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 thatyouare 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 ofthat.”
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 tobough.”
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.
It was the qualification in the Instructor’s remark, “when the sun is shining,” that gave the quick-witted Mike his clue.
“My first plan was to climb to the top,” said he with that gravity which he knew so well how to assume, “but I feared I should tumble before I could complete the measuring of the same, as me mither’s second cousin did whin he tried to climb the lightning rod of the church backward. Obsarve me.”
Every eye was fixed upon the Irish youth who, while speaking, had been scrutinizing his surroundings. The pine towered fully twenty feet above any of its near neighbors. The wood was so open that the shadow of the top fell athwart a small natural clearing to the westward. Mike walked to the conical patch of shade, stood on its farthest edge, and facing the puzzled spectators, crooked his finger.
“Have one of ye sich a thing as a measuring tape in yer pockets?”
The majority carried the useful article, coiled around a spring in a flat, circular metal box. Three boys started on a trot toward Mike, but Kenneth Mitchell out-sped his companions.
“Now, if ye’ll measure the precise distance from the tip of me shoe to the fut of the pine, ye’ll have the satisfaction of doing a good turn for the rest of the byes, as me dad did whin he fixed things so that six men instead of two had a share in the shindy at Tipperary on his birthday.”
While Kenneth was carefully stretching the tape over the ground in a straight line to the base of the pine, a couple of the boys smiled, for they had caught on to the ingenious scheme of Mike. The yellow tape was a dozen feet long and divided as usual into fractions of an inch. When the owner after using the full length several times grasped it part way between the ends with his thumb and forefinger, so that they touched the bark near the ground, he straightened up and made a quick mental calculation.
“How fur are we apart?” asked Mike from his first position.
“Sixty-two feet, eight inches,” was the reply.
“Come hither and while me young friend is doing the same, the rist of ye may get your pencils and bits of paper riddy.”
When Kenneth reached the master of ceremonies, he was standing in the oasis of sunlight. Resting one end of the buckthorn cane which he carried on the ground, he held the stick exactly vertical.
“Will ye oblige me by measuring the shadow of the same?”
It was done in a twinkling.
“It is one foot, one inch.”
By this time every one of the smiling scouts understood the simple method by which Mike proposed to solve the problem. He called to them:
“The length of me shillalah is three feet, two inches; the length of its shadow is one foot, one inch; the length of the shadow of the pine is sixty-two feet, eight inches: what more can ye ask of me?”
“Nothing,” replied Scout Master Hall, “figure it out, boys.”
This is the “statement” which the lads jotted down in their note books or on pieces of paper:
The fractional ratios made considerable computation necessary, and several boys erred in their work, but when nine of them reached the same result, and a comparison proved their accuracy, there could be no question as to the correctness of the result, which was that the height of the noble pine was more than one hundred and eighty feet. (Figure out the exact number of feet and inches for yourself.)
“You did well,” said the pleased Instructor to Mike, who made a quick salute and gravely remarked to the scouts:
“Don’t be worrying, byes; I’ll recognize ye the same as before.”
At a nod and wink from Patrol Leader Chase, the whole troop lined up in front of the astonished Mike and silently made the regulation salute. So far as it was possible to do so, his red face blushed and for the first time the waggish youth showed slight embarrassment, but he was instant to rally.
“Comrade,” said Colgate Craig, “you can tuck in the end of your necktie.”
“And why should I do the same?”
“You have done your good turn for today.”
“I’ll let me banner wave on the outside, for who shall say how many more good turns I shall have to do ye before night?”
“There may be more truth in that remark then he suspects,” remarked Uncle Elk, who now gave the word to push on to his home, still fully a mile away. The Instructor kept pace with the scouts, walking a little to their right, while the Scout Master did the same on the left of the laughing, chattering, straggling party. All, however, made good use of their eyes and nothing worth seeing escaped them. It must be remembered that a goodly number of the boys lived in the country and had a more or less knowledge of the woods in the neighborhood of their own homes. Moreover, there is no marked difference between most of the trees in their neighborhood and those of Maine. Thus, a superb black walnut, nearly as tall as the giant pine, was identified at a glance by several of the youths, and Ernest Oberlander told of its hard, close-grained wood, dark, purplish gray in color and very durable; and of its fruit, two inches round, the stain from whose green husks has a way of sticking to one’s hands until sandpaper and soap are necessary to remove it.
