Uncle Elk declined the invitation of Scout Master Hall to stay over night at the bungalow, and bidding his friends good bye, with the promise soon to see them again, he went forth staff in hand into the dim woods on his tramp to his lonely home to the eastward.
It cannot be said of any portion of our country that it enjoys a perfect climate, though some sections are highly favored in that respect. Maine is an ideal summer resort, with its crystal waters, its cool breezes and its pure air. When people were panting with intolerable heat in many cities, I have never known an uncomfortable night or oppressive midday in the southern part of the Pine Tree State.
All the same, the weather at times on the seacoast is about as disagreeable as it can well be. Drizzling rain and mists, dank, impenetrable fogs and chilling winds make a roaring fire attractive, and cause many a person to long for his city home, where every convenience and luxury are at command. I make no reference to the winter season, except to say that there is no better State in the Union to avoid unless you have a fondness for arctic exploration.
The morning succeeding Uncle Elk’s last call brought lowering skies. The chill in the air presaged an unwelcome change, when the bungalow would prove far more inviting than the open woods, even though the Boy Scouts were provided with tents and all the protection possible against climatic severity. Since, however, the dismal shift was not likely to come for several hours, our young friends determined to make the best use possible of the hours at their command. So, as they had done before, they separated into small groups, most of which took different directions in the woods. Scout Master Hall went with Chase his leader and Robe his corporal on a hunt for birds, or rather to study their peculiarities. Nearly all the scouts were amateur ornithologists, and there was no little rivalry among them as to who could discover the greater variety of feathered songsters.
I am sure you will agree with me that this field is one of the most fascinating in natural history. I should like to copy the report which Patrol Leader Chase and three of the other boys read at the following business meeting of the troop, but I think we have dipped far enough into scientific matters for the present, and shall defer the treat to another season. If you feel like making an effort to learn about our “little brothers of the air,” I commend the following table from the official Handbook of the Boy Scouts:
1. Description. (Size, form, color, and markings.)2. Haunts. (Upland, lowland, lakes, rivers, woods, fields, etc.)3. Movements. (Slow or active, hops, walks, creeps, swims, tail wagged, etc.)4. Appearance. (Alert, listless, crest erect, tail dropped, etc.)5. Disposition. (Solitary, flocking, wary, unsuspicious, etc.)6. Flight. (Slow, rapid, direct, undulating, soaring, sailing, flapping, etc.)7. Song. (Pleasing, unattractive, long, short, loud, faint, sung from the ground, from a perch, in the air, etc. Season of song.)8. Call notes. (Of surprise, alarm, protest, warning, signaling, etc,) 9. Season. (Spring, fall, summer, winter, with times of arrival and departure and variations in numbers.)10. Food. (Berries, insects, seeds, etc.; how secured.)11. Mating. (Habits during courtship.)12. Nesting. (Choice of site, material, construction, eggs, incubation, etc.)13. The young. (Food and care of, time in the nest, notes, actions, flight, etc.)
1. Description. (Size, form, color, and markings.)
2. Haunts. (Upland, lowland, lakes, rivers, woods, fields, etc.)
3. Movements. (Slow or active, hops, walks, creeps, swims, tail wagged, etc.)
4. Appearance. (Alert, listless, crest erect, tail dropped, etc.)
5. Disposition. (Solitary, flocking, wary, unsuspicious, etc.)
6. Flight. (Slow, rapid, direct, undulating, soaring, sailing, flapping, etc.)
7. Song. (Pleasing, unattractive, long, short, loud, faint, sung from the ground, from a perch, in the air, etc. Season of song.)
8. Call notes. (Of surprise, alarm, protest, warning, signaling, etc,) 9. Season. (Spring, fall, summer, winter, with times of arrival and departure and variations in numbers.)
10. Food. (Berries, insects, seeds, etc.; how secured.)
11. Mating. (Habits during courtship.)
12. Nesting. (Choice of site, material, construction, eggs, incubation, etc.)
13. The young. (Food and care of, time in the nest, notes, actions, flight, etc.)
Alvin Landon, Chester Haynes and Mike Murphy decided to borrow one of the canoes belonging to the clubhouse, paddle across the lake and call upon Doctor Spellman, who had dropped into the home of Uncle Elk the day before. The weather was favorable for fishing, the game being abundant in Gosling Lake, but such sport could wait, and the lads agreed that nothing ought to divert them from their social obligations.
The three had gained more or less experience in the management of canoes during their stay on Southport Island. Alvin was the most and Mike the least expert, though the latter was not as awkward as would be supposed. Two paddles belonged to each craft, the third being taken from the second boat, so that all the youths were provided. These implements were about four feet long and were broadened at one end into a thin but tough blade and at the other into a comfortable hand grip. Seated on the wicker seats and facing forward, the task of driving the canoe may be continued a long while before it becomes tiresome.
