THE INITIATION
Mess over, Woodhull and Seaforth took their stand at either side of
the door, and Walter noted that as each boy passed out he saluted the
two chiefs with the Scout's salute, and was saluted in return. It was
a point of etiquette which he learned was never omitted, and which did
much to maintain discipline and to instil the principles of respect
for superior officers. Once outside the mess room Walter was free to
inspect the camp in detail and at his leisure for, it being his first
day, he was not assigned to any of the duty squads.
There were fifty-two boys in camp, including the four leaders, or
chiefs, and they were from all quarters, two being from as far west as
Chicago. They represented all classes in the social scale. A few were
from homes of extreme wealth and one, according to Billy, was a Boston
newsboy in whom the doctor took a personal interest. But in
accordance with Scout ideals all were on equal footing in the camp,
and the most democratic spirit prevailed. Achievement in scoutcraft
alone furnished a basis for distinction.
The camp had been established three years before the Boy Scouts of
America came into existence, but Dr. Merriam had been quick to
perceive the value of the new movement, the principles of which are,
in fact, the very ones he had been seeking to inculcate in his unique
school. This year the camp had been placed under Scout regulations,
and it was the doctor's desire to send every one of his boys home at
the end of the summer as qualified Scouts of the first class, fitted
to take the leadership of home patrols.
Approaching from behind the wood-pile, where Buxby's assignment to
duty was keeping him busy, Walter heard his own name and paused,
uncertain whether to go on or not. Billy was regaling the cook with an
account of Walter's exploit of the morning as he had wormed it out of
Big Jim.
"Pretty spry with his fists, they say," concluded the talkative Billy.
Then he added as an afterthought, "Bet they'll get his goat to-night,
though."
Walter waited to hear no more. He had not been wholly unconscious of
the sly looks and mysterious winks passed between some of the boys he
had met, and, though he did not allow it to show outwardly, he was
inwardly not a little perturbed by the thought of the initiatory
ordeal he felt sure he must undergo. Chief Woodhull's hint, together
with the frequent exchange of meaning glances which he had
intercepted, could mean but one thing--that his nerve and courage were
to be put to some strange and crucial test.
Therefore it was with some trepidation that with the sounding of taps
that night Walter sought his bunk and turned in. In five minutes
lights were out, and apparently the camp had settled down for the
night. Walter lay listening in suspense for some sound which would
indicate that secret designs concerning himself were afoot, but
nothing but the regular breathing of twenty-five healthy, tired boys
rewarded his vigilance. It had been a long, strenuous day, with little
rest the night before, and in spite of himself he soon fell asleep.
He was awakened by the sudden removal of his blanket. Despite his
struggles he was bound and gagged. Then his arms were loosed enough
for his flannel shirt to be slipped on. His trousers and shoes
followed, and then he was rolled in his blanket, picked up bodily and
carried forth into the night. In absolute silence his captors bore him
along what appeared to be a rough, little used trail. Occasionally a
dew-damp twig brushed his face. Through the tangle of interlacing
branches overhead he caught glimpses of the stars. The number of his
captors he had no means of knowing. He was carried by relays, and
though there were frequent changes he could not tell whether each time
a new team of bearers took him or two teams alternated.
Once his bearers stumbled and nearly dropped him. Once they seemed to
lose the trail, stopping to hold a whispered consultation of which the
victim could catch only a word here and there. After what seemed like
an interminable length of time Walter heard in the distance the
tremolo of a screech-owl, answered by a similar call close at hand. A
few minutes later they emerged in an opening.
"Are the canoes ready?" asked a subdued but sepulchral voice.
"They are, chief," was the guarded reply.
"Then let them be manned," was the order.
Walter was carefully placed in a canoe amidship. He felt it gently
shoved off, and then it floated idly while, to judge by the sounds,
the other canoes were hastily put in the water. Presently, at a low
command from the rear of his own craft, there was the dip of many
paddles and he felt the light craft shoot forward.
Flat on his back, he could see little but the star-sprinkled heavens.
It seemed to him that never had he seen the stars so bright or
apparently so near. By straining up and forward he caught the shadowy
outline of the bow man's back, but the second time he tried it he was
warned to desist. Out of the tail of his left eye he sometimes caught
the arm and paddle of the stern man on the forward reach. But thus far
there had been nothing to give him the slightest idea whether he was
in the hands of members of his own tribe or a captive of one of the
rival tribes.
