“I am afraid you are right, Franklin; we didn’t begin early enough. No danger of our boys making that blunder; those youngsters know how to live and they will get all there is coming to them, when they plunge into the wilds of Maine. Not only are their bodies trained but their minds and consciences. I was impressed some weeks ago when the Blazing Arrow Patrol held a meeting in my library and by invitation I was present. I sat back and looked and listened. It was the regular Saturday evening business session, when the Scout Master presided and the usual order or schedule was followed. The one feature that caught me was when the leader called upon each Boy Scout to tell what ‘good turn’ he had done for some one during the day. I then learned that each boy is pledged to do at least one such kindness for some person every twenty-four hours. I felt a lump in my throat as the youths popped up one after the other and modestly told their stories. All the incidents were trifling: one had volunteered to do an errand for his father or mother; another had helped an old lady across the street; a third had assisted a small boy in carrying a big bundle; another, when challenged to fight by a young ruffian, had turned his back without a word and walked away. ‘And I knew all the time I could lick him,’ the scout added with a flash of his eyes; still another had pointed out to a gentleman the best way to reach the Waldorf-Astoria, and so it went.
“Think of it,—a boy on the lookout every day of his life for a chance to do a good turn for some one else. Such a youngster is sure very soon to beat that record; he will hit the four hundred mark every year; that’s four thousand in ten years or twenty thousand in a half century. Won’t that look fine, Franklin, on the credit side of the great Book that will be opened at the Judgment Day? Ah, I fear the balance will be on the other side of the account, so far as I’m concerned.”
“And with me, too,” sighed his friend; “think what a different world this will be when every one, even the children, is hunting for an opportunity to do a kindness for a fellow creature.”
“I wonder if the Boy Scouts would admit us into their organization,” said Landon with a wee bit of earnestness.
“We are both old enough, which is about our only qualification. We have done many turns for others, but they hardly deserve to have the adjective ‘good’ applied to them.”
“Well,” sighed the elder millionaire, “I am so pleased with the principles of the Boy Scouts, and they have had such good effect upon Alvin—”
“The same is to be said of Chester.”
“That I have decided to do the Blazing Arrow, the Stag and the Eagle Patrols (which I believe are those that make up the troop) a good turn which is so slight that it isn’t worth bragging about.”
“What is that?”
“You know I own the southern shore of Gosling Lake, which lies in the lower part of Maine, a few miles from the bank of the Sheepscott. Our club is about to put up a bungalow on that bank that will serve for headquarters. Such of the members as wish will bunk there while fishing this summer. It is the close season for game, beside which there is little to be had in that section. I have invited Scout Master Hall to spend the month of August there with his boys.”
“That is a long distance for them to travel and I’m afraid some cannot afford the expense.”
“It shall not cost any one a cent. It is to be simply an outing for the troop, who will be the guests of Alvin.”
“And Chester: I shall insist upon that.”
“As you please. Our boys will go to Southport early in July, or as soon as their schools close. They and Mike Murphy will manage to worry through several weeks with the motor launch, until the main party is ready to hike for the woods and all have their picnic on Gosling Lake.”
“I gather from what you say that this will not be the usual camping-out experience, in which the boys put up their tents in the depth of the woods and provide for their own wants.”
“No; they will have something of the kind—to keep their hands in, as may be said—during early spring and summer nearer their own homes. They will continue to study woodcraft, undergo training, perfect their discipline, and in short rough it like real scouts. They will be on edge, and prepared to mix some of the conveniences of life with the roughness of existence out of doors. Perhaps you and I will feel like taking a turn at it ourselves, if they will consent.”
Haynes shook his head with a grim smile.
“As we agreed a few minutes ago, we have waited too long for that. Your plan is admirable and does you credit.”
“Precious little. If it is what may be called a good turn, it is the only one of which I have been guilty in more years than I like to think of.”
“You say you have talked the plan over with Scout Master Hall?”
“He has spent several evenings with me discussing the scheme with Alvin, Chester and myself. I may say it has been perfected; the boys are all anxious to go, but a few of them will spend their vacation in their homes. I believe we can count upon twenty guests at the clubhouse on Gosling Lake.”
“Call it an even score; that will be twenty good turns that you will do others; you can’t help piling up several additional ones during the dog days, and will be able to make a creditable report when called upon.”
“I never thought of that, but I’m blessed if it doesn’t give me a comfortable sensation. I tell you, Franklin, the Boy Scouts are the Junior Freemasons of society and the most powerful organization ever formed for the advancement of the idea of the fatherhood of God and the brotherhood of men. I shall do all I can to help along the work.”
“And I am with you. But let’s stick to practical facts. You and I will send the troop into the Maine woods, at the beginning of August, and see that every possible provision is made at the bungalow for the boys. Won’t that place quite a task on your shoulders?”
“None whatever. When the boys arrive at the lake they will find sleeping quarters awaiting them in the clubhouse. If they think they are crowded, some of them can sleep in the woods, and it will be just like the majority to do so. Of course they will take their fishing tackle and such articles as they are likely to need with them.”
“What about firearms?”