An axiom is that no person should ever enter a canoe when it is not afloat, on account of its frailty. Grasping the curving bow with one hand, Alvin drew the craft alongside the bank where the water was several feet deep, and held it steady while his friends stepped carefully in and seated themselves, Alvin at the stern, which was a counterpart of the bow, while Chester located himself on the forward seat and Mike in the middle.
“I’m to sarve as a balance wheel,” he said as they moved gingerly out from shore; “the same being what me mither’s cousin Tom remarked whin he was bouncing over the cobble stones with his fut fast in the stirrup of the donkey he had fell from; I’ll hev an eye on both of ye and don’t forgit I’m still first mate.”
“You were first mate of theDeerfoot, not of a canoe,” said Alvin.
“TheDeerfutgave me the training fur the harder work of managing this ship.”
Our friends would have had to search for the camp which they intended to visit, but for the guidance given by a thin wavering column of smoke which filtered upwards from among the trees a short distance back from the shore of the lake, where the camp itself was hidden by the foliage. The distance to be passed was a little less than a mile and the youths rippled smoothly forward with their eyes fixed on their destination. As they drew near, they observed a smaller canoe than their own drawn a little way up the shingle. It was the craft used by Doctor Spellman when fishing or exploring the sheet of water. Since the owner was not in sight, it was fair to suppose he was at home unless perhaps he was absent on an excursion in the woods.
In due time the canoe was driven alongside the other and drawn far enough up the shore to be secure against drifting away. The three stepped ashore, and followed a faintly worn path up the slight incline among the trees and undergrowth with Alvin in the lead. Less than a hundred yards took them to a pleasant scene, all of whose points they learned a short time afterward.
It may be said that Doctor Spellman used the last thing in the way of an improved dwelling in the wilderness. This was a portable house, and consisted of two rooms, the side walls formed of screen cloth protected inside when necessary by canvas drops, pierced with small windows of a flexible transparent material. Outside were canvas drops which could be lowered if the occupants wished to shut up the house and which when raised formed projecting awnings where one was well protected by the shade thus provided. There were two windows at either end of the house and a front door.
Should you ever indulge in a few weeks’ outing in the woods, take no furniture with you that will not fold and no article that is not indispensable. Folding cots, a table, and the same kind of camp chairs can be packed in a small space and cost little to move. The doctor had sets of three folding canvas shelves fastened to wooden slats which could be stowed in a few inches of space, water proof canvas buckets holding three gallons each which folded compactly; waterproof canvas folding basins and folding rubber bathtubs, while a packing box with the addition of a shelf made a fine dresser. Extra shelves were put up by the doctor when he laid the floor of his dwelling and hooked the different parts together. Finally he provided himself with a hammock which was hung between two sturdy saplings, and brought with him only unbreakable dishes.
Most people in such situations bring a cheap wood or oil stove, but Doctor Spellman used the primitive contrivance already described, which consisted of big properly arranged stones.
On one of the camp chairs sat Doctor Spellman smoking one of the expensive cigars to which Uncle Elk had alluded. He wore white flannels turned up at the bottom, high tan shoes and a soft Panama hat. The boys noticed his full, grizzled beard and recalled the declaration of their Instructor concerning his age. He had a newspaper which he was reading when he heard the approaching footsteps, but laid it on his knee and removing his eye-glasses faced his callers.
Nearby sat Mrs. Spellman, a charming and strikingly beautiful woman of a decided brunette type. Her dark eyes were set in a face of Grecian regularity of feature, softened by her olive skin and crowned by dusky hair filled with lights and shadows. She was clad in sensible woods costume of blouse and short skirt which revealed her small feet encased in hunting boots.
The moment the boys appeared, the host and hostess rose to greet them. Each lad removed his hat and respectfully bowed, Alvin acting as spokesman:
“Good morning; I hope we are not intruding.”
“Visitors are too few in this part of the world,” replied the doctor, “for them to be otherwise than welcome. I am Doctor Spellman from Boston; this is Mrs. Spellman; we have a third member of our family, but she seems to be invisible at this moment. Pray be seated.”
Of course the boys declined the chairs offered since it would leave the host and hostess without any support of that nature. The callers sat down on a log, in the butt was an axe of which the blade had been buried with the handle sloping upward.
Alvin in turn introduced himself and companions and all were at ease.
“You are with the party stopping at the clubhouse on the other side of the lake? I judge from the display of flags and a glimpse of you through my binoculars that you are a troop of Boy Scouts on a vacation.”
“Yes; we expect to stay there through the month of August.”
