The Campfire Girls on Ellen's Isle

Chapter 7

Being Chief that week it was Katherine’s duty to blow the rising horn in the morning. The day after the return from the canoe trip was the morning for war canoe practice. The crew practised three mornings a week before breakfast. Katherine, who had gone to sleep with the idea firmly fixed in her mind that she must wake by a quarter to seven so that she could rouse the others, awoke with a start, dreaming that she had overslept and the others had tied her in her bed and gone off without her. The world was dull and grey and covered with a chilly mist. There was nothing to inspire a desire to go war canoe practicing. Katherine was still tired from the strenuous paddling of the past two days, and she stretched in delicious comfort under the covers. Then she pulled her watch from under her pillow and looked at it.

“Gracious!” she exclaimed, sitting bolt upright in bed. “It’s ten after seven. I have overslept! It’s so grey this morning it seems much earlier.”

She seized the horn and blew a mighty blast at the other girls, who were still sleeping peacefully. One by one they opened their eyes drowsily.

“Get up!” shouted Katherine. “We’ve overslept! This is the morning for crew practice and it’s ten after seven already.”

“Seems as if I’d just fallen asleep,” grumbled Hinpoha, half rising from the pillow and then sinking down into its warm depths again.

“It’s horrid and misty out,” sighed Gladys. “Do we have crew practice if it isn’t a nice day?”

“We certainly do,” said Katherine emphatically, buttoning the last button of her bathing suit and departing to wake the others.

In the next tent she encountered the same sleepy protest. “I didn’t think we went out when it was misty,” said Migwan, regretfully leaving the warm embrace of her blankets.

“I’m so comfortable,” sighed Nakwisi.

Katherine stood in the doorway with arms akimbo and delivered her mind. “What kind of sports are you, anyway? Just because it’s cold and misty you want to stay in bed all day and sleep. It’s no test of energy to get out on a fine morning and paddle a canoe, that’s pure fun; a cold, wet day is the real test of sportsmanship. What kind of Winnebagos are you? You sing:

“‘We always think the weather’s fine in sunshine or in snow,’ and then when the chance comes to prove it you back down.”

“We haven’t backed down,” said Migwan hastily, “and we aren’t going to. See, I’m up already.” And she reached for her bathing suit.

Katherine passed out of the tent and took her position on the high place between the two encampments where her horn would awaken the boys. It took no end of lusty blowing before she heard the answering shout that told they had heard and were getting up.

“Such a bunch of sleepy heads,” she called aloud to the trees. “They paddle a few miles and think they’re killed and have to sleep a week to make up for it. I won’t have it while I’m Chief. We must get hardened down to all kinds of weather or else we’re not true sports.” And she marched back to her tent to see that none of the girls had slipped back to bed while she was out. They were all grumbling and yawning, but were dutifully getting into their bathing suits.

“Mine’s wet,” wailed Hinpoha, “and–ouch! it’s cold. I forgot to hang it up after our swim last night. I think it’s cruelty to animals to make a person get into a wet bathing suit.”

“Serves you right for not hanging it up,” said Katherine imperturbably.

It was a chilly and unenthusiastic crew that manned the war canoe a few minutes later. The boys had been just as reluctant to leave their beds as the girls, though none of them would admit it. Katherine lectured them all on their doleful countenances and repeated her remarks about the test of sportsmanship. After that nobody dared open their mouths about the unpleasantness of the weather; in dogged silence they dipped their paddles and pushed out into the greyness.

“Sing something,” commanded Katherine, “and put a little life into your paddling! Ready now, ‘We pull long, we pull strong.’”

And obediently they opened their mouths and sang, but it sounded all out of tune and they couldn’t keep together no matter how hard they tried.

“Did the lake ever look so big and cold to you before?” asked Hinpoha in a forlorn voice after the attempt at singing had been given up.

“And St. Pierre looks about a thousand miles away, and all grey and shabby,” said Gladys.

