CAMP BRITCHES
Spring came, and with it more training for Romulus, until Sam
pronounced him a fairly well-broken bird dog. May drifted into June
and June into July. Another school year came to a close and another
long vacation period began. The great dog show was now a thing of
ancient history and things were a bit slow in Boytown. It appeared
essential to the happiness and welfare of numerous boys and dogs that
something new should be undertaken.
It was Jimmie Rogers who suggested it, though there were a dozen
active, eager minds ready to seize upon the idea and develop it. They
were sitting on the bank of the swimming hole near the brickyard,
resting after an hour's swim and warming themselves in the sun. The
dogs were either wandering restlessly about in search of new
adventures, or were stretched out at their masters' feet. The boys
were somewhat languidly discussing the events of the Glorious Fourth
just past, and bemoaning the fact that another one would be so long in
coming.
"Fourth o' July's all right," remarked Jimmie, "but I think the most
fun in the whole world is camping out."
"Ho!" scoffed Harry Barton. "When did you ever go camping out?"
"I camped out one night with my father in an old shack over Oakdale
way," asserted Jimmie.
"That isn't camping out," said Harry. "Camping out is living in a tent
in the woods all summer, catching your own fish and cooking your own
grub and--and everything."
"Did you ever do that?" demanded Jimmie.
Harry was forced to admit that he never did.
"Gee, I wish we could all go camping out this summer," said Ernest
Whipple. "It would be great fun to take the dogs along."
"Well, why can't we?" inquired Jimmie.
Many of the boys held inwardly a well-founded notion that there would
be serious parental objections to a plan of this kind, but their ready
imaginations caught fire at the idea and they were soon in the midst
of a lively discussion of plans that gradually settled down from the
wild and fantastic to the faintly feasible. When they separated that
afternoon it was with the hopeful belief that they were going to
organize a camping expedition.
The expected parental opposition developed promptly and decidedly, but
when a dozen American boys get their hearts set on anything short of
discovering the North Pole something is sure to happen. They did not
quickly abandon their rosy project and they set about conquering the
opposition by means of a determined siege.
The chief point of objection, of course, which indeed appeared
insurmountable, was the natural belief on the part of parents that it
would not be safe or wise to let their boys leave home and go camping
out without the guardianship of some older person. No arguments could
be invented to prevail against this. But help came from an unexpected
quarter.
Theron Hammond's older brother, Alfred, a student at Yale and a
steady, reliable sort of fellow, was spending his summer at home and
was finding Boytown a bit dull after the activities of Junior year at
college. One evening, when Theron had broached the subject for the
fortieth time and his father had once more given a firm refusal,
Alfred put in his oar.
"Aw, father," said he, "let him go and give us a little peace in the
house. It won't hurt him."
"But, Alfred," said his father, "you know very well it would never do
to let those boys go off alone. None of the parents would permit it."
"Suppose Horace and I went with them," suggested Alfred. Horace Ames
was a classmate of Alfred's who was also languishing in summer
idleness in Boytown.
That put another face on the matter entirely. It must not be supposed
that the victory was won at once, however. It required two weeks more
of the siege to win capitulation all along the line. But the boys
conquered at last. They liked and admired the college students and
accepted their alliance with enthusiastic acclaim. Alfred talked it
over with his chum, and the more they discussed it the more they felt
that the conducting of this boy-and-dog camp would be great fun.
Horace had brought home with him from New Haven the ugliest-looking
and gentlest-tempered bulldog ever seen in the streets of Boytown. His
name was Eli and Horace vowed he would give Eli the pleasure of
camping out with the other dogs of Boytown. Eli was in training as a
football mascot, and Horace asserted that a summer experience of this
sort was just what he needed.
As their interest in the project grew, Alfred and Horace decided to
take an active part in the campaign, and they called personally on
every one of the doubting parents. Little by little they won them over
until at last the success of the plan was assured. Mrs. Whipple was
the last to give way, but Mr. Whipple had already been enlisted in the
cause and he proved, as ever, a loyal advocate.
"You must remember, mother," said he, "that Jack is eleven years old
now."
"Yes," said she, dubiously. In her eyes Jack was still a rosy-cheeked
baby.
"It is never too soon for boys to gain self-reliance," said Mr.
Whipple. "This camp will do Jack a lot of good, and Ernest, too.
