“The bur oak grows to a height of a hundred and fifty feet and ranges south to Texas and from the foothills of the Rockies to the Atlantic coast, being most abundant in Kansas and Nebraska. One of J. Fenimore Cooper’s most pleasing tales is ‘The Oak Openings,’ a name applied to the scattered forests of Minnesota. Now, you may know that the cork of commerce is the outer bark of an oak growing in southern Europe. The bur oak seems to be striving to produce the same thing and probably will succeed after awhile.
“The chestnut oak sometimes reaches a height of a hundred feet, but the trunk divides into large limbs a few feet above the ground. It is found in this State, westward through Ohio and as far south as Kentucky. It has many features in common with the yellow oak, whose range is somewhat different.
“The dwarf chinkapin, or scrub chestnut oak, is a shrub rarely more than a dozen feet high and grows on sandy or rocky soil. We do not meet with it north of Massachusetts. In Missouri and Kansas, it acquires dimensions more like a tree.
“The swamp white oak grows to a height of more than a hundred feet, and is fond of the borders of swamps. The top is narrow and round and the branches pendulous. You know about the red oak, which is a rapid grower and ranges from this State to Georgia and westward to Kansas, but attains its finest development north of the Ohio.
“To continue, I should add the names of the scarlet oak, the black and the yellow oak, the pin oak, the swamp Spanish, the bear, the scrub, the black jack, the barren, the shingle, the laurel, and the willow.
“You have noticed that I have done little more than mention the names of the different species. You have learned very little, for it is necessary that you should know the range of each, the height to which it grows, the characteristics of the bark, the wood, the leaves, the flowers and acorns. In conclusion, I shall say that the willow oak is one of the most interesting of trees. Its leaves resemble those of the willow, as do the straight slender shoots. It grows on the wet borders of swamps, but keeps away from the sea coast. Its acorns are very small, with a kernel so bitter that you would never bite into it a second time.
“My object this evening,” said Uncle Elk, “has been rather to awaken a desire on your part to study systematically our common American trees than to give you actual information. Let us dismiss the subject, for in dropping a matter of that kind we should follow the rule in eating, which is to stop before the appetite is cloyed. Suppose tomorrow night we have a little talk about American birds.”
There was general nodding of heads and the old man rose to his feet. He was so pleased with his listeners that he said:
“If we get through that subject in time, I’ll promise to tell you a story, provided you would like to hear one from me.”
He could be seen smiling behind his abundant gray beard.
“Boys will be boys always. Nothing suits them better than a story. So I shall bid you good night for the present, hoping nothing will interfere with our meeting again tomorrow evening.”
“The better plan,” suggested Scout Master Hall, “is for you to take supper with us, for I foresee that there will be much for you to tell us. We don’t want to miss the talk about birds, and I am as eager as the boys to hear your story, which I know will be a good one.”
All crowded around the Instructor in Woodcraft, shaking hands, thanking him and urging him so warmly to accept the invitation that he could not refuse. The last one with whom he clasped hands was Jack Crandall, who straightened up in his easy chair and declared he was receiving more benefit than a dozen doctors could impart.
Mike Murphy had risen to his feet at the close of the old man’s talk, but kept his place by the door until Uncle Elk came opposite. A nod of the hermit’s head told Mike that he wished to speak with him alone. The signal was observed by several who stayed behind as the two passed out and down the porch to the beach. Uncle Elk did not speak until they were beyond the hearing of the others. Then he halted and looked into the face of the youth.
“Well, Michael, what word do you bring me?”
“I told the docther what ye said and he is agreeable. He will not come to the bungalow in the evening unless we signal for him, which the same doesn’t seem to be likely.”
“That is what I wanted to know, and I thank you for your service. Well, my son, did you learn anything tonight?”
The youth was not sure of the scope of the question.
“If ye ask whither I larned anything from your words to the byes, I may say I picked up a good deal more than I iver knowed, which wasn’t much.”
“I refer to what you did after leaving the home of Dr. Spellman and paddling to the upper side of the lake.”
“Did ye obsarve me?” asked the astonished Mike.
“How could I help it, when I passed within a few feet of you in my own boat?”
“I didn’t notice it whin I came ashore.”
“I landed a little way up the beach, where my boat now awaits me. You haven’t told me whether you learned anything through your scouting.”
“I saan no one but yersilf, but I heerd them two tramps laughing over something and I smelled the cigar that one of them was smoking.”
“No, you didn’t.”
“I don’t catch yer maaning, Uncle Elk,” said the mystified Mike; “I sartinly sniffed a cigar and heerd two men chuckling to thimsilves.”
“I haven’t denied that, but they were not the tramps you have in mind.”
“How can ye know the same for sartin?”
“I went to that spot on the shore to meet those men; they are old acquaintances and the name of neither is Biggs nor Hutt.”
“Who are they?”