“Do you think it will rain so much today that we can’t go over to St. Pierre with the little launch engine?” asked the Captain.

“No telling,” said Uncle Teddy, vainly trying to stifle a telltale yawn. Uncle Teddy was secretly wishing that Katherine had overslept with the rest of them and did not have such a tremendous idea of good sportsmanship. But, being a thorough sport, he shook himself out of his drowsiness and shouted the paddling commands lustily.

“One, two! One, two! Click stroke! Ready, dip!”

And the paddles clicked and dipped, as the paddlers began to feel the energy rising in their systems.

“Water wheel!” shouted Uncle Teddy, and the paddles flashed backward in a wide circle between each dip.

“Wasn’t that fun?” said Sahwah. “I’m getting wider awake every minute. You were right about making us get up, Katherine. If I’d slept as long as I wanted to I’d have felt ‘dumpy’ all day, but now I feel fine and just full of pep.”

“So do I,” said Gladys.

“I don’t,” said Hinpoha dolefully. “I guess I’m not much of a sport, but I’m getting sleepier every minute.”

“You girls talk too long before you go to sleep nights,” said the Captain. “That’s why you’re not ready to get up in the morning. We can hear you away down in our tents, long after we’re asleep.”

“How can you hear us after you’re asleep?” demanded Katherine, and the Captain, caught in a bull, subsided in confusion.

“Well, anyway,” said Hinpoha, “I’m going back to bed as soon as we land and sleep until breakfast time. I’m not going for a dip this morning.”

“You can’t sleep,” said Katherine, the martinet, “you’re on breakfast duty. And you’ll have to step lively at that, for it’s late this morning and the animals will all be hungry.”

“What time is it?” asked Sahwah.

“It must be pretty near eight,” answered Katherine. “Wait a minute until I look at my watch.” She fished around in the pocket of her sweater, pulling out first half a comb, then several peanuts, and finally the watch.

“It’s ten after seven,” she said. “Why, it can’t be that–that’s what it was when I got up. The watch has stopped. I don’t know what time it is, but it must be nearly eight.”

Just then a tiny golden beam fell on the water in front of the canoe. “It’s clearing up,” said Sahwah joyfully. “It isn’t going to rain after all today.” She twisted her head upward to see where the sun was breaking through the clouds. “Why―” she exclaimed in bewilderment, “where is the sun?”

They all looked around. There was the sun, just beginning to peep over the eastern horizon. “It’s–it’s just rising!” said Katherine, dumbfounded. “Did it oversleep, too?”

“No, it didn’t,” said Uncle Teddy. “Old Sol is the one person who always wakes on time. And at this season of the year his time is about four o’clock A. M.”

“It’s only four o’clock!” they all shouted. “Katherine, you wretch, you pulled us out of our beds at half past three! You did it on purpose!”

But one glance at Katherine’s amazed face dispelled all doubts on that score, and set them into a wild gale of laughter. If ever a person was taken aback it was Katherine. “My watch must have stopped at ten after seven last night,” she said sheepishly. “I remember now, I didn’t wind it. No wonder it was so grey and misty we thought it was going to rain!”

“The real test of sportsmanship!” scoffed the Captain. “I should say we were some fine sports, getting up at half past three the morning after a canoe trip and going out to crew practice!”

“And me getting into a wet bathing suit!” mourned Hinpoha. “I think I ought to have a Carnegie medal for that.”

Even the sun seemed to be laughing, as he climbed up over the rim of the water and turned the wavelets into gold. They paddled back to the dock as fast as they could go, laughing so they could hardly dip their paddles, and singing,

“Hail to the Chief who at sunrise advances!”

