FOUR IN CAMP
[Illustration: “Coming! Don’t give up, boys!”]
FOUR IN CAMP
A STORY OF SUMMER ADVENTURES
IN THE NEW HAMPSHIRE WOODS
By RALPH HENRY BARBOUR
_Author of “The Half-Back,” “Behind the Line,”
“Weatherby’s Inning,” “On Your Mark,” etc._
ILLUSTRATED
[Illustration]
NEW YORK
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
1905
Copyright, 1905, by
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
_Published September, 1905_
TO
THE CHIEF, COUNCILLORS AND
FELLOWS OF SHERWOOD
FOREST
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I.--INTRODUCES NELSON TILFORD AND WITNESSES HIS ARRIVAL
AT CAMP CHICORA 1
II.--TELLS OF A TALK BY THE CAMP-FIRE AND OF HAPPENINGS
IN A DORMITORY 10
III.--SHOWS THAT A MOTOR-DORY CAN GO AS WELL AS STOP 22
IV.--RELATES HOW NELSON BORROWED A LEAF FROM BOB,
AND HOW DAN CRIED QUITS 34
V.--TELLS HOW DAN PLAYED A TRUMP CARD, HOW BOB
GAINED HONOR AND HOW THE “BIG FOUR” CAME
INTO EXISTENCE 48
VI.--OPENS WITH AWFUL TIDINGS AND ENDS WITH A GLEAM
OF HOPE 59
VII.--PROVES THE TRUTH OF THE SAYING THAT THERE IS
ALWAYS ROOM AT THE TOP, AND SHOWS DAN WITH
THE “BLUES” 70
VIII.--TELLS HOW TOM WAS VISITED BY AUNT LOUISA--AND
SOME OTHERS 82
IX.--STARTS WITH POETRY, HAS TO DO WITH A BEETLE AND
ENDS WITH A PENALTY 91
X.--DESCRIBES AN AFTERNOON ON THE LAKE AND A GALLANT
RESCUE 104
XI.--TELLS HOW THE FOUR PLANNED AN EXCURSION, AND
HOW DAN AND NELSON PLAYED HARES, MADE A
DISCOVERY AND HAD A FRIGHT 111
XII.--HAS TO DO WITH A STORM AND LIGHTNING, DISCOVERS
TOM IN TEARS, AND CONCLUDES THE ADVENTURE 122
XIII.--RECALLS THE FACT THAT WHAT’S FAIR FOR ONE IS
FAIR FOR ANOTHER AND RECORDS A DEFEAT AND A
VICTORY 132
XIV.--BEGINS A MIDNIGHT ADVENTURE WHICH THREATENS TO
END IN DISASTER 140
XV.--CONCLUDES THE ADVENTURE AND SHOWS TOM SLEEPING
THE SLEEP OF THE JUST 152
XVI.--RECORDS TWO VICTORIES OVER WICKASAW AND AN
EPISODE WITH FISH 159
XVII.--WITNESSES THE DEPARTURE OF THE FOUR ON A CANOE
TRIP AND BRINGS THEM INTO CAMP FOR THE NIGHT 174
XVIII.--TELLS HOW THEY FOUND A DERELICT AND A COURSE
DINNER, AND MET WITH SHIPWRECK 189
XIX.--CONCERNS ITSELF WITH THE DANGEROUS PLIGHT OF
DAN AND NELSON AND THE COURAGE OF THE
LATTER 199
XX.--RELATES THE CONCLUSION OF THE TRIP AND WHAT
HAPPENED AT CAMP 210
XXI.--TELLS HOW THE FOUR LAID PLANS AND HOW BOB
PREPARED FOR A VICTORY 219
XXII.--NARRATES THE PROGRESS OF THE CONTEST WITH
WICKASAW AND WITNESSES THE DISINTEGRATION OF
ONE WELLS 233
XXIII.--PROVES THE SCORE-BOOK IN ERROR AND CLOSES THE
STORY 242
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
FACING
PAGE
“Coming! Don’t give up, boys!” _Frontispiece._
Camp Chicora. 6
He was tracing a monstrous C. 80
“Look!” he cried. 120
“Over with them,” said Dan. 162
He dashed for the plate. 244
[Illustration: Camp Chicora.]
FOUR IN CAMP
CHAPTER I
INTRODUCES NELSON TILFORD, AND WITNESSES HIS ARRIVAL AT CAMP CHICORA
“That’s Chicora over there.”
