Illustration #2
"A map"
As long as there's any sign of a trail you can't get me rattled, butcracky, I don't like marshes. You can get lost in a marsh easier thanin any other place. Pretty soon I was plodding around deeper than myknees and it gave me a strain every time I dragged my leg out of theswamp. Maybe you'll wonder why I didn't go back, but if you do, that'sbecause you don't know much about marshes. All of a sudden I was rightin the middle of it, as you might say, and there were no landmarks atall.
Pretty soon I was in waist deep and then I was scared, you can bet. Ifthere's one thing that gets me scared it's quicksand. As long as I couldget my legs out I was all right, but when I began sinking as low as mywaist and had to drag myself out by squirming and catching hold of bushesand things, then I lost my nerve--I have to admit it.
I saw I was a fool ever to go into that pesky place, but it was too lateand I knew that pretty soon I'd be in too deep to get out. Oh, jiminies,I was scared. Once, after I scrambled out I tried lying flat on the marshwith the reeds laid over sideways underneath me. But they didn't hold meup and anyway I knew I couldn't lie that way forever. I wondered how ascout had ever gone through here.
Before I knew how to swim I came mighty near to getting drowned and Igot lost in the woods, too, when I was a tenderfoot. But this was worsethan anything I ever knew before. Once I sank down almost to myshoulders and I guess I would have been a goner, only my feet strucksomething hard and flat and I stood on that until I got rested alittle.
All the while I looked around to see if I could decide where the landmight be a little harder, but I guess I must have been in the worstpart of it. I decided that the safest thing I could do was to standjust where I was. I didn't know what it was I was standing on, butanyway it didn't seem to sink any, so I was kind of safe there, as youmight say. But I knew I could never raise myself out of that place andI'd have to just stand there till I got so tired and hungry, that I'ddrop down and be sucked into the marsh.
So anyway, I'd have to die, I was sure of that only I didn't want to dieany sooner than I had to. Two or three times I shouted as loud as Icould, but I knew it wasn't any use, because I was two or three milesaway from any house. Even if anybody knew, I didn't see how they couldget to me and it was only by good luck that I wasn't dead already onaccount of the hard thing I was standing on. Every once in a whilebubbles would come up and I thought it was because that thing I wasstanding on was sinking lower. The marsh was just about even with myshoulders and I kept looking sideways at my shoulders all the time, soas to see if I was going down any and sometimes I thought I was. But Iguess I wasn't.
The weeds stood up all around me so I couldn't see, except up in the airand it was like being in a grave with just my head out. Gee, I thoughtabout the fellows hiking it to Little Valley and beginning work on thehouse-boat and waiting for me to come, and I could just kind of hearthem jollying Pee-wee, and oh, I wished I was there. I was wondering whothe Silver Foxes would elect for their patrol leader and then I got tothinking how nobody, not even my mother and father, would ever know whatbecame of me, because you can't drag a marsh like you can a river. And itseemed kind of funny like, to die without anybody ever knowing whatbecame of you.
Pretty soon my legs began getting very tired like a fellow's legs alwaysdo when he keeps standing in water. Only this was worse than water. Iwondered how it would feel when my knees gave out and I sank down.
Then I happened to think about having my hikebook with me. It was allwet and the pencil was wet too, but I held it up high out of the marshand wrote this on one of the pages. After I wrote it I stuck it up highon one of the marsh weeds.
This is where Roy Blakeley, patrol leader, Silver Fox Patrol, BridgeboroTroop, B. S. A., was sucked down into the marsh, after he couldn't standup any more. I was standing on something that was hard and maybe you'llfind my body lying on that. In my desk is something I was going to givemy mother for a birthday present. I send her a lot of love too. My fathertoo. And I hope my Patrol gets along all right and that the troop has alot of fun this summer. I hope somebody will find this.