Arrived at the dock they scurried up the path and got back into bed as soon as they could, and journeyed back into the land of dreams without delay. Katherine refused to blow the rising horn at all, but let them sleep as long as they wanted to, and it was nine o’clock before the first one stirred. Breakfast was served at ten instead of at eight, and was the most hilarious meal they had eaten since coming to Ellen’s Isle. Song after song was made up about Katherine’s “False alarm” and her “rising qualities.” Finally they rose from the table and putting their hands on each other’s shoulders they formed a circle around her and danced a snake dance, singing:

“For she’s a really good sportsman,

For she’s a really good sportsman,

For she’s a really good sportsman,

Which no one can deny!”

“Don’t be cross, Katherine,” said Gladys, running from the circle to put her arms around her. “We’re horrid, nasty things to make such fun of you, but it was such a good joke on you!”

“Oh, I’ll forgive you all,” said Katherine magnanimously, “but I still have a sneaking suspicion that the joke was on you!”

“All aboard for St. Pierre,” cried Uncle Teddy. “How many of you boys want to come along? Company form ranks on the pier!”

There was a wild scramble down the hill to be on time, for it was an invariable rule that those who were not there when the boat was ready to start were left behind. There was no waiting for laggards. They all made it this time and chugged out of sight, still hearing echoes of the laughter on Ellen’s Isle.

It took so long to get the engine fixed that they decided to wait over and have dinner at St. Pierre. While they were eating there a big, bronzed man walked up and slapped Uncle Teddy on the shoulder. Uncle Teddy greeted him joyfully.

“Hello, Colonel Berry! Where in the firmament did you come from?”

“Oh, I just rained down,” said the big stranger, laughing. “But talking about firmaments, just what are you doing in this corner of the country?”

Uncle Teddy explained, and introduced Mr. Evans and the boys. “These are the Sandwiches,” he said, including them all in a comprehensive wave of his hand, whereat Colonel Berry roared with laughter. “Boys, meet Colonel C. C. Berry, the best woodsman in fourteen states, and the best goodfellow in the world.”

The boys acknowledged the introduction with great politeness and respect, but Colonel Berry insisted on shaking hands all around, “just as if we were senators,” the Captain explained afterward.

Mr. Evans immediately invited Colonel Berry to visit them at Ellen’s Isle, and the Sandwiches all echoed the plea eagerly, just as if he had been an old and beloved friend instead of a new acquaintance.

The colonel replied that his business would take him out of St. Pierre the following evening, but he would be delighted to run over and spend that night with them on Ellen’s Isle.

It was not without considerable pride that Mr. Evans pointed out “his island” to Colonel Berry later in the afternoon as the launch approached it on their return home. The way affairs were run on that little island was something to be proud of, as he well knew, and which even a distinguished camper and woodsman must admire. The boys were busy describing the wonders of Ellen’s Isle and kept saying, “Wait until you see our girls. Wait until you see Sahwah dive off the bow of the war canoe and Gladys hold a parasol over her head when she swims. Wait until you eat some of Hinpoha’s slumgullion!”

“I’m surprised they’re not all down on the landing waiting for us,” said Mr. Evans, as they ran the launch in. “They generally are. But they’ll be down immediately.” Making a trumpet of his hands he called, “Oh, Mother! Gladys! Aunt Clara!” There was no answer. “They must be in the tents,” he said. “Come on up.” He helped the colonel up the steep path and shouted again. Still no answer. He went over to Mrs. Evans’ tent. The sides were rolled up and it was empty. So was the other one. “They must be away at the other end of the island,” said Mr. Evans. He struck into the path which led up the men’s encampment, and which ran through the “kitchen.” The fire, which was generally burning there around supper time, was carefully laid, but not lighted. “Where can they be?” said Mr. Evans to Uncle Teddy in a puzzled tone. Just then his eye fell on a piece of paper tucked under the handle of the water bucket. Wonderingly he opened it and read:

“Dear men folks:

“Seeing that you have found amusement for the day we have gone on a picnic to the Point of Pines. We will stay all night if the sleeping is good. Everything is ready for supper; just help yourselves.”