“It would be useless to name them, since they are strangers to you.”
“Why didn’t ye stay and inthrodooce me?”
“I may do so one of these days, but I gave you a chance to find out things for yourself.”
“And mighty little I larned,” remarked Mike disgustedly; “if ye don’t mind, would ye tell me what the mischief scared thim two tramps to the extint that they jumped out of the canoe they had stole and took a bath in Gosling Lake?”
Uncle Elk was distinctly heard to chuckle.
“I had a talk with my two friends regarding the incident and I don’t wonder that they laughed even after I had left them.”
“I faal like laughing mesilf, Uncle Elk, and if ye’ll give me the same cause I’ll laugh so hard that it will wake the docther’s daughter on t’other side of the lake.”
“Have patience, Michael, and don’t think I am trifling with you, but I am under a promise not to reveal this little secret until I have permission. Good night.”
Mike stood gazing after the old man until he passed from sight in the obscurity and he heard him launching his canoe. Then the youth strolled thoughtfully back.
“I’m getting mixed,” he muttered with a sigh, “as Jerry Lanagan said whin they run him through a thrashing machine.”
CHAPTER VI
A Patriot Martyr
The next day brought a marked coolness in the temperature. In preparation for the evening’s instructive entertainment, nearly all the boys spent the time in roaming through the woods, taking notes and brushing up their knowledge of birds, which were met with only in moderate numbers.
Mike Murphy told Alvin Landon and Chester Haynes of his singular experience the night before, and asked their help in solving the puzzle.
“I wish we could aid you,” replied Alvin, “but it is as much a mystery to us as it is to you. Gordon Calhoun went with us in the other canoe to the western end of the lake, where we found so romantic a spot that we ate our lunch there and did not return until after dark.”
“And ye didn’t obsarve anything of thim tramps and their dive overboord?”
“We must have been deep in the woods when that took place and, of course, we noticed nothing strange when we paddled back.”
“I’ve tried to pump Uncle Elk, but the valves won’t work. I’m going to kaap at it till I larn the t
ruth or break a trace.”
“Count us in to give all the help we can,” Alvin assured him.
That evening when the Boy Scouts gathered in the large room of the bungalow and disposed themselves in their free and easy fashion, a moderate fire was burning on the hearth and all were on the tiptoe of expectancy.
“My friends,” said Uncle Elk, “I am going to ask your permission to reverse the order which I laid out last night. Most of us old persons are apt to forget that the knowledge which interests us may not be equally interesting to everyone else. Although I cut short my talk about American trees, it was still dry in some respects. Now if I should start in concerning birds you would by and by become weary. Oh, you needn’t shake your heads. I don’t forget when I was a boy myself. So I have decided to say nothing about our little brothers of the air until tomorrow night, when we shall consider nothing else. The time now at my disposal is to be given to the story I have in mind. If any one has an objection to make let him do so now or forever after hold his peace.”
He looked around in the bright faces as if he really expected a protest instead of a general series of smiles. Then with the prefatory remark that the narrative which he was about to give was true in every respect, he spoke as follows:
“The cause of American independence never looked more gloomy than in the summer and autumn of 1776. Washington with his famishing army was in the city of New York, preparing for the attack that he knew would soon be made by the British fleet and land forces. The American fortifications extended from the ferry station of Brooklyn and Gowanus Bay to Wallabout Bay (now Brooklyn Navy Yard), less than a mile and a half in length. Generals Sullivan and Stirling were in command, with five thousand miserably equipped troops. Unfortunately that fine officer General Greene was ill with a violent fever, and the boastful Sullivan assumed charge, but Washington soon replaced him with General Putnam. By a fatal oversight, one of the three roads over any of which the enemy could advance if it was unguarded, was left invitingly open. Through this the British soldiers rushed and drove the Americans pell-mell out of their intrenchments.
“Had Howe flung off his natural indolence, he would have captured the whole patriot army, including Washington and his officers, but certain of soon doing so, he wished to save the lives of his men. The Americans had several hundred killed and lost a thousand prisoners, among the latter being Generals Sullivan and Stirling. The leading officers were soon exchanged, but the privates suffered horribly in the hideous Sugar House and rotten hulks at Wallabout.
“A strange providence saved the Continental army. The fleet was checked by adverse winds, and a dense fog settled over Brooklyn, but did not touch the other shore. Thus hidden from sight, the Americans stole back to New York, unseen by the enemy.
“But, as I said, the outlook could not have been more gloomy. The situation was critical to the last degree. The army was so demoralized that little discipline remained; whole companies deserted; the few recruits who came into camp met double their number going out; those who stayed clamored for their pay, and the money chest was as empty as an egg shell. Winter was coming on, and more than once it looked as if the army would dwindle to nothing. The fourteen thousand troops declared fit for duty were strung the whole length of Manhattan Island.
