CHAPTER V—How “Knot” to Do Several Things

Every day sailors, explorers, mechanics and mountain-climbers risk their lives on the knots that they tie. Thousands of lives have been sacrificed to ill-made knots. The scout therefore should be prepared in an emergency, or when necessity demands, to tie the right knot in the right way.

There are three qualities to a good knot: (1) Rapidity with which it can be tied; (2) Its ability to hold fast when pulled tight, and (3) The readiness with which it can be undone.

The following knots, recommended to scouts, are the most serviceable because they meet the above requirements and will be of great help in scoutcraft. If the tenderfoot will follow closely the various steps indicated in the diagrams, he will have little difficulty in reproducing them at pleasure.

In practising knot-tying, a short piece of hemp rope may be used. To protect the ends from fraying, a scout should know how to “whip” them. The commonest method of “whipping” is as follows:

Lay the end of a piece of twine along the end of the rope. Hold it to the rope with the thumb of your left hand while you wind the standing part around it and the rope until the end of the twine has been covered. Then with the other end of the twine lay a loop back on the end of the rope and continue winding the twine upon this second end until all is taken up. The end is then pulled back tight and cut off close to the rope.

For the sake of clearness, a scout must constantly keep in mind these three principal parts of the rope:

Before proceeding with the tenderfoot requirements, a scout should first learn the two primary knots: the overhand and figure-of-eight knots.

After these preliminary steps, the prospective tenderfoot may proceed to learn the required knots.

CHAPTER VI—How Two Millionaires Did a Good Turn

Gideon Landon sat talking with his friend Franklin Haynes in the city home of the former one cold evening in the early spring of 1912. You may recall that they had been estranged for a time, but after the removal of the misunderstanding, they became more intimate than before. They were associated in various business deals and hardly a day passed without their seeing each other.

The subject of their conversation on this occasion was the Boy Scouts of America, in which both were deeply interested, for they knew that their sons, of whom you have already learned something, had joined the organization.

“That fact led me to look closely into it,” said Landon, “and the more I learned about it the more I liked it; in my opinion the Boy Scouts mark the grandest advance that has been made in all history by the youths of any country. It will prove a mighty factor in the betterment of mankind.”

“It has started with such a boom,” remarked Haynes, “that I fear its collapse; such an enthusiasm as a rule soon expends itself; action and reaction are equal and the higher the climb the greater the fall.”

“There will be nothing of the kind in this case, for there is no element of weakness in the organization. It was originated and is controlled by men who understand boy nature through and through, and who know how to appeal to it. The very word ‘scout’ kindles that yearning which every healthy boy feels for stirring incident. What youngster can resist the call of the fragrant woods, the rugged climb of the mountains, the rollicking plunge and splash in the crystalline waters, the trailing through the cool twilight of the forest,—the fishing, canoeing, hunting with a tinge of danger, the crackle of the camp fire, the stories of adventure, the sweet dreamless sleep on the bed of spruce tops or balsam boughs,—the songs of the birds——”

The friend raised his hand in protest,

“Cease, I pray thee. You remind me of the colored parson and his deacon riding on mule back through the Arkansas lowlands. The deacon depicted so eloquently the rapturous delicacy of browned ’possum, smothered in rich gravy, that the preacher suddenly gasped and dived from his animal, splitting a boulder apart with his head. As he climbed to his feet unharmed but slightly stunned, he explained that he couldn’t stand the ravishing memories called up by the deacon’s picture. And here you are discoursing so fascinatingly on the out-door life, that I am tempted to clap on my hat and overcoat and make a run of it for the pine woods.”

“I believe I should do it myself, if it were not too early in the season.”

“Yes, I see you hiking for the woods; before you reached the Grand Central you would switch off to Wall Street. You managed to worry through a few weeks at Southport Island last summer, and then on the first flimsy excuse you could think of, sneaked back to New York and stayed there.”

“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. It 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 Scout Master gave the signal and the whole party obediently came ashore, ran into the building and hurriedly donned their clothing.

