Sentry Duty
The spring term wore slowly on. March winds came and went, taking the
sweet violets with them, but leaving golden Lent lilies and a wealth of
primroses as a legacy to April. The larch forest above Porth Powys was a
tangle of green tassels, the hedgerows were starry with blackthorn, and
the _Pyrus japonica_ over the dining-room windows was a mass of rosy
blossom. Spring was always a delightful season at The Woodlands; with
the longer days came rambles and greater freedom. Popular opinion ran
high in extolling country life, and any girl who ventured to prefer town
pleasures found herself entirely in the minority.
Rona had several invitations for the Easter holidays, one from Mrs.
Stanton among the number; but Miss Bowes, thinking it better for Ulyth
to have a rest from her room-mate's presence, decided in favour of
Winnie Fowler. Ulyth could not help feeling a sense of relief that the
matter was thus settled. Rona was very little trouble to her
now--indeed, she rather liked her company; but she would be glad to have
her mother to herself for the few short weeks.
"I wouldn't for the world have tried to stop her coming, Motherkins,"
she wrote home; "but Miss Bowes said most emphatically that she must go
to the Fowlers. I'm sure they'll give her a good time, and--well, I
admit it will be a rest to me. Just at present I don't want to share
you. Now you know the whole of your horrid daughter! Lizzie asked me if
I would spend part of the holidays with her, but I managed to make an
excuse. I felt I couldn't spare a single precious day away from you. I
have so much to talk about and tell you. Am I greedy? But what's the use
of having one's own lovely mother if she isn't just one's ownest
sometimes? I tell you things I wouldn't tell anyone else on earth. I
don't think all the girls feel quite the same; but then their mothers
can't possibly be like mine! She's the one in a thousand! I'm sitting up
late in my bedroom to write this, and I shall have to report myself to
Miss Lodge to-morrow; but I felt I must write."
After the Easter holidays everybody returned to The Woodlands prepared
to make the most of the coming term. With the longer evenings more time
was allowed out-of-doors, and the glade by the stream became a kind of
summer parlour. Those girls who had some slight skill in carpentry
constructed rustic benches and tables from the boughs blown down by last
autumn's storms, and those who preferred nature untouched by art had
their favourite seats in snug corners among the bushes or on the stones
by the water-side. With the first burst of warm weather bathing was
allowed, and every morning detachments of figures in mackintoshes and
tennis-shoes might be seen wending their way towards the large pool to
indulge in the exhilarating delight of a dip in clear, flowing water,
followed by a brisk run round the glade. These pre-breakfast expeditions
were immensely appreciated; the girls willingly got up earlier for the
purpose, and anyone who manifested a disposition to remain in bed was
denounced as a "slacker".
One day, towards the end of May, when some of the members of V B were
sitting with their fancywork on the short grass under an oak-tree, Addie
Knighton came from the house and joined them. There was beaming
satisfaction in Addie's twinkling grey eyes; she rubbed her hands
ostentatiously, and chuckled audibly.
"What's to do, Addie, old girl? You're looking very smug," said Lizzie.
"Aha! Wouldn't you like to know? What'll you give me if I tell you now?"
"Never buy pigs in pokes. It mayn't be important at all," volunteered
Merle.
"Oh, indeed! Isn't it? Just wait till you hear."
"It's nothing but one of your sells," yawned Gertrude Oliver, moving so
as to rest her back more comfortably against Ulyth.
"Mrs. Arnold doesn't generally spring sells upon us."
Ulyth jumped up so suddenly that Gertrude collapsed with a squeal of
protest.
"Mrs. Arnold here and I never knew! Where is she?"
"Don't excite yourself. She's gone by now. She only stayed ten minutes,
to see Miss Bowes, but it was ten minutes to some purpose. Do you know
what she's actually proposed?"
Addie's listeners were as eager now as they had been languid before.
"Go ahead, can't you?" urged Lizzie.
"Well, the whole school's to go camping for three days."
This indeed was news!
"Stunning!"
"Spiffing!"
"Ripping!"
"Scrumptious!" burst in a chorus from the elated four.
"Details, please," added Ulyth. "When and where, and how, and why?"
"Is it a Camp-fire business?" asked Lizzie.
"Of course it is or Mrs. Arnold wouldn't be getting it up. It's happened
this way. The Llangarmon and Elwyn Bay detachments of Boy Scouts are to
camp at Llyn Gwynedd for ten days early in June. Mr. Arnold has the
arranging of it all. And Mrs. Arnold suggested that the tents might just
as easily be hired a few days sooner, and we could use them before the
boys came. It's such a splendid opportunity. It would be too expensive
to have everything sent down on purpose just for us, but when they're
there we can hire the camp for very little extra. It's the carriage and
erecting that cost so much. Miss Bowes, I believe, hummed and ha-ed a
little, but Teddie just tumbled to the idea and persuaded the Rainbow
to clinch it."
"Good old Teddie! I believe it's the tragedy of her life that she can't
live altogether in the open air. She adores Red Cross Work."
"The teachers are all to come to camp; they're as excited as you please
about it. It was Miss Lodge who told me that Mrs. Arnold was here, and I
rushed down the drive and caught her just for a second."
This indeed was an event in the annals of the school. Never since the
Camp-fire League was started had its members found any opportunity of
sampling life under canvas. They had practised a little camp cookery
down by the stream, but their experiments had not gone much farther than
frying eggs and bacon or roasting potatoes in hot ashes, and they were
yearning to try their hands at gipsies' stews and gallipot soups. With
Mrs. Arnold for leader they expected a three days' elysium. Even Miss
Teddington, they knew, would rise to the occasion and play trumps. Llyn
Gwynedd was a small lonely lake about six miles away, in the heart of
the mountains beyond Penllwyd and Glyder Garmon. It was reached from The
Woodlands by a track across the moors, but it communicated by high road
with Capelcefn station, so that tents, camp-furniture, and provisions
could be sent up by a motor-lorry. The ground was hired from a local
farmer, who undertook to supply milk, butter, and eggs to the best of
his ability, and to bring meat and fresh vegetables from Capelcefn as
required. To cater for a whole school up in the wilds is a task from
which many Principals would shrink, and Miss Bowes might be forgiven if
she had at first demurred at the suggestion. But, with Mr. Arnold's
practical experience to help her, she gave her orders and embarked (not
without a few tremors) upon the proceeding.
"If the mountain air makes you so hungry you eat up two days' provisions
in one, it means you'll have to fast on the third day," she assured the
girls. "I'm sending up what I hope will be sufficient. It's like
victualling a regiment. Of course we shan't go at all if it's wet."
Mr. Arnold, who very kindly volunteered to see that the camp was
properly set up and in thorough working order before the school took
possession, superintended the erection of the tents and reported that
all was in apple-pie condition and only waiting for its battalion. On
2nd June, therefore, a very jolly procession started off from The
Woodlands. In navy skirts and sports coats, tricolor ties, straw hats,
and decorated with numerous badges and small flags, the girls felt like
a regiment of female Territorials. Each carried her kit on her back in a
home-made knapsack containing her few personal necessities, and knife,
spoon, fork, and enamelled tin mug. A band of tin whistles and mouth
organs led the way, playing a valiant attempt at "Caller Herrin'". The
teachers also were prepared for business. Miss Teddington, who had done
climbs in Switzerland, came in orthodox costume with nailed boots and a
jaunty Tyrolean hat with a piece of edelweiss stuck in the front. Miss
Lodge wore a full-length leather coat and felt hat in which she looked
ready to defy a waterspout or a tornado. Miss Moseley, who owned to an
ever-present terror of bulls, grasped an iron-spiked walking-stick, and
Miss Davis had a First Aid wallet slung across her back. In the girls'
opinion Miss Bowes shirked abominably. Instead of venturing on the
six-mile walk she had caught the morning train to Capelcefn, and was
going to hire a car at the Royal Hotel and drive up to the lake with the
provisions. Mrs. Arnold, who, with her husband, had taken rooms at the
farm for a few days, was already on the spot, and would be ready to
receive the travellers when they arrived.
On the whole it was a glorious morning, though a few ill-omened clouds
lingered like a night-cap round Penllwyd. Larks were singing, cuckoos
calling, bluebells made the woods seem a reflection of the sky, and the
gorse was ablaze on the common. The walk was collar-work at first, up,
up, up, climbing a steep track between loose-built, fern-covered walls,
taking a short cut over the slope that formed the spur of Cwm Dinas, and
scaling the rocky little precipice of Maenceirion. Some who had started
at a great rate and with much enthusiasm began to slacken speed, and to
realize the wisdom of Miss Teddington's advice and try the slow-going,
steady pace she had learned from Swiss guides.
"You can't keep it up if you begin with such a spurt," she assured them.
"Alpine climbing has to be like the tortoise--slow and sure."
