Glass _i/l2^ 
 Book T/j^ 
 CopyrightN^ i 
 
 COPYRIGHT DEPOSm 
 
ROUGHING IT 
 WITH BOYS 
 
 Actual Experiences of Boys at 
 
 Summer and Winter Camps 
 
 in the Maine Woods 
 
 G. W. HINCKLEY 
 
 General Supervisor, Good Will Association, 
 Hinckley, Maine. 
 
 New York: 124 East 28th Street 
 London: 47 Paternoster Row, E.G. 
 
SKs.ot 
 
 Copyright, 1913, by 
 
 The Intebnational Committee of 
 
 YoiTNG Men's Christian Associations 
 
 DEC 27 191 
 
 :i,AS6i332 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 Chapter Page 
 
 I. The Passing of the Camp I 
 
 II. A Winter Hike to Sebasticook Lake .... 4 
 
 III. That Tramp to Cobbosseecontee 49 
 
 IV. Through the Snow to Sebec 76 
 
 V. Summer Days at Sebec Lake 129 
 
 VI. Memoirs of a Camp for Two 172 
 
 VII. Letters from a Camp by the Sea 196 
 
 VIII. My Thirteenth Trip 210 
 
 IX. The Year after the Thirteenth 221 
 
 X. At Pleasant Pond 230 
 
 XL A Camp Chowder 257 
 
PREFACE 
 
 A tale of real travel may not be as exciting as 
 a fictitious story of adventure ; each has its value. 
 A more skilful writer might have made the follow- 
 ing pages bristle with thrilling adventure, but the 
 camp life of real boys is made up of rather common- 
 place incidents, as the days come and go. It may 
 be best that boys understand that successful camp 
 life, for boys and their leaders, does not necessarily 
 consist of hair-breadth escapes and blood-curdling 
 incidents. 
 
 There is no fiction in this book. The boys who 
 were part of the camp life of these pages were real 
 boys and are still living. The chapters were first 
 printed in a monthly publication with no thought 
 that they would ever be put in permanent form. 
 They are records of experiences so pleasant that 
 the thought of them quickens my blood, and fills 
 me with determination to make opportunities for 
 other outings with real boys. 
 
 G. W. Hinckley. 
 Hinckley, Maine, 
 December, 191 3. 
 
THE PASSING OF THE CAMP 
 
 Early in the year I asked a man how many boys 
 in the United States would camp out in the sum- 
 mer of 1 9 10, His reply was interesting. After 
 careful thought he said that two hundred and fifty 
 thousand boys would spend some part of the sum- 
 mer in camp, the periods varying from a few days 
 to a number of weeks; that this was a conserva- 
 tive estimate and should it be proven that twice 
 two hundred and fifty thousand was nearer the ex- 
 act number, he would not be surprised. The figures 
 are worth attention because they are given by a 
 man who, on account of his position, his work and 
 his knowledge of what is in progress among boys, 
 is better qualified to estimate than any other person 
 in the country. His estimate does not include the 
 multitudes who are sleeping in tents, in their front 
 yards or at sanatoriums, in a fight with the "White 
 Plague," nor does it include adults at all. 
 
 It is a healthy trend. Our race began its career 
 in the open. After a time it began to build houses. 
 The houses were made closer and closer, tighter 
 and tighter, until air was shut out. If a man were 
 feeble, it was understood that the most dangerous 
 thing he could do was to breathe air out-of-doors 
 
2 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 
 
 after sunset until the sun was well into the heavens 
 again; night air was believed to be deadly though 
 it was all that was available. The race was dying; 
 dying of its own stupidity; dying from in-doorness. 
 
 Then there arose apostles of fresh air; they 
 preached the doctrine of out-doorness ; the race was 
 getting its breath again, and coming into its own. 
 
 But the camp — the real thing — is passing; it 
 makes a man smile to hear men and boys tell about 
 camping out ; it smacks of absurdity. 
 
 The way men do it now is thus: Someone gets 
 the fever to camp out; he reads much about camp 
 life and his enthusiasm rises; he scans the adver- 
 tisements of men who have " Camps" and he opens 
 correspondence. In process of time all arrange- 
 ments have been made; the man is going to ''camp 
 out." After a day's journey — more or less — in a 
 parlor car — he arrives at the terminal; the porter 
 helps him from the car, carries his luggage to the 
 boat and receives his tip. Another porter takes 
 him in charge until the wharf is reached. A boy 
 from the camp is on the wharf to meet him, and 
 he is escorted up a plank walk to the " Camp. " It 
 is built of logs, shingled, fitted with windows and 
 doors; out of his "room" opens a bath with open 
 plumbing, porcelain tub and hot and cold water; 
 the camp is lighted with electricity or some new 
 illuminating gas. In another end of the "camp" 
 is the dining room where he is served with the same 
 varieties of food that he would get at the best hotel 
 
THE PASSING OF THE CAMP 3 
 
 in the city and served in the same manner. He 
 goes fishing; the guide rows the boat, lands the 
 fish, maintains his own rugged health and iron 
 muscle; the man who is "camping" sits and sees 
 it done. "It is just glorious to camp out, you 
 know; and really there are no great hardships." 
 It is the up-to-date way of doing things; one must 
 have all modern conveniences if he is going into 
 "camp." 
 
 But why call it camping? And why deceive 
 your self with the thought that you are engaged in 
 the nerve building, muscle hardening, life pro- 
 longing pastime of camping out? It is a counter- 
 feit, a farce, and should be called by some other 
 name; call it an "outing" but not camping. 
 
 Many boys' camps are conducted on the same 
 general principle. It seems to be assumed that a 
 boy does not know how to do any one of a hundred 
 things that would prove a positive benefit ; and that 
 because he does not know he should never learn. 
 
 Three years ago, I camped out with four or five 
 boys; it was the real thing. We had taken our 
 blankets, cooking utensils and all needed imple- 
 ments with us; we had cut some poles, fitted them 
 to the tent and put the canvas in position. Then 
 I left the boys alone for an hour saying to them : 
 
 "Make a fireplace and build a fire, stir up some 
 griddle-cakes, and have them ready when I return; 
 I'll be hungry" 
 
 When I returned the boys had done what I 
 
4 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 
 
 told them to do; they had done it according to 
 their best knowledge, and I judge they had worked 
 Uke beavers. A hole had been dug in the ground 
 about fourteen inches deep; it was round as a 
 saucer and three feet in diameter. In this hole 
 they had built a fire, piled on dry wood until 
 they had a mass of flames and coals as broad 
 as the hole but completely filling it and round- 
 ing it up. It was immense. One of the boys 
 had stirred the batter; he was holding a short- 
 handled frying-pan in his hand and trying to cook 
 the griddle-cakes in it! The fire was so hot that 
 he could not hold the pan near it for more than 
 three or four pujse beats at a time and he was 
 thrusting the pan toward the fire, drawing it back 
 again, and each time blowing on his scorched hand. 
 He was red in the face and beads of sweat were 
 on his forehead. As he extended the pan towards 
 the fire and drew it back to blow on his hand again 
 and again he was saying : f 
 
 "Gracious (puff, puff) I didn't know it was 
 (puff, puff) such (puff, puff) hot work. Guess 
 (puff) I'll burn my hands (puff, puff) off and — " 
 
 "See here," I interposed, "that's not the way 
 to do it; I supposed you knew how. I forgot that 
 you had never really camped before. Look at this. ' ' 
 
 And then in three minutes the thing was done 
 correctly — two or three stones for a fireplace, a 
 stick first shaved and then whittled for shavings; 
 a lighted match, a little blaze, some dry twigs 
 
THE PASSING OF THE CAMP 5 
 
 added; a few small sticks, and the same boy was 
 cooking the griddle-cakes to ain appetizing brown. 
 He had learned how not to do it ; he had also learned 
 how to do it. 
 
 Once three boys camped out; this also was the 
 genuine thing. They were not a thousand miles 
 from home nor one-tenth of that distance, but they 
 were far enough so that the change was complete; 
 and they were isolated. They pitched the tent 
 under a heavy growth of hemlocks; the shade was 
 heavy and at night the darkness was intense. Here 
 was one good lesson, for though they have camped 
 since they never again made that mistake. The 
 location of the tent gave them ample opportuinity 
 to observe the effect of shade and sunlight as well 
 as to study the growth of mildew and the decay of 
 vegetation so that the mistake had in it some valu- 
 able lessons for them. 
 
 The water in the pond was good for some pur- 
 poses but they had read more or less about the peril 
 in poor drinking water and resolved not to drink it. 
 They wanted to live ; but if they were going to die 
 they preferred death from thirst to death by ty- 
 phoid — it would be cleaner and sooner ended. As 
 they must have good water and the nearest farm 
 house with its usual supply was a long way off, the 
 youthful trio must needs find a spring near camp; 
 this they did, and the crystal water ran through the 
 crevice in a rock. 
 
 Their provisions consisted chiefly of yellow corn- 
 
6 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 
 
 meal, salt pork and beans; the nearest field, by ar- 
 rangement with its owner, yielded them some green 
 corn of the common farm variety but it was wonder- 
 fully sweet to those fellows; a few berries could be 
 gathered in the openings in the woods. The chief 
 diet was fish ; the only fish in the pond were horn- 
 pout and yellow perch, with an occasional pickerel, 
 but as a man can live longer on yellow perch than 
 on any other fish without becoming weary of it, 
 these boys were not conscious of monotony in their 
 fare. It was monotonous — fearfully so; but they 
 did not know it, because it was food which they 
 themselves had procured by conquest in the 
 water. 
 
 There were one or two variations from the regular 
 diet of fried fish. One came when a pickerel nearly 
 two feet long was captured by one of the boys. It 
 was not big enough to meet the requirements of 
 Izaak Walton's recipe which begins: ''Take a 
 pickerel three feet long" but it was too large to be 
 cooked in the ordinary way in the frying-pans ; that 
 is, the boys said it was. Cutting it into pieces so it 
 would go into the fat would rob it of all its dignity, 
 and it was conceded that such a splendid specimen 
 was entitled to special treatment. It took a long 
 time to decide what to do with this monarch of the 
 pond. Then a little hole was dug a foot and a half 
 deep in the ground ; a fire was built in it and abun- 
 dant fuel furnished. After an hour the coals were 
 taken out and the hole carefully cleared of ashes; 
 
THE PASSING OF THE CAMP 7 
 
 green corn husks were laid on the hot bottom of 
 the hole ; the only piece of brown paper in camp was 
 soaked in cold water and wrapped about the fish; 
 it was laid in the hole, green corn husks were placed 
 over it and these were covered with half an inch 
 of earth. Then a fire was built over it and kept 
 burning for an hour. When taken out and opened, 
 the pickerel was found to be cooked to perfection; 
 the boys vowed they had never eaten anything so 
 fine; and, though they did not think of it, they had 
 been learning something worth knowing, as the 
 cooking was in process. 
 
 A still greater triumph came to these same boys 
 when one of them shot something. It will never be 
 known just what it was, save that it was a bird and 
 web-footed. Canvas-back ducks are web-footed; 
 this was not a canvas-back. Loons are web-footed ; 
 this was not a loon. The successful hunter was 
 regarded as a hero by his comrades for a full day ; 
 it took two days, however, to decide how the prize 
 should be cooked. Several councils were held, but 
 no agreement reached ; a meal prepared in a wrangle 
 is not likely to be eaten in peace. But finally, when 
 the web-footed trophy was sure to spoil for lack of 
 attention, it was amicably arranged that it should 
 be prepared for the table thus : 
 
 It was picked and drawn ; into it was put a layer 
 of bread crumbs made from the remnants of the one 
 loaf of bread brought into camp; then a layer of 
 green corn shaved finely from the cob, butter and 
 
8 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 
 
 salt; another layer of crumbs, another of green 
 corn, butter and salt, and so on to the end. 
 
 When the bird was full or "stuffed" as the boys 
 declared, it was laid on its back in the kettle; two 
 squirrels previously shot and dressed were laid in 
 the bottom of the kettle, one on each side of the 
 fowl; the whole was covered with water from the 
 spring and set to boiling. There were many sur- 
 mises as to how it would come out. Just before the 
 kettle was taken off, the water was thickened with 
 more bread crumbs and green corn, butter was 
 added and the thing was done. 
 
 Oh, that I knew the name of that fowl, something 
 between a canvas-back duck and a loon! Oh, that 
 I knew just the proportions of bird and squirrel, 
 of green corn and crumbs, of salt, pepper and butter ; 
 for those who put the component parts together, 
 built the fire, and watched the kettle boiling de- 
 clare — and I have implicit confidence in their ut- 
 terances — that the dish was fit for a king, yes fit 
 for two kings, and that the like was never before 
 and will not be again. Who could have cooked 
 that mess so much to their liking as the boys them- 
 selves? And while they were doing it they were 
 doing something else also — something worth doing, 
 for they were mastering little details of out-door 
 chemistry. 
 
 These boys slept on beds of boughs; from soon 
 after dusk until sunrise they were as motionless as 
 logs and as unconscious ; they woke each morning 
 
THE PASSING OF THE CAMP 9 
 
 to a new day of conquest. If the larder were empty 
 more fish must be caught ; if more than was needed 
 were caught and cooked, the hole in the ground 
 covered with green boughs kept them cool till the 
 next day; if the anchor-rope was broken it must 
 be spliced and there was a way to do it: when the 
 anchor was finally lost a substitute had to be pro- 
 vided; when the oar-lock dropped overboard a 
 make-shift had to be adopted; when the tent 
 leaked without apparent reason, the cause had to 
 be searched out in the night and the offending twig 
 which, made heavy by dampness, rested upon the 
 canvass, had to be removed from the overhanging 
 branch ; when the rain shortened the tent ropes and 
 pulled the stakes out of the ground, threatening 
 to let the canvas down over their heads they 
 learned by experience the wisdom of attending to 
 tent ropes in time; when the flood came in the 
 night and to their surprise the trench around the 
 tent filled with rain water and overflowed to their 
 bough beds, it took them a long time to discover 
 that a stone had in some way been rolled into the 
 trench and had caused the trouble ; when the kind- 
 lings which could easily have been put under the 
 tent before dark were water-soaked in the morning, 
 and in all the land — in all their little woodsy-world 
 — there was not a dry sliver or shaving, they learned 
 two things; first, not to get caught in that way 
 again ; and second, what to do if they did. 
 
 They learned that there are two ways of washing 
 
10 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 
 
 dishes in camp; first to use hot water, or second, to 
 take them to the shore and give them a scrubbing 
 with sand and mud; that matches cannot be kept 
 dry and serviceable in a pocket and that instead of 
 a paper box an empty bottle with a cork is always 
 a safe receptacle for them; that in the dark in a 
 strange place one can find the matches if they are 
 kept beside a ticking watch, for the tick guides; 
 that the time to fish is before eleven o'clock in the 
 morning or after four o'clock in the afternoon; that 
 there are ways of knowing what o'clock it is with- 
 out clock or watch if the sun be shining, and other 
 things more than I need to mention. 
 
 They were in touch with nature ; life was full of 
 interest and profit; the camp experiences were a 
 factor in the development of character. They were 
 acquiring habits of observation ; they were learning 
 to do things when they needed to be done; they 
 were becoming self-confident, self-reliant, and effi- 
 cient. They did things, working on them till they 
 were done, even though the sun had set and the day 
 had been long. Somehow, it is the long day men 
 who have accomplished in this world the things 
 that have lived ; eight-hour micn may be good ma- 
 chines but they do not achieve. If the day comes 
 when no man will labor or study beyond eight hours 
 per day, the world's progress will be at a perpetual 
 end ; there will be no further achievement. 
 
 Camp life develops the achieving ability; it is 
 the basis of ruggedness; it is without an equal in 
 
THE PASSING OF THE CAMP II 
 
 Stimulating manly qualities in boys. There are 
 some who will not believe this because they have 
 seen so many boys "camp" who showed no prog- 
 ress as a result. But the camp should not be held 
 responsible for all the inane things which are done 
 in the name of "camping out." Life at a summer 
 hotel is not camping; even though the hotel be 
 built of logs or of canvas, and too many "camps," 
 so called, are shorn of all the factors which have 
 commended camping to the thoughtful. 
 
 A few years ago, I had a party of boys in camp; 
 a cottage near the tent was also available and the 
 food was cooked in it. Several boys in the party 
 preferred to sleep in the close chambers of the cot- 
 tage; others slept in the tent until a wet night came 
 and then deserted and went under a roof. For my- 
 self it was a joy to lie down under the canvas each 
 night; I thought then, and I still think, that the 
 boys who stood by the tent could have been selected 
 by a stranger at a moment's notice. They had 
 camped before and showed the benefit of former 
 experiences. 
 
 The word "camp" is suggestive. It is pure 
 Anglo-Saxon and means a "battle" or a "conflict;" 
 this is the primitive meaning. Real camp life is a 
 battle, a conflict; if you choose, it is a conquest. 
 Those who enter it conquer or are conquered ; those 
 who conquer are ready for enterprise, for successful 
 conflict in other fields. 
 
 But the camp is passing. Too much is done for 
 
12 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 
 
 the boys in many cases, and they are not left to 
 their own resources as much as is good for them ; it 
 should hardly be called ' ' camping out. ' ' 
 
 Many of the camps are so large that things must 
 be done on the same scale as at a good-sized hotel ; 
 for all practical purposes the boys might as well 
 be at a hotel if only it were in the woods or an open 
 field. It is quite possible to breathe fresh air at 
 an opened chamber window; it is quite possible to 
 close a tent so tight that the air will become quickly 
 poisoned ; it is quite possible for a boy to spend days 
 and weeks in a " camp " with little or no benefit. 
 
 A comparatively new thing has come into sudden 
 prominence; it is the "summer camp" robbed of 
 those features which make the real camp worth 
 while. I am told that one boys' camp had many 
 dishes to wash; it took two men to "do" them. 
 A dish washing machine was purchased at a cost of 
 $200; now it takes two men to run the machine. 
 
 Thousands of dollars have been expended in 
 "camps" this year upon tennis courts, base-ball 
 fields, and other forms of amusement which the 
 boys could have at their homes, or in any village, 
 or at a summer hotel; it is quite customary for the 
 leaders of a camp to show visitors their splendid 
 equipment, and many of them are splendid. There 
 are real benefits accruing to boys who spend the 
 summer, or a part of it, at such places, but the 
 benefits are those which come from out-door life 
 anywhere ; in the meantime the woods are calling to 
 
THE PASSING OF THE CAMP 13 
 
 boys to enjoy the test and development of primitive 
 ways of living; the boys are not responding because 
 an easier — even a luxurious — substitute is offered. 
 
 A little roughing it for the boy is the finest of all 
 experiences; he is not likely to take it, even for his 
 own good, so long as the softer thing is popularized 
 and made the only thing in sight. Real camping — 
 the conquest with natural forces, the quest for one's 
 own food, the battle against odds in primitive living, 
 though undertaken for fun and change and personal 
 benefit — is passing. 
 
II 
 
 A WINTER HIKE TO SEBASTICOOK LAKE 
 
 The Good Will boys had been talking for a long 
 time about a hike; they had asked that it be in the 
 spring vacation, which, in Somerset County, Maine, 
 comes in March, and the month of March is winter. 
 Many of the boys who wanted to go on this win- 
 ter outing were living in the "Buckminster" — a 
 rambling residence for older boys at Good Will. 
 
 I told the boys that I had heard of a lumber- 
 man's camp twelve miles northwest of us, where we 
 could spend several days; that twelve miles would 
 be a good walk and that doubtless we could get 
 much benefit from it. The boys looked at each 
 other and though they did not say it in words, 
 something in the air spoke like this: 
 
 "Think of it; only twelve miles!" 
 
 "There is another possibility," I added. "We 
 can have the use of two cottages, owned by Hubert 
 Turner, at North Newport, on the shore of Sebasti- 
 cook Lake. These cottages are a few rods apart; 
 one will accommodate ten and the other has 
 accommodations for, eight. The cottages are 
 twenty-seven miles from here; but we can 'boost' 
 you seven miles to Canaan village and the rest of 
 the distance must be made on foot." 
 
 14 
 
HIKE TO SEBASTICOOK LAKE 1 5 
 
 "That's the place!" exclaimed a number of the 
 boys, and to this all present agreed. Before the 
 little meeting broke up it was settled that Will 
 Mack should lead one of the groups and I the 
 other. 
 
 On account of lameness I was to go by railroad, 
 taking one boy with me to assist in opening the 
 cottages and Will Mack was to lead the main party 
 across country. 
 
 'Who shall go?" was still a question of much 
 importance and one that needed to be settled 
 speedily lest some of the hopeful ones be unnecessar- 
 ily disappointed. ''Thack" had a wistful look on 
 his face but I challenged him. He had come to 
 Good Will three years before through some mis- 
 understanding as to the kind of boys who are 
 accepted. Before coming to us he had suffered 
 from hemorrhages from the nose for months until 
 on one occasion two physicians worked all night 
 to keep him from bleeding to death. These 
 hemorrhages had been accompanied by a cough 
 which Thack told me, when we were travelling 
 together on the train to Good Will, had kept him 
 and everybody else in the house awake at night. 
 Soon after coming to Good Will these symptoms 
 disappeared; but after being with us two years a 
 new difficulty set in; he submitted to an operation 
 for appendicitis and it was not yet a year since the 
 operation was performed. The boys, however, 
 knew Thack well and everyone of them said, 
 
1 6 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 
 
 "Thack can make that trip all right." So he was 
 accepted. 
 
 "Ducker" I also challenged. But he said he 
 could do it and the boys sustained him and so 
 Ducker was elected, although he had shown a 
 chalky skin when he had come to us a year before 
 and for six months, at lea§t, appearances were 
 decidedly against him: 
 
 "John Rill" wanted to go; but the spring before 
 he had made the fourteen mile tramp to East Pond 
 on the "Relay Picnic." He had a good time, but, 
 next day on the way home he lay down beside a 
 cemetery and it was currently reported that John, 
 while in that position, had despondent thoughts due 
 to weariness. So John Rill was rejected; though 
 he says to this day it stands to reason that if 
 little "David Wood" could make the trip he could 
 have done it himself. But David Wood though 
 challenged by myself at first was finally accepted. 
 
 The other boys, who were present at the meeting 
 or whose names were on the list, would pass without 
 question, and everything seemed favorable for the 
 trip until a snowstorm came on, blocking the 
 roads and making travel by team dangerous or 
 impossible. 
 
 "They say that it's no use trying to get to 
 Canaan with a horse," was the report, and so the 
 boys decided to start on foot at four-thirty in the 
 morning; they believed that they could reach the 
 camp by two o'clock in the afternoon unless greatly 
 
HIKE TO SEBASTICOOK LAKE 1 7 
 
 delayed by drifted roads. There would be some 
 advantages in starting later, for, if they did not 
 go until seven, they could have their usual amount 
 of sleep, a warm breakfast and daylight for the 
 early part of the journey; but, on the other hand, if 
 the sun should be warm in the middle of the day 
 the snow would be soft, and travelling over it more 
 difficult and uncomfortable. The sentiment was 
 overwhelmingly in favor of the early start. It 
 was deliberately decided that they would reach 
 Canaan village by seven o'clock and there is a 
 hotel at Canaan; beyond that place there is no 
 hotel to be passed, if they kept to the upper route, 
 and no place where they could hope for a meal 
 until they reached the camp at Sebasticook Lake. 
 But suppose there were hotels; so long as there was 
 not money enough in the pockets of the crowd to 
 pay for breakfast for three boys what did it matter 
 whether there were hotels or no hotels along the 
 route? 
 
 The management of such a trip is a compara- 
 tively easy matter with Good Will boys because of 
 their knowledge of home duties ; most of them can 
 make beds as well as a woman ; some of them can 
 cook a good meal, including biscuit, cakes and pies; 
 there are few of the age of those in this party who 
 cannot be trusted to "slick up" and "set things to 
 rights" whenever called upon for such service. 
 
 This explains why, when the list of names was 
 taken and, beginning at the top, was divided into 
 
 3 
 
l8 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 
 
 sections of three names each, in the order in which 
 they came, every section contained the name of at 
 least one fairly good cook. It was in this way and 
 with such simple organization that the camp was 
 to be run; the work was to be done and the food 
 cooked by the boys themselves ; no further organiza- 
 tion was to be called for or allowed. 
 
 It was a hopeful group, therefore, that started 
 from the Buckminster at four- twenty A. M., on 
 that tramp to Sebasticook Lake. 
 
 After the members of the party had been duly 
 elected I faced another problem, because it was 
 necessary for me to select one of the boys to go with 
 me by rail to Corinna where Mr. Turner would meet 
 us and take us by team four miles to the cottage 
 where the week was to be spent. They were a 
 sturdy lot of fellows, each one was ready for some- 
 thing strenuous, and I disliked to break into the 
 ranks. But when I made my request known to 
 "Hinks" he cheerfully consented to accompany me 
 and help get ready for the sixteen pilgrims who 
 were to come overland on foot. Hinks had cooked 
 for me on other occasions and I have no fault to 
 find with his housekeeping or culinary skill. But 
 it happened that only a few hours before we were 
 to start, I learned that "Franz" was troubled with 
 a weak ankle and that for two days he had been 
 wearing a brace, in anticipation of the trip. 
 
 "I had feared that my ankle would give out" 
 he said after I had arranged for him to take Hinks' 
 
HIKE TO SEBASTICOOK LAKE 19 
 
 place, ' 'but I made up my mind that I would start 
 anyway." 
 
 So Hinks joined the pedestrians while Franz 
 loaded down with packages and bundles, including 
 a checker-board for those who might care to while 
 away an hour in tests of skill, a mince pie that the 
 good cook in Buckminster had sent along for my 
 especial benefit and such extra garments as I might 
 need, accompanied me on the train. There was 
 one other package in Franz' care which added some- 
 what to the burden of his journey, the contents of 
 which he was in happy ignorance, — a long slender 
 package which I had told Ed MacDonald, the 
 bookkeeper, to make up, containing a few Roman 
 candles and sky rockets, left over from the last 
 Fourth of July celebration and which I fancied 
 might add to our enjoyment. 
 
 " In case my side catches more fish than Mack's," 
 I had said to MacDonald, the bookkeeper, when I 
 gave him instructions, "I may want to celebrate 
 the victory by a display." 
 
 When, later on, the package was opened I found 
 that he had added a pack of small firecrackers, — 
 the five cents a pack variety, one tin box of red-fire 
 and another of the same size warranted to burn 
 "blue blazes." These were to be of greater service 
 in camp, later on, than MacDonald supposed or 
 than I suspected when I found them in the 
 package. 
 
 It is not easy to find a man more thoughtful of 
 
20 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 
 
 his guests than is Mr. Turner, in whose cottages we 
 were to spend the week and so we were not surprised 
 to learn that he had kept fires in both cottages all 
 that day and a part of the day before in order that 
 everything might be warm and comfortable for us. 
 Franz and I had little to do that first night in camp 
 for we did not reach it till eight o'clock in the even- 
 ing, and, after preparing a simple repast, we were 
 soon in bed; but we did feel that it was incumbent 
 upon us to have a good meal ready for the boys 
 when they should arrive, although I had told them 
 that I should allow them no food after such a long 
 tramp until they had been in camp at least half an 
 hour. As a matter of fact it was forty-five minutes 
 after their arrival before they tasted food of any 
 kind although everything was in readiness, cooked 
 and steaming hot, an hour before they reached the 
 cottages. 
 
 "Those boys will have an awful hard time" said 
 Mr. Turner as he brought over some supplies from 
 his home, the morning after Franz and I arrived. 
 "If they had only known it, they could save several 
 miles by going from Palmyra to Newport village 
 and then coming across the lake on the ice. If 
 they come around to the north they will find three 
 or four miles of drifted roads that haven't been 
 broken out, for there is only a little travel over them 
 anyway. It's a pity they didn't know." 
 
 "Do this," I said. "Get back to the house as 
 quickly as you can. You say that you don't know 
 
HIKE TO SEBASTICOOK LAKE 21 
 
 any one in Palmyra. Call up some trader over 
 there and ask him if he lives on the main road 
 through the village ; when 3^ou get a man on the line 
 that lives on the main street tell him to watch out 
 for sixteen young fellows who will be travelling 
 eastward ; say that they are Good Will boys. Tell 
 him to say to the boys that I want them to go 
 to Newport village and that they can easily get 
 instructions there how to find me at Turner's 
 Cove. 
 