They'll have to hold their own on a common footing with the other
boys, which is what they must do in later life. And Alfred and Horace
are as reliable and trustworthy a pair of young fellows as I know.
They won't let anything happen to our boys."
So at last even Mrs. Whipple granted a reluctant consent, and fourteen
boys, besides the two older ones, were at last enrolled as members of
the expedition. At first it had been understood that the camp was to
include only members of the Humane Society, and would be a sort of
club outing, but Mrs. Hammond suggested that the invitation be
extended to include also any boy in town who owned a dog, on the
ground that this might serve to recruit new members for the society.
Alfred seconded this.
"The more the merrier," said he.
So the invitation was sent abroad and had already been accepted in two
cases when the troublesome question of Dick Wheaton again arose. The
boys didn't want Dick at the camp, and Dick evinced no interest in
the project, but the bars had been let down and there seemed to be no
good excuse for not admitting Dick. Mrs. Hammond advised them to
invite him, but before they had done so, the matter was taken out of
their hands; the difficulty was solved for them.
One night Gyp, tired of his ill treatment, heartbroken, hopeless of
ever being able to win his master's true affection, and doubtless
seeking a happier home, ran away and was never again seen in Boytown.
So Dick, since he no longer owned a dog, was automatically eliminated,
much to the relief of those who did not want him. It seemed a just
retribution that he should lose the creature that loved him so, but it
is doubtful if Dick cared very much.
"I only hope," said Mrs. Hammond, when she was told about it, "that
this will teach Dick a lesson and that poor Gyp will find a good
master and pass the rest of his days in peace and happiness. He is a
dear, loving little dog, and he deserves it."
Including Eli, there were fourteen dogs in the party, which was more
than had at first been counted on, for not all the members of the
Humane Society were dog owners, though the outsiders all had to be. It
happened in this way: Frank Stoddard had long been pleading with his
parents to be allowed to have a dog, and at last they surrendered and
gave him one on his birthday. Mr. Stoddard believed in doing nothing
by halves and so he purchased a really fine young collie, sable and
white, named MacTavish, and usually called Mac for short. So Frank had
a canine companion for the camp and his cup of joy was full.
And there was still another new dog in town. Elliot Garfield's uncle,
who knew of the boy's earnest desire to own a dog, sent him early in
August an Old English sheepdog. The uncle wrote that he was going to
travel a bit, and that if Elliot would guarantee to give his dog a
good home, he might have him for his own. You may believe that Elliot
was not slow in agreeing to that proposition. It was a pedigreed dog,
named Darley's Launcelot of Middlesex. That was a name no one could be
expected to use in calling a dog, and even Launcelot seemed a bit
strange. So Elliot, who possibly lacked originality, rechristened him
Rover.
Most of the residents of Boytown had never seen an Old English
sheepdog before, and Rover attracted not a little attention on the
street. Some people even laughed at his big round head, with hair over
his eyes, and his shambling gait and lack of a tail, but they soon got
used to him and came to admire his wonderful gray and white coat. And
Rover turned out to be one of the jolliest dog companions in Boytown.
He loved the water, and when he got his coat thoroughly wet he
seemed to shrink to half his normal size. He was really not much
bigger than Romulus, but when his hair was dry and all fluffed out he
looked as big as a Newfoundland.
With Rover and Mac added to the party, it began to look like a pretty
big affair, as indeed it was. Alfred and Horace entered into the
spirit of the thing with zest and arranged for the tents and general
equipment. They had both been camping in the Adirondacks, and they
knew just what was needed. So they drew up a list of the things each
boy must provide for himself--warm blankets, a bag to be stuffed with
sweet fern for a pillow, mosquito netting, and an aluminum plate,
bowl, and cup for each boy, a dish for his dog, knives, forks, spoons,
etc., besides the requisite clothing and toilet articles. It was all
done very systematically.
There was one thing that bothered Alfred and Horace, and that was the
cooking. They ordered a store of supplies, the boys having all
contributed to a fund for that purpose, but that did not solve the
problem of three meals a day. The boys had been inclined to pass over
this detail somewhat lightly, but Alfred and Horace knew from
experience that feeding a dozen hungry boys was no joke, and they
didn't intend to have their vacation spoiled by the necessity of
turning to themselves and doing all the work.
