A little more patience, a little more charity for all, a little
more devotion, a little more love; with less bowing down to the
past, and a silent ignoring of pretended authority; a brave
looking forward to the future with more faith in our fellows, and
the race will be ripe for a great burst of light and life.
--Elbert Hubbard
[Illustration: THE LITTLE JOURNEYS CAMP]
It was not built with the idea of ever becoming a place in history: simply
a boys' cabin in the woods.
Fibe, Rich, Pie and Butch were the bunch that built it.
Fibe was short for Fiber, and we gave him that name because his real name
was Wood. Rich got his name from being a mudsock. Pie got his because he
was a regular pieface. And they called me Butch for no reason at all
except that perhaps my great-great-grandfather was a butcher.
We were a fine gang of youngsters, all about thirteen years, wise in boys'
deviltry. What we didn't know about killing cats, breaking window-panes in
barns, stealing coal from freight-cars, and borrowing eggs from
neighboring hencoops without consent of the hens, wasn't worth the
knowing.
There used to be another boy in the gang, Skinny. One day when we ran away
to the swimming-hole after school, this other little fellow didn't come
back with us.
You see, there was the little-kids' swimmin'-hole and the big-kids'
swimmin'-hole. The latter was over our heads. Well, Skinny swung out on
the rope hanging from the cottonwood-tree on the bank of the big-kids'
hole. Somehow he lost his head and fell in.
None of us could swim, and he was too far out to reach. There was nothing
to help him with, so we just had to watch him struggle till he had gone
down three times. And there where we last saw him a lot of bubbles came
up. The inquiry before the Justice of Peace with our fathers, which
followed, put fright in our bones, and the sight of the old creek was a
nightmare for months to come. After that we decided to keep to the hills
and woods. This necessitated a hut. But we had no lumber with which to
build it.
However, there were three houses going up in town--and surely they could
spare a few boards. So after dark we got out old Juliet and the
spring-wagon and made several visits to the new houses. The result was
that in about a week we had enough lumber to frame the cabin.
Our site was about three miles from town, high up on the Adams Farm. After
many evening trips with the old mare and much figuring we had the thing
done, all but the windows, door, and shingles on the roof. Well, I knew
where there was an old door and two window-sash taken off our
chicken-house to let in the air during Summer. And one rainy night three
bunches of shingles found their way from Perkins' lumber-yard to the foot
of the hill on the Adams Farm.
In another five days the place was finished. It was ten by sixteen, and
had four bunks, two windows, a paneled front door, a back entrance and a
porch--altogether a rather pretentious camp for a gang of young ruffians.
But it was a labor of love, and we certainly had worked mighty hard. Our
love was given particularly to the three house-builders and to Perkins,
down in town.
Of course we had to have a stove.
This we got from Bowen's hardware-store for two dollars and forty cents.
He wanted four dollars, and we argued for some time. The stove was a
secondhand one and good only for scrap-iron anyway. Scrap was worth fifty
cents a hundred, and this stove weighed only two hundred fifty, so we
convinced the man our offer was big. At that we made him throw in a
frying-pan.
For dishes and cutlery, I believe each of our mothers' pantries
contributed. Then a stock of grub was confiscated. The storeroom in the
Phalansterie furnished Heinz beans, chutney, and a few others of the
fifty-seven. John had run an ad in "The Philistine" for Heinz and taken
good stuff in exchange.
For four years after that, this old camp was kept stocked with eats all
the time. We would hike out Friday after school and stay till Sunday
night. At Christmas-time we would spend the week's vacation there.
Many times had I tried to get my Father to go out and stay overnight. But
he wouldn't go. One time, though, I did not come home when I had promised,
so Father rode out on Garnett to find me. Instead of my coming back with
him he just unsaddled and turned Garnett loose in the woods and stayed
overnight.
We gave him the big bunk with two red quilts, and he stuck it out. Next
morning we had fried apples, ham and coffee for breakfast.
What there was about it I did not understand, but John was a very frequent
visitor after that.
You know we called Father, John, because he said that wasn't his name.
He used to come up in the evening and would bring the Red One or Sammy the
Artist or Saint Jerome the Sculptor. Once he brought Michael Monahan and
John Sayles the Universalist preacher.
Mike didn't like it.
The field-mice running on the rafters overhead at night chilled his blood.
He called them terrible beasts.
From then on we youngsters were gradually deprived of our freedom at camp.
These visitors were too numerous for us and we had to seek other fields of
adventure.
John got to going out to the camp to get away from visitors at the Shop.
He found the place quiet and comforting. The woods gave him freedom to
think and write. It so developed that he would spend about four days a
month there, writing the "Little Journey" for the next month. How many of
his masterpieces were written at the Camp I can not say, but for several
years it was his Retreat and he used it constantly.
He reminded us boys several times when we kicked, that he had a good claim
on it--for didn't he furnish the door and the window-frames?