Uncle Elk was manifestly pleased by the chance to display his ingenuity.
“Let me explain several deductions of rather evident facts. At the right hand end of the upper shelf of books are four volumes: Fiske’s ‘Cosmic Philosophy’; James’ ‘Pragmatism’ and ‘Pluralistic Universe,’ and Henri Bergson’s ‘Creative Evolution.’ These books are a trifle out of alignment,—just enough so to show it was caused by some one else. Therefore he took them from their places. In returning the books to the shelf, he changed the places of Prof. James’ two works,—another proof if it were needed of the accuracy of my deduction. He must have stood exactly in front of that side of the book shelves, for on the floor to the right of such position are several short hairs, some black and some gray. They would not have fallen of themselves and must have been displaced by his fingers. They tell me his beard was grizzled or mixed and consequently he was in middle life.”
“Your explanation is based on the theory that he is right handed,” said the Scout Master; “are you not guessing there, Uncle Elk?”
“No; standing directly in front of the four volumes, the few threads of hair fell still further to the right. Their texture shows they came from his beard and not the crown of his head. They would not have fallen as they did unless they were displaced by the hand on that side of the man.”
“It seems to me,” continued the Scout Master, “that in so trifling a matter a person would make no distinction in the use of his hands. Besides, some persons are ambidextrous.”
“In certain circumstances he would use either hand, but the position of the outermost volume shows that it was shoved back by the same hand that loosened the two or three strands from his beard. When a man uses the same hand to do both of those things, it is good proof that he is right handed.”
“I am at a loss to understand how the position of the books shows that your visitor employed his right hand in restoring them to their places.” Uncle Elk’s eyes twinkled as he grew more subtle.
“You may think my explanation fine spun, but it is absolutely logical. It happens that ‘Pragmatism’ is the least interesting volume to me. I have not opened it for several weeks. A slight film of dust has gathered on the upper gilt edges. In withdrawing the book I rest my thumb against the upper part of the back and my first two fingers on the top; so every one does. Observe.”
Uncle Elk illustrated his words. With the book in his hand he shifted it about so that the sunlight was reflected from the bright yellow.
“There are the marks made by the first two fingers of a man’s hand, but the disturbance of the fine layer of dust clearly shows that the finger to the right was longer than the other. That is to say, it was the right hand: do I make myself clear?”
“You do how do you know the man sat down in your chair and rocked back and forth?”
“That is the simplest matter of all. I suppose that living as I do I become more or less a crank. One of my notions is never to leave the house without seeing that the left rocker of my chair is exactly over and in a line with that crack in the floor. Notice now and you will see that it rests diagonally across the crack. Do you ask anything plainer than that?”
It was Bobby Rice who made the natural remark:
“I don’t see why a rocking chair should shift about.”
“Arrah now, have ye no sinse?” asked Mike Murphy reprovingly; “Uncle Elk didn’t say why a rocking chair kicks up its heels, but ye ought to know that the craturs always do so without giving any raison or excuse. Haven’t I tried to use me mither’s chair at home wid the result that it always hitches through the dure whin I’m not thinking and gives me a back somersault? Ye surprise me by your stupidity, as Jim Hooligan said whin his taycher remarked he could not see what plisure a lad found in fighting two ither lads.”
“Why were you so quick to say your visitor is a man in good circumstances?” asked Scout Master Hall.
“Because he smokes fifteen-cent cigars. Most campers out are fond of the brier-wood pipe, but when they use cigars they don’t buy expensive ones unless they can afford it, and not always then.”
“What fact gives you so much confidence in their quality?”
“I know the brand, for I have smoked them myself; I caught the fragrance the moment I opened the door; the silken ashes which he flipped off in the fireplace is another proof if you wish it. Michael, are you satisfied?”
“I couldn’t do better mesilf, but ye haven’t completed yer rivelations.”
“What is lacking?”
“I demand that ye give us the name of the gintleman that ye niver met or heard of and that spint a part of today at yer risidence.”
“He is a physician named Wilson Spellman.”
The boys stared at one another, with expressions of incredulity. It sounded as if Uncle Elk was presuming too far upon their simplicity. By way of answer he drew a card from his pocket and held it up so that those nearest readily read the name engraved thereon. Below it were the pencilled words:
“Come and see me at my camp on the upper side of the lake.”
Scout Master Hall recalled the crossing of the floor by Uncle Elk, when he opened the door, as well as his quick scrutiny of the book shelves.
“The message written below shows the doctor’s friendly disposition, and is a further proof—which was not needed—that he is a white man. Since he has waived ceremony and called upon me, I shall not wait long before returning the courtesy.”
“He has been in the neighborhood for three days?” said the Scout Master inquiringly.
“Yes; I saw the smoke of his camp-fire three mornings ago. We should have seen him paddling across the lake this morning, had we not all been so far in the woods.”
The Boy Scouts now wandered over the grounds, under the direction of their owner, who suggested that as it was near noon, they should use their lines and prepare a fish dinner as his guests. The Scout Master thanked him but amended by proposing that they should all go back to the clubhouse, where they had abundant supplies and every needed convenience, and that he should favor them with his presence. He finally decided to stay in his own home until late in the afternoon, when he would join them for supper. He agreed to this the more readily since it was understood that Mike Murphy was to be initiated as a Tenderfoot Scout,—that is provided he could pass the necessary examination. No one except he and Uncle Elk knew the thorough instruction he had received and the boys, including the Scout Master, thought it hardly possible for the youth to answer the questions, unless they were made specially easy. It was the self-confidence of Mike himself that permitted the test to go on.
“Don’t let up aither,” he said to the leader; “soak it into me the best ye know how. If I’m to be squashed, I want to be squashed fair and square, as Pat Rooney said whin three automobiles ran over him.”
The balmy afternoon passed rapidly, with several of the boys fishing from the canoes along shore and others wandering through the woods, brightening their knowledge of the different trees and studying the birds, of which only a moderate number were observed.
Scout Master Hall saw in Mike Murphy the making of a model Boy Scout. It may be said that when the troop convened that evening, chiefly by the glow of the oil lamp suspended overhead from a beam in the middle of the ceiling, the meeting was a special one, called for the purpose of helping a young tenderfoot along the trail. The proceedings may not have been strictly regular, but no criticism could be made upon their spirit.
Uncle Elk was invited to occupy the seat of honor as it may be called, but he preferred to remain in the background as observer and listener. The night was cool enough to make enjoyable the crackling logs on the broad hearth and to add to the illumination of the spacious apartment. There was considerable rain and cool weather in August that year.
At about eight o’clock, Scout Master Hall opened the session with a commendation of the Boy Scout organization and a compliment to those who wished to join it. As it was impossible to have the examination conducted as pr
escribed by the Court of Honor, the Scout Master assumed the duty himself.
The second step would have been the collection of observation lists for future use, but this was omitted, as was the call for drill formation. The National Flag was displayed and the scout salute and sign followed, winding up with two good yells which made the rafters of the bungalow ring.
Mike was now questioned as to his knowledge of our banner. He was entitled to a written examination, but declined it and again urged his examiner to show no mercy. Standing in the middle of the room the candidate amazed his listeners. Not only did he promptly answer every prescribed question, but he interjected many facts that were new to nearly all who heard them. I have already hinted of several, such, for instance, as that our flag throughout the War of 1812 bore fifteen instead of thirteen stripes, and that Congress restored the original number in 1818, knowing that otherwise the beautiful symmetry of the emblem would be destroyed by the increase in the number of States.
“Michael,” said the Instructor from where he was sitting; “can you tell us to whom the credit belongs for the present pattern of our flag?”
“To Captain Samuel C. Reid—God bless his memory!”
“And who was Captain Samuel C. Reid?”
