The Edward S. Ellis Megapack

by Edward S. Ellis

  “The chestnuts in the Middle States have suffered a good deal during the last few years,” said the Scout Master. “I had a couple of fine ones in my yard at home but some pest attacked them. I called in a tree surgeon, after doing all I could to save them, and he confessed that he was powerless. The disease first appeared in the neighborhood of New York in 1904. Two years later a hitherto unknown fungus was discovered growing in the substance of the bark of the tree, and it looks to me as if the blight will follow the chestnuts all the way to Tennessee, which is their southern range. Even your horse chestnuts do not escape and the all-pervading spruce is threatened with extinction from a vicious moth.”

  “That’s too bad,” commented more than one boy, who recalled the delights of chestnut hunting and the delicious flavor of the fruit itself, both raw and roasted; “we used to have such big crops of chestnuts that it didn’t pay the farmers to gather them.”

  “As plants, flowers and trees increase, so do their enemies,” commented Uncle Elk, “until it has become a constant fight for life. But man will always be the victor so long as he does not grow lazy or indifferent. Now we come upon several specimens of the white and the red oak. Will one of you point out the chief differences between them?”

  Alvin Landon nudged Mike, who saw that the eyes of the Instructor were fixed upon him.

  “You know the two colors; he is expecting you to answer.”

  Mike promptly fell into the trap.

  “One of ’em has red leaves and the ither white.”

  The reproving look of Mike in response to the general merriment caused even Uncle Elk and Scout Master Hall to laugh. Kenneth Henke and Bobby Snow between them explained that the grain of the red oak is hard, strong and coarse but warps and has little value for weather or ground work. Its acorns require two seasons to ripen, whereas those of the white oak mature in one season. The latter is called white because of the pale color of its bark and wood. This kind is fine-grained, heavy, strong, very durable and of great value. When we speak of “hearts of oak” it is always the white variety we have in mind. You know how important it is for ship building and other enterprises. There are too many varieties to be named in this place, and I fear an extended description would prove tedious to you.

  Tramping a short distance farther the Inspector directed the attention of the boys to a broad, spreading symmetrical tree fully a hundred feet high and with a trunk more than three feet in diameter. The bark was smooth and ash colored and the foliage purplish. It ranks among the handsomest trees of the American forest and every boy identified it at once as a beech, of the Fagus genus of trees. It is so common that I am sure you are all familiar with it. Possibly you are unaware that the roots do not descend deeply into the soil but extend to a considerable distance close under the surface. The beech is a favorite, and several beautiful varieties are cultivated, some displaying purple, silver, and other colored foliage. I recall a beech whose leaves in the autumn, after being touched by frost, were so vivid and blood red, that they resembled a huge cone of flaming fire when seen among the differently tinted foliage.

  One of the chief uses of the beech from the viewpoint of boys is to furnish an admirable surface upon which to carve their names with their jack-knives. I cannot compute the number of beech trunks in the woods of my boyhood home which display my initials. Only the other day I came across the bark, now bulging, contorted and overgrown, upon which I broke the blade of my new knife, when I was so young that I didn’t know any better than to form two of the letters backward. Moreover, a few feet above my name was that of my grandfather, which he cut into the bark when he was a youngster fully sixty years before.

  “The beech,” remarked Uncle Elk, “furnishes fire wood, though my preference is apple wood, followed next by hickory, sugar maple and beech.”

  Uncle Elk was too wise to weary his young friends with much scientific description. As he strolled forward, he made his talk more general and asked fewer questions. He reminded them of the excellent appearance of the white elm, which often grows to a height of a hundred feet or more. It is not valuable, however, because its reddish brown, coarse wood soon rots near the ground. A peculiarity of the sycamore, which often attains a stature of a hundred and fifty feet, is that it sheds its bark as well as its leaves.