 ''That's a fine thing," I said to Franz, as Mr. 
 Turner started homeward. "It will save the fel- 
 low^s a lot of hard footing and get them here earlier. 
 It's now ten o'clock; they will be here by two any- 
 way, possibly by one, and we must have everything 
 ready and hot. It's three and a half miles from 
 that village yonder to this cottage, — a straight 
 line across the lake. See?" 
 
 So Franz and I spent the morning in the cottage; 
 now glancing out of the window, across the lake, 
 as though w^atching for the coming of friends but 
 at the same time, pretending that we "didn't 
 expect them yet;" now giving our attention to the 
 things cooking on the stove in the little kitchen, 
 putting in wood and poking ashes out of the grate 
 to help the draft; now reading a chapter out of 
 Hornaday's " Camp-fires in the Canadian Rockies, " 
 which I had brought along, or a paragraph or two 
 from the Boston paper of the previous day's issue; 
 now arranging dishes on the table — the white 
 
22 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 
 
 dishes that matched so perfectly the shining white 
 oilcloth. 
 
 It was half-past one when I said: 
 
 "Franz, come here a minute. Look toward the 
 village. Do you see something away over there 
 just moving along a little?" 
 
 Franz could see it. 
 
 "Now it's parted and it looks like two. I think 
 that's our crowd. The fellows are either in a group 
 walking in single file or else," — and I added this 
 reluctantly, — "or else half of the fellows have 
 dropped out by the way." 
 
 "What's that over there?" said Franz; "it looks 
 as much like a crowd of fellows as that does," and 
 he pointed far to the south shore of the lake. 
 
 "I don't know," I replied, "it can't be our boys. 
 They were told to keep together. That first bunch 
 seems to be coming off the north shore, the bunch 
 that you point out seems to be coming from the 
 south shore a mile at least from the first one." 
 
 "Yes," said Franz, "and look over there." 
 
 "It beats me," I said. "And yet you can see 
 now that they are our fellows, though why they are 
 coming from all directions I can't tell." This was 
 said some ten minutes after we had spied the dark 
 object on the white snow in the distance. 
 
 We stood and watched just as people have stood 
 on the shore in the summertime and watched white- 
 winged ships as they sailed; just as men watched 
 the marching of soldiers and wondered what the 
 
HIKE TO SEBASTICOOK LAKE 23 
 
 next movement would be; just as we have watched 
 the flight of birds to the north in spring, to the south 
 in autumn ; we watched till we were sure they were 
 our "crowd," and then we waited till they came 
 nearer, — their forms growing more distinct. 
 
 "That's Pat and Ducker on ahead," said Franz, 
 as the first two came within hearing distance. 
 
 "Ducker!" I said. "I believe you, Franz, but 
 he's one of the boys I challenged; I didn't believe 
 he'd stand the trip and here he is in the front rank." 
 
 Soon after our first discovery of the boys in the 
 distance and near the opposite shore of the lake, 
 it began to grow dark, — not because it was sunset, 
 for it was yet early in the afternoon, but the grey 
 clouds which had overspread the sky had thickened 
 in the northwest and we had heard one distinct 
 rumble of distant thunder. 
 
 "I don't know just what these clouds mean," 
 I said to Franz, "but I hope it's only rain; if it's 
 a snow-storm that's coming and if it breaks soon 
 there's not a fellow on the lake that will get off 
 alive if it lasts long. If it snows thick they'll 
 wander and wander and wander on the ice and be 
 dead before they can be found. I wish they'd 
 hurry; yes, Franz, I wish they'd hurry." 
 
 "I don't believe they can," said Franz, quietly, 
 "they are too tired." 
 
 To my relief the cloud had only thunder, lightning 
 and rain instead of the thick snow-storm that I 
 had feared and the shower broke just as the boys 
 
24 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 
 
 began to arrive. When the first couple got near 
 enough for a greeting I shouted, at the top of my 
 voice; "Welcome, fellows, welcome! Say, how's 
 the walking?" 
 
 "Welcome," cried Pat, "you say welcome; 
 but I wouldn't walk across this old lake again if 
 you'd give it to me, no, I'd die first, — yes, I'd die. 
 We've been walking all over this old lake for the 
 last three hours; there didn't anybody know where 
 you were nor where Turner's Cove was nor anything 
 else. I'm dead tired, — yes, I am; and I'm half 
 starved. Have you got anything to eat?" 
 
 "This Cove's been here for the last thousand 
 years, at least, Pat," I said; "somebody ought to 
 have known where it was." 
 
 "Oh, I'm dead tired," cried Ducker as he fol- 
 lowed Pat, reached the veranda, and reeled over on 
 his back on the floor. "Can't you give a fellow 
 something to eat? I's never so tired in my life." 
 
 While this confab was in progress the second 
 bunch drew near, — a couple made up of Arey and 
 David Wood. 
 
 "If there isn't David Wood!" I exclaimed; 
 "another of the fellows that I doubted and he 
 among the first to arrive." 
 
 Then came a group of four or five led by Thack 
 in a white sweater, — the same Thack that I had 
 challenged that afternoon when we were deciding 
 at the Buckminster who should be in the party. 
 
 It was only a few minutes then to the time when 
 
HIKE TO SEBASTICOOK LAKE 25 
 
 the floor of the cottage was covered with boys, 
 for nearly all seemed to prefer to sit or lie on the 
 hardwood floor; each telling how he felt; how no- 
 body seemed to know where Turner's Cove was; 
 how their feet were wet and their muscles sore and 
 their stomachs empty. 
 
 "Ducker was so dead tired," said one, "that he 
 undertook to ask where Turner's Cove was and 
 he said, 'Can you tell me how to get to Cover's 
 Turn?'" 
 
 "All I've eaten today is just some apples," 
 said another. "Say, we stopped at one place to 
 see if they'd sell us some apples; a girl brought out 
 about a peck of 'em and we asked her how much 
 they'd be. She said, 'They won't be anything; 
 papa ain't to home today.'" 
 
 "One man that we met asked us where we were 
 from and we told him we came from Good Will 
 Farm," said one of the prostrate pedestrians. 
 "What made you leave," he said, "don't you like 
 it there?" 
 
 So some told of experiences and others of aches 
 and voids until I said : 
 
 "Well, fellows, I'm glad you are all here; that 
 not one has fallen out by the way; that you didn't 
 get lost in a snow-storm on this lake, for, as I told 
 Franz, after you got in sight, if, after you got out 
 into the middle of the lake a thick storm had come 
 on for the night, we never would have seen any of 
 you alive again." 
 
26 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 
 
 After clearing the tables of nearly all the food 
 which Franz and I had prepared for them and 
 declaring that it was the best meal they had ever 
 eaten the boys distributed themselves through the 
 cottages, — some in easy chairs and on the sofa on 
 the first floor, some on the beds in the sleeping 
 rooms above. They had been in camp just an 
 hour and fifteen minutes, when a couple of boys in 
 one of the chambers began to softly sing one of 
 the oldest of the Good Will songs: — 
 
 " We were chopping hemlock trees." 
 
 Someone else joined in the chorus; the boys on 
 the first floor of the cottage took up the song; then 
 those who were up-stairs came down, gathering 
 around the open fire ; someone passed the little 
 Good Will song-books and before another hour had 
 gone by every song had been sung through from 
 beginning to end. 
 
 "I feel first-class, now," said Thack, as he 
 straightened up and smote his white sweater on 
 the breast with both hands. 
 
 " I never felt better in my life," said David Wood, 
 and Clark jumped over the back of a chair three 
 times in succession, "just to see if his legs were 
 limber." 
 
 This journey to the shores of Sebasticook was 
 for the purpose of fishing through the ice; at least, 
 this was the avowed purpose of the trip although, 
 so far as I know, there was not a real fisherman 
 
HIKE TO SEBASTICOOK LAKE 2J 
 
 among the boys. We came near having fish for 
 dinner on two separate days; once on Monday, 
 when I asked Mr. Turner to buy us enough in Cor- 
 inna village, four miles distant, for a chowder, and he 
 returned with the report that there were no fish in 
 that place; and again, when on Wednesday, three 
 boys walked across the lake to Newport village to 
 buy fish and a supply of peanuts and they returned 
 with the report that fish could be bought in that 
 place only on Fridays. But, notwithstanding the 
 depleted condition of the refrigerators in these 
 markets the fishing in the villages was fully as good 
 as it was on the lake through the ice, for not one 
 sign of fin or scale was seen while we were in camp. 
 Still, there were other things to do. The cutting 
 of half a dozen holes through the ice, with a bor- 
 rowed chisel, was not a long task, and little time 
 w^as spent in attending to the traps. As the snow 
 about the cottages w^as deep — three feet, south of 
 Camp Comfort and very soft, so that a fair-sized 
 boy would sink to his hips, — not much outdoor 
 sport was possible. So, aside from the climbing 
 of trees on the shore, occasional marches on the ice, 
 from one of which trips the boys returned marching 
 single file following a torn and faded cambric flag 
 waved aloft by a leader, and a few visits to the 
 fish lines, the time was spent indoors — it could not 
 well be otherwise. There was just one flurry of 
 excitement over fishing and that was when Pussy 
 had said, "I'm going out to see if we've caught any 
 
28 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 
 
 fish," and, putting on his cap, left the cottage. He 
 went first to the hole farthest north, and his move- 
 ments at this time were not watched by the boys. 
 Now these lines were so set that if a fish should by 
 any chance get caught on a hook, a small red flag 
 would fly up as a signal that below the ice at that 
 quarter something was doing; but no such signal 
 had appeared and no one had expected it. Pussy 
 was near the hole farthest south when someone in 
 the cottage said: 
 
 "There's a red flag up at the north hole." 
 
 "Shout to Pussy!" said three or four boys at 
 once, and the door was quickly opened. 
 
 "There's a flag up!" was shouted across the ice, 
 and Pussy turned toward the north and seemed 
 to wait instructions. 
 
 "Run, you lazy bones, run! and pull him out!" 
 
 Pussy first took long, slow strides and then as 
 the shouts from the cottage increased in volume 
 and urgency, he broke into a trot. He reached the 
 hole and pulled up the line, but alas, there was 
 nothing on the end save a hook and a piece of salt 
 pork. It was the only real fishing episode that 
 came into our lives during the week, and later Pussy 
 explained it thus: 
 
 "I thought I'd like to know how it would seem, 
 so I stuck the flag up when I was at the hole so 
 that you fellows could see it!" 
 
 But other things were done, even though there 
 was no odor of fish in the camp. It was early 
 
HIKE TO SEBASTICOOK LAKE ^9 
 
 decided that Wallace's "Lure of the Labrador 
 Wild" should be read evenings; that there should 
 be a religious service Sunday afternoon or early 
 evening at which a Bible reading should be given 
 for the instruction and profit of the boys ; that there 
 should be a debate upon the question whether the 
 return journey should be made in the daytime or by 
 moonlight, which question should finally be decided 
 by popular vote Wednesday afternoon, after the 
 arguments on both sides had been given a fair hear- 
 ing; that on Monday evening the Camp Comfort 
 boys should give an entertainment in their cottage 
 for the delectation and amusement of the White 
 House boys and, that on Wednesday evening the 
 White House crowd should return the courtesy 
 and give at their cottage an entertainment for the 
 amusement and instruction of Camp Comfort 
 boys; that on Tuesday evening there should be in 
 Camp Comfort a grand banquet of which every 
 member of the party should partake and that there 
 should be almost no end of songs and speech- 
 making. 
 
 In such a camp, where only the plainest of food 
 was supposed to be served, the preparation of a 
 banquet was not an easy matter and just what the 
 nature of the two entertainments would be was a 
 problem for the entire camp; these were events 
 which interested us all and preparations for each 
 one of them were under way at an early date. 
 
 ''But what can we have at a banquet out here?" 
 
30 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 
 
 asked one of the boys. "We haven't got much in 
 camp for such an affair." 
 
 "We can have fried bacon," said one. 
 
 "Yes, and mashed potatoes," said another. 
 
 "And I will get Mrs. Turner to make me a birth- 
 day cake," I added. 
 
 "A birthday cake!" exclaimed Pat, "you was 
 born in July; you wasn't born in, " 
 
 "It doesn't matter if I was born in July," I 
 replied. "If a man wants a birthday cake twice 
 or three times a year there's no law opposing it and 
 if you fellows get to doubting it too much, likely 
 as not I'll order two cakes instead of one just to 
 show you that I mean business." 
 
 There was no further opposition to the cake and 
 in due time the following note was dispatched to 
 the farmhouse: 
 
 "Dear Madam: 
 
 Please make one birthday cake large enough to be cut into 
 eighteen good-sized pieces, unless you prefer to make two 
 smaller loaves. If you happen to have any powdered sugar 
 in the house please frost the cake. 
 
 Respectfully yours — " 
 
 This surprising menu was finally evolved: First 
 course: fried bacon and mashed potatoes, with 
 biscuit and butter; second course: blanc mange; 
 third course: birthday cake; fourth course: roast 
 peanuts and cereal coffee; fifth course: Baldwin 
 apples; and to match each course, such appetites 
 
HIKE TO SEBASTICOOK LAKE 31 
 
 as are found only in the simple, sturdy life of a 
 real winter camp. 
 
 The reading of the "Lure of the Labrador Wild" 
 was begun Saturday afternoon, and after supper 
 there was a call for more of the story. So we 
 followed the fortunes of those three brave men, — 
 Leonidas Hubbard, Jr., Dillon Wallace and the 
 faithful ''George," on their sad journey and 
 through their strange, disheartening experiences. 
 It was near bedtime when, pausing for a moment 
 while wood was put on the fire, I glanced forward 
 into the chapters that were to come. Scanning a 
 few pages I said: 
 
 "Boys, we are to have a Bible reading tomorrow 
 evening. In the afternoon while service is in prog- 
 ress in the Chapel at Good Will I intend reading 
 chapters to you out of this book, and I venture to 
 say that no sermon preached in New England to- 
 morrow will be more impressive than what we will 
 hear and learn," and soon after this remark we went 
 to our beds. 
 
 The next afternoon. Wish us looked across the 
 room to me from the corner where he was ensconced 
 near the fire. 
 
 "What do you suppose they are doing in the 
 Chapel at Good Will now?" he asked. "Do you 
 know what time it is?" 
 
 It was ten minutes past two and I said : " Wishus, 
 the service is in progress at this very moment and 
 
32 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 
 
 I suspect that just now they are singing. What do 
 you suppose they will sing this afternoon?" 
 
 "It might be 'How Firm a Foundation,'" said 
 Wishus; and we all joined in singing that sacred 
 hymn. 
 
 "What else?" I asked, as the last line was sung. 
 "What else would they be likely to sing?" 
 
 "It might be 'My Faith Looks up to Thee,' " 
 said one of the boys, "they sing it often;" and so 
 that loved hymin and " Rock of Ages" with one or 
 two others entered into our impromptu service of 
 song. 
 
 Then we took up the narrative of Hubbard's 
 journey in the wilds of Labrador. None of 
 us had read the book, but some of our number 
 knew that Hubbard was to die. We followed their 
 fortunes until it seemed as though we knew those 
 three men, — Hubbard, Wallace and "George." 
 There was a breathless silence in camp that, alone, 
 profoundly impressed me as I continued to read. 
 We had reached the account of that Sunday, the 
 twenty-seventh day of October, when Wallace 
 returned from a trip into the woods, whither he 
 had gone leaving Hubbard in the camp alone. 
 "As I approached," says Wallace, "stepping noise- 
 lessly on the mossy carpet of the forest I saw Hub- 
 bard sitting alone by the bright burning fire, mend- 
 ing his moccasins. Something in his attitude made 
 me pause ; he was bare-headed and his long, unkempt 
 hair hung half-way down to his shoulders. As he 
 
HIKE TO SEBASTICOOK LAKE 33 
 
 sat there in the red glow of the fire with the somber 
 wood beyond and the lonely stretch of lake below 
 and I took note of his emaciated form and his fea- 
 tures so haggard and drawn, I seemed for the first 
 time to realize fully the condition to which the 
 boy had been brought by his sufferings. And while 
 I stood there, still unobserved, I heard him hum- 
 ming softly to himself: 
 
 " Rock of Ages, cleft for me, 
 Let me hide myself in Thee." 
 
 "How Strangely the old hymn sounded among 
 those solitudes! After a little I again started to 
 advance, and as I stepped upon a dry branch 
 Hubbard stopped his singing and looked up quickly. 
 
 " 'Wallace,' he exclaimed, ' I am glad to see you! 
 George and I have been having a long Sunday talk 
 and we have 
 
 It seemed as though every one of my hearers 
 had come to love those three men. There was a 
 great tug at my heart, a breaking of my voice and 
 in the hope that I might go on with the reading I 
 held the book silently for a moment. We could 
 almost hear each others hearts beat in sympathy 
 for those sufferers in the far north. Unable to 
 read aloud further that saddest of all narratives of 
 modern times, I passed the book to Clark. He took 
 it from my hand and continued reading to the end 
 of the chapter. 
 
 ''I don't see how Clark could ever read that 
 
34 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 
 
 aloud," said one of the boys the next day. "It 
 was so sad that I could hardly stand it myself." 
 
 Sunday evening the Bible reading was given, — a 
 topic that took us from Genesis to Revelation, an 
 hour which we will not forget — and before we retired 
 we had followed Leonidas Hubbard, Jr.'s lifeless 
 body from the wilds of Labrador to its last resting 
 place in Haverstraw, N. Y., and breathed a sigh of 
 relief, I fancy, at the thought that there is an end 
 to all human suffering and disappointment. 
 
 Oh, Hubbard ; the story of thy suffering has made 
 me strong; thy faith was beautiful; thy patience 
 was beyond my understanding. 
 
 It is pleasant to note the different uses to which 
 a given article may be devoted when men and boys 
 are really put to it and it is surprising what serv- 
 ice the most commonplace articles may render if 
 drafted by determined spirits. It was the middle 
 of Monday afternoon when the strong cord that 
 had been tied about our bundles of bedding, brought 
 into camp for our comfort, was stretched across 
 the sitting-room. The blankets, which I submit 
 were never intended for any such purpose, were 
 brought down from the chambers and fastened to 
 the cord so that they separated the north third of 
 the sitting-room, giving a space for the entertainers, 
 one door opening into the kitchen at the east end 
 and a window opening to the veranda at the other. 
 The lid, which I assume was intended to remain 
 always at its place in the top of the stove, was 
 
HIKE TO SEBASTICOOK LAKE 35 
 
 attached to the Hd-Hfter and carried to the veranda, 
 where the powder for blue and red fire could be 
 spread on it, held close to the window, and burned 
 for the illuminating of the tableaux; an eight foot 
 log, some twelve inches in diameter, was taken 
 into the cottage to be used in one of the most stir- 
 ring scenes in the entertainment, taking the place 
 of a cannon. Other prosaic articles were drafted 
 into service, for much had been undertaken and the 
 resources of our camp were slender. When the 
 time came, every one of the eight persons for 
 whom '' the show had been got up " was in his place, 
 curious, critical and expectant 
 
 When the "overture" had been furnished by the 
 graphophone from the farmhouse, with the under- 
 standing that twenty-four more selections were to 
 follow in the course of the evening, the curtain 
 rose, or rather, the suspended blankets were pushed 
 aside, and a male quartet sang a song so full of 
 localisms and personalities that it must have been 
 written for the occasion. It went to the tune of 
 "When Johnny Comes Marching Home," and 
 ran about as follows: 
 
 "The White House boys are a jolly crowd, 
 They are, they are; 
 
 The White House boys are a jolly crowd, 
 They are, they are; 
 
 They've caught no fish, 
 
 But we don't wish, 
 
 To touch them in their tender spot; 
 
 But we're very glad to welcome them here tonight. 
 
36 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 
 
 The White House boys make quite good cooks, 
 
 Quite good, quite good. 
 The White House boys. make quite good cooks, 
 Quite good, quite good. 
 We cannot hope to please them all 
 As they drop in for a friendly call 
 But we'll do the very best that we can do." 
 
 In response to an encore another verse was 
 added : 
 
 "We gave a show on Monday night. 
 
 We did, we did; 
 We gave a show on Monday night, 
 
 We did, we did; 
 We quite outshowed the White House crowd 
 We sang so gaily, high and loud, 
 But on Wednesday night they'll do the best they can." 
 
 After much other music, a three-part charade 
 which had been dignified by advertisement as a 
 three-act drama, held the attention of the audience. 
 The first part, a scene in which three or four boys 
 were planning for a camp next summer and in 
 which many things, wise and otherwise, were said, 
 gave a slight clue to what was to follow; the second 
 scene, in which "Chick," in his law office, had 
 much trouble with a deaf caller, who was told 
 repeatedly to "Come in," but failed to hear the 
 summons, and made a lot of bother by continued 
 knocking, threw much light on the word that was 
 being acted; but the third, a scene in a fort with 
 David Wood, as sentinel, pacing up and down with 
 
HIKE TO SEBASTICOOK LAKE 37 
 
 a broomstick for a rifle, and Clark in command, 
 was a dead give-away. 
 
 The attack on the fort by a Spanish warship 
 which Clark had sailing up the lake, was boldly 
 repulsed by Clark's forces. The log having been 
 aimed deliberately, and the commander's order to 
 fire given, there was the report of a fire-cracker on 
 the veranda, which, when we consider the tremen- 
 dous noise which might be expected from a cannon 
 of its size, might be regarded as an anti-climax. 
 The setting off of the rest of the pack of fire-crackers 
 on the veranda represented the cannonading of 
 the enemy and the audience knew then that the 
 charade was "Camp-come-fort." 
 
 In the series of tableaux which followed — the 
 "Saving of the Hfe of Captain John Smith by Po- 
 cahontas," "The Dying Gladiator" and "After 
 the Battle" — the red and blue fire which MacDon- 
 ald had put into the package for Franz to lug had a 
 great effect and the old cambric flag, picked up by 
 the boys in the morning, had a prominent place. 
 
 "It was a great show," said the White House 
 boys when it was all over; "we can't begin to come 
 up to it." 
 
 But when Thursday evening came, from the 
 time the borrowed graphophone belched forth its 
 first selection, until the last note had been struck, 
 the White House boys held their own, and the Camp 
 Comfort audience of ten souls listened and ap- 
 plauded, 
 
38 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 
 
 Personalities are as fair for one side as the other 
 and so, when the opening song was sung by a male 
 trio, and found to contain references of a strong 
 personal character, the audience could only listen 
 and meditate. To the tune of " Marching Through 
 Georgia" went the song of greeting: 
 
 "What a motley crowd it is that's gathered here tonight, 
 Coming from Camp Comfort, — that is almost out of sight; 
 Coming through the storm and over snow-drifts deep and 
 white 
 While we shall try to entertain you. 
 Chorus. 
 Cheer up, cheer up, you did the best you could; 
 Cheer up, cheer up, we really thought you would: 
 Now that you are seated we will show what we can do 
 While you sit silent and watch us. 
 
 Tableaux, songs and dialogues are all right in their place, 
 But we'll have you understand that we are in this race; 
 We will show you scenes tonight most marvelous for grace 
 While we shall try to entertain you. 
 Chorus. 
 Warren, Puss and Whitten seem to be out on a lark; 
 We think the very same is true of Nason and of Clark; 
 You'll hear some wise and witty things if you'll sit still and 
 hark, 
 While we shall try to entertain you." 
 Chorus. 
 
 There were four acts to the charade, with Gleason 
 taking the part of the "Goody-good boy" in the 
 first, — a boy unmercifully plagued by a young 
 rascal; with Downey in the second scene welcom- 
 
HIKE TO SEBASTICOOK LAKE 39 
 
 ing a young man to his law office for a conference 
 over a father's will about which there had been 
 much litigation; with Arey in the third, expressing 
 surprise in a country gocery store at the way prices 
 had "riz" till everything was too high for his pock- 
 etbook; and a school scene for the close that made 
 it clear that "Good Will High School" was what 
 the entertainers had in mind. 
 
 A series of tableaux, which under the glow of the 
 red fire, were really fine, closed the entertainment, 
 aside from the rest of the twenty-five selections on 
 the graphophone which were warranted to be en- 
 tirely different from those heard on Monday even- 
 ing. 
 
 '' It was fine; there really wasn't much to choose 
 between the two evenings!" was the verdict of the 
 audience. 
 
 "The gentlemen will please come to order," 
 said the speaker of the House the next afternoon at 
 two o'clock, in the sitting room of Camp Comfort. 
 The boys had all gathered for the Legislative Ses- 
 sion. After some trivial preliminaries had been 
 attended to, the resolution which had been tabled 
 three days before was taken up for discussion. It 
 read; 
 
 ''Resolved: that the return journey from camp to 
 Good Will be made between the setting and the 
 rising of the sun." 
 
 "Mr. Speaker!" exclaimed two or three boys at 
 once, — "Mr. Speaker!" 
 
40 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 
 
 "The gentleman from Good Will," said the 
 speaker, and Mack proceeded to open the debate. 
 He was followed by other speakers who, for one 
 reason and another, wished to be heard upon the 
 question. Various arguments were urged in favor 
 of returning home in the night. 
 
 It was claimed that in the daytime the sun shin- 
 ing on the snow made it blinding to the eyes and 
 this painful experience could be avoided if the trip 
 were under the soft light of the moon; on the way 
 over, the boys had eaten apples at the farmhouses 
 and drunk much cold water — two bad things for 
 pedestrians to do and all this could be avoided by a 
 night journey; from eight o'clock till five the snow 
 grew soft each day under the sun's rays and the 
 walking grew harder all the time, while in the night 
 the snow would be steadily hardening in the cold 
 and walking would grow easier ; the lower tempera- 
 ture of night was favorable to exercise while the 
 warmth of mid-day resulted in perspiration and 
 consequent discomfort as well as danger of taking 
 cold; these and other arguments were presented in 
 favor of the night journey. 
 
 "And then there is another reason that has not 
 been mentioned," said one of the debaters. "We 
 all know that something has happened to Bildad's 
 pants and he can't go home in the daytime. He 
 will have to go in the dark, anyway, and our party 
 ought not to be separated; therefore we'll all have 
 to go at night," 
 
HIKE TO SEBASTICOOK LAKE 41 
 
 There was no mistaking the temper of the meet- 
 ing; the majority were in favor of the shades of 
 night for a return, but the other side was to be 
 heard from ; it had something to say. 
 
 Pat and Arey were the two who opposed the 
 resolution. They stated clearly and calmly that 
 the darkness of night would be depressing; that a 
 kind of monotony on the way over had been re- 
 lieved by meeting people in sleighs or on sleds, 
 and asking them how far it was to the next place, 
 and other questions; that it would be impossible 
 to make the journey without some noise, anyway, 
 and the people, if waked in the night by singing or 
 shouting, would say, "That's them fellows going 
 back" and it would give the people an unfavorable 
 impression of Good Will ; if a boy should give out, 
 there would be some chance of his being overtaken 
 by a team and helped along in the day, while at 
 night such help would be altogether improbable; 
 nobody had been hurt by the apples which had 
 been so freely and kindly given to them on the 
 way over, but such a treat on the way back was 
 out of the question, unless the trip should be by 
 daylight. 
 
 "It may be," said one of the youthful debaters, 
 "that Bildad's pants are not fit for the journey; 
 but you fellows better remember that there's a 
 dog at about every farmhouse on the way home. 
 If we go back in the night the dogs will get after 
 us, and before we get half way home there won't 
 
42 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 
 
 be a pair of pants in the crowd fit to be seen; we'll 
 all be as badly off as Bildad." 
 
 When all had been said, ballots cast and the polls 
 closed, a careful count was made and it was found 
 that the affirmative had won, the vote being fifteen 
 to two, and so the boys were to walk home in the 
 night. 
 
 The dictionary says that a banquet is a "sump- 
 tuous feast." That is what we planned. There 
 are many things expected at banquets which were 
 out of the question in the camp. Our resources 
 were exceedingly limited. But who shall say that 
 blue points and soups and salads and creams and 
 confections are necessary for a sumptuous feast? 
 There are many things to be. considered. It is 
 difficult to draw the line. There is a variety of 
 standards, too; on this particular occasion we set a 
 standard of our own, and we had much pleasure in 
 the doing of it. 
 
