ETHAN ALLEN COMES TO LIFE AGAIN
For the next days the troop's headquarters on Otter Hill was the
strangest place imaginable. Passers by were surprised to find groups of
real Indians in war paint, Colonial soldiers, British troopers and Green
Mountain Boys in buckskin garments walking up and down in front of the
building or sitting in the sun waiting for their turn to "go on" in the
studio room upstairs. These were the regular actors of the Historical
Motion Picture Company, who had come to Woodbridge by train to take part
in the Ethan Allen film which Mr. Dickle was making.
To be sure, all this fascinated the scouts. It was a decided pleasure to
be allowed to circulate among such famous people. Ethan Allen was a big,
broad-shouldered actor whose name was known from coast to coast. So was
the individual who took the part of Captain Rember Baker, Captain Warner
and Captain Warrington. Anne Story was a girl whose face the boys had
seen on a dozen different billboards, and there were any number of other
well-known individuals in the troupe. And there were real live Indians,
too, who afforded the boys no end of interest. Altogether, the advent of
the motion picture company was a liberal education for the lads.
But for knowledge of the technical nature, which the boys liked best, the
interior of headquarters presented a world of opportunity. When the
company's electricians and stage carpenters had finished with their work
in the big meeting room Bruce and his chums scarcely recognized it as the
same place. Two banks of a dozen electric lights as big as street arc
lamps, and just as powerful, had been strung across the ceiling. These,
by means of reflectors, were made to flood the far end of the room, "the
stage," with a steady white light.
Behind the light was the camera man, grinding away steadily, taking
sixteen pictures a second, while before the light were the actors playing
their parts, now in a log cabin, now in a Colonial mansion and again in a
courtroom at Albany, according to the way the scene shifters arranged the
portable canvas scenery.
Between the camera man and the actors, to the left of the stage, sat Mr.
Dickle in his shirt sleeves, clutching a bundle of manuscript in one hand
and a megaphone in the other. Through this effective mouthpiece he
directed each of the actors. The members of the cast did their work
entirely in pantomime, except when Mr. Dickle bawled a few lines at them,
which they repeated so that the camera could register the action of their
lips.
It was all so perfectly wonderful to the scouts that they stood for hours
watching the making of the film; that is, they stood still and watched
while the actors and photographers were at work, but the moment business
was suspended, while scenes were changed, they began to ask questions of
every one in sight.
They learned that the big lights were a new type of tungsten lamp filled
with nitrogen gas which made them burn three times as bright as other
lamps. They discovered that the original photographs were only
three-quarters of an inch long and they were magnified from thirty to
fifty thousand times when they were projected onto a movie screen by the
machine in the theater. They found out also that raw film cost four
cents a foot, that movie actors were paid as high as $20,000 a year, that
there were nearly four hundred American firms making movies, that most of
the films of the world were made in this country, that American "movies"
were being shown in China, Australia, India and all sorts of far-off
corners of the world, and that in one American city alone the "movie"
theaters took in more than $40,000 a day in admission fees.
All this and a great deal more did the inquisitive youngsters gather,
until they became veritable motion picture encyclopedias. Of course,
chief among the men whom they questioned was Mr. Dickle. In fact, every
time the manager finished directing a scene, Bruce and several other
scouts pounced upon him and began plying him with questions concerning
the film industry, all of which he answered in great detail, for he
appreciated the fact that they were boys who wanted to learn and
understand.
It was during one of these periods of catechising that he finally
explained the big film he was making at the time.
"This photoplay," he said, "is to be a feature production; five reels of
1,000 feet each. I'm going to give all the details of the troubles Ethan
Allen and the Green Mountain Boys had with the authorities of New York
State over the New Hampshire Grants. Of course, you boys know the story.
It's history."
"You bet we do," said Bruce; "find a Vermont boy who hasn't read about
the Green Mountain Boys."
"Well, I'm glad you are so well informed. It will help a little when you
take your parts tomorrow afternoon. I've finished the studio work on the
film now, and all that remains are some exteriors in the vicinity of the
Lake. The film will wind up with a big battle between Allen and his
Green Mountain Boys against the Sheriff of Albany, assisted by some
Indians and Red Coats."
"I want you fellows to be the original Green Mountain Scouts. Your
buckskins are all downstairs in the trunks. They came by express this
morning. I'd expect you all to report here tomorrow at two thirty. Get
into the duds and come up to the lake. You'll find us all ready for you
up there with an automobile full of flintlock rifles and things. The
stage will all be set for the big battle around the mouth of the real
Ethan Allen cave. How does that suit you?" It was a thrilling idea.
"How does it suit? Wow; were there ever fellows as lucky as we are?
Just think of being in a real movie film; I tell you--"
"Jiminy crickets, we'll have the time of our life, Mr. Dickle. Why,
we'll do it for nothing, just for the fun of the thing," exclaimed Gordon
generously.
"Oh, no, you won't; you'll get fifty cents each, and, besides, I'm paying
you ten dollars a day for the use of this building. Forty dollars is due
you so far. That should help the troop's treasury a little, eh, boys?"
"You bet it will," said Bruce. "Only we don't like--"
"Tut, tut; that'll do. I owe you money, and I'm going to pay it. If you
don't take it I'll give it to your Assistant Scout master, Mr. Ford. I
met him yesterday," said Mr. Dickle. Then, to the actors, he called:
"Next scene, gentlemen! Ring the bell, Benny!" And Bruce and the scouts
realized that it was time for them to leave.
The following day Woodbridge witnessed the strangest scene in its
history. It was that of a score of Green Mountain Scouts, in buckskins
and coon caps, traveling up the dusty road toward the Lake. Some were
astride motor cycles, a half-dozen were crowded into "Old Nanc" and the
rest were walking.
An hour after leaving headquarters they reached the lake shore. Ethan
Allen's cave was up a very steep grade from the water and the boys could
see as they rounded the bend in the road dozens of Red Coats and Indians
waiting for them. Bruce and the lads on the motorcycles put on high
speed and took the grade in whirlwind fashion but "Old Nanc" was not
equal to the hill, so she was parked in a lot by the lakeside and the
rest of the troop went up to the cave on foot.
Immediately upon their arrival activities began. Mr. Dickle formed them
in line and marched them up beside the big automobile truck that stood in
the middle of the road. Here each lad was given a flintlock rifle and
sent over to the mouth of the cave, where Ethan Allen and a half-dozen
Green Mountain Boys were waiting, seated about a camp fire.
"Now, boys," said the manager, when all had been served with guns and had
taken their places, "those weapons of yours are only dummies. I don't
want you lads fooling with powder even in a sham battle. I won't be
responsible for your eyes. My regular actors will do all the firing
necessary, and they will make smoke enough to cover the film. All I want
you fellows to do is aim and pull the trigger. Are you ready now,
gentlemen? Camera!"
Mr. Dickle stood with his feet apart, megaphone in hand, in the middle of
the road. The camera man had set up his tripod on the rear end of the
motor truck, which was held on the very brink of the grade by its brakes.
At the word "Camera" he began to turn the crank of his machine rapidly,
and almost before they knew it the Boy Scout Engineers were being
photographed as part of a real feature film.
Action followed swiftly. While the lads were sitting about the fire an
Indian came out of the woods. It was Neshobee, the friendly Red Man of
Judge Thompson's story. He advanced to Ethan Allen, his hand extended
aloft as a sign of friendship. Then he began to talk, pointing into the
bushes and up toward the leaves of the trees. Instantly the Green
Mountain Boys were alert!
"The Red Coats and the Sheriff!" snapped Allen, and every man was
crouching, gun in hand, waiting for the attack. A Red Coat appeared in
the bushes!
Up went a dozen muskets, and the next instant there was a thundering
roar! The Red Coat disappeared! But others came! They bobbed up
everywhere! Behind bushes and trees! From rocks and logs they sprang,
advancing and firing in apparently deadly earnestness! The roar of the
musketry was deafening! Bruce and his chums were thrilled with
enthusiasm, and they snapped their guns at every enemy in sight! On came
the Red Coats and the Indians with the Sheriff of New York leading them!
They advanced into the open, firing deliberately at the little group of
defenders about the cave! But their fire was answered with interest, and
soldiers and Indians were stumbling and falling in all directions!
And above all the din could be heard the voice of Mr. Dickle, the stage
manager, roaring directions through his megaphone. "Great scene! Fine!
Register excitement! Fall down, Murphy! Tumble over, there, Lisk;
you're dead--tumble, I say. Don't be afraid of your uniform. I'll pay
for that. Fall!--fall!--fall! Now, Green Mountain Boys, up and at 'em!
Charge! Charge! Beat it, you Red Coats--you're licked. Run! Git! Beat
it, I say! After 'em, scouts, after 'em! Fine! Great scene! All right;
that'll do. Quit firing."
The roar of the flintlocks ceased and Bruce and the rest of the scouts
stopped, thoroughly out of breath with excitement. The Red Coats and
Indians stopped also, and, turning about, rejoined their erstwhile
enemies. The "dead" and "wounded" stood up, too, and began to walk about
and chat with the rest, all of which gave the scouts the impression that
a "movie" battle was the only really pleasant kind of battle, after all.
"Well, you scouts certainly filled the bill as Green Mountain Boys," said
Mr. Dickle when the boys reached the road where he was standing. "That
will make a great scene. Now, just as soon as Bob gets his stuff stowed
away in the truck, we'll start for town."
Bruce noticed that the camera man was having difficulty in getting his
outfit in the truck unassisted, so he ran on ahead of the others to help
him.
"Here, Bruce," said the movie operator, "you get up in the wagon and I
will hand the things to you and you can stow them under the seat."
The camera man handed up the box-like machine, which Bruce started
packing under the seat. Just as the operator started back up the hill to
get his tripod, in some unaccountable manner the brakes of the heavy
truck loosened and the big vehicle started to roll slowly down the hill.
So steep was the grade that the truck gained momentum at a terrific rate.
Bob, the camera man, noticing what had happened, turned and ran swiftly
down the hill. But it had gained such headway that he couldn't overtake
it.
"Hi, there!" shrieked Mr. Dickle. "Stop that trunk! Stopit! My film!
It's all in the camera, and the truck's running away! Stop it, some one!
Save the film!"
Bruce's first impulse was to jump from the truck and leave it to its
fate, but when he heard the manager's frantic appeal to save the precious
film he climbed quickly over the back of the high seat. In another
instant he grasped the steering wheel and jammed his foot down upon the
brake lever.
Then bang--! the brake band snapped and the truck lurched forward again!
Bruce had applied the brake too suddenly, and the next moment he found
himself in a runaway motor truck that could not be stopped until it
reached level ground.
The patrol leader felt like he was turning cold. Before him stretched a
long grade, and at the end a sharp turn! If he did not make that turn
the motor truck would crash against a rock or tree and kill him, or at
best it would plunge into the Lake and then the film would be lost!
Could he make the turn?
On rushed the massive truck. It had developed express train speed now
and it rocked from side to side like a ship in a gale as it tore down the
rough country road! Bruce clutched the big steering wheel with deathlike
grip and tried his mightiest to keep the cumbersome vehicle straight!
He realized that a loose stone or a deep rut meant death to him and
destruction to the motor car! His teeth were clenched and his face was
white! The wind had whisked away his coonskin cap.
"Oh, if I can only make that turn! I must! I've _got_ to!" he told
himself, as he saw the distance to the foot of the hill being eaten up by
the flying motor car. Nearer and nearer came the turn. It was a hundred
yards away. Now seventy, fifty, forty! Would the truck stay on all four
wheels or would it go plunging on madly, end over end, into the lake?
Could he make it? The road bent slightly now. Brace followed the curve.
Now came the turn. Bruce tugged at the wheel. The big truck swerved.
It was skidding! It was two wheels and ploughing up the dust in great
clouds! It was almost around! It was around! The road ahead of him was
straight and clear!
Bruce breathed a great sigh of relief. And so did fifty individuals who
had been watching the terrible race from the top of the hill. They
cheered loud and long when the big truck shot safely around the bend and
headed up the level road toward Woodbridge. Then all of them started
down the grade pell mell, nor did they stop until they reached the place
where the truck had finally stalled. Then every one tried to shake the
boy's hand.
"By Jove, but for your nerve, Bruce, my boy, we'd have been minus film
and motor truck. For pure grit, I think you scouts take the prize. I
wish I could think of some way to repay you," cried Mr. Dickle, pumping
Bruce around somewhat roughly.
"Why--er--you see--we don't want any pay for what we do, but if it can be
arranged, I--I--well, we sure would like to see that 'movie.' Can't you
send one to the Woodbridge Theater?" said Bruce.
"Huh, send one to the Woodbridge Theater! Why, I'll bring the first
release of it to Woodbridge myself and show it in your headquarters.
How'll that suit you fellows?"
And the enthusiastic replies of the scouts convinced the "movie" manager
that he had hit the right idea.