OFF TO THE ISLAND.
The morning of July 2d dawned bright and clear, but long before daybreak
the members of the S. S. I. E. E. of W. C. I. were astir. The jolly red
sun peeping over the eastern hills witnessed an unaccustomed sight. Six
greatly excited boys were running back and forth from the barn to the
canal, bearing all manner of mysterious bundles, which were carefully
deposited in a freshly painted scow. Yes, all six of us were there.
A UNIQUE ALARM CLOCK.
We hadn't expected to see Reddy Schreiner at such an early hour, for he
was always a sleepyhead, and no alarm clock would ever wake him. But
this was an exceptional day, and, besides, Reddy was quite an original
chap. He had taken one of the borrowed roosters into his room the night
before, and when, early in the morning, Mr. Chanticleer had mounted the
footboard of the bed, flapped his wings and given vent to his opinion of
a boy who persisted in sleeping at that late hour of the day, the noise
was too much for even Reddy's drowsy sensibilities.
[Illustration: Fig. 65. Off to the Island.]
THE TRIP TO THE ISLAND.
[Illustration: The Ledge below the Goblins' Platform.]
[Illustration: The Camp at Willow Clump Island.]
Our scow was not large enough to carry all the things we had to take
with us, but as Mr. Schreiner was going to take Uncle Ed up in his
wagon, we left the rest of our luggage for him to bring along. We boys
walked the eleven miles up the canal to Lumberville, towing the barge.
It was a tiresome task; but we divided the work into two-mile shifts,
two boys towing at a time and then each taking a mile ride as steersman
in the boat. It was about noon when we arrived at Lumberville, and then
we had to unload our boat before we could haul it out of the canal and
down to the river. The river on the Jersey side of the island was so
shallow that we waded across, pushing the boat ahead of us. The current
was too swift to permit of rowing, and it was rather hard for us to keep
our footing. But we managed to reach our destination finally without any
mishap. The island was thickly wooded, except for a small clearing where
we landed. The first thing we did was to unpack our eatables, and Jack,
the cook, soon had an appetizing pan of bacon and eggs sputtering on the
kerosene stove.
[Illustration: Fig. 66. Dragging the Scow over to the Island.]
PRELIMINARY EXPLORATION.
As no better position offered at the time we pitched our tent in the
clearing, pending a thorough search for a more suitable place elsewhere.
Around the tent we dug a trench about a foot deep to prevent water from
entering our quarters when it rained. It was about time for Uncle Ed and
Mr. Schreiner to appear with the rest of our luggage, so we did not have
time to do much exploring, but sauntered southward along the shore,
always on the lookout for their arrival. About a quarter of a mile from
the tent we came across the wreck of an old bridge, which had been
washed down by some freshet. This was a great find, and served us many
purposes, as will appear later.
While we were examining the wreck we heard a distant "halloa" from the
mainland. There was Uncle Ed sitting on a pile of goods on the railroad
bank looking for all the world like an Italian immigrant. We answered
with a shout and scrambled back to the clearing. Then we ran splashing
through the water, pushing the boat before us. It didn't take us long to
load up and carry him back to the island.
A RUSTIC TABLE.
[Illustration: Fig. 67. The Rustic Table.]
Uncle Ed entered into our fun at once. He was as enthusiastic as a boy
over the surroundings, and when we told him of the old bridge he started
right off to investigate, taking the ax with him. Soon he had pried off
a number of the planks, which we used for a flooring to our tent. Then
he built us a table out of four forked sticks, driven into the ground,
and supporting two cross sticks, on which a pair of planks were laid.
THE SMALL FILTER.
"Well, now, boys," said Uncle Ed, wiping the perspiration from his
forehead, "I am as thirsty as a whale. Where do you get your drinking
water? Is there a spring on the island?"
We told him that we used the river water.
[Illustration: Fig. 68. The Small Filter.]
"What, river water! That won't do at all," he cried. "You'll all have
the typhoid fever. We must build a filter. I brought some charcoal with
me for this very purpose."
Taking one of our pails he broke a hole in the bottom of it and stuffed
a sponge in the hole. A layer of small stones was then placed in the
pail, over this a layer of broken charcoal with the dust carefully blown
out, then a layer of clean sand, and finally a layer of gravel. Each
layer was about two inches thick. The pail was suspended from a branch
in a cool place and proved an excellent filter, the water trickling out
through the sponge being perfectly pure and sweet, no matter how dirty
it had been when poured in; but the capacity of the filter was too
small, and Uncle Ed said he would make us a larger one on the morrow if
no spring was discovered in the meantime.