 After Will Mack, the leader of the White House 
 crowd, had responded to the request to go away 
 from Camp Comfort with his boys and to keep 
 away for two hours or till notified that the banquet 
 was ready, preparations began. The two long 
 tables that had stood parallel in our dining and 
 living room were placed so as to form an L, the 
 white oil-cloth that covered them was treated to 
 an extra rubbing and polishing which gave the 
 whole place an expectant and appetizing air. 
 
 The white plates and cups were laid on the white 
 
HIKE TO SEBASTICOOK LAKE 43 
 
 cloth and they seemed to be unusually white; a 
 sprig of arbor-vitae was placed by each plate 
 and by this time the atmosphere of the place 
 seemed to be changed. The two birthday cakes, 
 resplendent in white frosting, were placed on the 
 white oilcloth and these, also, were wreathed with 
 arbor-vitae. The two white dishes, with red 
 apples, and wreathed with other sprigs of the same 
 evergreen, added brilliancy to the appearance of 
 the table. The two dishes of peanuts, fresh from 
 the oven, were placed in position and given a fin- 
 ishing touch of evergreen. The nine young caterers 
 in Camp Comfort, — I was only a witness to all 
 this — were getting enthusiastic and each was 
 having some part in the preparation. 
 
 The scent of Baldwin apples was in the air; the 
 odor of crisp bacon floated in from the kitchen ; so 
 did the fragrance of boiling coffee. The kettle of 
 blanc mange was half buried in a snow-drift lest it 
 should not get cool in time to be served in its regular 
 course. 
 
 The boys over at the White House were making 
 alot of noise by this time, while waiting; the lamps, 
 with freshly polished chimneys were lighted and 
 put in their places; chairs were set and then the 
 door was opened and the banquet was on! A 
 feast? If you doubt it, ask the boys. Sumptuous? 
 Well, there is a variety of standards. 
 
 And after all, the interest centered not in the 
 food but in what was to follow. A program had 
 
44 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 
 
 been prepared and there were to be many speeches ; 
 the boys had worked on them half of the afternoon ; 
 some were to make their first effort. 
 
 " I can't go with you; I've got to get my speech 
 ready," and other confessions of a feeling of unreadi- 
 ness were heard that day. 
 
 When evening came Will Mack was toastmaster. 
 The toasts and speakers were as follows: 
 
 "The Joys of Tramping" — Clark. 
 
 "Tramping it Alone" — Hinks. 
 
 "The Way We Dress" — Gleason. 
 
 "Manly Sports in Camp" — ^Arey. 
 
 "Our Fishes and our Fisherman" — Wishus. 
 
 "Sports at the White House" — Davis. 
 
 "Sports at Camp Comfort" — Rawson. 
 
 "Our Daily Program in Camp" — Whitten. 
 
 "Our Music and Musicians" — Wood. 
 
 "Our Friends on the Road" — Ducker. 
 
 "Our Cooks" — Chick. 
 
 "Art in Our Camps" — Thack. 
 
 "The Opening of our Camp" — Franz. 
 
 "Mr. Turner, our Host" — Hinckley. 
 
 "Our Future" — Pat Downey. 
 
 "The Homeward Trip" — Fletcher. 
 
 The white heat of interest was reached when 
 Mack introduced Wishus. Wishus had never 
 spoken at a banquet before; indeed he had never 
 attended one. This was his first public speech, 
 and he had had many misgivings through the day 
 
HIKE TO SEBASTICOOK LAKE 45 
 
 and spent considerable time with pencil and paper 
 in preparation for the event. 
 
 '*Mr.. Toastmaster," said Wishus, upon being 
 introduced by Mack, — "Mr. Toastmaster and My 
 Little Heroes (great applause), doubtless there is 
 no better fisherman in this camp than Willie Mack 
 (applause). The success of his fishing (derisive 
 laughter) may be laid to the fact that he makes his 
 bait look like a worm (cheers) , so that he may fool 
 the fish. (Great applause.) So far the fishing in 
 the lake has not been very exciting. (Sensation.) 
 I don't know my piece very well. (Laughter.) 
 I think I shall read it. (More laughter.) I will 
 read it. (Prolonged laughter and applause.) The 
 reason for this is that the fellows have been fishing 
 with bait big enough for whales. (Continued 
 applause.) Fishing is fun (applause) when there 
 are no fellows around to pester or harass you. 
 (Awful silence.) For instance, I started to go 
 fishing the other day (applause) and some of the 
 fellows were the cause of my not getting any fish 
 for supper. (Derisive laughter.) This morning 
 some one suggested that a prize be given to the 
 fellow who caught the first fish. (Applause.) By 
 rights it belongs to me (applause) for the reason I 
 have already mentioned before. (Uproarious ap- 
 plause.) To fish all of the afternoon without 
 catching anything seems a disgrace to fishermen. 
 (Significant glances at one another by the ban- 
 queters.) This reminds me of an experience of 
 
46 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 
 
 mine. I was fishing in Sebago lake one day when 
 I came to the conclusion that I would not catch 
 anything. I decided to pull in my line and go 
 home. I pulled it in and on the end of my line 
 was (long pause by the speaker) — a salmon weigh- 
 ing twenty-five pounds. (Applause.) This is an 
 example of what any one may do in the last minute. 
 (Applause.) I would just like to mention that if 
 anyone wants any bait he can come over to the 
 White House and borrow our worm." (Prolonged 
 cheers.) 
 
 The boys were to start for home Thursday even- 
 ing at half past eight. They had saved sixteen 
 paper boxes which had been emptied of shredded 
 wheat or other cooked cereals. These were their 
 lunch boxes. Mrs. Turner was to provide their 
 lunches and they were to be delivered at quarter 
 past eight, — fifteen minutes before the start was 
 to be made. These provisions arrived on time and 
 the boys were greatly pleased to find that each box 
 had been not only filled with food but fitted with a 
 convenient handle so that they could be easily 
 carried. A few "cat-tails" had been gathered 
 and soaked in kerosene, — these make fine torches 
 and the boys proposed to use them for their own 
 good-cheer on the journey. The attempt of some 
 of the party to sleep in the daytime so as to be in 
 good trim for the night was, of course, a failure. 
 We may eat to ward off approaching hunger; we 
 
HIKE TO SEBASTICOOK LAKE 47 
 
 may drink against coming thirst; but we cannot 
 do our sleeping in advance. 
 
 "Now bring out the sky-rockets," I said, "and 
 we will touch them off. These are the ones Franz 
 lugged over. This will be a symbolical exhibition. 
 The way the rockets go up is the way you fellows 
 start for home; the way the sticks come down is 
 the way you arrive at Good Will at about seven 
 o'clock tomorrow morning." 
 
 When the rockets had ascended in a blaze and the 
 sticks had come down with a thud; when a song 
 had been sung and "good-byes" said, the sixteen 
 pilgrims started across the pond toward Newport 
 village. The Roman candles, which they had 
 asked that they might keep for a special purpose 
 and which I had forgotten, began to show up as 
 they marched; the "cat- tails" were lighted and 
 when the party was half a mile from camp it re- 
 sembled a torch-light parade, with Roman candle 
 accompaniment, more than it did a bunch of fisher- 
 boys starting on a twenty-seven mile tramp over 
 the snow in the night. They were going up like 
 rockets. Would my jesting prediction prove true 
 and would they come down like the sticks? 
 
 I had but one misgiving. The sky was heavily 
 overcast with dark clouds ; in fact it seemed that it 
 might rain at any moment and if it should, a sorry 
 crowd would be tramping through the wet and dark- 
 ness toward Good Will. 
 
 " If I could see the moon shining clear and bright, 
 
48 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 
 
 before I go to bed, I could lay me down and sleep," 
 I said to Hinks who had stopped with me in order 
 that Franz might have the homeward tramp. An 
 hour later, just before retiring for the night, I 
 looked out of the window; the moon was nearly 
 full; the clouds had disappeared. 
 
 The next morning Hinks and I reached Good 
 Will on the ten-ten train and learned that all of the 
 boys were at home — having arrived at about seven 
 o'clock, AM.; most of them were in their rooms 
 and asleep. 
 
 "We will never forget it as long as we live; it was 
 great," they said. 
 
Ill 
 
 THAT TRAMP TO COBBOSSEECONTEE 
 
 It was January 2d, 1908. I had been calling on 
 friends at Winthrop Center, Maine — New Year's 
 calls I persisted in terming them — and at C. I. 
 Bailey's I had stopped for supper. His man was to 
 pilot me down to the little trolley station at the foot 
 of the hill to take the car over the Gardiner, 
 Augusta and Winthrop Electric Line to Winthrop 
 where I could make close connections with the 
 Maine Central for home on the late train. The 
 pilot, with his lantern, made the walk through the 
 icy fields easy, and as we walked we talked. We 
 had been at the station two or three minutes when 
 he said : 
 
 "You know I was a student at Oak Grove Sem- 
 inary for a time." 
 
 " No, I didn't know it. You must have met some 
 of the Good Will boys in athletics." 
 
 He assured me that he had. 
 
 "By the way," I said, "last year some of our 
 boys made a trip to Sebasticook Lake in March. 
 It was thirty and one-half miles, anyway, and they 
 lost their way on the Lake at the end and put in 
 several extra miles of travel. It was a good 
 athletic stunt for them." 
 s 49 
 
50 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 
 
 " I should have thought it a rather hard trip for 
 them," replied the pilot. "Wasn't it?" 
 
 " I do not think so. Nearly every one of them is 
 planning for a similar trip this year, only they'd 
 like it a little longer. I'm trying to arrange for a 
 trip to Sebec Lake, but it calls for a tramp of some- 
 thing like twenty-five miles, then twenty miles by 
 rail, and an additional tramp of seven miles to the 
 camp. I'm afraid that the last seven miles, after a 
 ride in the warm cars — say, see here! A trip from 
 Good Will to this place would be just about the 
 right distance. Never thought of it before. Don't 
 you suppose I could arrange it?" 
 
 "I don't see why not," replied the pilot. 
 
 "I would like to see Harris Woodman or Harry 
 Wilkins about it and — here comes the car; I'll 
 write to one or the other or both of them. Good- 
 night." 
 
 I entered the car. It is only a few minutes' ride 
 to the next station and the car stopped. To my 
 surprise and delight Harris Woodman and Harry 
 Wilkins, the young men I had mentioned, boarded 
 the car and sat down behind me. After an eager 
 greeting I said: 
 
 ''Say, an idea has just entered my head." 
 
 "A rare occurrence?" queried Wilkins, laughing. 
 
 "It has occurred before — once or twice," I 
 replied, with mock seriousness. 
 
 Wilkins and I have known each other for years; 
 have fished together for bass in rain and sunshine, 
 
TRAMP TO COBBOSSEECONTEE 5 1 
 
 and made some good catches under circumstances 
 that compelled us to share the honors. 
 
 As the car glided toward Winthrop we talked of 
 the possibility of some of the Good Will boys taking 
 a trip to the shores of Cobbosseecontee in the spring 
 recess ; but the distance was short and the car moved 
 rapidly and too soon the end of the trolley line was 
 reached. 
 
 "Good-night, Woodman. I'll write," and we 
 three had separated. 
 
 The next day I wrote this letter: 
 
 "My Dear Harris: 
 
 While riding home last night on the train, after parting 
 with you, I did a lot of thinking — good thoughts they were, 
 too. When I told you that I had got an idea in my head you 
 expressed surprise. The more I think of it the more surprised 
 I am that that particular idea had not entered my head at an 
 earlier date. The idea of a tramp across country to Cobbossee- 
 contee appeals to me. It is just about the right distance. 
 It would take the boys through a pleasant part of the country 
 but away from railways — steam and electric. If you can find 
 out anything about accommodations for a party of sixteen or 
 eighteen, which has any encouragement in it for me, I shall be 
 glad to hear from you. In the meantime I will try to keep my 
 hopes down until there is some basis for them to rest upon. 
 If there is anything in sight in the way of cottage accommo- 
 dations I would like to come and look the ground over before 
 the snow gets deep. Of course there are many details that I 
 would have to arrange later — as to where we would get our 
 provisions, the best way of shipping them, etc. I neglected to 
 say in our hurried interview last evening that we would expect 
 to furnish our own blankets — just as we did last year; I mean 
 the extra blankets necessary on account of the cold weather, 
 
52 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 
 
 over and above the number ordinarily in use in the cottages. 
 I also neglected to say, what you doubtless understand, that, 
 while we could not pay a large price for the cottages, we would 
 expect to pay a reasonable rental. I think the cottages we 
 had last year were one dollar a day not including fuel. 
 
 I am sending in this mail an account of our trip last year 
 which will give you a little idea of how the thing was managed 
 and a suggestion as to how I propose to carry out the trip this 
 year, wherever we go. You understand, of course, that the 
 boys who would be with me are the older, stronger boys — most 
 of them in the High School — and all of them boys who are 
 working mornings and nights and Saturdays at a stated price 
 per hour to pay their expenses at Good Will. They are all 
 'Buckminster boys' — no kids. 
 
 In your investigation as to the possibilities for us, please 
 do not urge the matter upon cottage owners. Just find out if 
 you can how they feel about renting their cottages for a month 
 and we will do the rest. 
 
 Sincerely yours." 
 
 The following letter was received in reply: 
 "I was glad to receive your letter of the third and have 
 carefully noted its contents. I am this day writing Aunt 
 Hannah regarding her cottage on the Island, which we men- 
 tioned on the car that evening. If we can secure these two 
 cottages, with their log cabin, I should think you would be 
 pretty well fixed as far as sleeping accommodations go. Now, 
 supposing we could get only one of these camps — would it do 
 to get one on another island about three-quarters of a mile 
 away or would you prefer to have them all within haiHng 
 distance? I ask this because I have another cottage or two 
 in mind whose owners I might see any time and make inquiries. 
 "Hoping that we may be able to bring the matter to a head 
 and placing fny services entirely at your disposal, I am, 
 "Yours, very sincerely, 
 
 "Harris S. Woodman." 
 
TRAMP TO COBBOSSEECONTEE 53 
 
 Other letters passed between us. I made a trip 
 to Winthrop to examine the location and the cot- 
 tages. It was finally arranged that the party 
 should occupy two cottages — one on the west shore 
 of Cobbosseecontee, nearly a mile from Winthrop 
 Center, another on an island nearly a mile from the 
 shore. The two cottages would face each other; an 
 equal number of boys would be in each; B. A. 
 Greenwood would lead one group while I would 
 lead the other. It was arranged that groceries 
 should be ordered in two lots — the second lot an 
 exact duplicate of the first and all delivered to the 
 cottages. A bill of fare was arranged so that both 
 parties would fare alike. The really serious matter 
 was the proper division of the eighteen boys so that 
 the interests of the camps would be evenly bal- 
 anced. What if all the boys who knew how to cook 
 should be in one party; or all of the good singers? 
 It was finally decided that the leaders should draw 
 lots, but with the understanding that if, by lot, the 
 division proved to be hopelessly one-sided in cooking 
 or musical ability, some further adjustment might 
 be made. The division proved to be as follows, 
 and no change was necessary or desired. 
 
 In Mr. Greenwood's party: Gilbert Arey, Fred 
 Cook, Dexter Davis, Wm. Bradbury, Albert Lush, 
 Berton Cook, Harry Fletcher, Fred Rawson, 
 Willard Burt. 
 
 In my own party: Harold Whittier, Luther 
 Brackett, Harold Wilson, Horace Davis, David 
 
54 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 
 
 Dorwood, Robert Tucker, George Coleman, Chas. 
 Warren, Hollis Simpson. 
 
 Two or three meetings of these boys were held 
 in order to make arrangements. A letter from 
 Harris Woodman was read at one of the meetings 
 in which he said: 
 
 "C. M. Bailey wishes me to inform you that 
 he will give the boys their supper at the cottage 
 next Saturday evening, and that he pleases to have 
 the function referred to as 'The Old Deacon's 
 Lunch.' " 
 
 At another meeting it was announced that the 
 Winthrop Center Brass Band would be on hand 
 Monday evening; that the boys would be expected 
 to be in the church services and Sunday School on 
 Sunday and would be very welcome. 
 
 Among the eighteen who craved the privilege of 
 the tramp were three whose endurance was ques- 
 tioned. They were Dexter, Wilson and Fred Cook. 
 But these three were persistent. 
 
 I had planned to go to the camp the day before 
 they were to start and open the cottages. In order 
 to do this I would need the assistance of one of the 
 boys, but, when the day came to start, and it was 
 learned that the boy selected for the service had 
 not had much experience in cooking and because 
 each boy in the party was counting on the tramp, it 
 was decided that two young cooks be selected who 
 were not on the list. At twelve-forty-five Jeff 
 Jessup and Ned Moody were notified that they were 
 
TRAMP TO COBBOSSEECONTEE 55 
 
 to take the one-nine train for Winthrop. It was 
 their first knowledge of the fact, but they were on 
 hand when the time came. 
 
 Perhaps a fairer morning than Friday, March 
 twentieth, dawned sometime in the past; if so it 
 must have been in sunny Italy or, perchance, in 
 Southern California, where the uninitiated suppose 
 that there are no weather calamities. The moon 
 was near full at the time of the start ; the stars were 
 bright in the heavens ; the walking was fairly good ; 
 the air was bracing. The hour fixed for the start 
 was four o'clock; but, as every boy was ready 
 fifteen minutes earlier there was no reason for sitting 
 about idly waiting for four o'clock to come. So 
 the start was made at three-forty-five A. M. 
 
 To Dorwood had been committed certain mes- 
 sages, prepared by men at Good Will, which were 
 to be read to the pilgrims at intervals. The time 
 for the opening of some of them was indicated on 
 the envelopes ; others — especially the blue envelopes, 
 containing messages from Mr. Barnard — were to 
 be opened at such times as pleased the crowd. 
 
 At seven o'clock the boys were to have a hot 
 breakfast at the home of Mr. and Mrs. G. T. Ben- 
 son, in Oakland, and, at the hour appointed, the 
 boys were there and had made the first nine miles, 
 and had also had quite a rest. Great kindness was 
 shown the travelers by Mr. and Mrs. Benson and 
 a few of the neighbors; and be it said, also, that a 
 much better breakfast than had been ordered or 
 
56 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 
 
 promised was served to them. Here, too, the first 
 message was opened and read. It was from B. A. 
 Greenwood, who was to leave Good Will by train 
 later in the day, and join the boys in camp. The 
 message ran thus: 
 
 "The practice of perseverance is the discipHne of the noblest 
 virtues. To run well we must run to the end. It is not the 
 fighting but the conquering that gives a hero his title to 
 renown." 
 
 The next message was opened at eight o'clock. 
 It was from C. F. Nutter and as follows: 
 
 " 'Tis said 'He can who thinks he can,* 
 
 So keep a-goin' — 
 Put aches away and be a man 
 
 And keep a-goin'. 
 Tell Kiko — Cook and Gil and Dave 
 
 To keep a-goin' 
 The prestige of Good Will to save — 
 
 Now keep a-goin'." 
 
 Then came the contents of a blue envelope — 
 one of Mr. Barnard's messages — which said: 
 
 "Don't think of the miles you have gone or have to go! 
 Think simply that you are going to keep right on trudging 
 till two o'clock." 
 
 An envelope marked ''Eight-forty-three A. M." 
 was opened on time and was found to have this 
 for encouragement: 
 
 "As long as life remaineth 
 So long shall hope exist!" 
 
 It was from E. C. McDonald. 
 
TRAMP TO COBBOSSEECONTEE 57 
 
 At nine o'clock, as the wanderers plodded through 
 Belgrade, Principal Watson's message was delivered, 
 as follows: 
 
 " 'Jeder weiss am besten, wo der Schuh ihn druckt.' 
 (' No one knows so well where the shoe hurts as he who has 
 it on.') 
 Sehr aufrichtig und immer derselbe, — Herr Watson." 
 
 Then, out of a blue envelope, Mr. Barnard spoke 
 again : 
 
 "Don't run: don't walk fast: don't stop to rest or you'll 
 stiffen up and walking after that will be hard. Keep right on 
 walking slowly and if you are tired simply slow up a bit, but 
 keep on!" 
 
 At ten o'clock the envelope marked for that hour 
 was opened and had this sentiment to inspire the 
 trampers: 
 
 "Remember, you are all invited to 'The Old Deacon's 
 Lunch' Saturday night. — G. W. Hinckley." 
 
 Another Barnard message ran thus: 
 
 " If you happen to be real tired just now, keep pegging ahead 
 slowly and don't look ahead. Keep your eyes on the ground 
 about six feet in front of you. It's restful." 
 
 At eleven came this message from Dorward's 
 pocket : 
 
 "The band concert is to be Monday evening at the cottage 
 on the shore. Meet me there! — G. W. Hinckley." 
 
 One o'clock found the crowd a bit scattered. 
 Some were footsore; one or two were lagging, but 
 
58 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 
 
 the envelope designated to be opened at that time 
 read thus: 
 
 " Remember that dinner is ready for you at the camp. We 
 are waiting for you. — G. W. Hinckley. 
 
 'He can who thinks he can!' " 
 
 Another blue envelope yielded this: 
 
 "Nothing hurts a foot more than a wrinkle in the toe of a 
 stocking. Better take your stocking off and put it on again. 
 It will rest your foot, if your foot burns and aches." 
 
 Mr. Barnard spoke from another blue envelope: 
 
 " If you are tired and someone is just ahead of you it is much 
 easier for you to walk ahead of him than behind him. Ask 
 him to let you lead." 
 
 Mr. Greenwood's last attempt to give strength 
 to the weary was worded thus: 
 
 "O, the chowders we have eatened, 
 And the chocolate that was sweetened; 
 How we wish we had some more 
 As we near Cobbossee's shore! 
 
 We will try to forget 
 
 That our feet are awful wet, 
 
 And press on, with courage steady. 
 
 Trusting, hoping, supper's ready!" 
 
 At two o'clock in camp, all things being in readi- 
 ness, Ted and Jeff got permission to go to Winthrop 
 Center to meet the plodding boys. At three-fifteen 
 I was sitting alone in the cottage when I heard 
 
TRAMP TO COBBOSSEECONTEE 59 
 
 voices, and, going to the veranda, I saw them 
 coming into the grove. They were singing to the 
 tune of ''Auld Lang Syne": 
 
 "We're here, we're here because we're here, 
 We're here because we're here." 
 
 Five minutes later, at three-twenty P. M., the 
 last boy to arrive was in camp. They had trav- 
 eled over thirty-five miles; had stopped for one 
 meal and a rest; they had been just eleven and one- 
 half hours on the way. At four o'clock dinner was 
 served. Gil and Chick were the first to leave the 
 table. 
 
 "Where are you going? " I asked, as I granted 
 their request to be excused. 
 
 "Just out on the lake for a little exercise," said 
 Gil, seriously. "I've a little headache and I want 
 to see if I can walk it off. " 
 
 "Ah," said Whit, recalling some happy inci- 
 dents, "the people cheered us along the way. It 
 gave us lots of courage to have somebody come 
 out and wave a hand or a hat and say 'Three 
 cheers for the Good Will boys!' One place, too, 
 an old veteran had us cheer the flag and we did 
 it and then he cheered us. It — well, it gave us 
 courage; it made us feel good." 
 
 But, one at a time, the boys crept up stairs to 
 the one big room, used as a bedroom for all who 
 stop at that cottage. In the center of the room 
 an iron rod, an inch in diameter, extends from 
 
6o ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 
 
 the floor to the ridge-board — about fifteen feet. 
 It is a support for the floor. It is taken for granted 
 that the first two boys who went upstairs shinned 
 that rod; all the rest had to do it. As each weary 
 pilgrim reached the head of the stairs and glanced 
 around for a place to rest, the query always came 
 from those who had preceded him : 
 
 "Have you shinned that rod? " 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Well, you must before you can lie down. " 
 
 " Have the rest of you fellows done it? " 
 
 "Sure; every one of us! " 
 
 And so each one shinned the iron rod before he 
 lay down. 
 
 It was to the Friends' Church at Winthrop Center 
 that we had been invited for the Sunday service, 
 and at nine-thirty A. M. we turned our steps 
 thither. The bell in the tower had been rung at 
 nine ; it would ring again at five minutes of ten and 
 continue until ten, when the organ voluntary would 
 begin. Fred was sick; too sick to leave the cottage 
 on the Island, but not too sick to remain alone. 
 All the rest of the two groups attended the service. 
 
 The afternoon was quiet; some read by them- 
 selves in each cottage and in each cottage there 
 were some reading aloud. At half-past six the boys 
 came to the shore from the Island, all except the 
 sick boy Fred, his brother Bert, and Ned, the cook, 
 who had volunteered to stay with him. But it 
 was thought unsafe for him to be longer without 
 
TRAMP TO COBBOSSEECONTEE 6 1 
 
 a physician's aid and a doctor was called who with 
 Harris Woodman went to the Island to see the 
 young sufferer while the rest were in the service. 
 
 The vestry was filled to overflowing at the even- 
 ing service; so packed that Deacon Bailey, the 
 aged leader said that it would be uncomfortable 
 to have a long meeting, and, in just one hour, the 
 service closed. Singing — how the people sang, and 
 the Good Will boys, too — song after song, and 
 prayers and testimonies till the time for the end 
 came. The good doctor and Harris Woodman re- 
 turned from the Island and reported Fred's pulse 
 at one hundred and eight; his temperature at one 
 hundred and two; but the boys were to administer 
 remedies through the night and all hoped for better 
 things in the morning. It had been a great Sunday. 
 There were good prospects for a fine week. 
 
 Monday 
 
 Whether or not the uncertainties of life con- 
 tribute anything to our enjoyment, it must be 
 conceded that they add to the interest of living. 
 There were uncertainties for the Islanders. It 
 was possible that warm weather might so weaken 
 the ice that the Islanders would be confined to 
 their Island for an indefinite time. In fact, on 
 several occasions, I had attempted to rally Mr. 
 Greenwood upon the probability that he and his 
 party would get imprisoned on the Island by the 
 
^2 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 
 
 weak ice and be compelled to remain there till 
 the ice went out. 
 
 ''It will be great sport to rescue you at the last 
 moment," I had said. "You should have some 
 red lights which you can use as signals at night. 
 We will let one red light mean ' out of food ' ; two 
 red lights, 'we have only one match left' ; three red 
 lights, 'we want a doctor, 'etc." 
 
 He had listened to the raillery with character- 
 istic good humor, but we both realized that un- 
 derlying it all there was a serious possibility. To 
 get caught on the Island and be kept there a week 
 or two with only three days' provisions would 
 not be an agreeable experience. When Monday 
 morning came there were indications that just 
 such an experience might be in store for them. 
 It was soft weather with every prospect of a warm 
 rain. 
 
 "Go over to the Island," I said to Coleman, 
 "Go over to the Island and tell them that Fred 
 must be brought to the shore at once. It's going 
 to rain; there is soft weather ahead and he must 
 be got over here before it comes or he may get 
 caught on the Island and the doctor not be able 
 to get to him." 
 
 Coleman started out; but it grew warm and 
 dark fast. The snow was melting; the ice might 
 be weakening; a downpour was imminent. But 
 it was a full hour before one of the boys on shore 
 exclaimed : 
 
TRAMP TO COBBOSSEECONTEE 63 
 
 "Here they come with Fred," and four boys 
 were seen crossing the lake bringing the sick one 
 on a cot. They were singing songs and shouting 
 all sorts of sentiments and this relieved the scene 
 of what otherwise might have been features un- 
 pleasantly suggestive, if not really pathetic; and 
 Fred's temperature stayed up at one hundred and 
 two and his pulse at one hundred and eight. 
 
 But there were alleviating circumstances — Fred 
 was where the doctor could see him; and he was 
 where he could hear the band play, if the band 
 came. 
 