“The crisis was imminent and Washington called a council of war September 7th, to decide whether New York should be abandoned or defended. The commander, seeing the dread necessity coming, had asked Congress if he should not burn the city rather than allow it to serve as the winter quarters of the invaders. He was ordered to use special care to prevent any damage being done, because that body was sure the place would soon be recovered. The first council of war decided to stay and defend New York.
“A few days later, however, another council agreed that the only course possible was to leave the city and take position on Harlem Heights. The public stores were to be sent to Dobbs Ferry and the sick carried across to New Jersey. The main army would march northward and General Putnam would stay in New York with four thousand troops. If he found his position untenable, he was to follow Washington.
“At this council the commander-in-chief said:
“‘I know absolutely nothing of the intentions of the enemy. Two ships-of-war have gone up the East River and others will follow. Their troops are active everywhere, but I cannot even guess what they mean to do. Until I have knowledge on that point, I am helpless.’
“In his distressful dilemma, Washington wrote to General Heath at Kingsbridge, entreating him and General Clinton to aid in securing the indispensable information. He told them to spare no expense or pains, adding that not since the beginning of the war had he been so uneasy.
“Shortly after, Washington called his officers together again. He told them he was still without the least knowledge of the plans of the enemy. Only one recourse remained to him:—that was to send a spy into the British lines in quest of the information. Such a man must be clear-headed, cool, tactful, a good draughtsman and of undaunted courage. He appealed to Lieutenant-Colonel Knowlton (soon to die the death of a patriot) to find him the person. Knowlton laid the request before a conference of his officers, and asked whether any one was willing to volunteer.
“A spy is very different from a scout and in the eyes of most people is the most contemptible of creatures, for the essence of his duty is treachery. To succeed he must play the hypocrite and betray confidence at every turn. In such scorn is a spy held by civilized nations that he is not permitted to die the death of a soldier, but is hanged like the worst of felons.
“The request of Knowlton was succeeded by an indignant hush. The bronzed faces flushed as if under the sting of an insult, and the officers dared not trust themselves to reply. In the midst of the strained silence, a clear voice spoke:
“‘I will go!’
“Every eye was turned in astonishment on the speaker. He was a young man of athletic figure and handsome face, whose paleness was due to a severe illness from which he was hardly yet recovered. He wore the uniform of a captain, and in the whole army there was not a braver or more beloved officer than he. His words caused a painful shock to his comrades, who, believing a disgraceful death was certain to follow his mad attempt, closed around him and protested in the most forceful language at their command. To all their appeals he smiled and shook his head.
“‘Gentlemen, it is useless. I am touched by your friendship, but all the arguments you bring forward have already been considered by me. A spy is looked upon with loathing, but the necessity of one’s country makes every kind of service honorable. I am not seeking promotion or pecuniary reward. I go to serve our cause, for which I am ready at any time to give my life.’
“It was not the words alone, but their emphasis which silenced his comrades. They saw it was useless to appeal to one whose patriotism throbbed and burned through his entire being, and inspired every thought, word and deed.
“And who was the young officer who thus took his life in his hands that he might serve the cause of liberty?
“He was Captain Nathan Hale, born in Connecticut, in 1755, the sixth child among twelve, of the strictest Puritan parents. His mental and athletic gifts were wonderful. None of his playmates could approach him in running, leaping, swimming, throwing, wrestling and the feats of strength and agility so much admired by all rugged American youths. Many a time he would place a row of empty barrels beside one another and with little effort spring out of one into the other until he had completed the series. Standing beside a fence whose top rail touched his chin, he would rest one hand lightly on it and vault over as easily as a deer. One day, while a student at Yale, in a contest with his friends, he made so prodigious a leap that the bounds were carefully marked and preserved for years, the admiration and despair of all subsequent students.
“But, extraordinary as was Nathan Hale’s athletic skill, his mental powers were more brilliant, while his social qualities made him a favorite with all. His simplicity, unfailing good nature and readi
ness to help others, no matter whom, justified the remark: ‘Every man, woman and child who knew him were his friends and among them not one was ever an enemy.’
“He entered Yale College when fifteen years old and was graduated in due course with the highest honors. This fact attests his scholarship and ability. He was easily the most popular student, not only with his classmates, but with the tutors and the faculty of the college and the best families in New Haven.
“Hale left college in 1773 and engaged in teaching. In 1774, he was made preceptor in the Union Grammar School at New London. The building is carefully preserved and is well worth a visit. The institution was of a high order, and its students were not only grounded thoroughly in an English education, but were prepared for college. Hale was its first preceptor, and his success was pronounced from the beginning. Boys like you have admired and always will admire physical prowess, and there was never one among them all who could approach their instructor in that respect. What a star football player he would have made in these later days! Added to this ability, his mental and social gifts and his profound religious nature explain his marked success among the youth of New London.
The Edward S. Ellis Megapack Page 316