CHAPTER VI
THE TIGHT PLACE
After that I made up my mind I wouldn't think any more about living andthen I was satisfied, kind of. 'Cause as long as you know you've got todie, what's the difference. They could get another fellow to lead thepatrol, that's one sure thing. Mostly I cared about my mother onaccount of not being able to say good-bye to her. All of a sudden itseemed as if there was more water around me than before. Up to thattime it was mushy, kind of, but not much water. But now it was morelike water all around me and I noticed a little bunch of net moss nearme. Maybe you don't know what net moss is. It's moss that grows inswamps. Well, what do you think I saw lying on that clump of net moss?Cracky, you'd hardly believe it, but it was a spark plug. And it lookedfunny to see it there.
If you're not a scout maybe you don't know anything about camping, butit's one of our rules not to defile the woods with rubbish and Mr.Ellsworth always told us a tomato can didn't look right in the woods.Well, jiminety, that spark plug sure did look funny lying on thatpiece of net moss. It floated right near my shoulder and I lifted itoff and, oh, crinkums, but it made me 'think of Bridgeboro.
It was almost the same as if it was a fellow come to rescue me, as youmight say. It was just because it didn't belong there, I guess. Ofcourse, I knew it couldn't rescue me, but it reminded me of people andthat kind of cheered me up a little. Then I began to think about it. Iremembered what our scoutmaster said about a fellow that's drowning--thathe can think as long as his head is out of water. And this was likedrowning, only slower. I was wondering how that spark plug got there.It's funny how you'll think about little things like that even whenyou're dying.
One thing sure, no automobile ever went through there, and no motorcycleeither. Maybe a fellow in an airplane might have dropped it, or maybe--
Then, all of a sudden I began to laugh. And while I was laughing somewater flowed into my mouth. But I didn't care, I was feeling so good.I knew all about the whole thing now, and I felt like kicking myselfonly my feet were down in all that tangle of marsh. But what cared I,yo ho--and a couple of yee hees.
Oh, I was some wise little boy scout then, and I had a scout smile longenough to tie in a couple of bow knots. That spark plug was thrown outof a motor boat. I could see that the spark points were bad and somebodythrew it away because it wouldn't work and then put in a new one. AndI knew that already the tide was beginning to come up and that prettysoon there would be a creek here and that I could swim in it.
Cracky, you can't scare me when it's a question of swimming, for Iwasn't brought up in a bath tub. Many's the time I swam across BlackLake. Water's all right, but swamps--good night! Maybe if you don'tlive near meadow lands you won't understand how it was. But when thetide rises twice every twenty--four hours (you learn that in theFourth Grade), it makes creeks through the meadows and marshes. Someof them are deep enough for small motor boats even, only you've gotto be careful not to stay up one of them too long or you'll get stucktill the next day. One time that happened to Ed Sanders that ownedwe Rascal and he was there all night, and he almost died from poisonof the mosquitoes. Anyway I would have been dead before night when themosquitoes come out--that's one good thing. I don't mean it's one goodthing, but anyway you know what I mean.
Pretty soon I could push the swamp grass out of the way and swim alittle. Oh, cracky, I was thankful for that tide I I knew it would keepon coming when it once started 'cause the tide never goes back on you.Of course it goes back, but you know what I mean. Sometimes if you'reon a hike and telling time by the sun it'll go under a cloud. Orsometimes if you're lost and following the stars, it'll cloud up andyou can't see them any more. And crinkums, a trail will go back on yousometimes. But the tide is sure. It's got to come up, and so I knew itwas coming up to rescue me and I knew I was all right as soon as I sawthat spark plug.
Pee-wee wanted to name this chapter "Saved By A Spark Pl
ug" or"The Hero Plug," but I said it sounded silly. Any way I'll never sayanother word against the tide. Often when I saw motor boats stuck onthe flats I could hear the men in them saying things about the tide--oh,gee, you ought to have heard some of the things they said.
But I'll never say anything, anyway. It seemed kind of, you know, like anarmy coming to rescue me, slow but sure, and pretty soon I was swimmingaround, and oh, didn't I feel good!
All of a sudden like, there was a little river there and it kept gettingdeeper and wider and I knew it began away out in the ocean and it seemedas if it was picking its way all the way up into these marshes, to giveme a chance to do what every scout knows how to do--swim.
Of course I was saved, but I didn't know how far I'd have to swim, onlyI was pretty sure I wouldn't have to die now.