 And the band did come! There were proba- 
 bilities of disappointment, for rain was certain. 
 Trips to Winthrop Center in the morning by one 
 group; another to Winthrop Center to be shown 
 through the big oil-cloth mill there — these trips 
 had been taken under lowering and threatening 
 clouds. So bad was the traveling on the Lake 
 that the Islanders — many of them already with 
 wet feet — were invited to stop on shore to supper 
 rather than go to the Island and get back just in 
 time for the concert "if the band came. " 
 
 Of course the Islanders accepted the invita- 
 tion and it was a happy arrangement all around, 
 but for one circumstance. The provisions had 
 in the main been carefully ordered and all pro- 
 visions had been put up in duplicate packages. 
 There was in the cottage on shore enough of several 
 different foods for a meal for ten, but the dupli- 
 
64 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 
 
 cate provisions, in every case, were over on the 
 Island. A compromise was effected and Ted and 
 Jeff, combining their skill, got up an abundant 
 supper for all. 
 
 But now it was raining. A well-known band- 
 leader of Portland was under appointment to come 
 to Winthrop Center to meet and lead the band; 
 but would he be willing to accompany the band 
 down through the fields, over the muddy road in a 
 drizzling rain and murky darkness, just to gratify 
 a small company of boys? Wouldn't he go on a 
 strike and say, "The trip from Portland to Win- 
 throp Center is enough for me ' ' ? 
 
 And then, there was the band, too; what would 
 the players say? There were not half a dozen 
 in the twenty or twenty-five members that had 
 ever met any one in our party; wouldn't they all 
 strike? We feared it; but it was a crowd of opti- 
 mists and they all said: " Perhaps they will come. " 
 
 There was another difficulty: The tramp on the 
 ice in a rain-storm from the shore to the Island 
 would be gloomy enough in the daytime; but what 
 about it in the blackness of a stormy night? There 
 were grave questions, also, whether they would be 
 able to find the Island if they started, for there was 
 no one there, and no light to guide. Finally Al 
 Lush and Ned Moody went over the route before 
 dark and set a lighted green lantern in front of the 
 cottage. It was an unerring guide — or we thought 
 it would be. 
 
TRAMP TO COBBOSSEECONTEE 65 
 
 It was a quarter before eight when Whittier 
 tumbled breathlessly into the cottage out of the 
 darkness and exclaimed "They're coming, sure 
 as you're born! " and a scene of general good- 
 feeling and excitement followed. A two-horse bus 
 or some vehicle of the kind stopped in front of the 
 cottage and the occupants gave a cheer for Good 
 Will which was immediately followed by a rousing 
 cheer from the boys for "The band! The band! 
 The band! " How the first selection quickened 
 the blood of the Good Will boys! It w^as worth 
 while to watch Pussy's face — Pussy whose father 
 was himself a band-master in his day. 
 
 After two or three selections the leader said: 
 "We will play 'Marching Through Georgia' and 
 can't the boys sing it as we play? " Now nothing 
 could have been easier for Good Will as one of 
 their best songs — "Honor to our graduates" — 
 goes to that air and the four verses with the chorus 
 were sung: 
 
 "Awake! Awake! and raise a rousing song, 
 Awake! Awake! and sing it all day long. 
 Honor to our graduates, the cheerful and the strong, 
 While we are loyal to Good Will. " 
 
 So the next two hours passed ; two or three band 
 selections, each applauded by the boys, and then 
 one or two songs by the boys, applauded by the 
 band, till ten o'clock came, with three stanzas of 
 "America" by both band and boys and Good Will's 
 
 6 
 
66 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 
 
 "Good night" song. There were twenty- three 
 players in the band ; there were twenty-one singers 
 in the Good Will crowd. 
 
 But what about the Islanders? The green light 
 shining so brightly before the concert was now in- 
 visible; either the fog and rain were so thick as to 
 obscure it, or, for want of oil, it had gone out. 
 
 "Leave a light in the window for at least fifteen 
 minutes after we start," said Mr. Greenwood, 
 "so that in case we fail to find the Island we can 
 make our way back. " 
 
 Ten minutes after the Islanders started some 
 of the shore boys watched the receding lantern 
 carried by Mr. Greenwood. 
 
 "I tell you," said Whittier, "they are swinging 
 away to the right. They are all off the track." 
 
 "Of course they are," said Dorwood, who had 
 just come upon the veranda. 
 
 "I believe it myself," I confessed; "they will 
 probably go past the Island and wander around 
 on the other side. We will leave the light in the 
 window all night, for not until morning will we 
 know where they are. We ought to have given 
 them a red light to burn as a signal that they had 
 reached the cottage and then we would have 
 known." 
 
 The watchers stood on the veranda and strained 
 their eyes following the faint glimmer of the re- 
 ceding lantern away to the west of the Island and 
 gazed till there was no longer a glimmer to follow. 
 
TRAMP TO COBBOSSEECONTEE 67 
 
 "It's no use," they said. "All we can do is to 
 leave the lamp a-burning for we've nothing to go 
 after them with; they've got our lantern." 
 
 Then they went to bed and listened to the rain 
 upon the roof until one after another was lulled 
 to sleep. 
 
 "But I wish I knew that those fellows were 
 under shelter," I said. And then I, too, must 
 have slept, for, upon opening my eyes, I discov- 
 ered that the sun was shining in through the east 
 window. 
 
 Tuesday 
 
 Tuesday was a day in camp. Anyone who has 
 ever given himself up to the pleasure of such a day 
 knows what it means. No amount of explanation 
 to those who have never done it can convey much 
 of an idea of its significance. "A day in camp." 
 How short it is ! How interesting ! How enjoyable ! 
 There is everything doing and nothing in particular. 
 No record can be kept that does it justice; its joys 
 cannot be put upon paper ; printers' ink destroys its 
 very atmosphere. But it may be stated here that 
 we learned at an early hour that the Islanders were 
 all safe; that our party was increased in size by 
 the arrival of Sam Allen from Good Will; and, at 
 the close of the day, the shore group made a trip 
 to the Island and spent the evening there. 
 
 The sun was warm and bright in the morning; 
 Fred's pulse was normal; it was thought that his 
 
68 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 
 
 temperature must be nearly so and at eight o'clock 
 he got up. When he came down stairs the rest had 
 been to breakfast. Kiko, Whittier and Chick had 
 been for an hour in their ordinary, indoor garb, on 
 the veranda writing letters; one of the boys was 
 skeeing; another was out at the ice-boat which was 
 moored near the cottage ten rods from the shore. 
 
 ''This is a wonderful climate," I remarked as 
 I stood near the letter writers where I had been 
 enjoying the warm sunshine and looking out over 
 the Lake; "a wonderful climate; here is an ice- 
 boat on ice a foot thick; boys on the veranda, bare- 
 headed and in their shirt-sleeves writing letters, 
 just as they would in August; and there is a boy 
 a quarter of a mile off shore skating, and there is 
 another over there on skees. " 
 
 "We might go in swimming," said Kiko and 
 then, as though a sudden inspiration had come to 
 him, he turned to me and said: 
 
 "Can we?" 
 
 "Certainly," I replied, "the open water ten 
 feet wide between the shore and the outer edge 
 of the ice is all right if you want to try it. If you 
 are going to do these things," I added, "some one 
 might launch Woodman's canoe and add to the 
 gaiety of the occasion." 
 
 The suggestions were soon acted upon and any- 
 one standing upon the veranda might have seen 
 Fred Cook sitting in the cottage by the open fire, 
 and enjoying it; Bradbury skipping about on 
 
TRAMP TO COBBOSSEECONTEE 69 
 
 skees ; Dorwood on the ice-boat a few rods from the 
 shore; Jeff, the cook, playing on land, barefooted 
 in front of the cottage ; Tucker, sliding on the lake 
 using Woodman's hand-sled; Coleman skating far 
 off in the middle of the Lake; two or three sitting 
 upon the veranda writing letters in the sunshine; 
 Wilson paddling along the shore-front in Wood- 
 man's canoe, while Whittier, Brackett and Chick 
 went in swimming. These courageous swimmers 
 were soon joined by Jeff, Dorwood, Bradbury, 
 Kiko and Coleman. Jeff yielded to the temptation 
 to throw snowballs at the swimmers after he had 
 got out of the water but Tucker, who in the mean- 
 tim.e had taken to the sled, quickly responded and, 
 as Jeff was not yet dressed, he withdrew from the 
 contest. 
 
 " Oh, say, this is a little hard on a fellow's feet, " 
 cried Whittier as he emerged from the water to the 
 ice on the Lake side of the open stretch along the 
 shore ; ' ' my but it's hard on the feet ! ' ' 
 
 ''Say how, shall we get in? " said Kiko as he 
 stood upon the slanting ice that sloped towards 
 the open water, ready for his plunge. "Shall I sit 
 down and slide in or shall I lie down and roll down 
 the slope? " 
 
 He sat down on the upper edge of the icy plane 
 while he was speaking and stretched out his legs 
 as though he must first settle this problem as to 
 the method. The inquiry, however, was unneces- 
 sary; nor did anyone have time to offer a reply. 
 
70 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 
 
 Kiko answered it himself; but not with any ex- 
 tended discussion of ways and means. No sooner 
 had he asked the question than he began slipping 
 down the smooth incline, and there was no way of 
 stopping himself. Kiko's face had been one shining 
 smile; in an instant it looked like a thick cloud, as 
 he slid helplessly forward. He reached out his 
 hand nervously as though he wanted to catch hold 
 of something but no man ever succeeded in catch- 
 ing hold of such a vast smooth surface. Ice-tongs 
 or a chisel in Kiko's hands might have availed some- 
 thing but tender fingers of flesh and blood were 
 useless. Slip! — Slip! — Splash! ! Kiko was in and 
 whether he had sat down and slid in or lain down 
 and rolled in was of little account. But his en- 
 trance into the chilling wave was unmarred by any 
 accident — his course had been smooth enough — 
 while Brackett, who took more time to deliberate, 
 struck a piece of floating ice in such a way that a 
 piece of skin was taken off the bridge of his nose, 
 the scar of which remained for many days as silent 
 proof that he, too, "went in." 
 
 "This is really a wonderful climate," I repeated; 
 "Florida is all right for those who like it and so 
 is Southern California. But there is probably no 
 other place in the world where one can do so many 
 things in one day as here at Cobbosseecontee. " 
 
 "Did you mention our ball-playing," asked 
 Chick? "You know we've been playing ball too. " 
 
 "Qh, no," I replied, "there are many other 
 
TRAMP TO COBBOSSEECONTEE 7 1 
 
 sports that our climate aflfords — in fact they are 
 too numerous to mention. " 
 
 I cannot tell what the Islanders did after their 
 guests left that night; but when the visitors had 
 returned to their own cottage on the shore the 
 ties of friendship between them strengthened 
 rapidly as we lingered before the open fire and 
 piled on big sticks and sang Good Will songs and 
 changed off to sacred hymns, following the whim 
 of Bradbury who led grotesquely with a forlorn 
 little harmonica. Nearly all the familiar sacred 
 hymns were struck by him and for him to hit one 
 meant that all would sing; and the flames died 
 out and the great glowing coals crumbled in the 
 fireplace and the boys assumed drowsy attitudes 
 but refused to move or break the spell till crum- 
 bling coals had become ashes and midnight ar- 
 rived and a chill crept up our backs. 
 
 "Do you suppose we'll get a chance at ice-boat- 
 ing while we're here? " asked one of the boys. 
 
 "I don't know; don't you hope for it nor men- 
 tion it." 
 
 And we said "Good-night! " 
 
 Wednesday 
 
 There was no early-rising the next morning. 
 It had come off cold during the night — "ripping 
 cold," the boys said. Everything was frozen. 
 The proprietor was slow in getting under way; 
 the clerk had to make a new hole through the ice 
 
72 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 
 
 to get water ; Jeff seemed to be supremely indifferent 
 to the appetites which the cold weather was whet- 
 ting. It was eight o'clock when a knock came at 
 the door. Harry Wilkins of Winthrop Center 
 wanted the rudder to his ice-boat — the rudder that 
 he kept in the cottage. His arrival created some- 
 thing of a sensation and the boys finished their 
 breakfasts as soon as they could. By ten o'clock 
 a fleet of five ice-boats was gliding over the Lake — 
 scudding before the brisk breeze or tacking into 
 it and each boat had its quota of Good Will boys, 
 either from the shore or the Island. 
 
 Some of the men who pledged themselves to 
 help provide the supper for Wednesday evening 
 had been exceedingly busy the night before; in 
 fact, as late as ten-thirty o'clock it was ascertained 
 that one man, at least, was still at work on pies 
 for the coming supper. In his office that afternoon 
 Deacon Bailey remarked to someone within hear- 
 ing: "I am going home a little early today; I have 
 a bit of cooking to do" and he did his part well. 
 
 There was an informal gathering in the vestry 
 at about half past five; and, at six o'clock, the 
 first tables in the dining-room were filled. It was 
 a fine supper — well-cooked and well-served and 
 the men who provided it may always smile as they 
 think of it, as we will who partook of it. It was 
 eight o'clock before all of the people present had 
 partaken of the supper and then came the 
 concert. The Winthrop Center brass band played. 
 
TRAMP TO COBBOSSEECONTEE 73 
 
 When the time came for the boys to sing their 
 first selection they went upon the platform and 
 to the tune of "The Old Oaken Bucket" sang their 
 greeting thus: 
 
 "In beautiful Winthrop there dwelleth a deacon, 
 
 A man who has lived till he calls himself old; 
 He showed us his heart while we camped at the lakeshore, 
 
 And did us some favors that here must be told: 
 He came down to see us, he lunched us, he pleased us, 
 
 He made an occasion that we'll not forget; 
 He welcomed us, sang with us, shook hands with all of us; 
 
 Everyone said 'twas the finest time yet; 
 This very old deacon, this youth-loving deacon, 
 
 This warm-hearted deacon we honor and love. 
 
 We know a young man who is sometimes called Harris; 
 
 But everyone knows that Woodman is his name; 
 He's done some things lately for which we are grateful. 
 
 And we will now proceed to rehearse the same. 
 He made all the plans for our stay at the lakeside, 
 
 He gave us the key to the cottage as well, 
 He ordered our groceries, he aided us daily, 
 
 Twould take half the night all his kindness to tell: 
 This gay Harris Woodm.an, this warm-hearted Woodman, 
 
 This helpful young Woodman we greet with a yell. 
 
 Twould hardly be fair if we mentioned the deacon 
 
 And young Harris Woodman and praised only these; 
 We've found Winthrop Center as full of kind people 
 
 As any old forest is full of big trees. 
 The welcome on Sunday, both morning and evening. 
 
 Has found a quick answer in every boy's heart; 
 The supper tonight has just strengthened these friendships, 
 
 And made it still harder for us to depart: 
 Kind friends in Old Winthrop, good friends at the Center, 
 
 Strong friends in Old Winthrop from whom we must part. 
 
74 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 
 
 O, Co-bossy-so-bossy-con-te-co-bo-coss: 
 
 O, Con-te-ko-so-bossy-so-bossy-con : 
 The beautiful lake in the town of Old Winthrop, 
 
 The Cobbosseecontee, we're camping upon. 
 The snow is all melting, the ice is all slushy, 
 
 And soon we must leave for our home at Good Will, 
 But where'er we go we will cherish this evening. 
 
 Though we wander far, we'll remember thee still; 
 O, Cobbosseecontee, O, Contee-so-bossy; 
 
 O, Cobbosseecontee, O, so-bossy-Con." 
 
 Thursday 
 
 Thursday was the last "day in camp." There 
 was more ice-boating. The boys wrote many letters ; 
 there was much talk about the homeward trip; 
 Mr. Greenwood in ice-boating collided with another 
 boat — a collision in which Mr. Greenwood himself 
 and the boat piloted by the other man were disabled. 
 The other man and Mr. Greenwood's boat escaped 
 injury. Fred was rapidly recovering; provisions 
 were getting low though there was still plenty to 
 eat; there was a general air about the camp which 
 seemed to say: 
 
 *' We cannot stay here much longer. " 
 That evening the boys sang their "Good Night" 
 song to the Deacon and his household and then 
 proceeded to the home of C. I. Bailey, where they 
 sang the same song again and finally responded to 
 a kind invitation to "Come in"; then in front of 
 the "Highlands" they repeated the same selec- 
 tion — a farewell serenade for all who heard it. It 
 
TRAMP TO COBBOSSEECONTEE 75 
 
 was only a coincidence that, wherever the boys 
 sang this song in front of a house, during their 
 visits to the Center the electric lights were always 
 turned on in honor of the serenaders just as they 
 reached the lines: 
 
 "Forget thyself and all the world, 
 Put out each glaring light." 
 
 It was just ten minutes past seven the next 
 morning when the boys started on their home- 
 ward trip. Tramp! Tramp! Tramp! 
 
 There were three routes left to the choice of 
 the boys. The one involving a walk from Win- 
 throp Center to Oakland, twenty-three miles, and 
 a trolley ride of twelve miles through Oakland 
 and Waterville and Fairfield to Shawmut and a 
 walk of three miles from Shawmut to Good Will 
 was the route which proved attractive to most of 
 them. The first who arrived at Good Will reached 
 home at six- twenty P. M. The last arrivals were 
 at nine- ten P. M.; these were Simpson, Dorwood 
 and Whittier who had walked all the way and con- 
 trived to lenghten the trip to about forty- two miles. 
 
 It was an outing entirely unlike any the Good 
 Will boys had ever undertaken; it had been a test 
 of the endurance of some and a benefit to all; it 
 had been made memorable by the thoughtfulness 
 and the continued kindness of good friends in 
 Winthrop Center, 
 
IV 
 THROUGH THE SNOW TO SEBEC 
 
 While journeying one day on the Maine Central 
 Railroad between Portland, Maine, and my home 
 I met Wainwright Gushing, a public spirited citi- 
 zen and a man in full sympathy with me in my 
 efforts to extend a helping hand to others. In a 
 brief conversation on the train that day he made a 
 proposition that started my blood and quickened 
 my pulse. He told me that he owned a cottage on 
 the shore of Sebec Lake in Piscatiquis Gounty, 
 Maine, and if I would lead a party of boys to it, 
 the cottage should be at my disposal for a week — 
 two weeks if I wanted it. The trip was to be made, 
 however, at a time when Mr. Gushing or his family 
 would not be occupying the cottage, and this 
 would mean late autumn or early spring. At 
 first thought this condition would be fatal to the 
 project, because school begins in September, and 
 a vacation any time after that and before summer 
 is out of the question. Schools are in session at 
 Good Will until June and a trip of more than a day 
 or two could not be undertaken. 
 
 There was an arrangement, however, which might 
 be made and this was later discussed. The spring 
 vacation comes in March — March with its high 
 
 76 
 
THROUGH THE SNOW TO SEBEC 77 
 
 winds and heavy snows; its soft rains, slush and 
 mud. No one can tell which will predominate in 
 Maine in the month of March — cold and snow or 
 mud and rain. But this, beyond all question, 
 would be the time for a trip ; and no doubt the un- 
 certainty of weather conditions and the varied 
 travelling would prove an additional test of pluck 
 and endurance, even if they did not add to the en- 
 joyment. 
 
 But when the time came there were so many 
 uncertainties and the journey was so long that a 
 compromise was effected and the boys made "That 
 Tramp to Sebasticook." 
 
 The next year there were fresh rumors among the 
 boys of a trip to Sebec Lake but a tramp was made 
 to Cobbosseecontee which was duly chronicled by 
 the scribe. 
 
 Both of these trips were interesting and enjoy- 
 able to the boys, but their hearts turned toward 
 Sebec Lake, and so did mine. Thus it came to 
 pass that one day in November I said to a group 
 of boys — possible comrades on such a journey : 
 
 "I am going to Foxcroft this week; I shall see 
 Mr. Gushing who two years ago made a proposition 
 which resulted in the March tramps which I have 
 enjoyed and when I came back I will know whether 
 or not the Sebec Lake trip is feasible." 
 
 The boys listened intently. 
 
 " It will be a hard trip if we make it," I added. 
 
 "We can do it and we want it," chorused the 
 
78 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 
 
 boys. "We can make a harder trip than we made 
 last year anyway, and we want to get far up in the 
 woods." 
 
 From Foxcroft the next week I mailed postal 
 cards to several of the boys whom I fancied would 
 make the trip. The cards were written in order but 
 before they were in the mail they had got woefully 
 mixed. They were as follows: 
 To Norman Hinckley : 
 
 I saw Mr. Gushing the owner of 
 To Burton Cook: 
 
 says he will have a dinner ready for us. I will 
 make 
 To Horace Davis: 
 
 Dexter, thirty-two miles, stop 
 To George Goleman: 
 
 of it in March. I think 
 To Fred Gook : 
 
 to Sebec. Mr. Mayo, a business man of Foxcroft 
 To Dexter Davis: 
 
 over night and the next day go 
 To Frank Nason: 
 
 he says we can have the use 
 To John Bradbury: 
 
 further arrangements in Dexter today and 
 To Archie MacDougal : 
 
 the best plan will be to tramp to 
 To Rex Fairchild : 
 
 the cottage at Sebec Lake, and 
 
THROUGH THE SNOW TO SEBEC 79 
 
 To Robert Tucker : 
 
 more details before I sleep tonight. 
 To Edmund Brown: 
 
 will know 
 
 These cards, as I have already stated, were 
 written in order, but when they reached Good Will 
 they were as badly disarranged as when they were 
 finally dropped into the mail box at Foxcroft, and 
 not one of them alone conveyed much information 
 to the recipients. But when they had been col- 
 lected at Good Will and arranged, the boys had the 
 following, which was sufficient for my purpose at the 
 time: 
 
 "I saw Mr. Gushing, the owner of the cottage 
 at Sebec Lake, and he says we can have the use of 
 it in March. I think the best plan will be to tramp 
 to Dexter, thirty-two miles, stop over night, and the 
 next day go to Sebec. Mr. Mayo, a business man 
 of Foxcroft says he will have a dinner ready for us. 
 I will make further arrangements in Dexter today 
 and will know more details before I sleep tonight." 
 
 On the trip to Cobbosseecontee in the year 1908 
 a series of messages were read at intervals to the 
 boys, at such times as were designated on the sealed 
 envelopes in which they had been delivered to dif- 
 ferent members of the party. These "wireless" 
 messages were from friends at Good Will. Several 
 weeks before the tramp to Sebec Lake was to begin 
 messages began to arrive to be used on the occasion 
 
8o ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 
 
 but which were not to be seen or heard by the pedes- 
 trians until the times designated on the envelopes. 
 As the boys who were to make the journey were 
 members of the Good Will Y. M. C. A., many of 
 the messages were from directors of boys' work; 
 several of them were from State and International 
 Secretaries. The reader will agree with me, that 
 these greetings were approriate and well calculated 
 to act as a tonic, should the pedestrians prove to be 
 weak. 
 
 C. C. Robinson, at that time Maine State Sec- 
 retary of Boys' Work, opened his message with 
 lines from Edmund Vance Cook, and had this 
 cheering bit for the travellers : 
 
 "'Did you tackle that trouble that came your way 
 With a resolute heart and cheerful; 
 Or hide your face from the light of day 
 With a craven soul and fearful? 
 Oh, a trouble is a ton or a trouble is an ounce, 
 Or a trouble is what you make it. 
 And it isn't the fact that you're hurt that counts, 
 But only — how did you take it? 
 
 You were beaten to earth? Well, well, what's that? 
 
 Come up with a smiling face. 
 
 It's nothing against you to fall down flat, 
 
 But to He there — that's disgrace. 
 
 The harder you're thrown, why the higher you bounce; 
 
 Be proud of your blackened eye! 
 
 It isn't the fact that you're licked that counts; 
 
 It's how did you fight — ^and why? 
 
THROUGH THE SNOW TO SEBEC 8 1 
 
 And though you be done to the death, what then? 
 If you battled the best you could; 
 If you played your part in the world of men, 
 Why the Critic will call it good. 
 
 Death comes with a crawl or comes with a pounce. 
 And, whether he's slow or spry, 
 It isn't the fact that you're dead that counts, 
 But only — how did you die?' 
 
 With kindest regards," 
 
 Lewis W. Dunn, then the New Hampshire State 
 Secretary of Boys' Work, also quoted verse that 
 seemed to anticipate troubles of various kinds for 
 the pedestrians. His message read: 
 
 "To the Good Will 'Hikers': 
 
 Apply this sample of 'Good Cheer Salve' prepared by 
 Herbert Kaufmann to the blister on your heel. It's guaran- 
 teed to ease the irritation or money refunded. 
 
 'Who's to blame if you by worry 
 Fill each waking hour with dread? 
 Does the fault belong to others? 
 Isn't it your own instead? 
 
 Here's a sunny plain and cheery. 
 There's a valley dark and damp; 
 It's for you to choose between them. 
 Where will be your daily camp? 
 
 Might as well be bright and smiling. 
 All depends upon your mind ; 
 Might as well enjoy the melon 
 As to only eat the rind. ' 
 
 Sincerely yours," 
 
82 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 
 
 Anxious to add my own word of mental stimulus, 
 I entrusted one of the boys with the following, and 
 this, like all the other messages was marked to be 
 opened at a stated time. The "stated times" 
 extended all the way from "just before starting 
 from Good Will," on the first day, and "after din- 
 ner at Hartland," to various times the second day — 
 such times as 7.20, 8.35, 9.15, 10.20, 10.55 A. M., 
 1.20, 1.55, 2.10 P. M. and so on through the days. 
 
 "Fellows: — 
 
 I am reminding you that on Monday of this week Edward 
 Payson Weston, the famous pedestrian, started on his walk 
 from New York City to San Francisco. The day was the 
 seventy-first anniversary of his birth. There is a difference 
 between seventeen and seventy-one; the difference in train- 
 ing and experience is in his favor; the difference in endurance 
 ought to be in your favor. His journey is four thousand three 
 hundred miles; yours is fifty-two. He went thirty miles the 
 first day; you must do twenty today. Your goal is nearer 
 than his; you must all win out, and win out in good shape." 
 
 David R. Porter, International Secretary to 
 High and Preparatory Schools, greeted the youth- 
 ful pedestrians thus: 
 
 " Robert Louis Stevenson in spite of constant illness was a 
 great walker, and as a greeting for this trip or a message for 
 the journey there is nothing anywhere more heartening than 
 this: 'To travel hopefully is a better thing than to arrive. ' " 
 
 E. B. Hinkley, Yale '10, furnished this for a spur 
 to any who needed it : 
 
THROUGH THE SNOW TO SEBEC 83 
 
 "To the light-hearted, the heavy-footed, and the game ones: — 
 Once there lived, and walked, and fished, a man; and he did 
 little else — save that he thought the while that he was living, 
 walking and fishing. He did not care much for social times; 
 a friend or two who could hold a rod and catch trout were 
 sufficient for him. But he could walk well, and he did walk; 
 he could fish well, and he was a famous fisherman; and, since 
 he lived well, he thought well. All unexpectedly, there was a 
 loud call in our great country for just such a man as I am tell- 
 ing you about; and the man, who had never done anything but 
 walk and fish and think, put his wonderful personality before 
 the world forever, so well did he obey the call of his country- 
 men. The words of the proud patriot are still ringing in the 
 ears of all who love the United States of America. ' But as for 
 me, give me Liberty, or give me death!' But why do I speak 
 of him to you who are oflf on a walking tour? Just because 
 I believe that you are getting into your personality something 
 of the power and vigor of Patrick Henry; it is a brand of 
 strength that one cannot gain by riding on trolley cars, and it 
 travels from the toes up. 
 
 Yours all the way," 
 
 G. R. Merriam, Director of Boys' Work, Port- 
 land, Me., encouraged the party thus: 
 
 "Greetings from the Student, Junior, and Employed Boy's 
 Departments of the Young Men's Christian Association, Port- 
 land, Maine, to the Good Will Farm, Y. M. C. A., boys on the 
 ' Hike ' to Sebec Lake. 
 
 Say fellows, do any of you wish you hadn't come? I know 
 you don't, I wish I could be with you myself. Are your feet 
 sore? Joints stiff? Never mind little things like that, you'll 
 forget all about those things in a few days. And think how 
 you will sleep tonight! 
 
 Some day you'll thank God that you had the opportunity 
 and the physical strength to take such a 'Hike.' It is only 
 
84 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 
 
 a few miles more to the Lake. Take it easy but get there. 
 Don't forget — you have an aim — ' I press toward the mark, ' 
 'Quit you like men, be strong.' 
 
