THE EAGLES IN CAMP
The next few days were full of excitement and preparation for the Boy
Scouts. Their headquarters resounded all day to the tramp of feet, and
the Manual of Instructions was consulted day and night. The official
tents had arrived, and every boy in the Patrol was eager for the time
to arrive to put them up. So much so that two or three confessed that
they could hardly sleep at night in their impatience for the hour when
the embarkation for Topsail Island was to take place.
Besides the tents, there was much other equipment to be overhauled and
set in order, for, before their departure, the boys were to be reviewed
by their scout master and a field secretary from New York. There were
haversack straps to be replaced, laces mended, axes sharpened, "Billys"
polished and made to shine like new tin, and a hundred and one things
to be done. At last, however--although it seemed that it would never
come--the eventful Monday arrived, as eventful days of all kinds have a
habit of doing; and the Eagle Patrol, spick and span and shining from
tan boots to campaign hats, fell in line behind the band. Proudly they
paraded up the street, with their green and black Eagle Patrol sign
fluttering gallantly in the van.
The "reviewing stand" was the post-office steps, around which most of
the citizens of Hampton and the proud parents and relatives of the
young scouts were assembled.
Plenty of applause greeted them, as, in response to Rob's orders, given
in the sharp, military manner, they drew up in line and gave the Boy
Scout's salute. This done, the young scouts went through a smart drill
with the staffs they carried. Then, after saluting once more, and
being warmly complimented on their appearance by the field secretary,
they marched off to the wharf where they were to embark for their camp.
The day before Merritt, Hiram Nelson, Paul Perkins and the three
"tender feet"--Martin Green, Walter Lonsdale and Joe Digby--had been
told off by Rob as on "pioneer service"; that is to say, that they had
gone down to the island in the Flying Fish. Arrived there, they
selected a good spot for the camp, aided by Commodore Wingate's and
Captain Hudgins' suggestions, and set up the tents and made the other
necessary preparations. The camp was therefore practically ready, for
the "army" to move into.
At Tubby's special request, a list of the rations for the week's camp
had been made out by Rob and affixed to the bulletin board in the
headquarters of the Eagles. As perhaps some of my young readers may
care to know what to take on a similar expedition, is the list,
exclusive of meat, which was to be brought from the mainland, and fish,
which they expected to catch themselves:
Oatmeal, 8 lbs.;
rice, 4 lbs.;
crackers, 35 lbs.;
chocolate, 1 1-2 lbs.;
tea, 3 lbs;
coffee, 1 lb.;
lard, 6 lbs.;
sugar, 8 lbs.;
condensed milk, 10 cans;
butter, 4 lbs.;
eggs, 12 dozen;
bacon, 20 lbs.;
preserves, 14 jars;
prunes, 8 lbs.;
maple syrup and molasses, 4 quarts;
potatoes, 1 bushel;
white beans, 6 quarts;
canned corn, 6 tins;
canned tomatoes, 6 tins;
flour, 35 lbs.;
baking powder, 2 lbs.;
salt, 4 lbs.;
pepper, 2 ounces.
"Well," Tubby had remarked, as he gazed attentively at the list, "we
won't starve, anyhow."
"I should say not," laughed Rob; "and besides all that, I've got lots
of lines and squids, and the blues and mackerel are running good."
"Can't I take along my twenty-two rifle--that island's just swarming
with rabbits, and I think I heard some quail when we were there the
other day," pleaded Merritt.
"Not in season," answered Rob laconically. "Laws not up on them till
November."
"Oh, bother the law!" blurted out Merritt. "However, I suppose if
there wasn't one there wouldn't be any rabbits left."
"I guess you're right," agreed Tubby. "Still, it does seem hard to
have to look at them skip about and not be able to take a shot at them."
"Maybe we can set a springle and snare some," hopefully suggested
Tubby, as a way out of the difficulty; "that wouldn't be as bad as
shooting them, you know, and I can build a springle that will strangle
them instantaneously."
"No fair, Tubby," laughed Rob. "You know, a boy scout promises to obey
the law, and the game law is as much a law as any other."
Arrived at the L wharf, the boys found the Flying Fish and Captain
Hudgins' Barracuda waiting for them. With much laughter they piled
in--their light-heartedness and constant joking reminding such
onlookers, as had ever seen the spectacle, of a band of real soldiers
going to the front or embarking for foreign stations.
With three ear-splitting cheers and a final yell of, "Kr-ee-ee-ee-ee!"
the little flotilla got under way.
They arrived at the camping ground at the northeast end of the island
before noon, and found that the "pioneers" appointed by Rob had done
their work well. Each tent was placed securely on a level patch of
sandy ground, cleared from brush and stamped flat. The pegs were driven
extra deep in anticipation of a gale, and an open cook tent, with flaps
that could be fastened down in bad weather, stood to one side.
A small spring had been excavated by the pioneers, and an old barrel
sunk in place, which had filled in the night and now presented
sparkling depths of cool, clear water.
"I suppose that water is all right, captain?" inquired Leader Rob, with
a true officer's regard for his troops.
"Sweet as a butternut, son," rejoined the old man. "Makes the sick
strong and the strong stronger, as the medicine advertisements say."
