The next day was as sunshiny, clear and delightful as any that had
greeted the Boy Scouts since their visit to Maine. As before, they
prepared their morning meal out of doors, cleaned the dishes, and laid
the fuel for use at midday.
Naturally the thoughts of all turned to Instructor Uncle Elk, who was to
give them their first lesson in woodcraft. They felt they were fortunate
in this respect and were sure of gaining a good deal of valuable
knowledge.
“He said he would be here at half-past eight,” remarked Scout Master
Hall; “he carries no watch but most of you have timepieces; it will be
interesting to note how nearly he hits it. Possibly he may be a little
ahead of time, but I should be willing to wager anything he will not be
a minute late.”
“He ought to be allowed some margin,” said Patrol Leader Chase; “for he
has two miles to tramp through the woods, and is likely to vary a little
one way or the other.”
“What time does your watch show?”
A general comparison of timepieces followed. Inevitably a slight
variation showed here and there, but the agreement was that it was
practically a quarter past eight. A number glanced in the direction of
the wood where the old man was expected to appear but he was invisible.
“There is always the possibility of accident——”
“There he comes!” exclaimed several.
“It isn’t he,” said the Scout Master, “it’s a stranger.”
The others had noted the fact, and the wonder grew when they observed
that the person approaching wore the garb of a Boy Scout. He stepped
boldly into view from among the trees, a hundred yards away, and came
forward with an erect, dignified gait. In his left hand he grasped a
heavy buckthorn cane, which he handled as if it were a plaything instead
of an aid in walking. His pace was deliberate, his shoulders thrown back
and his chest thrust forward, as if he held a high opinion of his own
importance.
It was noticed even that his necktie dangled over his breast, that
artifice as you know being a favorite one among Boy Scouts to remind
them of their duty of doing a good turn for some one before the set of
sun.
Twenty paces away the visitor halted with military promptness, and
wearing the same solemn visage made the full salute.
“Where are yer manners, and ye calling yersilves Boy Scouts?” demanded
the newcomer indignantly; “can’t ye recognize a high mucky-muck when he
honors ye by noticing ye, as Jim O’Shaughnessy asked the Prince of Wales
when he pretinded he did not obsarve him?”
Alvin Landon and Chester Haynes happened to be on the edge of the party
farthest removed from the caller, whom they had identified at the first
glimpse.
“It’s Mike, as sure as I live!” whispered Alvin; “let’s keep in the
background for a few minutes; he hasn’t noticed us.”
It was surely strange that the scouts in their wonderment forgot for the
moment to greet one of the brotherhood who had appeared so suddenly upon
the scene. They made amends by crowding round him with profuse
apologies, shaking his hand and giving him a cordial welcome. It was the
unanimous consensus of the troop that they had never seen a redder mop
of hair, a more freckled face, a snubbier nose and more general
homeliness of countenance concentrated in one person; nor had they ever
observed a finer set of teeth—though the mouth was big—or bluer
twinkling eyes. As I have remarked before, the Irish lad suggested
Abraham Lincoln, of whom it was said that he traveled the whole circle
of homeliness and came back to the starting point of manly beauty.
Alvin and Chester now walked forward and greeted their old friend, who
was as glad to see them as they were to meet him.
“Why were you so late?” asked Alvin, when the exclamations were over.
“’Twas yer own fault, fur ye made the mistake of addrissing yer letter
to dad instead of to mesilf, as ye mustn’t forgit to do when yer
bus’ness is of importance. It was like him to furgit to ask me for the
dockymint till it was too late to board the expriss for Gosling Lake.”
“How is it you come so early in the day? Have you been walking all night
or sleeping in the woods near by?”
“I passed yer camp yisterday, but obsarved yer were not riddy to resave
me in fitting style and not wishing to embarrass ye I called on a frind
of mine.”
“What friend have you in this part of the country?” asked the astonished
Chester.
“An uncle on me cousin Tim’s side.”
“What’s his name?”
“Uncle Elk.”
Alvin now introduced Mike to Scout Master Hall and the boys. All knew
that a friend was expected, and they were sure of his identity when they
heard the greetings between the comrades.
“So you are acquainted with that fine old gentleman?” was the pleased
inquiry of the head of the Boy Scouts.
“It has that look, whin I supped wid him last night, stayed till
morning, took breakfast and was started by him on me way to yersilves.”
“He spent several hours with us yesterday and promised another visit
to-day. In fact, we were watching for him when you came out of the
woods.”