“Of all things!” exclaimed Mr. Evans in vexation. “Just the day we have a guest I am particularly anxious to have them meet they take it into their heads to go off and spend the night. Where on earth is the Point of Pines?”

Nobody seemed to know just where it was, but they all remembered hearing the girls talking about it and hearing them say that some time when it was dry they were going over there by themselves with Aunt Clara and Mrs. Evans and have a “hen party.” The general idea was that the Point of Pines was a long point running out into the water on the mainland to the north of them, where the pines grew very tall and close together.

“Captain, you get into the launch and go over there and see if you can find them,” ordered Uncle Teddy. “It’s a pity to break up a ladies’ party in such a gorgeously select and private place as the Point of Pines, but they would never forgive us if we let them miss the chance to meet Colonel Berry. And in the meantime, we might as well get busy on the supper. It will be some time before they come back. Slim, you tie on an apron and pare potatoes; Anthony, you fill the water buckets; Pitt, you open several cans of tomatoes.”

“Here, let me take a hand,” said the colonel, just as though he were not a guest. “I haven’t cooked in the open most of my life for nothing.” So he found an apron and fell to work mixing biscuits. The colonel was a tall man–six feet two–and the apron belonged to Migwan, who was short, and when tied around his waist line it did not reach half way to his knees. Slim’s apron was long enough, but it would not go anywhere near around him. Being unable to tie the strings he tucked the apron in over his belt and let it go as far as it would.

“Where’s the bread knife?” asked Mr. Evans, coming out of the supply tent, after rushing around inside for several minutes in a vain search.

“Slim has it paring potatoes,” said Uncle Teddy, looking around. Slim handed it over and finished the potatoes with his pocket knife. Pitt had broken the paring knife trying to open a can with it when he could not find the can opener.

“Hurry up with those potatoes, Slim,” called Uncle Teddy. “They ought to be on now in order to get cooked with the rest of the things.”

“Just finished,” said Slim, sucking his thumb, which he had that minute gashed with the knife. He rose and carried the dish of pared potatoes over to the kettle of boiling water waiting to receive them, but half way over he tripped on the apron, which had slipped down under his feet, and sat down with a great splash in the kettle of tomatoes, standing on the ground awaiting its turn at the fire, while the potatoes rolled in all directions in the dirt.

Uncle Teddy and Mr. Evans and Colonel Berry came running at the noise, and after one glimpse of poor, fat Slim sitting there in the tomatoes sucking his thumb, they leaned against the trees and doubled up in helpless laughter, not one of them able to go to his rescue. Pitt and Anthony came running at the sound and joined their laughter with that of the men until the woods fairly rang.

Suddenly their laughter was echoed by a smothered giggle, which seemed to come from the sky. Startled, they looked up, to see Hinpoha’s convulsed face peering down at them between the branches of a high tree. They dropped their knives and dishes in amazement. “What are you doing up there?” gasped Mr. Evans. Hinpoha went into a perfect gale of merriment, which was echoed from all the trees around, and soon other faces were peering down between the branches–Aunt Clara’s, Mrs. Evans’, Sahwah’s, Katherine’s, Migwan’s, Antha’s, Nakwisi’s, Gladys’s. Every one of those naughty Winnebagos had been hiding in the treetops and watching the men cook supper down below!

Still convulsed, they descended into the midst of the amazed cooks.

“I thought you said you’d gone to the Point of Pines?” said Mr. Evans, in his surprise completely forgetting to introduce Colonel Berry.

“We did,” replied Mrs. Evans sweetly. “It wasn’t our fault that you misunderstood our note.”

“I’d like to see anybody that wouldn’t have misunderstood it,” retorted Mr. Evans.

