LOST
Now I’m going to write until my sister begins playing the piano. Music
and literature don’t mix, believe me. There are two cruises in this
book, a big one and a little one. You can take your pick. The little one
is full of mud and the big one is full of pep. Anyway you get your
money’s worth, that’s one sure thing.
This chapter is about the little cruise. But first I have to tell you
about the house-boat, because it turned out to be our home sweet home
for a couple of weeks. It didn’t only turn out, but it turned in and it
turned sideways and every which way. But I’m not going to knock it. It
got knocks enough going through the creek and up Bridgeboro River. It
knocked into two bridges and goodness knows what all. But what cared we,
yo ho? We cared nit—I mean naught.
First Mr. Donnelle showed us through it and it was dandy, only in very
poor shape. Its shape was square. But I wouldn’t laugh at it because we
had a lot of fun on it. Inside it had two rooms and a little kitchen and
the roof had a railing around it and there was lots of room there. There
was lots of room on the deck too. And there was a kind of little
guard-house, too, to put Pee-wee in if he didn’t behave. Some of the
windows were broken, but I knew we could fix them easily. All we needed
to do was eat some green apples and then we’d have plenty of panes.
There were some lockers too, only one of them was locked and we couldn’t
get into it.
I guess the tramp didn’t take anything, because there was nothing
missing. I guess all he took was a look around. There were some cushions
piled on one of the lockers and they looked as if someone had been
sleeping on them. Pee-wee said he could see the oil stove had been used
by the smell—he’s got such sharp eyes that he can see a smell. I told
him he had a classy eye because there was a pupil in it, and you ought
to have seen Mr. Donnelle laugh. I guess he thought we were crazy.
“Well we should worry about the tramp,” I said, “especially now that we
have a boat like this. The next thing to do is to bring the whole troop
and get her fixed up.”
One thing was easy anyway. Just below Bridgeboro, where we live, there
is a kind of a branch flowing into the Bridgeboro River. We always
called it the creek. Now we found out from Mr. Donnelle that it started
along up above Little Valley. Over there they call it Dutch Creek. He
said that at high tide we could float the houseboat right down into
Bridgeboro River and then wait for the up tide or else tow it up to
Bridgeboro. Cracky, I could see it would be a cinch and I was glad
because we fellows didn’t have money enough to have the boat carted by
land. But, _good night_, this way was easy.
The next morning I sent a birch bark call to all the fellows in our
troop. I sent them each a little piece of birch bark by courier. Connie
Bennett, he’s our courier. And that meant come to Special Meeting—W. S.
W. S. means without scoutmaster. So pretty soon they began coming up to
Camp Solitaire. That’s the name I gave the tent I have on our lawn. When
they were all there, I told them about Mr. Donnelle and the houseboat,
and we decided that we’d hike over to Little Valley and pile right in
and get it ready instead of bringing it to Bridgeboro first. We decided
that if we worked on it for about three days, it would be ready.
So we all started to hike it along the road to Little Valley. We had an
adventure before we got there, and I guess I’d better tell you about it.
I made a map too, so you can see the way everything was. It’s about five
miles to Little Valley by the road.
Well, we were all hiking it along, sometimes going scout-pace and most
of the time jollying Pee-wee, when all of a sudden I noticed a mark on a
rock that I was sure was a scout mark. It was an arrow and it was marked
with a piece of slate. Underneath the arrow was another mark like a
pail, so I knew the sign meant that there was water in that direction.
I didn’t know any scouts around our way that could be camping there, but
whenever a scout sees a scout sign he usually likes to follow it up. So
I told the fellows I was going to follow if there was any time. They
said it was an old last year’s mark, but go ahead if I wanted to, and I
told them I’d meet them at Little Valley later.
So now comes the adventure. As soon as I left the fellows, I hit the
trail into the woods just like you’ll see on the map I made. It wasn’t
much of a trail and I guess a fellow couldn’t follow it if he wasn’t a
scout. It was all thick woods like a jungle kind of, and I could see
where branches had been broken by somebody that passed there. Pretty
soon it began to get swampy and there wasn’t any more trail at all.
[Illustration]
As long as there’s any sign of a trail you can’t get me rattled, but
cracky, I don’t like marshes. You can get lost in a marsh easier than in
any other place. Pretty soon I was plodding around deeper than my knees
and it gave me a strain every time I dragged my leg out of the swamp.
Maybe you’ll wonder why I didn’t go back, but if you do, that’s because
you don’t know much about marshes. All of a sudden I was right in the
middle of it, as you might say, and there were no landmarks at all.
Pretty soon I was in waist deep and then I was scared, you can bet. If
there’s one thing that gets me scared it’s quicksand. As long as I could
get my legs out I was all right, but when I began sinking as low as my
waist and had to drag myself out by squirming and catching hold of
bushes and things, then I lost my nerve—I have to admit it.
I saw I was a fool ever to go into that pesky place, but it was too late
and I knew that pretty soon I’d be in too deep to get out. Oh, jiminies,
I was scared. Once, after I scrambled out I tried lying flat on the
marsh with the reeds laid over sideways underneath me. But they didn’t
hold me up and anyway I knew I couldn’t lie that way forever. I wondered
how a scout had ever gone through here.
Before I knew how to swim I came mighty near to getting drowned and I
got lost in the woods, too, when I was a tenderfoot. But this was worse
than anything I ever knew before. Once I sank down almost to my
shoulders and I guess I would have been a goner, only my feet struck
something hard and flat and I stood on that until I got rested a little.
All the while I looked around to see if I could decide where the land
might be a little harder, but I guess I must have been in the worst part
of it. I decided that the safest thing I could do was to stand just
where I was. I didn’t know what it was I was standing on, but anyway it
didn’t seem to sink any, so I was kind of safe there, as you might say.
But I knew I could never raise myself out of that place and I’d have to
just stand there till I got so tired and hungry, that I’d drop down and
be sucked into the marsh.
So anyway, I’d have to die, I was sure of that, only I didn’t want to
die any sooner than I had to. Two or three times I shouted as loud as I
could, but I knew it wasn’t any use, because I was two or three miles
away from any house. Even if anybody knew, I didn’t see how they could
get to me and it was only by good luck that I wasn’t dead already on
account of the hard thing I was standing on. Every once in a while
bubbles would come up and I thought it was because that thing I was
standing on was sinking lower. The marsh was just about even with my
shoulders and I kept looking sideways at my shoulders all the time, so
as to see if I was going down any and sometimes I thought I was. But I
guess I wasn’t.
The weeds stood up all around me so I couldn’t see, except up in the air
and it was like being in a grave with just my head out. Gee, I thought
about the fellows hiking it to Little Valley and beginning work on the
house-boat and waiting for me to come, and I could just kind of hear
them jollying Pee-wee, and oh, I wished I was there. I was wondering who
the Silver Foxes would elect for their patrol leader and then I got to
thinking how nobody, not even my mother and father, would ever know what
became of me, because you can’t drag a marsh like you can a river. And
it seemed kind of funny like, to die without anybody ever knowing what
became of you.
Pretty soon my legs began getting very tired like a fellow’s legs always
do when he keeps standing in water. Only this was worse than water. I
wondered how it would feel when my knees gave out and I sank down.
Then I happened to think about having my hike-book with me. It was all
wet and the pencil was wet too, but I held it up high out of the marsh
and wrote this on one of the pages. After I wrote it I stuck it up high
on one of the marsh weeds.
This is where Roy Blakeley, patrol leader, Silver Fox Patrol,
Bridgeboro Troop, B. S. A., was sucked down into the marsh,
after he couldn’t stand up any more. I was standing on something
that was hard and maybe you’ll find my body lying on that. In my
desk is something I was going to give my mother for a birthday
present. I send her a lot of love too. My father too. And I hope
my Patrol gets along all right and that the troop has a lot of
fun this summer. I hope somebody will find this.