One day Mr. Morton stopped Alfred Hammond on the street and asked him
how the plans for the camp were progressing.
"Everything is going finely," said Alfred, "except for two things. We
shall have to postpone our start for a day or two because the tents
haven't come yet. Then there's the question of the cooking. I'm
blessed if I know how that gang of youngsters is going to be fed."
Mr. Morton stood and thought a moment.
"Maybe I can help you out," he said at length. "I'm just starting off
on a little vacation myself, and I've been wondering what I'd do with
Moses." (Moses was Mr. Morton's colored man-about-the-place.) "I
haven't enough to keep him busy during my absence and it wouldn't do
for him to fall into habits of idleness. How would you like to take
Moses along with you, and guarantee to keep him out of mischief? He
was once an assistant chef or something in a summer hotel, and I
believe he's a first-rate cook. His services would cost you nothing,
because I have to keep up his wages anyway. I'd be mighty glad to know
that he was being kept busy."
"Say, that's mighty white of you, Mr. Morton," said Alfred. "Moses for
ours. He's just what we need."
So that matter was settled. Mr. Morton explained to Moses just what
was required of him, and Moses became a not unwilling member of the
party.
The tents, which had been ordered from New York, came at last. There
were two of them, good-sized ones, each capable of accommodating seven
of the younger boys and one of the older ones. Horace Ames had a small
tent of his own which would serve for Moses. On the appointed day the
boys congregated at the Whipples' stable, each bringing his personal
equipment strapped up in his blanket. The camp site that had been
chosen was at Mallard Lake, about nine miles from Boytown, and two
wagons with drivers had been engaged to convey the outfit.
Presently one of these wagons appeared, containing Moses, Alfred,
Horace, the tents, a stack of old lumber, a box of cooking utensils,
and a second-hand kitchen range, besides a number of boxes containing
provisions. When the boys had heaved their personal belongings aboard
it made a big load. Then the human part of the expedition loaded
itself into the second wagon, with much laughter and skylarking, and
the party was ready to start. The dogs were allowed to run alongside,
and a lively pack they were. Mrs. Whipple, with a look of anxiety
still on her face, came to the gate to wave good-by.
They arrived at Mallard Lake about noon, and after unloading and
sending back the wagons, they sat down to partake of the picnic
lunch that each had brought with him. Then came the task of pitching
camp. It was no small thing to accomplish before dark, but there were
many hands to engage in it and efficient leadership.
The camp was located in some pine woods that ran down close to the
shore of the lake. On the other side of a little cape was a sandy
beach that looked like a good swimming place. Across the lake there
were two or three farmhouses, where the leaders had arranged for
supplies of milk, eggs, butter, bread, and baked beans. All the
available floating craft on the lake had been hired, and three
rowboats and a canoe lay drawn up on the bank. A little way back in
the woods was a spring of clear, pure, cold water for drinking
purposes, and a pool where the milk and butter could be kept fresh.
The leaders told the boys, however, that they would have to wait
another day before indulging in an exploration of the surroundings of
the camp. There was much to be done before night, and all must get to
work. The two tents were pitched on a little rise of ground back from
the water, and each boy was set to work gathering balsam boughs for
his bed. These were strewn a foot thick on the ground inside the tents
and the blankets were spread upon them, each boy being assigned his
place. They also stuffed their pillows with balsam, waiting till
another day to gather the fragrant sweet ferns in a near-by pasture.
Each boy also cut stakes and drove them into the ground about his bed
to hold his mosquito netting. Ropes were strung overhead to hold
clothing, and there were two lanterns for each tent.
Moses, meantime, had pitched his own tent and made his own bed, and
now they all turned to to help him knock together a rough shack to
serve as cook house and pantry. Then a long dining table and benches
were built and a frame erected over them on which was spread an old
awning. The range was set up in the cook house, the provisions were
stored away, firewood was cut, and Moses started preparations for
supper. Soon a fragrant smoke was issuing from the stovepipe, which
before long was mingled with the smell of frying bacon and other
things cooking that made every boy acutely aware of his appetite.
Still Alfred and Horace kept them at work, cleaning up around camp,
laying a stone foundation for a campfire, and erecting a lean-to
shelter for the dogs in stormy weather, for it was voted not to allow
the dogs to come into the tents.