“Since you came last it was my duty to call upon you and I should have done so to-day had not the weather been threatening a little while ago.”
“We can afford to waive ceremony while in the woods,” replied Alvin; “we shall count upon seeing you both quite often.”
“You certainly shall. To-morrow is Sunday, and if it clears up you may expect me and possibly Mrs. Spellman and our little one.”
In answer to the inquiring look of her husband the wife nodded.
“Don’t fancy that you can do your visiting without taking me along. You left me home yesterday.”
“That, my dear, was unintentional; I had no thought of stopping at the cabin of the hermit until I had been out some time in the canoe and noticed the path leading to his cabin.”
Alvin related the particulars of the call of himself and friends upon Uncle Elk and the clever manner in which he penetrated the personality of Doctor Spellman.
“Are you acquainted with him?” asked Chester Haynes of their host.
“Only by reputation. He is known as Elkanah Sisum, though I have a suspicion—perhaps not well founded—that that is not his right name. I have been told that he is a man of superior culture. In fact, a glance at his book shelves proves that. It is said that a great sorrow drove him into the wilderness and made an exile of him. I have no knowledge of its nature, but of course,” added the doctor with a wink, “some woman was at the bottom of it.”
“An unnecessary remark,” replied the wife, “since that is rarely true.”
Alvin and Chester glanced significantly at each other and the former said:
“Isn’t it singular that he should have told us last night the story of a man who more than a hundred years ago became an exile and wanderer because the woman whom he loved rejected him for another? There must have been a resemblance between the case and his own.”
“You are alluding to Johnny Appleseed, and it is another coincidence that wife and I were talking about that strange character last evening, probably at the very time you were listening to the old man’s account. I believe there was a remote relationship between wife’s ancestors and Jonathan Chapman’s, which explains why we are familiar with a story that is not generally known.”
“It was certainly new to all of us and Uncle Elk, as he likes to be called, related it with rare skill.”
“He has never hinted anything of the facts of his own case?”
“No, and of course we cannot question him.”
“The truth will become known sooner or later. There are several old persons in Portland who can clear up the mystery, which, however, may wait. While I think of it, I wish to tender you my professional services should they be needed, which I sincerely hope they will not. I have brought my case of instruments and a few simple remedies with me, more as a matter of prudence regarding my own family.”
“That is very kind of you, and your offer is appreciated.”
“I believe the Boy Scouts are pretty well instructed as to first aid to the injured, but accidents are always liable to happen. I wish you and your friends to feel free to call upon me at any time, with the understanding that no fee is involved. I did not come into the Maine woods to earn a living.”
“But to benefit his city patients,” remarked his wife; “when we return home we shall find them nearly all recovered.”
“Hardly possible, since I have turned them over to my brother practitioners.”
“Which makes the probability the greater.”
The boys joined in the laugh at the physician’s expense, and he, rising from his camp stool, bowed profoundly to his better half.
“The team which brought our stuff over the new road through the woods is the same that I understand brings your supplies. I expected from the way we were hauled and flung about in the plunging of the horses that I should have several cases of broken necks to look after, but we got through better than I expected.”
“Docther, don’t ye thinkIlook pale?”
The lugubrious voice of Mike Murphy accompanied as it was by a faint moan, drew every eye upon him. The sight of his red, freckled face and robust looks caused the others to break into laughter, which was renewed when he gazed reprovingly in turn at each.
“I see there’s no use of me craving sympathy, as Mart Coogan said whin he broke through the floor overhead onto the table where the sewing society were drinking tay.”
“Doctor,” said his wife when she regained her self-command, “if all your patients were like him, we should die of starvation.”
“What caused your misgiving regarding your health?” gravely inquired the medical man.
“It wasn’t any partic’lar ailing, but the alarming loss of me appetite.”
“I should explain,” said Alvin, “that that never occurs until he leaves the table, which is generally about all that he does leave.”
“What am I to understand bythat?” demanded Mike apparently in high dudgeon; “it sounds like a slur upon me truthfulness, as Jim Finnegan said when his friend called him a liar.”
“What are you all making so much noise about?”
It would be putting it mildly to say that the three youths were startled by this unexpected question. Around the corner of the house dashed a little girl, some four or five years old, who asked the peremptory question. She was dressed in a short khaki dress, with high tan shoes, and her abundant hair was gathered loosely by a red ribbon tied behind her neck. She wore no hat and in face and feature was a replica of her handsome mother, with a complexion more darkly tinted, not only on the face but on the chubby arms that were bare to the elbows. If Mike Murphy typified vigorous young manhood, this little one was an equally marked example of a perfectly healthy child.
The Irish youth was the first to break the brief silence which followed her question.
“Won’t ye come and shake hands wid me, Dorothy?”
Without stirring, she looked sharply at him.
“What makes you call me Dorothy? That isn’t my name.”
“I’ve been told that out of ivery ten little girls born in this counthry since Cleveland was President, nine of the same are named Dorothy; I beg yer pardon fur not knowing ye were the tenth.”
The picture of the pretty child was so winsome that Alvin and Chester each held out his hands invitingly, accompanying the gesture with a smile that was meant to be irresistible. The girl hesitated a moment, father and mother watching her, and then made a dive down the slight slope as if she intended to plunge into the lake, but her course led her between Alvin and Chester and into the arms of Mike, who gently lifted her upon his knee.
“What a sinsible young lady ye be! Thus airly do ye admire manly beauty and high moral worth. May I have the honor to touch me lips to yer cheeks, if I promise not to rub off the pink from the same?”
Guessing his meaning, she turned her face sideways, while the others smilingly looked on and listened. Mike had won the good will of the parents by his cheek salute, for they never failed to let it be known that it was against their wishes that any one, no matter who, touched his or her lips to those of the child. Some have advocated the same style for adults, but I fear the plan will never be popular.
“My name is Ruth,” said the little one artlessly; “that is, they sometimes call me that, but it isn’t my right name.”
“What is your right name?”
“Stubby,—I guess papa calls me that because I sometimes stub my toe when I run too fast. Folks that love me call me ‘Stubby.’”
“Then it’s mesilf that shall know ye as ‘Stubby.’ When these young chaps wid me presooms to addriss ye as ‘Ruth,’ have nought to do wid ’em, but come to me who knows how to traat ye respictful. But I’m going to give ye anither name, wid the permission of your father and mither.”
“What’s that?”
“The Sunbeam of Gosling Lake: how do you like it?”
Stubby was puzzled. With the end of her forefinger thrust in the corner of her mouth, she said doubtingly:
“I don’t know; it sounds awfully funny; what do you think?” she asked turning to her parents.
“It is poetical and truthful, but rather too long to be used most of the time,” said the mother.
“It might be saved for coort occasions; Uncle Elk always calls me Michael, he being the only one of me acquaintance that has a true since of the fitness of things. But I would respictfully suggist that the word ‘Sunbeam’ would sarve.”
“It certainly is better than ‘Stubby’,” remarked the father, “but it will be hard to displace the homely original.”
“Mike means well,” said Alvin, “though it is sometimes hard to understand him. Now, Sunbeam, I think you ought to sit on my knee for a little while.”
He reached out his arms to help her across, but she held back.
“I like Mike better.”
“It is rare that ye obsarve so much in one of her tender years,” and the Irish youth said to the child:
“Owing to me careful thraining they’re both purty fair lads, but I warn ye aginst trusting them too far. When ye naad a friend ye will not fail to come to me.”
“Yes, indeedy, ’cause you are a good deal better looking than they——”
“Another illustration of disarnmint; Sunbeam, I’m going to ask yer father and mither to loan ye to us for siveral days.”
The little one did not quite grasp the meaning of this.
“Where do you live, Cousin Mike?”
And she clapped her hands with delight over the happy title that had flashed upon her without any thought on her part.
“That’s it!” exclaimed the Irish laddie; “we’re cousins for the rist of our lives.”
“What about them?” she asked darting her chubby forefinger at Alvin and Chester.
“It will be the right thing to call one of ’em yer grandad and the ither yer grand-mither: that’s the best use ye can put ’em to.”
“That’ll be splendid!” she added again clapping her hands and kicking her feet; “can I go with Cousin Mike, mother?”
“Some day when it is pleasant we’ll loan you to him and his friends, but it must be when the sun is shining.”
“As if ye didn’t take the sunshine wid ye at all times,” commented Mike.
“And you’ll come for me, Cousin Mike?”
“Why, Sunbeam, I’d go a thousand miles to borry ye for an hour. Maybe a better plan will be fur yer father and mither to paddle across the lake wid ye, and whin they go back they can forgit all about ye and we’ll keep ye till we git tired of ye and then fetch you back. How will that work?”
“When will you get tired of me?”
“Never,” was the reply, and Alvin and Chester nodded their heads.
Thus the chatter ran on for an hour or more, during which Sunbeam, at the suggestion of her mother, perched for a little while on the knee of Alvin and of Chester, but soon returned to Mike, for whom she displayed a marked affection. It has been shown elsewhere that the Irish lad had the gift of winning the high regard of nearly every one with whom he came in contact. No person could fail to be attracted by the innocent, trusting nature of the little child, and the visitors pictured the delight with which she would be welcomed by the Boy Scouts.