Every one was familiar with the white walnut or butternut. Its height is generally about half that of the walnut, its bark is smoother and its leaves similar in shape, but larger and coarser. Its leaflet stalks and new twigs are covered with a sticky brown substance. The leaves are very long, though the leaflets are less than six inches in length.
“You know the delicious, oblong fruit with its prickly shell,” said the Instructor; “when you lay the nut on its side to break it open——”
“No, you don’t,” interrupted Corporal Robe, quick to detect the little subterfuge of Uncle Elk to draw them out: “that isn’t the right way to crack a butternut.”
“It isn’t!” repeated the old gentleman, in pretended surprise; “will you be good enough to explain the proper method?”
“I don’t think there is much need of explaining, for every fellow knows or ought to know that you should stand the nut on one end and strike the top.”
“What advantage do you gain by that plan?”
“The meat is not broken,—that is if you are careful. I have often cracked a butternut so that the meat came out without a break.”
“I like the butternut more than the walnut,” remarked Alvin Landon.
“So do I, but it has another use than to serve as food or a luxury. Of course you can tell me what that is.”
He looked into the expectant faces, but no one could answer him.
“The oil is, or once was, very popular with jewelers. I remember that my father would squeeze out a drop, which was sufficient to lubricate all the works of the family clock. He applied the oil with a tiny feather and never needed more than the single drop. The jewelers have a refined fluid which serves their purposes, but father would never admit that any oil equaled that of the butternut. It has always been one of my favorites, much more so than that small tree growing in that dry sandy soil, which we call—what?”
Considerable discussion took place before the Instructor accepted the name and description of the common or aspen-leaved birch, whose wood is soft, close grained, weak, splits in drying and is valueless for weather and ground work. Each armpit has a black, triangular scar, which does not appear in the canoe birch.
Uncle Elk gave the boys a brief talk on the genus of trees known as theBetulaceœor birch.
“Its flowers grow in catkins—so called from their resemblance to a cat’s tail—whose scales are thin and three-lobed. With one exception the species grows beyond the tropic in the northern hemisphere.”
“Will you tell us something about the birch from which canoes are made?” asked Scout Master Hall, and the faces of the boys showed their eagerness to hear the explanation which they knew awaited them.
“The paper or canoe birch is the most valuable American kind. Cabinet makers sometimes use the wood, but it quickly decays when exposed to climatic changes. It sounds strange, but the bark is most esteemed because of its durable nature. Many times I have come upon a fallen birch which appeared to be perfectly sound, but on examination, I found the wood entirely rotted away, with the bark as firm and perfect as when the tree stood erect and was growing. You can easily see why it is so valuable for canoes. Would you like me to tell you how we make a birch canoe?”
Every head nodded.
“Of course I pick out the largest trees with the smoothest bark. In the spring I make two circular incisions several feet apart, with a longitudinal incision on each side. Pushing a wedge under the bark, it is easily lifted off. With threads prepared from the fibrous roots of the white spruce fir, the pieces of bark are sewn together over a framework of wood, and the seams are caulked with resin of the Balm of Gilead fir. Such boats are so light that they are readily carried over the shoulders of a boy when he finds it necessary to make a portage. My canoe weighs less than fifty pounds and will bear up four or five boys.”
“I obsarved, Uncle Elk,” said Mike, who was one of the most interested of the listeners, “that ye have no seats in yer boat, which the same I fail to understand, as Jerry Hooligan said whin his taicher told him that if ye multiply one fraction by anither, the answer is less than aither of ’em.”
“A birch canoe has no seat because the craft is so unstable it is almost certain to tip over with you; you have to sit as low as possible. The birch not only serves well for canoes, but log houses are often thatched with it, and small boxes, cases and even hats are manufactured from the same material. You are all fond of sweet birch and I can see you chewing the tender, aromatic bark, when you were barefooted boys on your way home from school.
“The canoe is so unstable and sensitive that care is necessary to avoid accidents. In the first place there is the right and wrong way to enter it, with the probability that you will take the wrong one every time. This is what you should do: take the paddle in your right hand and lay it across the gunwale. Seize the outside gunwale with your left hand, resting the right on the other gunwale. Then put your left foot gently but steadily into the boat, being careful to place it exactly in the middle and follow with the other foot, after which you will kneel or sit as you prefer and can push away from the float. By this method you will preserve the equilibrium of the canoe and escape mishap.
“By the way, you should never let the paddle pass out of your grasp, for in case of an upset, it will keep you afloat until help arrives. Nor should you go far without an extra paddle in case of breakage. If you have a lady companion, regard safety before grace. Grasp the nearest gunwale with your left hand, reach up your right and take her nearest hand. She should step in right foot first, grasping the outside gunwale to balance herself. Thus steadied, she can easily lift the left foot into the boat and sit down comfortably, using her right hand to arrange her skirts.
“You should sit near the middle when alone, for, if too far toward the stern, the prow lifts up, and a puff of wind is sufficient to tip over the boat. If an upset occurs, don’t forget to keep a firm grasp upon your paddle, and don’t swim away from the overturned canoe. One of the craft seldom overturns completely, because you are pretty sure to plunge overboard so suddenly that the boat hasn’t time to take in much water. It is easy to climb in again, provided you know how to do it. Lay your paddle across the gunwale, your left hand grasping the paddle and middle brace; bring your legs sharply together as you do when climbing aboard a raft. This will lift the body far enough out the water to enable you to reach for the farther gunwale and you can roll yourself into the boat with no trouble at all.
“Suppose you fall overboard with a companion. Remember the canoe will not sink of itself and each of you has retained his paddle. You approach from opposite directions, and one holds down his side of the canoe, while the other carefully climbs in, after which he can readily preserve the equilibrium while his friend joins him.
“Remember these precautions: never change places in a canoe after leaving the shore, and avoid moving quickly. It is the easiest thing in the world to grasp a pond lily in passing and by means of the sudden pull overturn the craft; don’t even turn your head suddenly to look at another canoe that is passing; don’t frolic or try to stand up in the canoe, and in no case take out a lady without having a cork-stuffed pillow with you. Finally, no person should ever have anything to do with a canoe until he has learned how to swim.”
“What kind of birch produces the most valuable timber?” asked Scout Master Hall.
“The black or mahogany. Its reddish brown wood is hard and close-grained. When it attains the height of seventy feet, with a diameter of three feet, it is one of the handsomest trees in the forest. It buds early in spring, at which time its leaves are covered with a short thick coat of down, which disappears later in the season and leaves them of a vivid green color.”
A little way ahead, the Instructor halted the scouts again. This time it was no pretence on his part when he expressed himself as surprised by what he saw. He stood for a minute or two viewing a tree some thirty feet high, with a score of green prickly burrs scattered here and there among the branches.
“Why are you surprised?” asked the Scout Master.
“Maine lies above the range of the chestnut, though now and then you come upon a specimen in the southern part of the state. That is the first one I have seen in this section and I doubt if another exists. I should be glad to welcome this tree, did I not know that it is already doomed. We have plenty of horse chestnuts, however.”
“The chestnuts in the Middle States have suffered a good deal during the last few years,” said the Scout Master. “I had a couple of fine ones in my yard at home but some pest attacked them. I called in a tree surgeon, after doing all I could to save them, and he confessed that he was powerless. The disease first appeared in the neighborhood of New York in 1904. Two years later a hitherto unknown fungus was discovered growing in the substance of the bark of the tree, and it looks to me as if the blight will follow the chestnuts all the way to Tennessee, which is their southern range. Even your horse chestnuts do not escape and the all-pervading spruce is threatened with extinction from a vicious moth.”
“That’s too bad,” commented more than one boy, who recalled the delights of chestnut hunting and the delicious flavor of the fruit itself, both raw and roasted; “we used to have such big crops of chestnuts that it didn’t pay the farmers to gather them.”
“As plants, flowers and trees increase, so do their enemies,” commented Uncle Elk, “until it has become a constant fight for life. But man will always be the victor so long as he does not grow lazy or indifferent. Now we come upon several specimens of the white and the red oak. Will one of you point out the chief differences between them?”
Alvin Landon nudged Mike, who saw that the eyes of the Instructor were fixed upon him.
“You know the two colors; he is expecting you to answer.”
Mike promptly fell into the trap.
“One of ’em has red leaves and the ither white.”
