CHAPTER I
INTRODUCES NELSON TILFORD, AND WITNESSES HIS ARRIVAL AT CAMP CHICORA
“That’s Chicora over there.”
The man at the wheel turned to the boy standing beside him and noddedhis head at a landing toward which the nose of the big steam-launch wasslowly turning. It lay less than an eighth of a mile away across thesmooth waters of the lake, a good-sized wharf, a float, a pole fromwhich a blue-and-gray flag hung lifeless, and a flotilla of variouskinds of boats. Several figures stood upon the pier, and their voicescame shrill and clear across the intervening space. From the shore,which here circled inward into a tiny cove, the hill swept up ratherabruptly for three hundred feet or more, and a third of the way up thegleam of unpainted boards through the trees told Nelson Tilford of thelocation of the camp which was to be his home for the next two months.It was a pleasant, peaceful scene before him, but the shadow of thehill had already crept well into the lake, leaving the shore and woodedslope in twilight, and a slight qualm of loneliness stole over him forthe instant.
He had left the Boston express at Warder, six miles away, at half pastfour, and had been rattled over a constantly turning road behind a pairof stout horses to Chicora Landing, where, followed by his trunk, hehad boarded one of the several small steam-boats which lay at intervalsup and down the long shed like horses in their stalls. A half a mileat slow speed through a winding river, scarcely wide enough in placesfor the boat to scrape through between the low banks, had broughtthem into Little Chicora, hardly more than a pond. Another and farshorter stretch of river followed, and then, with a warning blast, thesteam-launch had thrust her bow into the broad waters of the big lake,spread out like a great mirror in the evening sunlight, dotted hereand there with well-wooded islands, and guarded by gently rising hillscovered with maples, pines, white and black birches, poplars, and manyother trees whose names Nelson did not know. White farmhouses gleamednow and then from the shores, and slender purple ribbons of smoke,rising straight into the calm evening air, told of other dwellings,unseen for the thick foliage. They had made three stops on the southside of the lake, first at Chicora Inn Landing, from where the bighotel was plainly visible a quarter of a mile away, then at SquirrelIsland and Plum Island. Nelson had been interested all the way, for hehad never seen a New Hampshire lake before, and the glimpses he hadobtained of the comfortable summer camps and their healthy, sun-brownedinhabitants had pleased him hugely. But when Plum Island had been leftbehind and the boat had entered the shadowed margin of the lake hisspirits began to sink. The water and the dim woods looked cold andinhospitable to the city-bred lad. He wondered what the fellows of CampChicora would be like, and wished that he had joined at the beginningof the season instead of a fortnight after it. Now that it was past,that week at the beach with a school friend had not been especiallyenjoyable after all; and the rôle of the new boy was not, he knewfrom experience, at all comfortable. He almost wished he had held outagainst his father’s desires and stayed snugly at home.
His rueful thoughts were abruptly interrupted by a shrill blast of thelaunch’s whistle. They were close to the landing, and Nelson picked uphis suit-case and climbed to the deck. The bell tinkled, the churnof the propeller ceased, and the boat sidled up to the pier. Nelsonstepped ashore into a group of half-a-dozen fellows and set his bagdown, prepared to lend a hand to the landing of his trunk. But some onewas before him, a man of twenty-three or four, who, when the trunk wassafely ashore, turned to Nelson with outstretched hand and welcomingsmile.
“This is Nelson Tilford, isn’t it?” he asked, as they shook hands.“Glad to see you. Mr. Clinton didn’t get your letter until this noon,so we couldn’t meet you at the station. Did you have any troublefinding your way to us?”
“No, sir,” said Nelson, “every one seemed to know all about the camp.”
“That’s good. Well, let’s go up.” He took Nelson’s suit-case, despitethe latter’s remonstrances, and led the way along the pier to awell-worn path which wound up the hill. Nelson, sensible of the franklycurious regard of the other fellows, followed. A bugle sounded clearand musical from the camp, and Nelson’s companion turned and waited forhim to range himself alongside. “There’s the first supper call, now,”he said. “I guess you’re a bit hungry, aren’t you? By the way, I’mMr. Verder, one of the councilors. There are four of us besides Mr.Clinton. You’ll meet them when we get up there. The Chief’s away thisevening, but he’ll be back in time for camp-fire. We’re going to putyou in Maple Hall, where the seniors bunk. That’s where I am, so if youwant anything to-night don’t hesitate to ask me.”
“Thank you,” answered Nelson gratefully. His companion chatted on whilethey climbed the path, which led by easy stages up the hill through athin woods, and Nelson forgot his previous misgivings. If the fellowswere as jolly as Mr. Verder, he reflected, he was pretty sure to geton. The man beside him seemed scarcely more than a big boy, and hissun-burned face was good to look at. He was dressed in a gray jerseybearing a blue C on the breast, gray trousers with a blue stripe downthe seam, and brown canvas shoes. He wore no cap, and the warm tanextended well up into the somewhat curly hair. His arms were bare tothe shoulders. Nelson concluded he was going to like Mr. Verder; helooked strong, alert, good-humored, and a gentleman.