 Your true friend," 
 
 E. M. Robinson, International Secretary of 
 Boys' Work, forwarded this for the inspiration of 
 all who should hear it : 
 
 "To the Good Will Association Boys on their thirty-two 
 mile tramp I should like to quote the words which Spenser 
 wrote so long ago: 
 
 ' When ye houses were made of straw 
 Ye men were made of oak; 
 Now ye houses are made of oak 
 And ye men are made of straw.' 
 
 "I consider this tramp which the boys are undertaking a 
 most excellent thing in the cultivation of the oak timber of 
 Good Will. I cannot help thinking of that memorable walk 
 of Adoniram Judson's; the miles he walked on the blistering 
 sands as a prisoner, when every footprint left its bloody track 
 from his blistered feet. 
 
 "One of our Boys' Departments has organized as 'The City 
 of Sparta,' and in certain respects which you can easily im- 
 agine, they are endeavoring to produce a Spartan character. 
 
 "If I were writing a letter which G. W. Hinckley was not 
 to see, I might mention also one or more of the virtues of the 
 aboriginal Indians, for they had virtues as well as vices, and 
 our present civilization is weaker because the white papooses 
 of our cities are pampered rather than trained to endure." 
 
 W. H. Burger, State Secretary of Boys' Work, 
 New York, had an inspiring message in the fol- 
 lowing language : 
 
THROUGH THE SNOW TO SEBEC 85 
 
 "To the Good Will Trampers: 
 
 When the Norman conqueror of Britain stepped from a 
 small boat onto the shore of the enemy's country, he stumbled 
 and fell prone upon the beach. A courtier standing by re- 
 marked in an undertone, 'My! but that is a bad sign.' Wil- 
 liam's quick ear caught the remark of the courtier and instead 
 of rising at once to his feet, he dug his fingers down into the 
 gravel and then, raising himself to his full height and lifting his 
 hands above his head, he declared, 'Thus do I seize the land.' 
 
 It was this spirit of indomitable and unconquerable per- 
 severance which made him master of all England a few weeks 
 later. 
 
 With kind regards, etc." 
 
 There was a deal of good cheer in the greeting 
 of W. H. Gibson, State Secretary of Boys' Work 
 in Massachusetts and Rhode Island, which ran 
 thus: 
 
 "To the Good Will Boys:— 
 
 Here is a bit of verse by Riley which I want to give you as 
 my message: 
 
 'It ain't no use to grumble and complain; 
 It's jest as cheap and easy to rejoice; 
 When God sorts out the weather and sends rain, 
 W'y rain's my choice. 
 
 In this existence, dry and wet 
 Will overtake the best of men — 
 Some little shift o' clouds '11 shet 
 The sun off now and then; 
 They ain't no sense as I can see 
 In mortals such as you and me 
 A-faultin' Nature's wise intents, 
 And lockin' horns with Providence.' 
 
 May this tramp be the best ever." 
 
86 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 
 
 Secretary R. A. Jordan, of the Bangor Y. M. C. A., 
 and a director of the Good Will Home Association, 
 hinted at larger things than the Sebec trip, when 
 he greeted the boys in characteristic fashion, 
 saying : 
 
 " Some one has said, ' It is as easy to do great things as small 
 if you only know how.' The only way to learn to do great 
 things is to do small things well; put up a good fight in this 
 hike and it helps you in the bigger hike called life. Keep on 
 going." 
 
 And C. B. Horton, at that time State Secretary 
 of Boys' Work, Pennsylvania, seemed to hit the 
 nail on the head, as had all the rest, when he wrote: 
 
 "Tis the coward who quits to misfortune; 
 'Tis the calf who bawls all the day; 
 'Tis the fool who wins half the battle, 
 Then throws all his chances away. 
 
 The time to succeed is when others, 
 Discouraged, show traces of tire; 
 The battle is fought on the home stretch 
 And won 'tween the flag and the wire." 
 
 It was a particularly happy bunch of boys that 
 retired on the night of March 17 at Good Will a 
 little earlier than usual. It was an equally happy 
 bunch that jumped out of the beds the next morn- 
 ing when Curtis, having been impressed the night 
 before with his responsibility for waking the boys, 
 
THROUGH THE SNOW TO SEBEC 87 
 
 made a round of the rooms and thumped on the 
 door promptly at four o'clock. 
 
 For twenty minutes there was life, abundant life; 
 noise, irrepressible noise, and enthusiasm without 
 limit. At the end of that time I returned from a 
 trip to the veranda and said : 
 
 "Boys, we are in the midst of a blizzard that bids 
 fair to increase in fierceness and last at least a 
 day or two; the wind blows a gale from the north- 
 east and the air is full of snow." 
 
 Then there was quiet on the second floor in Buck- 
 minster; a wave of silence made slow progress on 
 the first floor where several of the boys had slept, 
 but the news finally reached every pair of ears and 
 each heart and there was depression of spirits. 
 
 But it proved to be only a March squall for at 
 four forty-five the wind had backed into the north- 
 west and stars were in sight overhead. At five fif- 
 teen eighteen boys with cheers and calls started 
 from the Buckminster, at the same time that the 
 morning train from the North slowed down at Good 
 Will station to take on Principal Watson, the two 
 cooks and myself. 
 
 As we journeyed to the South it seemed to us 
 that the boys were fortunate; the traveling was 
 good ; for the snow squall of a few minutes had im- 
 proved the walking, if indeed enough snow had 
 fallen to have any effect at all, and the temperature 
 was ideal for the trip. But five miles east of Water- 
 ville appearances began to change. More snow had 
 
88 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 
 
 fallen; the trees were laden with it, and though 
 it was such a scene as we had never witnessed before 
 — -the branches of the pines and spruce bending 
 under their white load and making a fairy picture 
 of rare beauty — I was confident that further north 
 where the boys were tramping the snow was as 
 deep, perhaps several inches deeper, and progress 
 must be slow and difficult. After changing cars 
 at Newport, every possible doubt was removed; 
 for, before reaching Dexter the train was moving 
 through snow six inches deep — eight inches — ten 
 inches — a foot or more; and I knew that the Good 
 Will boys must be facing the stunt of their lives. 
 To add to the difficulty the wind had begun to 
 blow and as the snow was light it was scudding in 
 clouds across lakes and over hills, filling in roads. 
 What would pedestrians do on such a day and in 
 such conditions? But this was a March trip; it 
 had been understood from the beginning that there 
 would be uncertainties, hard experiences, unfavor- 
 able weather and a lack of many of the features 
 that make a summer outing enjoyable. 
 
 When we stepped from the train at Dexter, Wil- 
 son, a former Good Will boy, a student in the Dexter 
 High School, was waiting for us. He had come 
 to the train to see if we were on board. No one in 
 Dexter had regarded it as probable that we would 
 make the start in a blizzard, and a blizzard — not 
 the western blizzard, but the only kind we have in 
 
THROUGH THE SNOW TO SEBEC 89 
 
 Maine, which is a heavy snow storm and very low 
 temperature — had been in progress all night. 
 
 "Of course," said men who knew about the pro- 
 posed tramp, "they will wait till the roads are open 
 and conditions favorable." 
 
 But we had arrived, the boys were somewhere 
 between Dexter and Good Will; beyond that we 
 had no knowledge. By using a telephone we 
 learned later that the Good Will party was in Canaan 
 village at 8.20 A. M., and the boys had telephoned 
 to Hartland that they would take dinner in that 
 place, but would be at least an hour and a half 
 behind their schedule on account of unbroken roads. 
 
 It was a quiet afternoon that the two boys and 
 I spent in the cottage; but we speculated much 
 as to when the boys would arrive and as the hours 
 wore by we began to watch. 
 
 "I think they will be here at quarter past five," 
 said Jeff. 
 
 "I say it will be quarter of six," said Chauncey, 
 the cookee. 
 
 I assured them that so far as I could judge the 
 boys would arrive at just 6.20 P. M. 
 
 But quarter past five came and passed; so did 
 quarter of six and even six twenty, and the sun set, 
 and there was no token that the boys were near; 
 and "Three were fagged out and all were very 
 tired" even at the noon hour as far away as Hart- 
 land. 
 
 I looked out of the window across the lake at 
 
90 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 
 
 short but irregular intervals. I sat in front of 
 the open fire and tried to "just set and not think," 
 but that was out of the question. I went to the 
 cabinet organ several times and improvised, but each 
 time I found myself producing minor chords and 
 following mournful strains. 
 
 I tried to turn the lights higher, but could add 
 nothing to the cheerfulness of the place; it was 
 cheerful enough as it was but something was lack- 
 ing. Supper was ready. It is sorrowful to prepare 
 supper for twenty and have no one present at 
 supper time but the two cooks and yourself. It 
 was long after the glow had faded from the west 
 and the lamps had been lighted that the cook and 
 the cookee came in from the veranda and said: 
 
 **It's so dark now that we can't see; it's no use 
 to try to watch any longer." 
 
 It was twenty minutes after that when there was 
 a sound of many voices out on the lake; a team 
 appeared and the boys began to cheer. And answer- 
 ing cheers went back to them from the veranda. 
 
 "The boys are all here but one," said Mr. Watson, 
 "I am here to report that just as we were taking 
 the train at Hartland, Lute said to one of the other 
 fellows : 
 
 *' 'Don't you tell Mr. Watson, but I am going to 
 walk to Dexter' ; and turning about Lute walked 
 in another direction. I have telephoned to a man 
 on the route over which he will probably go to speak 
 to him when he passes, and if Lute will not stop, 
 
THROUGH THE SNOW TO SEBEC 91 
 
 the man is Instructed to stop him by force or keep 
 him and bring him through in a sleigh. Lute is 
 one of the boys who was fagged out at Hartland. 
 I did not know what had happened till just as the 
 train was to start for Pittsfield, and I have done 
 all that I could. What I fear is that he will get 
 tired and fall out by the way — I can't tell what 
 will happen." 
 
 ''He should not have done it; the boys were to 
 keep together," was about all that I could say. 
 
 Mr. Watson was to pass the night in the village 
 with friends, and left the cottage to ride back with 
 Wilson. 
 
 After they had gone, I learned something of the 
 boys' experiences on their journey. 
 
 Soon after leaving Good Will in the morning 
 they began to encounter heavy roads, but the first 
 six miles were made with comparative ease. After 
 leaving Canaan the snow deepened; it was neces- 
 sary for them to break the road most of the way 
 and this they did, the leader holding his position 
 for ten minutes, then falling to the rear, letting the 
 next in order lead for the same length of time. 
 
 They had reached Hartland safely though some 
 were very tired; they had taken dinner and a 
 rest; an effort had been made to secure a team or 
 teams to help them the last sixteen miles from Hart- 
 land to Dexter, but the stage carrying the United 
 States mail had not been able to get through and 
 no one was willing to "harness up" and try it. 
 
92 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 
 
 It was finally decided to make the rest of the journey 
 to Dexter by way of the Sebasticook and Moose- 
 head Railroad to Pittsfield and thence by way of 
 the Maine Central to the village. Mr. Brawn and 
 Wilson had heard of this and did not start out to 
 meet the party, but were at the Dexter station 
 to greet them instead and to bring them to the 
 cottage. All were feeling finely and were in good 
 spirits; but it was a grave question what had be- 
 come of Lute. He was a lost comrade; he was 
 lost through his own determination to do the thing 
 which others had undertaken and been forced to 
 give up. 
 
 The evening was like other evenings in such a 
 place and under like circumstances. The supper 
 was hearty and enjoyed; the cabinet organ was 
 brought into service; the fire on the hearth blazed 
 high or burned low as much or little wood was 
 placed upon it; there were stockings to be mended 
 and shoes to be dried; fruit to be eaten and songs 
 to be hummed. In the course of the long evening 
 some quiet games were played; the open fire was 
 watched and enjoyed. Experiences along the way 
 were related; accounts of the visits to the public 
 library, mills, and other places in Pittsfield while 
 waiting for the train were given; and finally and 
 at a seasonable hour, the boys, tired and happy, ex- 
 cept that they did not know what had become of 
 Lute, went upstairs to their beds. 
 
 With all the party in one big sleeping room there 
 
THROUGH THE SNOW TO SEBEC 93 
 
 was much social merriment at first; then voices 
 became fewer. At last lights were out. It was 
 dark; it was silent. Then there was measured 
 breathing in all parts of the room. Then the alarm 
 clock which Jeff had set to go off at ten-thirty 
 got in its spiteful and disturbing work. 
 
 "Bur — bur-r-r-r bur-r-r-r-r-r", went the nickel- 
 plated timepiece. 
 
 "Jeff, Jeff," shouted one of the boys, "it's time 
 to get up and start the fire; but there was no 
 response from Jeff's bed. From another corner, 
 however, someone answering between a muttering 
 and a groan said: 
 
 "I should hate to have to get up so early." 
 
 That was the last word from the weary trampers 
 that night except that Lush had the toothache, 
 for which there was no relief. 
 
 "We haven't a thing here for toothache," I 
 explained. "Your teeth should have been in good 
 condition before you started for the woods. I've 
 heard that ice-cold water or ice itself will benumb 
 the nerve in a tooth but I have never tried it and 
 I don't know." 
 
 Then Lush went downstairs in the dark and was 
 gone long enough to give the suggested cure for 
 toothache a fair trial. Softly and cautiously he 
 crept up the stairs again in the dark, and as he 
 got into bed he explained to his bed fellow : 
 
 " I put some snow on my tooth and I have about 
 killed myself; I hope I'll live." 
 
94 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 
 
 But there was no reply. It was the last word 
 for the night. 
 
 We should all have been asleep then; we would 
 have been, but I could not for a time get out of 
 my thought the absent member of the party. 
 
 "If I could only know where he is," I said in 
 my heart. 
 
 How could I know or guess that at the very 
 moment he was less than half a mile from the 
 cottage, in the middle of the lake, tramping through 
 the snow and the cold and the wind, straining his 
 eyes for the vision of a lighted window? How 
 could I know that he was whistling, calling and 
 then listening, hoping that through the night there 
 might come to him an answering call? 
 
 Later on we got the whole story from Lute him- 
 self. When he said to Lush " I am going to walk 
 to Dexter" he meant every word he uttered. He 
 left the boys at the hotel in Hartland with the 
 "do or die" spirit strong in him. From Hartland 
 to St. Albans was comparatively easy but beyond 
 St. Albans the strong wind and the drifting snow 
 made the going hard. It was nine o'clock when he 
 reached Dexter. He inquired the way to the El- 
 kinstown Club and was soon out in the country 
 again wading through heavy snow and facing the 
 wind. He reached the lake, and looked in vain 
 for a light on the farther shore. He tried to shout 
 but it was useless against the wind. " I wish I had 
 asked that man more carefully about it," he said 
 
THROUGH THE SNOW TO SEBEC 95 
 
 to himself, and he retraced his steps to the 
 village. 
 
 It was now getting late, but he got minute in- 
 structions as to how to reach the Club House, and 
 started off again, He reached the lake and this 
 time continued far out on its snow laden surface. 
 Somewhere in that dark rim of trees was his goal, 
 but there was no light and his loudest cries 
 awakened no response. 
 
 It was after midnight. There was but one thing 
 to do ; he returned to the hotel in Dexter. Weary 
 enough to sleep anywhere, he rapped on the door 
 and rattled the knob, but no one seemed to hear. 
 Seeing a lighted house in the distance, he ap- 
 proached and rang the bell with a feeling of 
 uncertainty. But it was the home of Mr. Smart, 
 who had heard of our lost boy, and who gave him 
 a warm welcome, and best of all a cozy room for 
 the night. 
 
 "Oh Gee!" exclaimed Lute, "Don't that bed 
 look good!" And in a little while he was fast 
 asleep. 
 
 He had "walked to Dexter" even as he had 
 said he would. 
 
 A real peril had been faced on the journey from 
 Dexter to the cottage at Deep Cove Point. There 
 was nothing dangerous in the walk; there was 
 nothing serious to be feared in the surroundings; 
 
96 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 
 
 but there was ground for suspicion and uneasiness 
 on my part. As the boys walked toward Fox- 
 croft the warmth from the sun increased ; the boys 
 quickened their pace and when they reached the 
 village they were perspiring freely. To have 
 boarded a sleigh then, for a ride through the woods, 
 would have resulted in disaster without doubt; 
 but the time taken for dinner was something of 
 a safeguard. There was not an overcoat in the 
 party; what use had they for extra clothing of any 
 kind? The real risk was run when they seated 
 themselves in the sleigh, their clothing still warm 
 and damp from the twelve mile tramp, and settled 
 down for the ride through the forest and up the 
 lake. It was more than a risk; it would be safe to 
 say that colds and fevers were sure to result. But, 
 strange to relate, only one boy succumbed before 
 the test ; that boy was Kiko. 
 
 It was after midnight when hoarse sounds pro- 
 ceeded from the room in which Principal Watson 
 and his party of pedestrians were resting. It was 
 still later when, unable to sleep because of anxiety, 
 I arose and lighting a candle made my way out of 
 my room through the dining-room and kitchen to 
 their headquarters. 
 
 Kiko was asleep; but his hoarse coughing was 
 ominous. There was no question about it; his 
 crimson cheeks and short breath told the story; 
 Kiko was sick. The chill he had experienced the 
 day before, when he had been forced to sit in the 
 
THROUGH THE SNOW TO SEBEC 97 
 
 sleigh after his warm walk, had got in its work; 
 fever had followed. 
 
 At an earlier hour than anyone had planned, all 
 were up in the morning. It was Sunday — our only 
 Sunday — in the woods. The cook and cookee did 
 their work well ; it was always thus, and at a sea- 
 sonable hour the table was cleared and we were 
 ready for the day. 
 
 It was a perfect morning; the icebound, snow- 
 covered lake glistened in the sunlight; Boarstone 
 Mountain, white, dignified, silent, seemed to be 
 only a mile away. 
 
 " I have decided I want to climb that mountain," 
 said one of the boys, "do you suppose we can do it 
 today?" 
 
 "That mountain!" I exclaimed. "Why that is 
 old Boarstone; it's the highest peak but one I be- 
 lieve in Maine; it is second to Katahdin at least, 
 but it's more than a dozen miles away. To climb 
 it you will have to overcome ten or a dozen miles 
 of snow five feet deep in the forest, and then you 
 will only be at the foot of it; no one could reach 
 the summit now." 
 
 A look of disappointment was the only reply. 
 
 At 10.30 A. M. a big chunk was added to the 
 fuel that blazed in the open fireplace; chairs w^ere 
 arranged for the service, and the worshippers were 
 seated ready for a meeting somewhat unlike those 
 that w^ere just beginning at that hour in the 
 churches in Maine "settlements." 
 
98 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 
 
 "What hymns will probably be sung in chapel 
 at Good Will today?" I asked. 
 
 "'Coronation' might be one of them," remarked 
 "Allops." 
 
 "And 'Bethany,'" suggested "College." 
 
 "And 'Abide with Me' might be the closing 
 one," added Brad. 
 
 "All right; then we will sing these three;" and 
 with this announcement the service opened. 
 
 When sermon time came there was no discourse; 
 instead we gave our attention to the measuring of 
 ourselves, and it came about in a peculiar way. 
 
 A few weeks before I had had an idle half hour 
 in a student's room in Bowdoin College. From the 
 center table I had taken up a little vellum-covered 
 book entitled "Self Measurement," written by 
 President William DeWitt Hyde. I was more than 
 interested in it; I was delighted as I turned its 
 pages and became acquainted with its contents. 
 
 "In the book President Hyde has placed a chart 
 or scale; through the center of the scale he has 
 placed ten qualities which he calls fundamental; 
 if when the questions are asked you can answer 
 ' yes' to those above the line you will mark yourself 
 plus; if to those below the line you must answer 
 'yes,' then you must mark yourself minus; when 
 we are through you will add together your plus 
 figures and your minus figures and subtract the 
 smaller number from the larger. The author says: 
 'Every sentence in the body of this book except 
 
THROUGH THE SNOW TO SEBEC 99 
 
 the final sentence in each section which assigns the 
 rank is a question rather than a statement.' Now 
 take your pencils. Peggy will distribute sheets of 
 paper; think as I read and then mark yourself to 
 the best of your judgment. Are you ready? 
 
 "We will take first the matter of physique or 
 body. Of course I will not read all the questions 
 which President Hyde asks, but just enough so 
 that you can measure yourselves intelligently. 
 
 "President Hyde says: 'Are you careless about 
 diet, irregular at meals, constantly catching cold 
 from wet feet or undue exposure? Do you neglect 
 to take outdoor exercise every day? Do you sit 
 up late at night? Have you a silly ambition to 
 take the highest rank in school or society, no mat- 
 ter what havoc it works to your health? Then 
 you are defective; your rank is minus one. 
 
 " *Do you overeat to the point of dullness or 
 dyspepsia; do you plunge into exciting pleasure to 
 the extent that you become disinclined to syste- 
 matic work and simple pleasures; do you indulge 
 appetites, in themselves innocent, to the point of 
 exhaustion? Then you are intemperate ; your rank 
 is minus two. 
 
 " 'Do you for yourself or others carry overwork, 
 under-rest, strain, worry, exposure, unwholesome 
 diet, unsanitary surroundings, sensual indulgence 
 to the point where you know they are shortening 
 life? Then you are a murderer; your rank is 
 minus three. 
 
100 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 
 
 " 'Do you eat and drink what you need and no 
 more; do you take exercise whenever you need it 
 whether you want to or not; do you keep all the 
 appetites and passions under such control that 
 they ever serve and never injure your physical 
 well-being? Then you are a receiver of God's great 
 gift of health and your rank is plus one. 
 
 " *Do you plan to keep and increase your phys- 
 ical vigor; do you learn and play games that cor- 
 rect the unwholesome tendency of your business 
 and profession; do you row and sail and swim 
 and climb and hunt and fish and play golf or ten- 
 nis; do you meet life as a conqueror? Then you 
 have physical vigor; your rank is plus two. 
 
 " 'Do you radiate happiness, scatter good cheer, 
 kindle enthusiasm wherever you go; do you enter 
 with such intensity into whatever you undertake 
 that men rally around you? Then you are a nat- 
 ural leader of men; your rank is plus three.' " 
 
 There was a pause. One or two of the boys 
 looked anxious; one bit his lip in apparent per- 
 plexity; two or three smiled slightly, and finally 
 I could see that each one had placed plus or minus 
 signs upon his paper which he believed to be fair 
 and just to himself. 
 
 Then followed the reading of chapters on "Pro- 
 perty," "Pleasure," "Science," "Art," "Family," 
 "Country," and "ReHgion," with abundant time 
 for thought and marking between the chapters. 
 Then the papers were collected; a prayer was 
 
'The Snow was Deep' 
 
THROUGH THE SNOW TO SEBEC lOI 
 
 offered; the closing song sung; and the service 
 was ended. 
 
 "I was minus ten," said one of the boys, as he 
 put his pencil in his pocket with a sigh. 
 
 "I wasn't anything," said another; ''my plusses 
 and minuses just balanced; I guess I don't amount 
 to much anyway." 
 
 While still another volunteered this information : 
 
 "I was plus twenty, but I guess I must have 
 made some mistake." 
 
 But whether anyone was really satisfied with the 
 measurement of himself and the moral stature he 
 had reached, I do not know. 
 
 "I am so constituted, boys," I said, "that I am 
 human seven days in the week; I need exercise as 
 much as I did yesterday or as I will tomorrow. I 
 go a-walking and I am bound for Buck's Cove 
 across the lake three miles away. Who goes?" 
 
 A chorus of "ayes" indicated that I would not 
 be alone on the way. 
 
 "That's Granny Cross Mountain," I remarked, 
 as I drew near the other side of the lake, "and 
 right at the foot of it years ago I camped with a 
 party of Good Will boys and my own family. One 
 Sunday afternoon — I cannot tell just how many full 
 weeks ago it was — I went to the top of the moun- 
 tain, and to my delight found httle bushes just 
 black with shining huckleberries; the first I had 
 ever seen in Maine. There are no huckleberries 
 
102 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 
 
 there this afternoon, my lads; this is a different 
 kind of an outing. 
 
 The cottage at Deep Cove Point is attractive 
 and spacious; but it is so deep in the woods and 
 so far from other occupied dwelHngs that we were 
 inclined to speak of it as "Camp" instead of cot- 
 tage and this term was used ten times in conversa- 
 tion where "Cottage" was used once. The hours 
 in camp moved happily and swiftly; there was 
 much talk about many things; indoor games were 
 played which aroused considerable interest; the 
 piano was played some, and the graphophone was 
 in almost constant use. It was announced at the 
 beginning that only Mr. Watson and myself were 
 to operate the machine — not because the manage- 
 ment was difficult but as a precaution against 
 breakage or careless use; it was the easiest way of 
 avoiding accident but we were in danger of degen- 
 erating into mere turners of crank — organ grinders, 
 if you please; for from early rising till the last 
 light was out the graphophone was going or soon 
 to start up again. Some years we had enjoyed 
 much singing in camp, and if there were musicians 
 among us they were encouraged and urged to do 
 their best for the entertainment of the company; 
 but in this case only a change of record and a turn- 
 ing of the crank was desired. A good old-fashioned 
 sing seemed out of the question — "Let's have the 
 graphophone;" Kiko, who was the best musician 
 in the party, might have given us some inspiring 
 
THROUGH THE SNOW TO SEBEC 103 
 
 music but — "Let's have the graphophone ; " there 
 were sacred songs, secular songs, and Good Will 
 songs which are a kind of a cross between the two, 
 which might have been sung around the blazing 
 fire at any time, but "Let's have the graphophone." 
 It was a source of amusement, it is true, but it was 
 bound to bring about a crisis soon or late and it 
 did, but the crisis was late — too late to prevent 
 disappointment to some of us. 
 
 One of the questions, often asked before we 
 started on the tramp, and asked by those who w^ere 
 not going and had never been on such a journey, 
 was this: 
 
 "What can you find to do in the woods in 
 winter?" 
 
 Let it be said in reply that there is no end of 
 amusement in a March camp in Maine. These 
 amusements are not the same as one enjoys in the 
 summer; with snow on the ground and the north- 
 west winds sweeping across miles of lake between 
 you and the arctic region one does not stretch 
 himself upon turf in the shade or swing under 
 leafy branches in a hammock nor troll in the early 
 morning nor row just for exercise at evening; if 
 these are the only things one can enjoy in the 
 woods he must wait for the summer. But winter 
 — and March is a part of winter in Maine — has a 
 full assortment of outdoor diversions for those who 
 like them. 
 
 To begin with, no one at Big Cove Camp ques- 
 
104 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 
 
 tioned the existence of the spectre moose, for there 
 was ample evidence that this creature Hved in the 
 Maine forest, and who could tell how near he 
 might be to us at any time. This monarch of the 
 woods first created an excitement in the winter of 
 1 90 1-2. Men of a skeptical turn have tried to 
 disprove the story and have asserted their belief 
 that there is no such giant moose in Maine. But 
 there is; of course there is, and every one of us 
 believed it. 
 
 The boys made frequent tramps across the lake 
 and into the forest and frequent reports were 
 brought back of thrilling approaches to his spectre 
 moose-ship; sometimes a track had been seen, 
 sometimes there were brought back labored and in- 
 genious arguments to prove that although no signs 
 of this formidable creature had been discovered he 
 must be somewhere in our vicinity, and once a 
 party which had been to the top of Pine Mountain 
 reported that there was a place on the summit 
 where there were many deer tracks and something 
 had been lying down. Presumably the ' ' something' ' 
 was a herd of deer but who could say that the spec- 
 tre moose of northern Maine had not put in a 
 night there since the last snow storm. It was 
 enough to start one's blood to think of it. 
 
 Then there was fishing through the ice. On 
 Monday evening Mr. Watson said: "I am going 
 to the head of the lake fishing tomorrow," and nine 
 boys declared they were going with him. They 
 
THROUGH THE SNOW TO SEBEC 105 
 
 went. Before the start there were several hours of 
 earnest discussion as to the best kind of bait to 
 use, the most approved hook to try, the proba- 
 biUty of a fine catch, and rumors of a big run of 
 smelt up near the "Lake House" were related to 
 stir interest and whet enthusiasm. 
 
