FORMING THE SIGNAL CORPS.
A cheer, heartier and more informal than military, rose from forty
throats, as Lieutenant Denmead and Assistant Scout Master Rawson came
forth from their quarters to break the news to the assembled boys.
“Scouts of Pioneer Camp,” began the lieutenant, smiling, when silence
had been restored, “I have called this meeting in order to lay before
you a plan which I think will merit your approval.
“Most of you have heard that in two weeks there are to be National Guard
maneuvers over in Oakvale and the adjoining meadows, not far from here?”
A murmur of assent greeted this question, and the Scout Master
continued:
“Part of these maneuvers will be the work of a carefully trained and
efficient signal corps, and you boys will undoubtedly be interested in
seeing that, among the other events. To understand it thoroughly, you
should have some practical knowledge of the system of signaling; that
is, the semaphore signal code, the wig-wag or Myer code, and the sound
codes. You should know how to send and receive messages by each and all
of these three methods. Such knowledge may be of great use and benefit
to you or to others, at any time.
“In your woodcraft games, in trailing and stalking, in hunting, you have
learned the various signals used in Indian warfare, the signs and blazes
along a forest trail. Some of you are familiar with the Morse telegraph
alphabet, and every tenderfoot who does not know it must learn it, in
order to qualify as a second class scout.
“Now, what I propose to do is this: Let us form a signal corps made up
of scouts from our four patrols, who can show by superior skill that
they can qualify. Proficiency in any branch of scout-craft, in any of
our games or pursuits (but particularly in the art of signaling) counts
in determining who shall join the corps.
“The number of points or ‘honors’ won by each scout makes his record.
From each patrol two boys who have made the best records will be chosen,
and the leader of the corps will be the scout who has scored the
greatest number of points.”
Lieutenant Denmead paused, and his clear gray eyes roved searchingly
over the group.
“Have I made all this clear?” he added. “Any questions?”
There was a moment’s silence, while the boys exchanged eager glances
among themselves.
“How does the plan appeal to you?” asked Lieutenant Denmead.
Another cheer greeted this question, showing the degree of interest felt
by the majority. Many of the boys were enthusiastic; a few, whose
interests lay in less serious sport, such as water games, canoeing,
fishing, photography, field-day events, etc., rejoiced in it chiefly
because their prowess in such activities would be counted toward
election for the corps; two or three remained silent, considering it
from their individual standpoints.
Among these reflective ones was Alec Sands. Sitting on the ground beside
Don Miller, he had listened attentively to the Scout Master’s
proposition, and he had seen in it only an opportunity for additional
rivalry between the two cabins,—which meant between Hugh Hardin and
himself. For, by tacit consent, Hugh and Alec were regarded as the two
principal leaders among the scouts.
To Alec,—who had gained his leadership of the Otter patrol by
unquestioned ability in scout-craft rather than by virtue of the true
scout spirit of kindness and equality,—rivalry meant a certain degree of
hostility to “the other fellow.” Being the spoiled son and heir of a
railroad magnate, Alec was inclined to consider himself a little above
his companions. To compete with them was an act of condescension.
On the other hand, Hugh Hardin, though but slightly less favored by
fortune, was by no means a snob. His patrol was made up largely of boys
who had not come from homes of wealth, yet among them there was not one
who would ever have suspected, from Hugh’s bearing, that he had been
born with the proverbial silver spoon in his mouth. Reserved and
self-reliant as he was, he possessed an apparently inexhaustible fund of
good-humor, energy, and ready sympathy with others.
The Scout Master’s plan struck a responsive chord in Hugh, to whom
Alec’s personal view of it would hardly have occurred.
“Great idea! Don’t you think so, Billy?” he whispered.
“All to the good, chief.”
“Walt knows a lot about ordinary telegraphy, you know. That ought to
come in handy and count several points for him.”
“‘Bud’ Morgan, in our patrol, worked with a surveying crew last summer.
He learned most of the sig——”
“Cut it! The big chief has something more to say.”
After a brief pause, Lieutenant Denmead continued:
“Since most of you are scouts of the second class, and have some
knowledge of elementary signaling, we can start our try-outs for the
corps by playing the Signalers’ Game this morning. I would like to see
what you can do in work with the semaphore codes. It is going to be a
perfect day, clear and sunny, and we ought to take advantage of it.
“The game is one for good signalers; nevertheless, those of you who are
not so expert can take part in it and learn the first principles. How
many of you know how to play it?”
About eleven hands were raised confidently, then two others went up
almost timidly, as if the owners were uncertain of their knowledge. The
Scout Master counted them, then turned smilingly to his assistant.
“Rawson, there will be quite enough for the first try-out,” he said. “I
will take charge of the smallest division, you of the largest. In that
way we shall work to the best advantage. I observe that most of those
who seem confident of their ability as signalers are Otters. I shall
need a few of them, and you may distribute the others as you think best.