“The only one of which I have heard is a revolver of which Scout Master Hall is the proprietor. He talks as if he knows something about the weapon, but in my opinion he is bluffing and doesn’t know whether to aim the butt or muzzle at a target. Bear in mind that the Boy Scouts don’t live to kill, and the safety of our friends will never demand a gun or pistol. Several for amusement may make a few bows and arrows, but not much will be done in that line. They wear uniforms because they look natty, and they wouldn’t be boys if they didn’t like to make a display. Beyond question it helps to enforce discipline and assists in the military drill which forms a part of their training.”
“Will the camp be provided with boats?”
“Two large canoes are to be sent there from Portland and they will be at the disposal of the scouts at all times.”
“What of provisions and supplies?”
“You may be sure that we have guarded against famine. There is a track of several miles from the lake through the woods to the main road over which a strong team can be driven; thence the communication is easy with Boothbay Harbor, where there is no end of provisions. A wagon will make the trip once a week taking all that may be needed to the camp.”
“Those miles through the woods must be pretty tough traveling.”
“That cannot be denied, but one of the things in Maine and many other states that will amaze you is the terrific roads over which teams seem to have little difficulty in making their way. Last summer I strolled along the boardwalk ground the southern end of Squirrel Island. I was puzzled by numerous tracks in the black earth. There were ruts, hollows and cavities that looked as if made by wagon wheels, but that appeared impossible, for the course was choked with huge boulders and deep depressions over which it seemed as if only a chamois or goat could leap. While I was speculating and wondering I saw a horse coming toward
me, dragging a wagon in which sat a man in his shirt sleeves, driving. Straight over those boulders and through the abrupt hollows, he plunged and labored without halt or hesitation. Sometimes the hind wheels bounced high in air with the front diving down, the body yawed and was wrenched, and the driver wobbled from side to side and forward and back, but he kept bravely on, and as he pitched and lurched and bumped past, calmly called out that it was a pleasant day. Compared with that roadway the few miles through the forest to Gosling Lake will be like a macadamized turnpike.”
The conversation thus recorded may form the framework of the picture of the camp of the Boy Patrols on Gosling Lake. Omitting the preliminaries which otherwise might be necessary, let us step forward to that day, early in August, 1912, succeeding the arrival of the lads at the bungalow on this beautiful sheet of water in southern Maine.
CHAPTER VII
On Gosling Lake
The body of water referred to, which for certain reasons I shall call Gosling Lake—though that is not its real name—is of irregular form, about two miles long from east to west, and somewhat less in breadth. It is surrounded by pines, balsams and firs, which in most places grow quite close to the water’s edge, with here and there a grassy stretch of moderate extent, bordering the lake.
On the southern shore stands the bungalow or clubhouse, to which more than one reference has been made. It is a low, log structure of one story with a piazza in front, is strong and secure and has no pretensions to elegance or luxury. It was intended merely to afford sleeping and dining quarters for the occupants. When a party of wealthy men plunge into the wilderness for what they call an outing, they make a great ado over “roughing” it. They announce that they will sleep in the open, work strenuously for their own meals, and live the simple life, as did the wood rangers in the olden times. But the chances are ten to one that the campers out will bring a professional cook and one or two other servants with them, will sleep in the beds prepared by other hands, and spend most of their time in luxurious idleness.
The bungalow which we have in mind is fifty feet in length and is divided into two rooms,—the smaller for dining and social communion on stormy afternoons and during the evenings. This room has an old-fashioned fireplace and is provided with cooking utensils, a large table, several chairs and other simple articles of furniture. The larger apartment is furnished with rows of bunks along each side, where spruce tips or pine boughs serve as mattresses upon which pillows and blankets are spread. The floor is of smooth planking, and without rugs. Large wooden pegs driven into the walls take the place of closets. In short the aim is to yield solid comfort, yet encourage the belief among the campers that they are actually roughing it.
Drawn up on the grassy slope in front of the clubhouse were two Indian canoes, each large enough to carry a half dozen full grown persons. The single paddles required for propulsion were kept within the building and the craft when not in use were turned over with the bottoms facing the sky. Such is an imperfect glimpse of the clubhouse that was to serve as headquarters of the Boy Patrols during the last month of that summer.
One of the striking attractions of the rivers, lakes and streams of Maine is their crystalline clearness. I have looked down at the boulders and pebbles twenty feet and more below the surface, where they were as clearly visible as if only the atmosphere was between them and my eyes. Maine lies so far north that its waters are generally cold and the bather who plunges into their depths gasps and feels like scrambling out again; but let him persevere for a brief while and the bath becomes invigorating and gives the body a glow and reacting warmth that thrills with exquisite pleasure.
At six o’clock on that memorable morning in early August, you might have looked at the clubhouse and believed it did not contain a living person or creature,—so quiet and free from stir was everything connected with it; but a few minutes later, the broad door opened and a young man walked a few steps toward the lake and then halted and looked around, as if expecting some one. He had dark curly hair, large clear eyes, black mustache, fair complexion somewhat tanned, a lithe, active figure rather below the medium stature, and an alert manner. His dress was such as is worn by the Boy Scouts. On the upper part of his left sleeve was a badge in blue, green and red, consisting mainly of an eagle with spread wings and shield, and the motto “Be Prepared” in gilt metal. This is the official insignia of the Scout Master, Scout Commissioner, Assistant Scout Master and of the First Class Boy Scout.