Once on the plateau beyond Cwm Dinas progress was easier. It was still
uphill, but the slope was gentler. They were on the open moors now,
following a path, little more than a sheep track, that led under the
crag of Glyder Garmon. Except for an occasional tiny whitewashed farm
they were far from human habitations, and the only signs of life were
the small agile Welsh sheep, the half-wild ponies that grazed on these
uplands during the summer months, and a pair of carrion crows that
wheeled away, croaking hoarsely at the sight of intruders. On and on
over what seemed an interminable reach of coarse grass and
whinberry-bushes, jumping tiny brooks, and skirting round sometimes to
avoid bogs, for much of the ground was spongy, and though its surface of
sphagnum moss looked inviting, it was treacherous in the extreme. At
last they had rounded the corner of Glyder Garmon, and there, far away
to the right, like a sheet of silver, Llyn Gwynedd lay gleaming in the
distance.
The sight of their destination, even though it was two miles away,
cheered up those weaker spirits that were beginning to lag, especially
as something white on the south side, when examined through Miss
Teddington's field-glasses, proved to be the tents. Three-quarters of an
hour's brisk walking brought them to the lake, and in ten minutes more
they were announcing their approach to the camp in a succession of wild
hoorays.
Mr. and Mrs. Arnold were waiting to do the honours, and, parading in
their very best style, the League marched in and took possession.
By the time they had been two hours at Llyn Gwynedd all the girls felt
like old, well-seasoned campers. Mrs. Arnold was no novice, and at once
assumed her post as leader and captain in command. Miss Bowes, Miss
Teddington, and the other teachers were assigned tents of honour, and
every member of the League was placed on definite duty. Some were cooks,
some water-carriers, some scullions, and some sentries, according to
their qualifications and the rank they held in the League.
The field hired for the camping-ground had been carefully chosen. It was
on the far side of the lake, away from the road, sheltered on the north
and east by mountain ridges, and with a shelving beach of fine silvery
sand where the waves lapped in gentle little ripples. A narrow brook,
leaping from the heights above, passed through the centre and gave a
quite uncontaminated water supply. All around rose peaks which had not
been visible at The Woodlands, the rough, splintered crest of Craig
Mawr, the smoother summit of Pencastell, and the almost inaccessible
precipice of Carnedd Powys. It was glorious to sit by the lake and feel
that they were not obliged to return to school before dark, but could
stay and watch the sun set behind Pencastell and the gloaming creep
quietly on. Of course everybody wanted to explore the immediate
vicinity, and little bands, each in charge of a Torch-bearer, were
allowed to skirt round the lake within sight of the camp. Each girl had
her League whistle, and knew the signals which meant "Meal-time",
"Danger", and "Return instantly to camp". These had been rehearsed in
the glade at The Woodlands, and formed part of the examination of every
candidate.
Ulyth, as a Torch-bearer, was able to head a party, and started off in
quest of bog myrtle along the bank, returning with great armfuls of the
delicious-smelling aromatic shrub to cast into the fire during the
evening "stunt".
The gathering of the League that night was a memorable occasion. The
ceremonies were observed with strictest formality, and as visitors were
present a special welcome song was sung in their honour. The scene was
immensely picturesque and romantic: the red sun setting between Craig
Mawr and Pencastell threw a last glow on the lake, the blazing fire
lighted up the camp and the rows of eager faces, and behind all was the
background of the eternal hills.
Rona, having successfully passed through her probation, was admitted as
a Wood-gatherer and awarded the white badge of service. Several younger
girls also received initiation into membership. With the League
ceremonial, songs, stories, and cocoa-making, the evening passed very
swiftly away. At nine o'clock everybody was expected to turn in. A night
under canvas was a new experience. The stretcher-beds and the clean
blankets looked inviting. Strict military discipline was observed in the
camp, and sentries were told off on duty. In as perfect order as a
regiment the girls went to their tents. Ulyth was sharing quarters with
Addie, Lizzie, and Gertrude. She tucked herself up in her blankets, as
she had been taught at camp drill, and then lay quietly for a long,
long time, watching the patch of sky through the tent door.
She seemed only to have been asleep for about an hour, when the patrol
touched her on the shoulder. Instantly she sprang up, broad awake.
"Relieve sentry at west guard," was the order, and the patrol passed on.
It was too dark to see her watch, but Ulyth knew it must be nearly one
o'clock. She hastily donned the warm garments ordered to be worn by
sentries, and hurried away to relieve Helen Cooper. Her post was at the
west end of the camp, where the field merged into a rushy swamp before
it rose into the hill that led towards the farm.
"The password is 'Louvain'," said Helen, retiring, not at all sorry to
seek the comfort of her bed. "One leg of the camp-stool is most rickety,
so I warn you not to lean too hard on it. Good night."
Left alone, Ulyth sat down with extreme caution on the deficient
camp-stool and surveyed the situation. There were clouds across a waning
moon, and it was fairly dark. She could see the outlines of the tents in
black masses behind her; in front the field lay dim and shadowy, with a
mist creeping from the water. Up above, to her right, against an indigo
sky, the Great Bear was standing almost on its head, with its tail in
the air. One of the tests of a Torch-bearer was a knowledge of the
stars, and Ulyth had learnt how to tell the time by the position of this
particular constellation. She made a rapid calculation now, reckoning
from the day of the month, and was glad to find it came out correctly.
Cassiopeia's white arms were hidden by the mountains, but the Milky Way
shimmered in the east, and overhead Arcturus blazed as he had done in
the days when the patriarch Job recorded his brilliance. To the extreme
north a patch of light lay behind Penllwyd, where the sun, at this
season hardly dipping far out of sight, worked his course round to the
east again. How quiet it was! The silence was almost oppressive. The
gentle lap of the tiny waves on the lake was not equal to the rush of
the stream at The Woodlands. Not even a night-bird called. The camp was
absolutely still and slumbering.
Ulyth rose and paced about for a while. It was too cold to sit still
long. She must only use the camp-stool when she needed a rest.
"Sentries ought to be allowed chocolates," she murmured, "or hot
peppermints, just to keep up their spirits. Ugh! How weird and eerie it
all is! There isn't a sound anywhere. It's not an enlivening performance
to keep watch, I must say."
She stopped, suddenly on the alert. What was that noise in the darkness
to her left? She distinctly heard a rustle among the gorse-bushes, and
thought something moved in the deep shadow.
"Halt! Who goes there?" she challenged.
There was no reply, but the rustle sounded again, this time nearer to
the camp. She listened with every sense strained to the uttermost.
Something or someone was slinking in from the field and creeping
cautiously towards the tents; of that she was nearly certain. Wild ideas
of thieving tramps flooded her brain. A louder sound confirmed her
suspicions. She could hear it quite distinctly in the direction of the
kitchen. Her duty was plain. She blew her whistle promptly; it was
answered by those of the three other sentries, from the north, east, and
south quarters, and immediately torches began to flash, and voices to
ask the cause of alarm. The guard was roused, and began an instant tour
of inspection.
"Something crept past me, straight towards the centre of the camp,"
Ulyth reported.
The lights flashed away in the direction of the kitchen. The girls were
on their mettle, and meant business. Whoever the intruder was, he should
be run to earth and made to give an account of himself. They felt
perfectly capable of taking him prisoner and binding his hands behind
him with a rope. Indeed, they thought they should hugely enjoy doing so,
particularly if he turned out to be a burglar. Numbers give courage, and
a very martial spirit was in the air.
"If he's hiding in one of the tents we'll drag him out by the legs!"
proclaimed Marjorie Earnshaw fiercely.
Everybody was sure it must be a "he". The news spread through the camp
like lightning, and it was even rumoured that he wore a coat and
top-boots. Miss Teddington herself had emerged, and was waving a lantern
as a searchlight.
"This way," blustered Marjorie, heading for the kitchen quarter. "The
sneaking cur! We'll have him!"
"Why aren't we allowed bayonets?" lamented Ruth White.
"Oh, I hear a noise! There's something there really," urged Kathleen
Simpson, with a most unsoldierly squeal. "Oh, I say! Here he comes!"
There was a sudden scratch and scramble, and from out the larder rushed
a dark object on four legs, with a white something in its mouth. Helen
made a valiant dash at it, but it dodged her, and flew like the wind
away between the tents and off somewhere over the fields in the
direction of the farm. The guard with one accord burst out laughing.
"A thieving Welsh sheep-dog raiding the larder!" exclaimed Catherine.
"It's stolen a whole leg of mutton, the brute!" wailed Doris, who
belonged to the Commissariat Department. "I didn't think it could have
reached that. It must have jumped high. It doesn't deserve its prize."
"No wonder it wouldn't answer when I challenged it," observed Ulyth.
"Well, I'm glad it's no worse than a dog," said Miss Teddington. "We
must take steps to-morrow to make the larder safer, or we shall be
troubled again."
"We'll place a guard over it," replied Catherine promptly. "Jessie
Morrison, you are on sentry duty at once to watch the larder. Maggie
Orton will relieve you at three."