“He niver hinted a word of the same to mesilf. If ye are expicting him,”
said Mike with a characteristic grin; “I won’t longer deny that I lost
me way yisterday, and if he hadn’t found me I’d had to roost among the
limbs of the trees till this morn.”
“I don’t understand why Uncle Elk did not keep you company when he
expected to follow you so soon,” said Alvin.
“He hasn’t been out of my sight for a minute since he left my home.”
All looked in the direction of the familiar voice. Their Instructor in
Woodcraft had appeared among them as unobtrusively as a shadow.
Scout Master Hall looked at his watch. The hands showed that it lacked
twenty-eight minutes to nine. Uncle Elk remarked:
“I stood behind the oak for a couple of minutes; I did not tell Michael
of my engagement with you, for I wanted to observe what benefit my
instruction last night was to him.”
“Didn’t I do foine?” asked the proud youth.
“You did not; I directed you to hold to a straight line till you reached
camp, but you twisted and shifted about until more than once I thought
you would turn back to my cabin.”
“Ye see, Uncle Elk, I couldn’t furgit that winsome breakfast ye gave me,
and then, too, some of the trees had a way of getting in front of me and
I had to turn out for ’em or walk through ’em, as Jim O’Toole tried to
do whin he found all the Horse Guards drawn up in front of him.”
“When you were half way here, you walked for fifty yards at right angles
to the right course. I was about to call to you when you see-sawed
back.”
“Begging pardon fur the same,” said the grinning Mike, “I don’t
understand that when I looked back many times I niver obsarved yersilf.”
“You turned your head so slowly that you gave me notice of your
intention; if not close to a tree trunk, I stood still and you did not
see me. There are native tribes in India whose men when pursued will
whisk behind the rocks and instantly assume such fantastic attitudes,
with arms akimbo and legs at queer angles, that the pursuers are likely
to mistake the whole company for so many leafless trees and pass them
by.”
The Instructor seemed to straighten up with his new responsibility.
“We shall plunge directly into the woods, following a course that will
lead to my home. We have left so plain a trail on the leaves that you
can have no trouble. We shall proceed in loose order, all on the same
level, with no officers except the Scout Master.”
“I beg to amend that,” said Bert Hall, “by saying that _you_ are the
only officer. So long as you are in charge, I am a private.”
“Perhaps it is as well; go ahead.”
By chance Mike Murphy assumed the lead, with Alvin and Chester a pace or
two behind him. Permission was given to talk and the chatter became
incessant. The Instructor kept a little to the right so as to observe
the action of each boy. He told them to use their eyes and to note
everything,—the ground, the different species of trees, the foliage and
the birds. The forest had very little undergrowth and in the cool
twilight no exercise could have been more pleasant than tramping over
the velvety leaves with pine cones scattered here and there, and patches
of dry, spongy moss gently yielding to the tread like some rich,
oriental carpet. While advancing in this disjointed fashion Mike came
abreast of a fallen pine, a couple of feet in diameter, its smooth
tapering trunk extending twenty times as far before showing a limb. Mike
rested one foot on the log and stepped lightly over. Alvin followed, but
Chester cleared the obstruction with one vigorous bound. Their
companions did the same with the exception of two lads who merely lifted
their feet over.
“Halt!” commanded the Instructor, in a sharp, military voice.
All obeyed and looked inquiringly at him.
“Of the whole party only two passed that obstacle in the right way. My
young friends, you must learn to save your strength when in the woods as
well as when elsewhere. Every one who rested one foot on the log had to
lift the whole weight of his body to the height of the same; those who
leaped over, put forth unnecessary effort; the right method is simply to
step over the obstruction. Go ahead.”
“Suppose now,” said Mike to Alvin and Chester, “that log was six feet
high, wouldn’t I be likely to split into twins if I tried to straddle
the same?”
Chester turned the question, expressed more gracefully, to the
Instructor.
“He should always go round an obstacle. Never clamber over a mass of
rocks or anything of that nature, unless the distance is too great to
flank the obstruction. Save your strength whenever you can, boys.”
The scouts were now told to give special attention to the trees,
different varieties of which were continually coming into view.
“Michael, tell me what you know of _that_.”
The leader pointed his staff at a tree directly in front of the youth,
who cocked his head to one side and squinted at it.
“With yer permission I beg leave to say we don’t have such scand’lous
growths in Ireland; it seems to be trying to shed its overcoat and not
making a success of the same, as Mike Flaherty said after his friends
had tarred and feathered him.”