Two minutes of up-hill work on the winding path brought them to theclearing. The five buildings were arranged in what was practically asemicircle facing the end of the path. Back of them on all sides rosethe forest. In the clearing a few trees had been allowed to remain,spruce in most cases, and one tall sentinel, shorn closely of itsbranches, and standing guard at the head of the path to the lake, hadbecome a flagpole from which, as Nelson came into sight, the Stars andStripes was being lowered, its place to be taken by a lighted lantern.Boys were coming and going between the buildings, or were scattered inlittle groups at the doorways.
Near at hand, by the entrance of Birch Hall, a knot of three men werestanding, and to them Nelson was conducted and introduced. There wasMr. Ellery, almost middle-aged, slight, rather frail-looking; Mr.Thorpe, small, rotund, jovial, with twinkling blue eyes; and Mr.Smith, just out of college, nervous-looking, with black hair and blackeyes, the latter snapping behind a pair of gold-rimmed glasses. It wasdifficult to stand in awe of persons attired negligently in shirt andtrousers alone; and, anyway, none of the four councilors seemed at alldesirous of impressing the newcomer with their dignity or authority.They were a sunburned, clear-eyed lot, troubling themselves very littlewith such things, but brimming over with kindly good-nature. After thegreetings Nelson was hurried away by Mr. Verder to the wash-room, fromwhence, having hastily splashed his face and hands with water from atin basin, he was hustled to the dining-hall, just as the buglewas blaring the last call to supper and the hungry denizens of thecamp were crowding and jostling into the building. Nelson followed Mr.Verder, stood while Mr. Ellery asked grace, and then pulled out hisstool and took his place at table. Mr. Verder, who sat at the head ofthe table, was beside him. There were three other tables in the room,and all were filled.
There was very little ceremony about the meal. The clean white boardsheld huge pitchers of cocoa, milk, water, generous plates of biscuitsand crackers and cake, saucers of wild raspberries and bowls of cereal,and to each table two boys were bringing plates of ham and eggs fromthe kitchen. Every one talked at once, and, as there were twenty-ninepresent, that meant lots of noise. At his own table there were ten boysbesides himself, and Nelson looked them over as he ate. They seemed avery hungry, happy, and noisy lot; and at first glance they appearedto lack something of refinement and breeding, but he afterward foundthat it was necessary to make allowances for the freedom of camplife, and for the difference between ordinary attire and that wornat Chicora; gray jerseys and knee-trunks in conjunction with tannedbodies and tousled hair naturally lend an appearance of roughness. Inages the fellows varied from ten to seventeen, the most of them beingapparently of about Nelson’s age, which was fifteen. In the end hedecided they were a very decent-looki
ng lot of fellows.
Naturally Nelson didn’t do all the examining. At some time or otherduring the meal every lad there who could get a glimpse of the newcomerlooked him over and formed his opinion of him. Most, if not all, likedwhat they saw. Nelson Tilford was slim without being thin, of mediumheight for his years, rather broad across the shoulders and chest,brown of hair and eyes, with good features, and a somewhat quiet andthoughtful expression. A big, red-haired, blue-eyed youth at thefarther end of the table confided to his left-hand neighbor that “thenew chap looked to him like a bit of a snob.” But the other shook hishead.
“I don’t think so, Dan,” he answered, between mouthfuls of chocolatecake; “I bet he’ll turn out to be a swell chap.”
Nelson’s appetite failed him long before those of his companions--forperhaps the only time that summer--and he took note of the room. Itwas about forty feet long by thirty broad. There were no windows, butalong both sides and at one end wooden shutters opened upward andinward and were hooked to the ceiling, allowing great square openings,through which the darkening forest was visible, and through whicheager yellow-jackets came and went seeking the sugar-bowls or flyinghomeward with their booty. At one end a door gave into the kitchen, andby it was a window like that of a ticket-office, through which the foodwas passed to the waiters. At the other end, in the corner away fromthe door, was a railed enclosure containing a roll-top desk and chairs,which Nelson rightly presumed to be Mr. Clinton’s office. Presently thesignal was given allowing them to rise. He rescued his suit-case fromwhere he had left it inside the door and turned to find Mr. Verder.At that moment a brown hand was thrust in front of him, and a pair ofexcited gray eyes challenged his.
“Hello, Ti-ti-ti-Tilford!” cried the owner of the hand, “what thedi-di-dickens you du-du-doing up here?”
Four in Camp: A Story of Summer Adventures in the New Hampshire Woods Page 3