TRACKS, TRAILING AND SIGNALING
_By Ernest Thompson Seton, Chief Scout_
"I wish I could go West and join the Indians so that I should have no
lessons to learn," said an unhappy small boy who could discover no
atom of sense or purpose in any one of the three R's.
"You never made a greater mistake," said the scribe. "For the young
Indians have many hard lessons from their earliest day--hard lessons
and hard punishments. With them the dread penalty of failure is 'go
hungry till you win,' and no harder task have they than their reading
lesson. Not twenty-six characters are to be learned in this exercise,
but one thousand; not clear straight print are they, but dim,
washed-out, crooked traces; not in-doors on comfortable chairs, with a
patient teacher always near, but out in the forest, often alone and in
every kind of weather, they slowly decipher their letters and read
sentences of the oldest writing on earth--a style so old that the
hieroglyphs of Egypt, the cylinders of Nippur, and the drawings of the
cave men are as things of to-day in comparison--the one universal
script--the tracks in the dust, mud, or snow.
"These are the inscriptions that every hunter must learn to read
infallibly, and be they strong or faint, straight or crooked, simple
or overwritten with many a puzzling, diverse phrase, he must decipher
and follow them swiftly, unerringly if there is to be a successful
ending to the hunt which provides his daily food.
"This is the reading lesson of the young Indians, and it is a style
that will never become out of date. The naturalist also must acquire
some measure of proficiency in the ancient art. Its usefulness is
unending to the student of wild life; without it he would know little
of the people of the wood."
There Are Still Many Wild Animals
It is a remarkable fact that there are always more wild animals about
than any but the expert has an idea of. For {188} example, there are,
within twenty miles of New York City, fully fifty different kinds--not
counting birds, reptiles, or fishes--one quarter of which at least are
abundant. Or more particularly within the limits of Greater New York
there are at least a dozen species of wild beasts, half of which are
quite common.
"Then how is it that we never see any?" is the first question of the
incredulous. The answer is: Long ago the beasts learned the dire
lesson--man is our worst enemy; shun him at any price. And the
simplest way to do this is to come out only at night. Man is a daytime
creature; he is blind in the soft half-light that most beasts prefer.
While many animals have always limited their activity to the hours of
twilight and gloom, there are not a few that moved about in daytime,
but have given up that portion of their working day in order to avoid
the arch enemy.
Thus they can flourish under our noses and eat at our tables, without
our knowledge or consent. They come and go at will, and the world
knows nothing of them; their presence might long go unsuspected but
for one thing, well known to the hunter, the trapper, and the
naturalist: wherever the wild four-foot goes, it leaves behind a
record of its visit, its name, the direction whence it came, the time,
the thing it did or tried to do, with the time and direction of
departure. These it puts down in the ancient script. Each of these
dotted lines, called the trail, is a wonderful, unfinished record of
the creature's life during the time it made the same, and it needs
only the patient work of the naturalist to decipher that record and
from it learn much about the animal that made it, without that animal
ever having been seen.
Savages are more skilful at it than civilized folk, because tracking
is their serious life-long pursuit and they do not injure their eyes
with books. Intelligence is important here as elsewhere, yet it is a
remarkable fact that the lowest race of mankind, the Australian
blacks, are reputed to be by far the best trackers; not only are their
eyes and attention developed and disciplined, but they have retained
much of the scent power that civilized man has lost, and can follow a
fresh track, partly at least by smell.
It is hard to over-value the powers of the clever tracker. To him the
trail of each animal is not a mere series of similar footprints; it is
an accurate account of the creature's life, habit, changing whims, and
emotions during the portion of life whose record is in view. These are
indeed autobiographical chapters, {190} and differ from other
autobiographies in this--they cannot tell a lie. We may get wrong
information from them, but it is our fault if we do; we misread the
document that cannot falsify.
{189}
[Illustration: Animal tracks; Deer, Sheep, Mink, Cottontail, Hawk,
Owl, Meadow Mouse.]
{190 continued}
When to Learn Tracking
The ideal time for tracking, and almost the only time for most folk,
is when the ground is white. After the first snow the student walks
forth and begins at once to realize the wonders of the trail. A score
of creatures of whose existence, maybe, he did not know, are now
revealed about him, and the reading of their autographs becomes easy.
It is when the snow is on the ground, indeed, that we take our
four-foot census of the woods. How often we learn with surprise from
the telltale white that a fox was around our hen house last night, a
mink is living even now under the wood pile, and a deer--yes! there is
no mistaking its sharp-pointed un-sheep-like footprint--has wandered
into our woods from the farther wilds.
