Dinner at length being over (though later than usual, on account of the time occupied in baking the pie, and later, still, by reason of the goodness of it), they prepared to start, taking with them an axe to build a camp, tinder in a horn, flint, steel, and matches, which were made by dipping splinters of wood into melted brimstone, and which would burn when touched to the spark in the tinder. As they were to be gone but a short time, they carried no materials for cooking, but took their provisions ready cooked.

The wind was fair, but light, and they steered for the lone spruce on Birch Point, and, passing it, kept on to the north-east, having resolved to run the shore along, keeping a bright lookout for the high rock with the spruce on its summit, till they judged by the tide it was midnight, when, if they could not find the place, they would go ashore and camp, continuing their search in the morning. As night fell the wind began to rise, and dark clouds occasionally obstructed the moon. They coasted swiftly along the wild and rugged shore, looking in vain for the landmark. All at once the sea combed astern of them, with a tremendous roar, and so near that they were wet with the spray.

“We’ve run over a breaker,” said John; “if we had been ten feet farther astern it would have filled and sunk us. How could it be that, when you and Fred are both on the lookout, you didn’t see it?”

“I’ll tell you why,” said Charlie; “because it didn’t break after we were in sight. It is one of those breakers I have heard father tell of, that break only once in a good while; he said, that while some break every three minutes, and oftener, others break only once in fifteen minutes, or half an hour; and you cannot see such breakers in the night, and might be running right over one when it broke, as we came near doing just now.”

“Luff!” cried Fred; and, as they looked under the sail, they saw the white foam of the surf to the leeward.

“There’s breakers all around us,” said Charlie; “let’s take to the oars, and then we can keep clear of them.” Our young readers must bear in mind that these canoes could only go before the wind, or a little quartering, and therefore could not, like a boat, be luffed sharp into the wind, and beat out clear of danger; hence the boys preferred to take the sail in, and trust to their oars, with which they could, if they saw a breaker, pull away from it. At length they discovered a narrow passage, that seemed to lead in among the breakers to a high bluff, and rowed into it, having reefs and breakers on either side of them. They coasted along the bluff till they discovered beyond it a low point, and between them a cove with a little narrow beach. In the end of the high bluff was a large cave, into which the moon shone, partly revealing its extent. Here they determined to land, and build a brush camp. While they were looking about for a place to get up the rocky, steep shore, they stumbled upon this cave, and determined to explore it. It ran about twenty feet into the rock, which, being formed to a great extent of iron pyrites, had crumbled beneath the united forces of the frost and waves. John clambered up the bank, and found some dry brush, with which they made a torch. As they went in they found the bottom rose, and in the middle was a little elevation, somewhat higher than the rest. The walls were ragged, and just high enough to permit them to stand upright.

“What a nice place to camp!” said John; “we couldn’t have a better one.”

“But won’t the tide come in here? You know it is full of the moon, and high tides, now,” asked Fred.

“I don’t believe it does, else there would be chips, drift stuff, and sea-weed in here; but this is as clean as a house floor.”

There was plenty of dead wood on the top of the bluff; this they cut, and tumbled down the bank; then cut some hemlock boughs from small bushes, that were soft to sleep on, and put them on the little elevation in the middle. Then they stuck birch-bark torches into the crannies in the cave, moored the canoe in front of it, and took their guns, fishing-lines, and powder-horns, and set them up in the back part of the cave. They now piled up a great heap of wood in the mouth of the cave, so that the smoke would not enter, kindled the fire, and lighted the torches, till it was one glare of light, and the old rocks steamed with the heat. The provisions they had brought were eagerly devoured, with the exception of the remnants of the sand-bird pie, and some bread, which were left for another occasion. The perils they had passed through, and the strange position in which they were placed, rendered them little inclined to sleep.

Though boys are little given to sentiment, and the animal nature predominates, yet the scene was so singularly wild and beautiful, it was impossible they should not be impressed by it, which they manifested in their own fashion.

“Isn’t it great to camp in a cave?” asked Charlie. “How many things I’ve heard about caves! I wonder if any robbers or pirates ever lived in this.”

A little on their left was the high, rocky bank of the cove, with its narrow strip of white sand, sheltered from the wind by the high bluff, on which the retiring wavelets gently rolled, silvered by the moonbeams. In front was a group of reefs, which the boys had threaded, and on which the surf was rolling feather white.

