“Nothing can be truer than that; the advantages we have are many, but without brains and application they will do us little good. Your offer to help us along these paths of knowledge is gratefully accepted. We shall make frequent calls upon you, with the understanding that you will often come and see us. We have studied woodcraft a good deal, just enough to realize, as you have reminded us, how little we know of it. We need an instructor and we hereby close with your offer without giving you time to withdraw it.”
Addressing the scouts, the Master said:
“The only matters to be settled are the title that is to go with Uncle Elk’s office and the size of salary that is to be paid him as instructor.”
“Suppose you leave the latter question to me,” gravely suggested the old man.
Scout Master Hall pretended to be undecided and asked his boys quizzically:
“Is it safe to do that?”
“There doesn’t seem to be any help for it,” replied Patrol Leader Chase.
“Then we may as well make a virtue of necessity; and now as to the proper title which Uncle Elk is to assume. I am ready for suggestions.”
Uncle Elk and the Scout Master listened with amusement to the proposals of the boys. All were eagerly interested and nearly every one submitted at least one proposal. Some of them were overwhelming. Perhaps the most striking was that of Gordon Calhoun, Scout 5 of Patrol 2. It was “Lieutenant-General and Supreme Counsellor and Master of the Mysteries of the Woods.”
Uncle Elk and Scout Master Hall laughed.
“If I were of the African race, that would suit me exactly, but, as it is, the weight would crush me. Try, boys, to hit upon something simple.”
Calhoun joined in the merriment at his expense and gave up.
Isaac Rothstein, the black-haired, dark-eyed Jewish member of the Stag Patrol, amid the hush of his comrades said:
“Why not call Uncle Elk ‘Instructor in Woodcraft’?”
“You’ve hit it,” commented the pleased visitor.
“I agree with you,” said the Scout Master, patting the shoulder of the blushing boy who stood at his side. “The name is simple and expressive and therefore meets every requirement without paining the modesty of the gentleman who wears it; and now, Mr. Instructor, may I be permitted to ask when it will suit your convenience to begin earning your salary?”
Uncle Elk glanced up at the sky and noted the position of the sun.
“It is now a few minutes past eleven; the day is so far along that I propose to go back to my home and stay there until tomorrow morning. Nothing unexpected occurring, I shall be here at half-past eight o’clock. I shall not come in my boat but on foot, prepared to take up my duties.”
(Scout Master Hall slyly glanced at his watch, while the man was speaking. The hands showed it was six minutes past eleven.)
“You will remain and take dinner with us.” The Instructor nodded.
“I shall be pleased. Meanwhile, may I witness a drill of your troop?”
The Scout Master blew a sharp blast on his whistle and strolled to the front of the clubhouse, the Instructor beside him. Facing about, the former nodded and a pretty exhibition followed. The three patrols composing the troop, each under the command of its leader, went through the maneuvers with a precision and unity that were almost perfect.
The troop formed in two ranks, the second covering the intervals between the scouts in the first rank, the feet turned out at an angle of forty-five degrees, the body erect, arms hanging easily, fingers slightly bent, head up and eyes to the front. This is the “Alert” position. It will be remembered that the boys carried no weapons.
The next command was to “stand at ease.” Each left foot was shifted eight or ten inches to the left, the weight of the body being thus equally divided on both feet; the hands were carried behind the back, one loosely resting on the palm of the other, the grasp being maintained by the fingers and thumb. Then followed “dressing,” the different turnings,—right-turn, left-turn, about-turn, and right and left half-turn.
In the brief pause that occurred at this moment, Instructor Sisum asked the Scout Master in a voice which all heard:
“What are the rules regarding salutes?”
The Scout Master nodded to Corporal Robe, who with a sly grin passed the question to Private Harold Hopkins, and he, having no one to whom he could shift it, promptly replied, accompanying his words with a practical illustration:
“We have the half salute and the full salute. Scouts use the half salute when they meet for the first time in the day. The fingers are held as in the full salute, but the right hand is raised only shoulder high, with palm to the front.