The next thing in order was breakfast and you may be sure every lad was ready for it. Although the old-fashioned implements in the clubhouse would have served well, yet with the score of sharp appetites to satisfy, the delay would have been trying. Moreover, the Scout Master wished to drill the youngsters in preparing their meals, as if they were on a hike through a long stretch of wilderness. So the three Patrols set to work under his eye, doing so with a system and intelligence that called for slight suggestion from him.

“Remember,” he cautioned; “you must use no more than two matches in starting a fire and a single one ought to answer.”

The team with supplies had arrived from Boothbay Harbor the day before, so there was no lack of food. The first step was to build a fireplace or primitive stove. This was done by rolling three or four large stones in position near one another. Into the open space between them were arranged some dry shavings from a dead limb of cedar, including leaves, twigs, pine cones and pieces of heavier wood,—all set so loosely that there was plenty of room for draught. Then a Vulcan match, carefully shielded from the slightest breath of wind, was applied to the feathery stuff at the base of the pile. It caught at once, climbed over and through the more solid wood, and in a few minutes a vigorous, crackling blaze was going. Resting on top of the irregular stones—which gave many openings for the flames to circulate through—the big round griddle was placed in position. As it caught the heat, the smooth surface was smeared with a piece of salt pork, and then the batter of self-raising flour was poured out. Almost immediately the upper side of the mixture broke into numerous little holes or openings, proving that the hot iron was doing its work. The cook slid his round flat turner under the circle of batter, flopped it over, revealing the rich golden brown of what had been the lower side. Two griddles were kept going until it seemed the pancakes were beyond counting. When after a long, long while a sufficient number had been prepared, thin slices of bacon were fried on the griddle and in the surplus fat, shavings of raw potatoes were done to a turn.

I am sure you need no instruction in the most modern methods of making griddle cakes, frying bacon, preparing canned salmon or trout, roasting potatoes, baking fresh fish, grilling frogs’ legs, the different ways of cooking eggs, and making coffee, cocoa and tea. If you feel you need training in those fields of industry, apply to your mothers or big sisters and they will teach you far better than I can. I advise campers out, however, not to try to bake biscuits or bread. The results are not satisfactory and it’s easier to carry it.

The most destructive scourge to which all wooded sections of our country are exposed is that of forest fires. The last report of the Forestry Commission is that the loss in one year has amounted to five million dollars. A vast amount of property is thus annually destroyed, and the lamentable fact remains that in many instances the conflagrations are due to carelessness. A party of campers go into the woods, start a fire for cooking purposes and leave the embers smouldering, thinking they will die out in a little while and cause no harm. These embers, however, may stay alive for days, be fanned into a blaze by a gust of wind, and, scattering among the dry leaves and withered foliage, swell into a varying mass of flame which sweeps everything before it.

Many states thus exposed employ fire rangers who use incessant vigilance in saving their forests. Notices are posted throughout the Maine woods warning all against this peril. A few years ago, Congress passed a law imposing a fine of five thousand dollars or imprisonment for two years or both as a penalty for maliciously firing any tract, and a lesser punishment for causing a fire through carelessness.

When the morning meal was over, the Boy Patrols promptly extinguished every ember by pouring water over it until not a spark remained. Then the dishes were washed, dried and piled away on the shelves in the clubhouse; the bedding was aired and fuel gathered for the midday meal. By that time the sun was well up in the sky. Scout Master Hall put the troop through a brisk military drill, and then asked them to express their wishes.

The propositions offered almost equaled the number of boys. Some wished to paddle around the lake in the two canoes. True, most of them knew little about the management of such craft, but every one was sure he could quickly learn.

“All you have to do is to sit still and swing the paddle first on one side and then on the other,” was the self-complacent assertion of Kenneth Henke.

“That may be so,” assented the Scout Master, “but there is a right and a wrong way of doing everything, and, as a rule, a boy can be depended upon to begin with the wrong way. You never saw a quadruped which when thrown into the water will not swim on the first trial, as well as if he had spent months in training, but whoever heard of a man or boy who did it?”

“I have,” was the surprising reply of Alvin Landon.

In answer to the inquiring looks of the party, Alvin said:

“Chester and I have a friend, an Irish boy about our age, named Mike Murphy, that we expected would meet us here, who had never been able to swim a stroke. We have watched him try it many times, but he always failed. One day when he was asleep he was pitched overboard where the water must have been twenty feet deep, and straightway he swam like a duck to land.”

