As you get higher up above the level of the sea, the nature of the country and of the plants changes. In the lower level you get trees and bushes and flowers very much like those in England, but as you rise higher nothing but fir trees, pines, and birch trees seem to grow. Then as you get up a bit the fir trees come to an end, and you find only small birch trees, after which there are no trees.
You come out on the open moorland where there is heather, like that in Scotland, and other small shrubs, one of which would interest boys because it grows a very nice little fruit called "blue-berries." Above the heather, that is, at a height of over 4000 feet, you get what is called moss. This is really a kind of lichen like you see growing on trees at home, a pale, yellowish-white, spongy kind of plant, which seems to thrive on barren, rocky mountain sides, and forms feed for the reindeer which run wild in these parts.
Well, George and I used to go out from the Saeter directly after breakfast each day, carrying our ruksacks on our backs, and one of us a gun and the other a fishing rod in his hand. And the dogs went with us. In our ruksacks we carried a kettle, some bread, butter, and coffee, and a change of shoes and stockings, for what with wading through streams and stepping into bogs we were pretty wet about the feet before the day was ended.
On the first day we went and discovered the head of the gorge, high up on the mountain side, and each day after that we explored a new bit of it till we had followed it down to where it opened on to the valley at its foot.
The gorge was a deep cleft in the mountain-side of dark, frowning cliffs, with a bright, clear mountain stream running along among the rocks and stones at its bottom.
* * * * *
The farmer had told us there were no fish in this stream, and nobody ever fished there. However, I thought I might as well use my rod, having brought it all the way there, so, pretending to myself that there was a fish in a swirling little pool behind a great rock, I crept and crawled to a spot from which I could, unseen by the fish, throw my fly so that it could float quietly in the current and be carried round the corner.
The first attempt from my crouching position was not a good one; the line did not go out far enough, and merely got into a backwater and drifted in close to me so I shortened it up by pulling in a handful or two, and then shot it out again over the water.
This time it fell well out, the thin gut cast falling lightly as a cobweb on the surface, and then sliding off with the current close round the edge of the rock; and just as it went out of sight there was a sudden tug and a steady hold on it! A rock 1 No. The next moment there was a rush and a strain, the rod bending over and showing that a really nice fish was on.
[Illustration: OUR DAILY EXCURSION.]
I won't tell you all the joy that followed in playing the fish till he was exhausted, and then leading him to a smooth shallow, where, having no landing-net, I could draw him steadily and quickly from the water and up the shelving rock without breaking the delicate line. But I got him! And after him we got many more, enough for all our meals. It was a delightful trout stream, and I could only wish that every Scout in the world were there to enjoy it, too.
One particular run of water pleased me particularly. The stream rushed through an opening between some rocks, and then gradually opened over a gravelly bed in a long, rippling current. The "tail of the run," as they call it, is the place to expect fish, so I fished quickly over the rapid part of the run, and went more gingerly when I got nearer to the "tail," making my fly visit every inch of the water, and I was quickly rewarded.
A sudden ting like an electric shock on my rod, and a heavy rushing and jerking hither and thither, till gradually the fish exhausted himself, and I was able to hold him and gradually tow him up on the shelving beach. Out of that one pool we got no fewer than fourteen trout that day! Of course, we only kept those we wanted for food, and slid the others back into the water, alarmed, but not hurt.
* * * * *
After a few miles the gorge got deeper and deeper and more and more narrow, until it ran between high cliffs which could not be climbed, and the stream became a torrent running between the high rocks, so that progress was impossible along the bottom.
We were, therefore, obliged to keep up on the mountainside above the cliffs and make our way along in the same direction as the gorge, occasionally looking down into it to see its wonderful scenery.
On steep parts of the mountain we had to clamber along as best we could, and sometimes it was jumpy work, where, if you kicked aside a loose stone, you could see it go bounding away down into the gloomy gorge below. At other times we were walking on beautifully soft moss, into which our feet sank for several inches; in fact, after a time, with a good load on our backs we began to wish it was not quite so soft! But it made our going very quiet and silent, and we kept a sharp look-out for game.
At one time George was leading the way when we came to a slight rise in front. Like a good scout, he never came to a rise without checking his pace and peeping very carefully over it before going on. This he did more from habit than from any expectation of seeing anything the other side, but it is a most valuable habit, and one which every good scout has. On this occasion it proved its value.
George dropped flat on the ground, and, taking the warning from him, I, too, "squatted" at once, and made the dogs lie down. I did not know whether we had an elk or rabbit in front of us, but presently George crept back to me and reported that there were some duck on a pool a short distance ahead.
He, being the gun-bearer, then started to stalk these duck by going a long way round, keeping behind hillocks and rocks until he could get near enough to be within shot of them. It took him a long time.
[Illustration: "George dropped flat on the ground, and, taking the warning from Him, I, too, squatted at once, and made the dogs lie down."]
He had a good look at the ground first from our hiding-place, and he noted any peculiar rocks or bushes which would serve as guides to him while he was carrying out his stalk, and off he went, creeping and crawling from one landmark to the next, until at last he wriggled up to the bush which he had guessed would bring him within shot of the birds.
When he got there, he peeped through the stems of the bush, and found that it was not so close as he had hoped—it was scarcely within gunshot; but the duck had already some suspicion that all was not well. They are the cleverest birds alive; they had all stopped feeding, were looking anxiously about, and were beginning to swim away.
George saw that his only chance was to risk a long shot if we were going to have any dinner that day, so, pushing his gun through the bush, he fired at the nearest duck, and, immediately jumping to his feet, he fired again at another, which by this time was on the wing—and he killed both.
Of course the dogs and I both hurried down to him in great jubilation. There were two good fat ducks floating on the little lake. But how were we to get them? Neither of the dogs was a water dog, and the lake was really a wet bog, in which a man could neither swim nor wade.
Luckily, there was a breeze blowing, so we went round to the lee side and sat down to wait for the birds to drift to us. Slowly they came nearer and nearer, but it was very slow work. It became slower and slower as the breeze dropped and at last died away when they were not twenty yards away.
[Illustration: "FISHING" FOR DUCK.]