The man at the wheel turned to the boy standing beside him and nodded
his head at a landing toward which the nose of the big steam-launch was
slowly turning. It lay less than an eighth of a mile away across the
smooth waters of the lake, a good-sized wharf, a float, a pole from
which a blue-and-gray flag hung lifeless, and a flotilla of various
kinds of boats. Several figures stood upon the pier, and their voices
came shrill and clear across the intervening space. From the shore,
which here circled inward into a tiny cove, the hill swept up rather
abruptly for three hundred feet or more, and a third of the way up the
gleam of unpainted boards through the trees told Nelson Tilford of the
location of the camp which was to be his home for the next two months.
It was a pleasant, peaceful scene before him, but the shadow of the
hill had already crept well into the lake, leaving the shore and wooded
slope in twilight, and a slight qualm of loneliness stole over him for
the instant.
He had left the Boston express at Warder, six miles away, at half past
four, and had been rattled over a constantly turning road behind a pair
of stout horses to Chicora Landing, where, followed by his trunk, he
had boarded one of the several small steam-boats which lay at intervals
up and down the long shed like horses in their stalls. A half a mile
at slow speed through a winding river, scarcely wide enough in places
for the boat to scrape through between the low banks, had brought
them into Little Chicora, hardly more than a pond. Another and far
shorter stretch of river followed, and then, with a warning blast, the
steam-launch had thrust her bow into the broad waters of the big lake,
spread out like a great mirror in the evening sunlight, dotted here
and there with well-wooded islands, and guarded by gently rising hills
covered with maples, pines, white and black birches, poplars, and many
other trees whose names Nelson did not know. White farmhouses gleamed
now and then from the shores, and slender purple ribbons of smoke,
rising straight into the calm evening air, told of other dwellings,
unseen for the thick foliage. They had made three stops on the south
side of the lake, first at Chicora Inn Landing, from where the big
hotel was plainly visible a quarter of a mile away, then at Squirrel
Island and Plum Island. Nelson had been interested all the way, for he
had never seen a New Hampshire lake before, and the glimpses he had
obtained of the comfortable summer camps and their healthy, sun-browned
inhabitants had pleased him hugely. But when Plum Island had been left
behind and the boat had entered the shadowed margin of the lake his
spirits began to sink. The water and the dim woods looked cold and
inhospitable to the city-bred lad. He wondered what the fellows of Camp
Chicora would be like, and wished that he had joined at the beginning
of the season instead of a fortnight after it. Now that it was past,
that week at the beach with a school friend had not been especially
enjoyable after all; and the rôle of the new boy was not, he knew
from experience, at all comfortable. He almost wished he had held out
against his father’s desires and stayed snugly at home.
His rueful thoughts were abruptly interrupted by a shrill blast of the
launch’s whistle. They were close to the landing, and Nelson picked up
his suit-case and climbed to the deck. The bell tinkled, the churn
of the propeller ceased, and the boat sidled up to the pier. Nelson
stepped ashore into a group of half-a-dozen fellows and set his bag
down, prepared to lend a hand to the landing of his trunk. But some one
was before him, a man of twenty-three or four, who, when the trunk was
safely ashore, turned to Nelson with outstretched hand and welcoming
smile.
“This is Nelson Tilford, isn’t it?” he asked, as they shook hands.
“Glad to see you. Mr. Clinton didn’t get your letter until this noon,
so we couldn’t meet you at the station. Did you have any trouble
finding your way to us?”
“No, sir,” said Nelson, “every one seemed to know all about the camp.”
“That’s good. Well, let’s go up.” He took Nelson’s suit-case, despite
the latter’s remonstrances, and led the way along the pier to a
well-worn path which wound up the hill. Nelson, sensible of the frankly
curious regard of the other fellows, followed. A bugle sounded clear
and musical from the camp, and Nelson’s companion turned and waited for
him to range himself alongside. “There’s the first supper call, now,”
he said. “I guess you’re a bit hungry, aren’t you? By the way, I’m
Mr. Verder, one of the councilors. There are four of us besides Mr.
Clinton. You’ll meet them when we get up there. The Chief’s away this
evening, but he’ll be back in time for camp-fire. We’re going to put
you in Maple Hall, where the seniors bunk. That’s where I am, so if you
want anything to-night don’t hesitate to ask me.”
“Thank you,” answered Nelson gratefully. His companion chatted on while
they climbed the path, which led by easy stages up the hill through a
thin woods, and Nelson forgot his previous misgivings. If the fellows
were as jolly as Mr. Verder, he reflected, he was pretty sure to get
on. The man beside him seemed scarcely more than a big boy, and his
sun-burned face was good to look at. He was dressed in a gray jersey
bearing a blue C on the breast, gray trousers with a blue stripe down
the seam, and brown canvas shoes. He wore no cap, and the warm tan
extended well up into the somewhat curly hair. His arms were bare to
the shoulders. Nelson concluded he was going to like Mr. Verder; he
looked strong, alert, good-humored, and a gentleman.
