_BOOKS BY_
=Walter P. Eaton=
THE BOY SCOUTS OF BERKSHIRE. A story of how the Chipmunk Patrol was
started, what they did and how they did it.
BOY SCOUTS IN THE DISMAL SWAMP. A story of Boy Scouting in the Dismal
Swamp.
BOY SCOUTS IN THE WHITE MOUNTAINS. A story of a hike over the
Franconia and Presidential Ranges.
BOY SCOUTS OF THE WILDCAT PATROL. A story of Boy Scouting.
PEANUT--CUB REPORTER. A Boy Scout’s life and adventures on a newspaper.
BOY SCOUTS IN GLACIER PARK. The adventures of two young Easterners in
the heart of the High Rockies.
BOY SCOUTS AT CRATER LAKE. A Story of the High Cascades.
BOY SCOUTS ON KATAHDIN. A story of the Maine Woods.
HAWKEYE’S ROOMMATE. A story of the very life of a truly American prep
school--how the boys studied, played and found lasting friendships and
learned the lessons of life.
[Illustration]
Boy Scouts in the White Mountains
_THE STORY OF A LONG HIKE_
By WALTER PRICHARD EATON
_ILLUSTRATED BY_
FRANK T. MERRILL
[Illustration: Docendo discimus]
W. A. WILDE COMPANY
BOSTON CHICAGO
_Copyrighted, 1914_
By W. A. Wilde Company
_All rights reserved_
BOY SCOUTS IN THE WHITE MOUNTAINS
NOTE
The author and publishers desire to express their appreciation of the
courtesy extended by Small Maynard & Co. for the use of the black and
white plates used in this volume, which are taken from their “White
Mountain Trails” and also to “The Northward-Ho” for the use of the
reproduction of the Presidential Range used on the cover.
_To
Sydney Bruce Snow_
_In memory of a cheerful fire
and a doleful
broken egg
beside the
Lakes of the Clouds_
Contents
I. PEANUT CALLS TO ARMS 13
II. GETTING READY FOR THE HIKE 23
III. FOURTH OF JULY ON KINSMAN 34
IV. MOOSILAUKE 60
V. LOST RIVER AND THE LADIES 82
VI. A STRANGE ADVENTURE IN THE NIGHT 105
VII. OVER THE LAFAYETTE RIDGE, WITH A DINNER PARTY AT THE END 123
VIII. ON THE FOREHEAD OF THE OLD MAN OF THE MOUNTAIN 154
IX. THE CRAWFORD NOTCH 163
X. A FIGHT WITH THE STORM ON THE CRAWFORD BRIDLE PATH 177
XI. TO THE SUMMIT, SAFE AT LAST 194
XII. DOWN TUCKERMAN’S RAVINE 223
XIII. UP THE HUNTINGTON HEAD WALL 243
XIV. THE GIANT’S BEDCLOTHES 257
XV. WITH ROB, ART AND PEANUT INTO THE GREAT GULF 266
XVI. FIRST AID IN THE CLOUDS! 272
XVII. PEANUT LEARNS WHERE THE SIX HUSBANDS’ TRAIL GOT ITS NAME 282
XVIII. THROUGH KING’S RAVINE AND HOME AGAIN 290
Boy Scouts in the White Mountains
CHAPTER I
PEANUT CALLS TO ARMS
Nobody who had seen Art Bruce in a scout suit would ever have
recognized him in his present costume. He had on black silk
knee-breeches. On his low shoes were sewed two enormous buckles, cut
out of pasteboard, with tinfoil from a paper of sweet chocolate pasted
over them to make them look like silver. Instead of a shirt, he wore
a woman’s white waist, with a lot of lace in front, which stood out,
stiff with starch. His jacket was of black velvet. Instead of a collar,
he wore a black handkerchief wrapped around like an old-fashioned
neck-cloth, the kind you see in pictures of George Washington’s time.
On his head was a wig, powered white, with a queue hanging down behind.
As he came out of the boys’ dressing room into the school auditorium
Peanut Morrison emitted a wild whoop.
“Gee, look at Art!” he cried. “He thinks he’s George Washington going
to deliver his last message to Congress!”
Everybody looked at Art, and Art turned red. “Shut up,” he said. “You
wait till _you’re_ all dolled up, and see what _you_ look like!”
“Yes, and you’d better be getting dressed right away,” said one of the
teachers to Peanut, who scampered off laughing.