Then George—again as a good scout would—invented a plan. He took my rod and began to fly-fish for the ducks! That is, he threw the line over a duck, and then gently drew it in so that the hook caught in the bird's feathers. In this way he "caught" both of them in turn and dragged them ashore.
From the open high ground we gradually descended to lower heights. First we came among scattered birch trees, and below these we entered pine and fir woods, and through them we came steadily down to the level of the valley in which lay the great lake.
Just before getting to the valley we dipped once more into our gorge where it finally left the mountains, and it was a grand sight. The cliffs rose sheer up a hundred feet on either side, even overhanging in some places, and the opening between the cliffs was quite narrow, where the stream in a dense body of water rushed its way through in a roaring cascade. It was a magnificent scene.
Just below the cascade the gorge opened out, and the stream spread itself over a shallow, stony bed, in many courses, till it joined the main river in the valley.
George and I clambered down the last cliff, and close to the cascade I made the fire while he went and caught a couple of trout for lunch (we were going to keep those duck for supper at the saeter), and we were very glad of the lunch and a rest.
Then we turned for home by a new road, walking round the foot of the mountain over whose back we had come. But we turned for home in another sense, for that was the turning point of my trip in Norway; I had to go back home to England from there.
On our way back we passed great swamps where there were duck, but we had had enough of them to last us for the present.
In one part of the swamp we came upon the spoor of elk. The elk, you know, is a great big stag—the same as a moose in Canada; a very lanky animal, as big as a horse, with a very blobby nose, and heavy, flat-spread antlers.
It was, of course, very good to learn that there really were elk in the neighbourhood, but it only made me the more unhappy at having to leave the country. George, who had no Boy Scouts demanding his presence, was going to stay on there, so everything that made me more sad made him all the happier—the unfeeling brute!
Still, I can't complain. I think in the few weeks that I was in Norway I had had as good a time as anyone could possibly have. There is no better fun on earth than living in the open and catching and cooking your own grub, in doing mutual good turns with a good comrade in camp, and in recognising God's handiwork in the mountains and forests around you.
* * * * *
George and I would have gone pretty hungry in our camp and on our tramps while in Norway had we not both been able to catch fish, for there was little else in the woods to eat besides blue-berries (we were now too high up for the wild raspberries which are so good in the valleys).
Every Scout must know how to fish, otherwise he would feel so silly if he died of starvation alongside a stream full of trout. And fishing—like shooting, or cooking, or swimming, or anything else—is not a thing that you can do straight off without having practised it beforehand; so my advice to Tenderfoots is to take every chance of learning how to fish, so that they may be able to do it when they may be in need of fish for food.
Sea fishing, as you know, is generally done with a long line from a boat, with a good lump of lead on the end of the line, and a number of hooks every foot or so up it, baited with strips of fish with the silvery skin left on them.
Then in rivers and lakes you fish with rod and line, with a float to hold the bait at the right distance above the bottom. The hook is on a yard or so of gut line, which is invisible to the fish; this is weighted with split shot or small bits of lead, and the bait is usually a worm, or a grub, or a little bit of bread paste. This kind of fishing is called bottom fishing.
By the way, here is a good dodge for catching worms which every Scout ought to know.
Mix a little mustard powder in a can of water, and then sprinkle the water over a grass plot, and verysoon youwill see worms coming up out of the ground in a tremendous hurry.
It would be rather a fine conjuring trick to play when people are not up to it—to take an ordinary watering-pot and apparently pour ordinary water on the grass, and then play a mouth-organ or whistle a tune to call up the worms. Someone else will be sure to try it, too, and if you have taken care to empty your can of mustard and water they will put in plain water and will get no result in the shape of worms.
* * * * *
Then there is a third kind of fishing, and that is fly-fishing. It is the most difficult, but at the same time the most useful, because it is the only way that will do in the rapid rivers and streams with which you meet in the wilds; and also it can be used on lakes and slower rivers, and it is much the best fun.
All the boys in Norway catch their fish by fly-fishing. You have to have a whippy rod with a long line to it, and a long piece of gut (called the "cast") on it, with from one to three hooks made to look like flies on it, these are fixed at about two feet apart.
By using the rod as a spring you can throw the line a long distance to any point you wish, so that the flies will float past the nose of a fish and tempt him to rush out and swallow one.
The throwing of the fly—casting it is called—is at first the difficulty for a beginner, but it comes all right with a little practice. You can learn to do it perfectly well without going to a river and without having any hooks on your line to begin with.
Take a rod, and a line as long as a rod and a half, and try throwing it in a field or road or anywhere—till you can get the line to go out perfectly straight to its full extent on to the ground at the spot you wish. The great points to remember which are the key to success arc these: All the work is done by the tip of the rod, not the butt. Bring your rod back with a little jerk at the end to throw the line back behind you, but don't let the rod itself go back much beyond the upright position.
[Illustration: LEARNING TO THROW THE FLY.]
Before throwing the line forward again, give a pause so that it has time to straighten itself behind you—and that pause is the secret of the whole thing. It must not be too short, or your line will still be curled up when you shoot it forward and will not go out the distance you want, and if the pause is too long it will fall and catch on the ground behind you, and also will lose its spring. That is where practice is so necessary, so that you know exactly how long to pause.
Then an important point to remember is that the jerking of the rod, whether forward or backward, is done from the wrist and only slightly from the elbow, and not at all from the shoulder. A beginner would do well to tie his elbow by a loose strap to his waist, so as to remind him not to wave his whole arm as most beginners do.
All this sounds a good deal to think of, but if you go and practise it you very soon get into the way of it, and fly-fishing is the best sport that I know.
There are two kinds of fly-fishing, "wet" and "dry." Wet fly means that you let your flies sink into the water and you then draw them along under the surface. A dry fly is made in such a way that it floats on the top of the water as many natural flies do, and the fish, seeing it floating there, rises at it. This is the best sport of all fishing, but is also the most difficult to do well.
Of course, it is difficult for some boys to buy rods and fishing tackle, but a Scout ought to be able to make his own as most of these Norwegian boys do.
[Illustration: USING A YOUNG TREE AS A FISHING-ROD.]
Cut a straight, whippy rod of about ten feet, put on a line of strong, thin twine, and a cast of horsehair out of a pony's tail if you cannot get gut, A hook is difficult to manufacture for yourself, though it can be done with a bit of wire and a file; but most Scouts going on an expedition take a few hooks with them as part of their outfit.
When I was out with George, I had to make myself a rod, as we only had one rod between us and I got tired of waiting for my turn with it; but we were high up in the mountains where the woods were thin, so I only got a poor choice of sticks from which to make one.
However, I cut down a likely looking birch sapling and trimmed him down, and he did pretty well; but he was not very springy, so it required more brute force on my part than skilful turning of the wrist to get my line out, But I caught a lot of fish with him all the same.
* * * * *
One day I broke the delicate top joint of my fly-fishing rod by catching the fly in a bush during the back throw.
Well, it's no use giving up fishing because your rod is broken; the thing to do is to set to work and mend it. It is an accident which often happens, especially to a beginner, and every Scout ought to know how to mend his rod.
My rod had snapped off a few inches from the tip, so I took the ring off the broken tip, and, after trimming the broken end of the rod with my knife, I put the ring on to this and thus made my rod workable; but it was just a few inches shorter than it had been before.
This is the way to bind your ring on to the new tip—at least, it's the way I did it, and it served quite well for the rest of my trip.
Having no beeswax, I took some "gum" from the bark of a fir tree and rubbed a thin coating on the rod and on the black silk thread I had with me; then, putting the ring on to the end of the rod, I bound it there with a very careful and tight wrapping of the silk. This I had previously wound on to a stick so as to get a good hold on it for pulling each turn tight.
To fasten the end of the silk, proceed as follows:
[Illustration: HOW TO BIND THE RING OF A FISHING-ROD ON A NEW TIP.]
After winding from A steadily up towards the point B (about an inch), when you have still about half a dozen turns to do, make a big loop of your silk C, and lay the loose end of it, B D, on the unbound bit of rod, and go on binding over it until you have reached the point B with your thread as in the sketch. You then pull D and the loop C gradually closes in till there is nothing left of it. Then you cut off the loose end D close to the rod.
Put a coating of gum or varnish over the whole to make it fast and watertight, and then you have your rod as strong and as sound as ever.
* * * * *
In order to be able to fix your hook on to your line and to join up the different bits of line, you want to know how to tie your knots; but in addition to those which you have learnt as a Scout there are several more which come in useful for a fisherman.
I will only give you one or two here, but there are many others. These are drawn half tied, just before pulling tight.
Here is the overhand loop:
[Illustration: KNOT]
To join a line to a loop do it this way:
[Illustration: KNOT]
Much the same kind of knot is used to tie a hook to a line:
[Illustration: KNOT]
To join two lengths of line together, even when of different thickness, follow out this method:
[Illustration: KNOT]
* * * * *
The Scout Law says that you should not kill God's creatures without good reason. It is allowable when you need them for food. In the case of fishing you often catch them when practising, but you need not kill every fish you catch; you can take them carefully off the hook and put them back into the water.
The hook as a rule catches them in the lip, which with them is not the tender flesh that it is with us, but merely a lot of bones held together by gristle, so they do not suffer pain as we should—and this is shown by the way the same fish will come on again after having been already caught.
When you want to keep a fish that you have caught, you should kill him at once and put him out of his misery, and this you can do either by hitting him on the head with a stick, or by driving your knife into his brain, or by putting your finger down his throat and then bending his head backwards and breaking his neck.
* * * * *
Then when you have killed your fish you will want to cook him.
First of all you must clean him—that is, take his insides out. The stomach and guts of the fish are carried rather far forward in his chest, so with your knife you cut across the narrow bit of skin which joins his chest to his chin, and with the point of the knife underneath the skin slit the skin of his chest and belly open as far as the fin near his tail. Then cut through the gut in his throat and the whole of his insides will be let loose to fall out.
But before doing this, if you have slit the belly neatly it is interesting to look at the wonderful insides which he carries—the heart, and lungs, and liver, and intestines, all beautifully arranged and kept in their place and protected by the delicate ribs. It is a wonderful piece of God's work, and when you come to find that each trout that you catch is made exactly in the same way, and just the same as a trout that you may catch in New Zealand on the opposite side of the world, you begin to understand what a wonderful Creator there must be Who makes us all, and gives this wonderful kind of machinery inside the body, which keeps life going for us.
* * * * *
There are many ways of cooking your fish. The usual way is to fry him in a hot frying-pan. A slit should be cut in each side of the fish, as otherwise the heat is likely to burst his skin. A little salt and a pinch of mustard put in with the butter in the pan will add to his flavour.
But the simplest way, for you don't generally carry frying-pans with you when you go fishing, is to cut a long stick that bends at an angle of forty-five degrees. Cut one arm to about one-third the length of the other. Trim the short arm with your knife till it is fine and pointed; pass this through the fish's mouth and then through the flesh near his tail, and toast him by the fire, back downwards, with a small lump of butter and a pinch of salt and mustard powder in his inside. You will find him very good eating! A clean, flat stone makes a good plate.
* * * * *
There, now I've told you how to catch and kill and cook your fish, I hope that you will soon be able to do it, and I wish you the old salutation which every fisherman wishes to another when they start out to fish, "A tight line to you," meaning that I hope you will get a big one on.
When my holiday in Norway came to an end, I was very sorry to pack up and come away. Even when I drove the last thirty miles in a cart to the railway I carried my rod in my hand, and when I saw a good-looking pool or run in a river—we were generally near a river—I stopped the cart for a few minutes and tried for a trout, and, what was more, I occasionally caught one!
[Illustration: NORWEGIAN SCOUTS WERE VERY LIVELY.]
At last I got back to Christiania and to proper clothes and clean hands—and I didn't like it a bit.
However, I was comforted by being told that the Boy Scouts wanted me to Inspect them, and I did so.
There was a parade of nearly eight hundred of them; fine, strapping, big lads they were, too, just like a lot of British boys, and dressed the same as us, and very lively and active.
