THE SKELETON ON ROUND ISLAND From "Mackinac And Lake Stories", 1899 By Mary Hartwell Catherwood _On the 15th day of March, 1897, Ignace Pelott died at Mackinac Island, aged ninety-three years. _ _The old quarter-breed, son of a half breed Chippewa mother andFrench father, took with him into silence much wilderness lore of theNorthwest. He was full of stories when warmed to recital, though at thebeginning of a talk his gentle eyes dwelt on the listener with anxiety, and he tapped his forehead--"So many things gone from there!" Hishabit of saying "Oh God, yes, " or "Oh God, no, " was not in the leastirreverent, but simply his mild way of using island English. _ _While water lapped the beach before his door and the sun smote sparkleson the strait, he told about this adventure across the ice, and hishearer has taken but few liberties with the recital. _ THE SKELETON ON ROUND ISLAND I am to carry Mamselle Rosalin of Green Bay from Mackinac to Cheboyganthat time, and it is the end of March, and the wind have turn from eastto west in the morning. A man will go out with the wind in the east, tohaul wood from Boblo, or cut a hole to fish, and by night he cannot gethome--ice, it is rotten; it goes to pieces quick when the March windturns. I am not afraid for me--long, tall fellow then; eye that can see toPoint aux Pins; I can lift more than any other man that goes in theboats to Green Bay or the Soo; can swim, run on snow-shoes, go withouteating two, three days, and draw my belt in. Sometimes the ice-floescarry me miles, for they all go east down the lakes when they start, andI have landed the other side of Drummond. But when you have a woman withyou--Oh God, yes, that is different. The way of it is this: I have brought the mail from St. Ignace with mytraino--you know the train-au-galise--the birch sledge with dogs. Itis flat, and turn up at the front like a toboggan. And I have take thetraino because it is not safe for a horse; the wind is in the west, andthe strait bends and looks too sleek. Ice a couple of inches thick willbear up a man and dogs. But this old ice a foot thick, it is turningrotten. I have come from St. Ignace early in the afternoon, and thepeople crowd about to get their letters, and there is Mamselle Rosalincrying to go to Cheboygan, because her lady has arrive there sick, andhas sent the letter a week ago. Her friends say: "It is too late to go to-day, and the strait is dangerous. " She say: "I make a bundle and walk. I must go when my lady is sick andher husband the lieutenant is away, and she has need of me. " Mamselle's friends talk and she cry. She runs and makes a little bundlein the house and comes out ready to walk to Cheboygan. There is nobodycan prevent her. Some island people are descend from noblesse of France. But none of them have travel like Mamselle Rosalin with the officer'swife to Indiana, to Chicago, to Detroit. She is like me, French. * Thegirls use to turn their heads to see me walk in to mass; but I neverlook grand as Mamselle Rosalin when she step out to that ice. * The old fellow would not own the Chippewa. I have not a bit of sense; I forget maman and my brothers and sistersthat depend on me. I run to Mamselle Rosalin, take off my cap, and bowfrom my head to my heel, like you do in the dance. I will take her toCheboygan with my traino--Oh God, yes! And I laugh at the wet track thesledge make, and pat my dogs and tell them they are not tired. I wrapher up in the fur, and she thank me and tremble, and look me throughwith her big black eyes so that I am ready to go down in the strait. The people on the shore hurrah, though some of them cry out to warn us. "The ice is cracked from Mission Point to the hook of Round Island, Ignace Pelott!" "I know that, " I say. "Good-day, messieurs!" The crack from Mission Point--under what you call Robinson's Folly--tothe hook of Round Island always comes first in a breaking up; and I holdmy breath in my teeth as I skurry the dogs across it. The ice grinds, the water follows the sledge. But the sun is so far down in thesouthwest, I think "The wind will grow colder. The real thaw will notcome before to-morrow. " [Illustration: The Train au Galise 080] I am to steer betwixt the east side of Round Island and Boblo. When wecome into the shadow of Boblo we are chill with damp, far worse than theclear sharp air that blows from Canada. I lope beside the traino, andnot take my eyes off the course to Cheboygan, except that I see theislands look blue, and darkness stretching before its time. The sweatdrop off my face, yet I feel that wind through my wool clothes, andam glad of the shelter between Boblo and Round Island, for the straitoutside will be the worst. There is an Indian burying-ground on open land above the beach on thatside of Round Island. I look up when the thick woods are pass, for thesunset ought to show there. But what I see is a skeleton like it issliding down hill from the graveyard to the beach. It does not move. Theearth is wash