The gentleman who thus stepped upon the stage of action was Bert Hall, who, although a family man, is as much a boy as he was a dozen years ago. In fact, he can never be anything else, though in his activities no one is more mature than he. He is always doing something for the benefit of others, so it was inevitable that when the scout movement was originated it caught his attention and engaged his sympathy and co-operation.
The Scout Master’s second glance at the door showed mild surprise. He drew out his watch and then smiled, for he saw he was a few minutes ahead of time.
“I have tried to teach the boys that it is better to be too early than too late, but better than either to hit the nail exactly on the head.”
He kept his eye on the face of the watch until the minute and hour hand formed a straight line from the figure XII to VI. Then he slipped it back in his pocket.
Almost in the same instant, the door was drawn inward, and with a shout, a Boy Scout, his face aglow with eager expectancy, dashed down the slope like a deer, ran a few paces into the lake, splashing the water high, closed the palms of his hand above his head and dived out of sight. He was Charley Chase, the Blazing Arrow Patrol leader. Right behind him on a dead run, came Corporal George Robe, followed by Scouts Kenneth Henke, Kenneth Mitchell, Robert Snow, Ernest Oberlander, Colgate Craig, Robert Rice, Hubert Wood and Harold Hopkins.
After a brief wait, other members of the troop streamed laughing after the leaders, among them being our old friends Alvin Landon and Chester Haynes. The clothing of each consisted of a pair of tights, whose length from the extreme northern boundary to the remote southern edge, was perhaps twelve inches. It was a proper concession to the aesthetic demands of the occasion.
How they frolicked and disported themselves! A party of boys can no more keep from shouting than so many girls can refrain from screaming at sight of a mouse whisking about their feet. They dived, swam, splashed one another, darted under the surface like so many young submarines, and reveled in the very ecstasy of enjoyment. The first thrilling sting of the cold element caused all to gasp, but a few minutes ended that and none would have had it a degree milder.
Scout Master Hall moved a little to one side, so as to be out of the way, stepped close to the water, folded his arms and smiled in sympathy at sight of the joyous abandon of boys,—one of whom he had often been and meant to be again. His present duty was to oversee his charges. He knew all were good swimmers, but some one might be seized with cramp, because of the sudden plunge, and accident always threatens everybody. A person can be drowned with such awful suddenness that the Master never took any chances that could be averted. He held himself ready to leap into the lake on the instant his services were needed.
As the minutes passed, he felt how slight the danger was of anything of that nature, but as has been said, he was ever on his guard. He was watching Alvin Adams and Corporal Robe, who were engaged in the rollicking sport of ducking each other. Suddenly Alvin slipped below the surface, when his friend was not looking, seized the corporal’s ankle, and yanked him under. The next instant, Robe bobbed up, blew the water from his mouth in spray, glanced around and seeing Alvin swimming desperately away, made after him. Both were equally skilful in the water and it could not be seen that the pursuer was gaining. Alvin might have escaped by heading for shore or where the water was shallow, but that would have been an admission of the superiority of the other, and no healthy youngster will do that until it is fairly demonstrated and even then will hesitate.
Suddenly Alvin dropped out of sight. I
t looked as if he did so to escape his pursuer who stopped over the spot where he had gone down, ready to seize him the instant he came within reach. Scout Master Hall laughed and watched the fun.
Up shot the head of Alvin a little way off, and Robe was about to make after him, when the youth called out:
“I’ve got a cramp!” and down he went.
Hall gathered himself for the run and jump, when with one foot in the water, he saw the necessity had passed. In a few seconds, Alvin’s head showed again, but the corporal with one resolute stroke was beside him.
“All right, old fellow; put your hand on my shoulder,” he said.
Despite his predicament, Alvin was cool and did as directed. As he rested his left hand on the shoulder of his friend, he said with a laugh:
“Gee! but my legs seemed to be tied up in knots; that’s the first time I ever was caught; thanks; I’m all right, with your help.”
Chester and several other boys had hastened to his help, but they saw all danger was over. Robe swam with moderate stroke toward shore. The water quickly shallowed, and when his feet touched the hard bottom, Alvin tried awkwardly to walk, but he had to have support before he could stumble to land, where he sank down and began vigorously working his legs, while Robe and the Scout Master massaged the corded muscles.
“The next time you go in bathing, try the Indian preventive of cramps,” said Hall.
“What’s that? I used to wear an eelskin tied about one of my ankles.”
“No good. Before entering the water, rub the pit of your stomach hard with the dry palms of your hands. When the skin grows red, dash cold water over the stomach and rub dry; after that you need have no fear of cramps. You seem to be all right.”
“I am; I should like to try it again; I owe the corporal the biggest ducking he ever had.”
“No; you have had enough swimming for this morning, and so have all the boys.”
The Edward S. Ellis Megapack Page 300