Swiftly, silently, save for the light splash of paddles and the
gurgling ripple at the bow, the canoe sped on. Never will Walter
forget the spell of that mysterious night ride on that lonely lake in
the heart of the great north woods. His gag had been removed and, but
for inability to move hand or foot, he was not uncomfortable. All the
witchery of night in the forest was enhanced an hundredfold by the
mystery of his abduction and the unknown trials awaiting him.
A mighty chorus of frogs denoted low, marshy land somewhere in the
vicinity. Strange voices of furtive wild things floated across from
the shore. Once a heavy splash close to the canoe set his heart to
thumping fiercely until he rightly surmised that it was made by a
startled muskrat, surprised at his nocturnal feast of mussels. Again,
as they slipped through the heavy shadows close along shore, there was
a crash in the underbrush which might or might not have been a deer.
It was weird, uncanny, trying in the extreme, yet sending little
electric thrills of fascination through the nerves of the city boy.
How long the journey lasted Walter could not tell, but he judged that
it was at least half an hour before there suddenly broke out ahead a
cry, so human yet so wild, that he felt the very roots of his hair
crawl. Once more it rang over the lake, a high-pitched, maniacal laugh
that rolled across the water and was flung back in crazy echoes from
the shores. In a flash it came to Walter that this must be the cry of
the loon, the Great Northern Diver, of which he had often read. This
time it was answered from the rear. A few minutes later the canoe
grated on the shore. Walter was lifted out, his eyes bandaged, the
bonds removed from his legs and, with a captor on either side, he was
led for some distance along what seemed like an old corduroy logging
road.
On signal from the leader a halt was made and the bandage was removed
from the captive's eyes. Curiously he glanced about, but in the faint
light could make out little. Apparently they were in the middle of a
small opening in the forest. On all sides a seemingly unbroken wall of
blackness, the forest, hemmed them in. In a half circle before him
squatted some two dozen blanketed forms.
One of these now arose and stepped forward. He was tall and rather
slender. In the uncertain light his features appeared to be those of
an Indian. A single feather in his scalp lock was silhouetted against
the sky. A blanket was loosely but gracefully draped about his figure.
Standing in front of the captive he drew himself up proudly to his
full height and, leveling a long bare arm at the prisoner, addressed
him in a deep guttural.
"Paleface, dweller in wigwams of brick and stone, it is made known to
us that your heart turns from the settlements to the heart of the
great forest, and that you desire to become a child of the Lenape,
whose totem is the tortoise, to be adopted by the Delawares, the tribe
of Uncas and Chingachgook; that you long to follow the trail of the
red deer and to spread your blanket beside the sweet waters; to read
the message of the blowing wind, and interpret aright the meaning of
every fallen leaf.
"You have come among us, paleface, not unheralded. Our ears have been
filled with a tale of valor. It has warmed the hearts of the Delawares
and their brothers, the Algonquins. Our young men have had their ears
to the ground; they have followed your trail, and they yearn to make
a place for you at their council fire. But, lest the tales to which
they have listened prove to be but the chirping of a singing bird, it
has been decided in secret council that you must undergo the test of
the spirits.
"Alone in the wigwam of the spirits, where, it is said, on the fifth
night in every month the spirit of a departed brave, stricken in the
prime of his manhood, comes seeking the red hand of his slayer,--here
alone you shall keep watch through the black hours of the night. Thus
shall we know if your heart be indeed the heart of the Lenape; if you
are of the stuff of which Delaware warriors are made; if our ears have
heard truly or if they have indeed been filled with the foolish
chatter of a Whisky Jack (Canada jay).
"If you meet this trial as a warrior should, making neither sign nor
sound, whate'er befall, then will the Delawares receive you with open
arms, no longer a paleface, but a true son of the Tortoise, a blood
brother, for whom a place in the council chamber is even now ready."
Turning to the shadowy group squatting in silence he threw out both
arms dramatically.
"Sons of the Lenape, do I speak truly?" he demanded.
A chorus of guttural grunts signified assent. Turning once more to the
captive the speaker asked:
"Paleface, are you prepared to stand the test?"