“Look there, boys!” said John; “see the moon shining on that surf, when it rolls up, and then on the black rock when it goes back; isn’t that handsome? I’ve left my gun and powder-horn in the canoe, and now the tide has floated her off; would you wade in?”

“No; I wouldn’t wet my feet; let them be.”

They now lay down to sleep; but Tige, instead of placing himself at John’s feet, as usual, went up on the bank to lie down in the woods.

“What do you suppose makes Tige do that?” asked John.

“Perhaps he don’t like to sleep in a cave,” said Fred, “and wants to be out doors, where he can bark at the moon. Our Watch always wants to be out moonlight nights.”

“I’ll tell you; he don’t like to lie on brush, nor on the rock; I’ll make him a bed.”

John called him back, and threw down his long jacket at his feet, and made him lie down on it. He still seemed uneasy, and got up again; but John scolding at him, he lay down and went to sleep. The whole party were now sound asleep. How long they had slept they knew not, when John was aroused by the barking of Tige, who, not satisfied with waking him, took hold of his collar with his teeth, and pulled him half upright. Stretching out his leg in a fright, he plunged it into the cold water. At the cry John uttered both the boys awoke, when they found themselves in utter darkness, and surrounded by water. The tide, unusually high, had flowed into the cave, put out the fire, the brands of which were floating around them, and filled the whole cave, except the elevation upon which they had made their bed. “We shall all be drowned!” cried Fred, bursting into tears.

“No, we shan’t!” said John; “I can see a little light at the mouth; but what we do, we must do quickly. Follow me and Tige. Come, Tige.” And plunging into the water, he followed Tige, who led the way to the mouth of the cave, where John had seen the streak of light. There was but just room between the water and the roof for the passage of their heads; and had it not been for the sagacity of the dog, had they slept till the water reached their couch and waked them, they must have been blocked in and perished. Swimming to the beach, they clambered up the bank, and were safe. But they were in a sorry pickle; the night was cold, they were soaked with water, and in a strange and uninhabited place.

“What shall we do?” said Charlie; “the fireworks are all in the cave; we shall have to run about till daylight, to keep from freezing.”

“Your gun and powder-horn are in the canoe,” said John; “I can get fire with the gun.”

John swam off to the canoe, and soon brought her ashore. After several trials they succeeded in getting fire with the gun. Their spirits rose at once with the crackling of the flames and the grateful warmth. “Who cares!” said John; “we ain’t drowned, have got a fire, and can get our things when the tide ebbs.”

The first thing John did, after getting warm, was to caress Tige, as did the others.

“We owe our lives to him,” said Charlie.

“Yes; and I was scolding at him this very afternoon, and was a good mind to whip him. Good old dog! I’m sorry; and if we had anything to eat ourselves, I would give you some. Now I know the reason he went off in the woods, and didn’t want to sleep there; he knew the tide would come in there.”

“How could he know that? I saw him,” said Charlie, “when we first came, smelling all around the walls; perhaps he smelt where the water had come before.”

“Perhaps so.”

“I think,” said Charlie, “a higher power than Tige had something to do with it; you know how loath your mother was to have you bring him, and wouldn’t let you the first time. I think it was what my mother used to call a ‘providence of God.’”

“That’s just what my mother will say, the moment I tell her about it.” The sail of the canoe, spread over a pole supported by crotches, made them a tent, and they were soon asleep. Tige showed no disposition this time to leave the tent, but stretching himself at his master’s feet, snored audibly. The morning sun, shining in their faces, woke up the tired sleepers, and, going down to the bluff, they saw the high rock with the three spruces not more than half a mile off. The tide had now ebbed so much that they went into the cave with the canoe. The guns were full of water, but the powder in the horns was not injured. A jug of coffee, that was stopped tight, was as good as ever. The remains of their pie and bread were soaked in salt water, but the hungry boys ate a good part of it. They drew the charges from the guns, and heating some water in the tin pan that had contained their pie, scalded out the gun-barrels, and dried them at the fire, and they went as well as before.

They now set out for the high rock, and doubling it, entered the cove. It was, indeed, a singular spot. Along the edge of the water were about two acres of land, entirely bare of trees, and covered with grass. Upon each side rose two rugged hills, that seemed to have been cleft in two, so perpendicular—so much alike were their sides of smooth rock—as to permit the passage of a brook between them. The hills were covered with an enormous growth of yellow birch, rock maple, and oaks. The birches thrust their roots into the crevices of the rocks, and hung from the sides wherever there was the least soil.