  The black locust is another tree with which I am sure you are all familiar. You have seen rows of them lining the highways and growing about old lawns. The timber is close grained and tough and good for planking vessels. The mealy fruit is sweet, and we used to try to persuade ourselves that we liked it, but I don’t think any of us boys ever wholly succeeded.

  When boiled and fermented the juice forms an intoxicating drink resembling beer.

  I was always fond of the red and water or swamp maples. The sap from them when boiled down furnishes us the most delicious syrup and sugar in the world. When we seek the sugar, however, it is from the variety known by that name. The manufacture of maple sugar is a leading industry during the spring months in many sections, especially in Vermont, and some parts of New York and other states.

  Have you ever taken a hand in the making of maple sugar? If so, you will never forget its delights. In March, when the first signs of thaw appear, you bore only a little way with an auger into the juicy wood, when the sap comes bubbling down the small wooden spout driven into the opening, and is caught in the trough or kettle waiting below. As these fill up the sweet fluid is carried to a huge iron kettle suspended over a roaring fire, and poured into the vessel. It boils steadily away, but the supply is kept up, the steam diffusing a most fragrant odor through the surrounding atmosphere. The sap slowly grows thicker as the watery part is given off in vapor, until it granulates and syrup and sugar result.

  After the thick syrup is poured out of the big kettle there is always a considerable quantity left clinging to the interior. Balancing themselves over the edge of the iron reservoir, the heads of the boys used to disappear with only their feet showing while they scraped off the saccharine coating within and ate and ate until nature protested and we had perforce to cease, but were soon ready to resume our feast at the banquet of the gods.

  CHAPTER XI

  A Lesson In Trailing

  “Halt!” The Boy Scouts were tramping forward, chatting and laughing and paying less attention than at first to the varieties of trees which constantly appeared before them. It was true, as Uncle Elk had seen, that they were a wee bit tired of imbibing knowledge, and disposed to think of the home of the old man which they knew could not be far off. At the sound of his crisp command, the party halted and looked expectantly at him. On his part, he calmly surveyed the array of bright faces as if the sight gave him rare pleasure, as it undoubtedly did. Pausing for a moment, he said, addressing the whole body:

  “I wish you to separate and start on a hunt, each for himself. You must not go more than a hundred yards in any direction from where I am standing. Within that area you are to make diligent search for the trail of some animal of the woods that has passed within the last twenty-four hours.”

  “Is that all?” asked Mike loftily.

  “No; it will not be enough to discover his tracks, but you must tell me his name and some of his peculiarities.”

  “Suppose the spalpeen hasn’t got any name?” suggested Mike.

  “There is no such creature, my lad; to the one who first succeeds I shall give a handsome prize.”

  There could be no mistaking this direct challenge. The boys looked at one another for a moment and then fell apart as energetically as if a smoking bomb had dropped among them. They were more anxious to win a compliment from their Instructor than to gain anything in the nature of a prize. They had formed not only a deep respect but a real affection for the man; due to his lovable disposition and in a slight degree to the mystery which overshadowed his life.

  Had you been a spectator of the picture, you would have thought some valuable jewel or treasure had been lost among the leaves, and every lad was the owner of the same. Ne
ver did two score bright eyes scan the ground more closely; the boys seemed oblivious of everything else in the world, and as the minutes passed their earnestness grew tense.

  Uncle Elk nodded to Scout Master Hall, and the two sat down on a broad, flat boulder and watched proceedings. When they spoke to each other it was in guarded undertones. That there was a vein of waggery in the old gentleman’s makeup was proved by the fact that the Scout Master seemed to be trying hard to repress his merriment over certain remarks which Uncle Elk took pains that no one should overhear. Now and then when one of the boys looked at the couple, Mr. Hall’s face assumed a sudden gravity which vanished the instant the lad’s attention returned to the task before him. The Instructor easily hid his emotions, since his heavy beard served as a curtain, but his amusement was as great as that of the younger man. In fact, the Scout Master more than once heard a distinct chuckle.

  It will be understood that the problem before the scouts was not only a hard one but it grew harder as the search progressed. They could not help disturbing the leaves as they passed to and fro, no matter how careful they were, and this disturbance increased each minute, because the diameter of the space was no more than two hundred yards. It was interesting to observe the care used by each boy not to “jump the reservation.” Every now and then, one of them would stop his work, raise his head and locate his comrades. Rather than run the risk of wandering too far, he would edge nearer to the two men seated on the boulder and watching his actions.

  Several times a lad uttered an exclamation, believing he had caught sight of the footprints of some denizen of the woods. Instantly, several ran to him and joined in the scrutiny, but in each instance the belief of success became doubtful, finally vanished and the hunt went on as before. Upon many the conviction gradually forced itself that they had essayed that which was impossible.

  It was natural perhaps that the attention of the couple on the boulder should center upon Mike Murphy, who was the most ardent searcher of them all. He examined the ground near the spectators, but soon shifted to the periphery, as it may be called, of the big circle. With his buckthorn in hand, he poked among the leaves, so rumpling and overturning them that he would have obscured all the footprints that at first were visible. Unlike the others, Mike made visual search through the branches of the trees. After studying the ground for a while, he would straighten up and peer here and there among the limbs, as if certain that the answer to the problem would there reveal itself.

  “I’ve an idea,” he said to himself, “that it’s a grizzly bear or a big tiger that is prowling round, and scrooching among the leaves. If he should drop down on me shoulder and begin clawing me head, it would be as bad as when Terry Googan had the coort house fall on top of him—whisht!”

  Mike was thrilled at the moment by the discovery of that which he believed was the lost trail. Suppressing his emotions, he first made certain that none of the scouts was looking at him. He was vastly relieved to note that all were so absorbed in their own work that for the time they were oblivious. He did not glance in the direction of the two spectators on the boulder, for they were “out of it.”

  Devoting several minutes to a closer study of a depression near a decayed stump, Mike poked the leaves gently apart with his cane. Then he chortled, and turning about sauntered indifferently toward his friends, swinging his cane as if it were a swagger stick, and humming softly to himself.

  “By the way,” remarked Scout Master Hall, as he and his friend heard the soft musical notes, “Alvin and Chester tell me that Mike is gifted with a marvelous voice. A prima donna on the steamer was so impressed by it that she offered to educate him for the operatic stage, but Mike won’t think of such a thing.”

  “Have you ever heard him sing?”

  “No, but I intend soon to do so. He is modest with his gift, but is always ready to oblige. He seems to have learned something.”

  Mike had ceased his humming, and halting a few paces in front of the two made a quick half salute. The Scout Master’s face became serious and the manner of Uncle Elk could not have been graver.

  “Have you come to make your report, Michael?” he asked.

  “I hev, sorr.”

  “I hope you have been successful.”

  “I hev, sorr; I’ve found the futprints of the cratur that is trying to steal into the camp and ate us all up.”

  “That’s fine; but remember you must tell me what kind of a wild animal it is.”

  “I’m prepared to do the same.”

  “Well, Mr. Hall and I are listening.”

  “It’s an elephant.”

  Noting the start of the two, Mike made haste to add:

  “I knowed it would astonish ye, but I’m as sartin, as was me mither’s second cousin whin he was accused of being the meanest man in siven counties.”

  “What reason have you for thinking the creature is an elephant?”

  “The futprint is the biggest iver made; the elephant is the biggest animal that roams these woods; therefore the track is that of one of them craturs.”

  “Your logic is ingenious, Michael, but you do not produce the elephant.”

  “I’ve an idea that he’s hiding somewhere in the branches of the trees,” was the imperturbable reply of the Irish youth, who glanced up among the nearest limbs as if he expected to see the giant quadruped lurking there.

  “Mike,” interposed Scout Master Hall, “the elephant is not found in this country; you have made a mistake.”