“He commanded the American privateer, General Armstrong, which knocked the iver-lasting stuffing out of a British squadron of three vessels and two thousand men, while he had liss than a hundred heroes. Worra, worra, what a shindy that must have been!”
And then Mike impressively repeated the lines that Uncle Elk had taught him:
“Tell the story to your sons
Of the gallant days of yore,
When the brig of seven guns
Fought the fleet of seven score.
From the set of sun till morn, through the long September night—
Ninety men against two thousand, and the ninety won the fight—
In the harbor of Fayal in the Azore.”
By this time, the Scout Master and everyone of the boys were convinced of the truth. They knew the theme that had engaged Uncle Elk and Mike the evening before, and had they felt any doubt on that point it would have been quenched by the sly glances that flitted between the couple.
The next requirement was for the candidate to step to the table in the middle of the room, where two pieces of hempen cord had been laid, and to tie at least four of the eight knots which have been already explained. He held up the pieces, like a magician about to give an exhibition of his skill, and tied every one with a deft quickness that brought a hum of admiration.
Then he took the scout oath, explaining all its provisions in his own language or rather in that of his brilliant teacher, not forgetting the significance of the scout badge and that which is worn by the tenderfoot. The Scout Master pinned the badge over the left upper pocket of his coat. The whole company clapped their hands.
“I am delighted, Mike,” said Mr. Hall; “I never knew any one to acquit himself so admirably. If the opportunity presents itself, you will make as creditable a Second Class and finally a First Class Scout, with no end of merit badges. You know you must serve a month before you are eligible for the next grade. Our stay in Maine will be no longer than that and I shall not have the pleasure, therefore, of witnessing your advancement. Your home is in this State and you will probably demit from our Patrol and join some other more convenient. I understand that Rev. Mr. Brown, the Methodist minister at Boothbay Harbor, has organized a fine company of Boy Scouts, and they will be glad to welcome you to their ranks. I wonder, even when I know the circumstances, how you acquired such a knowledge of the duties of a tenderfoot.”
“Begging yer pardon,” replied Mike with a grin; “there’s no cause fur wonder. The knowledge of which ye spake and which passed through me noddle, come from him.”
And he pointed at Uncle Elk, sitting behind the others, who so far as his beard permitted one to see, smiled and said nothing.
CHAPTER XIV
The Story of Johnny Appleseed
It has already been made clear to you that the sojourn of the troop of Boy Scouts in the southern Maine woods during this summer was simply a vacation in which there was a relaxation of rigid discipline such as attended their hikes and what may be called business outings. A certain part of each week-day was devoted to drill; the bugle was sounded morning and evening; the National Flag was saluted; yells practiced and so on. The leader simply kept the youngsters on edge, as may be said. They were given full liberty most of the time, with freedom to use the canoes for fishing in the lake, or to wander in the woods studying trees, bird and insect life, as the varying tastes of the boys prompted. One of the most enjoyable treats of the boys was that of story telling. This took place in the evening after supper, the extinguishment of the outdoor fires, the putting away of the dishes and the setting of things to rights. Scout Master Hall was never at a loss for an instructive or amusing “yarn,” but was too wise to give the boys a surfeit. He encouraged them in the discussion of different subjects, to explain what they had read and to try their own skill at story telling.
“Never hurry in relating anything,” said he, “for to do so is to weaken its effect and cause impatience on the part of your listeners. Try to bring out all the points; don’t grow garrulous or wander from the main thread; don’t preach, or fish for a moral where there isn’t any, and finally stop when you are through.
“Now, nothing is more certain than that Uncle Elk has an exhaustless fund of stories in his wealth of knowledge and experience. You have me with you always—or at least a good deal of the time—while we shall not have him half as much as we wish. Let us, therefore, use him while we can. Uncle Elk, tell us a story.”
Every boy clapped his hands and looked expectantly at the old gentleman sitting modestly in the background. He bowed in recognition, while those who were seated in chairs shifted them around and those on the floor adjusted their positions so as to face him.