“I came into this section,” the physician explained, “for the sake of my wife and myself, I have had a pretty hard season and this is my first outing in two years. Mrs. Spellman was worn out by months of attendance upon her mother, who rallied sufficiently to sail for Europe some weeks ago. Although we have been here only a few days, we have been vastly benefited, and our vacation is sure to do us both a world of good. The only objection is that at times it becomes rather lonely, especially during rainy weather.”
“What do you do with yourselves?”
“Wife finds occupation in her sewing, in cooking and in household duties, while I haven’t as yet finished reading the ‘Six Best Sellers’; I smoke and nap and yawn and gabble with Ruth and her mother, or paddle about the lake and fish. I brought along my rifle and revolver, with little promise of having any use for either weapon. This is not only the close season, but to find larger game we must go a good deal farther north. I hope to make such an excursion during the coming winter. Have you any firearms in your company?”
“I believe there are one or two revolvers but none of us three carries a weapon.”
“Should you ever find yourselves in need of my services it will be easy to signal with one of the pistols, and I shall lose no time in hurrying to you.”
“You are kind; suppose we say three reports in succession from one of the revolvers means that you are urgently wanted?”
“A good plan; if there is no wind the sound will carry well.”
“What signal will you use in calling us?”
“I do not think the necessity can ever arise.”
“But it may: who shall say?”
“I brought some sky rockets with other fireworks to amuse Ruth; three of those sent up will serve provided some one happens to be looking this way; otherwise I shall fire my rifle three times,—the same as you will do with your smaller weapon.”
“Then that is the understanding between us.”
The doctor and his little daughter stood at the landing, the mother remaining at the house, and watched the canoe as it put out from the shore and headed toward the bungalow on the other side of the lake. The fact that the boys had to sit facing the other way did not prevent them from turning their heads several times and waving a hand or paddle in response to the good-bye greeting of Sunbeam. Mike having no paddling to do indulged in the exchange much more than his companions.
By and by the girl at the request of her father ran to the house and brought back his powerful telescope, which he pointed at the boat. Unaware of this, and carrying no binoculars, the lads did not know how distinctly they remained in the field of vision of their friends and naturally the signalling between the parties stopped.
The clearing of the skies proved only temporary and our young friends had not paddled half the distance when they saw they were in for a wetting. A cold, drizzling rain set in and was steadily falling when they drew the canoe up the bank and hurried into the building, whose shelter was most welcome. The other Boy Scouts, who had been taught considerable in the way of reading weather signs, had made haste to return from their wanderings, none being so far off that he did not get back in time.
Of course even had the party been camping out of doors, they would have been well guarded against so disagreeable a change, but they were better shielded with so roomy a structure at their command. They prepared supper in the big fireplace, and found the warmth of the crackling logs very acceptable. Everything having been adjusted for the night, several of the troop straightway notified Scout Master Hall that, inasmuch as he had shifted the responsibility of telling a good story upon Uncle Elk, he could do so no longer, but must now “come down” with one of his best. The demand quickly became unanimous, and the good-natured leader saw no way for him to escape.
There was equal unanimity that the story should be an “Injin” one, for you know boys will never lose their fondness for that kind of yarn and Mr. Hall also conceded the point.
“Due mainly to the fact that I don’t see any way of dodging it. An Indian or adventure story, to be fully enjoyed, should be told round a camp fire in the depth of the woods; but as that is impractical to-night, let us imagine that the blazing hickory there is kindled miles from anything resembling a human habitation.
“You know how prone every one is to declare some incident ‘funny,’ when he should say it is strange or remarkable. I heard a woman at home the other day say that ‘it was the funniest thing in the world’ that she had to attend three funerals in a single week. All the same, there is something funny in your request, for I was about to ask whether you had any objections to my switching off from the usual run of yarns and telling one about Indians.”
He looked into the glowing faces. It was Mike Murphy who gravely replied:
“I’m sorry to say, Scout Master, I have a sorrerful ’bjection to your telling us such a yarn.”
“What is that?”
“My ’bjection is to the wurrad ‘one’; I move to amind the same by saying ye shall relate eliven of ’em before ye puts the brake on. The first Injin I obsarved in this country was a wooden one in front of a cigar store in Boston town; I tried to open a playsant conversation with him, but he was as glum as Chester or Alvin after I’ve run ’em a fut race.”
Inasmuch as Mike’s legs were so short that there wasn’t a boy in camp who could not leave him far behind in a contest of speed, a general smile followed his sober words.
“Last spring,” began Scout Master Hall, “I made a trip to Denver, Colorado, and took a run down to Trinidad, in the southern part of the State. While there I noticed a handsome monument surmounting one of the hills surrounding the city. The rocky point is known as ‘Simpson’s Rest,’ and the story connected with it is one of the most extraordinary of the many that marked the early days of that region. Bear in mind, my young friends, that that which I tell you is true in every particular. There is no need of my relating fiction, when fact is much more interesting.
“It is now more than sixty years since John Simpson built a cabin on the present site of Trinidad, which was then on the old Santa Fe trail. Times without number he sat in his little front door, smoking his pipe and watching the strings of prairie schooners that passed on their way to or from Santa Fe. The trail makes a sharp turn to the south not far from where the Simpson cabin stood, and after climbing the precipitous Raton Mountains, on what is now the Colorado line, the gold hunters found themselves at the door of their El Dorado.
“Simpson was one of the greatest hunters, trappers and Indian fighters of his day. He and the renowned Kit Carson, who was the guide of Fremont the explorer, were intimate comrades and had many thrilling adventures together. In the days of which I speak, the Ute and Cheyenne Indians had their hunting grounds in the foothills adjoining the Rockies, and did not as a rule harass the settlers. But Simpson could never be quite easy regarding them, for his long experience with red men warned him always to be on the alert, though for several years his family suffered no disturbance during his absences, which were sometimes extended for weeks.
“In the month of May, 1855, Simpson came back from one of his hunting expeditions. He hurried his return, for he had heard that the Utes and Cheyennes were on the war path and he knew his home would be one of the first to receive attention. He hoped that his presence and reputation as a dangerous Indian fighter would keep the redskins from molesting him.
“He had two children, Bob aged fifteen and Nora two years younger. They were bright, affectionate and as fond of each other as of their parents. On this morning in spring the brother and sister started to go to a small stream of water which ran near their cabin. They had not reached it when they were startled to see a party of dusky horsemen galloping toward them at a terrific pace. The riders brandished their lances and filled the air with shouts. They were still a considerable distance away, and the children were more astonished than alarmed.
“While staring at the party, they heard the shout of their father, and turning their heads, saw him running toward them, rifle in hand, and beckoning to them to hurry to the house. You may be sure they lost no time in obeying, while he with loaded weapon confronted the dusky horsemen. I suppose there must have been near a score of them, but every buck of the crowd knew the white man was a dead shot and never shrank from a fight, no matter how desperate, and they hesitated.
“You may set it down as a fact that no matter how numerous a band of Indians may be, when they are morally certain that the first two or three to rush forward will be shot down, those two or three will never make such a rush. You have read in your history of colonial days, of Mr. Dunston of New Hampshire, who stood off a party of marauding Indians simply by threatening to shoot the foremost, until his children made their escape. Something of the kind happened in the case of Simpson. As he walked slowly backward, he held his deadly rifle grasped with both hands, and ready to raise and fire on the instant needed. He never once removed his keen gaze and his enemies did not even fire at him. They yearned to do so, but dared not take the fearful risk.
“When Simpson reached his cabin, he found his terrified wife and children making ready to leave. He told them the Indians had massacred several families on the Arkansas River, they would soon be joined by more warriors, and it was impossible to defend the place against their enemies. Their only hope was to reach the top of a hill near the house. There they would have the advantage of a naturally strong defense, and might be able to hold off the redskins until help came to the whites.
“Two burros were hastily loaded with provisions and a keg of water, and Simpson stowed about him all the ammunition he possessed. This took but a few minutes, during which the redskins galloped back and forth and hovered in the neighborhood, eager to attack and yet afraid to do so.
“‘Off with you,’ he said to his wife and children, ‘go as fast as you can and I’ll stand ’em off till you’re at the top of the hill.’
“He used the same maneuver as before and the whole party safely reached the refuge. Nothing better intended for defense can be imagined. The summit of the hill is flat and surrounded by a high rocky wall. The only way to reach the top is by means of a single narrow, stony path. It made me pant to climb it last spring, and I wondered how those burros succeeded with their heavy burdens; but you know they are used to such work and no doubt did as well as the defenders of the natural fort. At any rate, all, including the burros, reached the refuge and were quickly joined by Simpson, who had held the Indians at bay. So long as he was unhurt and his ammunition lasted, he could defend that pass against double the number that had attacked him.
“It proved just as he said it would, for they had been only a few minutes on the flat surface of the hill when the second party to which Simpson had referred were seen approaching in the distance, shouting and brandishing their spears and as eager to attack the whites as the others had been.
“‘We’re in for it,’ said the father grimly, as he scanned the new party of horsemen, ‘but they haven’t caught us yet.’
“The fortress of the little company could not have been better had it been constructed by a party of army engineers. The Indians may have believed they would be able to rush the defenders, but it would be desperate work. Several of them, led by their chief, clambered up the narrow, rocky passage as if they meant to make a friendly call. Standing at the top, loaded rifle in hand, Simpson waited until they had come quite near when he shouted to them to halt. The leader, who could speak English, urged the white man to surrender, assuring him that no harm should be done to him or his family. Such treachery is common on the part of Indians, who are quick to violate their most solemn pledge the moment they can gain the chance. Simpson was too much of a veteran to be deceived by so simple a ruse. Pointing his weapon at the chief, he called:
“‘Get, or I’ll shoot!’
“The whole band made a rush down the path, tumbling over on another, each fearful of being winged by the terrible white man above. They were aflame with rage, and gathering at the bottom of the hill made preparations to overwhelm the brave defenders by a resistless charge,—something which they would not have done except for the humiliation that had just been put upon them.
“You may be sure that Simpson did not remain idle or throw away any precautions. With wife and children helping, he rolled several boulders to the head of the path, and held them poised until the warriors were quite near. Then the huge masses of stone were rolled over and went bounding and crashing among the yelling bucks who were scattered right and left, with several badly hurt and one or two picked off by the pioneer with his rifle. He fired as fast as he could aim and reload, and repulsed the hostiles so decisively that they did not again try to storm the fort.
“One recourse remained to them: that was to reduce the fort by regular siege. It was clear that the garrison dare not come out of the defenses, and sooner or later their provisions would be eaten. Starvation is a foe against which no bravery can avail. All the Indians had to do was to wait until the food was gone and they were brought to the last extremity.”
“What about water?” asked one of the boys.
“It is harder to bear thirst than hunger, and yet it may be said that our friends never suffered that torture. Before the keg was exhausted several showers of rain fell. The tops of the rocks which formed the wall had quite a number of depressions and cavities which held a goodly quantity of the precious fluid. The besieged were devoutly thankful for this mercy. The matter of food, however, was different. There could be no renewing of that, but, as I told you, they had brought considerable with them. This was doled out, each content with what the head of the family gave her or him, especially when they saw that he ate less than any one of them.
“As the stress tightened, Simpson shot one of the burros and they feasted upon his raw flesh, since there was no way of kindling a fire. In due time the second animal followed the first, he forming the last reserve. Two burros can be made to last four persons a long while, if their flesh is sparingly used, and the family underwent no real hunger until at the last.
“I doubt whether the history of the West contains so strange an episode as that of the siege of John Simpson, his wife and two children. They took turns in keeping watch, for the red man is subtle by nature and they could be counted upon to test thoroughly the vigilance of the little company. More than once several of the Utes or Cheyennes stole as noiselessly as shadows up the flinty path, but before they could do any harm the crack of the deadly rifle sent them skurrying to the bottom. Simpson always stood guard through the night, for he knew that was the time of greatest peril. He gained the needed sleep during the day, when his wife and children could act as sentinels and if necessary rouse him from slumber. Sometimes, by way of variety he exchanged shots with the besiegers below, and they quickly learned the wisdom of keeping out of range of the white man who had a way of always hitting that at which he aimed his rifle.
“That remarkable siege lasted for five weeks. By that time, despite the parsimony in the use of food, not a particle remained. All the Indians had to do was to wait until the family fell like ripe fruit into their grasp. Simpson said little and never once hinted at the dreadful fate which impended. Nor did any one speak of it, for the fearful theme was in all their thoughts and there was no need of doing so.
“It was near the end of the fifth week, that the besieging red men suddenly grouped their ponies together and with shrill cries dashed off at full speed. They had seen the approach of a troop of cavalry from Fort Lyon, a hundred and fifty miles distant, and very much preferred their room to their company. Simpson and his family were rescued and to-day you will find quite a number of their descendants living near Trinidad. The hero certainly deserved the tribute of the pretty monument that has been built upon that memorable spot.
“Such is my ‘Injin’ story,” added Scout Master Hall with a smile; “I can claim two merits for it: it is true and it has a pleasant ending, but I am compelled to add one unpleasant fact. The monument has been so defaced and mutilated by relic hunters that it is ruined. One person has had the unspeakable cheek to daub his sprawling initials with a paint brush all over the tomb, earning for himself a reputation that no one envies.”
Sunday proved the most dismal day during the outing of the Boy Scouts in the woods of Southern Maine. The rain which set in on the previous evening continued, with only an occasional let-up, until late at night. So dense a fog overhung the lake that not once was the party able to detect the opposite shore, where Doctor Spellman and his family passed the dreary hours as best they could. The Sabbath was always observed by the Boy Scouts. Had the weather been good, they would have refrained from making excursions through the forest, fishing or anything in the nature of amusement. While Scout Master Hall might be regarded by some as puritanical in a few of his ideas, he was broad minded and held a wholesome broadness of views, with a full sympathy for boyhood which explained his popularity among his younger associates.