The reproving look of Mike in response to the general merriment caused even Uncle Elk and Scout Master Hall to laugh. Kenneth Henke and Bobby Snow between them explained that the grain of the red oak is hard, strong and coarse but warps and has little value for weather or ground work. Its acorns require two seasons to ripen, whereas those of the white oak mature in one season. The latter is called white because of the pale color of its bark and wood. This kind is fine-grained, heavy, strong, very durable and of great value. When we speak of “hearts of oak” it is always the white variety we have in mind. You know how important it is for ship building and other enterprises. There are too many varieties to be named in this place, and I fear an extended description would prove tedious to you.
Tramping a short distance farther the Inspector directed the attention of the boys to a broad, spreading symmetrical tree fully a hundred feet high and with a trunk more than three feet in diameter. The bark was smooth and ash colored and the foliage purplish. It ranks among the handsomest trees of the American forest and every boy identified it at once as a beech, of theFagusgenus of trees. It is so common that I am sure you are all familiar with it. Possibly you are unaware that the roots do not descend deeply into the soil but extend to a considerable distance close under the surface. The beech is a favorite, and several beautiful varieties are cultivated, some displaying purple, silver, and other colored foliage. I recall a beech whose leaves in the autumn, after being touched by frost, were so vivid and blood red, that they resembled a huge cone of flaming fire when seen among the differently tinted foliage.
One of the chief uses of the beech from the viewpoint of boys is to furnish an admirable surface upon which to carve their names with their jack-knives. I cannot compute the number of beech trunks in the woods of my boyhood home which display my initials. Only the other day I came across the bark, now bulging, contorted and overgrown, upon which I broke the blade of my new knife, when I was so young that I didn’t know any better than to form two of the letters backward. Moreover, a few feet above my name was that of my grandfather, which he cut into the bark when he was a youngster fully sixty years before.
“The beech,” remarked Uncle Elk, “furnishes fire wood, though my preference is apple wood, followed next by hickory, sugar maple and beech.”
Uncle Elk was too wise to weary his young friends with much scientific description. As he strolled forward, he made his talk more general and asked fewer questions. He reminded them of the excellent appearance of the white elm, which often grows to a height of a hundred feet or more. It is not valuable, however, because its reddish brown, coarse wood soon rots near the ground. A peculiarity of the sycamore, which often attains a stature of a hundred and fifty feet, is that it sheds its bark as well as its leaves.
The black locust is another tree with which I am sure you are all familiar. You have seen rows of them lining the highways and growing about old lawns. The timber is close grained and tough and good for planking vessels. The mealy fruit is sweet, and we used to try to persuade ourselves that we liked it, but I don’t think any of us boys ever wholly succeeded.
When boiled and fermented the juice forms an intoxicating drink resembling beer.
I was always fond of the red and water or swamp maples. The sap from them when boiled down furnishes us the most delicious syrup and sugar in the world. When we seek the sugar, however, it is from the variety known by that name. The manufacture of maple sugar is a leading industry during the spring months in many sections, especially in Vermont, and some parts of New York and other states.
Have you ever taken a hand in the making of maple sugar? If so, you will never forget its delights. In March, when the first signs of thaw appear, you bore only a little way with an auger into the juicy wood, when the sap comes bubbling down the small wooden spout driven into the opening, and is caught in the trough or kettle waiting below. As these fill up the sweet fluid is carried to a huge iron kettle suspended over a roaring fire, and poured into the vessel. It boils steadily away, but the supply is kept up, the steam diffusing a most fragrant odor through the surrounding atmosphere. The sap slowly grows thicker as the watery part is given off in vapor, until it granulates and syrup and sugar result.
After the thick syrup is poured out of the big kettle there is always a considerable quantity left clinging to the interior. Balancing themselves over the edge of the iron reservoir, the heads of the boys used to disappear with only their feet showing while they scraped off the saccharine coating within and ate and ate until nature protested and we had perforce to cease, but were soon ready to resume our feast at the banquet of the gods.
“Halt!” The Boy Scouts were tramping forward, chatting and laughing and paying less attention than at first to the varieties of trees which constantly appeared before them. It was true, as Uncle Elk had seen, that they were a wee bit tired of imbibing knowledge, and disposed to think of the home of the old man which they knew could not be far off. At the sound of his crisp command, the party halted and looked expectantly at him. On his part, he calmly surveyed the array of bright faces as if the sight gave him rare pleasure, as it undoubtedly did. Pausing for a moment, he said, addressing the whole body:
“I wish you to separate and start on a hunt, each for himself. You must not go more than a hundred yards in any direction from where I am standing. Within that area you are to make diligent search for the trail of some animal of the woods that has passed within the last twenty-four hours.”
