SCOUT
All hardy exercise is good for a soldier, but in pig-sticking
Baden-Powell found a sport which, in addition to its effect upon the
nerves and sinews, gives a man what is called a "stalker's eye," and
that, says B.-P., is _par excellence_ the soldier's eye. It was this
that made B.-P. an enthusiastic hunter of the wild boar. "Without
doubt," he exclaims, "the constant and varied exercise of the
inductive reasoning powers called into play in the pursuit must exert
a beneficial effect on the mind, and the actual pleasure of riding and
killing a boar is doubly enhanced by the knowledge that he has been
found by the fair and sporting exercise of one's own bump of
'woodcraft.' The sharpness of intellect which we are wont to associate
with the detective is nothing more than the result of training that
inductive reasoning, which is almost innate in the savage. To the
child of the jungle the ground with its signs is at once his book, his
map, and his newspaper. Remember the volume of meaning contained in
the single print of Friday's foot on Crusoe's beach." And so he
advises officers in India to go with a native tracker to the jungle
and watch him and learn from him "the almost boundless art of deducing
and piecing together correctly information to be gathered from the
various signs found." The importance of tracking, and the art of it,
is shown in an interesting story which B.-P. tells, a story which
demonstrates the close relationship of hunter and scout. A sportsman
in India was out tiger-shooting early one morning, with two
professional trackers walking in front of his elephant, and the usual
company of beaters behind. As they went along, the fresh pugs of a
tiger were seen on the ground, but the professional trackers passed on
without so much as a sign of having noticed the spoor. In a minute the
beaters were up with the professionals, asking, with Asiatic irony, if
they had eyes in their professional heads. To which one of the
trackers merely replied, "Idiots! at what time do rats run about?" And
then the humbled coolies went back to look at the spoor again, and
there they saw, after a close scrutiny, the delicate tracing of a
little field-rat's feet over the mighty pugs of Stripes. This rat only
comes out of its hole early in the night, and retires long before the
Eastern day begins, so that several hours had elapsed since the tiger
journeyed that way, and the professional was a better man than the
amateur.
Baden-Powell has all the qualifications that go to make a good scout.
His eye is as keen as the hawk's, and many a time "by keeping his eyes
skinned" he has done useful, if unobtrusive, work. Once he was riding
in the night with despatches for headquarters' camp, guiding himself
by the stars. Arriving at the place where he thought the camp ought to
be, he was surprised to find no sign of it. Dismounting from his
saddle, he was thinking of lying up for the night (rather than
overshoot the mark) when a distant spark, for the fraction of a
second, caught his eye. Jumping into the saddle again, he rode towards
the place where the spark had flickered its brief moment, and there he
found a sentry smoking a pipe. The red glow of the baccy in the bowl
had guided B.-P. with his despatches safely to camp.
But not always does Baden-Powell see what he says he sees. On one
occasion in Kashmir he was matching his eyes against a shikari, and
the story of the contest is related by B.-P. in his _Aids to Scouting_
(published by Gale and Polden, London and Aldershot): "He pointed out
a hillside some distance off, and asked me if I could see how many
cattle there were grazing on it. It was only with difficulty that I
could see any cattle at all, but presently I capped him by asking him
if he could see the man in charge of the cattle. Now, I could not
actually see this myself, but knowing that there must be a man with
the herd, and that he would probably be up-hill above them somewhere,
and as there was a solitary tree above them (and it was a hot, sunny
day), I guessed he would be under this tree." And when the incredulous
shikari looked through the field-glasses he marvelled at the vision of
the white man--the herdsman was under the tree as happy as a hen in a
dust-bath. The uses of inductive reasoning!
A good instance of Baden-Powell's skill in "piecing things together"
is given in the same excellent manual on scouting. He was scouting one
day on an open grass plain in Matabeleland accompanied by a single
native. "Suddenly," he says, "we noticed the grass had been recently
trodden down; following up the track for a short distance, it got on
to a patch of sandy ground, and we then saw that it was the spoor of
several women and boys walking towards some hills about five miles
distant, where we believed the enemy to be hiding. Then we saw a leaf
lying about ten yards off the track--there were no trees for miles,
but there were, we knew, trees of this kind at a village 15 miles
distant, in the direction from which the tracks led. Probably, then,
these women had come from that village, bringing the leaf with them,
and had gone to the hills. On picking up the leaf, it was damp and
smelled of native beer. So we guessed that according to the custom of
these people they had been carrying pots of native beer on their
heads, the mouths of the pots being stopped with bunches of leaves.
One of these leaves had fallen out; but we found it ten yards off the
track, which showed that at the time it fell a wind had been blowing.
There was no wind now, but there had been about five A.M., and it was
now nearly seven. So we read from these signs that a party of women
had brought beer during the night from the village 15 miles distant,
and had taken it to the enemy on the hills, arriving there about six
o'clock. The men would probably start to drink the beer at once (as it
goes sour if kept for long), and would, by the time we could get
there, be getting sleepy from it, so we should have a favourable
chance of reconnoitring their position. We accordingly followed the
women's tracks, found the enemy, made our observations, and got away
with our information without any difficulty."
In the chapters referring to his work as Sir Frederick Carrington's
Chief of the Staff in the Matabele campaign of 1896, we shall see what
great service Baden-Powell has rendered the army by his tireless
scouting. Here I can hardly do better than quote from his _Aids_, for
in this book he unlocks his heart as a scout, and in order to
encourage non-commissioned officers and men to interest themselves in
the more intelligent side of soldiering (not for self-advertisement)
tells us innumerable instances of his own interesting experiences. The
chief charm of scouting, of course, is in actual warfare, when a man
goes out, sometimes alone and unattended, to find out what a
well-armed enemy is doing and how many fighting men are to be expected
in the morrow's battle. But just as Cervantes could "engender" the
ingenious Don Quixote in a miserable prison, so Baden-Powell in the
arid times of peace finds means of enjoying the fascinations of
scouting. When out in India he used to spend many an early morning in
practising, and he gives the result of one of these mornings in his
little book on Scouting, which I would have you read in its entirety.
It is a book which has many of the virtues of a novel, and is written
in plain English.
The following instance will show you how assiduously B.-P. practises
scouting, and will also give you an idea as to beguiling your next
country walk.
_Ground:_ A well-frequented road in an Indian
hill-station--dry--gravel, grit, and sand.
_Atmosphere:_ Bright and dry, no wind.
_Time:_ 6 A.M. to 8 A.M.
_Signs: Fresh Wheelmarks._ [Fresh because the tracks were
clearly defined with sharp edges in the sand; they overrode
all other tracks.]
[This must mean a "rickshaw" (hand-carriage) had passed
this morning--no other carriages are used at this
station.]
_Going Forward._ [Because there are tracks of bare feet,
some ridden over, others overriding the wheel track, but
always keeping along it, _i.e._ two men pulling in front,
two pushing behind.]
[Had they been independent wayfarers they would have
walked on the smooth, beaten part of the road.]
_The men were going at a walk._ (Because the impression of
the fore part of the foot is no deeper than that of the
heel, and the length of pace not long enough for running.)
_One man wore shoes_, the remaining three were barefooted.
_One wheel was a little wobbly._
_Deduction_
_The track was that of a rickshaw conveying an invalid in
comparatively humble circumstances, for a constitutional._
Because it went at a slow pace, along a circular road which led
nowhere in particular (it had passed the cemetery and the
only house along that road), at an early hour of the
morning, the rickshaw being in a groggy state and the men
not uniformly dressed.
NOTE.--This deduction proved correct. On returning from my walk
I struck the same track (_i.e._ the wobbly wheel and the one shod
man) on another road, going ahead of me. I soon overtook them,
and found an old invalid lady being driven in a hired bazaar
rickshaw.
While following the tracks of the rickshaw, I noticed fresh
tracks of two horses coming towards me, followed by a big dog.
_They had passed since the rickshaw_ (overriding its tracks).
_They were cantering_ (two single hoof-prints, and then two near
together).
_A quarter of a mile farther on they were walking_ for a quarter
of a mile. (Hoof-prints in pairs a yard apart.) Here the dog
dropped behind, and had to make up lost ground by galloping
up to them. (Deep impression of his claws, and dirt kicked
up.)
_They had finished the walk about a quarter of an hour_ before I
came there. (Because the horse's droppings at this point
were quite fresh; covered with flies; not dried outside by
the sun.)
_They had been cantering up to the point where they began the
walk, but one horse had shied violently on passing the
invalid in the rickshaw._ (Because there was a great kick up
of gravel and divergence from its track just where the
rickshaw track bent into the side of the road, and
afterwards overrode the horse's tracks.)
NOTE.--I might have inferred from this that the invalid was
carrying an umbrella which frightened the horse, and was,
therefore, a lady. But I did not think of it at the time and had
rather supposed from the earliness of the hour that the invalid
was a man. Invalid ladies don't, as a rule, get up so early.
_Deduction_
_The tracks were those of a lady and gentleman out for a ride,
followed by her dog._
Because had the horses been only out exercising with syces they
would have been going at a walk in single file (or possibly at a
tearing gallop).
They were therefore ridden by white people, one of whom was a
lady; because, 1st, a man would not take a big, heavy dog to pound
along after his horse (it had pounded along long after the horses
were walking); 2nd, a man would not pull up to walk because his
horse had shied at a rickshaw; but a lady might, especially if
urged to do so by a man who was anxious about her safety, and that
is why I put them down as a man and a lady. Had they been two
ladies, the one who had been shied with would have continued to
canter out of bravado. And the man, probably, either a very
affectionate husband or no husband at all.
NOTE.--I admit that the above deductions hinge on very
little--one link might just be wrong and so break the whole chain.
This is often, indeed generally, the case, and corroborative
evidence should always be sought for.
In the present instance my deductions proved pretty correct. I
saw the couple later on, followed by their collie dog, riding
along a lower road; but I could not determine their relationship
to one another.
_Note on Examples I. and II._
Incidentally, the horse-tracks of No. 2 gave me a clue to the
hour at which the invalid in the rickshaw had passed that way.
Thus: I came on the droppings at 7.14.
Assuming that they were actually 15 minutes old and the horses
had walked 1/4 mile since passing the rickshaw, 19 minutes must
have elapsed since the passing; _i.e._ they passed each other at
6.55.
On my arrival at the point where they had passed, the rickshaw
would now be 23 minutes ahead of me, or about 11/4 mile.
But it is not only on set occasions that Baden-Powell practises
scouting. He rarely takes a walk, boards a 'bus, or enters a train,
without finding opportunity for some subtle inductive reasoning. Thus
he recommends the men in his regiment to notice closely any stranger
with whom they may come in contact, guess what their professions and
circumstances are, and then, getting into conversation, find out how
near the truth their surmises have been. Therefore, dear reader, if
you find yourself in a few months' time drifting into conversation
with a good-looking, bronzed stranger, this side of fifty, who puts
rather pointed questions to you, after having studied your thumbs,
boots, and whiskers intently, take special delight in leading him
harmlessly astray, for thereby you may be beating, with great glory to
yourself, the "Wolf that never Sleeps."
The joy of a walk in the country is heightened, I think, by following
the example of Baden-Powell, and paying attention to the tracks on the
ground. It would be an uncanny day for England when every man turned
himself into a Sherlock Holmes, but there is no man who might not with
advantage to himself practise scouting in the Essex forests or on the
Surrey hills. The world is filled with life, and yet people go
rambling through fields and woods without having seen anything more
exciting than a couple of rabbits and a few blackbirds.
The chief joy of scouting, however, is not to be found in what
Baden-Powell calls "dear, drowsy, after-lunch Old England." They who
would seek it must go far from this "ripple of land," far from
The happy violets hiding from the roads,
The primroses run down to, carrying gold,--
The tangled hedgerows, where the cows push out
Impatient horns and tolerant churning mouths
'Twixt dripping ash-boughs,--hedgerows all alive
With birds and gnats and large white butterflies
Which look as if the May-flower had caught life
And palpitated forth upon the wind,--
Hills, vales, woods, netted in a silver mist,
Farms, granges, doubled up among the hills,
And cattle grazing in the watered vales,
And cottage-chimneys smoking from the woods,
And cottage-gardens smelling everywhere,
Confused with smell of orchards.
Far from our tight little island must they journey for that inspiring
spell which turns the man of means into a wanderer upon the earth's
surface, driving him out of glittering London, with its twinkling
lights and its tinkling cabs, out of St. James's, and out of the club
arm-chair--out of all this, and wins him into the vast, drear, and
inhuman world, where men of our blood wage a ceaseless war with savage
nature. And it is when Baden-Powell packs his frock-coat into a
drawer, pops his shiny tall hat into a box, and slips exultingly into
a flannel shirt that the life of a scout seems to him the infinitely
best in the world. No man ever cared less for the mere ease of
civilisation than Baden-Powell.