“I have heard of such instances, but they are exceedingly rare. It was not the case with me and I think with none of you.”

There was a general shaking of heads. Then a proposal was made to fish along shore, or to break up into small parties and ramble through the woods, studying the different species of trees and plant life, birds, and possibly some small animals, trailing, and what may be called the finer points of woodcraft.

It was Chester Haynes who struck fire by shouting:

“Let’s have a game of baseball!”

“That’s it! hurrah!” and a dozen hats were flung in air; “there’s more than enough of us to make two nines and all know the game.”

“A good idea,” said Scout Master Hall, who could not forget that it was only a few years before that he won fame as one of the best batters and short-stops on the team of his native town.

The enthusiasm of the boys was not dampened by the discovery of several facts which, in ordinary circumstances, would have been discouraging. In the first place, there was only one ball in the whole company. Not only were there grave doubts about its being of the regulation make, but the seams had been started, and it looked as if the cover would be quickly knocked off. No use, however, of crossing a bridge till you reach it.

That no one had brought a bat mattered not. It was easy with the sharp hatchets to cut and trim a limb to the proper size, or near enough for practical purposes. When Bobby Rice, with many suggestions from the others, had completed his task, all agreed that it was an artistic piece of work, and might well serve as a model for the regular outfitters.

No one referred to the lack of gloves and chest protectors, for only mollycoddles would mind a little thing like that. The German students at Heidelberg are proud of the scars they win in duels, and any reputable ball player is equally pleased with his corkscrew fingers and battered face.

But one obstacle for a time looked unsurmountable: where were suitable grounds to be found?

The grassy slope which borders Gosling Lake is comparatively narrow, though of varying width. Of necessity the players would have to restrain their ardor when it came to batting balls. If these were driven too far to one side they would drop into the water, the fielders would have to swim after them and home runs would be overwhelming. If batted in the other direction they would disappear among the trees and undergrowth, and what player can send the ball in a straight line in front of the plate?

A hurried search brought to light a tract which it was decided would do better than had been expected. The slope was perhaps fifty feet wide in the broadest part, while lengthwise it extended mostly round the lake. In this place the diamond was laid out. A big flat stone served for home plate. Scout Master Hall paced off the right distance to first base, where another stone was laid. Second base was in the wavelet which lapped the beach, with third base opposite first. If a runner should slide for it, the chances were that he would keep on sliding into the lake, and he would care very little if he did. It may be said that the alleged diamond, while substantially of the right length, was very narrow and shut in on one side by water and on the other by forest.

Bobby Snow captained one nine and Harold Hopkins the other. As the batting order was arranged, Alvin Landon was to lead off for his side, which was the first to go to the bat. Bobby was proud of his skill as a pitcher. There is a legend that on one occasion when pitching for his school nine, he struck three men and was hit for nine bases and a home run in one inning. He indignantly denies the charge when it is made, and I don’t believe it myself. Be that as it may, there can be no criticism of his style when he sends them over. His pose is impressive and leads the spectators to expect great things.

Scout Master Hall generally acted as umpire. Every one knew he was fair in his decisions and if he hadn’t been nobody dare say anything. It wouldn’t pay.

All being ready, Alvin stepped to the plate, with his bat firmly grasped. He spat on his hands, rubbed them up and down the rough surface, tapped the stone home plate, spread his feet apart and waited while every eye was fixed upon him.

Meanwhile, Bobby Snow, the pitcher, wound himself up. Standing erect to the towering height of nearly five feet, he swung his left foot around in front of his right, with the toe resting on the ground, and clasped the ball in his two palms which were held as high above his head as he could reach. He and the batter grinned at each other.

“I dare you to give me a good ball,” said Alvin tantalizingly.

“Do you want an outcurve or incurve or dip or a spit ball?”

“I didn’t know you had ever heard of those things; do your worst.”

Bobby with the sphere still held aloft, gravely looked around at his out-fielders. The three almost touched elbows.

“Ty Cobb,” he shouted, “move further to the left.”

“I can’t do it,” was the mutinous reply, “without going out into the lake.”

“Well, go there then.”