[Illustration: THE NORWEGIAN FLAG. As you will see, it is something like the Union Jack.]
I had to present Colours to some of their troops, and their national flag is in some ways a little like our Union Jack. And I told them that they were as like British boys as their flag was like ours, and that their forefathers, the Norsemen, were mixed up with our forefathers in the old days, and I hoped that we would all be mixed together, in a friendly way, in these days—as brother Scouts.
* * * * *
In England we are apt to look upon Norway and Sweden as almost one nation, but they are not so in reality. The Norwegians in the old, old days formed one nation with the Danes, but the Swedes have always been a separate nation which has never been under the rule of any other people. And they are very proud of this. So when I got amongst the Swedes, I found a totally different people, but they were equally kind and friendly to me, and they had an equally British-looking lot of Boy Scouts.
A large number of these had collected the day before I was to review them in Stockholm, and were camped there. So I went and saw them overnight in camp, and found them round their camp-fires, cooking their suppers, as jolly as sandboys. If they could do nothing else, they could, at any rates cook their food very well.
But they could do other things, too, as they proved next day at theRally.
This took place on a big open sports ground.
The Crown Prince and Princess of Sweden were there to see them (theCrown Princess is the daughter of H.R.H. the Duke of Connaught, ourPresident). Their Royal Highnesses are tremendously interested in theScouts, and watched all that they did most keenly.
[Illustration: A SWEDISH BOY SCOUT AT THE RALLY.]
I heard many reports of the good work done by Swedish Scouts. Here is one:
A poorly-paid working man in Gothenburg found himself in great difficulties recently through his wife and two children being suddenly taken ill with diphtheria and removed to the hospital. He himself had to go to his work at the factory all day, but he had one of the children left on his hands, as well as the home to look after.
He got the wife of one of his neighbours to do this for one day; the next he came back home during the dinner-hour to see how things were going on, and he found his home all cleaned and tidied up, and a strange boy sitting on the floor playing with his child, while another was still finishing the cleaning-up work.
When he asked who they were, they explained that they were Boy Scouts, and, having heard that he was wanting help in his home, they had come to give it.
You can imagine how grateful he was, especially as the Scouts kept on at the work for over two weeks until the mother had got well and returned to take charge.
One of those boys was the son of a rich man, while the other, his comrade, was quite a poor lad.
* * * * *
In Denmark the Boy Scouts are strong in numbers and keen and good at their work. Those of Copenhagen gave a Rally in my honour, and twenty troops paraded and gave very good shows of scout work, each troop doing its own in turn. They seemed very good, especially in their cooking.
There were two very smart troops of Girl Guides also present at the parade, who cooked, too.
[Illustration: AVENUE OF CROSSED STAVES. Formed by Boy Scouts and GirlGuides at Copenhagen. I drove through it in a motor-car.]
The consequence was that when I began tasting some of their good dishes, I had to go and taste all, so that when the time came for the official dinner I had to attend in the evening I was already so "crowded" that I could not eat any of it!
When I drove away from the parade-ground after it was over, the Scouts and the Girl Guides made an avenue, crossing their staves overhead, through which I drove in my motor-car.
In Copenhagen, the Town Hall is the great "thing" to see. It is quite modern, only lately built, and is a magnificent building. One of the features about it is the lifts, which keep running slowly up and down. They have no attendants in them. You simply have to jump in or out fairly quickly. I saw one stout old lady come and look at the lift. She did not seem to like trying to jump in, but there seemed no way for getting it to stop for a minute; she looked helplessly around; then she had another look at it. The more she looked the less she liked it, and finally she gave up the idea of visiting the upper floors of the building, and went sorrowfully away.
[Illustration: The lift in the Town Hall at Copenhagen is a continuous moving one—you have to jump in or out of it pretty smartly. Old Lady: "Shall I venture?"]
The Scouts in Copenhagen have been trained in first aid work by aFirst Aid Corps which exists in that city.
The Danish First Aid Corps is very much like our Fire Brigade. At the first aid station are motor-cars fitted up with things needed for almost every kind of accident, and they are ready to turn out at any moment that their services may be required. Their office is on the telephone with every police station, and when they get a call to an accident, the motor, with all appliances, leaves the station within thirty seconds of the alarm.
When I was there the alarm came that a man had been run over by a tramcar in Market Street. In a few moments a motor lorry ran out of the station equipped with lifting jacks and levers to raise the tramcar, while a second followed it immediately with stretcher and first aid appliances for the injured man.
In the station were kept all the things necessary for dealing with railway accidents, for rescuing people overcome with gas, for saving people in the water, and for pumping air into them when apparently drowned; there were derricks for raising fallen horses, and fire escapes of every kind. In fact, it was fitted up and manned by thirty men, all trained and prepared to deal with every kind of accident that could well happen.
Well, that's just what I should like to see done by Boy Scouts in our country towns and villages. They might make their club-room a first aid station, with as many appliances they could get together in the shape of bicycles, hand-carts, ladders, jumping-sheets, stretchers, bandages, spare harness, and with every Scout trained to deal with every kind of accident, or to form fence while others rendered first aid, and so on.
There might be some way of sending round or sounding the "alarm" when an accident was reported, to bring together in a few minutes the patrol whose turn it was for duty.
In this way Scouts would do most valuable work.
* * * * *
Then I went to Holland, where I saw plenty more Scouts, both at Amsterdam, Amersfoort, and The Hague; and fine, smart, clean-looking fellows they were, too.
[Illustration: Most of the Amsterdam Boy Scouts carry lassoes with which they are very handy.]
One thing which they did especially well was throwing the lasso. They all carried light cord-lassoes on them. These came in useful for hundreds of things, like making bridges, rope-ladders, rescuing people from burning houses, and so on. But the Scouts also used them for lassoing each other, and many of them were awfully good at it.
The Dutch Scouts also had an excellent stretcher, which I think would be very useful for some of our ambulance patrols. With its help, one Scout alone could take an injured man to hospital. In the first place, it was flat on the ground, without any feet to it, so the Scout could roll or drag his patient on to it.
[Illustration: THE DUTCH SCOUTS' STRETCHER.]
Then it had two pairs of canvas flaps, which could lace across the patient's chest and loins, with sort of pockets for his feet, so that after the patient had been fastened on to it he could, if necessary, be stood upright. This is sometimes useful in a narrow place like a tunnel or a mine or a passage. Then, with a short chain and hook to each corner, the stretcher was slung underneath a pair of wheels (a Scout's hand-cart would do equally well), and the Scout was able to wheel his patient away.
* * * * *
Before my visit to Belgium the Scouts there did grand work in helping the soldiers who had been sent to put out some forest fires. For several days the Scouts were camped with the soldiers.
They supplied a line of signalling posts, by which communication was kept up with the nearest telegraph offices.
They rendered first aid to a good number of soldiers who got slight injuries from burning or other accidents in fighting the flames. And also the Scouts did good work in keeping the soldiers supplied with water when it was most difficult to get.
When the campaign with the bush fires was over, the military commanding officer published his very sincere thanks and praise for the good work done by the Scouts.
The Belgian Scouts made a very good kind of hut for themselves. In the sketch below you see the framework of one hut, as well as the hut completed by being covered with turf sods, and a wickerwork door.
[Illustration: BELGIAN BOY SCOUTS' HUT. On the right is shown the framework.]
During the war, the Belgian Scouts have amply sustained the reputation won for the Belgians by the men in the fighting line. Indeed, many of the Scouts themselves, though boys, joined in the fighting. One boy, Leysen, alone, was decorated by King Albert for having captured no fewer than eleven spies, and for having accounted for one of the enemy with his own hand.
Two Belgian Scouts were captured by the Germans while observing their lines and executed; while a large number have been employed in the hospitals as orderlies, in addition to doing good work conveying rations to troops in outlying trenches.
On the occasion of one of my visits to the Front, I saw a smart troop of Belgian Scouts. It was a cyclist troop and the boys had offered their services at the outbreak of war for orderly duty to the military authorities at Antwerp. They continued their work in the retreat from that place to Dunkirk and to North France, afterwards being employed on regular pay by their Army Headquarters as orderlies.
I had the pleasure, too, of meeting the Chief Scout of Belgium, Dr. de Page, the director of a splendid hospital for Belgian soldiers given by the people of Great Britain. His three sons are Scouts, two of them serving in the Army, and the youngest doing his bit in the workshop attached to the hospital—where they make their own instruments, such as scalpels, scissors, etc.
Finally, I had an interview with King Albert of Belgium. He told me that "he considered the Movement one of the best steps of modern times for the education of the boy. His own son is an enthusiastic Scout, and the Belgian boys who had taken it up were quite changed for the better, and had done valuable service in the war. The war had been a high test for it, but had proved that our training gave the very best foundation for making good soldiers—by developing the right spirit and intelligence as well as physical strength and activity."
At the opening of the "Mercers' Arms" (the Hut for the use of our troops which is manned by Scoutmasters) a Guard of Honour was formed by a Calais Troop of French Boy Scouts under Scoutmaster Laut. These boys have been doing helpful service in the military hospitals. It was very pleasing indeed to see our international comradeship thus exemplified.
* * * * *
One January morning my wife and I sailed from Southampton for Algeria, on the north coast of Africa.
As we came into the Bay of Biscay, after leaving the English Channel, our ship got into a big swell, the seas rolling us heavily, and occasionally rushing over our bows in frothing green and clouds of spray.
After about twenty-four hours of rough weather we sighted Cape Finisterre—the first headland on the coast of Portugal, and not far from that we passed Corunna, where, during the Peninsular War in 1810, the British force under Sir John Moore successfully got away from a superior force of French, though losing their gallant commander in doing so.
The next important town on the coast is Vigo, and it was in Vigo Bay that Drake "singed the Spanish King's beard" by capturing and burning his fleet.
Also later, during the war of the Spanish Succession in 1702, anAnglo-Dutch fleet under Admirals Rooke and Stanhope attacked theSpanish "silver fleet" in Vigo Harbour, captured much treasure, andsank many vessels.
Past the Torres Vedras. where Wellington successfully held offNapoleon's army till his own was fit to take the field.
And near that is Oporto, where the port wine comes from, and which is well known to Britons as being the place where the Duke of Wellington defeated the French troops under Marshal Ney in the Peninsular War by crossing the River Douro unexpectedly—the French thinking it quite impassable by British troops,
We got into calmer water near the mouth, of the River Tagus, and here we saw the palace of our national guest, the young ex-King of Portugal, standing high up on a mountain peak above Cintra.
* * * * *
Continuing our voyage, we passed Trafalgar Bay and Gibraltar, where we reviewed some Scouts.
On arrival at Algiers, the chief seaport and capital of Algeria, the first thing that struck us was the strange mixture of people we met in the streets.
There were Arabs, in their flowing white garments, brushing shoulders with smartly dressed French officers and ladies, and picturesque native soldiers and Turks and Italian peasants all busy at their different pursuits.
Algiers is now a modern French town, though formerly it was the headquarters of the Algerian pirates. The native quarter of the city is still a network of narrow streets and alleys, made quite dark by the houses that almost meet overhead.
Above the town stands the old fortress, called the Casbah. This was the stronghold of the Turkish Corsairs and it was here that they kept the prisoners which they captured from various vessels at sea.
Those of the captives who were Christians they treated with unusual severity, and a large number of British sailors suffered torture at their hands.
We saw here a massive doorway with chains hanging festooned upon the upper part. This was called "the Gate of Pardon," because here the prisoner was given a chance of release.
He was made to run between two lines of soldiers armed with swords, all of whom cut at him as he ran by, and if he were able at the end of the course to spring up and catch hold of the chain he was allowed to go free. If he failed he had to run the gauntlet back again, and very few survived it.
[Illustration: THE GATE OF PARDON, ALGIERS.]
Another reminder of the Christian prisoners is to be seen in the chief mosque of the city. This was designed and built by these captives under the orders of their heathen masters. They naturally constructed it like one of our churches in the form of a cross. This was afterwards recognised by the Moors, and the church was used, but the builders were put to death for their temerity.
We can admire the bravery of these men, who, in spite of the danger of being killed for it, did their best to maintain their religion to the end.
* * * * *
A day's journey by train from Algiers, through country closely cultivated with vines and crops by the French colonists, and then through a mountainous district inhabited by the Kabyle tribes, brought us into Constantine.
This is a wonderful city perched on a high rock, and surrounded on three sides by a narrow gorge some 400 feet deep. It has been a fortress since ancient times; and holds the record for being besieged, having stood no fewer than eighty investments in its time.
On the last occasion it was held by the Arabs against the French, whose first attempt to take the place was defeated by the natives after a desperate fight. It looks practically impossible to capture the place, but for two years the French did not give up hope, continuing their efforts until in the end they were successful.
Like the Scouts they were not put off by very big difficulties, but pluckily stuck to it, and gained their end.
We visited here the French cavalry regiment, the 3rd Chasseurs d'Afrique. This regiment distinguished itself in the Crimea by supporting the charge of the British Light Brigade at Balaclava.
It dashed bravely into the batteries of Russian artillery, who were firing into the flanks of our force, and captured a number of their guns, and thus enabled the survivors of the charge to make their way back from the field.
The records of this exploit are still preserved in the regimental museum, orsalle d'Honneur, as are also the trophies and memorials of other fine deeds performed by the regiment on active service.
Among these was an interesting letter written by an officer after he had been mortally wounded by a shot which shattered his jaw. It was his last message to the men of his squadron urging them to do their duty before all else, and saying he was proud to die in the cause of his Country.
* * * * *
This portion of the Globe was once an important part of the RomanEmpire.
As every Scout knows this great nation penetrated as far north as the borders of Scotland, and ruled over England for nearly 400 years. They also held Germany, France, and Spain, and the larger portion of North Africa.
In the course of our travels in Algeria, we came across remains of theRoman occupation, the finest of these being the ruins of the city ofTimgad.
These have been dug out of the sand, and preserved, so that it is now possible to walk through the paved streets and visit what were once the market place, theatre, bathing establishments, temples, public libraries, and private houses of people who lived there over 1800 years ago.
The usual Roman house consisted of a front hall leading into a central open-air courtyard, which was surrounded by a colonnade, and had a fountain or tank full of fish in the centre. Then leading out of this were the owner's study, sitting-room, bedrooms, dining-room, and a series of three bathrooms, one warm, the second hot, and the third cold.
The floors of the rooms were made of cement, upon which ornamental mosaic was inlaid, that is, a pattern made out of very small stones of different colours.
* * * * *
On arrival at Timgad my wife and I found the weekly Arab market in full swing.
[Illustration: AN ARAB TAKING A SHEEP HOME FROM MARKET.]
It is not in the least like an English market with its tidy pens of sheep and cattle and orderly arrangement of stalls, for this is a dense crowd of white-robed Arabs, in the midst of which camels and donkeys for sale stand about amongst tents full of clothes and corn and seed, and strips of hide for making shoes.
And here and there in the dust are dark men cooking and selling unappetising bits of meat and making black coffee, which is their only drink.
Towards evening the fair breaks up. Those who have bought corn load up great sacks of it upon their camels' backs.
The camel, as you know, squats down on the ground whilst its master loads it, and during the process looks round and gives out heartrending groans as if complaining at the excessive weight being put upon its back, but when the load is adjusted, the animal gets up and walks away quite contentedly.
The camel can travel long distances for days together without drinking fresh water, because his throat is fitted by Nature with bladders, which he fills with water before starting. When he feels thirsty, he ejects one of these out of his throat, and then drinks the water from it.
Others of the Arabs who have been attending the fair mount their mules or donkeys—often two of them on one mule—carrying their purchases with them, in some cases even carrying live sheep across their saddles. Many of them crowd into coaches to go home. These are rickety-looking boxes on wheels with roofs to them, drawn by six horses, which travel three abreast.
When they were all comfortably settled in one of these coaches ready for their journey, my wife stepped forward with her kodak to photograph them. In a moment they were tumbling out of their places, hurrying to get out of the range of the "Evil Eye"—for that is what they think the camera must be; they fear it may bring sickness or bad luck upon them.
* * * * *
While we were at Timgad a gaily coloured little band of mounted men came trailing across the plain, and finally made their halt close to us. They were a troop of "Spahis," or native cavalry of the French army in Algeria.
The men dress in Arab costume, with the white turban on their heads, a short red jacket, and baggy blue Turkish breeches with boots of red morocco leather. They also wear a huge red cloak in cold weather.
[Illustration: ASPAHI, OR NATIVE CAVALRYMAN OF THE FRENCH ARMY INALGERIA.]
They are mounted on small grey Arab horses, and sit in a very high-peaked saddle, and the horses all wear blinkers. Altogether they make very picturesque soldiers, and at the same time are good riders and brave fighters.
* * * * *
Prom Biskra on the Sahara we started' on a walking tour among the mountains of the desert.
We got a couple of tents, bedding, camp furniture, and food, and two mules to carry it all. We also got two Arabs to guide us and be generally useful. Their names were Rahmoun and Ibrahim.
Our preparations did not take us long, and we were soon camped out on the desert, far from other human habitations, in the glorious sunshine of North Africa.
At night, although the air was keen and cold, we had our beds put outside the tent in the open, and we slept under the stars.
The drawback to camping was the difficulty in getting fresh water and firewood. We generally carried bottles of fresh water with us, as even when we were able to find a trickle of water in a river-bed, it was frequently brackish or half salt.
[Illustration: "We were soon camped out on the desert, far from other human habitations, in the glorious sunshine of North Africa."]
Then there were no trees or bushes with which to light our fire, so we had to collect the smallest sticks and straws to act as "punk" and loaded up any parched plants that we could find, and these, together with twigs and branches of little thorn tufts, enabled us to make a fire. It was not a big one, but then a Scout does not need a bonfire to cook his food.
* * * * *
We left the railway to face the open stony desert and arid rocky mountains with the greatest keenness, in the bright sun and clear air of Southern Algeria.
The last bit of civilisation that we saw was a French. colonist's farm, fortified with a strong loopholed tower, in which the farmer and his family could take refuge and stand a siege if the Arabs should rise in rebellion.
These fortified farms are to be seen in many parts of Algeria, and are a sign, of the farmersBeing Preparedfor what ispossible, though it may not beprobable.
If our own people in South Africa had prepared their homesteads for defence in the same way against the Kaffirs, the Zulus, the Basutos, and the Matabele tribes, they would have saved themselves in very many cases from death at the hands of these savage warriors when they rose at different times in rebellion against the white men.
Any Boy Scout who goes later on to farm in an Oversea Dominion where there are fighting natives will do well to remember this, and to make one of his farm buildings defensible, so that it cannot be attacked or burnt by the enemy, and where he and his family can stand a siege of some weeks, having food, water, and ammunition always ready inside it.
This isBeing Prepared, and not leaving things to chance.
* * * * *
Our way next led us through a mighty gorge between the mountains. There were high, rocky cliffs on either side, and a stream running among the stones at the bottom of it.
This ravine we clambered through for five or six miles, passing on the way an Arab village of flat-roofed mud huts perched on the side of the cliffs like swallows' nests.
And not far from them were holes and caves in the cliffs in which some of the Arab tribes lived. Many of them were so difficult to get at that the inhabitants got to them by means of ropes lowered down over the edge of the cliff.
* * * * *
The Romans in the old days had marched, fought, and colonised all overAlgeria, and their doings have been recorded by their history writers.
One of these, Herodotus, has described how in one part of Algeria there were many wonders, such as springs of water in which the water came out boiling, donkeys which had horns like rams' horns on their heads, and lastly that there was a great mountain made of solid salt.
Of course, he got a good deal laughed at, and was entirely disbelieved by the Romans who stayed at home, but all the same his yarns were not far off the truth.
We ourselves were camped near one of the numerous hot springs in Algeria, Hammam Mousketine, it was called; clouds of steam used to rise from it always.
Also, we met many English sportsmen tramping and camping among the mountains in search of the "moufflon," a kind of mountain wild sheep, which, at a short distance, looks very like a donkey with big ram's horns on its head.
In the course of our tramp we paid a visit to the Salt Mountain, and found that Herodotus had told nothing more than the truth.
The mountain is about 900 feet high, and about three miles long, and consists of a jumble of crags and fissures, chiefly of yellow sandstone, in which are imbedded great blocks and sheets of salt.
The natives for miles round come with picks and mattocks, and cut as much of it as their donkeys can carry to market.
* * * * *
Our next march took us across endless dry water-courses with steep sides, which had to be clambered up and down under a hot sun.
There was no regular road, because every downfall of rain alters the course of the ravines. So we had to make the best of our way in the general direction of the place we were making for.
It is wonderful how easily you lose your direction when you get into a mass of ravines unless you notice carefully your bearings beforehand, and either make for some good landmark, such as a distant mountain peak, or else keep your direction by noticing the position of the sun.
In doing this, you must, of course, allow for the sun also changing his position in the sky as the hours pass by.
We used the sun to some extent this day, but after a time a cold breeze sprang up, and clouds began to gather, so that in a very little while the sky was overcast and the sun was no longer any guide.
Then came on a cold, cold wind, which got more bitter as we struggled against it.
But, cold as it was, I did not find that Scouts' kit was so cool as people try to make out; the wind certainly whistled about my knees, but I did not feel so very cold then.
We searched for some sort of sheltered place to pitch our tent, and found plenty of such in the dry bed of the river under the cliffs, which formed its banks, but we dared not use it, as rain clouds were banking up, and if heavy rain were to come the dry river bed would in a very short time be a raging torrent.
So we struggled on, and at last found a ledge among some rocks above the river bed, which just afforded room for our tent, and here we pitched it.
And only just in time, for before we had got it well up the rain began to come down, and continued to rattle on our canvas roof for the rest of the night.
But the storm had come with so little warning, and the wind had come before the rain, so we comforted ourselves with the Scouts' weather mottoes:—
"Long foretold, long last;Short notice, soon past."
And
"When the wind's before the rain,Soon you may make sail again;When the rain's before the wind,Then your sheets and halyards mind."
Sure enough, next morning the sky cleared, and a beautiful sunny day enabled us to carry out our next march in comfort.
* * * * *
Our next camp was a delightful one—in place of the open, dry, stormy desert, we found ourselves in groves of young palm trees on the river bank, with plenty of fresh water and plenty of firewood. So we were in luxury, and stayed two days in this spot to enjoy it to the full.
We had the additional fun here of catching fish in the river with a hook and line attached to a stick cut from an oleander bush. We found some worms in the irrigated garden, and thus we were able to fish and to catch a good number of barbel.
These made a great addition to our larder.
A very useful tip to know in Africa is that when all other wood is wet, dead palm branches will always light and burn well. They are most useful as torches in camp, and are nicknamed "Arabs' Candles."
* * * * *
We left our camp ground, with its palm trees down by the river, and with our tent and belongings packed on to two mules, and our two Arabs as guides, trekked across a wide, stony plain under a blazing hot sun.
Not a particle of shade the whole way, nor a drop of water; every footstep had to be picked among the loose, jagged stones, and our way was continually barred by deep, dry water-courses, which had to be carefully clambered into and scrambled out of.
It was a very trying day's march, but yet we enjoyed it.
The views of the mountains around us were splendid.
[Illustration: EL KANTARA]
We were marching parallel with the wonderful range which stands like a turreted wall between Algeria and the Sahara. It is so regular in its outline that it looks almost as if built by the hands of giants, and in the centre is a narrow, broken gap, El Kantara, through which run the road, the river, and the railway.
[Illustration: "THE TOOTH," or THE RED CASTLE MOUNTAIN.]
We passed on our way close under a solitary peak which stands out from the rest of the neighbouring mountains exactly in the likeness of a great red ruined castle, called by the Arabs "The Tooth."
Then we got into a deep ravine with red sandy cliffs on either side, and marching up its rocky bed we finally got in among the mountains, and there made our camp.
After getting our tent pitched, and while the men were finding firewood, my wife and I started a bit of engineering work in order to obtain a water supply.
