Captain Simms' face was grave. He had taken a great liking to Steve Rush. He had lost, as he thought, three men, the first loss of life on a ship commanded by him since he had been in the service of the company as a sailing master.
"Mr. Major, you will report the accident and the loss of the men as soon as we reach the St. Clair River," he said.
"Aye, aye, sir."
Captain Simms left the pilot-house, from which point of vantage he had been sweeping the waters of the lake with his glasses, and went down to his own cabin to turn in for a few hours' sleep.
In the meantime the object of the thoughts of nearly every man on board, Steve Rush, was climbing to the top of the rocks that lined the coast. Reaching there he sought the highest point attainable and looked about him.
"I am on an island!" he exclaimed. "From the looks of things I am the only person here. Well, this is cheerful, but it is much better than being out yonder," he added with a gesture toward the rippling waters of Lake Huron.
Rush decided to investigate his island the next thing he did. So he climbed down to the beach again and began following the coast line. As he went on he found traces indicating that some one had been there. There were chicken bones and the charred embers of a recent fire in one spot. Steve came to the conclusion that fishermen had been on the island not long since. If this were so there were hopes that they or some of their kind would visit the place again. Steve walked the greater part of the day. On one side of the island he saw a large bay. Across a point of what he judged to be the mainland, he could see another bay and beyond that a cloud in the sky that looked like smoke.
"There must be a large town or a city over yonder, but I don't know what it is. I do not even know whether I am in the United States or Canada."
All day long the lad tramped. When night came he was hungry, stiff and weak. Had it not been for his splendid constitution and great endurance he would have given up long before that.