Moses made good his reputation as a cook, and a prodigious amount of
provender disappeared at supper that night. The boys were in high
spirits and so were the dogs. The latter, not yet accustomed to their
new surroundings, and not realizing that they were to stay there,
were restless and excitable and gave some trouble, but they were at
last persuaded to quiet down. It was decided to tie them to the
lean-to for a few nights until they should learn the rules and
regulations.
After supper, while the boys were gathering brushwood for a campfire,
Jimmie Rogers hoisted the camp ensign, which created a roar of
laughter. I must explain about this ensign and the name of the camp.
Some time before they had discussed the subject of naming the camp,
but could agree on nothing. Mrs. Hammond had suggested Camp B. H. S.,
the letters being the initials of the Boytown Humane Society. This did
not fully please the popular fancy, and yet they did not like to
discard Mrs. Hammond's suggestion. They began trying to find a word or
words in some way made up of B. H. S. Alfred Hammond suggested Camp
Beeches. That sounded something like B. H. S., he said, and they would
very likely find beech trees about the camp. They adopted this name
for want of a better one, until Jimmie, in a moment of inspiration,
changed it to Camp Breeches. This name really had no very deep
meaning, but somehow it tickled the boys and it stuck, being still
further revised in process of use to Camp Britches. The ensign which
Jimmie tied to a sapling in front of the camp was an old pair of boy's
trousers.
It would require a whole book to tell of all the episodes that went to
make up the life of Camp Britches during the next week, of the fishing
and swimming, the exploring expeditions and berrying parties, of how
the boys built a landing wharf for the boats and a diving raft, and
how they divided up the routine duties of the camp. Some of these
episodes were glorious fun; some were not so pleasant; taken all
together they made up a memorable experience. Moses proved to be a
master at making griddle cakes and other good things, and once or
twice a boy ate not wisely but too well, and required the attention of
the camp physician, Horace Ames. But for the most part they were
healthy and happy, and incidentally they learned many things about
looking out for themselves.
One night a thunderstorm broke, a veritable cloudburst, and the boys
had to put on their bathing trunks and go out and dig deeper trenches
around the tents to keep the water from running in and soaking
everything. On another occasion a high wind blew one of the tents down
on its sleeping inmates, causing more fright than damage.
Perhaps the best part of it all was the evening campfire. By that time
the boys were physically sufficiently weary to enjoy resting, and, the
pangs of hunger being well satisfied through the ministrations of
Moses, they would light their pile of brushwood and lie about it,
wrapped in blankets on the cool nights, and watch the flames and
fondle their dogs, and gossip drowsily. Sometimes there was story
telling, at which Albert Hammond was an artist. And one afternoon Sam
Bumpus came by special invitation, walking all the way from his shack,
and that evening they had stirring tales of moose and deer hunting in
Maine.
Then, of course, there were always the dogs. Sometimes it seemed as
though there were too many of them, and it was necessary to make each
boy strictly accountable for the actions of his own. Mr. O'Brien was a
constant source of trouble and unrest, and there were times when it
almost seemed as though they would have to send him home. Still,
everybody liked Mr. O'Brien, after all. Wicked as he was, he was as
smart as a whip and he had a way of worming into your affections in
spite of you. Romulus and Remus had to be watched because of a
tendency to go roaming off together on hunting expeditions of their
own. Rags was, as ever, a general favorite and heaps of fun, and
Rover, the Old English sheepdog, proved to be almost as playful and
humorous. He was wonderfully active for a dog who appeared to be so
clumsy. He could hold his own in a scrap, too, as Mr. O'Brien learned
to his sorrow. In aquatic sports, Rover shone.
Speaking of the dogs, there came a night when one of them nearly upset
the entire camp. It was the handsome collie, MacTavish. He strayed
away from camp in the evening and managed to get into trouble with a
little animal that is sometimes found in the woods whose method of
defense is peculiar. It was a black and white skunk. MacTavish
returned, very unhappy, just as the boys were getting to sleep.
Seeking help and consolation in his distress, he entered the tent
where his master lay. In less time than it takes to tell it every
inmate of that tent was out in the open air. Moses and Horace took the
collie down to the lake, washed him as thoroughly as they could with
strong tar soap, and then tied him out in the woods where the poor
unfortunate's howls disturbed the camp's rest all night. They could
not send him home, and it was two or three days before he was entirely
fit for human companionship again.