As has been intimated, the troop contained lads of the Jewish, the Catholic and the Protestant faith, but all were bound together by a generous charity that could never wound the feelings of the most sensitive. There may have been some chaffing over the work of the national political conventions at Chicago and Baltimore, but it was good natured and left no sting behind. If, as once or twice occurred, the discussion threatened to become too warm, the Scout Master interposed with a few words which made all serene again.
It was the custom of the leader to give his boys a talk every Sunday evening. Of course it was appropriate for the day and beneficial to every one, for no counsel could be sounder and no appeal more persuasive and in accordance with the great Teacher of all.
Thus it came about that when the long day had worn away, the last meal had been eaten, the dishes put by and nothing further remained to be done, the party gathered in the spacious sitting room of the bungalow, where most of them took easy positions on the floor, while a few, including the Scout Master, were seated in chairs. The air continued so chilly that the big fire on the hearth was kept ablaze, and diffused a genial, welcome warmth. The hanging lamp was not lighted, for the flame gave abundant illumination in which every one could recognize the faces of his comrades.
“Boys,” said the leader, “my thoughts this afternoon have been drawn toward the greatest tragedy of the sea in all history,—the sinking of theTitanicone April by collision with an iceberg in the northern Atlantic. None of you can forget the terrifying calamity, the like of which, as I have said, the world has never known. There are many features of the catastrophe of which I shall not speak more than to refer to the criminal neglect to provide enough life boats, the reckless driving ahead when it was known icebergs were near, the foolish belief that theTitanicwas unsinkable.
“But there are other facts connected with the tragedy upon which it is well to dwell for a few minutes. In the first place, few persons comprehend the stupendous bulk of theTitanicand her sister ship theOlympic. I ask you for a moment to fix in your minds a clear idea of the distance of a sixth of a mile. You can readily do so. Starting from this bungalow, picture how far such a walk along shore would take you.”
The Scout Master paused for a moment and resumed:
“Such was the length of theTitanic, whose sides towered more than seventy feet above the surface of the ocean. One of our biggest express railway trains would look like a toy placed alongside of her. Viewed from a brief distance, the steamer gave you no idea of its overwhelming proportions. You must stand close beside such a craft, walk the deck, and compare it with other vessels near at hand.
“Such is the leviathan which is plunging westward at almost express train speed through the night, with nearly three thousand human beings on board. Then comes the crash with the ice mountain, which inflicts a mortal wound, and this supposed unsinkable monster begins settling where she shall dive for two miles before finding her eternal grave at the bottom of the sea.
“Who can forget the thrilling heroism displayed by men and women when they knew they had but a few more minutes to live. It has been said, and doubtless it is true, that many of those who stood by and helped the women into the few life boats, believed they were safer on the steamer than in the small craft. One of the survivors told me he was ashamed to leave and would not have done so, except for the urgency of his wife. Even then he was sure of soon returning and being laughed at by those who had not left the steamer at all.
“It is probable, I say, that this was true to a greater or less extent, but the fact remains that, when the awful doom became certain, the highest heroism was displayed by women and men from many of whom the world expected no such sublime sacrifice. The men helped the women to places in the hurriedly launched boats, husbands literally forced their wives to leave, embraced and kissed them good-bye, fearing they would never meet again in this world, and still spoke cheering words.
“I cannot express my emotions when I read of the last scene of all. Think of the eight musicians, who at first in the hope of infusing courage into the hearts of the doomed multitude, played inspiriting airs, but when the grim shadow settled over them and the merciless tread of Death was heard hurrying over the deck, shifted to the hymn ‘Nearer, my God, to Thee,’ and continued playing with exquisite, unfaltering skill until the inrushing sweep of waves palsied each hand and tongue and huddled all into eternity.
“I have been told that while they were playing, scores of passengers gathered round and joined in singing the hymn. They were led by a man with a rich tenor voice, who calmly beat time with one upraised hand as he looked unwaveringly into the white faces of his doomed companions. He sang without the tremor of a note to the end.
“Michael, will you please sing those words for us?”
Mike was sitting on the floor, beside Isaac Rothstein near the fireplace, absorbed as was every one in the vivid picture which Scout Master Hall drew of the tragedy of the centuries. All held their breath, and they seemed to see the plunge of theTitanicto her grave at the bottom of the tempestuous Atlantic.
The call upon Mike was so unexpected by him that he did not stir for a moment. Then he slowly rose to his feet, cleared his throat and sang in that marvelous voice, whose sweetness surpassed anything that Scout Master or Boy Scout had ever heard: