Cartboy Goes to Camp

by L. A. Campbell

  Mr. Prentice walked over to me and took a look at my ax stuck in the log. “Jesus, Brother of Crispus” was all he managed to say.

  I could tell the number of hats he’d be giving me.

  O

  After Mr. Prentice left, Theo walked up and put his hand on my shoulder. “Next time, why don’t you use your dad’s ax, Hal? The one in your camp pack. It’s a beauty. Looks like it’s been in your family for generations.”

  Theo started talking about the importance of family heirlooms. A good ten minutes went by, and he was still explaining why his grandfather’s feathered cap was “irreplaceable.” Luckily, I was saved by the gourd.

  DOO DO DO LOOO!

  It was time for lunch.

  This time, I walked into the dining room, sized up the situation, and sat as far away from Ryan and Billy as I could. For one thing, I wasn’t going to spend the whole time fetching them food. And the other, lunch was beans and corn, and I knew what that meant.

  BEANS AND CORN + BILLY’S TEETH + TALK

  = MY FACE COVERED IN FOOD

  Vinny and Scot grabbed some lunch and sat down next to me. “Did you hear the news?” asked Vinny in a quiet voice. “Today’s afternoon activity is digging for artifacts. We can look for the treasure.”

  “We’re gonna be rich, I can feel it,” said Scot. “I’m thinking front-row seats for the One Direction concert—”

  FAARRT.

  We looked up to see Perth standing by our table, adjusting his pants. “Ooof,” he said. “Whatever they served for breakfast clogged up the pipes pretty good.”

  “Maybe lunch will be better?” I asked Perth, holding up a plate of beans.

  Perth’s answer was quick and to the point.

  FAARRRRRT.

  By the time we time finished eating, got our shovels, and waited for Perth to use the bathroom, it was already midafternoon.

  We had to hurry to the back of the museum. And dig as fast as we could.

  We dug and dug and dug. After three hours, not only did we not find the treasure, but we didn’t find any colonial artifacts either. And the whole time we had to listen to the squeals of joy as the other campers uncovered all kinds of stuff from the 1600s.

  Like the girl from Cabin 5, who found an arrowhead. And the boy from Cabin 3, who uncovered a silver knife handle buried near the clearing.

  I would say he got four hats for it. But the handle had S. PRENTICE etched on one side. So I’m going with five.

  By the time the gourd sounded for dinner, I was beyond hungry. So I sprinted to the dining hall as fast as I could.

  I planned on going to the same table where I’d sat during lunch. The one that was far from Ryan and Billy. But I never made it there.

  Seeing as how Ryan tripped me as I walked through the door.

  “Not so fast, Cartboy.”

  He “helped” me up, then pulled my face toward his. “There’s not enough food at this place. And I need food. You’re gonna take one bite of your dinner, then sneak the rest to me.”

  Like clockwork, Billy appeared at Ryan’s side. “And ssssneak me sssome too.”

  I stared up at Ryan and Billy, drooling over the thought of eating my dinner, and I couldn’t help but think of Arnie back at home.

  Safely in his room. Playing RavenCave. Feasting on doughnuts. Sleeping until noon.

  I also couldn’t help but think that after just one day at camp, I was already on my way to becoming a real Jamestown settler:

  Someone who starves to death.

  Hunting, Digging, and Cake

  Dear Possible Driver of a Time-Traveling Vehicle:

  Today’s first activity was bow-and-arrow practice, and Theo started preparing us the minute we got to breakfast.

  “You’ll need to concentrate hard,” he said. “Bow-and-arrow skills were critical to the settlers. They had to hunt to survive. So you’ll be judged on accuracy. And remember, the bow-and-arrow activity is worth the most hats on Pioneer Day. As much as the tug-of-war.”

  As soon as breakfast was over, Mr. Prentice told us to meet him near the pond, where the bow-and-arrow practice would take place.

  All I knew was that this time, if he asked a question, I was not going to answer it. No matter what, I was going to make sure he didn’t point to me.

  So the minute I got to the pond, I scoped out a good hiding place. Right away I spotted one. It was behind some cattails, not too far from the grassy area where campers were gathered.