“For the full salute we raise the hand to the forehead, elbow in line and nearly square with the shoulder, for one or two seconds.”
“When should this salute be given?” asked the Instructor.
“When a private meets one of his officers, any commissioned officer of the United States army, or the colors of a regiment when passing the body at a funeral; on such occasions as the Fourth of July, Flag Day, Memorial Day; when the Stars and Strips are hoisted, and, if in uniform, when the ‘Star Spangled Banner’ or ‘My Country’ is played.”
“Which hand should be employed in making the salute?”
“The same rule holds as in the United States army; it must be done by the hand farthest from the person saluted. In addressing an officer a Scout will halt two paces from him and salute and will repeat it before withdrawing.”
Other exercises were followed by the troop drill. The scouts fell into line for inspection, with the assistant patrol leader on the right of each patrol, the leader one pace in front of his patrol and the Scout Master two paces in front of the line.
You will not care for a detailed description of the pleasing drill. If you wish to learn the various movements, the best plan is to become a Boy Scout, and at the same time improve yourself mentally, morally and physically.
Having dismissed the troop with liberty to do as they pleased until dinner time, Scout Master Hall seated himself on the piazza extending along the front of the clubhouse, beside his visitor, intending to spend the interval before dinner time in conversation. He had become much interested in the old gentleman about whom was wrapped something of mystery. Hall expected a partial explanation or at least some reference to the cause of Uncle Elk’s self exile, but he did not give any hint, and of course Hall was silent on that point.
Thus it came about that when the Instructor in Woodcraft paddled away in his canoe, quite early in the afternoon, neither the Scout Master nor his boys knew anything of their visitor beyond the fact that he was a most attractive old gentleman, with whom they expected to spend many pleasant hours while serving as his pupils in the woods.
CHAPTER IX
The New Tenderfoot
The next day was as sunshiny, clear and delightful as any that had greeted the Boy Scouts since their visit to Maine. As before, they prepared their morning meal out of doors, cleaned the dishes, and laid the fuel for use at midday.
Naturally the thoughts of all turned to Instructor Uncle Elk, who was to give them their first lesson in woodcraft. They felt they were fortunate in this respect and were sure of gaining a good deal of valuable knowledge.
“He said he would be here at half-past eight,” remarked Scout Master Hall; “he carries no watch but most of you have timepieces; it will be interesting to note how nearly he hits it. Possibly he may be a little ahead of time, but I should be willing to wager anything he will not be a minute late.”
“He ought to be allowed some margin,” said Patrol Leader Chase; “for he has two miles to tramp through the woods, and is likely to vary a little one way or the other.”
“What time does your watch show?”
A general comparison of timepieces followed. Inevitably a slight variation showed here and there, but the agreement was that it was practically a quarter past eight. A number glanced in the direction of the wood where the old man was expected
to appear but he was invisible.
“There is always the possibility of accident—”
“There he comes!” exclaimed several.
“It isn’t he,” said the Scout Master, “it’s a stranger.”
The others had noted the fact, and the wonder grew when they observed that the person approaching wore the garb of a Boy Scout. He stepped boldly into view from among the trees, a hundred yards away, and came forward with an erect, dignified gait. In his left hand he grasped a heavy buckthorn cane, which he handled as if it were a plaything instead of an aid in walking. His pace was deliberate, his shoulders thrown back and his chest thrust forward, as if he held a high opinion of his own importance.
It was noticed even that his necktie dangled over his breast, that artifice as you know being a favorite one among Boy Scouts to remind them of their duty of doing a good turn for some one before the set of sun.
Twenty paces away the visitor halted with military promptness, and wearing the same solemn visage made the full salute.