“Now, boys,” he added, “this is how the game is played: The troop must
be split up, temporarily, into three divisions. Division A, numbering
eight scouts, will go with me to some position on high-ground,—like
those bare ridges on old Stormberg yonder,—where we can command a good
view of the stretch of country between here and the mountain. We will
take with us our semaphore flags, to-day, although any other signaling
apparatus will serve equally well in the game. Division B, numbering
twelve scouts, will then go out and keep under cover in this stretch of
country which we, the signalers, or defenders, overlook. This division,
keeping under cover, will try to dodge or trick the signalers by
appearing in different places and disappearing, and will finally take up
a concealed position. After Division B has been out fifteen minutes, the
rest, Division C, under command of Mr. Rawson, will leave camp.
“Then Division A will signal down to Division C, or attackers, the
position of the hostile Division B, and other details that will help the
attackers to advance unseen and surprise the enemy. Of course, Division
B, the enemy, is watching the signals all the while. To win, the
attackers must capture the scouts of Division B by surrounding their
hiding-places. If Division C passes by more scouts than they capture, it
counts a win for Division B.
“We’ll put a time limit of, say, two hours upon the game.”
Following this explanation, came a series of questions about minor
details of the game, which were answered by Rawson, while Lieutenant
Denmead undertook the arrangement of the troop into three divisions, so
that in each division there should be a certain number of scouts who
were familiar with the code.
It so happened that Alec Sands, Don Miller, Walter Osborne, and a lad
named Arthur Cameron, who belonged to Hugh’s patrol and was just
finishing his first month’s service as a tenderfoot, together with Bud
Morgan and three others, were chosen to form Division A, much to their
delight. Hugh was assigned to Division B, the so-called invaders or
enemies, while Billy Worth became Assistant Scout Master Rawson’s
right-hand man in charge of Division C.
Taking their semaphore flags, the first division, led by the Scout
Master, sallied forth from camp. They followed a faintly defined trail
which ran close to the shore of the lake and thence up the nearer slopes
of old Stormberg, climbed up and up, scrambling over rocky patches of
ground, plunging through thickets of white birch, ash, and maple, until
they reached an elevation whereon grew only a few somber spruces and
pines, but which commanded a magnificent view of the surrounding
territory.
As these eight signalers proceeded on their way, they eagerly discussed
ways and means by which their other activities could be correlated with
working for the signal corps.
“Any exceptional feat of woodcraft scores twenty points in the record of
the scout who performs it,” announced Lieutenant Denmead. “For instance,
the scout who positively identifies the largest number of birds,
animals, or trees may count twenty points to his credit; he who obtains
the best six photographs of living wild animals may count fifteen points
each; the same for him who makes the best collection of botanical
specimens, insects, or minerals. And the prime requirement for the corps
will be to send or receive a message by semaphore, American Morse, or
Myer alphabet, sixteen letters per minute.”
Don gave a low whistle.
“You think that is pretty stiff?” inquired Denmead, turning to him with
an encouraging smile. “Just you wait! I expect you fellows will be even
more expert than that before these two weeks are over. Look out there,
Arthur! That ledge you are standing on is rather slippery, my boy. Now
then, Osborne, you and Sands go forward along that bare rib of rock, out
to its edge, where you see a blasted pine-tree. Brace yourselves against
the trunk and the lower branches, if they’re not rotten, and keep a
look-out over the backwoods trail from camp. I suspect Division B will
take that trail first. Have they left camp yet?”
“Can’t tell, sir,” called back Walter, when he and Alec had crawled to
the end of the ledge. “I think they must have left, though, because——”
“Yes, they have, they have!” interrupted Don, pointing down to a clump
of willows that grew in marshy ground near the easternmost arm of the
lake. “See those blackbirds flying out in circles down there? That shows
they are scared by something passing through the willow grove.”
The next moment, while they were taking their places and preparing to
use the flags according to the alphabet-diagrams they had studied, there
came to their ears, faint and far away, the low, weird, mournful howl of
a wolf.
“That is Hugh Hardin calling his own patrol,” declared Billy. “Sounds
like——”
“A trick!” muttered Alec, under his breath. “He wants to make us look
for him in some place where he is least likely to appear.”
As if in answer to the wolf call came the subdued yet shrill
“_Kree-kree-eee_” of a bird of prey, and, by an odd coincidence, a hawk
was seen soaring rapidly above the tree-tops in another direction.
“Some of your Hawks are over there, Walt,” observed Alec. “The real bird
is making no noise that I can hear. There he goes now! Watch him swoop
down into that open glade! Wonder what he saw? A rabbit, most likely.
Well, it must be nearly time for Division B to go into hiding, and I——”
“Attention, boys!” Lieutenant Denmead’s voice sounded close beside them,
and he blew one long blast on his whistle, meaning “Silence,” or “On
guard! Look out for my next signal.”
“Attention!” he repeated. “Get your flags ready. Watch for signs of the
enemy. What is that over in that patch of scrub-oak yonder? Hello! Three
of them! And running for cover, like mad! Signal it! Signal it, Alec!
There! Now Division C has started from camp. They’re advancing to the
attack.”