I guess now you'd better look at the map I made, and then you'll see howthe creek came in the marshes and about where I was, when it began, torise.
Of course I didn't know where it came from or where it went, but I decidedto swim against the tide for two reasons. First I was afraid to go theother way because it might just peter out, like most of those meadowcreeks do, and then I'd be in the marsh again. Oh, boy, safety first.I'd had enough of marshes. Besides if I swam the other way it would bedeeper and wider and I'd be more likely to find a board or a log orsomething and pretty soon I might come to solid shores.
But before I started I had another adventure. I took off my shoes andstockings and everything except my underclothes. But of course, thatwasn't the adventure. It was a dandy adventure, but you have to wait,and if it rains to-morrow so we can't go trailing, I'll write some more.I think it'll rain to-morrow.
CHAPTER VII
WEETONKA, THE TERRIBLE CHIEF
OF course you can tell when you look at the map where the creek camefrom. It came from Dutch Creek and Dutch Creek flows into theBridgeboro River, and Bridgeboro River rises in the northern part ofsome place or other and takes a--some kind of a course--and flows intoNew York Bay. Once I got kept in, in school, for not knowing that. Buthow should I know where this creek went? It came-that was enough forme. I should worry where it went.
Before I started to swim I decided I'd go under and try to find out whatit was that I'd been standing on. Because I had to thank it. A boyscout is supposed to be grateful. So I ducked and groped around in themarshy bottom and I felt something hard with a point to it. I had to comeup for air, then I ducked again and felt around over it and under it. Ijoggled it with both my hands and it budged-not much but a little. ThenI came up for air and went down and gave a good tug at it.
I guess it was just kind of caught in the mud and weeds for after Ipulled some of these away a lot of bubbles came up, and then I gothold of one end of the thing and it stuck up slantingways out of thewater like an alligator's mouth. Oh, gee, it was all slimy and hadmoss growing to it and it was black and hard. I was crazy to find outwhat it was and I swam around the end of it, bobbing it up and down.Then I sat on it and rocked it and it joggled. When I straddled it,it went down with me and when I jerked it, it seemed to get loose alittle. The end that was sticking up wasn't very big around, only itwas terribly slippery. Anyway, I sat on it and tightened my legs aroundit just like a fellow does with a balky horse, and then I began jouncingup and down like on a seesaw.
Pretty soon the other end came up and, oh, boy, didn't I get dumped offinto the water. It looked like a slimy old log floating. I gave it aturn and then--g--o--o--d night--what do you think it was? It was aregular Indian dug-out.
I guess maybe it was a hundred years old and you can see it now, if youever come to Bridgeboro, because it's in the Museum of our PublicLibrary and you'll know it because it's got "Presented by 1stBridgeboro Troop, B. S. A.," on it. I guess maybe it was about fifteenfeet long and as soon as I cut into it with my scout knife, I saw thatit was made of cedar and it wasn't rotten--not so much, anyway.Jiminies, that's one good thing about cedar; it lasts forever underwater.
Oh, boy, wasn't I excited. I swam around it washing it off with myscout jacket, then I bailed the little dug out part out with my scouthat. It wasn't so black when I got it all cleaned off. It was kind ofchocolate color and I knew it must be very old, because cedar turnsthat color after a long time. You learn that in Woodcraft. It was allmade out of one piece and the place where you sit was just hollowedout--about big enough for one person.
Then I got inside and it was crankier than a racing shell. You had tosit up straight like a little tin soldier to keep it from tipping--itwas one tippicanoe, you can bet. I fell out and had to roll it overand bail it out two or three times. At last I got the hang of it andI pushed it in the marshes a little way so it wouldn't drift up stream.There was a regular creek there now, good and wide and deep, and thewater was coming up like a parade.
Then I pulled a lot of reeds and bound them together with swamp grass.That was a funny kind of a paddle I guess, but it was better thannothing and anyway I decided to wait till the tide was at flood andthen paddle back with it. That would be a cinch.
So then I sat in the dug-out and just waited for the tide to come up.The dug-out stayed where it was on account of being pushed in among thereeds and oh, jiminety, it was nice sitting there. I thought maybe thecreek would empty out again into Bridgeboro River and I could tie upthere and, go home. But I had a big surprise waiting for me, you can bet.
It was about nine o'clock in the morning when I started on that crazytrail and it was about five o'clock in the afternoon when the tide beganto turn and go back. All the while I was sitting there waiting I thoughtabout the Indian that owned that canoe. Maybe his bones were downunderneath there, I thought. Ugh, I'd like to see them. No, I wouldn't.Maybe he was on his way to a pow-wow, hey?
Well, after a while when the tide turned I started paddling down. Alittle water came through a couple of deep cracks, but not much and Isopped it up with my hat. But oh, jingoes, I never had to sit up sostraight in school (not even when the principal came through theclass-room) as I did in that cranky old log with a hole in it. And oh,you would have chucked a couple of chuckles if you'd seen me guidingmy Indian bark with a bunch of reeds. Honest, they looked like, astreet sweeper's broom.
After a while the creek began to get wider and then I could see farahead of me the roof of a house. Then, all of a sudden, I heard somebodyshout.
"Don't bother to plug the hole up, leave it the way it is, so if thewater comes in, it can get out again."
Then I heard a voice shout, "You're crazy!" and I knew it was thefellows jollying Pee-wee Harris and they were talking about a hole inthe boat, because that was the roof I saw. So then I knew I was comingout into Dutch Creek right where it passes Little Valley.
Oh, boy! Wasn't I excited? Pretty soon I could see the boat and some ofthe fellows on it working away, sawing and hammering and jollying eachother, the way the fellows in our troop are always doing. You can seeby the map just how I got to where they were. I guess I must have beenas near as fifty feet before Connie Bennett threw down his hammer andshouted. "Look who's here!"
Westy Martin was sitting on the edge of the deck dangling his feet andeating a sandwich. Well, you ought to have seen them all stare.
"What in the dickens do you call this?" Wig Weigand hollered.
But I didn't say a word till I got right close to them, then I gaveWesty a good swat with my reed paddle.
"I am Weetonka, the famous Indian chief!", I shouted, "and I haven'thad anything to eat since eight o'clock. Give me that sandwich or I'llscalp you!"
CHAPTER VIII
RESOPEKITWAFTENLY
This chapter and the next one are mostly about Wigley Weigand, but weusually call him Wig-Wag Weigand, because he's a cracker-jack onwig-wag signalling. He's good on all the different kinds ofsignalling. He's a Raven, but he can't help that, because there wasn'tany Silver Fox Patrol when the Raving Ravens started.
The Ravens were the--what do you call it--you know what I mean--nucleusof the troop. That's how it started. There are abo
ut half a millionscouts in America and all of them can't be Silver Foxes, even if they'dlike to.
Wig has the crossed flags--that's the signalling badge, and the fellowssay he can make the sky talk. Believe me, he can make it shout. He isn'tso bad considering that he's a Raven and there's one good thing abouthim anyway--and that's that his mother always gives us cookies and thingswhen we go on a hike. I got a dandy mother, too, and maybe you'll see howmuch I think about her, kind of, in the next chapter. Anyway I have tothank Wig Weigand, that's one sure thing.
Now maybe you think I did a good stunt in that marsh, but a scoutdoesn't get credit unless he uses his brains and does everything allright. And that's where I fell down, and it came near making a lot oftrouble, believe me.
Many's the time Tom Slade (he's in the war now) told me never to leavea scout sign after it wasn't any more use. "Scratch 'em out," he said,"because even if it means something now, it might not mean anything sixmonths from now." Jiminy, that fellow has some brains. He said, "Neverforget to take down a sign when it's no use anymore." Well, when Ifound I wasn't going to die a terrible death (that's what Pee-weecalled it) I didn't have sense enough to take away that note that Istuck on the reeds. When I stuck it there I reached up as high as Icould, So even when the tide was high up there, I guess it didn'treach it. I was so excited to find I could get away that I never thoughtanything about it. And when I sailed into Little Valley in my Indiancanoe, gee, I had forgotten all about it.
Roy Blakeley: His Story Page 3