  “Why, there isn’t a traveling circus that doesn’t have a half dozen more or less of ’em; what’s to prevint one from bidding good bye to his frinds and starting out to have a shindy with a lot of Boy Scouts?”

  By this time, it dawned upon the two men that the whole thing was a jest on the part of Mike. Convinced that neither he nor his companions could find the trail for which they had been searching, he yielded to his waggish propensity, as fully aware of the absurdity of his words as were those to whom he submitted his theory.

  The fact that the three persons by the boulder were discussing some interesting question had been observed by the other lads, who began strolling in that direction. Uncle Elk and Mr. Hall kept their seats and looked smilingly up into the expectant faces.

  “I am afraid,” said the Instructor sighing as if with disappointment, “that you have not been successful in your search.”

  The unanimous nodding of heads answered his query.

  “Shall I tell you why you failed?”

  The same response followed.

  “It is because you have been hunting for something which doesn’t exist; there is no animal’s trail within a hundred yards of this spot.”

  Scout Master Hall made no further effort to restrain his merriment. He turned partly on one side and laughed till he nearly fell off the boulder. Uncle Elk’s shoulders bobbed up and down and from behind the thicket of snow white whiskers issued sounds such as are made by water gurgling from the mouth of a bottle. The scouts like sensible lads enjoyed the joke none the less because they were the victims. They slapped one another on the shoulder, several flung up their hats and shouted, and two of them gave a fine imitation of a Scotchman dancing the Highland Fling.

  As might be expected, Mike Murphy was the first to regain his wits. The tempest of jollity had hardly passed, when he said:

  “It minds me of the time when I was snoring on board the launch Deerfut, draaming of watermelons and praties, whin a spalpeen, without asking me permission, picked me up and flung me overboard where the water was ’leven miles deep and I had niver swum a stroke in me life.”

  “Did you drown?” asked Isaac Rothstein in pretended dismay.

  “I s’pose I oughter done so, but I changed me mind and swum to shore.”

  (You will recall that, incredible as this may sound, it is precisely what occurred.)

  “I don’t see the similarity between that incident and this,” remarked Chester Haynes.

  “For the raison that there isn’t any, which is
why I call it to mind. Don’t ye obsarve that ye have been looking fur that which isn’t, as Uncle Elk has explained, and which is the same in me own case? The stoopidity of some folks is scand’lous, as Mickey Shaughnessy said whin his taycher expicted him to know how much two and two make whin the same are added togither.”

  “Well, boys,” spoke up the Instructor as he rose to his feet, “there’s a time for all things. We have had our jest and now must get down to business again. I suspect you know a little more about our native trees than you did when we left the bungalow, and you may digest that which you have swallowed. As the expression goes, the incident is closed. My next requirement is that you shall join forces and start a fire.”

  The request was so simple that the boys suspected the old man was indulging in another bit of pleasantry, noting which he added:

  “I am in earnest; I wish you to unite your skill and kindle a blaze right in front of the boulder where Mr. Hall and I have been sitting.”

  Gerald Hume of the Eagle Patrol laughed. “Nothing can be easier. All we have to do is to gather some dry leaves, pine cones and twigs, and touch them off with a match. We are allowed to use no more than two matches, and in a case like this one ought to be enough.”

  “A condition that I insist upon is that you shall not employ even a single match.”

  CHAPTER XII

  How It Was Done

  Scout Master Hall here interposed:

  “Uncle Elk, I don’t think any of the boys have a flint and steel, and I am sure I do not possess them; matches are so cheap and convenient that we have discarded the method of our grandparents.”

  “I knew that when I spoke; the conditions are that no match nor flint, steel and tinder shall be called into use. The only artificial helps the scouts can have are their knives, hatchets and such aids as they may carry with them. Come, boys, use your wits and inaugurate the conflagration.”

  The command or rather proposition stumped the lads, who looked at one another, smiled and shook their heads. Finally Patrol Leader Chase approached the Instructor, who was calmly waiting, saluted and said: