Produced by Al Haines
[Frontispiece: IT WAS CHIPPY. _Page_ 18.]
THE WOLF PATROL
A TALE OF BADEN POWELL'S BOY SCOUTS
_BY_
JOHN FINNEMORE
_Author of_
"Jack Haydon's Quest," "Two Boys in War-time," etc.
A. & C. BLACK, LTD.
4, 5, AND 6, SOHO SQUARE
LONDON, W.1
1923
_First published October_ 15, 1908
_Reprinted_ 1909, 1910, 1911, 1914 _and_ 1917
_This edition published in_ 1922; _Reprinted in_ 1922, 1923
_Printed in Great Britain by_
WARRILLOWS LTD., PRINTERS,
Birmingham and London.
DEDICATED (BY SPECIAL PERMISSION)
TO
LIEUT.-GENERAL R. S. S. BADEN-POWELL, C.B.
THE FOUNDER OF THE ADMIRABLE MOVEMENT
ON WHICH THIS STORY IS BASED
PREFACE
No movement of recent years has so swiftly and so completely won the
love of boys as the Boy-Scout movement founded by Lieutenant-General
Baden-Powell. It has done so because it touches at once both heart and
imagination. In its dress, its drill, its games, its objects, it jumps
perfectly with the feelings of the boy who adores Robinson Crusoe,
Chingachcook the Last of the Mohicans, Jim Hawkins, who sailed to
Treasure Island, buccaneers, trappers of the backwoods, and all who sit
about camp fires in lonely places of the earth. It is a movement which
aims at making all boys brothers and friends, and its end is good
citizenship; it is a foe to none save the snob, the sneak, and the
toady.
Amid the general chorus of congratulation on the success of the
movement, only one dissentient whisper has been heard, and that has
gathered about the word 'militarism.' But the Boy-Scout movement is no
friend of militarism in any shape or form, and the murmur is only heard
on the lips of people who have never looked into the matter, and never
read the Scout Law. The movement is a peace movement pure and simple,
and its only object is to make a boy hardy and strong, honest and
brave, a better man, and a better citizen of a great Empire.
Of this story it is perhaps permissible to say that it has been read by
General Baden-Powell, who has been so kind as to express his warm
approval. Writing to the author, the founder of the movement says:
'Wishing you all success for this so excellent a work.'
THE SCOUT LAW*
I. A Scout's honour is to be trusted.
II. A Scout is loyal to the King, and to his officers, and to his
country, and to his employers.
III. A Scout's duty is to be useful and to help others. He must do a
good turn to somebody every day.
IV. A Scout is a friend to all, and a brother to every other Scout, no
matter to what social class the other belongs.
V. A Scout is courteous, and he must not take any reward for being
helpful and courteous.
VI. A Scout is a friend to animals.
VII. A Scout obeys orders of his patrol-leader or scout-master without
question.
VIII. A Scout smiles and whistles under all circumstances. When he
gets an order he should obey it cheerily and readily, not in a slow,
hang-dog sort of way.
IX. A Scout is thrifty--that is, he saves every penny he can, and puts
it into the bank, so that he may have money to keep himself when out of
work, and thus not make himself a burden to others, or that he may have
money to give away to others when they need it.
*Quoted by kind permission of General Baden-Powell from 'Scouting for
Boys.'
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I. THE 'SLUG'
II. THE FOUNDING OF THE WOLF PATROL
III. CHIPPY HEARS OF NEW THINGS
IV. THE NEW SCOUT
V. THE CHOKING-OFF OF CHIPPY
VI. CHIPPY CHOPS THEM UP
VII. THE PATROL DECIDES
VIII. THE PATROL LEADERS
IX. THE WOLVES AND THE RAVENS
X. THE PATROL'S SURPRISE--A THIEF
XI. CHIPPY MEETS A STRANGER
XII. DICK AND CHIPPY MEET A SERGEANT--THE
QUEER TRAIL--A STRANGE DISCOVERY
XIII. ALBERT, WHO WASN'T ALBERT
XIV. CHIPPY AND THE SPY
XV. FLIGHT
XVI. THE SPY IS SEIZED
XVII. HOPPITY JACK'S STALL
XVIII. CHIPPY'S BAD TIME
XIX. A BROTHER SCOUT TO THE RESCUE
XX. THE OPINIONS OF AN INSTRUCTOR
XXI. CHIPPY GOES ON SCOUT DUTY
XXII. CHIPPY GOES IN CHASE
XXIII. THE OLD WATER-GATE
XXIV. ON BOARD THE 'THREE SPIRES'
XXV. A NARROW SHAVE
XXVI. CHIPPY MAKES HIS REPORT
XXVII. DICK'S GREAT PLAN
XXVIII. THE SCOUTS MARCH FORTH
XXIX. WINNING A SUPPER
XXX. THE FIRST CAMP
XXXI. THE BIG TROUT
XXXII. TERRORS OF THE NIGHT
XXXIII. THE MARCH RESUMED
XXXIV. SCOUTS TO THE RESCUE
XXXV. A BROTHER SCOUT--THE TWO TRAMPS
XXXVI. CHECKMATE
XXXVII. AT NEWMINSTER
XXXVIII. HOMEWARD BOUND----A DISH OF EELS
XXXIX. THE STORM--WHAT HAPPENED WHILE THEY
DRIED THEIR CLOTHES
XL. THE SCOUTS' SECOND CAMP
XLI. THE POACHERS
XLII. DRAGGING THE POOL--A LITTLE SURPRISE
XLIII. THE BROKEN BICYCLE
XLIV. THE BROTHER SCOUT
XLV. AT THE HARDYS' FARM
XLVI. DICK'S ACCIDENT
XLVII. THE LAST CAMP
XLVIII. IN THE RAIN
XLIX. DIGGING A WELL
L. THE OLD HIGGLER
LI. THE WELCOME HOME
THE WOLF PATROL
CHAPTER I
THE 'SLUG'
'Now for the Quay Flat!' said Arthur Graydon. 'I say,
Dick Elliott, you cut ahead, and see if that crew out of
Skinner's Hole are anywhere about! You other fellows,
get some stones and keep 'em handy!'
A dozen day-boys from Bardon Grammar School were
going home one Saturday midday after morning school.
All of them lived in a suburb which lay beyond the
shipping quarter of the river-port of Bardon, and their
way to and from school ran across a wide open space
beside the river known as Quay Flat.
Below Quay Flat, and packed closely along the edge of
the river, was a huddle of small houses and cottages, where
lived the poorer sort of riverside workers, a squalid, dirty
region known as Skinner's Hole. It was so called because
it lay very low, and because hides from abroad were landed
there, and dealt with by three or four large tanneries.
Between the Grammar School boys who crossed Quay
Flat and the boys of Skinner's Hole there was a constant
feud. At times this bickering took the form of pitched
battles fought out with sticks and stones. The boys of
Bardon always called these encounters 'slugs,' and, if
the truth be told, they were, one and all, very fond of a
'slug.' To carefully search the hedges for a handy stick,
and then cut a ferocious knob out of the root end with
your pocket-knife; above all, to cast leaden bullets and
march forth with them and a catapult--these things
were dear to the heart of a Bardon boy.
There were now threats of another 'slug' in the air,
and the boys who had to cross Quay Flat had gathered
to march home in a body. At the head of a lane running
down to the open space, they had paused to make preparations
for any enemy that might lie in their path, and Dick
Elliott, as we have seen, was despatched ahead as a scout,
to report signs of danger.
But there was already a scout at work on behalf of the
enemy. Half-way down the lane a narrow alley ran in
from the riverside, and in this alley one of the
'wharf-rats,' as the schoolboys called the lads of Skinner's Hole,
was on the watch.
The wharf-rat was a short, skinny boy, very ragged
and tattered, whom his friends called Chippy; and he
was their captain and leader. At the corner of the alley
was a small greengrocer's shop, and Chippy, lying flat
along the stones on his stomach, had thrust his head round
a box full of onions which had been set outside the door.
From this cover he was keeping watch for the foe.
He saw them come into sight, saw them pause, and
knew that they scented trouble ahead; for they began to
search about for loose stones, and to kick shaky ones out
of the road. Then he saw Dick Elliott sent ahead to
reconnoitre.
Chippy looked over his shoulder, and measured the
distance he would have to run down the alley before he
could find cover. No go. If he ran, the scout of the other
side would see him scuttling, and suspect something.
Besides, Chippy was well known. He was a famous
leader in this kind of warfare. So he curled himself up
as round as a hedgehog, and lay hidden behind the box,
with his eye at a crack.
He gave a little grunt to himself as he saw Dick Elliott
look carefully along the alley before he went on down the
lane. Chippy was glad he hadn't run; he would
certainly have been seen. But as soon as Dick had passed,
he was up and away down the alley at full speed. He
made a couple of turns along side-streets, and then Quay
Flat lay before him. He put his fingers into his mouth
and gave a long, shrill whistle. There was no answer,
but Chippy was quite satisfied. He knew that his
warriors would understand. From another carefully
chosen spot he watched Dick Elliott come out on Quay
Flat and look all about. But the braves of Skinner's
Hole had caught their chief's whistle, and were lying
hidden among piles of old cordage and rusty anchors
which were heaped in one corner of the Flat. Dick ran
back up the lane.
'I can't see anyone about,' he reported. 'The Flat
looks as quiet as can be.'
'Come on!' said Arthur Graydon to the other boys.
'Keep together; and if the wharf-rats come out, we'll
give 'em beans!'
The band of Grammar School boys gained the Flat, and
struck out for the bridge which crossed the river and led
to the suburb in which lay their homes.
All went quietly till they were well out in the open
space, and then the wharf-rats set up a tremendous yell
and darted from their ambush. A furious battle was
started at once on the Flat. Stones flew like hail on
both sides, and then the combatants came to close
quarters, and the fray developed into a series of stand-up
fights, with every boy yelling like mad.
'Slug 'em! slug 'em, Skinner's 'Ole!' howled the wharf-rats.
'Out 'em! Down 'em, Skinner's 'Ole!'
'Rally, School!' shouted Dick Elliott.
'Drive 'em into the river!' bellowed Arthur Graydon.
The latter was fighting with a couple of heavy books
buckled tightly into a long, stout strap, and he fetched a
couple of his opponents down with swinging blows.
Suddenly he was confronted with the rival chieftain, the
redoubtable Chippy. Arthur swung his books at Chippy's
head, but the latter was far too quick for so slowly
delivered a stroke, and was inside his opponent's guard in
a flash. Chippy's dirty fist was planted with stinging
force in Arthur's right eye, and Arthur went over like a
ninepin.
At the next instant Chippy and Dick Elliott were face
to face, and Chippy, who was very handy with his fists
found, for the first time, a foeman to be reckoned with.
They had a sharp rally; then they closed, and Dick, who
was a capital wrestler, threw his man with ease. Down
went Chippy, and saw ten thousand and one stars, for
the back of his head was brought up hard against the
flags of the quay.
But while he was all abroad, half a dozen of his followers
swarmed over Dick Elliott, and made the latter prisoner.
The rest of the Grammar School boys had been driven off,
but Dick was a captive.
'We've copped one!' roared a big red-haired lad. 'I'll
tell yer what we'll do wi' him. Let's roll him i' the
sludge!'
His comrades shouted joyful assent, and Dick, fighting
like a tiger, but helpless in the hands of the wharf-rats,
was dragged towards the river, where his captors intended
to roll him in the deep mud left by the ebbing tide.
The band, with their struggling victim in their midst,
were close upon the river before Chippy got to his feet,
his head still singing from that shrewd crack.
'Wot's the game?' said Chippy in a husky whisper to
himself. 'I see. I heerd Carrots say it 'ud be a good
game to roll one on 'em in the sludge. But that's seven
on 'em to one. That ain't good enough!' And he began
to hurry after them.
'Wot cheer, mates!' he shouted in his hoarse tones.
''Old 'ard a bit! Lemme come up!'
But the victorious band were deaf to the calls of their
leader, and at this instant they disappeared at a point
where a sloping wharf ran from the quay edge into the
river.
'Bring 'im along to the other end o' the wharf!'
commanded the red-haired boy; 'then we'll chuck 'im bang
into the mud, an' see 'im scrabble 'is way out!'
'Lemme go, you fellows!' yelled Dick, fighting with
tooth and nail to wrench himself free; but there were
too many for him, and Chippy, who loved fair play, and
practised it, was too far behind. But, luckily for Dick,
other help was at hand, or he would assuredly have
been pitched straight into eighteen inches of foul black
mud.
A boat had been pulled from a ship in mid-stream to
the wharf, and a tall gentleman landed from it as Dick
was dragged past the spot.
'What! you, Dick?' shouted the new-comer. 'What
does this mean?' and, followed by the boatman, he made
a dash at the group.
The wharf-rats threw down their captive and fled, and
the gentleman picked Dick up.
'Thanks, Uncle Jim,' said Dick, puffing like a grampus.
'If you hadn't lent a hand, those wharf-rats would have
tipped me over into the mud.'
'How did you fall into their hands?' asked his uncle.
'They've been a-sluggin', I shouldn't wonder,'
remarked the boatman.
'That was it,' said Dick. 'There was a slug between
our fellows and the wharf-rats out of Skinner's Hole, and
they bagged me.'
His uncle nodded. He had been a Bardon boy in his
time, and knew all about it. He paid the boatman, and
away he and Dick went together, for his house was in the
same road as Dick's home.
'They're a jolly sly lot, those wharf-rats,' said Dick,
as they walked along. 'Our fellows sent me ahead as a
scout, but I never saw a sign of them, and yet they were
waiting for us on the Flat all the time.'
'Seems to me you weren't much of a success as a scout,
Dick,' said his uncle, smiling.
'You're right there, Uncle Jim,' replied Dick, a broad
grin on his honest, open face. 'I muffed it that time, and
no mistake. Hallo, here's the bobby!'
The constable who had the Quay beat came hurrying
along, looking red and angry.
'You 'ain't seen any o' them young varmints wot have
been a-sluggin', have ye, Mr. Elliott?' he cried to Dick's
uncle.
'Yes; I've seen some of them, Cooper, but I'm afraid
they're out of your reach by now,' replied the latter.
'I just wish I could get hold of 'em,' cried the indignant
constable. 'I'd give 'em what for. Two windows 'ave
they broke wi' their stones and their sluggin', an' one of
'em in the shop o' poor old Mrs. Dean. The old woman
has hard enow work to make a livin' without rowdy young
nippers a-smashin' her windows.'
'You're right, Cooper,' agreed Mr. Elliott.
'But I'll put a stop to it,' said the constable. 'I'll be
on the spot here at such times as them Grammar School
boys are crossin' the Flat. Then if any game gets started
betwixt them and that lot out o' Skinner's Hole, I'll be
ready for 'em.'
Mr. Elliott and Dick walked on, and the latter burst
out impulsively:
'That's too bad, uncle, about the poor old woman.
I'll send the hat round and make our fellows fork out, and
we'll square it up to her for her broken window.'
'Good idea, old chap!' said Mr. Elliott. 'Here's half
a crown for a start.'
Dick thanked his uncle, and pocketed the coin.
'Well, we were talking about your scouting,' went on
Mr. Elliott.
'Oh!' grinned Dick. 'Don't rot me about that. I
give it up. I missed my kick that time.'
'That's all right,' said his uncle; 'I don't want to poke
fun at you. I was only going to suggest this. Why
don't you go in for real scouting? Learn to play the
game properly. It's a wonderful game if you tackle it
seriously--splendid sport, and a thousand times more
useful, and better fun, than this foolish slugging business.'
'Some of the fellows at school have been talking about
scouting,' said Dick. 'They've got hold of
Baden-Powell's book, and they were awfully interested when I
told them that you were in Mafeking with B.-P.'
'Yes, and a fine tenderfoot I was at the start!' laughed
his uncle. 'When B.-P. told the townsmen they'd got
to lend a hand, I was like a good few more. I thought I'd
pick up what was wanted in no time. But I found that
a useful man in the firing-line isn't made in a hurry. What
a time he had with some of us fellows, who scarcely knew
which end of a rifle to put to the shoulder!' And
Mr. Elliott chuckled at the recollection.
'Have you read the first part of B.-P.'s book, Dick?'
he asked in a moment.
'No,' replied Dick. 'I should like to uncommonly.'
'Here's a copy,' said Mr. Elliott, drawing the small
paper-covered volume from his pocket. 'I bought it in
London yesterday. Look it through, and if you and
your chums like the idea of it, remember that I shall
always be ready to lend you a hand if you wish to make
a start.'