“What kind of rocks are these?” asked Charlie; “they are red, and look like rusty iron; the ground is red, too. How hard some of these rocks are! and some are soft, and crumble in your hand.”

“Just taste of that,” said Fred, giving Charlie a piece of shelly, yellowish rock, who, putting it to his mouth, instantly spit it out, saying that it tasted like copperas. Fred and Charlie began now to search among the long grass for some traces of the Indian village, but found only charred wood, and stones which had formed rude fireplaces, blackened by smoke. Their search naturally led them to the bank of the brook.

“I never saw such water as this before,” said Fred, stooping down to drink; “it is red, but it tastes well enough.”

Following along its banks they found some arrow-heads, where the soil had caved away. They were made of a stone resembling flint, sharp at the point, and on each edge, but the edges were irregular, showing that they were made by chipping. Some of them were light-colored, others dark. They had brought a hoe and shovel, and the soil, being sandy, offered but little resistance. They soon dug out more arrow-points, and something that looked like the bowl of a pipe, made of a softer stone.

“What is that, Fred?”

“An Indian pipe. I saw my cousin have one, and he said that’s what it was.”

“How did they smoke with it; there’s no stem—only a little mite.”

“He said they stuck a piece of elder in it for a stem.”

Continuing their search, Fred dug out an iron instrument, entirely red with rust.

“I know what that is,” he said, rubbing it over the edge of the hoe, to get off the rust.

“What is it?”

“A tomahawk.”

“It looks like a hatchet. What is it for?—to cut wood?”

“To cut wood! To cut folks’ heads off, and split them open. The Indians killed my grandfather with just such a thing as that; they will throw ’em so that they will whirl over and over till the edge sticks right into a man’s skull.” “How did they kill your grandfather?”

“He was leading his horse to the brook to drink. The Indians were hid in the bushes; the horse either saw or smelt them, and wouldn’t go to the water. My grandfather tried to get him to go at first, but in a minute he thought it was Indians, and jumped on his back and set him into a run. The Indians gave chase, and one of them threw a tomahawk, and struck it into the side of his neck; he kept on the horse just long enough to reach home, and fell on the door-step; and for all the horse run, the Indians were at the door almost as soon as he. My uncle fired and shot one of them, and they went off; but my grandfather died about sundown.”

“Did your uncle shoot the one who threw the tomahawk?”

“I don’t know; I hope so; but they didn’t get his scalp.”

“What is that?”

“Why, don’t you know what a scalp is?”

“No; what is it?”

“When the Indians killed any white folks, they cut a piece of skin off the top of their heads, with the hair on, and carried it off.”

“What made ’em do that?” “I don’t know; because they were Indians, I suppose.”

“Does Uncle Isaac know?”

“To be sure he does.”

“Then I’ll ask him.”

“Fred,” said Charlie, holding the rusty weapon in his hand, “do you expect this ever killed anybody?”

“Yes; I expect it has killed many a one; there’s something red on it; perhaps it’s blood.”

“May be so.”

They walked along the bank of the brook, digging here and there, but finding nothing to reward their search till they came to the edge of the forest. All around among the scattered pines were the remains of fireplaces, and large heaps of clam-shells. It was evident that here (in times long gone by) had been a camping ground, and that the forest had overgrown it. A large pine, torn up by the tempest, lay across the brook. Looking into the cavity made by its removal, they saw something white, and, examining more narrowly, found it was a bone.

“It’s Indian bones,” cried Fred; and, plying the shovel, he soon brought to view the skeleton of an Indian. The skull, teeth, hair, and thigh-bones were but very little decayed. A dark ring, evidently the remains of some vegetable substance, completely surrounding the skeleton, was distinctly visible in the yellow sand.

“That is what he was buried in,” said Fred. They set themselves to discover what it was.

“It’s birch bark,” said Charlie.

“No, it ain’t,” said Fred, who had at length found a portion that was less decayed than the rest; “it’s elm-rind.”

“What is that?”

“Why, the inside bark of an elm; it’s real strong. I get it every year to string corn with, to keep the crows away.”

