Many explanations of this peculiar tendency have been given, but it is probably due to the fact that one side of every man and woman is more developed and stronger than the other. A right-handed man is more powerful on that side, and the reverse is the case with a left-handed person. Very few are ambidextrous. We unconsciously allow for this condition in our daily walks and movements, since we are surrounded by landmarks as may be said; but when these aids are removed, we are swayed by the muscles on one side more than by those on the other. A right-handed person unconsciously verges to the left, while the left-handed one does the opposite. The impulse being uniform, even if slight, his course naturally assumes the form of a circle.
It was hardly to be expected that Mike Murphy should reason out this explanation, for he had never before experienced anything of the kind. So far as woodcraft was concerned he could not have been more ignorant. He removed his hat, ran his fingers through his abundant red hair and laughed, for he could not close his eyes to the comical absurdity of it all.
“It’s a mighty qu’ar slip, as me cousin said whin he started to go up stairs and bumped down cellar, and be the same token Mike Murphy is lost to that extent in these Maine woods that he’ll niver find his way out till some one takes his hand and leads him like a blind beggar.
“There must be some plan to figger the thing out,” he added, as he replaced his hat. “I’ve heerd that there be many signs that do guide one when he’s off the track. Alvin once told me he had heard an old hunter say that there’s more bark on one side of a tree than the ither, but I disremember whether it was the east or west or north or south side, and I can’t strip off the bark to measure it, so that idea will do me no good. Then I’ve heerd that the tops of some of the trees dip the most toward a certain p’int of the compass, but I don’t mind me whether the same are apple trees or pear trees or some ither kind, and which is the side they nod their heads on. Ah, why did I forgit it?”
He drew forth his small mariner’s compass and eagerly studied the dancing needle.
“That little finger ought to p’int to the north, but it don’t!” he added disgustedly, noting that the flickering bit of steel, instead of indicating the ornamented “N,” fixed upon the “SSW” almost opposite. He did not know that the needle is always “true to the Pole,” and that all he had to do was to shift the case around so as to make it correspond. It was beyond his comprehension.
His only recourse—if it should prove a recourse—was to call for help. Peering around among the shaggy columns of bark, without seeing the first sign of life, he shouted in the voice which, clear as the tone of a Stradivarius violin, penetrated farther than even he supposed among the forest arches:
“Hello!”
He was thrilled almost instantly by the welcome reply:
“Hello!”
CHAPTER III
The Hermit of the Woods
The reply to Mike’s hail was so prompt that he thought it was the echo of his own voice. He looked in the direction whence the answer came, and, seeing nothing to account for it, shouted:
“I obsarved ‘Hello!’ and I take it kindly that ye did the same,” and he added to himself: “Now, Mr. Echo, let me see what ye can do with them words.”
The response was unexpected and startling. Nothing was heard, but a man came into sight among the pines and walked with slow, steady step straight toward the astonished lad, his keen eyes fixed inquiringly upon the youth, as if uncertain of his nature.
The person was tall, thin, slightly stoop-shouldered and certainly well past the age of three-score and ten. His straggling hair and abundant beard, which descended over his chest like a fleecy veil, were as white as snow. The nose was well formed, inclined to Roman, and his gray eyes under the shaggy grizzled brows were of piercing intensity. He grasped a long crooked staff in his right hand, the top rising a foot above his head, and used the stick for a cane in walking. He wore no hat or covering of any kind for his crown, but his attire was a suggestion of a Norfolk coat such as Scout Masters wear. It was buttoned down the front and closed about the waist by a girdle or belt of the same material, which was olive-drab cotton cloth, with two pleats before and behind. Although the garment was well worn it was clean and unfrayed. The trousers of the same kind of cloth reached to the top of the coarse, strong shoes. Under the coat was a dark flannel shirt, though it scarcely showed because of the closed garment and the beard curtain.
“I wonder if he intends to walk over me,” mused Mike, as he met the steady gaze and held his position; “it looks that way.”
A half dozen paces away, however, the old man abruptly halted, stared and remained silent. Mike raised his hand and made a military salute.
“With me compliments and best wishes and many of the same.”
“Try that again, young man,” said the stranger in a mellow voice, “you didn’t do it properly.”
“I did the best I know how,” replied the astonished Mike, “and I was thinking it couldn’t be much improved upon.”
“None the less it is wrong.”
“If ye’ll be after insthructing me it’s mesilf that will try to do you justice.”
“Are you not a Boy Scout?”
“Not just yit, though I’m hoping to honor the Scouts by allowing the same to put my name on their roll.”
“Why then do you wear their uniform?”
“Would ye have me take it off and wear the rigimintals I was born in? I’d be feared of the scratches from the bushes, though I should like to be obliging.”
“Are you on your way to the Boy Patrol camp?”
“That’s me distination, as me uncle said whin he looked down at the ground as he was falling from a balloon.”
“You are walking away from instead of toward it. The Boy Patrols are two miles to the rear.”
“I don’t wish to drop down on ’em too quick; ye have heard of sudden joy killing a person and I want to approach ’em slow and grand like, that they may have time to give me a proper reciption.”