“Where are yer manners, and ye calling yersilves Boy Scouts?” demanded the newcomer indignantly; “can’t ye recognize a high mucky-muck when he honors ye by noticing ye, as Jim O’Shaughnessy asked the Prince of Wales when he pretinded he did not obsarve him?”
Alvin Landon and Chester Haynes happened to be on the edge of the party farthest removed from the caller, whom they had identified at the first glimpse.
“It’s Mike, as sure as I live!” whispered Alvin; “let’s keep in the background for a few minutes; he hasn’t noticed us.”
It was surely strange that the scouts in their wonderment forgot for the moment to greet one of the brotherhood who had appeared so suddenly upon the scene. They made amends by crowding round him with profuse apologies, shaking his hand and giving him a cordial welcome. It was the unanimous consensus of the troop that they had never seen a redder mop of hair, a more freckled face, a snubbier nose and more general homeliness of countenance concentrated in one person; nor had they ever observed a finer set of teeth—though the mouth was big—or bluer twinkling eyes. As I have remarked before, the Irish lad suggested Abraham Lincoln, of whom it was said that he traveled the whole circle of homeliness and came back to the starting point of manly beauty.
Alvin and Chester now walked forward and greeted their old friend, who was as glad to see them as they were to meet him.
“Why were you so late?” asked Alvin, when the exclamations were over.
“’Twas yer own fault, fur ye made the mistake of addrissing yer letter to dad instead of to mesilf, as ye mustn’t forgit to do when yer bus’ness is of importance. It was like him to furgit to ask me for the dockymint till it was too late to board the expriss for Gosling Lake.”
“How is it you come so early in the day? Have you been walking all night or sleeping in the woods near by?”
“I passed yer camp yisterday, but obsarved yer were not riddy to resave me in fitting style and not wishing to embarrass ye I called on a frind of mine.”
“What friend have you in this part of the country?” asked the astonished Chester.
“An uncle on me cousin Tim’s side.”
“What’s his name?”
“Uncle Elk.”
Alvin now introduced Mike to Scout Master Hall and the boys. All knew that a friend was expected, and they were sure of his identity when they heard the greetings between the comrades.
“So you are acquainted with that fine old gentleman?” was the pleased inquiry of the head of the Boy Scouts.
“It has that look, whin I supped wid him last night, stayed till morning, took breakfast and was started by him on me way to yersilves.”
“He spent several hours with us yesterday and promised another visit today. In fact, we were watching for him when you came out of the woods.”
“He niver hinted a word of the same to mesilf. If ye are expicting him,” said Mike with a characteristic grin; “I won’t longer deny that I lost me way yisterday, and if he hadn’t found me I’d had to roost among the limbs of the trees till this morn.”
“I don’t understand why Uncle Elk did not keep you company when he expected to follow you so soon,” said Alvin.
“He hasn’t been out of my sight for a minute since he left my home.”
All looked in the direction of the familiar voice. Their Instructor in Woodcraft had appeared among them as unobtrusively as a shadow.
Scout Master Hall looked at his watch. The hands showed that it lacked twenty-eight minutes to nine. Uncle Elk remarked:
“I stood behind the oak for a couple of minutes; I did not tell Michael of my engagement with you, for I wanted to observe what benefit my instruction last night was to him.”
“Didn’t I do foine?” asked the proud youth.
“You did not; I directed you to hold to a straight line till you reached camp, but you twisted and shifted about until more than once I thought you would turn back to my cabin.”
“Ye see, Uncle Elk, I couldn’t furgit that winsome breakfast ye gave me, and then, too, some of the trees had a way of getting in front of me and I had to turn out for ’em or walk through ’em, as Jim O’Toole tried to do whin he found all the Horse Guards drawn up in front of him.”
“When you were half way here, you walked for fifty yards at right angles to the right course. I was about to call to you when you see-sawed back.”
“Begging pardon fur the same,” said the grinning Mike, “I don’t understand that when I looked back many times I niver obsarved yersilf.”