The other boys were able to give satisfactory information. You are all
familiar with the “shagbark” or “shellbark” white hickory, which
furnishes you the delicious nuts that too many of you are inclined to
crack with your sound teeth. The wood is white, rich, solid and makes
the best kind of fuel. The tree itself is tall, graceful and has large
leaves. Its most striking peculiarity is the bark, which clings in
shaggy slabs to the trunk, the patches being stuck in the middle with
the upper and lower ends curling outward; hence the name. In the autumn,
when the frosts have popped open the husks, it is rare fun for a number
of boys to seize hold of a heavy beam of wood and use it as a battering
ram. When after a brief, quick run it is banged against the trunk the
nuts rattle down in a shower. No imported fruit can compare with our
native, thin-shelled hickory nut, which does not grow very plentifully
in Maine.
“These chaps know so much more than me about the trees,” remarked Mike
to his chums, “I’ll show ’em proper respict by not introoding, as Berry
Mulligan said when he stepped into a hornets’ nest.”
“Tell me something about that evergreen,” said the Instructor to Isaac
Rothstein, who was prompt in answering:
“It is a red cedar and I think one of the finest of all trees.”
“Why do you think so?”
“Its heart is almost as red as blood, and the wood has a sweet
fragrance; the sap is nearly white, the grain soft and weak, but it will
last for hundreds of years. I have seen beams of cedar that were laid
before the Revolution and they were as sound as when hewn. Cedar wood
makes a good bow; the little berry-like cones are light blue in color
and hardly a quarter of an inch in diameter.”
“What ground does it prefer?”
“It is fonder of dry than of damp places.”
“You have done so well, Isaac, you may enlighten me as to that tree
which stands a little to the left of the cedar.”
“That,” replied the boy after a quick survey, “is a hemlock, which I
don’t think much of. The wood is soft, coarse and doesn’t endure well. I
have heard it said that a hemlock knot is the hardest vegetable growth
of the American woods.”
“Such is the fact; a hemlock knot will turn the edge of a finely
tempered axe or hatchet. Now, boys, take a look at the topmost twig, and
tell me whether you notice anything peculiar.”
Several replied that the twig drooped several inches to one side, though
there seemed nothing remarkable in that fact. Mike gravely remarked:
“The same being a branch, it is trying to _bough_.”
The Instructor turned sharply:
“How do you spell that last word, young man?”
“B-a-w-h-g-x,” was the instant response.
“All right,” commented the mollified Instructor; “everything in the
nature of punning is barred while I am in command.”
“That is, if we try to pun you will pun——”
Mike dodged the upraised staff, and the Instructor resumed:
“The highest twig of a hemlock in nearly every instance dips to the
east, as does the one before us. You can understand how it may help a
person who has gone astray in the woods. I am sure you all admire that
towering oak, the picture of majesty and beauty.”
As Uncle Elk spoke he indicated the forest monarch he had in mind, by
leveling his staff at it. The boys looked from it to him in surprise.
Mike loftily remarked:
“I was wondering, byes, how ye could give attintion to any other tree
whin the oak raised its head afore ye. It is like a lion among a lot of
lambs or mesilf amid a group of ignorant Boy Scouts. We have the oak in
Ireland, and ye can’t fool me as to the same; it is a noble oak, Mr.
Insthructor.”
“It is not an oak,” said Patrol Leader Chase; “but a white pine.”
“I agree with you,” added Uncle Elk.
“So do I; ye can’t flop quicker than mesilf; it isn’t the first time me
tongue has stubbed its toe.”
“I shall be glad,” said the Instructor, addressing Jack Grandall of the
Stag Patrol, “if you will tell me something about the white pine.”
“It is the most famous tree in Maine and gives its name to the state.
Many hundreds of thousands of acres are covered with it and millions of
feet are taken out every year. It forms the basis of the lumbermen’s
industry, one of the chief sources of wealth and in whose behalf the
utmost care is taken to save it from destruction by fire.”
“Describe it more particularly.”
“The leaves grow in bunches of five; they are four or five inches long,
with the cones a little longer. The wood is soft, pungent, easily split,
very buoyant, with straight grain and very inflammable. The resinous
pine knots make the best of torches.”
“Suppose a fire gets started among the pines?”
“It sweeps everything before it. There are a good many kinds of pines,
which are told from one another by their cones. The tree is an
evergreen.”
“How tall is the one before us?”
Several made guesses and it was generally agreed that the splendid
specimen was very nearly if not quite two hundred feet high.
“I shall not accept any guesses,” remarked the Instructor; “I wish to
know the exact height.”
“How can we learn that?” asked Chester Haynes.
“Measure it. You know little of woodcraft if you cannot tell the precise
height of such a tree when the sun is shining.”
And now came Mike Murphy’s triumph.