Two minutes of up-hill work on the winding path brought them to the
clearing. The five buildings were arranged in what was practically a
semicircle facing the end of the path. Back of them on all sides rose
the forest. In the clearing a few trees had been allowed to remain,
spruce in most cases, and one tall sentinel, shorn closely of its
branches, and standing guard at the head of the path to the lake, had
become a flagpole from which, as Nelson came into sight, the Stars and
Stripes was being lowered, its place to be taken by a lighted lantern.
Boys were coming and going between the buildings, or were scattered in
little groups at the doorways.
Near at hand, by the entrance of Birch Hall, a knot of three men were
standing, and to them Nelson was conducted and introduced. There was
Mr. Ellery, almost middle-aged, slight, rather frail-looking; Mr.
Thorpe, small, rotund, jovial, with twinkling blue eyes; and Mr.
Smith, just out of college, nervous-looking, with black hair and black
eyes, the latter snapping behind a pair of gold-rimmed glasses. It was
difficult to stand in awe of persons attired negligently in shirt and
trousers alone; and, anyway, none of the four councilors seemed at all
desirous of impressing the newcomer with their dignity or authority.
They were a sunburned, clear-eyed lot, troubling themselves very little
with such things, but brimming over with kindly good-nature. After the
greetings Nelson was hurried away by Mr. Verder to the wash-room, from
whence, having hastily splashed his face and hands with water from a
tin basin, he was hustled to the dining-hall, just as the bugle
was blaring the last call to supper and the hungry denizens of the
camp were crowding and jostling into the building. Nelson followed Mr.
Verder, stood while Mr. Ellery asked grace, and then pulled out his
stool and took his place at table. Mr. Verder, who sat at the head of
the table, was beside him. There were three other tables in the room,
and all were filled.
There was very little ceremony about the meal. The clean white boards
held huge pitchers of cocoa, milk, water, generous plates of biscuits
and crackers and cake, saucers of wild raspberries and bowls of cereal,
and to each table two boys were bringing plates of ham and eggs from
the kitchen. Every one talked at once, and, as there were twenty-nine
present, that meant lots of noise. At his own table there were ten boys
besides himself, and Nelson looked them over as he ate. They seemed a
very hungry, happy, and noisy lot; and at first glance they appeared
to lack something of refinement and breeding, but he afterward found
that it was necessary to make allowances for the freedom of camp
life, and for the difference between ordinary attire and that worn
at Chicora; gray jerseys and knee-trunks in conjunction with tanned
bodies and tousled hair naturally lend an appearance of roughness. In
ages the fellows varied from ten to seventeen, the most of them being
apparently of about Nelson’s age, which was fifteen. In the end he
decided they were a very decent-looking lot of fellows.
Naturally Nelson didn’t do all the examining. At some time or other
during the meal every lad there who could get a glimpse of the newcomer
looked him over and formed his opinion of him. Most, if not all, liked
what they saw. Nelson Tilford was slim without being thin, of medium
height for his years, rather broad across the shoulders and chest,
brown of hair and eyes, with good features, and a somewhat quiet and
thoughtful expression. A big, red-haired, blue-eyed youth at the
farther end of the table confided to his left-hand neighbor that “the
new chap looked to him like a bit of a snob.” But the other shook his
head.
“I don’t think so, Dan,” he answered, between mouthfuls of chocolate
cake; “I bet he’ll turn out to be a swell chap.”
Nelson’s appetite failed him long before those of his companions--for
perhaps the only time that summer--and he took note of the room. It
was about forty feet long by thirty broad. There were no windows, but
along both sides and at one end wooden shutters opened upward and
inward and were hooked to the ceiling, allowing great square openings,
through which the darkening forest was visible, and through which
eager yellow-jackets came and went seeking the sugar-bowls or flying
homeward with their booty. At one end a door gave into the kitchen, and
by it was a window like that of a ticket-office, through which the food
was passed to the waiters. At the other end, in the corner away from
the door, was a railed enclosure containing a roll-top desk and chairs,
which Nelson rightly presumed to be Mr. Clinton’s office. Presently the
signal was given allowing them to rise. He rescued his suit-case from
where he had left it inside the door and turned to find Mr. Verder.
At that moment a brown hand was thrust in front of him, and a pair of
excited gray eyes challenged his.
“Hello, Ti-ti-ti-Tilford!” cried the owner of the hand, “what the
di-di-dickens you du-du-doing up here?”