  It was pretty mosquitoey back there, but I figured, what’s a few itchy bites compared to being humiliated in front of fifty kids?

  Mr. Prentice blew the gourd and then faced the campers. “As ye know,” he said, “the settlers needed meat to supplement their diets. Who amongst thee can name the wild Virginia game which they hunted?”

  I tucked even farther into the cattails. Maybe, I thought, Mr. Prentice would point to Vinny or Scot. Or a kid from another cabin.

  I stood there, waiting for someone to answer the question. And that’s when the mosquito bit me in the face. My hand hit my head with a slap.

  And Mr. Prentice pointed straight at me. “Mr. Rifkind!”

  “What? No. There was a mosquito—”

  “Your answer, please. Name the game native to Virginia?”

  “Uh. Game?”

  “Yes. I’m waiting.”

  “Baseball?”

  “Try again. Think wild game.”

  “Rugby.”

  “No! One more try. ‘Wild game’ is an animal.”

  By this time, most of the kids were laughing. So I thought hard. Something that lives in bushes and trees and tastes gamey. What could it be?

  “I’ve got it, sir,” I said. “Parrots.”

  “Mary Mother of Smoke Signals!”

  Before Mr. Prentice could say anything else, Cora raised her hand. “Raccoon, opossum, black bear, white-tailed deer, and small woodland animals such as squirrels and skunks,” she said.

  “Correct. Now ye shall practice your shooting.”

  I was pretty relieved to see Mr. Prentice and a bunch of counselors pull some paper targets out from a storage shed. The targets had silhouettes of animals on them. So we wouldn’t have to shoot the real thing. So nothing would get hurt.

  Of course, hunting and shooting were not a problem for Ryan Horner.

  Somehow, he had managed to “limp” down to the pond. I guess he couldn’t resist the opportunity to hurt a living creature. Even if it was just a picture of one.

  Ryan didn’t hit a single target. But he got three hats. “Thee has braved an injury and hunted for the good of the settlement, Mr. Horner,” I heard Mr. Prentice say.

  Our cabin would have done a lot better if it wasn’t for me. As it turns out, I am not actually able to aim a bow. Or shoot an arrow. Or concentrate hard.

  MY CABIN’S SCORE

  Vinny: 3 Scot: 2 Perth: 2 Me: 0

  “Don’t worry about it, Hal. I have some good news,” Vinny said as soon as we sat down for lunch. “The afternoon activity is Free Time. We can do any pioneer activity we like.”

  Right away, Vinny, Scot, Perth, and I knew what that meant: digging. We ate fast and ran to our cabin for our shovels.

  But mine was stuck in the bottom of my pack. “I’ll meet you guys behind the museum,” I said.

  After a good ten minutes of tugging and pulling, I hoisted my dad’s old shovel out of the moldy green bag and ran toward the back of the museum.

  Just as I passed the woodpile at the edge of the clearing, I heard a girl’s voice.

  “Hal?”

  “Oh, hey, Cora,” I said. I tried to keep on running.

  “Wait. I see you have your shovel—”

  “Yep. Shovel. Gotta dig. Bye.”

  “Hold on. While you’re digging for artifacts, could you keep your eyes peeled for arrowheads? We need them for decorations for the dance.”

  I stopped in my tracks. “D-d-dance?”

  “The theme is the Powhatan Tribes of Virginia. It’s
on the last night of camp. Are you going?”

  “D-dances are not really my thing…” I started to say.

  It looked like Cora was gonna ask me to go with her, so I did what any sensible man would do when a girl is about to ask him out. Hightailed it out of there as fast as I could.

  When I got to the back of the museum, the guys had already started digging. By the looks of things, they hadn’t found anything yet.

  So once again, we dug and dug. We dug until Scot’s hands were covered in dirt. Perth got a stomachache. And I got a blister the size of a quarter.

  “Maybe someone already found the pearls and took them,” said Scot, throwing down his shovel.

  “Maybe that Sam what’s-his-name never buried it,” said Perth.