from it, and it hangs staring at me. I cannot tell how that make me feel! I laugh, for it is funny; but I amashame, like my father is expose and Mamselle Rosalin can see him. IfI do not cover him again I am disgrace. I think I will wait till someother day when I can get back from Cheboygan; for what will she say ifI stop the traino when we have such a long journey, and it is so nearnight, and the strait almost ready to move? So I crack the whip, butsomething pull, pull! I cannot go on! I say to myself, "The ground isfroze; how can I cover up that skeleton without any shovel, or even ahatchet to break the earth?" But something pull, pull, so I am oblige to stop, and the dogs turn inwithout one word and drag the sledge up the beach of Bound Island. "What is the matter?" says Mamselle Eosalin. She is out of the sledge assoon as it stops. I not know what to answer, but tell her I have to cut a stick to mendmy whip-handle. I think I will cut a stick and rake some earth over theskeleton to cover it, and come another day with a shovel and dig a newgrave. The dogs lie down and pant, and she looks through me with her bigeyes like she beg me to hurry. But there is no danger she will see the skeleton. We both look back toMackinac. The island have its hump up against the north, and the villagein its lap around the bay, and the Mission eastward near the cliff; butall seem to be moving! We run along the beach of Bound Island, and thenwe see the channel between that and Boblo is moving too, and the ice islike wet loaf-sugar, grinding as it floats. We hear some roars away off, like cannon when the Americans come to theisland. My head swims. I cross myself and know why something pull, pull, to make me bring the traino to the beach, and I am oblige to thatskeleton who slide down hill to warn me. When we have seen Mackinac, we walk to the other side and look south andsoutheast towards Cheboygan. . All is the same. The ice is moving out ofthe strait. "We are strand on this island!" says Mamselle Rosalin. "Oh, what shallwe do?" I tell her it is better to be prisoners on Bound Island than on a cakeof ice in the strait, for I have tried the cake of ice and know. "We will camp and build a fire in the cove opposite Mackinac, " I say. "Maman and the children will see the light and feel sure we are safe. " "I have done wrong, " says she. "If you lose your life on this journey, it is my fault. " Oh God, no! I tell her. She is not to blame for anything, and there isno danger. I have float many a time when the strait breaks up, and notsave my hide so dry as it is now. We only have to stay on Round Islandtill we can get off. "And how long will that be?" she ask. I shrug my shoulders. There is no telling. Sometimes the strait clearsvery soon, sometimes not. Maybe two, three days. Rosalin sit down on a stone. I tell her we can make camp, and show signals to Mackinac, and when theice permit, a boat will be sent. She is crying, and I say her lady will be well. No use to go toCheboygan anyhow, for it is a week since her lady sent for her. Butshe cry on, and I think she wish I leave her alone, so I say I will getwood. And I unharness the dogs, and run along the beach to cover thatskeleton before dark. I look and cannot find him at all. Then I go up tothe graveyard and look down. There is no skeleton anywhere. I have seenhis skull and his ribs and his arms and legs, all sliding down hill. Buthe is gone! The dusk close in upon the islands, and I not know what to think--crossmyself, two, three times; and wish we had land on Boblo instead of RoundIsland, though there are wild beasts on both. But there is no time to be scare at skeletons that slide down anddisappear, for Mamselle Rosalin must have her camp and her place tosleep. Every man use to the bateaux have always his tinder-box, hisknife, his tobacco, but I have more than that; I have leave Mackinac soquick I forget to take out the storekeeper's bacon that line the bottomof the sledge, and Mamselle Eosalin sit on it in the furs! We haveplenty meat, and I sing like a voyageur while I build the fire. Drift, so dry in summer you can light it with a coal from your pipe, lay on thebeach, but is now winter-soaked, and I make a fireplace of logs, and cutpine branches to help it. It is all thick woods on Round Island, so close it tear you to pieces ifyou try to break through; only four-footed things can crawl there. Whenthe fire is blazing up I take my knife and cut a tunnel like a littleroom, and pile plenty evergreen branches. This is to shelter MamselleRosalin, for the night is so raw she shiver. Our tent is the sky, darkness, and clouds. But I am happy. I unload the sledge. The bacon iswet. On long sticks the slices sizzle and sing while I toast them, andthe dogs come close and blink by the fire, and lick their chops. Rosalinlaugh and I laugh, for it smell like a good kitchen; and we sit and eatnothing but toasted meat--better than lye corn and tallow that you havewhen you go out with the boats. Then