Routine.
Bright and early the next morning the bugler sounds reveille. Every one
jumps out of bed, although a few have already been up since daylight, so
eager are they to be real Campers.
As soon as every one is out of bed the setting up exercises take place.
For fifteen minutes the boys, under the leadership of the instructors,
go through a course of calisthenics, after which they go down to the
water for a scrub and plunge, brush their teeth and get their clothes
on. By that time the bugle calls to them to get into line, ready to
march to the table for breakfast.
All who are not on line-in will find themselves marching round the
Campus, which is a block square, several times. Good exercise for them,
at the same time teaching them the truth about "Time and tide waiting
for no man."
Another good meal awaits us, plenty of good, substantial food, that will
put strength into us and at the same time tickle our palate.
After breakfast we find that it is not all play at Camp. Some are
inclined to loaf; some would like to wander around; others, with some
definite object in view, plan to go out for practice runs or games. But,
hold on, noble youths, you have slept in your beds, have you not? Well,
like Mr. Squeers' method, we will ask you to spell "bed," then go and
make it up. Also you have upset your tents. Again, you are given
gracious permission to tidy them also.
Here we have no willing mothers, no handy chambermaids, to put
everything in apple-pie order. This is truly Camp, and you are simply
soldiers Camping.
The Director may have an orderly to do his work, but, as for the rest of
the Campers, it is every man for himself, from the instructors down to
the smallest boy. Each and every one must do his share. Beds are made,
tents swept out, clothes hung up, and when the bugle again calls
"Inspection" each and every boy must be at his tent.
The Director, accompanied by his staff, inspects, marking for and
against each tent. Accordingly, there is keen competition between the
boys to see who has the most orderly tent for the season. Prizes are
awarded to the tent that has the best record. All this conduces to neat
habits, and lets the boys see there is more to be gained by doing the
right than the wrong thing.
Again the bugle calls for "Assembly." This is one of the most
interesting events of the day. Here we can all sit under the shade of
beautiful trees and listen to the orders being given out; the schedule
of the games to be played; the list of those to be punished for breaking
the rules, etc., etc. On this occasion the bad boy, knowing full well
that he has been marked for punishment and is going to get it anyway,
does a little more to amuse his friends while he annoys those in office.
As soon as the orders are given the boys are dismissed, some to go on
the field for a game of tennis, others for baseball, others for walking
trips. For the little boys there is tether ball and the junior baseball
diamond. In fact, whatever is for the big boys is good for his little
brothers, excepting football.
In the midst of the fun we hear the bugle again. That is the swimming
call; so hurry with your bats, tennis rackets and any other thing you
may be doing at this particular moment. Get your swimming trunks and
rush down to the dock.
Now for fun. Those who can swim, how gracefully they dive in, swim under
water, and just when your heart is in your mouth for fear they are
drowned up they come in the opposite direction.
The boys who are not very good swimmers make up for skill by lots of
splashing about in the shallow water. They duck each other, try to
float, and act for all the world like a school of young porpoises. I
myself like to go out with them. They take me for a friendly old mother
whale and climb all over me, never so happy as when they get me down
under the water. Then sometimes I take a large, roomy boat, invite them
in and pole them around the lake to their enjoyment and my own, too.
But this chapter tells of routine, so we must obey the whistle when it
blows. That means all out, and any one caught in after that is kept out
for two or three times--about the worst kind of punishment you could
give a boy.
Fortunately, the boys have very little dressing to do, a pair of running
pants and a pair of sneakers being considered full dress. Long before
the bugle tells them to form in line they are ready and hungry.
This ends the morning. We have been warned to write home to parents, but
the study period after dinner is the time appointed for that. After a
bountiful dinner we see them prepared to write. The big boy will write
willingly to some of his folks and loves to write to the girls. He does
not have to be reminded that Wednesday and Sunday are letter writing
days. The middle sized chap needs a little urging, but the little bear
is the one who forgets. He may be so homesick that you dare hardly speak
to him on that subject, yet he has to be forced to write regularly.
There are exceptions, of course. Take little Jimsey, for instance, whom
I found crying. The minute I looked at him I knew right away what kind
of malady he was afflicted with. Says I to him: "Jimsey, old boy, have
you written home to your family yet?" "No," he answered, "I don't know
how to spell all the words right. You see, I have never been away from
home before and never had to write letters to my mother." "Oh, if that's
all that ails you, I am the boss letter writer. So, come along with me,
young man, and you can dictate and I will write." "Can I do that?" he
wanted to know. "Of course you can. The Director will say it is all
right." And this is what Jimsey wrote to his mother, at least he
dictated and I wrote it:
"Dear Mother, Darling:
"We are here, and I am happy, but so homesick to see
you. Do you feel homesick to see me? Let me know. I
never thought the world was such a big, lonely place.
Is it because you are not with me to hold my hand? I
am going to be brave and bite my under lip, and as
Biddy says 'Keep a stiff upper lip.' She says half the
real truly battles in life have been won by folks
keeping up their courage. I don't want to come home,
but, mother, if you are passing this way, won't you
stop in for a little while?"
"By that time I shall be cured of this complaint.
Biddy says its called himevay. It makes you feel weepy
all the time, and when night comes and the lights are
out that is the time you feel it the worst. Mother,
dear, don't pet little brother too much, because he
will miss it like I do when he comes to Camp. I know
he is only a little boy now, but if you had stopped
petting me when I was three months old I should have
got used to it by now and not miss you so much.
"If I was not so lonely I could tell you about this
lovely place, but I have such a lot to tell you of how
I feel. Biddy says I might just as well make this a
purely personal letter and get the whole thing out of
my system. That, she said, would leave me the rest of
the season to describe the other things.
"When the lights are out and from my cot bed I look
out of the tent I can see the sky. The moon is way up
high, and lots of little stars are shining. Is it the
same moon you can see from your window? I hope it is,
because you can wish to see me when you look up and I
will wish to see you. Then there are so many funny
noises. The water seems to be creeping up the shore a
little way, then falls back again. What makes it do
that, mother? Then some little baby birds keep calling
for their mother bird, 'Peep, peep, peep,' just like
that. Are they cold, do you think, or are they afraid
of falling out of the tree?
"Then all sorts of funny little insects keep flying
through the tents. Two or three have little lights in
their stomachs, because I saw them. They came and
crawled over my netting and the light went out, then
in again. Wouldn't it be lovely if we could light our
own way like that?
"Give father a great, big hug and tell him his big boy
is trying to be a man. Kiss little brother for me, and
don't hold his hand any more or he will get so used to
it. Biddy says if I want to sleep in her room I can,
and then I won't be alone. Well, I will try it in the
tent to-night, because if you are going to keep a
brave front you have got to do it now. Good-bye,
mother, darling. I kiss your photo every night. Write
soon to your lonely little boy, JIMSEY."
[Illustration]