That trip to Park Rapids was a memorable one to the boys, as well as to
everyone else on the train. Most travelers consider it a dull and
tiresome ride but the boys seemed to find a source of never-ending
enjoyment in the sameness of the little towns along the road and the
long stretches of prairie, broken here and there by patches of jack
pine. The almost unbroken series of practical jokes which they played on
the trainmen and on each other made the miles slip pleasantly by for the
other passengers. It was all done in a good-humored spirit of abandon
that angered no one.
The dinner which they devoured at Sauk Center amazed some of the invalid
ladies who watched them, but it was only a vague foreshadowing of the
meal which they would eat in that same room on the downward trip when
their appetites had been whetted by four months of strenuous work in the
woods. With a cheer for the town which had fed them so well they boarded
the little branch train which was to take them to their destination and
resumed their old amusements. At Wadena they welcomed wildly a stray
member of the class who had come across on the N. P. to join them. They
immediately proceeded to work off on him all the gags which had been
developed earlier in the day.
As they neared Park Rapids the spirit of restlessness pervaded the
crowd. No sooner had the wheels stopped turning than they boiled out
onto the platform amidst the crowd of citizens who had made their
regular daily pilgrimage to see the train come in. They lost no time at
the station, the baggage could be taken care of in the morning, but
swarmed away up the street to the hotel. They selected a cheap hotel—for
no matter how much money a man might have at home it was part of the
game to keep down the expenses of that trip to the minimum.
Their duffel disposed of, Merton, as manager of the corporation, hurried
away to interview the storekeepers to arrange for a shipment of eatables
by the stage in the morning and to make an agreement with them for such
emergency supplies as they might require through the summer. Scott, with
a feeling of pride in his new responsibility, searched the livery
stables for two teams, one to haul the baggage and another the groceries
they had shipped tip from St. Paul. The others scattered in all
directions to explore the town, to sound its resources and locate some
amusement for the evening. They returned to the hotel for dinner, a
little disappointed, with nothing to report but a moving picture show
and a bowling alley.
The whole party was early afoot in the morning to take advantage of the
6:30 breakfast, for there was a big day’s work ahead of them. The former
classes had established the precedent of walking to and from camp, and
no class now dared fall short of that standard. A twenty-eight mile walk
was a big undertaking for men fresh from the classroom, but it had to be
done to maintain the class prestige. The people of the town expected it
of them and even the stage driver, who had become reconciled to the loss
of the fares, took a certain pride in their independence and recited the
exploit times without number to the summer boarders who later chanced to
be his passengers.
It was found that three of the boys had set out the night before to
spend the night at the Fairview Hotel at Arago, half way out, and
complete the journey in the morning. Three of the others, inexperienced
and not yet imbued with the spirit of the thing, waited for the stage.
Four of the remaining ones took the road immediately after breakfast,
while Merton and Scott hurried away to get the wagons started. By
seven-thirty the two wagon-loads of duffel and groceries were on the
road, and the two boys walked gayly on ahead, full of the joy of the
open. It was also a precedent that the walkers should reach the camp
ahead of the stage and they swung to their work with a will.
The twenty-eight mile walk, such a marvel to those who never walk
themselves, was uneventful. At the Lodge, on the south end of Lake
Itasca, Scott and Merton overtook the other four walkers, and the six
then finished the journey together.
“So that is Lake Itasca,” Merton observed rather thoughtfully, as they
followed the road along the hills on the east shore, “the source of the
Father of Waters. I remember seeing pictures of it in my geography.”
“Sure thing,” Bill Price answered quickly. “So do I. I recognized it as
soon as I saw it.”
“Well, this is something like a forest,” said Scott, admiring the dense
stand of pines stretching down the hill to the water’s edge. “I began to
think down there below Arago that the whole country was just covered
with brush.”
“I wonder where the stage is?” Merton mused looking back over his
shoulder, and they quickened their pace perceptibly.
“No matter now,” Scott answered. “We could outrun him from here if we
had to.”
“Be easier to pay him to stay behind us,” Bill suggested.
In this way the last three miles passed rapidly and a sudden turn in the
road brought them in sight of the camp not more than two hundred yards
away. They had heard so much of it from the seniors and seen so many
pictures of it taken at all possible angles that they recognized it at
once.
“There’s the cookshack up on the hill,” Merton shouted, “and there’s
smoke coming out of the chimney, too. That looks good to me. I could eat
a porcupine right now, quills and all.”
“There’s the library straight ahead,” said Scott. “I wonder where the
other buildings are?”
“There’s the barn,” Bill called, “and here’s the foreman’s house right
beside us. Gee, doesn’t that lake look fine from here? I wish it was
warm enough for a swim.”
A shout showed that they had been sighted from the camp and they
answered with an Indian whoop. They piled eagerly down across the campus
and were welcomed enthusiastically by their classmates who started out
the night before and by Professor Mertz, who had come up the previous
week to get the place in shape.
They all sat down on the library porch and made a preliminary survey of
the campus. The lake shore, not over a hundred feet away, stretched
north and south; across a quarter-mile of shining water the opposite
shore, part birch, part swamp, part pine. The roof of the boathouse
peeped over the bank directly in front of them, the big log bunkhouse
loomed up to the north, and hidden in the trees to the south were the
four small cabins of the faculty. It was a beautiful picture even then,
but nothing to what it would be when the trees were in leaf and all the
vegetation green.
“Looks pretty fine,” Merton said, “but, what’s more important, how do
you like the looks of the cook?”
“Fine,” came the chorus; “he moved in as naturally as though he had
always belonged here and has a hand-out waiting for you now.”
“’Nough said,” cried Bill, and they all arose as one man. “Let’s go
_see_ the cookshack.”
The cook, who had held despotic sway over many a lumber camp, was
waiting for them in the doorway and greeted them cheerily. It was hard
to realize that he had never seen any of them before.
“Not much in the way of chuck, yet,” he apologized, “but I got some
flour at the store, and there’s bread and butter and cheese and the
teapot is on the stove.”
The newcomers dropped into the benches without more ado and ate
ravenously.
“Looks like five dollars a plate to me,” Morris chuckled between bites.
“I could die eating like this.”
“Chances are pretty good that you will,” Bill purred, “you put in more
time at that than anything else.”
“When’s the grub coming?” the cook asked anxiously.
“There is enough on the stage for a couple of meals,” Merton answered,
“and a good two-horse wagon-load will be here a little later.”
The cook looked immensely relieved, “Good, there ain’t nothing makes me
nervous like an empty pantry.”
They had just finished eating when the stage hove in sight. It was a
good three-quarters of an hour behind them. Of course the three boys on
the stage had to have a “handout,” so they all ate some more.
Merton pulled out his list of groceries and consulted with the cook.
“Jansen, here’s a list of the stuff we have coming on the wagon. You’d
better look it over and see whether we have forgotten anything. If we
have we can send for it tonight and have it on the stage tomorrow. There
are only eggs, and a little butter to get. I want to arrange with some
of the settlers tomorrow about supplying us with those things. Have to
have some potatoes, too, and we have a couple of cows coming tomorrow.”
Jansen looked the list over with approval shining in every line of his
face. “Fine,” he exclaimed, “we can live high on that, but you’d better
order some beans pretty soon and some more ginger. I’m strong on beans
and ginger bread. You can’t run a camp without ’em.”
“Come on, fellows,” Price called from the doorway, “let’s go have a look
at the bunkhouse. I want to select my suite.”
They all trooped down the hill through the pines and across the tennis
court towards the bunkhouse.
“This tennis court looks good to me,” said Morris. “I expect to put in
many a good hour here.”
“All right,” Merton answered cheerily. “We’ll appoint you a committee of
one to smooth it up, patch up the backstop and mark it out. There’s
nothing like having work that interests you.”
“Gee,” exclaimed Burns, “those big upper porches look cold enough now,
but I’ll bet they make dandy places to sleep this summer. You can lie
right in your bunk and watch the moonlight on the lake.”
They filed through the door and stood looking admiringly around them.
The whole ground floor, twenty-four by thirty-six feet, was one big club
room with a big fireplace opposite the door and plenty of windows. The
furniture was built of pine two by sixes, crude but massive and well
suited to the log building. In the city the place would have looked
rough enough, but there in the backwoods it looked like a castle and the
fellows immediately adopted it as such.
“Isn’t this great?” Scott said. “When we get a good big fire whooping up
that chimney and our library here, it can rain all it pleases.”
“Yes,” Bill said, “and I’ll bet more than one mosquito will dull his
bill trying to bore through those tamarack logs. I’m going to file my
claim on this big morris chair right now, and I’ll put on those gloves
there on the wall with any man who wants to dispute it.”
The crowd wandered upstairs. It was the same as the downstairs save that
there was no fireplace and the only furniture was some twenty steel
bunks with wire springs. Big double doors on each end opened onto
twelve-foot screened porches.
“Me for the outside, right now,” said Merton, proceeding to drag one of
the bunks out onto the north porch.
“Well,” said Scott, “I’ll join you. It may be a little cold at first but
we get the pick of the locations if we get out now. There’ll be a rush
for it the first warm night. Better take the west end, the sun will not
get in on you there so early in the morning.”
“Long head,” Merton answered, dragging his bunk across. “Get a better
view of the lake, too. Isn’t that great? There’s the post office up
there and the ‘town site’ the fellows used to laugh about. Let’s go see
Professor Mertz and find out what there is to be done.”
But they did not have to look for Professor Mertz; he was downstairs
waiting for them. He smiled at their enthusiasm over their new quarters.
“Well, fellows,” he began sociably, “I see that you recognize the
possibilities of this place for having a good time, and you are not
mistaken in it. You’ll have the time of your lives. But I want to call
your attention to some of the other features. You must remember that
this is the University and everyone will judge the University by what
you do here. Think every time before you do anything, what effect it is
going to have on the school. Its reputation here depends on you
entirely.
“There are five boats in the boathouse; three of them are for your use;
two of them, the cedar ones, are reserved for the faculty. The scow is
for general use, but no one runs the engine except Professor Roberts,
Mr. Sturgis or myself. The old tub of a sail boat you can rig up if you
want to. It is not much good, but the fellows usually manage to get some
fun out of it. Whether you are in a boat or swimming, be careful. You
may think that you are too old for that warning, but two men have been
drowned in that lake in the past four years, and they were both as old
as you are. Never go swimming alone and never ‘rough-house’ in a boat.
“Next, be careful about fire, both around the buildings and the woods.
The woods are very dry now and a match thrown down carelessly may mean a
fire which will cost several hundred dollars to put out. You will
probably have a chance to fight one somewhere before long and then
you’ll understand. Never throw down a match until it is out completely.
“Another thing. Don’t peel every birch tree you see. It will be a big
temptation at first to get bark for postal cards, etc., but don’t peel
the trees along the roads or trails. It destroys the looks of the woods
and is disgusting to woodsmen. When you want some bark find a tree in
some out-of-the-way place—there are thousands of them—chop it down and
peel the whole of it. This is a park, you know, and we do not want to be
accused of vandalism.
“Lastly, remember that you are responsible for the camp. We furnish you
with a good equipment and it is up to you to see that the camp is kept
in shape, the buildings clean and everything orderly. We’ll help you all
we can, but remember that it is _your_ camp.
“I won’t preach to you any longer. You can have tomorrow to get things
straightened out and get your bearings. The next day we’ll have a
dendrology excursion to catch these trees here before the leaves come
out. If you want me you’ll find me in that third cottage.”
The professor chatted awhile before he walked away to let the boys
adjust their own affairs—for it was the policy of the camp to interfere
with them no more than was absolutely necessary; it helped to develop
their independence. On this particular occasion chance deprived them of
very much choice in the matter, for hardly had they started a discussion
of detailed organization than a rattling of wheels announced the arrival
of the wagons with the supplies.
“Talk about your quiet places in the backwoods,” Morris exclaimed, as he
ran out with the rest of the crowd, “there’s something doing every
minute. You no sooner finish one thing that you have never done before
than another turns up.”
“Yes,” Bill retorted sarcastically, “always something new. You’ll have
to unload a wagon and then the first thing you know you’ll be eating
supper.”
With so many zealous workers the baggage was soon unloaded and stowed
away in the bunkhouse; the provisions were neatly arranged under the
cook’s directions on the shelves of the little storeroom in the back of
the cookshack.
Scarcely had they finished admiring their work when a terrific din broke
forth on the other side of the building, a vibrating, metallic clatter
that must have startled the deer a mile away. When they tore around the
corner to investigate they found the cook grinning from ear to ear,
belaboring with an old ax a four-foot circular saw, which was hung from
the corner of the building on an iron pipe.
He stopped, panting. “There, I’ll ring her like that fifteen minutes
before mealtime and then just three hard taps when the meal is ready.”
It was certainly an effective gong. It had first been used in that
neighborhood as an instrument of torture, by a crowd of settlers in a
charivari party for a newly married couple some two miles to the north.
The distinctness with which it was heard on the school ground on that
occasion had been sufficient proof of its efficiency and it had
straightway been appropriated by the students.
The ravenous boys forgot their lunch of only two hours before and did
full justice to the supper with a will that did the old cook’s heart
good. Then as the night was pretty cold they adjourned to a roaring fire
in the bunkhouse and soon to a welcome bed.