  “Maybe you should tell us exactly what makes you think there is a treasure, Vinny,” I said.

  Vinny put his shovel on the ground and pulled a small paper out of his pocket. “This is what I found in the Museum of Colonial Artifacts a few years ago. It’s the page from Sam Prentice’s dairy. Here.”

  September 1607

  The trove of pearls are buried within the walls of the Prentice compound. I hid them lest we needeth them to trade with the Powhatans for food. As the crops are thin and the winter grows bitter cold.

  “It was even signed,” said Vinny, pointing to the bottom of the paper.

  “Well, maybe it’s not buried behind the museum,” said Scot.

  Vinny put the piece of paper back in his pocket. “I looked everywhere else.”

  “Well, it’s not here.”

  “Let’s not panic,” I said. “Where else could it be? Maybe we can find another clue.”

  “The thing is,” said Vinny, “I looked through every shelf of the museum. The diary this page came from is gone.”

  All the way to dinner, and all during dinner, we argued about what to do next.

  “I say we call off the hunt,” said Perth.

  “I say we keep looking,” said Scot.

  “I say we keep looking only if we find another clue.”

  We all agreed to hunt for another clue. But we kept arguing over where to find one. We argued so much, we forgot to listen to Mr. Prentice’s dinnertime lecture on wilderness survival.

  I vaguely heard him say something about using a stick and the sun for a compass. And mention which plants were edible.

  It wasn’t until Mr. Prentice’s lecture was over that my ears finally perked up. “And now, it’s time for mail delivery!” he said.

  My heart skipped a beat when a counselor handed me a letter.

  It was from Arnie. It had to be. He said he was going to send me the sports section so I could see how the Phillies were doing. And that he’d try to sneak in a couple of baseball cards and gum.

  I ripped open the envelope and pulled the letter out as fast as I could.

  Not only was it not from Arnie. It was from my dad. He said my whole family would be coming for Pioneer Day. And that he knows I can “win the competition.”

  The first thing that came to my mind was that there were two people my dad had never met:

  1. Cora. 2. Me.

  I wanted to lie down on the splintery floor of the dining room and sob. I actually was going to do it. But just then, my eye caught something that could make me forget about my dad’s letter. The missing treasure. And my chances of winning Pioneer Day.

  Theo must have seen me staring at the table of chocolate cake with my mouth hanging open, because he came over and sat down next to me. “Every once in a while,” he said, “Mr. Prentice serves dessert as a special treat. It makes the campers happy. That, and if you go home too skinny, he gets in trouble.”

  I took a piece of cake from the dessert table and carried it to the front steps of the dining hall.

  Outside, the cool air filled my lungs.

  As I lifted a bite of the creamy chocolate to my mouth, I felt myself relax for the first time since I got here. I felt like somehow, some way, everything might be okay. I might actually survive.

  The feeling lasted about one minute. Right up until Ryan grabbed the cake out of my hands.

  A CLUE

  Dear ?:

  After Ryan stole my dessert, I went back to Cabin 2. I climbed in bed and lay there all night long. Wide awake.

  I couldn’t help but think, well, at least my dad is getting his money’s worth. After all, I was having the full Jamestown experience:

  By the time the gourd blew at five forty-five, I was sure of one thing: I was not going to the day’s first activity. No matter what it was.

  DOO DO DO LOOO!

  “Up and at ’em,” said Theo. “C’mon, Hal.”

  “Unhh.”

  “We’re going straight to the museum after breakfast!”

  “Unhhnh. Just want sleep.”

  From the sound of things, Scot and Perth weren’t budging either. “Us too,” they mumbled.

  “We’ll be beading leather in the museum! It’s good fun!”

  Even Vinny buried his face under his pillow. “What’s the point, Theo?” he said. “It’s not like our cabin has the slightest chance of winning Pioneer Day.”

  Theo sat on the end of my bed and took a deep breath. “Maybe your scores haven’t been too high, guys. But there’s lots more stuff to do. Carving canoes. Yarn spinning. Churning butter. And don’t forget, we’ve got to practice for the tug-of-war!”