As the harangue had proceeded Walter recalled that during the
afternoon he had heard vague references to a haunted cabin across the
lake. Now the conviction was forced upon him that this was the place
in which he was to be left to spend the night alone. In spite of
himself a shiver of something very like fear swept over him, for the
mystery of the night was upon him. But he had firmly resolved not to
show the white feather. Then again he was possessed of a large bump of
sound common sense, and he felt certain that if, when left alone, he
gave way to fear, sharp eyes and ears would be within range to note
and gloat over it. In fact he shrewdly suspected that spies would be
watching him, and that his solitude would be more apparent than real.
He therefore replied:
"I am ready."
Thereupon the leader gave some brief directions to the band, of whom
all but two trailed off in single file and disappeared in the
blackness of the forest. Presently he heard the faint clatter of
paddles carelessly dropped in canoes, and surmised that his late
companions were embarking for camp. A few minutes later the hoot of a
horned owl came from the direction they had taken. This seemed to be a
signal for which his guard had been waiting. Once more the bandage was
placed over his eyes, and he was led for some distance along an old
tote road.
At length a halt was called. His legs were bound and he was picked up
and carried a short distance. Although he could see nothing he was
aware by the change of air that they had entered a building. He
suspected that this was the haunted cabin. He was deposited on a rough
board floor with what appeared to be a roll of old burlap beneath his
head. He was told that his hands and feet would be freed of their
bonds, but he was put upon his honor not to remove the bandage from
his eyes for half an hour.
"Keep your nerve, son, and don't sit up suddenly," was whispered in
his ear.
He could not be sure, but he had a feeling that the speaker was
Woodhull, and to himself he renewed his vow that, come what might, he
would not show the white feather. He heard his captors silently
withdraw and then all was silent.
Cautiously he felt around him. Sticks and bits of bark littered the
floor. Rough hewn logs shut him in on one side, but on the other as
far as he could reach was open space. Feeling above he found that
there was not room to sit upright, and he thanked his unknown friend
for that last timely warning.
The silence grew oppressive. It was broken by a light thump on the
roof, followed by the rasp of swift little claws. "Squirrels," thought
Walter, after the first startled jump. Gradually he became aware of a
feeling that he was not the only tenant of the cabin. Once he heard
something that sounded very like a long drawn sigh. He held his breath
and listened, but there was not another sound. What were those tales
he had heard of the cabin being haunted? He tried to recall them. How
far from the camp was he? Would they come for him in the morning or
would he have to find his way in alone?
In spite of his strange surroundings and lively imagination Walter
found difficulty in keeping awake. Outraged nature was asserting
herself. There had been little sleep for more than twenty-four hours,
and now even the uncertainty of his position could keep him awake no
longer. In fact he had not even removed the bandage from his eyes when
he fell sound asleep.
He was awakened by having this suddenly snatched off. For a few
minutes he blinked stupidly while a mighty shout from the entire
wigwam greeted him:
"Oh, warrior, tried and true,
We hereby welcome you!
We like your nerve!
We like your sand!
A place you've won
Within our band.
You've won your feather fair--
You are a DEL-A-WARE!"
Then Walter was hauled forth and shaken hands with and thumped and
pounded on the back by a whooping, laughing crew of boys in all stages
of undress. It was broad daylight and, to his amazement, Walter found
he was not in the haunted cabin but in his own wigwam, where he had
spent the night on the floor underneath his own bunk. The boys, noting
the expression of his face, shouted afresh and mercilessly guyed him
till presently, realizing how completely he had been duped, he wisely
joined in the laugh at his own expense.
Reveille had sounded. Buxby joined him at the wash bench, and on the
way to mess explained how the initiation was worked. When he had been
placed in the canoe they had simply paddled around near camp for half
an hour. He had then been led over an old trail to an opening near,
but out of sight of the camp, and there Woodhull, in the character of
the Indian chief, had delivered the harangue. At its conclusion all
but the guard had gone to the wigwam and at once turned in, one of
them first slipping down to the lake and rattling the paddles,
afterward giving the owl signal. The guard had then led him back to
the wigwam and put him under his own bunk, where the floor had been
strewn with chips and bark to fool him when he felt around, as they
had foreseen he would.
"You're all right, Upton, and say, wasn't Louis a lulu?" concluded the
garrulous Billy.
At mess Walter realized that he had "made good," and was already
accepted as one of themselves by the merry crew of sun-browned
youngsters amongst whom he had come a total stranger less than
twenty-four hours before. Most of all he prized Woodhull's quiet "Good
boy," as he saluted him at the door.