“Is thatall?” asked Mike loftily.
“No; it will not be enough to discover his tracks, but you must tell me his name and some of his peculiarities.”
“Suppose the spalpeen hasn’t got any name?” suggested Mike.
“There is no such creature, my lad; to the one who first succeeds I shall give a handsome prize.”
There could be no mistaking this direct challenge. The boys looked at one another for a moment and then fell apart as energetically as if a smoking bomb had dropped among them. They were more anxious to win a compliment from their Instructor than to gain anything in the nature of a prize. They had formed not only a deep respect but a real affection for the man; due to his lovable disposition and in a slight degree to the mystery which overshadowed his life.
Had you been a spectator of the picture, you would have thought some valuable jewel or treasure had been lost among the leaves, and every lad was the owner of the same. Never did two score bright eyes scan the ground more closely; the boys seemed oblivious of everything else in the world, and as the minutes passed their earnestness grew tense.
Uncle Elk nodded to Scout Master Hall, and the two sat down on a broad, flat boulder and watched proceedings. When they spoke to each other it was in guarded undertones. That there was a vein of waggery in the old gentleman’s makeup was proved by the fact that the Scout Master seemed to be trying hard to repress his merriment over certain remarks which Uncle Elk took pains that no one should overhear. Now and then when one of the boys looked at the couple, Mr. Hall’s face assumed a sudden gravity which vanished the instant the lad’s attention returned to the task before him. The Instructor easily hid his emotions, since his heavy beard served as a curtain, but his amusement was as great as that of the younger man. In fact, the Scout Master more than once heard a distinct chuckle.
It will be understood that the problem before the scouts was not only a hard one but it grew harder as the search progressed. They could not help disturbing the leaves as they passed to and fro, no matter how careful they were, and this disturbance increased each minute, because the diameter of the space was no more than two hundred yards. It was interesting to observe the care used by each boy not to “jump the reservation.” Every now and then, one of them would stop his work, raise his head and locate his comrades. Rather than run the risk of wandering too far, he would edge nearer to the two men seated on the boulder and watching his actions.
Several times a lad uttered an exclamation, believing he had caught sight of the footprints of some denizen of the woods. Instantly, several ran to him and joined in the scrutiny, but in each instance the belief of success became doubtful, finally vanished and the hunt went on as before. Upon many the conviction gradually forced itself that they had essayed that which was impossible.
It was natural perhaps that the attention of the couple on the boulder should center upon Mike Murphy, who was the most ardent searcher of them all. He examined the ground near the spectators, but soon shifted to the periphery, as it may be called, of the big circle. With his buckthorn in hand, he poked among the leaves, so rumpling and overturning them that he would have obscured all the footprints that at first were visible. Unlike the others, Mike made visual search through the branches of the trees. After studying the ground for a while, he would straighten up and peer here and there among the limbs, as if certain that the answer to the problem would there reveal itself.
“I’ve an idea,” he said to himself, “that it’s a grizzly bear or a big tiger that is prowling round, and scrooching among the leaves. If he should drop down on me shoulder and begin clawing me head, it would be as bad as when Terry Googan had the coort house fall on top of him—whisht!”
Mike was thrilled at the moment by the discovery of that which he believed was the lost trail. Suppressing his emotions, he first made certain that none of the scouts was looking at him. He was vastly relieved to note that all were so absorbed in their own work that for the time they were oblivious. He did not glance in the direction of the two spectators on the boulder, for they were “out of it.”
Devoting several minutes to a closer study of a depression near a decayed stump, Mike poked the leaves gently apart with his cane. Then he chortled, and turning about sauntered indifferently toward his friends, swinging his cane as if it were a swagger stick, and humming softly to himself.
“By the way,” remarked Scout Master Hall, as he and his friend heard the soft musical notes, “Alvin and Chester tell me that Mike is gifted with a marvelous voice. A prima donna on the steamer was so impressed by it that she offered to educate him for the operatic stage, but Mike won’t think of such a thing.”
“Have you ever heard him sing?”
“No, but I intend soon to do so. He is modest with his gift, but is always ready to oblige. He seems to have learned something.”
Mike had ceased his humming, and halting a few paces in front of the two made a quick half salute. The Scout Master’s face became serious and the manner of Uncle Elk could not have been graver.
“Have you come to make your report, Michael?” he asked.
“I hev, sorr.”
“I hope you have been successful.”
“I hev, sorr; I’ve found the futprints of the cratur that is trying to steal into the camp and ate us all up.”
“That’s fine; but remember you must tell me what kind of a wild animal it is.”
“I’m prepared to do the same.”
“Well, Mr. Hall and I are listening.”
“It’s an elephant.”
Noting the start of the two, Mike made haste to add:
“I knowed it would astonish ye, but I’m as sartin, as was me mither’s second cousin whin he was accused of being the meanest man in siven counties.”
“What reason have you for thinking the creature is an elephant?”
“The futprint is the biggest iver made; the elephant is the biggest animal that roams these woods;thereforethe track is that of one of them craturs.”
“Your logic is ingenious, Michael, but you do not produce the elephant.”
“I’ve an idea that he’s hiding somewhere in the branches of the trees,” was the imperturbable reply of the Irish youth, who glanced up among the nearest limbs as if he expected to see the giant quadruped lurking there.
“Mike,” interposed Scout Master Hall, “the elephant is not found in this country; you have made a mistake.”
“Why, there isn’t a traveling circus that doesn’t have a half dozen more or less of ’em; what’s to prevint one from bidding good bye to his frinds and starting out to have a shindy with a lot of Boy Scouts?”
By this time, it dawned upon the two men that the whole thing was a jest on the part of Mike. Convinced that neither he nor his companions could find the trail for which they had been searching, he yielded to his waggish propensity, as fully aware of the absurdity of his words as were those to whom he submitted his theory.
The fact that the three persons by the boulder were discussing some interesting question had been observed by the other lads, who began strolling in that direction. Uncle Elk and Mr. Hall kept their seats and looked smilingly up into the expectant faces.
“I am afraid,” said the Instructor sighing as if with disappointment, “that you have not been successful in your search.”
The unanimous nodding of heads answered his query.
“Shall I tell you why you failed?”
The same response followed.
“It is because you have been hunting for something which doesn’t exist; there is no animal’s trail within a hundred yards of this spot.”
Scout Master Hall made no further effort to restrain his merriment. He turned partly on one side and laughed till he nearly fell off the boulder. Uncle Elk’s shoulders bobbed up and down and from behind the thicket of snow white whiskers issued sounds such as are made by water gurgling from the mouth of a bottle. The scouts like sensible lads enjoyed the joke none the less because they were the victims. They slapped one another on the shoulder, several flung up their hats and shouted, and two of them gave a fine imitation of a Scotchman dancing the Highland Fling.
As might be expected, Mike Murphy was the first to regain his wits. The tempest of jollity had hardly passed, when he said:
“It minds me of the time when I was snoring on board the launchDeerfut, draaming of watermelons and praties, whin a spalpeen, without asking me permission, picked me up and flung me overboard where the water was ’leven miles deep and I had niver swum a stroke in me life.”
“Did you drown?” asked Isaac Rothstein in pretended dismay.
“I s’pose I oughter done so, but I changed me mind and swum to shore.”
(You will recall that, incredible as this may sound, it is precisely what occurred.)
“I don’t see the similarity between that incident and this,” remarked Chester Haynes.
“For the raison that there isn’t any, which is why I call it to mind. Don’t ye obsarve that ye have been looking fur that which isn’t, as Uncle Elk has explained, and which is the same in me own case? The stoopidity of some folks is scand’lous, as Mickey Shaughnessy said whin his taycher expicted him to know how much two and two make whin the same are added togither.”
“Well, boys,” spoke up the Instructor as he rose to his feet, “there’s a time for all things. We have had our jest and now must get down to business again. I suspect you know a little more about our native trees than you did when we left the bungalow, and you may digest that which you have swallowed. As the expression goes, the incident is closed. My next requirement is that you shall join forces and start a fire.”
The request was so simple that the boys suspected the old man was indulging in another bit of pleasantry, noting which he added:
“I am in earnest; I wish you to unite your skill and kindle a blaze right in front of the boulder where Mr. Hall and I have been sitting.”
Gerald Hume of the Eagle Patrol laughed. “Nothing can be easier. All we have to do is to gather some dry leaves, pine cones and twigs, and touch them off with a match. We are allowed to use no more than two matches, and in a case like this one ought to be enough.”
“A condition that I insist upon is that you shall not employ even a single match.”