“As Michael would say, this is so sudden that I am uncertain for the moment how best to comply with your wishes; but while listening to the examination of our young friend and the well chosen words of Mr. Hall, I called to mind the record of a man who lived and died many years before any of you were born, and who in many respects will serve as a model for all Boy Scouts.”
And this is the story which Uncle Elk told, and concerning which I wish merely to say that it is strictly true in every particular:
“One of the strangest characters who had to do with the settlement of the Middle West was Jonathan Chapman, born in New England in 1770. He was of gentle birth, and well educated, but was ill treated by a young woman. I have never heard the particulars, but it is said she turned him away in favor of another person, and Chapman felt so bad he made an exile of himself.
“Now, boys, quite likely when you become a few years older, you will meet some young woman who you will feel sure is the finest person of her sex that ever lived, and perhaps you will think life isn’t worth while unless you can win her love. I hope you will have no such disappointments, but, if you do, don’t let it break your heart. You have heard the old saying that there are as fine fish in the sea as ever were caught. So there are thousands of excellent girls and if you don’t gain the first one you fix your affections upon, brace up and look around for another.”
“And ’spose she likewise turns ye down, as was the case wid Tim O’Shaughnessy in Ireland, who was rejected by more young leddies than he could kaap count of?” gravely inquired Mike Murphy.
“Stick to it; never give up the ship.”
“I’ll sind yer advice to Tim, though I misgive me that he will die of old age while the search is still going on, but he must find enj’yment in coorting or he wouldn’t keep at it as he does and smile all the time.”
“Well, to go back to Jonathan Chapman. He felt so bad that he packed up his belongings and left New England forever. He started for the West as it was then called and the next heard of him was in what are now the states of Ohio, Illinois a
nd Kentucky, which at that time formed a part of the vast, wild Northwest Territory. He tramped by himself among the scattered settlements and visited the different tribes of Indians, who in those years were continually on the war path; but no red man, no matter how fierce, ever tried to harm Chapman.”
“How was that?” asked Alvin Landon, voicing the surprise of the other boys.
“The Indians believe that any one whose brain is unbalanced, or who is seemingly lacking in some of his mental faculties, is under the special care of the Great Spirit, and instead of trying to injure such a person they will befriend him.”
Mike nudged Alvin and said in an undertone which, however, every one heard:
“Ye needn’t be afeared, me friend, to spend your days among the same red gintlemen.”
Alvin shook his fist at his friend, who dodged an imaginary blow. Uncle Elk smiled at the by-play and continued:
“In some respects Chapman was a model Scout, for no kinder hearted man ever lived. He would never kill an animal unless to save his own life and even then he grieved over the necessity which made him do it. When he almost stepped upon a coiled rattler, he would turn aside and leave him unharmed. One cold night he started a fire at the base of a huge oak in the woods. A few minutes later he heard a great scratching inside the hollow trunk and the snout of a she-bear was thrust out of the opening above his head. She and her cubs were alarmed by the unusual proceeding and she seemed to be getting ready to make a change of quarters with her family. Chapman instantly kicked apart the burning brands and left. The story is that he sat and shivered in other quarters the night through, but I can’t see the necessity for that and I must think he kindled a new fire after making sure he did not disturb any wild creature.
“Chapman is remembered in the history of the Middle West as ‘Johnny Appleseed,’ because he thought it was his mission to distribute apple seeds among the settlers and Indians, asking only that they should be planted and the king of all fruits cultivated. With a bag thus filled and slung over his shoulder, he tramped for hundreds of miles through all sorts of weather, sometimes paddling down or up a river, sleeping wherever night overtook him, often in Indian lodges and again in the lonely cabin of some settler, or by the camp fire of a party of scouts far in the depths of the wilderness. Whoever his hosts might be he presented them with handfuls of seeds and made them promise to plant and tend the fruit. Very few failed to keep their promise to him.
The Edward S. Ellis Megapack Page 306