For the present, the cooking was to be done on a regular camp fire
which was built between two green logs laid lengthwise and converging
toward the end. The tops of these had, under Commodore Wingate's
directions, been slightly flattened with an axe. At each end a forked
branch had been set upright in the ground, with a green limb laid
between them. From this limb hung "cooking hooks," consisting of green
branches with hooked ends at one extremity to hang over the long
timber, and a nail driven in the other from which to hang the pots.
"That's the best form of camp fire, boys," said Commodore--or perhaps
we would better call him scout master now--Wingate, who had accompanied
the boys to see them settled. "Now, then, the next thing to do is to
run up the Stars and Stripes and plant the Eagle flag. Then you'll be
all O.K."
Little Andy Bowles made the woods behind them echo with the stirring
call of "assembly," and halliards were reeved on a previously cut pole,
about fifteen feet in height. The Stars and Stripes were attached, and
while the whole company stood at attention and gave the scout salute,
Scout Master Wingate raised the colors. Three loud, shrill cheers
greeted Old Glory as it blew bravely out against the cloudless blue.
"That's a pretty sight now, shiver my timbers if it ain't," observed
old Captain Hudgins, who had stood, hat in hand, during the ceremony.
"I've seen Old Glory in many a foreign port, and felt like takin' off
my hat and givin' three cheers fer the old flag; but I never seen her
look better or finer than she does a-streakin' out from that there bit
of timber."
"Now, Patrol cooks," was Scout Master Wingate's next command, "it's
only an hour to dinner time, and we want the first mess to be right.
Come on, and we'll get the pot boiling."
Cook duty fell that day to Hiram Nelson and Walter Lonsdale, and under
the scout master's directions they soon had potatoes peeled, beans in
water, and a big piece of stew meat chopped up with vegetables in a
capacious pot.
After every errand to the store tent, Walter was anxious to know if it
was not yet time to light the fire.
"Never be in a hurry to light your fire when you are in the woods,"
rejoined the scout master; "otherwise you will be so busy tending the
fire you won't be able to prepare your food for cooking. Now we're all
ready for the fire, though, and you can bring me some dry bark and
small sticks from that pile of wood the pioneers laid in yesterday."
This was promptly done, and the lads watched the next step with
interest. They saw the scout master take a tiny pile of the sticks and
then light a roll of bark and thrust it into them.
"I thought you piled them up all criss-cross," remarked Hiram.
"No woodsman does that, my boy," was the rejoinder. "Now get me some
larger timber from that pile, and I'll show you how to go about it like
regular trappers."
The fire builder shoved the ends of the sticks into the blaze and then
the bean pot was hung in place.
"We won't put the potatoes on now, as they take less time," he
remarked; "those beans will take the longest."
Soon the heat was leaping up about the pots, and the cheerful crackle
and incense of the camp fire filled the air. As the sticks burned down
the scout master shoved the ends farther into the blaze, instead of
throwing them on top of it.
"Now, then, boys, you've had your first lesson in camp fire making and
cooking," he announced. "Now go ahead, and let's see what kind of a
dinner you can produce. I'm going for a tour of exploration of the
island."
Among the other things the pioneers had accomplished was the building
of a table large enough to seat the entire Patrol, with planks set on
logs as seats. Hiram put Walter to setting this, while he burned his
fingers and smudged his face over his cookery. Long before the beans
seemed any nearer to what experience taught the young cook they ought
to be, Walter announced that the table was all set, with its tin cups
and dishes and steel knives and forks.
Suddenly, while Hiram was considering putting the potatoes on their
hook, there came from the rear of the store tent the most appalling
succession of squeals and screams the boy had ever heard. Springing to
his feet, he dashed to the scene of the conflict--for such it seemed to
be though not without a heart that beat rather faster than usual. He
bad no idea what the creatures could be that were producing all the
uproar, and for all he knew they might have been bears.
Behind him came Walter, rather pale, but determined to do his best as a
Boy Scout to fight off any wild beasts that might be attacking the
camp. As he dashed behind the tent, however, Hiram was impelled to
give a loud laugh. The contestants--for he had rightly judged they
were in high dispute--were two small black pigs which had looted a bag
of oatmeal from under the flap of the store tent and were busily
engaged in fighting over their spoils.
"Get out, you brutes! Scat!" shouted the boy, bringing down a
long-handled spoon he carried over the backs of the disputants.
The spoon, being almost red-hot, the clamor of the porkers redoubled,
and with indignant squeals and grumblings they dashed off into the
dense growth of scrub oak and pine that covered the island in its
interior. At the same moment the captain, who had been taking a snooze
under some small bushes, awoke with a start.
"Eh--eh--eh! What's all that?" he exclaimed, hearing the yells. "Why,
it's that plagued Betsy and Jane, my two young sows," he cried the next
moment. "Consarn and keelhaul the critters, they're breakin' out all
the time. I reckon they're headed fer home now," he added, when Hiram
related how he had scared them.
"I'm glad that they were nothing but pigs, captain," said Hiram, going
back with flushed cheeks to his cookery. "I was afraid for a minute
they were I hardly know what. We'll have to fix that store tent more
snugly in future."
"And I'll have ter take a double reef in my pig Pen," chuckled the
captain.