“I’ll see you hanged first; you do it.”

“Don’t get sassy; I’m not one of the spectators. Hans Wagner, shift to the right.”

“If I do,” said the other fielder, “I’ll have to get behind a tree.”

“You’ll be of as much use there as where you are.”

“Go ahead and pitch the ball, if you know how to do such a thing.”

Bobby pretended not to hear this slur, but drawing back his right arm, hurled the ball toward the plate. It was wide, but Alvin struck at it, missing by about three feet. It went past the catcher as he clawed at it and he had to hunt several minutes before finding the elusive object, which he tossed back to Bobby, who without any more remarks shot it forward and Alvin swung at it. He hit it fairly too, though harder than he intended. It rose some fifty feet and flitted like a flash among the trees. Alvin hurled his bat aside, narrowly missing the umpire, and ran for first base. Arrived there, he glared around.

“Where’s second base?” he called; “Ty Cobb, you moved it!”

“It got in the way of my feet; I flung it into the lake.”

“That’s what I call dirty ball,” commented Alvin, making a dive ahead and arriving by a roundabout route at the home plate.

Meanwhile, the ball remained missing. One player after another plunged into the woods and joined in the search. Finally the umpire followed and then all the other players took a hand. You know how contrary inanimate things—as for instance a collar button—can be. That ball to this day has not been found, and the declaration of the umpire was justified:

“The shortest game of baseball on record; two balls pitched, one swipe and that’s all.”

CHAPTER VIII—The “Instructor In Woodcraft”

The ball game having ended so summarily, the Patrols gathered once more on the slope in front of the clubhouse to decide what should be done during the remainder of the forenoon.

“That’s what I call a mystery,” declared the chubby faced Corporal Robe, alluding to the disappearance of the ball; “I wonder whether any big bird flying overhead made off with it.”

“The explanation is simple,” said Alvin Landon as if in pity of the ignorance of the others.

“Well, you are so smart,” remarked the corporal, “suppose you explain for the benefit of the rest of us.

“Didn’t you observe that I put all my power in that sweep of the bat, and I caught the ball on the trade mark? Well, it is probably still sailing through the air and most likely will be found on the outskirts of Boothbay Harbor or at Christmas Cove.”

“Strange we never thought of that,” commented Robe, as if impressed. “I had a notion that the ball lodged somewhere among the limbs of the trees.”

“I never heard of anything like that.”

“Don’t you think there may be several things of which you never heard?”

“Enough of this aimless talk,” broke in the Scout Master; “we have a visitor.”

There was a general turning of heads toward the lake, where all saw the cause of the last remark of the Scout Master. A birch canoe had put out from the eastern shore and was approaching the bungalow at a moderate speed. In the stern of the craft was seated a man who swung the short paddle with easy powerful strokes. His face was turned toward the group of lads.

“I thought Rip Van Winkle lived in the Catskills,” remarked the corporal in a low voice, whereat all smiled, for the appearance of the stranger justified the comparison. He was bareheaded and his long hair and beard were of snowy whiteness. The picture was a striking one, with the curving prow of the pretty craft pointed straight toward the landing. The crystalline water was split into a gentle ripple by the bow, fashioned the same as the stern, and the sparkle of the blade looked as if he was lifting and tumbling liquid diamonds about for the party to admire.

You have been introduced to “Uncle Elk,” and do not need any further description of him. He and Mike Murphy were to meet some hours later not far away in the woods.

Scout Master Hall and the boys walked down to the edge of the lake to welcome their caller. They were glad to receive strangers at any time, and believing the man to be much older than he was, they stood ready to give him the help he might possibly need. But he required nothing of that nature.

Uncle Elk seemed to be surveying the group from under his shaggy brows, but he acted as if he saw them not. With the same regular sweep of the paddle, he held the boat to its course, gently checking it as the prow neared land, so that it impinged like a feather against the shingle. He arose, stepped out, drew the craft farther up the beach and then astonished the boys and their leader by doing a most unexpected thing. He straightened his slightly stooping figure, fixed his penetrating eyes on the Scout Master, and made the Boy Scout salute. So far as his exuberant beard permitted them to see, he was grave and solemn of manner.

“Hurrah! he’s one of us!” called Herbert Wood, as led by Hall, all stood erect and returned the greeting. And almost instantly the old man taught them precisely how the wolf makes his cry, followed by the “baow,” of the stag and the “kreece,” of the eagle. Those keen eyes which scorned all artificial aid, had observed the flags of the three Patrols displayed along with the emblem of their country above the roof of the bungalow.

Hall stepped forward and offered his hand, which was clasped by the venerable man, who showed his pleasure in looking into the faces of so bright a lot of youths.

“Will you accept me as a Boy Scout?” he asked, the movement at the sides of his mouth showing he was smiling, while his eyes twinkled and fine wrinkles appeared at the corners.

“You seem to be one already,” replied the Scout Master.

“I have not been initiated, though I have taken pains to inform myself about your organization. I have only one misgiving.”

“What is that?”

“I believe you accept no person who is under twelve years of age.”

“If you will give us your word that you have seen that number of years, I shall be satisfied. What do you say, boys?”

Entering into the spirit of the moment, the lads discussed the question. Hardly a face showed a smile, and there were grave shakings of heads. Finally, Leader Chase said:

“We are willing to run the risk.”

“With your permission,” said the visitor, bowing toward Scout Master Hall, “I shall be glad if you see your way clear to my becoming an honorary member of your order. My name is Elkanah Sisum, more generally known as ‘Uncle Elk’; I live by myself a couple of miles inland from the lake” (indicating the point); “I have a comfortable home; my latchstring always hangs outside and I shall take it as an honor if you will come and see me often.”

“I do not recall any rule regarding honorary members of the Boy Scouts, but I hereby declare you to be such, Uncle Elk,” said Scout Master Hall with much heartiness.

In obedience to a unanimous impulse every youth made the salute, to which the old gentleman responded.

“Thanks for the honor, which is appreciated. I have lived in the Maine woods for a good many years and have hunted from Eagle Lake away up in the wild north, to this settled section, where not much in the way of game is left. Perhaps there may be something relating to trees, birds, fishes and the ways of the woods that I can teach you, though,” he added with a twinkle of his bright eyes; “boys in these days have so many advantages that they run away from us old fellows in knowledge. None the less, you will find that the more you learn the more there is left for you to learn. Many a boy with a twine and bent pin can beat the best of you in wooing fish from the water; scores of urchins much younger than you know more of the woods and its inhabitants than you will learn in years; I can show you lads who with the bows and arrows made by themselves will bring down game that you can’t touch with the latest improved firearms, while as regards trailing through the depths of the wilderness they can teach you the rudiments.”

“Nothing can be truer than that; the advantages we have are many, but without brains and application they will do us little good. Your offer to help us along these paths of knowledge is gratefully accepted. We shall make frequent calls upon you, with the understanding that you will often come and see us. We have studied woodcraft a good deal, just enough to realize, as you have reminded us, how little we know of it. We need an instructor and we hereby close with your offer without giving you time to withdraw it.”

Addressing the scouts, the Master said:

“The only matters to be settled are the title that is to go with Uncle Elk’s office and the size of salary that is to be paid him as instructor.”

“Suppose you leave the latter question to me,” gravely suggested the old man.

Scout Master Hall pretended to be undecided and asked his boys quizzically:

“Is it safe to do that?”

“There doesn’t seem to be any help for it,” replied Patrol Leader Chase.

“Then we may as well make a virtue of necessity; and now as to the proper title which Uncle Elk is to assume. I am ready for suggestions.”

Uncle Elk and the Scout Master listened with amusement to the proposals of the boys. All were eagerly interested and nearly every one submitted at least one proposal. Some of them were overwhelming. Perhaps the most striking was that of Gordon Calhoun, Scout 5 of Patrol 2. It was “Lieutenant-General and Supreme Counsellor and Master of the Mysteries of the Woods.”

Uncle Elk and Scout Master Hall laughed.

“If I were of the African race, that would suit me exactly, but, as it is, the weight would crush me. Try, boys, to hit upon something simple.”

Calhoun joined in the merriment at his expense and gave up.