 In the morning the party, headed by Principal 
 Watson, moved single file to the northwest over 
 the lake, and returned in the afternoon. When 
 they returned, we learned that one pickerel had 
 been caught. It was ten inches long. It repre- 
 sented one inch of fish for each of the ten fishermen. 
 What better thing could have happened for the 
 amusement and edification of those who had lin- 
 gered in the cam^p? 
 
 A second expedition after fish was organized the 
 next day which resulted in only ten inches less of 
 fish, but it was fun — of course it was — and fishless 
 trips are not characteristic of March alone; they 
 have been heard of even in the bright summer 
 time. 
 
 And the snow was a source of endless interest 
 and amusement. For instance, on Wednesday 
 morning I was standing in a group of boys; Pod 
 was so near me that I felt quite sure he would 
 respond when I called indirectly for a companion. 
 No one had stood the journey better than Pod; 
 no one was readier for a skirmish at a moment's 
 notice ; no one entered more fully into the outdoor 
 sports, 
 
I06 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 
 
 "I am going for a twenty minutes' walk over 
 the lake," I said, "twenty minutes out and twenty 
 minutes back. You see I've got to do something 
 for a change. I want one fellow for company — 
 only one. Who goes?" 
 
 "I do," said Pod. 
 
 "Good enough," I said, "come on." 
 
 Straight to the northeast we traveled; the crust 
 was hard, the sun was shining brightly, and the 
 lake was like a spotless floor carpeted with crystals. 
 We talked of many things; of the crispness of the 
 air, of the apparent friendliness of Boarstone 
 Mountain as it stood, seeming so near to us and 
 yet so far away; of the good spirit in camp; of 
 the prospect that Kiko would recover without hav- 
 ing pneumonia, and that Bud, who had been sick 
 all night and suffered pains that we could neither 
 relieve nor understand, would come out all right. 
 
 Then I stopped. Backing off from Pod till I 
 stood three feet from him I looked him squarely 
 in the eye. Pod smiled. 
 
 "We are a mile from camp, aren't we?" I asked. 
 
 "All of that I should think," he replied. 
 
 "And the fellows are all in the cottage out of 
 hearing of us, aren't they?" 
 
 "Guess they are," said Pod, still unsuspecting. 
 
 " I don't suppose they would hear us if we should 
 shout would they?" I continued. 
 
 "Doubtful," said Pod, now wondering what I 
 was driving at. 
 
THROUGH THE SNOW TO SEBEC 107 
 
 "They wouldn't be likely to hear if you should 
 call for help, would they?" 
 
 "I can't tell," said Pod, smiling, but beginning 
 to get suspicious. 
 
 "Do you know why I came out here with you?" 
 I queried, still gazing steadfastly into his eye. 
 
 "For a walk, I suppose," answered Pod. 
 
 "Well, I will tell you. I came — " and making 
 a sudden spring at Pod I put an arm around his 
 neck, thrust one foot between his knees, and in an 
 instant we were in the fiercest kind of a combat. 
 
 "I came — let go my collar — out here so that I 
 — no you don't, old man, you didn't get me then — 
 so't I could — put — you down — and — oh you are 
 choking me, you rascal, you scoundrel — let go — 
 so't I could put you on your back — and — 
 
 Pod was fighting for all he was worth; he was 
 getting short-winded, his breath came thick and 
 fast; he panted. He said when we got back that 
 I wheezed. Perhaps I did, but the struggle went 
 furiously and joyously on till we seemed to be bal- 
 anced in the air for half a minute and it was clear 
 that we would both go over, but in which direc- 
 tion was still unsettled until — thud ; we were both 
 down and Pod went first, and was the under one 
 in the conflict. 
 
 Straightening his arms out in the snow as I sat 
 astride him I finished my remark which had been 
 interrupted: "Came out here so I could put you 
 down and give your peachy cheeks the biggest 
 
I08 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 
 
 rub they have had in many a long day, sonny; 
 take that," and with these words I began to rub his 
 cheeks vigorously with frozen snow. 
 
 "Let me up. Let me — " 
 
 "No you don't. Lie still and take some more 
 of it. Take that," and the process continued till 
 Pod submitted, without struggling, to the snowy 
 ordeal. Then releasing him I extended both my 
 hands, which he seized, laughingly, and struggled 
 to his feet. 
 
 Fun? Well, it was unlike anything I ever did 
 in a summer camp; and, with our arms over each 
 other's shoulders, rosy-faced Pod and I trudged 
 happily back toward the cottage. We had gone a 
 quarter of a mile, I think, toward the camp and 
 the subject of conversation had changed two or 
 three times. I was telling Pod what I had heard 
 the boys say and what I had read about the spec- 
 tre-moose when a sentence which I attempted was 
 broken short off in the midst. 
 
 "No," I was saying, "there is no probability 
 that the fellows will see him; it is safe to say that 
 the big moose is not within fifty miles of us, but it 
 is pleasant to keep up the bluff and — look out — 
 what are you — let go I tell you — let go," but Pod 
 had watched his chance, taken me unawares, and 
 thrusting his foot between my knees as I walked, 
 and seizing me about the neck at the same instant, 
 he had me prostrate in the snow with only the 
 briefest kind of a struggle on my part. 
 
THROUGH THE SNOW TO SEBEC 109 
 
 "Do you know what I have got you down here 
 for," he said, as he sat astride my prostrate body, 
 and reached out each hand to gather material; 
 " 'twas so I could — " and then he gave my face 
 the severest rubbing with that sandy crisp snow that 
 I had ever experienced. 
 
 Then after Pod had released me and with ex- 
 tended hands helped me to my feet, happy in a 
 comradeship which had been strengthened by this 
 snowy encounter, we trudged back to camp. 
 
 There are things which one can do on a summer 
 outing, but he cannot take a walk like that; nor 
 will he return to a canvas tent in July or August 
 with cheeks as rosy as were Pod's on that winter 
 morning. 
 
 Organized outdoor sports also have a place in a 
 March camp. Field-day athletics came off in due 
 form, there were the "shot put," when a big snow 
 ball was used instead of a shot; the "hammer 
 throw" when the camp axe was substituted for the 
 hammer, and which always landed in the deep 
 snow, head down, handle perpendicular. There 
 were dashes of different distances, the throwing of 
 the snowball, in place of the baseball, and jump- 
 ing; all these and other events were carefully re- 
 corded, by a duly appointed scorer, and the records 
 were finally lost. 
 
 A lot of boys can be trusted to improvise amuse- 
 ments which will prove entirely satisfactory to 
 
no ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 
 
 themselves on such an occasion. "Plugging" 
 snowballs at a hole in the gable-end of the ice- 
 house at Deep Cove was one of these; this was a 
 daily amusement until the end. 
 
 Jumping from the roof of the cottage onto a high 
 snow-drift bid fair to be equally popular until one 
 of the boys in a "flying high jump" landed with 
 one foot in the drift and the other on the end of 
 an upright post which was concealed in the snow. 
 The incident suggested the possibility of other 
 hidden objects in the drift and that kind of jumping 
 was abandoned without advice or argument. 
 
 Snow quoits were popular, and, so far as we 
 know, an entirely new game, for which the Sebec 
 hikers should receive due credit. Snow quoits can- 
 not be played in summer time, mind you; they 
 are a March game in the woods, on ice, when the 
 snow is deep and soft. A hole must first be dug 
 through the snow to the ice ; then a hole, eighteen 
 inches in diameter, must be cut through the ice to 
 water. The water will come up to the top of the 
 ice, but no farther. This leaves a hole in the snow 
 perhaps two feet in diameter, and as deep as the 
 snow happens to be — two feet, three feet, more or 
 less. A supply of snowballs must be made — these 
 are to be round, hard, and smooth; each player 
 should have the same number ready — four or six. 
 
 The players take their stand at a distance from 
 the hole agreed upon before the game begins. 
 Each player pitches his snowballs, trying to send 
 
THROUGH THE SNOW TO SEBEC III 
 
 as many as possible into the water in the hole. 
 Many of the balls will land in the sides of the hole 
 and be imbedded in the damp snow, but these do 
 not count. Only those that land plump in the water 
 are to be credited. After the game is ended the 
 balls in the water must be got out in some way, 
 and this task is regarded as good exercise and a 
 fitting penalty for the one who made the poorest 
 score. In snow quoits, as in the summer game, 
 eleven is the full score. 
 
 In the narrow limits of a winter camp in deep 
 woods life would become monotonous if definite 
 plans were not made to get variety. The monotony 
 would not settle down on the camp in one day or 
 in three; but beyond that time, in a boys' camp, 
 there would be grave danger. 
 
 I had definite plans for variety. I had told my 
 rugged young companions about them before we 
 left home. I did not ask whether they had adopted 
 the same plans but I supposed they had. I knew 
 the graphophone was to be there, but I had given 
 it only a small place in my scheme for evening 
 amusements. The program as I had it in mind 
 called for a camp fire on Tuesday evening. At 
 this function each person was to place a stick on the 
 fire, tell a story, or sing a song or crack a joke. 
 Wednesday evening there was to be a competitive 
 entertainment. Mr. Watson's section was to give 
 
112 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 
 
 one-half of the program; my section was to give 
 the other half; each section was to have the other 
 fellows for an audience. As I looked the party 
 over it seemed to me that, in ability, the division 
 was eminently fair and equal. Thursday evening 
 there was to be a banquet — such a banquet as the 
 ordinary camp larder would afford, and a few extra 
 dishes for which special supplies had been pur- 
 chased. 
 
 Life in camp went as usual Tuesday: there was 
 lots of fun in door and out, and the graphophone 
 was always available. Kiko was still in bed cough- 
 ing badly; Bud was all out of condition, but the 
 rest were in rugged health and the best of spirits. 
 Just after the supper dishes were removed from 
 the dining room, there was a knock at the door; 
 two Foxcroft Academy students had come from a 
 nearby camp to spend the evening; they were 
 welcome, indeed, for they would add two persons to 
 the party, and perhaps they would add each his 
 stick to the fire and his voice to story telling and 
 song. The popper was on duty as they entered; 
 two or three boys were fussing over the fire and the 
 odor of fresh pop corn loaded the air. A few min- 
 utes later the graphophone was stopped, for the 
 hour of the campfire had come. 
 
 "Who'll be first?" I asked. 
 
 There was an awkward silence; no one moved. 
 
 "The first will be a round in three parts," I 
 announced, and Rose, College and I took our stand 
 
THROUGH THE SNOW TO SEBEC II3 
 
 near the piano, and after College had placed a small 
 stick on the fire, we performed our stunt. We had 
 quietly rehearsed the old round which was popular 
 in my boyhood but which Rose and College had 
 never heard. In honor of the "cuckoo clock" 
 which had contributed considerable to our amuse- 
 ment at times by its timely or untimely cuckooing, 
 we inserted the word "clock" and sang: 
 
 "Sweet the pleasure of the spring, 
 When we hear the cuckoo clock sing" 
 
 — sang it till all three of us were into it and all out 
 again ; in fact we sang it till the boisterous laughter 
 of the audience made it useless for us to sing any 
 longer and we sat down. Then I made a mistake; 
 at least I still think that had I related some brief 
 incident others might have followed. But lest the 
 other parts should be short, and the exercises come 
 to an early end, I had prepared to take some time 
 myself and, placing a stick on the fire, I half read 
 and half related from memory the following experi- 
 ence in an earlier camp: 
 
 "I told you that sometime I would give you an 
 account of my first camping experience. It was 
 in Connecticut, and there were three of us in the 
 party. 
 
 "Ben and Rad and I used to talk a great deal 
 about the woods. We wanted to go camping. Ben 
 had no parents, Rad's were willing he should go, but 
 my own parents objected. Father thought it was 
 
114 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 
 
 foolishness for us to go off and sleep under a tent, 
 and mother was afraid if we went something would 
 happen. And she was right. Something happened 
 the very first day we were in camp. Mother was 
 always right. When I was seventeen years old 
 father told me he could not educate me, but if I 
 wanted to leave home and try to get an education, 
 and 'shift for myself,' I could go. I accepted his 
 offer, but after that I spent considerable time on 
 the farm helping him. One day I said to my 
 parents, 'I see it's no use, you don't want me to 
 camp out, and so I won't do it, not till I'm twenty- 
 one, and then we'll see.' I was twenty-one the 
 twenty-seventh day of July, and we three fellows, 
 Ben, Rad and I, had all our plans laid to camp out 
 the twenty-eighth of that self -same month. But 
 it rained all night and when morning came it was 
 hopelessly wet. But the neighbors said about ten 
 o'clock that it probably wouldn't rain any more, 
 and so we hurried around and got started about 
 eleven. We didn't need sunshine, we thought, 
 and the mist and fog could not dampen our ardor. 
 We proposed to spend four days on the shores of 
 West Pond, a sheet of water in the north part of the 
 town. It was seven miles from our homes, and 
 by one o'clock we were there, and the driver had 
 started back with the team. He was to come for us 
 four days later. I knew what time it was, for I had 
 taught school the winter before, and had bought 
 a Swiss watch with a part of my winter's salary. 
 
THROUGH THE SNOW TO SEBEC II5 
 
 "Everything was wet. We pitched a wet tent 
 on wet ground, under wet trees. Hurriedly throw- 
 ing our goods under the tent, we went to the boat 
 which we had rented — a long, narrow structure, 
 with decided tendencies to leakage, but the bottom 
 had been treated to a fresh coat of tar that very 
 morning. There was a rope but no anchor, and 
 we selected a round stone of about twenty pounds 
 weight to take its place. This we fastened to the 
 rope and called it the 'Kellec,' though where we 
 got the name I cannot tell. 
 
 "Rad said he was 'hungry as twenty bears,' and 
 Ben said he 'lowed that he couldn't stand it much 
 longer without something to eat,' for we had tasted 
 nothing since early breakfast. So we rowed the 
 boat out to the fishing ground, and baited our 
 hooks. How the fish did bite! Not 'speckled 
 beauties,' but yellow perch and hornpout. On 
 such food did we propose to live for four days. 
 
 '"Just feel of this water,' said Rad, when we 
 had caught fish enough for a meal. 'Let's have a 
 swim.' 
 
 '"AH right, let's,' replied Ben and I together, 
 and we proceeded to prepare for a plunge in the 
 middle of the pond. Rad and Ben were quickly 
 in the water, but I dreaded the plunge. It seemed 
 as though I ought not to dive, but I couldn't tell 
 why, and it required all the courage I could muster. 
 The other fellows both acted nervous, and when I 
 came up from my dive, and the boat was between 
 
Il6 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 
 
 them and myself, I heard one of them say to the 
 other in a startled tone, 'Where's George?' as though 
 they were expecting something would happen. 
 We soon tired of the swim, for we had been accus- 
 tomed to the salt water of Long Island Sound, and 
 this inland pond lacked the buoyancy of the sea. 
 We all clambered into the boat at once and stood 
 up. The boat tipped to one side. Each one in- 
 stinctively stepped to the opposite side to right it, 
 and quicker than I can tell it, the boat was bottom 
 side up, we were in the pond and our clothing was 
 floating about us. 
 
 ''It seemed to us a huge joke. We laughed and 
 engaged in all manner of pleasantries while we were 
 turning the boat over and trying to bail it out with 
 a tin pail which had been stored under a seat. 
 But our efforts were useless. 'Fellows,' I said, 
 when the seriousness of the situation dawned upon 
 me, 'This is no joke. We'd better stop laughing, 
 for we are a long way from shore and we'll need 
 all the strength we haye before we get there.' 
 And they both agreed. 
 
 " 'Come,' I said to Ben, 'Can't you help me head 
 this old tub toward the shore?' and we labored 
 hard, greatly puzzled over the way the boat kept 
 bottom side up, and the difificulty we were having in 
 heading it toward the shore. While we were still 
 trying for it, I discovered that Rad was two or 
 three rods from us and swimming shoreward. 
 
 '"Where are you going, Rad?' I exclaimed. 
 
THROUGH THE SNOW TO SEBEC II7 
 
 "'Going ashore with these clothes,' he replied, 
 as he continued his course. 
 
 " 'Come back, Rad, come back,' I pleaded. 
 
 "'No,' he replied, 'I'm all right, I've got an oar 
 in case I get tired.' 
 
 "'See here,' I shouted, 'You are not going home 
 to report us in the bottom of this pond, and we're 
 not going home to report you there. We'll go 
 home together, or we'll go down together. Come 
 back.' 
 
 "Reluctantly he obeyed the command which I 
 really had no right to give, and returned to us. 
 Rad was one side the boat, Ben was the other side, 
 and I at the end farthest from the shore. The boat 
 was wrong end to and bottom side up, but it was 
 the best we could do, and so all three laboring to 
 help the clumsy thing along we began to make a 
 little progress. But we had gone only a few rods 
 when Rad turned deathly pale and said: 'It's all 
 up, fellows, I can't — go — any — further.' 
 
 "'CHmb on to the boat,' we both exclaimed in a 
 breath. He summoned up strength and made a 
 spring, but the boat rolled over and Rad was in 
 the water. The second time he failed, but the 
 third time, aided by Ben's strong arm, he succeeded 
 in getting a hold, and the work of getting to the 
 shore was left to two of us. Our progress was slow. 
 The wind which came up shortly after we began to 
 fish, had driven the mist away, and the sun had 
 been shining hotly. As Rad lay on the freshly 
 
Il8 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 
 
 tarred bottom of the boat, and Ben and I labored 
 silently, a black cloud shut out the sun and we heard 
 the first mutterings of a coming storm. 
 
 "'I say, fellows,' suddenly exclaimed Ben, 'the 
 Kellec's dragging, and has been all the time. We're 
 stupids.' 
 
 "He made a sudden dive and came up with the 
 'Kellec' slipped off the rope, and the stone which 
 had retarded our progress and which had served 
 to keep the boat wrong side up, went to the bot- 
 tom, and I suppose it's still there. It didn't take 
 long with the rope tied around Ben's arm, and 
 Ben leading off, while I pushed, to reach the shore. 
 And when we stood on a round, solid ledge on the 
 east side of the pond, I said: 
 
 '"Boys, if we never had anything to thank God 
 for before, we have now.' 
 
 *"We looked out on the lake and could see three 
 straw hats floating to the south. There were three 
 garments in the boat, my pants, Ben's shirt and 
 vest. The rest of our clothing was out in the pond . 
 
 "'We can get it all,' we said, 'except our shoes.' 
 
 " But a surprise was in store for us. We righted 
 the boat and rowed out to the scene of the mishap, 
 and learned that clothing will sink. 
 
 "Til tell you,' said Rad, 'why my pants sunk. 
 My jack-knife was in the pocket.' 
 
 "'Mine too,' said Ben. 
 
 " 'I can tell you then why my vest sunk, I sup- 
 pose,' said I. 'My new watch that I had to have 
 
THROUGH THE SNOW TO SEBEC IIQ 
 
 last winter and paid for this spring was in the 
 pocket.* But it's a fact that clothing will sink 
 anyway. 
 
 "We recovered our hats and went to camp. We 
 kept up good courage, till, wearing the three gar- 
 ments which had been found in the boat, I started 
 for the nearest farms to borrow dry garments for 
 three of us, and assured the boys I would travel 
 and borrow till I had secured enough for all. Then 
 Rad's courage failed. 
 
 "'Ben,' he exclaimed, as he lay disconsolate 
 under the tent, 'I'm tired of this. Can't we go 
 home in some way?' 
 
 " But neighbors were kind and the garments 
 were secured, and we had a comfortable night, 
 after we had eaten a seven o'clock dinner of cakes 
 and fried fish, and drank coffee of our own drawing. 
 But the team didn't come after us. We didn't 
 wait for it. Our friends scarcely knew us, as in 
 borrowed garments we reached home, and we were 
 so footsore from walking seven miles in borrowed 
 shoes, which probably had never fitted anyone, that 
 we hardly knew ourselves. 
 
 "This happened years ago. Ben studied law in 
 New York State; Rad is a practising physician in 
 Connecticut; I entered the ministry, and have 
 spent my life so far in Maine. But let me give you 
 this bit of advice, boys. When you go in swimming 
 leave your clothing on the shore." 
 
 After a bit of rather indifferent hand-clapping, 
 
120 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 
 
 Peggy, who sat near the fireplace, arose, placed a 
 stick on the fire and in admirable form recited 
 "The Deacon's Ride." When Peggy got through 
 there was a round of applause. Then there was a 
 hush. No one moved. 
 
 "Who is next?" I asked, but there was no reply. 
 
 The awkwardness increased, and it dawned 
 upon me that there had been no preparation for the 
 occasion by anyone except those that had said their 
 say and already done their part. It was a wretched 
 failure — this so-called "camp fire" — and I thought 
 I knew why. There seemed to be an unwritten 
 law in camp, or at least there was an unexpressed 
 theory, that it wasn't worth while to get ready to 
 entertain the rest, when right in the corner of the 
 room was the graphophone that could be wound up 
 and started on its mission at a moment's notice. 
 
 "Camp fire is at an end," I said, and someone 
 else said: "Let's have the graphophone"; and so 
 we had it, and popped corn and munched it till the 
 hour grew late and the Foxcroft Academy students 
 who had been silent witnesses of the failure of one 
 feature of the week's program, said "Good night" 
 and started across the glistening snow over the 
 drifts to their own lodgings. 
 
 The next day I said nothing about the plan for 
 the evening, but quietly resolved that unless 
 others mentioned the proposed entertainment, it 
 should go by default. I was interested — intensely 
 interested — to see what would come of it. Kiko 
 
THROUGH THE SNOW TO SEBEC 121 
 
 was now in bed; Bud's head was bandaged, but he 
 suffered less pain. Peggy came in from a long 
 tramp on the crust and a mountain climb with a 
 headache; but the rest were in fine fettle. Not a 
 word was said about the entertainment, and the 
 evening was passed as others had been with games, 
 some conversation, and alas, and alack! the grapho- 
 phone. So far the program was nil and I was 
 laying it to that "talking machine" over in the 
 corner grinding out its songs, band music and jokes 
 in response to the turning of the crank. 
 
 About nine o'clock Thursday morning, as AUops 
 came from a game of water quoits, he asked me 
 some question about the banquet. 
 
 "What banquet?" I asked, as though it were a 
 new Idea to me, for it was the first time that any 
 part of the program for the week had been first 
 mentioned by any but myself. 
 
 "Why, the banquet tonight," replied Allops. 
 "It was the camp fire night before last, and the 
 entertai — ^well, there was to have been an enter- 
 tainment or a show or something last night and a 
 banquet tonight." 
 
 "Til tell you frankly," I said to Allops, "that 
 just as the boy who was eating the apple said 'there 
 ain't going to be no core,' so 'there ain't going to 
 be no banquet.' " 
 
 Allops seemed to be very thoughtful for a couple 
 of minutes and then, without comment, he moved 
 slowly away. 
 
122 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 
 
 I noticed not long after AUops left that some 
 mysterious movements were in progress. Occa- 
 sionally the door into the south room would open 
 and a boy would pass in or out and then the door 
 would shut quickly. Kiko was now up and able 
 to sit by the fireplace and read; Bud could sit up 
 at intervals for a few minutes, till the pains in his 
 head would send him back to bed again. Once 
 when the door into the south room opened I thought 
 I heard the crackle of burning wood, but that did 
 not seem probable to me, for though there was a 
 Franklin fireplace in that room, no fire had been 
 started there to my knowledge or under my direc- 
 tion and I knew of no reason why the Franklin 
 should be used. 
 
 About eleven o'clock two boys came to me, and 
 in a very formal but cordial manner, informed me 
 that my presence was greatly desired in the next 
 room. I responded to the call and as I entered a 
 great fire was blazing in the Franklin and had 
 already diffused a pleasant warmth through the 
 room; there was a general air of comfort and 
 brightness that I had not seen there before. More- 
 over, there was an air of expectancy — a something 
 that seemed to say, "we wonder how it will work 
 and how our little scheme will pan out." 
 
 "This easy chair is for you," said College, as he 
 stood behind a great rocker, his hands resting upon 
 its back while he waited for me to be seated in it 
 and in front of the hot blaze . 
 
THROUGH THE SNOW TO SEBEC 123 
 
 "Well, well," I exclaimed, as I sat down in the 
 easy chair, "this is something like it. Who would 
 think that an open fire would make so much differ- 
 ence in the appearance and atmosphere of a room? 
 Isn't it fine?" 
 
 There was an awkward silence; I gazed stead- 
 fastly at the cheerful fire. 
 
 "You'll have to say it, College," said one of the 
 boys, glancing at him. 
 
 "We — we wanted to asked about the banquet 
 tonight," ventured College. 
 
 "What banquet?" quoth I, inquiringly. 
 
 "Why, we understood," said College, "that 
 there was to be a camp fire night before last, an 
 entertainment last night, and a banquet tonight." 
 
 "O yes," I said. "That was the plan, wasn't 
 it?" 
 
 "Yes, sir," replied College, and he seemed to 
 take hope that the scheme — the fire, the easy 
 chair, and the great deference paid me as I had 
 entered the room — was having the desired effect, 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 "Well, there isn't going to be any banquet. 
 There was to have been a camp fire with burning 
 sticks, and song and story in which all were to 
 have had some share, each doing something for 
 the entertainment of the others. The thing fell 
 flat; only two or three of us raised a finger to add 
 to its success. You all fell back on the graphophone. 
 Last night there was to have been an entertainment. 
 
124 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 
 
 It was announced before we left home that Wed- 
 nesday evening would call for forethought and 
 preparation. Various little things were brought 
 to camp for that special purpose — red fire for tab- 
 leaux, little disguises for faces, fireworks for an 
 outdoor windup and the like. The boys all knew 
 it. But not once yesterday was the evening's 
 entertainment mentioned; you fell down again on 
 the graphophone, and so long as one of us men will 
 wind it up for you, you will all sit around and listen. 
 You've heard me say 'I love,' and you've heard me 
 say 'I hate.* You've heard me say in public and 
 in private that there is just one thing I hate — I 
 hate sin ; but today I hate more than I ever hated 
 before. I hate two things now — I hate sin and I 
 hate a graphophone. The thing is here for our en- 
 joyment ; it ought to have been a source of pleasure 
 at reasonable intervals. But it has been used and 
 used, wound up and run down, wound up and run 
 down, until it has interfered with outdoor sports and 
 indoor enjoyment. You substituted it for the 
 camp fire; by silent consent of all present it was 
 substituted for an evening's entertainment that 
 would call into activity the natural abilities of the 
 fellows in camp and at the same time create a 
 friendly rivalry. And now you say 'banquet'; 
 but we'll substitute the graphophone for the ban- 
 quet also. This is not a show of resentful spirit 
 on my part ; it is not retaliatory or anything of the 
 kind. We could all have taken part in the pro- 
 
THROUGH THE SNOW TO SEBEC 125 
 
 posed camp fire and in the show and we didn't. 
 Now we are nearing the time for the banquet which 
 will require all of Jeff's time and all of Chaunce's 
 time in the kitchen to get ready for it; for them it 
 will be cook, cook, cook, in order that the rest may 
 eat, eat, eat, tonight. Then there will be a raft 
 of extra dishes which must be washed by a few 
 after the thing is ended and the rest are in bed. 
 We'll drop the eating and the post-prandial exer- 
 cises. What you fellows were to have done you 
 did not do; you substituted the graphophone. 
 These other things did not affect the cook and the 
 cookee. What they were to have done extra was 
 to have come tonight in preparation for the ban- 
 quet. By substituting the graphophone for the 
 banquet Jeff and Chaunce will be relieved of any 
 extra effort, just as the rest of you relieved your- 
 selves of any extra effort for the enjoyment of 
 the entire party on the previous evening. Do you 
 see.f^ 
 
 '* We'll help Jeff and Chaunce do the cooking," 
 said College, hopefully. 
 
 "Jeff and Chaunce would have helped in the 
 entertainment if you had not substituted the 
 graphophone for a little effort. It's too late now. " 
 
 And the fire crackled in the Franklin; and Bud, 
 who had sat up and then taken to the bunk in the 
 corner of the room with a bandage drawn over his 
 eyes, turned uneasily on the blanket, and one or 
 two of the boys went quietly out of the room, prob- 
 
126 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 
 
 ably to report the outcome of the council and I 
 was allowed to rock in silence before the cheerful 
 blaze. 
 