We cleared out the little trickle of water which we found in the river bed, and digging a hollow in the sandy bed, we planted in it our india rubber bath, and diverted the trickle so that it ran into this, and so gave us a standing supply of clear water for our camp.
It was quite a triumph of engineering, though we got pretty wet and muddy in carrying it out.
Then we went exploring among the hills, following up our gorge. We soon found that it became a narrow fissure between the mountains, so narrow that the overhanging rocks often nearly touched each other high above our heads. It was a most weird place—exactly the sort of spot where one might expect a dragon to dwell.
* * * * *
A thing that strikes one about the Arabs is their politeness and readiness to do good turns.
Every Arab we met as we tramped across the plains greeted us with "good morning" in Arabic or French, and, though it must be a strange sight to them to see a white lady walking, and a man in shorts and shirt-sleeves (for I always wear the Scout kit for camping), they never showed undue curiosity, and never thought of jeering at us as I fear would be the case in many places in England.
[Illustration: AN ARAB TENT. The goatskin slung on a tripod is full of water for the use of the family.]
If they saw our mules in trouble, or found us pitching our camp, they were always ready to lend a hand without any idea of getting a reward or a tip for doing so.
They have a good deal of the Scout in them, and many tribes of them do not know what it is to live in a house-they are "nomads," that is, they are wanderers, and live always in tents, moving with their flocks and families from place to place where the grass gives the best pasture for their sheep and goats.
Their tents are large, low, widespread awnings of black or brown goats'-hair cloth, supported on numerous short poles.
The tent ropes stretch in various directions, and round the whole they put up a hedge or "zareeba" of thorn bushes to keep out the jackals, and to keep in their goats during the night.
In front of the tent hangs a goatskin slung on a tripod, and full of water for the use of the family.
Many Arabs are well behaved and hospitable to strangers. But all are not so polite: there are some tribes who are pretty cunning thieves. Our two Arabs always patrolled round our camp at night with loaded rifle and revolver to drive off any would-be robbers, and our mules were shackled up at night with "handcuffs" on their fetlocks, and these were locked to prevent them being stolen.
* * * * *
The first thing one notices about the hot springs of Hammam Mousketine which I mentioned above, is clouds of steam coming up out of the bushes at different points. Here you will find water bubbling up out of the ground and through a small mound of hard white or yellow crust.
The water is boiling hot, and the crust is formed from salts and chemicals contained in the water drying on the surface.
There are about a dozen of these springs and a large number of cones or mounds which have been springs, and which have choked themselves up or run dry.
Half a dozen of these cones, of about ten feet high, stand together in a group, and the Arabs have a curious story about them, which I will tell you in the next paragraph. Also close by is a great waterfall about a hundred yards wide by fifty feet high, but all turned to stone by the same process.
* * * * *
A rich Arab named Ali Cassam had a beautiful sister named Ourida.
Ali thought her the best woman in the world, and although she was his sister he determined to marry her.
Such a marriage is considered just as unholy by the Mohammedans as it is with us, and so everybody was against it. But Ali was great and powerful, and he thought that by making a magnificent show of it he would get over the feelings of those who said it was wrong.
[Illustration: The wedding party were all there in their places, but all were turned into stone.]
So a splendid feast was arranged, and the ceremony began on a very big scale.
The priest Abdallah undertook to carry out the religious part of it, and had just taken the first step in the marriage service of placing the bridegroom's hand on the bride's head when there was a tremendous flash of lightning, fire rushed out of the earth, the day was suddenly turned into night, and boiling water spouted up in all directions.
When the sun came out again the wedding party were all there in their places, but all were turned into stone, and the boiling water still bubbles up out of the earth round about them.
Personally I could not recognise exactly the actors in this drama; it needed a lot of imagination to believe that one mound represented Ali and another Ourida, while Abdallah was recognisable by his turban!
This was all that I saw of them.
* * * * *
Owing to the absence of roads in the country the Arabs do not use carts. All the carrying is done by camels, mules, or donkeys. The donkeys are the commonest, being the cheapest; and very patient, hard-working little servants they are.
On one of our tramps we came across an Arab standing very forlornly by his donkey, which had fallen down. There was the little beast lying on its side with its huge load of halfa grass partly across it, and the owner quite at a loss to know what to do. This "halfa" or "esparto" grass is collected by the Arabs on the mountain side, and brought down and sold to merchants to go and make paper in England. It weighs very heavy, which we soon found when we went to the assistance of the Arab, and lifted the load off the donkey. The little animal seemed in no hurry to rise from his comfortable position on the ground, and the Arab was proceeding with a big stick to hint to him that it was time to get up, when my wife intervened, and showed the Arab that this was no way to treat the good little beast.
[Illustration: 1. IN DISTRESS.]
Having induced him at last to rise, the load of grass was up-ended, the donkey put broadside on to it, and the burden was quickly hoisted on to its back again.
[Illustration: 2. ALL HANDS TO THE RESCUE.]
So we had been able to do a little good turn to the man, though the donkey did not probably appreciate it quite so much at first, but he did in the end, for as soon as his load was securely on his back the man started to whack him on along his road.
But again my wife put in a remonstrance, and the Arab, grasping her meaning, refrained from using his stick, and coming back to us he gave us each a hearty handshake, as if to show his gratitude for our help and his determination to treat his four-footed friend with greater kindness in the future.
[Illustration: 3. ALL PLEASED EXCEPT THE DONKEY.]
* * * * *
We were awfully sorry to finish our tramping camp. It was over much too soon, but in the short time that we were at it we picked up lots of health and enjoyment, and also a good many useful camp hints.
[Illustration: WHENEVER WE HAD A MOMENT TO SPARE SHE SET TO WORK TOSCRUB THE SAUCEPAN.]
One of these—like so many great discoveries—was found by accident.
My wife, like a good Scout, kept everything very clean in camp, and our joke was that whenever there was a moment to spare she would set to work to scrub the saucepan. That seemed to be her favourite job, using a handful of sand and a twist of coarse grass, and the result was a bright, clean saucepan in which to cook our food.
A good deal of sickness comes in camps when dirty saucepans are used.