Never lose the chance of the first snow if you wish to become a
trailer. Nevertheless, remember that the first morning after a night's
snow fall is not so good as the second. Most creatures "lie up" during
the storm; the snow hides the tracks of those that do go forth; and
some actually go into a "cold sleep" for a day or two after a heavy
downfall. But a calm, mild night following a storm is sure to offer
abundant and ideal opportunity for beginning the study of the trail.
How to Learn
Here are some of the important facts to keep in view, when you set
forth to master the rudiments:
_First_.--No two animals leave the same trail; not only each kind but
each individual, and each individual at each stage of its life, leaves
a trail as distinctive as the creature's appearance, and it is obvious
that in that they differ among themselves just as we do, because the
young know their mothers, the mothers know their young, and the old
ones know their mates, when scent is clearly out of the question.
Another simple evidence of this is the well known fact that no two
human beings have the same thumb mark; all living creatures have
corresponding peculiarities, and all use these parts in making the
trail.
_Second_.--The trail was begun at the birthplace of that creature and
ends only at its death place; it may be recorded in visible track or
perceptible odor. It may last but a few {191} hours, and may be too
faint even for an expert with present equipment to follow, but
evidently the trail is made, wherever the creature journeys afoot.
_Third_.--It varies with every important change of impulse, action, or
emotion.
_Fourth_--When we find a trail we may rest assured that, if living, the
creature that made it is at the other end. And if one can follow, it
is only a question of time before coming up with that animal. And be
sure of its direction before setting out; many a novice has lost much
time by going backward on the trail.
_Fifth_.--In studying trails one must always keep probabilities in mind.
Sometimes one kind of track looks much like another; then the question
is, "Which is the likeliest in this place."
If I saw a jaguar track in India, I should know it was made by a
leopard. If I found a leopard in Colorado, I should be sure I had
found the mark of a cougar or mountain lion. A wolf track on Broadway
would doubtless be the doing of a very large dog, and a St. Bernard's
footmark in the Rockies, twenty miles from anywhere, would most likely
turn out to be the happen-so imprint of a gray wolf's foot. To be sure
of the marks, then, one should know all the animals that belong to the
neighborhood.
These facts are well known to every hunter. Most savages are hunters,
and one of the early lessons of the Indian boy is to know the tracks
of the different beasts about him. These are the letters of the old,
old writing.
A First Try
Let us go forth into the woods in one of the North-eastern states when
there is a good tracking snow, and learn a few of these letters of the
wood alphabet.
Two at least are sure to be seen--the track of the blarina and of the
deer mouse. They are shown on the same scale in Figs. 1 and 2, page
198.
In Fig. 3 is the track of the meadow mouse. This is not unlike that of
the blarina, because it walks, being a ground animal, while the deer
mouse more often bounds. The delicate lace traceries of the masked
shrew, shown in Fig. 4, are almost invisible unless the sun be low;
they are difficult to draw, and impossible to photograph or cast
satisfactorily but the sketch gives enough to recognize them by.
The meadow mouse belongs to the rank grass in the lowland {192} near
the brook, and passing it toward the open, running, water we may see
the curious track of the muskrat; its five-toed hind foot, its
four-toed front foot, and its long keeled tail, are plainly on record.
When he goes slowly the tail mark is nearly straight; when he goes
fast it is wavy in proportion to his pace. Page 193.
The muskrat is a valiant beast; he never dies without fighting to the
last, but he is in dread of another brookland creature whose trail is
here--the mink. Individual tracks of this animal are shown in No. 1,
page 161. Here he was bounding; the forefeet are together, the
hindfeet track ahead, and tail mark shows, and but four toes in each
track, though the creature has five on each foot. He is a dreaded
enemy of poor Molly Cottontail, and more than once I have seen the
records of his relentless pursuit. One of these fits in admirably as
an illustration of our present study.
A Story of the Trail
It was in the winter of 1900, I was standing with my brother, a
business man, on Goat Island, Niagara, when he remarked, "How is it?
You and I have been in the same parts of America for twenty years, yet
I never see any of the curious sides of animal life that you are
continually coming across."
"Largely because you do not study tracks," was the reply. "Look at
your feet now. There is a whole history to be read."
"I see some marks," he replied, "that might have been made by some
animal." "That is the track of a cottontail," was the answer. "Now,
let us read the chapter of his life. See, he went in a general
straight course as though making some well-known haunt, his easy pace,
with eight or ten inches between each set of tracks, shows unalarm.
But see here, joining on, is something else."
"So there is. Another cottontail."
"Not at all, this new track is smaller, the forefeet are more or less
paired, showing that the creature can climb a tree; there is a
suggestion of toe pads and there is a mark telling evidently of a long
tail; these things combined with the size and the place identify it
clearly. This is the trail of a mink. See! he has also found the
rabbit track, and finding it fresh, he followed it. His bounds are
lengthened now, but the rabbit's are not, showing that the latter was
unconscious of the pursuit."
After one hundred yards the double trail led us to a great pile of
wood, and into this both went. Having followed his {193} game into
dense cover, the trailer's first business was to make sure that it did
not go out the other side. We went carefully around the pile; there
were no tracks leading out.
"Now," I said, "if you will take the trouble to move that wood pile
you will find in it the remains of the rabbit half devoured and the
mink himself. At this moment he is no doubt curled up asleep."
As the pile was large and the conclusion more or less self-evident, my
brother was content to accept my reading of the episode.
[Illustration: Tracks.]
Dog tracks, front and back (1/2 life-size)
Cat tracks, front and bad (1/2 life-size)
Uppermost, well-developed human foot
Middle, a foot always cramped by boots
Bottom, a bare foot, never in boots
Muskrat tracks, (1/3 life-size)
What About Winter Sleepers
Although so much is to be read in the wintry white, we cannot now make
a full account of all the woodland four-foots, for there are some
kinds that do not come out on the snow; they sleep more or less all
winter.
{194}
Thus, one rarely sees the track of a chipmunk or woodchuck in truly
wintry weather; and never, so far as I know, have the trails of
jumping mouse or mud turtle been seen in the snow. These we can track
only in the mud or dust. Such trails cannot be followed as far as
those in the snow, simply because the mud and dust do not cover the
whole country, but they are usually as clear and in some respects more
easy of record.
How to Make Pictures of Tracks
It is a most fascinating amusement to learn some creature's way of
life by following its fresh track for hours in good snow. I never miss
such a chance. If I cannot find a fresh track, I take a stale one,
knowing that, theoretically, it is fresher at every step, and from
practical experience that it always brings one to some track that is
fresh.
How often I have wished for a perfect means of transferring these wild
life tales to paper or otherwise making a permanent collection. My
earliest attempts were in free-hand drawing, which answers, but has
this great disadvantage--it is a translation, a record discolored by
an intervening personality, and the value of the result is likely to
be limited by one's own knowledge at the time.
Casting in plaster was another means attempted; but not one track in
ten thousand is fit to cast. Nearly all are blemished and imperfect in
some way, and the most abundant--those in snow--cannot be cast at
all.
Then I tried spreading plastic wax where the beasts would walk on it,
in pathways or before dens. How they did scoff! The simplest ground
squirrel knew too much to venture on my waxen snare; around 'it, or if
hemmed in, over it, with a mighty bound they went; but never a track
did I so secure.
Photography naturally suggested itself, but the difficulties proved as
great as unexpected, almost as great as in casting. Not one track in
one thousand is fit to photograph; the essential details are almost
always left out. You must have open sunlight, and even when the
weather is perfect there are practically but two times each day when
it is possible--in mid-morning and mid-afternoon, when the sun is high
enough for clear photographs and low enough to cast a shadow in the
faint track.
The Coon that Showed Me How
Then a new method was suggested in an unexpected way. A friend of mine
had a pet coon which he kept in a cage in his bachelor quarters up
town. One day, during my friend's {195} absence the coon got loose and
set about a series of long-deferred exploring expeditions, beginning
with the bachelor's bedroom. The first promising object was a writing
desk. Mounting by a chair the coon examined several uninteresting
books and papers, and then noticed higher up a large stone bottle. He
had several times found pleasurable stuff in bottles, so he went for
it. The cork was lightly in and easily disposed of, but the smell was
far from inviting, for it was merely a quart of ink. Determined to
leave no stone unturned, however, the coon upset the ink to taste and
try. Alas! it tasted even worse than it smelt; it was an utter failure
as a beverage.
And the coon, pushing it contemptuously away, turned to a pile of fine
hand-made, deckle-edge, heraldry note-paper--the pride of my friend's
heart--and when he raised his inky little paws there were left on the
paper some beautiful black prints. This was a new idea: the coon tried
it again and again. But the ink held out longer than the paper, so
that the fur-clad painter worked over sundry books, and the adjoining
walls, while the ink, dribbling over everything, formed a great pool
below the desk. Something attracted the artist's attention, causing
him to jump down. He landed in the pool of ink, making it splash in
all directions; some of the black splotches reached the white
counterpane of the bachelor's bed. Another happy idea: the coon now
leaped on the bed, racing around as long as the ink on his feet gave
results. As he paused to rest, or perhaps to see if any places had
been neglected, the door opened, and in came the landlady. The scene
which followed was too painful for description; no one present enjoyed
it. My friend was sent for to come and take his coon out of there
forever. He came and took him away, I suppose "forever." He had only
one other place for him--his office and there it was I made the
animal's acquaintance and heard of his exploit--an ink and paper, if
not a literary affair.
This gave me the hint at the Zoo I needed, a plan to make an authentic
record of animal tracks. Armed with printer's ink and paper rolls I
set about gathering a dictionary collection of imprints.
After many failures and much experiment, better methods were devised.
A number of improvements were made by my wife; one was the
substitution of black paint for printer's ink, as the latter dries too
quickly; another was the padding of the paper, which should be light
and soft for very light animals, and stronger and harder for the
heavy. Printing from a mouse, for example, is much like printing a
delicate {196} etching; ink, paper, dampness, etc., must be exactly
right, and furthermore, you have this handicap--you cannot regulate
the pressure. This is, of course, strictly a Zoo method. All attempts
to secure black prints from wild animals have been total failures. The
paper, the smell of paint, etc., are enough to keep the wild things
away.
In the Zoo we spread the black pad and the white paper in a narrow,
temporary lane, and one by one drove, or tried to drive, the captives
over them, securing a series of tracks that are life-size, properly
spaced, absolutely authentic, and capable of yielding more facts as
the observer learns more about the subject.
As related here, all this sounds quite easy. But no one has any idea
how cross, crooked, and contrary a creature can be, until he wishes it
to repeat for him some ordinary things that it has hitherto done
hourly. Some of them balked at the paint, some at the paper, some made
a leap to clear all, and thereby wrecked the entire apparatus. Some
would begin very well, but rush back when half-way over, so as to
destroy the print already made, and in most cases the calmest,
steadiest, tamest of beasts became utterly wild, erratic, and
unmanageable when approached with tracklogical intent.
Trying It on the Cat
Even domestic animals are difficult. A tame cat that was highly
trained to do anything a cat could do, was selected as promising for a
black track study, and her owner's two boys volunteered to get all the
cat tracks I needed. They put down a long roll of paper in a hall,
painted pussy's feet black, and proceeded to chase her up and down.
Her docility banished under the strain. She raced madly about, leaving
long, useless splashes of black; then, leaping to a fanlight, she
escaped up stairs to take refuge among the snowy draperies. After
which the boys' troubles began.
Drawing is Mostly Used
These, however, are mere by-accidents and illustrate the many
practical difficulties. After these had been conquered with patience
and ingenuity, there could be no doubt of the value of the prints.
They are the best of records for size, spacing, and detail, but fail
in giving incidents of wild life, or the landscape surroundings. The
drawings, as already seen, are best for a long series and for faint
features; in fact, the {197} drawings alone can give everything you
can perceive; but they fail in authentic size and detail.
Photography has this great advantage--it gives the surroundings, the
essential landscape and setting, and, therefore, the local reason for
any changes of action on the part of the animal; also the aesthetic
beauties of its records are unique, and will help to keep the method
in a high place.
Thus each of the three means may be successful in a different way, and
the best, most nearly perfect alphabet of the woods, would include all
three, and consist of a drawing, a pedoscript and a photograph of each
track, and a trail; i.e., a single footprint, and the long series of
each animal.
My practice has been to use all whenever I could, but still I find
free-hand drawing is the one of the most practical application. When I
get a photograph I treasure it as an adjunct to the sketch.
A Story of the Trail
To illustrate the relative value as records, of sketch and photograph,
I give a track that I drew from nature, but which could not at any
place have been photographed. This was made in February 15, 1885, near
Toronto. It is really a condensation of the facts, as the trail is
shortened where uninteresting. Page 189, No. 2.
At A, I found a round place about 5 x 8 inches, where a cottontail had
crouched during the light snowfall. At B he had leaped out and sat
looking around; the small prints in front were made by his forefeet,
the two long ones by his hind feet, and farther back is a little
dimple made by the tail, showing that he was sitting on it. Something
alarmed him, causing him to dart out at full speed toward C and D, and
now a remarkable change is to be seen: the marks made by the front
feet are behind the large marks made by the hind feet, because the
rabbit overreaches each time; the hind feet track ahead of the front
feet; the faster he goes, the farther ahead those hind feet get; and
what would happen if he multiplied his speed by ten I really cannot
imagine. This overreach of the hind feet takes place in most bounding
animals.
Now the cottontail began a series of the most extraordinary leaps and
dodgings (D,E,F.) as though trying to escape from some enemy. But what
enemy? There were no other tracks. I began to think the rabbit was
crazy--was flying from an imaginary foe--that possibly I was on the
trail of a March hare. But at G I found for the first time some spots
of blood. {198} This told me that the rabbit was in real danger but
gave no due to its source. I wondered if a weasel were clinging to its
neck. A few yards farther, at H, I found more blood. Twenty yards
more, at I, for the first time on each side of the rabbit trail, were
the obvious marks of a pair of broad, strong wings. Oho! now I knew
the mystery of the cottontail running from a foe that left no track.
He was pursued by an eagle, a hawk, or an owl. A few yards farther and
I found the remains (J) of the cottontail partly devoured. This put
the eagle out of the question; an eagle would have carried the rabbit
off boldly. A hawk or an owl then was the assassin. I looked for
something to decide which, and close by the remains found the peculiar
two-paired track of an owl. A hawk's track would have been as K, while
the owl nearly always sets its feet in the ground {199} with two toes
forward and two toes back. But which owl? There were at least three in
the valley that might be blamed. I looked for more proof and got it on
the near-by sapling--one small feather, downy, as are all owl
feathers, and bearing three broad bars, telling me plainly that a
barred owl had been there lately, and that, therefore, he was almost
certainly the slayer of the cottontail. As I busied myself making
notes, what should come flying up the valley but the owl himself--back
to the very place of the crime, intent on completing his meal no
doubt. He alighted on a branch ten feet above my head and just over
the rabbit remains, and sat there muttering in his throat.
The proof in this case was purely circumstantial, but I think that we
can come to only one conclusion; that the evidence of the track in the
snow was complete and convincing.
{198}
[Illustration: TRACKS; 1. Blarina in snow; 2. Deermouse; 3. Meadow
mouse; 4. Masked shrew.]
{199 continued}
Meadow Mouse
The meadow mouse autograph (page 189) illustrates the black-track
method. At first these dots look inconsequent and fortuitous, but a
careful examination shows that the creature had four toes with claws
on the forefeet, and five on the hind, which is evidence, though not
conclusive, that it was a rodent; the absence of tail marks shows that
the tail was short or wanting; the tubercules on each palm show to
what group of mice the creature belongs. The alternation of the track
shows that it was a ground-animal, not a tree-climber; the spacing
shows the shortness of the legs; their size determines the size of the
creature. Thus we come near to reconstructing the animal from its
tracks, and see how by the help of these studies, we can get much
light on the by-gone animals whose only monuments are tracks in the
sedimentary rocks about us--rocks that, when they received these
imprints, were the muddy margin of these long-gone creatures' haunts.
What the Trail Gives--The Secrets of the Woods
There is yet another feature of trail study that gives it exceptional
value--it is an account of the creature pursuing its ordinary life. If
you succeeded in getting a glimpse of a fox or a hare in the woods,
the chances are a hundred to one that it was aware of your presence
first. They are much cleverer than we are at this sort of thing, and
if they do not actually sight or sense you, they observe, and are
warned by the action of some other creature that did sense us, and so
cease their occupations to steal away or hide. But the snow story will
{201} tell of the life that the animal ordinarily leads--its method of
searching for food, its kind of food, the help it gets from its
friends, or sometimes from its rivals--and thus offers an insight into
its home ways that is scarcely to be attained in any other way.
The trailer has the key to a new storehouse of Nature's secrets,
another of the Sybilline books is opened to his view; his fairy
godmother has, indeed, conferred on him a wonderful {202} gift in opening
his eyes to the foot-writing of the trail. It is like giving sight to
the blind man, like the rolling away of fogs from a mountain view, and
the trailer comes closer than others to the heart of the woods.
Dowered with a precious power is he,
He drinks where others sipped,
And wild things write their lives for him
In endless manuscript.
{200}
[Illustration: Tracks: Wild Turkey, Toad, Crow,
1. Jackrabbit
2. Cottontail
3. Gray squirrel
4. Coon
5. Ground bird, such as quail
6. Tree-bird
7. A bird living partly in tree, partly on ground]
{201}
Horses' Track
_N.B.--The large tracks represent the hind feet_.
[Illustration: Tracks; Walking, Trotting, Canter, Galloping, Lame
Horse Walking: Which leg is the lame in?]
These are the tracks of two birds on the ground. One lives generally
on the ground, the other in bushes and trees. Which track belongs to
which bird?