I feed the dogs, and she walk withme to the water edge, and we drink with our hands. It is my house, when we sit on the fur by the fire. I am so light I wantmy fiddle. I wish it last like a dream that Mamselle Rosalin and me keephouse together on Round Island. You not want to go to heaven when theone you think about all the time stays close by you. But pretty soon I want to go to heaven quick. I think I jump in the lakeif maman and the children had anybody but me. When I light my pipe shesmile. Then her great big eyes look off towards Mackinac, and I turn andsee the little far-away lights. "They know we are on Round Island together, " I say to cheer her, and shemove to the edge of the fur. Then she say "Good-night, " and get up andgo to her tunnel-house in the bushes, and I jump up too, and spread thefur there for her. And I not get back to the fire before she make adoor of all the branches I have cut, and is hid like a squirrel I feelI dance for joy because she is in my camp for me to guard. But what isthat? It is a woman that cry out loud by herself! I understand now whyshe sit down so hopeless when we first land. I have not know much aboutwomen, but I understand how she feel. It is not her lady, or the dark, or the ice break up, or the cold. It is not Ignace Pelott. It is thename of being prison on Round Island with a man till the ice is outof the straits. She is so shame she want to die. I think I will killmyself. If Mamselle Rosalin cry out loud once more, I plunge in thelake--and then what become of maman and the children? She is quieter; and I sit down and cannot smoke, and the dogs pity me. Old Sauvage lay his nose on my knee. I do not say a word to him, but Ipat him, and we talk with our eyes, and the bright camp-fire shows eachwhat the other is say. "Old Sauvage, " I tell him, "I am not good man like the priest. I havebeen out with the boats, and in Indian camps, and I not had in my life achance to marry, because there are maman and the children. But you know, old Sauvage, how I have feel about Mamselle Rosalin, it is three years. " Old Sauvage hit his tail on the ground and answer he know. "I have love her like a dog that not dare to lick her hand. And now shehate me because I am shut on Round Island with her while the ice goesout. I not good man, but it pretty tough to stand that. " Old Sauvagehit his tail on the ground and say, "That so. " I hear the water on thegravel like it sound when we find a place to drink; then it is plentycompany, but now it is lonesome. The water say to people on Mackinac, "Rosalin and Ignace Pelott, they are on Round Island. " What make youproud, maybe, when you turn it and look at it the other way, make yousick. But I cannot walk the broken ice, and if I could, she would be lefalone with the dogs. I think I will build another camp. But soon there is a shaking in the bushes, and Sauvage and hisbledgemates bristle and stand up and show their teeth. Out comesMamselle Eosalin with a scream to the other side of the fire. I have nothing except my knife, and I take a chunk of burning wood andgo into her house. Maybe I see some green eyes. I have handle vild-catskin too much not to know that smell in the dark. I take all the branches from Rosalin's house and pile them by the fire, and spread the fur robe on them. And I pull out red coals and put morelogs on before I sit down away off between her and the spot where shehear that noise. If the graveyard was over us, I would expect to seethat skeleton once more. "What was it?" she whisper. I tell her maybe a stray wolf. "Wolves not eat people, mamselle, unless they hunt in a pack; and theyrun from fire. You know what M'sieu' Cable tell about wolves that chasehim on the ice when he skate to Cheboygan? He come to great wide crackin ice, he so scare he jump it and skate right on! Then he look back, and see the wolves go in, head down, every wolf caught and drown in thecrack. It is two days before he come home, and the east wind have blowto freeze that crack over--and there are all the wolf tails, stick up, froze stiff in a row! He bring them home with him--but los them on theway, though he show the knife that cut them off!" "I have hear that, " says Rosalin. "I think he lie. " "He say he take his out on a book, " I tell her, but we both laugh, and she is curl down so close to the fire her cheeks turn rosy. For acamp-fire will heat the air all around until the world is like a bigdark room; and we are shelter from the wind. I am glad she is begin toenjoy herself. And all the time I have a hand on my knife, and the coldchills down my back where that hungry vild-cat will set his claws if hejump on me; and I cannot turn around to face him because Rosalin thinksit is nothing but a cowardly wolf that sneak away. Old Sauvage is uneasyand come to me, his fangs all expose, but I drive him back and listen tothe bushes behind me. "Sing, M'sieu' Pelott, " says Rosalin. Oh God, yes I it is easy to sing with a vild-cat watch you on one