Art stood about, very uncomfortable, watching the other boys and girls
come from the dressing rooms, in their costumes. It was the dress
rehearsal for a Colonial pageant the Southmead High School was going
to present. They were going to sing a lot of old-time songs, and dance
old-time dances (the girls doing most of the dancing). The stage was
supposed to represent a Colonial parlor. Several people had loaned
the school old mahogany furniture, the light was to come largely from
candles, and finally, while the party was supposed to be in full blast,
a messenger was going to dash in, breathless, announce the Battle of
Lexington, and call the men-folks of Southmead to arms. Then the men
would run for their guns, say good-bye to the women, and march off. Art
couldn’t see why they should march off in all their best clothes, and
had said so to the teacher who got up the play, but she had pointed out
that they couldn’t afford to hire two costumes for all the boys, so
they’d just have to pretend they went home for their other clothes.
Art was not yet satisfied, however.
The girls were in funny old costumes with wide skirts and powdered
hair. They were all having a much better time than Art was.
“Gee, they _like_ to dress up,” thought Art, as he watched Lucy Parker
practicing a courtesy before her own reflection in a glass door, and
patting her hair.
Peanut didn’t have to dress up in these elaborate clothes. He was the
messenger who rushed in to announce the call to arms. He was also his
own horse. Putting a board across two chairs just behind the door
leading to the stage, he took a couple of drumsticks and imitated a
galloping horse, beginning softly, as if the horse was far away, and
drumming louder and louder till the horse was supposed to reach the
door. Then he cried “Whoa!”, dropped the drumsticks, and dashed out
upon the stage. Peanut had been rehearsing his part at home, and the
imitation of the galloping horse was really very good.
As soon as everybody was dressed, the rehearsal began, with the music
teacher at the piano, and the other teachers running about getting the
actors into place. Lucy Parker was supposed to be giving the party
in her house, and the other characters came on one by one, or in
couples, while Lucy courtesied to each of them. The girls courtesied
back, while the men were supposed to make low bows. There weren’t
many lines to speak, but Dennie O’Brien was supposed to be a visiting
French count, with very gallant manners, and he had to say “Bon soir,
Mademoiselle Parker” (Lucy’s ancestors had lived in Southmead during
the Revolution, so she kept her own name in the play), and then he had
to lift her hand and kiss it. Dennie had never been able to do this at
any of the rehearsals yet without giggling, and setting everybody else
to giggling. But this time the teacher in charge spoke severely.
“Now, Dennis,” she said, “this is a dress rehearsal. You go through
your part right!”
“Yes’m,” Dennie answered, feeling of the little black goatee stuck on
his chin to see if it was on firm, and trying to keep his face straight.
When his turn came to enter, he got off his “Bon soir, Mademoiselle
Parker” all right, and bowed over her hand without a snicker. But, just
as he kissed her fingers, his goatee came off and fell to the floor.
Everybody laughed, except Lucy. She was mad at him, because she wanted
the play to be a great success, and before he could lift his face, she
brought her hand up quickly and slapped his cheek a good, sounding
whack.
Dennie jumped back, surprised. Then he picked up his goatee, while Lucy
stamped her foot. “You great clumsy--_boy_!” she exclaimed.
“Serves you right, Dennis,” said the teacher.
“Well, I can’t help it if it won’t stick,” Dennie answered. “Gee, I’ll
_bite_ your old hand next time!” he muttered to Lucy.
She ignored him, and the rehearsal proceeded. Art entered next, with
Mary Pearson on his arm. Mary dropped a courtesy, and Art bowed.
The teacher clapped her hands for the rehearsal to stop. “Oh, Arthur,”
she said, “don’t bow as if you had a ramrod down your back!”
“Well, I feel’s if I had,” said Art.
“But don’t act so!” the teacher laughed. “Now, try it again.”
Art tried once more to put his hand on his breast, and bow gracefully,
but he certainly felt like a fool in these clothes, and made a poor
success of it.
“Boys are _all_ clumsy,” he heard Lucy whisper to one of the other
girls.
After the guests had all arrived, they sang several old-time songs, and
then four boys and four girls danced the minuet. Art didn’t have to
take part in this. He was supposed to sit and chat in the background,
which was easy. After the minuet, however, everybody had to get up and
dance a Virginia Reel. While they were in the middle of the dance,
Peanut’s galloping horse was heard; the dance stopped, the cry of
“Whoa!” was shouted at the door, and Peanut, in clothes made dusty
by sprinkling flour on them, dashed into the room, breathless, and
panted, “War has begun! We have fought the British at Lexington and
Concord! Every man to arms! The enemy must be driven out of Boston!”
There was nothing stiff about Peanut, and nobody laughed when he came
on covered with flour. He was really panting. He gasped out his first
sentence, and ended with a thrilling shout. Then he dashed forth again,
and his horse was heard galloping rapidly away.
“Peanut has the artistic temperament,” one of the teachers whispered to
another, who nodded.
No sooner had Peanut gone than the men on the stage piled after
him, and while the women huddled whispering in excited groups, they
grabbed guns and came back on the stage, when there were good-byes
and pretended tears, and Lou Merritt, dressed up like a Revolutionary
minister, gave the departing soldiers his blessing.