“O, Fred, look! what are these?” and Charlie picked out from among the bones a double handful of little round things, about the size of a modern lozenge, with a hole in the centre. They had been strung on a piece of deer sinew, which was still in some places quite strong, and had evidently hung about the neck of the skeleton. There were also in the grave arrow-heads, and under the neck a piece of the skin of some animal, with the hair still on it. Searching farther, they found a most singular-shaped stone, with an edge like an axe, and near the top a groove nearly half an inch in depth all around it; also, a pipe, a piece of bone pointed at one end, and in the other a hole, and a tooth pointed, exceedingly hard and white. Charlie appealed in vain to his companions to tell him what these things were for. Fred’s knowledge was very limited; he guessed they were what the Indian babies had to play with.

“This tooth,” said Charlie, “belonged to some wild animal—perhaps a wolf; I mean to ask Uncle Isaac. Fred, you know these things belong to both of us; what shall I give you for your share?”

“Nothing, Charlie; you are welcome to my part; I don’t care for keeping such things. I like the fun of finding them, and to look at them once; after that I don’t care anything about them.”

John, who was less interested in arrow-heads, had gone among the birches in quest of partridges, and returned, having killed six. After they had cooked and eaten two of them, they went in pursuit of the yellow paint, the great object of the expedition. Following the course of the brook for some distance, they came to where the soil changed to a stiff clay, and the brook was obstructed by an old beaver-dam, causing the water in many places to stand in little pools, in the bottom of which, and in the shelves of the rock which formed the bed of the brook, was a sediment of yellow mud, devoid of grit, and fine as flour. It was an ochre formed by the decomposition of iron pyrites, which had impregnated the clay, and stained the water of the brook.

“Here it is!” cried John, who was the first to perceive it; “here is the yellow stuff; only see how it stains my hands.”

The others gathered round him, and, with curious eyes, examined the treasure.

“Won’t we paint things!” cried Charlie. “I’ll paint everything in the house,—my sink, the baby’s cradle, my canoe, mother’s churn, the closet under the dressers, and my bedstead.”

“O, Charlie!” said John; “and your house under the maple.”

“Yes,” said Fred; “and all the drawers and shelves, too.”

“I,” said John, “mean to paint my steers’ yoke, my gunning float, sled, and the boat father made me, if we can get enough; and I’ll paint my bedroom, then put some into whitewash and paint the walls.”

“I,” said Fred, “have got a sled, a chest, and a writing-desk to paint; and I mean to paint the measures in the mill, and a little box for my sister.” They worked with might and main, scooping it out of the hollows in the bed of the rock, as that was the most free from grit. Putting it into their dinner-pail, they turned it into the forward part of the canoe.

“Only see where the sun is!” cried John, looking up; “I declare it’s most night; we must start this minute, and we shan’t be able to go to the pond where the pickerel are.”

The wind had now moderated to a light breeze, and was sufficiently favorable to have laid their course with a boat, but a canoe will do nothing on the wind.

“What makes everybody have canoes?” asked Charlie. “In England they have boats with keels, masts, and sails, just like sloops and schooners; they will sail on the wind, and beat to windward as well as the Perseverance.”

“I never saw any such thing,” said John; “but I’ve heard father tell of them.”

“They have timbers, are planked up, and calked, just, for all the world, like little vessels; and in some of them the planks are lapped over each other and nailed.”

“I shouldn’t think,” said Fred, “anything could be tight without oakum.” “Why not? A barrel and a pail is tight, and there is no oakum in them.”

“But the staves are jointed, and the hoops squat them together.”

“So the planks of these boats are jointed, and the nails are clinched, and draw them as tight as a hoop does a barrel. Some of the boats the great folks have are painted the most beautiful colors, and gold leaf on them, and the sails as white as the driven snow.”

“Gold leaf!” said John; “what, the same that is on our great looking-glass, that father brought home from sea?”

“Yes.”

Thus chatting, they rowed leisurely along, not caring to hurry, since these were the last hours of their holiday.

“How did the Indians get fire?” asked Charlie.

“I don’t know,” said John; “but they did.”

“Perhaps,” said Fred, “when the lightning struck a tree, and set it on fire, they kept it, and never let it go out.”

“I don’t believe but it would go out some time,” said Charlie.

“I tell you what I should like to do, John; get Uncle Isaac to tell us how the Indians used to do, and go off in the woods and be real Indians a whole week; perhaps he’d go with us.”

“I should rather he would tell us, and then go on our own hook; and we’ll do it, Charlie.”

They reached the island about eight o’clock in the evening, with all their treasures, fatigued, but happy, having enjoyed themselves to the top of their bent, and with enough to think and talk about to last them half the winter.