sideand a woman on the other! "But I not know anything except boat songs. " "Sing boat songs. " So I sing like a bateau full of voyageurs, and the dark echo, and thatvild-cat must be astonish. When you not care what become of you, andyour head is light and your heart like a stone on the beach, you notmind vild-cats, but sing and laugh. I cast my eye behin sometimes, and feel my knife. It make me smile tothink what kind of creature come to my house in the wilderness, and Isay to myself: "Hear my cat purr! This is the only time I will everhave a home of my own, and the only time the woman I want sit beside myfire. " Then I ask Rosalin to sing to me, and she sing "Malbrouck, " like herfather learn it in Kebec. She watch me, and I know her eyes have moredanger for me than the vild-cat's. It ought to tear me to pieces if Iforget maman and the children. It ought to be scare out the bushes tojump on a poor fool like me. But I not stop entertain it--Oh God, no!I say things that I never intend to say, like they are pull out of mymouth. When your heart has ache, sometimes it break up quick like theice. "There is Paul Pepin, " I tell her. "He is a happy man; he not troublehimself with anybody at all. His father die; he let his mother take careof herself. He marry a wife, and get tired of her and turn her off withtwo children. The priest not able to scare him; he smoke and take hisdram and enjoy life. If I was Paul Pepin I would not be torment. " "But you are not torment, " says Rosalin. "Everybody speak well of you. " "Oh God, yes, " I tell her; "but a man not live on the breath of hisneighbors. I am thirty years old, and I have take care of my mother andbrothers and sisters since I am fifteen. I not made so I can leave them, like Paul Pepin. He marry when he please. I not able to marry at all. Itis not far I can go from the island. I cannot get rich. My work must bealways the same. " "But why you want to marry?" says Rosalin, as if that surprise her. And I tell her it is because I have seen Rosalin of Green Bay; and shelaugh. Then I think it is time for the vild-cat to jump. I am thirtyyears old, and have nothing but what I can make with the boats or mytraino; the children are not grown; my mother depend on me; and I havepropose to a woman, and she laugh at me! But I not see, while we sing and talk, that the fire is burn lower, andold Sauvage has crept around the camp into the bushes. That end all my courtship. I not use to it, and not have any businessto court, anyhow. I drop my head on my breast, and it is like when I amlittle and the measle go in. Paul Pepin he take a woman by the chin andsmack her on the lips. The women not laugh at him, he is so rough. I amas strong as he is, but I am afraid to hurt; I am oblige to take care ofwhat need me. And I am tie to things I love--even the island--so that Icannot get away. "I not want to marry, " says Rosalin, and I see her shake her head at me. "I not think about it at all. " "Mamselle, " I say to her, "you have not any inducement like I have, thattorment you three years. " "How you know that?" she ask me. And then her face change from laughter, and she spring up from the blanket couch, and I think the camp go aroundand around me--all fur and eyes and claws and teeth--and I not know whatI am doing, for the dogs are all over me--yell--yell--yell; and thenI am stop stabbing, because the vild-cat has let go of Sauvage, andSauvage has let go of the vild-cat, and I am looking at them and knowthey are both dead, and I cannot help him any more. [Illustration: The camp go round and round 086] You are confuse by such things where there is noise, and howlingcreatures sit up and put their noses in the air, like they call theirmate back out of the dark. I am sick for my old dog. Then I am proud hehas kill it, and wipe my knife on its fur, but feel ashame that I havenot check him driving it into camp. And then Rosalin throw her armsaround my neck and kiss me. It is many years I have tell Rosalin she did that. But a woman will denywhat she know to be the trut. I have tell her the courtship had end, andshe begin it again herself, and keep it up till the boats take us offRound Island. The ice not run out so quick any more now like it didthen. My wife say it is a long time we waited, but when I look back itseem the shortest time I ever live--only two days. Oh God, yes, it is three years before I marry the woman that not want tomarry at all; then my brothers and sisters can take care of themselves, and she help me take care of maman. It is when my boy Gabriel come home from the war to die that I see theskeleton on Round Island again. I am again sure it is wash out, and I goashore to bury it, and it disappear. Nobody but me see it. Then beforeRosalin die I am out on the ice-boat, and it give me warning. I knowwhat it mean; but you cannot always escape misfortune. I cross myselfwhen I see it; but I find good luck that first time I land; and maybe Ifind good luck every time, after I have land.