“Just the same, it’s silly,” Art cried, as the rehearsal was over.
“Nobody ever marched off to war in silk pants and pumps. Why can’t we
put on our own old clothes, with high boots, when we go for the guns?
Even if we don’t have Continental uniforms, the old clothes will look
more sensible than these things.”
“Sure!” cried Peanut, to the teacher. “Look here, Miss Eldridge,
here’s a picture of the Concord statue of the Minute Man. Just long
pants stuck into his boots. Let ’em just do that, and sling blanket
rolls over their shoulders, like Scouts. Then they’ll look like
business.”
“I guess you are right, boys,” she said. “Well, try it again. Who lives
nearest? You, Joe, and you, Bert. Run and borrow a few old blankets
from your mothers.”
Ten minutes later Peanut once more galloped up to interrupt the
Virginia Reel, the men rushed out for their guns, and pulled on their
own trousers, slung blanket rolls over their shoulders, discarded
their powdered wigs, and came back looking much more like minute men
going to war. They formed a strong contrast now to the girls, in their
fine clothes. Art felt easy at last, with a blanket roll covering his
frilled shirt and a gun in his hand. He gave commands to his company
in a firm voice, no longer halting and awkward. He even had a sudden
inspiration, which undoubtedly improved the play, though that wasn’t
why he carried it out.
Lucy Parker, she who had been so contemptuous of boys, was acting for
all she was worth in this scene. Prattie was supposed to be her lover,
and she was clinging to him with one hand while bidding him good-bye,
and mopping her eyes with the other. Art, as captain of the minute
men, suddenly strode over to her, grabbed Prattie, dragged him away,
and put him into line with the other soldiers. Lucy looked indignant,
and forgot to wipe her eyes. Art glanced at her triumphantly, and Miss
Eldridge cried, “Do that on the night of the play, Arthur! That’s
fine--only don’t glare at Lucy.”
This inspiration rather restored Art’s spirits. He had got square with
Lucy Parker, anyhow! He and Peanut dressed as quickly as they could,
and left the school building, walking home up the village street, where
sleigh-bells were jingling. Art grew glum again.
“Hang the old rehearsals!” said he. “It’s too late to go skating.”
“I like ’em,” Peanut replied. “It’s lots o’ fun.”
“You’re an actor, I guess,” said Art. “Gee, you come puffing in just as
if you were really out of breath!”
“I _am_,” said Peanut. “I get to thinking about galloping up on the
horse so hard while I’m drumming that I really get excited. Why, how
can you help it?”
“Guess _you_ can’t,” Art answered. “But I can. I’m not built that way.
Play acting doesn’t seem real to me, it seems sort of--sort of girls’
stuff.”
“Thank you,” said Peanut.
“Oh, I don’t mean you, of course,” Art laughed. “But dancing, and all
that--golly, I feel as if I was wasting time. Wish vacation was here,
so we could get away somewhere into the wilds again.”
“Sure, so do I,” answered Peanut, “but me for having all the fun I can
while I’m in civilization. Where are we going to hike this summer, by
the way?”
“I’ve been thinking about that,” said Art. “I was thinking about it in
study period--that’s why I flunked my history recitation. Got a good
idea, too.”
“Out with it,” said Peanut.
“The White Mountains,” said Art. “It came to me while I was looking at
that picture of the Alps which hangs on the side wall. These mountains
about Southmead, they’re not really mountains--only hills. But we’ve
had a lot of fun climbing ’em. Think what fun it would be to climb
_real_ mountains. We can’t get to the Alps or the Rockies, but Mr.
Rogers told me once it wouldn’t cost any more to hike over the White
Mountains than it cost us to go to the Dismal Swamp.”
“Me for them,” cried Peanut. “That means saving twenty-five dollars
between now and July. Wow! I’ll have to do some hustling!”
“You’ll have to cut out some candy,” laughed Art.
“I’ve not bought any candy since--since yesterday,” the other replied.
“Whom’ll we take with us on this hike?”
“Anybody that will go,” said Art. “Guess I’d better call a scout
meeting right away, and put it up to the fellers.”
“Sure, to-night,” cried Peanut. “I’m going home now to see if the old
hen’s laid an egg to sell!”
“You’ll need a lot of eggs to save twenty-five dollars,” said Art.
“Not so many, with eggs at fifty-five cents a dozen,” Peanut replied.
Then he turned in at his gate, and began to skip sideways up the path,
hitting the soles of his shoes together in such a way that he exactly
imitated the galloping of a horse. “Whoa!” he cried at the door, and as
he entered the house, Art could hear him shouting at his mother, “To
arms! The war has begun. We have fought the British at Lexington and
Concord!”
Then Art grinned as he heard Mrs. Morrison reply, “Have you? Well, now
you split some kindlings.”