“Don’t be cross, dearest,” said Mrs. Evans, still more sweetly. “Of course you misunderstood our note; we meant that you should. You have played so many tricks on us that we thought it was time we played one on you. We intended to stay up there until you had supper all ready and then come down to the feast, and planned on a nice enjoyable time seeing you work. But the reality surpassed the expectation by a hundred miles. We never expected to see such a show as we did. When you sent the searching party out after us we were nearly convulsed; the spectacle of Slim sitting there in that apron paring potatoes with the butcher knife was almost fatal to the branch I sat on; but when he tripped and sat down in the tomato kettle it was beyond human endurance and we just naturally exploded. Now won’t you forgive us and introduce your guest? He seems to have made himself quite at home already.”

Mr. Evans came to himself with a start and performed the introduction. It was impossible to be formal with the colonel in that ridiculous short apron, and every introduction was accompanied by a fresh peal of laughter.

“The idea of deceiving your good husband like that,” said the colonel, “and deliberately writing misleading notes! I shall entertain a very equivocal opinion of you young ladies,” he continued with twinkling eyes. “The Point of Pines, indeed!”

“Well, weren’t we at the Point of Pines, I’d like to know?” demanded Katherine. “There was the point of a pine poking me in the back all the while. If you’d been up in that pine you would have appreciated the point. And if we couldn’t get down again we would have had to stay there all night.”

Supper was ready to serve before anybody remembered about the Captain, who had been sent over to the real Point of Pines to look for the girls. Slim and Pitt immediately went after him and met him when they had gone half way across the lake, returning to camp with the discouraging news that he had not been able to find anybody on the Point.

“Was there ever such a topsy turvy day as this?” asked Gladys, as they sat around the glowing camp fire that night after supper. “First Katherine gets us up at half past three on a false alarm; we have crew practice and then go back to bed and don’t get up until nine. And things have kept happening all day until the grand climax just now. Some days stand out like that from all others as the day on which everything happened.”

Colonel Berry was a delightful talker and told many stories of his life as a guide in northwestern Canada, as well as many anecdotes of the Indians among whom he lived for some time.

“Colonel Berry,” said Hinpoha during one of the pauses in his speech, “may I ask you something?”

“Ask anything you want?” replied the colonel gallantly.

“Did the Indians ever bury anything under stones?”

“Did the Indians ever bury anything under stones?” repeated the colonel. “You mean the bodies of their dead? Customs varied as to that. Some tribes buried their dead in the ground, some left them on mountain tops unburied, and some wrapped the bodies and placed them in trees.”

“I don’t know whether I mean people or not,” said Hinpoha, and told about finding the marked rock in the ravine.

“It is barely possible that something is buried there,” said the colonel, “although rocks have been marked for a good many reasons.”

“It seemed such a good place to hide something,” said Sahwah shrewdly. “The ravine itself was dark and hard to get into, but it was easy to find your way back to it if you had been there once, because all you had to do was keep on going until you had passed seven big cedar trees. If we picked our way through the woods by that trail, other people probably have done the same thing. Maybe the Indians buried something there they intended to come back after, and marked the rock they put it under.”

“Possibly,” said the colonel doubtfully. “A great many Indian relics have been dug up around the shores of these lakes; arrow heads, pieces of pottery and ornaments of various kinds. Such things might have been buried before a hasty flight and never recovered.”

“Wouldn’t it be wonderful if there was something buried under that rock, and we should go there and dig it up!” said Hinpoha, half starting up in her excitement.

“Mind, I’m not saying there is anything buried there,” said the Colonel hastily. “I only said it was remotely possible. The Indians have been gone from this region for so long that it is not safe to speculate upon anything they might have left. I only know that from time to time things have been found accidentally.”

“Do you think we’d better dig?” asked Hinpoha eagerly.

“Well, there wouldn’t be any harm in it,” said the colonel quizzically. “You might find something of interest, and if you don’t–digging is good exercise.” And there the subject was left.

“Tell us a real Indian story,” begged Gladys of the colonel. “A story of the old Indians.”

The colonel obligingly consented and told them a tale as follows: