On the evening succeeding the interesting story told by Uncle Elk of the
once famous sea serpent, the majority of the Boy Scouts were seated on
the porch of the bungalow exchanging the day’s experiences. The half
dozen detailed to prepare supper were as busy as they could be, for they
like their waiting companions were exceedingly a-hungered. Some had
spent hours in fishing for perch, bass, salmon, pickerel and lake trout;
others had strolled through the fragrant, resinous woods, studying trees
and bird life, and all had added to their splendid reserve of rugged
health, exuberant animal spirits, and that genuine happiness which comes
only with an upright life, clean habits and the constant seeking of an
opportunity to do others a “good turn.”
The day had been an ideal one, overflowing with radiant sunshine,
surcharged with ozone and with a sky of a crystalline clearness which
Italy throughout all its historic centuries has never surpassed. The
summer was drawing to a close; the nights were perceptibly longer, and
there was a crisp coolness which increased after sunset and told of the
coming of autumn and winter.
Scout Master Hall sat among his boys looking out upon the placid lake,
the conversation rambling and not important enough to call for record.
The chair in which Jack Crandall reclined while he talked had been
carried inside by two of the Scouts, Doctor Spellman having advised that
this should be done now that the weather was growing chilly.
Suddenly, Gerald Hume, of the Stag Patrol, who sat nearest to the end of
the porch, said:
“Hello? we have a visitor.”
A general turning of heads followed. Coming along the beach from the
direction of Uncle Elk’s home was a boy, probably fifteen or sixteen
years old, rather tall for his age, dressed in khaki, with leggings, a
close-fitting cap and short coat with belt around the waist. While his
attire resembled in some respects that of the Boy Scouts, it was not the
same. He swung a swagger or short cane in his right hand, and advanced
with the elastic grace of an athlete. As he drew nearer it was seen that
he had a pleasing face, with regular features, dark eyes and hair, and
that air which while it cannot be described, yet reveals the polish and
culture of the true gentleman.
Glancing aside at the boys who were busy with their culinary duties, he
stepped lightly upon the porch and with a military salute called out:
“Good evening, boys; I am glad to meet you.”
Scout Master Hall and every youth sprang to their feet and made the
regulation salute, the leader advancing and offering his hand.
“And I assure you we are all pleased to welcome you. You are in time to
join us at supper and of course will stay over night. Are you alone?”
“I am; my name is George Burton and my home is in the city of New York.
I am spending a week or two at the Hotel Samoset on Mouse Island, but
must soon leave to meet my folks on their return from the other side.”
“Did you come from Mouse Island to-day?” inquired Scout Master Hall.
“I left there early this morning; crossed to Boothbay Harbor and then
struck on foot, just as my brother and I did last summer in tramping
through Switzerland. A farmer gave me a ride of several miles, when I
resorted to shanks-mare again. Then I caught another ride—not quite so
long as the former—until I came to the half-broken track through the
woods, over which I believe the wagon labors that brings your supplies.
I had heard that a party of Boy Scouts were stopping at the clubhouse,
which I saw from the other side of the lake, so I skirted the sheet of
water to this point.”
“That makes a pretty good tramp for one day,” remarked the Scout Master.
“I have done a good deal better, and I am sure it would not tax any one
of you. You asked me a few minutes ago if I were alone; I am, but I
expect soon to be joined by a friend.”
Young Burton laughed at the surprised looks turned toward him.
“He is my dog, named Zip.”
“He will be as welcome as his master,” said Mr. Hall.
“I know that and I thank you for us both.”
“It’s mesilf that is wondering why ye don’t kaap company,” said Mike
Murphy; “me dad explained to Father Hoogan, as his rason for taking me
wid him whereiver he wint, that he liked to have a pup at his heels whin
he wandered round the country.”
The visitor smiled at the Irish lad’s drollery, and was on the point of
answering the query, when the Scouts in charge of the dinner
preparations announced that the meal was ready.
“We are all curious to hear your story, which we know is interesting,”
remarked the Scout Master as he and the boys rose to their feet, “but
nothing can be so attractive just now as the meal to which we have just
been summoned.”
“I am of your opinion,” replied Burton, moving off with the others to
the table.
“May I ask when you look for the arrival of your friend Zip?”
The guest took out his watch and glanced at its face.
“It is now half-past six; he ought to be here by seven; I must allow him
some margin.”
Every one was puzzled, but made no comment. As the Scout Master had
remarked, the question of satisfying their hunger dominated all others
for the time.
Needless to say the whole party partook of the food with the satisfying
enjoyment which waits on sound health and exuberant spirits. As Scout
Master Hall quoted, all “ate like horses when you hear them eat,” the
feast enlivened by continuous chatter, jest and merriment. Jack
Crandall’s chair was wheeled to the table, and with a little help from
his friends he did his part well. Less than half an hour thus passed,
when the company adjourned to the front porch, the only absent ones
being the half dozen who had to clean up and leave things ready for the
morning meal. This work did not take long, and all were soon gathered
together, the Scouts much interested in their guest, and what he told
them about his dog Zip.
“He is a bloodhound,” he explained, “not quite two years old. The breed
is not specially noted for its intelligence, but its delicacy or power
of scent would be unbelievable had it not been proved over and over
again. I hope to give you some demonstrations by my own dog, who is of
pure breed, and with more brains than the generality of his kind.”
“Are you sure he will trail you to this place?” asked Scout Master Hall.
“There is not a particle of doubt about it. He has performed more
difficult feats than that; in fact, I am trying to find something he
cannot do, but so far haven’t succeeded.”
“Will you tell us the particulars of his present task?”
“I left Mouse Island this morning about seven o’clock on the _Norman
II_, run by Captain Pinkham. Having made my arrangements with Manager
Dodge, I explained to my friend Chester Greenleaf that Zip would be at
the dock and board the boat at twenty minutes to two for the roundabout
trip to Boothbay Harbor. I advised Greenleaf not to try to collect a
ticket from Zip, as he might resent it, and the young man promised to
bear the counsel in mind. All that was to be done was to take the pup to
the wharf at Boothbay and leave him to do the rest.
“Zip didn’t like the idea of being left behind at Mouse, but he knew
what was expected of him, and stood quietly on the dock as with a
lugubrious expression he watched me go. I waved my hand at him, and he
wagged his tail in return, as much as to say I couldn’t lose him in that
fashion.
“Now,” said Burton animatedly, “consider what Zip has had to do. He left
Mouse Island at twenty minutes to two o’clock this afternoon and reached
Boothbay Harbor at about half past two, which was fully seven hours
behind me. I’ll warrant he was the first one ashore, and in a twinkling
picked up my trail and was speeding northward from the town. Two miles
out he lost it for the time because I had a lift from a farmer, but Zip
knew what that meant, and he loped on up the road, certain of
discovering when I left the vehicle.”
“Is it possible,” asked Scout Master Hall, “that he could keep your
scent while you were riding in a wagon?”
“I am not prepared to deny it, incredible as it may sound. A bloodhound
has been known to trot twenty feet to one side of a trail along a broad
highway, and not lose it for miles. Zip is so familiar with my scent
that he may have detected it from the first. Be that as it may, he lost
no time in nosing about the road, but detected the very spot where my
foot again touched ground, and was after me like a thunderbolt. I had a
second ride—not quite so long as the first—which brought me to the
rough unbroken track over which your supply wagon brings your
provisions. It was a long tramp to this place, and, as you know, the
afternoon was gone when I arrived.”
“Did you make any attempts to throw him off your track?”
“No, for it was useless. Had a canoe been at hand I might have crossed
the lake in it, but that would have been unfair, for of course no trail
can be followed through water, since in the nature of things none can be
made.
“Since I have been specially interested in this breed of dogs,” young
Burton modestly added, “I may have picked up a few points that are not
familiar to all of you.”
“There is no question as to that,” replied Scout Master Hall, “you have
already proved it; you are telling us facts that are not only new to us
but of special interest. All the boys feel as I do.”
A general murmur of assent followed.
“You are more complimentary than I deserve. While the bloodhound is not
the most common breed of dogs in this country, I suppose most of you are
familiar with his looks and history. They were once used in Cuba to
track escaping prisoners and runaway slaves, and probably served the
same purpose in some parts of the South before the Civil War, but in our
country they were employed simply to track the negroes and were trained
not to harm them, for, aside from the cruelty of the act, it was against
the interests of the slave owner to injure his own property. In Cuba,
the bloodhounds were like ravening tigers. The poor wretch in threshing
through the thickets and swamps heard the horrible baying fast drawing
nearer. His only escape was to leap among the limbs of a tree, and climb
beyond reach of the brutes. If he was tardy in doing so, the black
terror that burst through the undergrowth buried his fangs in his throat
the next instant and never let go, no matter how desperately the man
fought.”
“How was it when the poor fellow reached a perch?”
“The dogs sat down and waited until the pursuers came up and claimed the
prisoner.”
“Suppose the slave took to water?”
“He was pretty sure to do that sooner or later, but it rarely availed
against the marvelous scent of his enemies. After a time the man had to
leave the creek or river, as it might be, and with two or three or more
bloodhounds trotting along the bank with their muzzle to the ground,
they were certain to pick up the scent with little or no loss of time.
“This peculiarly Spanish product became famous during the war with the
Seminole Indians of Florida some seventy years ago. You know that those
redskins retreated into the swamps and everglades where our soldiers
could not follow them, or, if they followed, could not find them. The
war dragged on year after year until the patience of the government was
worn out. In its perplexity a number of Cuban bloodhounds were imported;
and, although our officers took pains to declare that the dogs would be
used to track and not to rend the Seminoles, an indignant protest went
up against the barbarity of the act.
“But,” added young Burton with a laugh, “the crime, if it were such,
worked its own remedy. Somehow or other the Indians learned to make
friends with the black brutes which came to them in the swamps, and they
trained them with so much skill that they used them to hunt down the
stray soldiers and former owners. The use of bloodhounds in the Seminole
war proved a farce.”
The guest suddenly ceased talking for a moment and said:
“It is time I heard from Zip.”
“Some accident may have befallen him or perhaps he has gone astray.”
“Both are improbable—listen!”