Fearing that his jocosity might not be acceptable, Mike added:
“I may as well own up, me friend, that I’ve lost me way, but before going thither will ye insthruct me as to how to make the Boy Scout salute?”
“It is simple; observe; crook your right little finger inward; keep it down flat by pressing your thumb upon it; hold the other three fingers upright, palm outward and bring the hand in front of the forehead; try it.”
With the example before him, Mike had no trouble in making the salute.
“That is right; so long as you wear the uniform of the Boy Scouts, and since as you say you expect to become one of them, you must use their method of greeting one another.”
“And now will ye put me under bigger obligations by showing me the exact coorse to folly to reach the camp of me friends?”
The old man raised his staff from the ground and pointed to the left of the lad.
“If you will hold to that direction, you will go straight to them.”
“Now that ye have told me I won’t furgit it.”
“All the same you will; you know so little about the woods that you will be lost before you have gone a fourth of the distance.”
“How can I do that wid such plain instructions as ye have given me?”
“Were you not directed before you set out for your friends’ camp?”
“But not by such an intilligent gintleman as yersilf.”
The twitching of the beard at the side of the old man’s mouth showed that he was pleased by the whimsical compliment.
“It is easy to see from your blarney that you were born in Ireland: what is your name?”
“Mike Murphy; me father, Mr. Patrick Murphy, has charge of Mr. Landon’s bungalow on Southport Island, where I make me home wid him whin I’m not living somewhere ilse. ’Twas his boy Alvin that sint fur me to jine the Boy Patrols on Gosling Lake.”
“I called there yesterday and spent most of the day with them. They are a fine set of youths and ha
ve an admirable Scout Master; I expect soon to see them again; the troop, as it is called, numbers three Patrols, that of Mr. Hall, the Scout Master, being the Blazing Arrow.”
“Ye said there were three Patrols in the troop: what are the ithers?”
“The Stag and the Eagle. Now it has occurred to me, Michael, that since you expect to join the Boy Patrols and know comparatively nothing of them, it will be wise for you to go to my home, which isn’t far off, and spend the night with me; I’ll teach you enough, not only to pass a good examination but to astonish the other Scouts by your knowledge.”
This offer brought out the question that had been in the mind of Mike for some minutes:
“Ye are very kind and I’m thankful for the invitation, but may I ask who ye are?”
“That is your right, since you have already introduced yourself. My name is Elkanah Sisum, more generally called ‘Uncle Elk’; a long time ago a great sorrow came to me; it drove me into the woods, where I put up a cabin and have lived for fifteen years; but I have not lost my love for my fellow men and especially for boys; I can never look upon a youth like yourself without being awed by the infinite possibilities for good or evil slumbering in him, and my heart yearns to help all along the right path.”
“How is it ye know so much about the Boy Scouts of America?”
“Living by myself, I spend a good deal of time in hunting, fishing and cultivating the little patch of ground on which my cabin stands, but I find leisure for reading and study. I became interested a year ago in the accounts of the Boy Scout movement, which owes so much to Lieutenant-General Sir Robert S. S. Baden-Powell of England. I should be stupid indeed to pass so many years in the wilderness without learning woodcraft, campcraft, trailing and the ways of the woods.”
Mike had set his heart on joining his friends that day—for you know he had been tardy in following directions and Alvin and Chester would be disturbed over his failure to show up—and the distance was so short that he could easily traverse it before night. With the confidence of youth, he felt no fear of losing his way, despite the assertion of Uncle Elk. But the presentation of the case appealed strongly to him. He had a natural dread of going into the Boy Patrol camp as the champion ignoramus of the party. Alvin and Chester would have rare sport with him, for they knew only too well what he would do had the situations been reversed. But to stride among them with the proper salute, which he knew already, and, when subjected to the preliminary examination, to pass triumphantly would be an achievement which would make his blood tingle with pride.
What a lucky stroke of fortune it was that in losing his way in the woods he had met Uncle Elk, whose language showed him to be a man of culture and qualified to give him the very instruction he needed. The incident was another illustration of the truth that many a misfortune is a blessing in disguise.
“I thank ye very kindly,” said Mike, with hardly a moment’s hesitation; “I shall be glad to spend the night in yer home.”
“Come on then; darkness is not far off and it is quite a walk to my cabin. I make one condition, Michael.”
“I’m listening.”
“You must bring a good appetite with you; I have no princely fare to offer, but it is substantial.”
“It would be ongrateful fur me to disapp’int ye, and ye may make sartin that ye shall not be graived in that respict.”
CHAPTER IV
The Training of the Tenderfoot
Uncle Elk turned around and stepped off with a moderate but firm tread, using his staff more for pleasure than from necessity. He did not look around, taking it for granted that his young friend was at his heels. The ground was so high that the carpet of leaves and moss was dry, with so little undergrowth that walking was as easy and pleasant as upon an oriental rug in one’s parlor.