“You turned your head so slowly that you gave me notice of your intention; if not close to a tree trunk, I stood still and you did not see me. There are native tribes in India whose men when pursued will whisk behind the rocks and instantly assume such fantastic attitudes, with arms akimbo and legs at queer angles, that the pursuers are likely to mistake the whole company for so many leafless trees and pass them by.”
The Instructor seemed to straighten up with his new responsibility.
“We shall plunge directly into the woods, following a course that will lead to my home. We have left so plain a trail on the leaves that you can have no trouble. We shall proceed in loose order, all on the same level, with no officers except the Scout Master.”
“I beg to amend that,” said Bert Hall, “by saying that you are the only officer. So long as you are in charge, I am a private.”
“Perhaps it is as well; go ahead.”
By chance Mike Murphy assumed the lead, with Alvin and Chester a pace or two behind him. Permission was given to talk and the chatter became incessant. The Instructor kept a little to the right so as to observe the action of each boy. He told them to use their eyes and to note everything,—the ground, the different species of trees, the foliage and the birds. The forest had very little undergrowth and in the cool twilight no exercise could have been more pleasant than tramping over the velvety leaves with pine cones scattered here and there, and patches of dry, spongy moss gently yielding to the tread like some rich, oriental carpet. While advancing in this disjointed fashion Mike came abreast of a fallen pine, a couple of feet in diameter, its smooth tapering trunk extending twenty times as far before showing a limb. Mike rested one foot on the log and stepped lightly over. Alvin followed, but Chester cleared the obstruction with one vigorous bound. Their companions did the same with the exception of two lads who merely lifted their feet over.
“Halt!” commanded the Instructor, in a sharp, military voice.
All obeyed and looked inquiringly at him.
“Of the whole party only two passed that obstacle in the right way. My young friends, you must learn to save your strength when in the woods as well as when elsewhere. Every one who rested one foot on the log had to lift the whole weight of his body to the height of the same; those who leaped over, put forth unnecessary effort; the right method is simply to step over the obstruction. Go ahead.”
“Suppose now,” said Mike to Alvin and Chester, “that log was six feet hi
gh, wouldn’t I be likely to split into twins if I tried to straddle the same?”
Chester turned the question, expressed more gracefully, to the Instructor.
“He should always go round an obstacle. Never clamber over a mass of rocks or anything of that nature, unless the distance is too great to flank the obstruction. Save your strength whenever you can, boys.”
The scouts were now told to give special attention to the trees, different varieties of which were continually coming into view.
“Michael, tell me what you know of that.”
The leader pointed his staff at a tree directly in front of the youth, who cocked his head to one side and squinted at it.
“With yer permission I beg leave to say we don’t have such scand’lous growths in Ireland; it seems to be trying to shed its overcoat and not making a success of the same, as Mike Flaherty said after his friends had tarred and feathered him.”
The other boys were able to give satisfactory information. You are all familiar with the “shagbark” or “shellbark” white hickory, which furnishes you the delicious nuts that too many of you are inclined to crack with your sound teeth. The wood is white, rich, solid and makes the best kind of fuel. The tree itself is tall, graceful and has large leaves. Its most striking peculiarity is the bark, which clings in shaggy slabs to the trunk, the patches being stuck in the middle with the upper and lower ends curling outward; hence the name. In the autumn, when the frosts have popped open the husks, it is rare fun for a number of boys to seize hold of a heavy beam of wood and use it as a battering ram. When after a brief, quick run it is banged against the trunk the nuts rattle down in a shower. No imported fruit can compare with our native, thin-shelled hickory nut, which does not grow very plentifully in Maine.
“These chaps know so much more than me about the trees,” remarked Mike to his chums, “I’ll show ’em proper respict by not introoding, as Berry Mulligan said when he stepped into a hornets’ nest.”
The Edward S. Ellis Megapack Page 302