(_From Sir Robert Baden Powell's book_)
{202 continued}
The American Morse Telegraph Alphabet
[Illustration: Morse codes. (tr)]
Signals
4. Start me.
5. Have you anything for me?
9. Train order (or important military message)--give away.
13. Do you understand? {203}
25. Busy.
30. Circuit closed (or closed station).
73. Accept compliments.
92. Deliver (ed).
Abbreviations
Ahr--Another.
Ans--Answer.
Ck--Check.
Col--Collect.
D H--Dead head.
G A--Go ahead.
G E--Good evening.
G M--Good morning.
G N--Good night.
G R--Government rate.
N M--No more.
Min--Wait a moment
O B--Official business.
O K--All right
Opr--Operator.
Pd--Paid.
Qk--Quick.
Sig--Signature.
Rememberable Morse or Re-Morse Alphabet
[Illustration: Rememberable Morse or Re-Morse Alphabet.]
By this method it is possible to learn the Morse alphabet in less than
an hour.
{204}
[Illustration: Scouts using signal flags. (tr)]
From A to B in both figures, illustrates method of making a dot.
A complete swing from A to C in both figures indicates method of
making a dash.
Wig-Wag or Myer Code
_Instructions for Using the System_
The whole number opposite each letter or numeral stands for that
letter or numeral.
A 22
B 2112
C 121
D 222
E 12
F 2221
G 2211
H 122
I 1
J 1122
K 2121
L 221
M 1221
N 11
O 21
P 1212
Q 1211
R 211
S 212
T 2
U 112
V 1222
W 1121
X 2122
Y 111
Z 2222
tion 1112
Numerals
1 1111
2 2222
3 1112
4 2221
5 1122
6 2211
7 1222
8 2111
9 1221
0 2112
Conventional Signals
End of word 3
Wait a moment 1111 3
End of sentence 33
Repeat after (word) 121 121 3 22 3 (word)
End of message 333
x x 3 numerals follow (or) numerals end.
Repeat last word 121 121 33
Repeat last message 121 121 121 333
sig 3 signature follows.
Error 12 12 3
Move a little to right 211 211 3
Acknowledgment,
or "I understand" 22 22 3
Move a little to left 221 221 3
Cease signaling 22 22 22 333
Signal faster 2212 3
{205}
Abbreviations
a after
b before
c can
h have
n not
r are
t the
u you
ur your
w word
wi with
y yes
Rememberable Myer Code
The elements--a thick and a thin, i. e. 2 and 1
[Illustration: Rememberable Myer Code.]
To Signal with Flag or Torch Wig-Wag
There is but one position and three motions.
The first position is with the flag or other appliance held
vertically, the signalman facing squarely toward the station with
which it is desired to communicate.
{206}
The first motion ("one" or "1") is to the right of the sender and will
embrace an arc of 90 degrees, starting with the vertical and returning
to it, and will be made in a plane at right angle to the line
connecting the two stations.
The second motion ("two" or "2") is a similar motion to the left of
the sender.
The third motion ("front," "three" or "3") is downward, directly in
front of the sender, and instantly returned upward to the first
position.
Numbers which occur in the body of a message must be spelled out in
full. Numerals may be used in signaling between stations having naval
books, using the code calls. To break or stop the signals from the
sending station, make with the flag or other signal 12 12 12
continuously.
To Send a Message
To call a station signal its letter until acknowledged; if the call
letter be not known, signal "E" until acknowledged. To acknowledge a
call, signal "1 understand," followed by the call letter of the
acknowledging station.
Make a slight pause after each letter and also after "front." If the
sender discovers that he has made an error he should make 3 followed
by 12 123, after which he begins the word in which the error occurred.
The Semaphore Signal Code
The scout may learn the correct angles at which to hold the flags from
the diagram. The easiest method of learning the alphabet is by
grouping the various letters together as follows:
For all letters from A to G, one arm only is used, making a quarter of
a circle for each letter in succession.
The letters from H to N (except J)--the right arm stands at A while
the left moves round the circle for the other letters.
For O to S, the right arm stands at B--the left arm moves round as
before.
For T, U, Y and the "annul," the right arm stands at C, the left
moving to the next point of the circle successively.
The numerical sign J (or alphabetical sign) and V--the right arm
stands at position for letter D the left arm only being moved.
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W and X--the left arm stands at position for letter E, the right in
this case moving down 45 degrees to show letter X.
For the letter Z, the left arm stands at the position G--the right arm
crosses the breast taking the position F.
[Illustration: Semaphore code. (tr)]
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The letters A to I also stand for the figures 1 to 9 (K standing for
0), if you make the numerical sign to show that you are going to send
numbers followed by the alphabetical sign (J) when the figures are
finished. They will be checked by being repeated back by the receiving
station. Should figures be wrongly repeated by the receiving station
the sending station will send the "annul" sign (which is answered by
the same sign) and then send the group of figures again.