  I dragged my feet out of bed, trudged over to the dining hall, and forced the gluey glop down my throat.

  After breakfast, we slogged over to the Museum of Colonial Artifacts. As soon as we got inside, I plunked down in an antique wooden chair in the back corner. Maybe, I thought, I could catch some sleep while everyone else did their beadwork.

  After about a minute, Mr. Prentice appeared at the museum door. He held up a small square of something dark and leathery.

  “As many of thee know,” he said, “the Powhatan Indians wore clothing made from animal skins. They used needles made of bone to sew through the tough hides. And decorated the skins with beads.”

  He stepped a little farther into the museum. “The Powhatan’s bead designs included clouds, animals, trees—all the things they loved. My question for thee is, what design was the favorite of the Powhatans?”

  Mr. Prentice took a few steps in my direction. Here we go again, I thought. He is going to point to me.

  And sure enough, he walked right past the girls in Cabins 5, 6, and 7, and stopped dangerously close to my napping chair.

  “Mr. Rifkind. This time I shall give thee a hint. The favorite design of the Powhatans is something you see on a dollar bill.”

  I breathed a huge sigh of relief. Finally, I knew the answer. Finally, I would not be embarrassed in front of the entire camp.

  “George Washington,” I said.

  When Mr. Prentice heard my answer, he stayed pretty quiet. He kind of hung his head down and muttered to himself. I couldn’t be sure, but I think I heard something along the lines of, “Holy Hanger of Deerskins, what is wrong with that kid?”

  Theo handed out the animal hides, beads, thread, and bone needles to Scot, Vinny, Perth, and me. He explained that the favorite design of the Powhatans was the bald eagle. But that we could do whatever we wanted. “Leather beading is worth four hats on Pioneer Day. You’ll be judged on design concept and overall beading skill,” he said.

  While Theo gave out the supplies, I took a look around the museum. And while I was looking, I realized something: I’d been so busy digging behind the museum, I’d never been inside it.

  Every wall was covered with shelves full of old stuff. Indian headdresses. Jewelry. Authentic documents. And a bunch of musty colonial clothes.

  One wall had a whole section for past winners of Pioneer Day. My dad’s name was right there. Underneath his wood carving of the original Sam Prentice.

  I noticed the other campers had started sewing bead designs onto their leather. Clouds, trees. All the stuff Mr. Prentice told us the Powhatans liked.


  I was just sitting there, so I figured I’d sew the letter P onto the leather. Just to kill some time. But the funny thing was, once I started sewing those beads, I realized I was almost, sort-of good at it.

  My design was just about done when Mr. Prentice walked by.

  “Ah, yes. The letter P for the mighty Powhatans. Magnificent idea, Mr. Rifkind.”

  When he got to Cora’s table, Mr. Prentice took a long look at her design. “Let’s see,” he said. “It’s a uh, um, uh…”

  “It’s a butterfly, Mr. Prentice. Can’t you tell?” Cora lifted up the animal hide. “One of my ancestors was a Powhatan. Her name was Aponi. It means ‘dancing butterfly.’”

  I thought I heard a slight quiver in her voice.

  Could it be that Cora was not good at something? And I was? Could that actually be possible?

  While Mr. Prentice and Cora talked, I took a break from my beading. For one thing, I was almost done with my Phillies logo. And for the other, trying to get that bone needle through the leather was killing my fingers.

  I walked to the shelves on the back wall of the museum. They were full of books, and there was a whole section called “The First Settlers.”

  I picked up a few of the books and skimmed some of the pages. A bunch of time must have passed while I was looking at those books. Before I knew it, the gourd blew for lunch.

  DOO DO DO LOOO!

  “You coming, Hal?” asked Vinny on the way out.

  “I’ll be there in a minute.”

  Everyone put their beadwork on a shelf and left the museum. All of a sudden, it was completely quiet.

  It was just me in there. With all that old colonial stuff.

  I walked toward the shelf to put my beading project away. But when I got near it, my foot kicked a chair. At least I thought it was a chair. So I was pretty surprised when I looked down and saw it was a book.