The sun was getting low in the west, and we therefore postponed the
exploration of our island until the following day. We had been up since
four o'clock that morning and had done some pretty hard work; so,
immediately after supper, we turned in and, lulled by the murmuring of
the river, were soon fast asleep.
THE BARREL FILTER.
[Illustration: Fig. 69. The Barrel Filter.]
Immediately after breakfast the next day we started out in two parties
to search the island. The only discovery of any moment was that made by
Dutchy's party, which found a small island separated from ours by a
narrow channel, through which the water ran like a mill-race. No spring
was discovered, so Uncle Ed had to construct his large filter. Bill and
I went over to Lumberville in search of a couple of cider barrels and a
pailful of charcoal. The barrels were placed one on top of the other
after cutting a large hole in the top of the lower barrel, and a smaller
one in the bottom of the upper one. The latter opening was covered by an
inverted saucer. Over this we spread a 3-inch layer of coarse sand, then
a 2-inch layer of charcoal, a 4-inch layer of clear, sharp sand, and a
2-inch top layer of gravel. The lower barrel was provided with a faucet,
through which we could draw off the filtered water as desired. In order
to keep the water cool we placed the filters in a shady place near the
river, and piled up earth around the lower barrel.
"Now, boys," said Uncle Ed, "form in line there, and we will go through
a fire drill."
He arranged us about five feet apart in a line extending from the filter
to the river. We had six pails, and these Dutchy filled one at a time,
passing them up the line to Reddy, who emptied them into the upper
barrel and then threw them back to Dutchy to be refilled. Working in
this way it did not take long to fill up the filter, and the burden of
keeping the barrels full, instead of falling on one person, was shared
alike by all.
[Illustration: Fig. 70. Filling the Barrel.]
THE KLEPALO.
Our camp outfit was further augmented by a dinner call. We discovered
the necessity of such a call on our very first day of camping. Dutchy
was so excited by his discoveries of the morning that he started out
alone in the afternoon to make a further search. The rest of us were
lazy after the noon meal, and were lolling around taking it easy during
the heat of the day, and discussing plans for the future. But Dutchy's
energetic nature would not permit him to keep quiet. He took the scow
and waded with it against the strong current to the deeper and quieter
water above the island. Then he rowed a long way up stream. He was gone
all the afternoon. Supper time came and still he didn't appear. The sun
was high, and I presume he didn't realize how late it was getting.
Finally, just at sunset, he came drifting down with the current, tired
and hungry, and ready for a large meal. But we had finished our supper
an hour before, and poor Dutchy had to be content with a few cold
remnants, because the cook had declared he wouldn't prepare an extra
meal for a fellow who didn't have sense enough to know when it was meal
time.
Then it was that Uncle Ed bethought himself of the _klepalo_.
"You ought to have some sort of a dinner call," he declared, "so that
any one within a mile of camp will know when dinner is ready."
[Illustration: The _Klepalo_.]
"Did you ever hear of a _klepalo_? No? Well, I was down in
Macedonia a couple of years ago inspecting a railroad, and I stopped off
for the night at a small Bulgarian village. The next day happened to be
a _Prasdnik_, or saint's day, and the first thing in the morning I
was awakened by a peculiar clacking sound which I couldn't make out.
Calling my interpreter I found out from him that it was a _klepalo_
for calling the people to church. The people there are too poor to
afford a bell, and so in place of that they use a beam of oak hung from
a rope tied about the center, and this beam is struck with a hammer,
first on one side, and then the other. Sometimes an iron _klepalo_
is used as well, and then they strike first the beam and then the iron
bar, so as to vary the monotony of the call. I found that the wooden
_klepalo_ could be heard for a distance of about one and a half
miles over land, and the iron one for over two miles. Now we can easily
make a wooden _klepalo_ for use in this camp, and then if Dutchy,
or any of the rest of us, keep within a mile and a half of camp there
won't be any trouble with the cook."
So we built a _klepalo_, getting from Lumberville a stick of
seasoned oak, 1-1/2 inches thick, 6 inches wide and 4 feet long. A hole
was drilled into the stick at the center, and by a rope passed through
this hole the beam was suspended from a branch overhanging the camp.
Jack, the cook, regularly used this crude device to call the hungry
horde to meals.