The sender must always face the station to which he is sending. On a
word failing to make sense, the writer down will say, "no," when the
reader will at once stop the sending station by raising both arms
horizontally to their full extent (letter R). This demand for
repetition the sending station will acknowledge by making J. The
signaller receiving the message will then send the last word he has
read correctly, upon which the sender will continue the message from
that word.
Whistle Signs
1. One long blast means "Silence," "Alert," "Look out for my next
signal." Also approaching a station.
2. Two short blasts means "All right."
3. A succession of long, slow blasts means "Go out," "Get farther
away," or "Advance," "Extend," "Scatter."
4. A succession of short, sharp blasts means "Rally," "Close in,"
"Come together," "Fall in," "Danger," "Alarm."
5. Three short blasts followed by one long one from scout master calls
up the patrol leaders--i.e., "Leaders, come here."
Any whistle signal must be instantly obeyed at the double--as fast as
you can run--no matter what other job you may be doing at the time.
Hand or Flag Signals
Hand signals, which can also be made by patrol leaders with their
patrol flags when necessary:
Hand waved several times across the face from side to side or flag
waved horizontally, from side to side opposite the face, means "No,"
"Never mind," "As you were."
Hand or flag held high, and waved as though pushing forward, at full
extent of arm, or whistle a succession of slow blasts means "Extend,"
"Go farther out," "Scatter."
Hand or flag held high, and waved rapidly from side to side, at full
extent of arm, or a succession of short, quick blasts on the whistle,
means "Close in," "Rally," "Come here," "Danger," "Cattle on track."
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Hand or flag pointing in any direction means "Go in that direction."
Clenched hand or flag jumped rapidly up and down several times means,
"Hurry," "Run."
The movement, pushing or beckoning, indicates whether "Hurry here" or
"Hurry there."
Hand (or flag) held straight up over head, palm forward, means "Stop,"
"Halt."
When a leader is shouting an order or message to a scout who is some
way off, the scout, if he hears what is being said, should hold up his
hand level with his head all the time. If he cannot hear, he should
stand still, making no sign. The leader will then repeat louder, or
beckon to the scout to come in nearer.
The following signals are made by a scout with his staff when he is
sent out to reconnoitre within sight of his patrol, and they have the
following meaning:
Staff held up horizontally, that is, level, with both hands above the
head, means, "I have found."
The same, out with staff moved up and down slowly, means, "I have
found, but a long way off."
The same, staff moved up and down rapidly, means, "I have found, and
close by."
The staff held straight up over the head means, "Nothing in sight."
Indian Signs and Blazes
Shaking a blanket: I want to talk to you.
Hold up a tree-branch: I want to make peace.
Hold up a weapon, means war: I am ready to fight.
Hold up a pole horizontally, with hands on it: I have found something.
[Illustration: Indian Signs and Blazes.
This is good water.
Good water not far in this direction.
A long way to good water, go in direction of arrow.
We camped here because one of us was sick.]
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[Illustration: Indian Signs and Blazes.
War or trouble about.
Peace.
Road to be followed.
Letter hidden three paces from here in the direction of arrow.
This path not to be followed.
"I have gone home."]
WIRELESS TELEGRAPHY
_The Boy Scout Wireless Club
Y. M. C. A., Newark, N.J._
The following directions are given for an up-to-date wireless
apparatus for stationary use in the home or at the meeting place of
each patrol.
We will consider the receiving apparatus first:
[Illustration: Diagram of wireless transmitter and receiver. (tr)]
The first thing to do is to build an aerial. First find out how long
your location will allow you to build it, and how high. It ought to be
at least 50 to 60 feet high and about 70 to 100 feet long. The main
point in building an aerial is to have it {211} well insulated from
the ground, and all connections in wire perfectly solid. It is
advisable to solder every connection and to make your aerial strong as
it has a great deal to do with the working qualities of the station.
After this is completed, the inside work on instruments should begin.
1. A pair of watch-case receivers having a resistance of 1,000 ohms
each, manufactured by a reliable firm.
2. A loose coupler tuning coil of about 800 meters.
3. One of Mordock's metal detectors or one of similar design.
4. A variable condenser of about 5-10 plates.
5. A fixed condenser so arranged that its capacity can be changed if
desired.
With these instruments the receiving set is complete, so we next take
up the sending apparatus.
1. A two-inch induction coil.
2. A heavy spark gap (zinc preferable).
3. One wireless key with heavy contacts.
4. A plate condenser which can be easily made by any scout. Good glass
is the main point.
5. A triple pole, double throw aerial switch. (Can be made by scouts.)
Now you have everything necessary to go ahead and assemble your
station. The next thing is to connect them up.
Above is a diagram which will make a good station for a scout. This
station, if the aero is of the proper height, is capable of sending
messages from 8 to 10 miles.
The Receiving Set
Perhaps the most fundamentally important part of a wireless telegraph
station is the aerial. Its construction varies with each station, but
a few general suggestions may be of use.
The builder should aim to get as high and as long an aerial as
possible, height being the more important factor. In a stationary set
the aerial may be fastened to a tree or pole or high building while in
a field set a tree or an easily portable pole must be used.
The aerial itself should be made of copper wire and should be hung
between spreaders as long as convenient and insulated from them by two
cleat insulators in series at each end.
The experimenter should see that his leading-in wire is placed
conveniently and comes in contact with the walls, etc., {212} as
little as possible. All points of contact must be well insulated with
glass, porcelain, or hard rubber.
The tuning coil is very simple in construction. A cardboard tube,
about three inches in diameter, is mounted between two square heads.
This tube is wound with No. 24 insulated copper wire and very well
shellaced to avoid loosening of the wire.
Two pieces of one quarter inch square brass rod, to be fastened
between the heads, are secured, and a slider, as shown in drawing, is
made. The rods are fastened on the heads and the insulation in the
path of the slides is then well scraped off. Binding posts are then
fastened to rods and coil ends.
[Illustration: Details of instruments for field use.]
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The detector, although the most important of the instruments, is
perhaps the simplest. It is constructed of a hardwood base with a
small brass plate fastened on by means of a binding post. On the other
end of the base is fastened a double binding post which holds a brass
spring, as in the drawing. On the end of this spring is fastened a
copper point made by winding a few inches of No. 36 or 40 wire on it
and allowing about three sixteenths of an inch to project. This
completes the detector but, for use in this instrument, lead sulphide
or Galena crystals must be secured.
The condenser is made of two pieces of tin-foil, four by ten, and
three pieces of waxed paper a little larger than the foil. A piece of
wire is twisted into the end of each piece of foil, and then one sheet
of foil is laid on a sheet of paper. This is then covered by another
sheet of paper upon which is laid the second sheet of foil. On top of
this is laid the third sheet of paper and the whole is folded into a
convenient bundle. The sheets of foil must be well insulated from each
other and the wires must project from the condenser.
The ground connection is made by soldering a wire to a cold water
pipe. In the case of a portable set the ground may be made by driving
a metal rod into the ground or sinking metal netting into a body of
water.
The telephone receivers cannot well be made and must therefore be
bought. The type of phones used will therefore depend entirely on the
builder's purse.
The Sending Set
The same aerial and ground are used for sending as were used for
receiving, and for the experimenter, it will be far cheaper to buy a
spark coil for his sending set than to attempt to make one.
For a field set there will be very little need of a sending helix, as
close tuning will be hardly possible; but for the stationary set this
is very useful.
The helix is made by building a drum with square heads fastened
together by six or eight uprights, arranged on the circumference of a
circle. On this then are wound ten or twelve turns of No. 10 or 12,
brass or copper wire. Binding posts are fastened to the ends of the
wire and variable contact made on the turns by means of metal spring
clips.
The spark gap is made of a hard-wood base with two uprights to which
are fastened strips of brass. Under these strips are {214} placed two
pieces of battery zincs so as to make the gap between their ends
variable. Binding posts are fastened to the strips for contact.
The sending condenser is the same as the receiving in construction,
but different in material. The dielectric is glass while the
conducting surfaces are tin-foil, arranged in a pile of alternate
sheets of glass and foil. The foil is shaped as in drawing and
alternate sheets have their lugs projecting on opposite sides, all
lugs on same side being connected together. For a one-inch coil but a
few of these plates are needed, but for higher power a greater number
are necessary.
[Illustration: Wireless Telegraph Set Designed for Boy Scouts of
America by L. Horle.]
All that now remains is the setting up of the instruments. They are
arranged as in the drawing, a double-point, {215} double-throw switch
being used to switch from sending to receiving.
After having connected up the receiving instruments, the receiver is
placed at the ear and the point of the detector placed on the various
parts of the mineral until the signals are heard clearly. Then the
tuning coil is adjusted until the signals are loudest.
The sending apparatus is set up, the key and batteries having been
bought or made, and used to call some other station. The clip is put
on various twins of the helix until the other station signals that the
signals are loudest. The station is then ready for actual operation.
NOTES
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