Isaac Rothstein, the black-haired, dark-eyed Jewish member of the Stag Patrol, amid the hush of his comrades said:

“Why not call Uncle Elk ‘Instructor in Woodcraft’?”

“You’ve hit it,” commented the pleased visitor.

“I agree with you,” said the Scout Master, patting the shoulder of the blushing boy who stood at his side. “The name is simple and expressive and therefore meets every requirement without paining the modesty of the gentleman who wears it; and now, Mr. Instructor, may I be permitted to ask when it will suit your convenience to begin earning your salary?”

Uncle Elk glanced up at the sky and noted the position of the sun.

“It is now a few minutes past eleven; the day is so far along that I propose to go back to my home and stay there until to-morrow morning. Nothing unexpected occurring, I shall be here at half-past eight o’clock. I shall not come in my boat but on foot, prepared to take up my duties.”

(Scout Master Hall slyly glanced at his watch, while the man was speaking. The hands showed it was six minutes past eleven.)

“You will remain and take dinner with us.” The Instructor nodded.

“I shall be pleased. Meanwhile, may I witness a drill of your troop?”

The Scout Master blew a sharp blast on his whistle and strolled to the front of the clubhouse, the Instructor beside him. Facing about, the former nodded and a pretty exhibition followed. The three patrols composing the troop, each under the command of its leader, went through the maneuvers with a precision and unity that were almost perfect.

The troop formed in two ranks, the second covering the intervals between the scouts in the first rank, the feet turned out at an angle of forty-five degrees, the body erect, arms hanging easily, fingers slightly bent, head up and eyes to the front. This is the “Alert” position. It will be remembered that the boys carried no weapons.

The next command was to “stand at ease.” Each left foot was shifted eight or ten inches to the left, the weight of the body being thus equally divided on both feet; the hands were carried behind the back, one loosely resting on the palm of the other, the grasp being maintained by the fingers and thumb. Then followed “dressing,” the different turnings,—right-turn, left-turn, about-turn, and right and left half-turn.

In the brief pause that occurred at this moment, Instructor Sisum asked the Scout Master in a voice which all heard:

“What are the rules regarding salutes?”

The Scout Master nodded to Corporal Robe, who with a sly grin passed the question to Private Harold Hopkins, and he, having no one to whom he could shift it, promptly replied, accompanying his words with a practical illustration:

“We have the half salute and the full salute. Scouts use the half salute when they meet for the first time in the day. The fingers are held as in the full salute, but the right hand is raised only shoulder high, with palm to the front.

“For the full salute we raise the hand to the forehead, elbow in line and nearly square with the shoulder, for one or two seconds.”

“When should this salute be given?” asked the Instructor.

“When a private meets one of his officers, any commissioned officer of the United States army, or the colors of a regiment when passing the body at a funeral; on such occasions as the Fourth of July, Flag Day, Memorial Day; when the Stars and Strips are hoisted, and, if in uniform, when the ‘Star Spangled Banner’ or ‘My Country’ is played.”

“Which hand should be employed in making the salute?”

“The same rule holds as in the United States army; it must be done by the hand farthest from the person saluted. In addressing an officer a Scout will halt two paces from him and salute and will repeat it before withdrawing.”

Other exercises were followed by the troop drill. The scouts fell into line for inspection, with the assistant patrol leader on the right of each patrol, the leader one pace in front of his patrol and the Scout Master two paces in front of the line.

You will not care for a detailed description of the pleasing drill. If you wish to learn the various movements, the best plan is to become a Boy Scout, and at the same time improve yourself mentally, morally and physically.

Having dismissed the troop with liberty to do as they pleased until dinner time, Scout Master Hall seated himself on the piazza extending along the front of the clubhouse, beside his visitor, intending to spend the interval before dinner time in conversation. He had become much interested in the old gentleman about whom was wrapped something of mystery. Hall expected a partial explanation or at least some reference to the cause of Uncle Elk’s self exile, but he did not give any hint, and of course Hall was silent on that point.

Thus it came about that when the Instructor in Woodcraft paddled away in his canoe, quite early in the afternoon, neither the Scout Master nor his boys knew anything of their visitor beyond the fact that he was a most attractive old gentleman, with whom they expected to spend many pleasant hours while serving as his pupils in the woods.