The two tramped silently for a half mile or more, and Mike was peering ahead among the shaggy tree columns, wondering how much farther they had to go, when the guide halted, turned and in his gentle voice said:
“Well, here we are, Michael, at last.”
They stood on the margin of a natural clearing of upward of an acre in extent, every square foot of which was under fine cultivation. Corn, potatoes, various kinds of vegetables and fruits grew under the training of a master hand. The soft ripple of a rivulet of clear, icy water was heard from the other side of the clearing, and was an unfailing source of supply during a drought.
Rather curiously, however, there was not a horse, cow, dog, cat, pig, chicken or any kind of domestic animal on the premises. Uncle Elk had never owned anything of the kind. Such supplies as he had to have were brought in his catboat from one of the near-by towns to a point on the Sheepscott, where he landed and carried them overland to his home.
In the center of the open space stood a log cabin, some twenty feet square and a single story in height. It was strongly made, with the crevices filled with moss and clay and had a stone chimney running up on the outside. The butts of the lower logs were a foot or more in diameter, and the whole structure showed a compactness, neatness and a certain artistic taste that pleased the eye at the first glance. It was self-evident that some parts of the labor were beyond the ability of a single man unless he were endowed with the strength of a Samson. It may be added that Uncle Elk received the help of several sturdy friends who were glad to do any favor possible for him.
The man paused on the edge of the clearing only long enough to give Mike a general view of the picture, when he led the way over the short, well-marked path to the single door that served as an entrance. It was of solid oaken slabs, from which a latchstring dangled, as a perpetual invitation to whoever chose to enter and find himself at home. At the front as well as the back, two small windows, each with four square panes, served to admit light.
If Mike Murphy was surprised by his first sight of the humble dwelling and grounds, he was amazed when he stepped across the threshold. The floor was of smooth planking, without carpet or rugs, but as clean as the kitchen of one of the vrouws of old Amsterdam. The broad fireplace held a crane from whose gallows-like arm was suspended a kettle, while a poker and pair of tongs leaned at one side. On a shelf to the right of the fireplace inclined a number of blue-tinted dishes besides various cooking utensils. From the wooden staples driven into the logs over the hearth hung a long-barreled percussion rifle, with powder flask and several other articles near. Three chairs, one with rockers, strongly made and evidently of home manufacture, sat promiscuously around the room, while a table or large stand of circular form stood in the middle of the apartment and a number of fishing poles with lines winding spirally around them leaned in one corner.
Perhaps the strangest feature of this lonely home was what may be called its library. Three shelves of unpainted wood stood against the wall, facing the door, and each shelf was compactly filled with well-bound books, and on the top rested a dozen magazines and papers. Nearly all the volumes were of a classical, scientific or theological character, the names of the authors being wholly unfamiliar to the visitor.
When Mike had become somewhat acquainted with the curious interior, he walked across the room and halted in front of the books, not to learn their titles, but to read a printed slip tacked into the wood. And this is what so impressed him that he committed the sentences to memory:
The Fourteen Errors of Life
To attempt to set up our own standard of right and wrong and expect everybody to conform to it.
To try to measure the enjoyment of others by our own.
To expect uniformity of opinion in this world.
To look for judgment and experience in youth.
To endeavor to mould all dispositions alike.
Not to yield in unimportant trifles.
To look for perfection in our own actions.
To worry ourselves and others about what cannot be remedied.
Not to alleviate if we can all that needs alleviation.
Not to make allowances for the weaknesses of others.
To conside
r anything impossible that we cannot ourselves perform.
To believe only what our finite minds can grasp.
To live as if the moment, the time, the day were so important that it would live forever.
To estimate people by some outside quality, for it is that within which makes the man.
There were two apartments of about the same size. The second was the bedroom. It had a looped curtain in the doorway and was provided with two of the small windows referred to. It was clear that Elkanah Sisum was a person of taste and education, who, as he said, had taken up his abode in the wilderness, not because he was soured against his fellow men, but on account of some crushing grief that had fallen upon him long years before. His words and what he had done proved his warm regard for boys, and, hermit though he undoubtedly was, his nature was as sweet as that of a devoted mother.
I have been thus particular in my reference to him, because through one of the strange freaks of fate his fortunes became involved with those of the Boy Patrols and others, and resulted in a remarkable drama which can never be forgotten by those who took part therein.
Mike had removed his hat upon entering the dwelling, and as he now faced the old man, who was watching him, the youth made the Boy Scout salute.
“I would utter me admiration, Uncle Elk, but in truth I’m that plaised that I’m unable to spake a single word.”
“A neatly turned compliment; suppose now I start the fire and we have supper.”
“Show me some way by the which I can offer ye a little help.”
“There is none unless you choose to bring me a pail of water from the brook beyond.”
“I’ll bring ye a barrelful if ye wish it,” replied the pleased Mike, accepting the empty tin pail, which sat on the floor beside the door. He strode along the path to the small stream of sparkling cold water, in which was a cavity deep enough to make a dipper or cup unnecessary. When he returned, Uncle Elk had the fire blazing on the broad hearth.
The Edward S. Ellis Megapack Page 298
