down floor boards, clearing spaces for fires and setting up pot hangers, repairing the landing pier and setting up a springboard, and in a hundred other ways making themselves at home. Two tents were set up at each end of the island; these were the sleeping tents, one pair for the men and boys and the other for the women and girls. These were completely hidden from each other by the thick trees in between, but the dwellers in one settlement could make those in the other hear by shouting.
Besides these tents another larger one was set up in a little open space; this was the kitchen and dining room for bad weather use. In fair weather the campers always ate outdoors. They cooked over open fires as much as possible, because driftwood was plentiful, but there were two gasoline stoves and two alcohol heaters in the kitchen tent. The outdoor 17 kitchen was just outside the indoor kitchen, and consisted of a bare spot of ground encircled by trees. The “big cook stove” was two logs about ten feet long, laid parallel to each other about a foot apart. The space between the logs was for the “frying fire,” and the ease with which a whole row of pans balanced themselves and cooked their contents to a turn in record time gave proof of its practicability. Besides the “big range,” there were various arrangements for hanging a single kettle over a small fire, a roasting spit with fan attachment to keep it turning constantly, and a reflecting oven. And over it all the high pines rustled and shed their fragrance, and the sunlight filtered through in spots, and the breeze blew the smoke round in playful little wreaths, while the birds warbled their approval of the sensible folks who knew enough to live outdoors in summer.
It was all too beautiful to express in words, and much too beautiful to belong to a place called Murphy’s Island, so the campers decided before the first night was over.
“It reminds me of Scotland,” remarked Mr. Evans, “the scenery is so wild and rugged.”