 "Well," said College, "if I had only—" 
 And just then someone opened the door to pass 
 into the other room and the graphophone belched 
 out into "Annie Laurie." 
 
 "There it goes again," I said, "the substitute 
 for conversation, the substitute for songs with your 
 own God-given voices, the substitute for our whole 
 program^ for our evenings here in camp, including 
 the banquet. Wind it up and keep it going. There 
 are two things I hate — I hate sin and I hate a 
 graphophone." 
 
 We arose Friday morning early. 
 
 It rained. 
 
 "Will we go home today?" was the leading 
 question. 
 
 "Probably not if the rain continues," was the 
 uniform reply. 
 
 " I am glad it rains, " I said to Mr. Watson ift an 
 undertone, "for this will give us one more day and 
 night in camp. The 'sposh' is so deep on the lake, 
 that we can not walk in it, and we will have to stay 
 indoors and under cover. The boys can easily 
 make a busy and interesting day of it. From what 
 I have heard some of them say, I think that if we 
 are here that they will run off such a program this 
 
THROUGH THE SNOW TO SEBEC 127 
 
 afternoon as they might have given Wednesday 
 night, and just as soon as I see that they are taking 
 that matter up and are going to carry it through, 
 we will give directions for a banquet with post- 
 prandial speaking tonight. Now that we are going 
 to have this long rainy day in camp, it may be best 
 that we have not yet exhausted our resource for 
 entertainment, and we have not done that by any 
 means — it is only the graphophone that is getting 
 monotonous. This is going to be the most interest- 
 ing day and evening of our entire stay in camp, for 
 every boy is ready to do all in his power to make it 
 a— What's that, way off at the end of the lake?" 
 
 I happened to glance out of the window, as I 
 was speaking, and discovered two teams. 
 
 "Are those teams coming for us?" asked one of 
 the boys. "What if they are?" 
 
 They were watched with interest until there was 
 no further question. The teams arrived before 
 eight o'clock. 
 
 " I told you not to come if it stormed, " I said to 
 the driver. 
 
 "Well, I was not quite sure," he replied, "and 
 out at the village they said for me to come and so 
 I came." 
 
 Each big pung was provided with a long, wide 
 piece of white canvas, which when stretched over 
 side stakes made a canopy that would protect 
 from the rain. 
 
 There was a hurried folding of blankets, straight- 
 
128 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 
 
 ening out of beds, arranging of dishes in the cupboard 
 and adjusting of things generally in the cottage, as 
 well as a hasty packing of valises and traveling 
 bags. In an incredibly short space of time, all 
 was ship shape at Deep Cove Point. The baggage 
 was loaded and the start was made towards Fox- 
 croft village. 
 
 The ride through the woods was not as enjoyable 
 as it had been through the crisp atmosphere a 
 few days ago. The trees were there, but their 
 trunks were black in the rain, the pine branches 
 seemed to hang disconsolately and when it did not 
 rain the twigs kept dripping water which had 
 already been received by them from the clouds. 
 But there was fun enough along the way with songs 
 and cheers and that night each of the boys slept in 
 his own bed at Good Will, and the longest, hardest 
 tramp that the Good Will boys had ever taken — 
 that tramp to Sebec Lake — was a thing of the past. 
 
V 
 
 SUMMER DAYS AT SEBEC LAKE 
 
 God made the country and boys. It does not 
 appear that the country was created for boys only, 
 but it is evident that the Creator intended that 
 boys should live in it. It is the best place for them. 
 This fact explains the locating of the Good Will 
 Homes for boys at least three miles from a village. 
 But, not satisfied with this, an arrangement has 
 been made each year for ten years past by which a 
 number of Good Will boys — ranging from six to 
 fifty in number — could devote a few days each 
 summer to a more complete return to Nature by a 
 visit to lake or forest and a resort to canvas tents 
 at night. The summer of 1900 was no exception 
 to the rule. The man who usually arranges these 
 trips and accompanies the boys, has learned by 
 years of experiments and experience that if the 
 fishing be good, twenty boys make the best party 
 — as to numbers. In any camp of boys there will 
 be two or three born fishermen. These fellows 
 will want to fish most of the time. If allowed to 
 do so, and there are only six or eight or ten or a 
 dozen in the party, they either will catch more fish 
 than can be eaten, and a wicked waste follows, or 
 they must be restrained in their love for fishing — a 
 10 129 
 
130 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 
 
 restriction which boys do not enjoy. If there are 
 more than twenty in the party, the fishermen are 
 not likely to catch fish enough, even though the 
 fishing be abundant, and so the party is deprived 
 of what they usually count on as a part of camp life 
 — namely, a diet consisting in part of fish. Given, 
 a party of twenty, and you have fish enough for 
 chowder and fries. Given, a party of forty or 
 fifty, and a fish fry is never possible, and the 
 chowders may degenerate into a Dutch stew. 
 
 But when the man with the boys planned to go 
 one summer to Sebec Lake, he deliberately decided 
 to restrict his party to six persons of which he him- 
 self should be one. Just how it came about he 
 careth not to tell, but when the time came to start 
 for Sebec on the 8th of August the party numbered 
 seventeen. In this number were included one of 
 the matrons at Good Will, two young ladies looking 
 forward to their first camping experience, a girl nine 
 years of age, and a woman who was w^fe of the 
 man with the boys, as well as the mother of four of 
 the above mentioned party. The remaining mem- 
 bers may not be so easily dismissed. There was 
 Blake, a high school boy of unusual strength. On 
 this trip he was to be head cook. His muscular de- 
 velopment is said to be due in part to his service in 
 the Good Will bakery, where for two years he had 
 put in some heavy work kneading bread; in part 
 to his habit of boldly tackling any w^ork on the 
 farm which presents itself in the way of chopping, 
 
SUMMER DAYS AT SEBEC LAKE 131 
 
 digging, or lifting, without regard to amount of 
 muscle called for; in part to his love for athletics. 
 Blake had just completed a ten days contract for 
 bread-making for the Good Will Assembly, in 
 which he with his one assistant had made all the 
 bread consumed at the Assembly dining hall. The 
 bread was often praised by the guests at the Assem- 
 bly table, even though they did not know it was 
 made by two boys, aged sixteen and fourteen years, 
 and that one night at least they worked in the 
 bakery till two o'clock, in a grim determination to 
 see the baking through according to agreement. 
 Some fellows of their age would have failed up; 
 but Blake knows no such word. He had earned an 
 outing and now was to take it. His assistant — the 
 fourten-year-old — was Dan McDonald, and he was 
 also of the party to visit Sebec Lake. In muscular 
 development and physical strength Dan was a close 
 second to Blake, a lad of perfect health, and known 
 for his faithfulness to duty. For their services as 
 cooks on the trip, they were to receive all their ex- 
 penses, and a small compensation besides. 
 
 Then there was a Yale student who had just 
 completed his Sophomore year at that University 
 and had acted as a substitute in the Good Will 
 office during the summer absence of the book-keeper 
 This was his first trip into the Maine woods. 
 
 There was Nutter, a genuine fisherman, who has 
 been a member of nearly all the Good Will parties 
 "that ever were." Stalwart of figure, a lover of 
 
132 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 
 
 woods and water, it must be a rare circumstance in- 
 deed that would keep him from such a trip as this 
 party was to take. He is a fisherman because he 
 was born so; and has become so accustomed to 
 "catching fish" and getting a lot of them, that 
 the use of a rod and reel was at first a trial of 
 patience. 
 
 "Let me get hold of that line," he shouted ex- 
 citedly, when he had been playing a good-sized 
 bass for five minutes at Sebasticook one day, "let 
 me get hold of that line and yank him in;" but 
 the man in the boat quietly responded, "No; you 
 are doing something more than yanking in fish now. 
 You are taking your first lesson in the use of the rod. 
 Give the fish a chance, and land him if you can." 
 And when five minutes later the fish was in the 
 bottom of the boat, Nutter sighed and exclaimed : 
 
 "I wanted to yank him in — I was afriad he 
 would get away." 
 
 Then there were the two sons of the man with 
 the boys — the older, who because of the generous 
 framework for a good-sized man, on which he has 
 succeeded in laying a blanket of firm flesh, is lov- 
 ingly called "Jumbo;" and Ed Ben, the youngest 
 boy in the party, twelve years of age. 
 
 Ed McDonald — so fair of countenance that long 
 ago he was familiarly known as "Rosy" — ^was not 
 to be left out. Ed has been grocery boy for three 
 successive years at Good Will. He was responsible 
 for the delivery of groceries to the various cottages, 
 
SUMMER DAYS AT SEBEC LAKE 133 
 
 and kept the record of all goods in his line deliv- 
 ered to the different families. 
 
 Sam was also one of the number. Sam has 
 friends who will not let him forget some things. 
 For instance, years ago he had a deal of difficulty 
 with pronunciation. He himself relates, and his 
 friends will not let him forget, that once in the 
 Good Will school, when he was a small boy, as one 
 of the other boys in the reading class got through 
 with a paragraph in which occurred the words 
 "fatigue" and "mucilage," Sam raised his hand. 
 
 "What mistake did he make, Sammy?" said the 
 teacher. 
 
 "He mispronounced 'fat-i-goo,' " said Sam. 
 
 The teacher smiled. It was more than a smile 
 from the class which greeted Sam. Somewhat net- 
 tled he exclaimed : 
 
 "Well, I don't care; he didn't pronounce 'muck- 
 i-lage' right, anyhow." 
 
 Another one was Austin Robinson, the boy sta- 
 tion agent at Good Will, who had visited Sebec 
 Lake last spring with the man with the boys, in a 
 preliminary trip to select a site for the camp of 1900. 
 
 To these were added Harry Kimball, a former 
 Good Will boy, who was going to Sebec Lake with 
 the rest "because he wanted to," and E. J. Gardi- 
 ner, a young man, who was among the first Good 
 Will boys, and who had never missed a Good Will 
 Camp. 
 
 Under clear skies, in the forenoon of Aug. 9th, 
 
134 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 
 
 the procession started. First there was a two- 
 seated carriage carrying the ladies. Then came a 
 three-seated wagon loaded with boys, hand-bags, 
 and blankets; a two-seated wagon with a similar 
 load of boys and dressing cases, and finally, a cart 
 well loaded with tents and groceries. Canaan was 
 reached soon after noon, and her stores yielded 
 ginger snaps, cheese, crackers and bananas for the 
 pilgrims. Sibley Pond was passed soon after one 
 o'clock; and the Canaan hills disappeared, as the 
 party moved forward to Hartland. At St. Albans 
 a pond was passed. 
 
 "What lake is that?" inquired one of the party. 
 
 "That is Bear Pond," explained the man with 
 the boys." 
 
 "Its shores are not bare," remarked one of the 
 boys, reflectively. 
 
 "No," exclaimed another, "but I can't bear to 
 pass it without stopping to fish." 
 
 "Well, you'll have to," said Sam, consolingly, 
 "but you can just bear it in mind." 
 
 Then some of the party silently wondered whether 
 a foreigner, learning the English language, would 
 be able to get his bearings if he listened to such a 
 conflab. The English language is always interesting. 
 
 It was just dark when the pilgrims, having com- 
 pleted their first day's journey, alighted from the 
 vehicles, in Mr. Ham's dooryard, and exchanged 
 greetings with the family. Such visitors were not 
 unexpected, for Mr. and Mrs. Ham had been noti- 
 
SUMMER DAYS AT SEBEC LAKE 135 
 
 fied that the party would appear to them about that 
 time. The boys prepared supper in the yard; the 
 ladies were invited into the house for the evening 
 meal and for the night. But not a boy in the party 
 was ready to accept such an invitation if it could 
 have been extended. It was the original intention 
 to pitch the tents in the Ham orchard for the night, 
 but the plan was abandoned, and the boys decided 
 to sleep in the barn. At an early hour they sought 
 their resting-place. The majority repaired to the 
 loft of the barn and spread blankets on straw four 
 feet deep; two or three preferred to smooth out 
 their blanket in the open field, and sleep "under 
 the moon and stars," while Nutter and a companion 
 made their bed on the bottom of the long hay rack, 
 which stood on the barn floor. It was whispered 
 that it would be a fine thing after Nutter and his 
 companion were asleep, to quietly roll the hay rack 
 out of the barn into the field. The suggestion was 
 greeted with a suppressed giggle and expressions 
 of approval, but the hay rack was not run out that 
 night. Not till the return trip did Nutter get his 
 midnight ride from the barn floor to the hay-field. 
 Did the boys sleep? Some; but most of them 
 knew when the first blush of dawn appeared, and 
 when day broke. They knew when the cocks in 
 the neighbors' yards answered crow to crow; and 
 they heard the sound of the milk, striking the bot- 
 tom of the empty tin pail, as the farm-hand began 
 the milking of the first cow. 
 
136 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 
 
 Breakfast was relished that morning, and at the 
 early meal the boys had abundant proof of the 
 kindheartedness of their hosts. But as soon as 
 breakfast was over, the yard presented a business- 
 like appearance. Horses were led to drink; boxes 
 and packages were re-arranged in the wagons. The 
 ladies' baggage was transferred from the house to 
 the carriages, and when all was in readiness for the 
 start, the man with the boys, standing on the 
 veranda of the hospitable home, read a psalm of 
 thanksgiving and offered a brief prayer. Then it 
 was ''good-bye" and away. 
 
 Two or three abandoned farms were passed — 
 only two or three on the entire journey. But with 
 so little to attract attention, some of the pilgrims 
 resorted to wayside euchre as a means of shorten- 
 ing the hours. In this game two sides are chosen, 
 but the "sides" usually consist of the persons sit- 
 ting on either side of the wagon. For instance, 
 those sitting on the left side of the wagon consti- 
 tute one side, those on the right the other side, 
 and the driver acts as referee. A set of values at- 
 taching to domestic stock and fowls is adopted. 
 A horse counts 5 ; each cow, 5 ; but a white horse 
 or cow counts 10. Sheep count 3 each; hens, one 
 each; ducks, 2; turkeys, 3; crows, 10; hawks, 20; 
 woodchucks, 10; pigs, dogs or cats, 5 each, etc. 
 
 Some one must keep "the count " with pencil and 
 paper. It is usually decided before the game be- 
 gins, at what point it shall commence and where it 
 
SUMMER DAYS AT SEBEC LAKE 137 
 
 shall end. Then those on the left side scan the 
 fields and dooryards for such stock and poultry as 
 has a fixed value on the schedule. All such ani- 
 mals, fowls or birds left of the road belong to the 
 party on the left side of the wagon. The other side 
 scans the fields on the right side in the same way. 
 Simple as is the game, it nevertheless affords much 
 amusement; sometimes leads to exciting episodes, 
 and makes a ride interesting, which might otherwise 
 prove tedious. The game also results in a knowl- 
 edge of the character and quality of farming, 
 which one would not otherwise obtain. Anyone 
 who took part in the game on the trip could tell at 
 the end of the journey the relative worth of sheep, 
 neat cattle, horses and poultry through the country 
 traversed. They could have also told of the ab- 
 sence of geese, the rarity of turkeys, and the un- 
 expected scarcity of dogs in Piscataquis Co. No 
 quarrel resulted from the game, though there were 
 "some words" when Sam claimed that "owl" was 
 three-fourths of a "fowl," and should be estimated 
 accordingly ; and also when he insisted upon having 
 five added to the score of his side, when no horse 
 was in sight, because it was a "one horse town" 
 they were passing through. At Lower Abbott a 
 telephone message was sent to the Lake House 
 which filled Landlord Packard with consternation. 
 "We want a late dinner and lodging for eighteen. 
 Will come about 2 o'clock." The Lake House was 
 filled with guests; there was not room for more, 
 
138 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 
 
 But it rained so hard that the pitching of tents was 
 impracticable, and something must be done. Ar- 
 rangements were therefore made by which the ladies 
 could have rooms in the house, and the boys could 
 sleep in the bowling alley. 
 
 The next morning the party was again fortunate 
 — weather was fine for the start to camp. At 6 
 A. M. the steamer, "Favorite," moved away from 
 the wharf loaded with our baggage and a party 
 of sixteen. Hermann and Rhodes had made an 
 early start back to Good Will with the teams. 
 It was well that some of us went to Birch Moun- 
 tain the day before to select the camping site; 
 for when the steamer stopped, the Captain said: 
 "Here you are; this is Birch Mountain." "But 
 this is not the spot we selected," said the man. 
 "The spring is right there," said the Captain. 
 "This is Birch Mountain. That to the right is 
 Pine Mountain. That to the left is Granny Cross 
 Mountain." The man with the boys insisted on be- 
 ing left at the site previously selected, which proved 
 to be at the foot of Granny Cross Mountain. One 
 of the ladies of the party said that the situation was 
 "fine;" others described it as "grand," "beauti- 
 ful," "lovely," and "exquisite." The boys had to 
 introduce a new supply of adjectives. Nutter said 
 it was "neat;" Kimball characterized it as "slick;" 
 McDonald said 'twas a "dandy;" Jumbo called it a 
 "peach," and Blake declared he "wouldn't camp 
 anywhere else if he had to." 
 
SUMMER DAYS AT SEBEC LAKE 139 
 
 That afternoon five tents were put up — one for 
 the ladies, three for boys, and the fifth a shelter 
 for provisions. In all their camping experiences 
 the boys had never pitched their tents so close to 
 the water's edge. We had no tables or cooking 
 conveniences, but Blake and Dan had dinner in 
 good season, served in primitive fashion. 
 
 A few rods in the rear of the site of the tents be- 
 gins the ascent of Granny Cross Mountain. High 
 boulders and blocks of granite are thrown together 
 in startling fashion, telling the story of frightful 
 convulsions in ages past. The climb up the moun- 
 tain is difficult — in places, impossible. The top is 
 covered with huckleberry and blueberry bushes, at 
 this time loaded with fruit, which added much to 
 the table supply, as well as affording the boys 
 many an impromptu repast. But the mountain was 
 itself a constant joy. Its rugged sides, the short, 
 but almost perilous ascent, the view from its sum- 
 mit of lake, mountain and forest, was worth a far 
 more difficult journey. 
 
 By the way, the rocks about Sebec Lake are a 
 feature in themselves. The late Dr. Bunker of 
 Cambridge was a lover of "Sebec" and its rocky 
 shores. In his last will and testament he left in- 
 structions that for his monument, a rock weighing 
 not less than a ton should be transferred from the 
 shores of Sebec Lake to his grave, and on one side, 
 his name and the proper date should be placed. I 
 sympathize with Dr. Bunker and also with the 
 
140 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 
 
 author of our national hymn, in the sentiment "/ 
 love thy rocks.'' I have no use for a sand hill, or 
 an arid plain. It is true that Dr. Smith in the same 
 immortal production said 'Hhy woods and templed 
 hills'' but the hills he wrote of, and the hills we sing 
 of, are either fertile, or rugged and rock-ribbed. 
 Sand hills are never "templed." A temple on a 
 sand hill cannot stand. Of a house it was said in 
 sacred parable: " It was founded on a rock." 
 
 On Monday morning, Aug. 13th, a letter was 
 mailed to New York, by the man with the boys, 
 which read as follows: 
 
 Aug. 12, 1900. 
 My dear Brother: 
 
 This morning I assembled my family of fifteen persons 
 around our breakfast — not breakfast table, for we have none; 
 not in my home, for here in the wilderness we are homeless 
 save for our canvas tents — and after reading a psalm, I offered 
 prayer. Twice since then today, we have gathered on the 
 bank of the lake, close to the water's edge, for meals. Aside 
 from this it has been a day of quiet — of absolute rest. The 
 morning I spent on top of Granny Cross Mountain; the after- 
 noon, in the thick woods between mountain and lake. It has 
 been a Sabbath unlike any other. I have enjoyed it — ^just 
 one, but I would not like many such in a life time. I'd rather 
 preach or make opportunities for others to preach than to 
 spend my Sunday thus. But I've been close to Nature — to 
 Nature in her rugged, as well as most beautiful forms. To 
 me it is all delight, yet I'm sure if left to myself with Nature 
 I could never have found Him. "From Nature to Nature's 
 God" is not in me. For me, the Divine revelation in the 
 written word was necessary. I am grateful beyond measure for 
 the Divine record: "In the beginning God created" and all 
 
SUMMER DAYS AT SEBEC LAKE 141 
 
 that follows. I am glad for all the evidences of His power I 
 see today, on every side, but am also rejoicing that "It is 
 written" in the inspired page as well, that God is Infinite 
 Love, as He is also Infinite Power. I have been in reminis- 
 cent mood today. Twenty years ago today I pledged, at the 
 matrimonial altar, my love to the fairest of brides; I look 
 back on twenty years of happy married life; I have with me 
 in the Maine woods today the bride of twenty years ago, and 
 our four children — all strong and well, all in love with their 
 temporary surroundings. Tomorrow I go still deeper into the 
 forest, to lakes to which we must take our boat by successive 
 carries. Only four of us will undertake the trip. I'll tell you 
 about it later. Yours sincerely, 
 
 No doubt the writer of the letter was sincere and 
 really intended to "go still deeper" into the forests, 
 and he did, but not in the manner intended. Sebec 
 Lake is thirteen miles long, and alone affords many 
 trips and abundant recreating. But there are other 
 lakes and ponds within reach. To the northeast, 
 a mile and a half from Buck's Cove, is Buttermilk 
 Pond. This is two miles long, and a mile wide. 
 From it a beautiful view can be had of Boarstone 
 Mountain, and the lake is reputed to have in its 
 depths both togue and salmon. Seven minutes' 
 walk from Long Pond is Crooked Pond; thirty 
 minutes' walk from Crooked Pond takes one to 
 Third Pond, and a short distance beyond this is 
 Burden Pond. It was the purpose of the man with 
 the boys to take three of their number Monday and 
 start for a tour of these ponds. But the trip of a 
 mile and a half through the forests, with a boat, is 
 
142 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 
 
 not a matter to be undertaken without counting the 
 cost. There were no canoes in use by us, but we 
 had Hght canvas boats. It was our plan to carry 
 the boat to Buttermilk Pond, thence to Crooked 
 Pond, to Third Pond, and then leisurely return; 
 trying the trout in Third, and stopping over night 
 to fish for togue in Buttermilk, The man with the 
 boys counselled a trip on the longest carry without 
 the boat, in order to decide whether it was a trip 
 worth the taking. This was a fortunate decision, 
 for had we gone Monday, as first planned, we 
 would have been in the woods Monday night with 
 no shelter but the canvas boat — which would have 
 been slender for four — during a pouring rain, which 
 set in quite unexpectedly about nine o'clock in the 
 evening. So the preliminary trip was made Monday 
 by Nutter, Kimball and the men. The trip was 
 decided as not only feasible but desirable. There 
 the matter rested for a night and a day. The entry 
 in a journal for that day was this: 
 
 "Fine day; poor fishing; Captain Crockett called 
 at camp with Steamer ' Golden Rod ' and took the 
 boys for a sail. Jolly time. All the boys who hap- 
 pened to be in camp went, including the two cooks 
 and the cookee. This made dinner very late. A 
 big tree near fireplace was pushed over; fell into 
 lake. Later the Yale student was on the end of it, 
 chopping. He wore white pantaloons ; lost balance 
 — student, pants, axe, all go into water. Student's 
 person and his ardor both dampened. No perma- 
 
SUMMER DAYS AT SEBEC LAKE 143 
 
 nent injury. Man and two boys make trip to But- 
 termilk Pond; another party visited Willimantic. 
 Ed Ben caught black bass from shore." 
 
 This last statement appears commonplace enough, 
 and it is, but this particular bass was caught under 
 these circumstances: 
 
 Ed Ben was fishing from the rocky shore — fish- 
 ing for anything that might come his way. He 
 finally had a "good bite," and soon learned that a 
 fair-sized bass was on his hook. But before he 
 could land him, the wary fish darted under a rock 
 for refuge. At the same time Capt. Crockett ar- 
 rived on the " Golden Rod " and invited the boys to 
 take a trip eight miles down the lake. Ed wanted 
 to go. With some of us it would have been a ques- 
 tion of fish or excursion, but Ed planned for both, 
 on the general principle, that when you go into the 
 woods you had better take all that comes your way. 
 So he clipped his line, and fastened it to a rock on 
 the shore, and thus leaving the bass well hooked in 
 readiness for his return, he embarked aboard the 
 "Golden Rod" with the rest. On his return, three 
 hours later, he went back to his half completed 
 task and landed his fish successfully. 
 
 Near Sebec Lake small ponds, which in some 
 places would be called beautiful, are regarded with 
 indifi'erence. Sebec outshines them, just as a mag- 
 nificent cathedral belittles chapel and meeting-house, 
 which otherwise would stand forth in beautiful pro- 
 portion. At Granny Cross Cove starts a path 
 
144 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 
 
 which leads to Bear Pond — a diamond in an emerald 
 setting. Bear Pond is nearly circular, a third of a 
 mile in diameter, and cherishes one little island on 
 its bosom. On the island are half a dozen small 
 trees. When the man with the boys said to Land- 
 lord Packard, "Is there anything in Bear Pond?" 
 he replied, "There are some bass there," but he 
 said this with a slighting air, which we did not 
 understand. The next day Nutter, Kimball and 
 Gardiner shouldered a boat, and made the carry 
 to Bear Pond, returning with about a dozen bass. 
 The size of these fish threw a flood of light on the 
 Landlord's manner. They were small and dark- 
 colored. This party returned at dinner time bring- 
 ing their boat with them, but after dinner another 
 party, led by the man with the boys, went over with 
 a boat and spent the afternoon. More light on 
 the Landlord's manner! The whole party caught 
 only three fish — insignificant creatures which, so 
 far as we knew, may have been all that Nutter, 
 Kimball and Gardiner left. One black bass, and 
 two white perch ! But a lake dropped in the forest, 
 surrounded with dense foliage of birch and popple, 
 with here and there a dark evergreen, is an object of 
 beauty, whether it has fish within its depths or not. 
 The visit to Bear Pond threw light on something 
 else, for the man with the boys. He had been to 
 Buttermilk Pond the day before to see if a trip, the 
 plan of which he had for some time cherished, was 
 feasible. He also followed the boys on their way 
 
Along the River Road above Bixgham 
 
 On Little Bear Pond 
 
SUMMER DAYS AT SEBEC LAKE 145 
 
 to Bear Pond, when they walked freely along un- 
 der the boat as though they went for pleasure. 
 He said the carry was a great success: it was fine; 
 could be done any day, etc. The whole thing was 
 done so easily that, when at Bear Pond he wanted 
 to stay a little longer, he proposed that two boys 
 should stay with him and fish, taking the boat back 
 later. Sam and Ed McDonald stayed. The two 
 young ladies returned to camp, as did also the rest 
 of the boys. It occurred to the man that the 
 mother of four of the campers might like to see 
 this pond in the heart of the forest, and McDonald 
 went back to the camp to escort her over. After 
 she had made a tour of the pond the return to camp 
 with the boats began. To the man with the boys, 
 the boat looked like a very clumsy, unwieldy affair. 
 It had not seemed so when it moved along so stead- 
 ily, perched on the heads of the four strong fel- 
 lows who transferred it across the carry. But it 
 did look awkward enough now — and heavy. Mc- 
 Donald and Sam looked sober. There was an air 
 about them which said they were sorry they were 
 there. They cast their eye along the length of the 
 boat. How light, and short, and graceful she had 
 appeared when gliding on the waters of Sebec, or 
 even of Bear Pond; how ungainly and undesirable 
 she appeared on land, waiting to be toted through 
 the woods. 
 
 "Which end will you take?" said the man with 
 the boys, solemnly. 
 
146 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 
 
 "It don't make a diff of bitterence to me," said 
 Sam, smiling. 
 
 "Let me take the head end," said McDonald, 
 cheerfully, "that's the heaviest." 
 
 "No," said the man, "I'll take that end myself." 
 
 The mother took the fishrods, the man's cap, 
 which was decorated with a supply of fishhooks 
 and various kinds of artificial bait, and the camera, 
 and went ahead. The three in some way inverted 
 the boat and got under it, and after straightening 
 up were ready for the trip. The man had the lead; 
 McDonald had the opposite end, while Sam was 
 midway between stem and stern. But though the 
 man had the lead he did not have control. Some- 
 times the boat would shoot ahead, sometimes slow 
 up — the velocity depending on the other two quite 
 as much as upon himself. But he had one advan- 
 tage. Though his head was up in the boat, he 
 could see the rocks, when he was within three or 
 four feet of them, in time to avoid a stumble him- 
 self, and also to caution his fellow laborers. 
 "Rocks," "big log," "corduroy," "bad place," 
 "very bad place," "smooth path," "mud hole," 
 "the worst yet," and other information was fur- 
 nished by him unsparingly. 
 
 "I can't — lift — much in here," grunted Sam, 
 under the boat, "you've got all the heft of it your- 
 self." 
 
 "Come on," said the man, "I'm all right." 
 
 "Hi!" exclaims McDonald, as the boat lurches' 
 
SUMMER DAYS AT SEBEC LAKE 147 
 
 and nearly upsets its carriers; "struck my foot — 
 'gainst a stone — did'nt see it — in time." But not- 
 withstanding all these difficulties progress was 
 rapid. The entire distance to be made was less 
 than half a mile. 
 
 "Shall we stop and rest?" asked the man in the 
 lead. 
 
 "No, siree," puffs the rear boy; "the other fel- 
 lows didn't rest but twice; we won't rest but once. 
 See?" 
 
 "Yes," the man could see, and approved of the 
 vision. When the halt came, Sam insisted that he 
 had not been able to do his part, being in the mid- 
 dle of the procession, and not able to lift much. 
 He would gladly exchange with the leader. This 
 the man consented to do, and could have wept over 
 the decision ten minutes later. Taking his place 
 under the middle of the inverted craft, he placed 
 his shoulders and back against the burden. The 
 procession started. Sam steps up onto a rock in 
 the way; the man straightens up instantly, to be 
 sure and carry his part. Sam stoops down on his 
 onward march, the boat descends, with him, on 
 the luckless middle man. For an instant the bur- 
 den is overpowering; but Ed, the rear man, steps 
 onto the same rock. The boat rises; the middle 
 man straightens, down comes the boat — fearful 
 thump on the man's head — but onward moves the 
 triumphal procession. 
 
 The man in the middle is at the mercy of the 
 
148 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 
 
 Other two. He does not know when the boat is to 
 rise, or when it is to lower; when it is to lurch to 
 the right, or sway to the left; he is simply under 
 the boat to have his shoulders burdened and un- 
 burdened, his head thumped, his back bent double 
 — a. series of unpremeditated punishments inflicted 
 by the young fellows who are really carrying the 
 boat. He doesn't know anything. He simply 
 wonders. He wonders why the other fellows go so 
 fast — why they don't go faster — why the boat 
 comes down on his shoulders so heavy at times — 
 why at others the boat doesn't touch him — why he 
 ever took the middle position anyway — what the 
 bill for damages to the boat will be in case his head 
 goes through it — whether there will be an end of 
 the carry. He hears the voice of the mother of his 
 children shouting in sweet, warning voice: "There's 
 a big log across the path here, but he doesn't care; 
 a log's as good as anything. It only means that 
 Sam will step up on it, and then step down; that 
 the boat will rise and fall with him, and that he — 
 the middle man — will get full benefit at no extra 
 cost; that before he recovers himself, Ed, at the 
 rear, will rise and fall in the same way. 
 
 But there's an end to even the longest carry. 
 There is light in the woods. Sebec Lake is just 
 ahead. At last the boat is turned over and lowered 
 to the ground. The man wipes beads of sweat 
 from his brow; he is dizzy. Sam and McDonald 
 
SUMMER DAYS AT SEBEC LAKE 149 
 
 seem for a moment to be staggering, but it is his 
 vision that is at fault. 
 
 He rights himself and takes inventory of personal 
 results. He has a spinal column — he is sure of 
 that — and it seems to have been wrenched. Then 
 he seems to have two spinal columns, yes, three of 
 them, and all seem to be broken in two places at 
 least. 
 
 It is only half a mile from Sebec Lake to Bear 
 Pond ; but the man had endured much on the home- 
 ward journey under the boat. 
 
 "Boys," he said at the supper table that night, 
 "It isn't more than nine miles from Bear Pond to 
 Sebec Lake. Anyone who says it is ten miles across 
 there, either deliberately exaggerates, or has been 
 across under a boat, as the middle man. It's only 
 nine miles — put it down as nine, anyway. I have 
 been the whole length of it." 
 
 "Oh, oh, do you see it?" It was the middle of 
 the forenoon; the voice of a young woman rang 
 through the woods, from a boat just off shore. 
 There was a tremor of delight in the voice. Yes, 
 we could all see it — a patch of blue sky overhead, 
 and a bright spot on the mountain across the lake, 
 where the sun's rays were flooding a small area with 
 brightness. We had been looking for sunshine for 
 two days, and for two days it had rained. The 
 poor weather was disarranging our plans, and 
 
150 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 
 
 there was a feeling that the ladies in the party 
 might get despondent over the continued dampness. 
 And now the sunshine was surely coming. Several 
 days of bright weather followed this clearing off. 
 The morning after the sunshine, the trip to the 
 Buttermilk Ponds, which had been twice postponed 
 on account of the weather, was undertaken. Two 
 young ladies and several boys were to accom- 
 pany the party across the carry, for the sake of a 
 look at Buttermilk, and the walk through the woods. 
 The boys aided in carrying the boat, while the 
 ladies carried oars, camera, caps and other light 
 articles. The man insisted that the trip should be 
 an old fashioned one — such as were indulged in be- 
 fore the advent of canned goods, and that the sup- 
 plies should consist of corn meal, salt pork, with 
 dependence upon fish for further food. There 
 were to be five pounds pork, ten pounds meal, and 
 salt sufficient. Just why the boy should have 
 thought three quarts of salt necessary, the writer 
 cannot tell; but the supplies were as above stated, 
 with the salt added. At the last moment the man 
 slipped into the tin pail a few crackers, eight boiled 
 eggs, and a box of baked beans. It was well he 
 did. 
 
 After crossing the carry, between Sebec Lake 
 and Buttermilk Pond, getting the boat into the lake 
 and saying goodbye, the advanced party proceeded 
 across Buttermilk Pond fishing. No fish. Having 
 reached the opposite shore. Nutter and the man 
 
SUMMER DAYS AT SEBEC LAKE 151 
 
 followed Mud Benson Brook for some distance, 
 catching trout for dinner. This is a rare brook. 
 It is of itself an education in the love of natural 
 scenery. It is such a brook as one must follow 
 before he can resort to one of the established meth- 
 ods of getting to sleep, when tired or nervous, viz., 
 by closing the eyes, and revisiting in imagination 
 the shady nooks, the mossy stones, the little cas- 
 cades and the cool shadows of a trout brook. The 
 stones and boulders of Mud Benson Brook are cov- 
 ered with the greenest moss. One can walk the 
 entire distance between Buttermilk Pond and Mud 
 Benson Pond barefooted, stepping from rock to 
 rock, from boulder to boulder, with the same amount 
 of wear and tear one would experience in walking 
 on a velvet croquet lawn — so complete is the cover- 
 ing of green, cool moss. We know, because we did 
 it; and made the journey back again in the same 
 way. If one can have such a brook to follow, it 
 matters not so very much whether one catches trout, 
 provided he has a love for the beautiful — for the 
 most beautiful in nature. But they caught a few 
 trout for dinner, and a part of the salt pork and corn 
 meal was properly cooked to accompany the fried 
 trout. 
 
 The man with the boys maintains that one ought 
 to know his journey before he attempts to take a 
 boat over it; so a trip was made empty-handed 
 over the carry from Buttermilk Pond to Crooked 
 Pond — a prospecting trip. The way was much of 
 
152 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 
 
 it up hill, but it could be done, and the fellows de- 
 cided to do it. As they returned to Buttermilk for 
 the boat and its belongings, Kimball reached the 
 shore first, and with an ejaculation of surprise ex- 
 claimed: "Say, what was that?" 
 
 "What was what?" said the man with the boys. 
 
 "Why, just as I came down here, something 
 gave a yell and jumped into the water. I don't 
 know who it was, or what it was. What do you 
 'spose?" 
 
 The rest of the party were not much given to 
 speculation, and the matter for the time was 
 dropped, but later a discovery was made which ex- 
 plained that noise and the jump into the water. It 
 is an interesting fact that the frogs in Buttermilk 
 Pond give a shrill cry, something like a short toot 
 from a tiny tin trumpet, when so startled that they 
 jump into the water. This was noticed repeatedly, 
 but it was also noticed that the frogs on Crooked 
 Pond and Third Pond have no such habit. No one 
 in the party had ever known frogs to act so before, 
 and they have been familiar with such creatures 
 from early life. 
 
 The oars, blankets and food — the latter some- 
 what reduced by the noonday meal — were left in 
 the boat for the carry, adding somewhat to the 
 weight. But the load was lifted and the carry 
 commenced. Up the hill, under the trees, over the 
 stones and fallen logs, went the little party, con- 
 veying the boat in a different manner from either 
 
SUMMER DAYS AT SEBEC LAKE I53 
 
 the Little Bear Pond or the Buttermilk Pond carry, 
 until the man said, "Let's rest. There," he con- 
 tinued, " I estimate that we have already come one 
 fifth of the way. Four more efforts like this — the 
 other four-fifths — will take us to Crooked Pond — 
 easy, isn't it?" 
 
 The second fifth was taken; then the third and 
 the fourth, with a short respite between them. 
 
 " Now for the last pull," said the man. 
 
 "I don't know about it," said Nutter. "It will 
 have to be longer than the last ones, I'm afraid." 
 
 Then the load was lifted. Nutter was right. 
 There was something wrong about the man's arith- 
 metic, for, whatever may be taught in the public 
 schools, and whatever the testimony of Daboll or 
 Greenleaf, five fifths don't make the carry between 
 Buttermilk and Crooked Ponds. It took two more 
 carries of the average length to reach the shore — a 
 new state of things — since the man had to acknowl- 
 edge seven fifths in the whole. But let it be said 
 here that owing to an improved method of carrying 
 the boat, the return trip was made with only one 
 rest, a stop long enough to take a picture of a cas- 
 cade on the outlet to Crooked Pond at a point 
 where carry and brook run parallel. Men said 
 there were no trout in the brook at that season of 
 the year; but the boys wanted to prove it, and did, 
 by drowning two or three angle worms. 
 
 Crooked Pond is appropriately named, for the 
 boatman must turn again and again, after leaving 
 
154 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 
 
 the outlet, before he reaches the north end, or in- 
 let. It is declared emphatically that there are no 
 fish in Crooked Pond, though why a series of three 
 ponds, the first and third of which have salmon and 
 togue, or trout, should present a pond in which 
 there are no fish to be caught, though both inlet 
 and outlet abound in fish at certain seasons of the 
 year, is hard to explain. It was noticed, however, 
 that the shallow water of the pond abounds in 
 small fish, from an inch to two inches long, and this 
 raises the question whether there are not larger 
 fish there too well fed on small fry to take the fish- 
 erman's bait. On the east side of Crooked Pond is 
 the camp of game wardens Mayo and Guerney. 
 The party had been told of this place, which is left 
 open to any and all comers, with the request that 
 the visitor leave the dishes washed, and that he 
 cut as much wood as he uses. It was going to rob 
 the trip of half its poetry to stop in a camp, but all 
 felt justified in doing it, especially as the dinner 
 had made a hole in our supplies, and we had not 
 caught many fish. The cabin would furnish good 
 facilities for cooking the flapjacks and frying the 
 pork, though we had done fairly well at noon, 
 using one of the four tin plates for a frying pan. 
 On our way up the pond to find the Third Pond, 
 the shore at the camp was clear. We had only to 
 return from the head of the lake, and enter our 
 quarters for the night. But on our return a canoe 
 was moored in front of the camp. The quarters 
 
SUMMER DAYS AT SEBEC LAKE 155 
 
 were taken. If on the principle of first come, first 
 served, then we were too late. But all were thirsty 
 and decided to go to the spring and incidentally 
 to visit the cabin. The waters of the spring were 
 like ice in coolness, and they drank again and 
 again. Two men were cooking supper in front of 
 the log camp. The boys had a few pleasant words 
 of greeting and remained four or five minutes. The 
 men were profane and obscene. The boys turned 
 away from such dirtiness in disgust. The man with 
 the boys led the way to the boat landing, and said 
 to the boys, quietly, "Now, boys, what shall 
 we do?" 
 
 "I wouldn't stay there with them if they'd give 
 me the cabin," said one. "They talk like fools." 
 
 "I'd sleep in a mud hole," said another, indig- 
 nantly, "before I'd stay and listen to that all night; 
 and did you smell the liquor? Let's sleep out as 
 we planned to do at first." 
 
 The man was more than pleased at this attitude 
 of the boys, and the party went back to the north 
 end of the pond. Pushing the boat up the brook 
 as far as they could they came to the beginning of 
 the carry. The sun was low in the west. Leav- 
 ing the boat they took blankets and food and 
 everything but the boat, and started for Third Pond 
 which they reached just after sunset. 
 
 The woods were dark, but as the party came out 
 to the shore of Third Pond, the light of the dying 
 day was reflected in a wonderful manner on the 
 
156 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 
 
 quiet waters. But the boys could not linger. 
 They were in the forests of Maine. Darkness was 
 but half an hour away, and a sleeping place had 
 not been selected. Retracing their steps into the 
 thick of the woods, they selected on high land a 
 place for the night. The camp fire was lighted. 
 That little package of beans was produced, and 
 with it the last four boiled eggs. The theory is 
 correct, namely, that one needs few provisions in 
 the woods, with fish, and the fewer he takes, the 
 less weight to lug, but the fish did not materialize, 
 and there was the rub. There were just enough 
 beans for supper. This left meal and pork for 
 breakfast. There were bared heads, a word of 
 prayer; then more wood on the camp fire, the 
 spreading of blankets, and the stretching of weary 
 forms upon them for the night, with nothing be- 
 tween the pilgrims and the starry heavens. It was 
 "a night out." 
 
 There are two interesting things at Third Pond, 
 viz., Gull Rock and a herony. Surprise is some- 
 times expressed by people who see large gulls in- 
 land, for there is a general impression that these 
 birds belong to the salt seas only ; but here on this 
 little lake, a hundred and fifty miles inland, the 
 gulls rear their young annually, and their calls are 
 heard through the summer. The blue heron selects 
 the inaccessible tops of the tall, almost branchless 
 trees for the nest, and nothing but firearms can 
 reach her. Judging from the sounds in the night, 
 
SUMMER DAYS AT SEBEC LAKE 157 
 
 Third Pond may also boast a "loonery" of no 
 small proportions; for the cry of the loon scarcely 
 ceased through the night — that is, when the boys 
 were awake. 
 
 It was not sunrise, it was only early dawn, when 
 Kimball started the fire and went to the pond for 
 frogs' legs. When the rest arose, he had fried the 
 flapjacks and pork — breakfast was ready. And it 
 was good. 
 
 After breakfast the party was sitting at the end 
 of the carry, on the south shore. "Well," said the 
 man, "you fellows seem to be in a pensive mood 
 this morning." 
 
 "I'm not sure that I know just what you mean 
 by pensive," replied Jumbo, "but if to be pensive 
 is to have a kind of stiffness in the joints, I'm pen- 
 sive." To this sentiment the rest agreed. It was 
 decided that no attempt to get the boat to Third 
 Pond should be made as it was Saturday, and 
 the return to Sebec Lake camp must be accom- 
 plished before dark. But the boys lingered on the 
 shore of Third Pond, sitting on the stones, and 
 looking off across the mountains, and watching 
 loon and gull until the man remarked : 
 
 "Well, you don't any of you act as though you 
 were aching to carry that boat through the woods." 
 
 "I'm aching somewhat," replied one of the boys 
 cheerfully, "but the boat isn't in it." 
 
 The visit to Third Pond ended, and the return 
 journey was begun. At noon the boys were back 
 
158 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 
 
 at the inlet to Buttermilk Pond, having followed 
 Mud Benson Brook again, and having caught no 
 trout. "Do you remember, fellows, that I sent 
 word to camp, yesterday, that we'd like to have 
 some of the boys meet us on that side of the lake 
 this noon, and help us get the boat back? " 
 
 "Yes," they all remembered. "And do you re- 
 member," said one, "that you told Gardiner that 
 you wanted him to tell the fellows who came over 
 to bring some food, as we might not catch any 
 fish?" 
 
 "Upon my word I do," said the man with the 
 boys, "and Vd forgotten it entirely. Well, let's go 
 over to the carry and be there when they come. 
 In case they don't come, we can fry some pork,, 
 cook some meal, have a feast of such things, pork 
 and chicken feed, and rest till the cool of the day." 
 Jumbo rowed the party across the lake. The land- 
 ing was made and the fire kindled. "Now," said 
 the man, "bring the meal and the pork; get some 
 water in that tin pail, and we'll have dinner. It's 
 our last meal on the trip." Nutter went to the 
 boat for the things. "Say," he exclaimed, after a 
 moment's silence, standing in the boat, "Where's 
 — say, what did we do with the — why, with that 
 pork, you know? It isn't here." 
 
 "What!" said the man, sharply. 
 
 "No sir, it isn't here, that's a fact," replied 
 Nutter, solemnly. "Must be on the other side of 
 this pond," ventured Kimball. " Or up on Crooked 
 
SUMMER DAYS AT SEBEC LAKE 159 
 
 Pond," ventured Jumbo. "Or up where we ate 
 breakfast this morning, over on Third," added 
 Kimball. 
 
 "But where is it?" said the man, desperately. 
 
 "I don't know," said Kimball, "I'm all twiz up 
 again." ("Twiz up" is an expression introduced 
 at Good Will by John Snagg, of New Jersey, four 
 years ago. It means "perplexed, mixed up, both- 
 ered," and is used by Good Will boys when there 
 is a very perplexing situation.) It was not going to 
 take long to get dinner under those circumstances. 
 The other supplies in hand consisted of about four 
 pounds of corn meal, and three quarts of salt. 
 There was a tin pail, a supply of lake water and a 
 fire. One of the boys called attention to an inci- 
 dent in Jewish history when among other things 
 "Salt, without prescribing how much," was insisted 
 upon, an incident which was used by Rev. Dr. 
 Vail, for the basis of the annual sermon at the 
 Good Will Assembly and Boys' Encampment in 
 1899 — a text and sermon which is often referred to 
 by the boys. In twenty minutes the corn meal had 
 been boiled, and the feast of corn mush and a 
 practically unlimited supply of salt was before 
 them. Kimball said it "seemed to satisfy hunger." 
 Nutter said he had never eaten anything just like 
 it, or at least had never had just such a meal. It 
 had been planned to wait for help in getting the 
 boat back; but half way across the carry were 
 some raspberry bushes, on which still hung some 
 
l6o ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 
 
 berries. It was unanimously decided to shoulder 
 the boat and get there at the earliest moment. A 
 speedy start was made, and five minutes later, 
 Eccles, Blake and Dan McDonald met the weary 
 pilgrims in the way. 
 
 That night, after camp had been reached and a 
 hearty supper eaten ; after a trip had been made to 
 the blueberry bushes on Granny Cross Mountain; 
 after a swim in the limpid water of Sebec Lake, 
 the question which had been asked of the four was 
 asked again: 
 
 "Say, did you really have a good time?" 
 
 "Good tim.e!" exclaimed Kimball, "yes, siree, I 
 wouldn't have missed it for ten dollars;" and then 
 added reflectively, "and I wouldn't do it again for 
 another ten." And to this sentiment, born of a 
 two days* experience, the rest of the party assented. 
 But it really was a good time. 
 
 The visitor to Sebec Lake has opportunities for 
 several side trips, if he does not find sufficient 
 enjoyment on the lake and its shores. It was 
 understood by the boys, before they left home, 
 that they would climb Boarstone Mt. before they 
 returned. So on a Tuesday morning they made 
 a fairly early start, going from camp, a distance 
 of two miles, to the Lake House in boats. Nutter 
 and Gardiner remained to keep camp; all the 
 rest of the party went on the journey. At the 
 Lake House a buckboard, in charge of an experi- 
 enced driver, was ready for ten of the party; the 
 
SUMMER DAYS AT SEBEC LAKE l6l 
 
 Other five followed in a wagon. It is five miles 
 from the Lake House to Onawa Lake, where the 
 teams were to be left. Perhaps a rougher road 
 exists in Maine, but none of the party had ever 
 seen anything like it. At Cow Yard Falls a photo 
 was taken; also a picture was taken of another 
 pretty cascade, name unknown, a few rods from 
 the latter place; both of these are on Ship 
 Pond Stream. The five occupants of the wagon 
 produced a new song of stirring character, though 
 limited as to sentiment. It went to the tune of 
 "Tramp, tramp, tramp," and the chorus was as 
 follows : 
 
 *'0n, on, on to Onawa, 
 
 On, on, on to Onawa, 
 
 On to, on to Onawa, on to, on to Onawa, 
 
 On to, on to, on to, on to Onawa." 
 
 Just before one reaches Onawa Lake, he comes 
 to the trestle work of the C. P. R. R., a remarkable 
 steel structure over 900 feet long, and at one point 
 165 feet high. Most of the party walked the length 
 of the trestle, two or three not wishing to run 
 the risk of dizziness. The others crossed the 
 stream at the dam and went to the Onawa House 
 by a woodsy path, made for the accommodation 
 of tourists. Lunch was taken on the shore of 
 Onawa Lake, at eleven o'clock, in order to get a 
 good start for the mountain climb. People at the 
 hotel were very reticent when questions were asked 
 about the best route to take to get to the top of 
 
1 62 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 
 
 Boarstone. One man was on the giving hand, and 
 would doubtless have furnished valuable informa- 
 tion, but he was promptly told to "go and clean 
 that fish," and the man remaining in authority had 
 nothing to say. Of course all this difficulty could 
 have been removed by hiring a guide, but the party 
 simply did not want a guide, and would not have 
 one. Failing to get instructions the travellers 
 started along the C. P. R. R. to the west. Some 
 one had said the best place to start up was 
 at Greenwood, but whether Greenwood was a sta- 
 tion, a pond, a dead tree, or a curve in the road, no 
 one in the party knew. They were to pass two 
 ponds — this they did. They passed a third one. 
 Three boys had gone far in advance of the rest of 
 the party, and went beyond the place where a slight 
 depression seemed to indicate a path. "We've 
 found the path," they shouted to the fellows who 
 were in advance, and who having thus been sig- 
 nalled, came back to join the rest. It was easy for 
 a time to follow the slight trail, but it became less 
 and less distinct. The three boys who had been 
 called back, having gone beyond the place to start 
 in from the railroad, again pushed their way beyond 
 the main party. All traces of the path or trail 
 had now disappeared; or they had wandered from 
 it. Progress became exceedingly difficult. Fallen 
 logs, accumulated brushwood and rolling stones 
 made the journey hazardous. A look backward 
 revealed a scene of great beauty, but before the 
 
SUMMER DAYS AT SEBEC LAKE 163 
 
 climbers was only the rocky side of the mountain 
 half hidden with foliage. They came to a place 
 where further progress seemed about impossible. 
 "We simply can't go any farther," said the man 
 to his daughter. "Oh, this is real easy," was her 
 reply; and the boys and the two young ladies 
 slowly moved upward. At last they came to an 
 opening, where, looking upward, they could see 
 a summit, apparently unapproachable from where 
 they were, and on it appeared the three who had 
 gone in advance. 
 
 "How did you get there?" was shouted to them. 
 
 The reply was: "Oh, you can't come. It would 
 take you two weeks to get here." 
 
 That settled it. "I'll get there or I'll break my 
 neck in trying," said one of the boys; and while 
 the young ladies said nothing so desperate, the 
 silent persistency with which they crept up the 
 rocky steep showed that they would never stop 
 till they had reached the summit. 
 
 "He can, who thinks he can" — a reference to 
 Mr. Hezekiah Butterworth's address at the Good 
 Will Assembly, was occasionally shouted by way 
 of encouragement; and once or twice the pronoun 
 was changed for the benefit of the ladies. At last 
 the lower of the two peaks was reached. 
 
 The pilgrims remained for a time on the summit 
 of the mountain, studying the beautiful scene of 
 forest and lake and river stretched beneath them, 
 and watching the forest fire which was in progress 
 
1 64 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 
 
 just below the summit, on the south side. All 
 were suffering from thirst; but all felt repaid for 
 the journey. It had been apparent to the man 
 that they could never descend over the way they 
 had made the ascent, for two reasons: it was so 
 precipitous that it would be dangerous, and they 
 could never have found the way back, as they had 
 blazed no trees, or made any provision for the re- 
 turn. The man had felt confident that in some 
 way, on the summit, they could get a clue to a safe 
 return. A party was picking blueberries near the 
 top that day, and from one of the men it was learned 
 that a blazed path started from near where they 
 were. It was decided to adopt that path. There 
 was a great eagerness to do this, because the man 
 said there was a spring near it on the way down. 
 This trail proved to be a well trodden path, which 
 it was a pleasure to follow, but which, had it been 
 used in the ascent would have robbed the trip of 
 much of its interest and excitement. On the way 
 down a party of men were met, with spades, on 
 their way up to fight the fire at the top. They 
 told of a spring further down — "Close to the path 
 — you'll see it. " But they did not see it. Another 
 party of men, on their way up, gave more definite 
 instructions, both as to the spring, and the best 
 way to get down. But they did not find the spring ; 
 the trees they had blazed were not found. Half 
 way down the mountain they came to the trail 
 which they had followed on the first part of the 
 
SUMMER DAYS AT SEBEC LAKE 1 65 
 
 ascent; the rest was simplicity itself, and the hotel 
 was soon reached. 
 
 There was no real accident, the most serious 
 happening being Ed Ben's getting stung with 
 another hornet, making his third experience of that 
 kind since he had reached Sebec, or as Ed Ben 
 said: 
 
 "I've added one more sting to my collection." 
 
 The night after the trip to the summit of Boar- 
 stone was one of general restlessness. This may 
 have been due to the weariness of some of the 
 party, since it is possible to be too tired to sleep 
 soundly. One of the young ladies was heard to 
 enquire occasionally in her sleep, " But are you sure 
 we are on the right path?" and after a few minutes 
 silence she would repeat the question plaintively, 
 ' 'Are you sure this will get us to the top?" 
 
 But the best illustration of restlessness occurred 
 in the boys' quarters and caused considerable 
 comment. The Yale student and Ed Gardiner 
 were fond of having camp fires all to themselves 
 after everybody else had retired for the night, and 
 sometim.es these fires and their conversation 
 extended into the wee small hours. It was so on 
 the night in question. Everybody went to bed 
 that night soon after dark except the two men- 
 tioned. The Yale student found it hard to reverse 
 the order to which he had become accustomed at 
 the University, and return to "early to bed and 
 early to rise." Gardiner had been so long in 
 
1 66 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 
 
 hospital service that day and night are much alike 
 to him. His experiences caring for the sick have 
 only strengthened the quality which originally 
 recommended him to the position which he holds, 
 namely, an indifference to the ordinary claims of 
 sleep. So after the rest of the camp were quietly 
 sleeping, they piled high the wood on the camp 
 fire, and the grove lighted up with a red glow — an 
 experience which all would have enjoyed, had 
 they not been so "sleepy." This couple had en- 
 joyed a long, quiet talk, had put on the last wood 
 for the night and had watched the flames as they 
 grew smaller till there was only a flicker left. 
 
 It was half past one. They ought to have been 
 in bed asleep. A slight crackling was heard in the 
 bushes a few rods from the camp fire. It was 
 only for an instant and then it ceased. Gardiner 
 began talking to the student again, resuming the 
 conversation where it had been interrupted by the 
 noise. The sound was heard again — nearer and 
 louder. The sound of irregular footfalls on the 
 twigs and leaves was distinguished by both the 
 young fellows. Conversation ceased. "What's 
 that?" whispered Gardiner, "Hist!" was the 
 student's reply, as both gazed in the direction of 
 the noise. Gardiner had taken a revolver into the 
 woods, and for a few days had carried it in his hip 
 pocket, thinking he might need it for a signal if 
 for no other purpose. But having had no use for 
 it, he had put it into his travelling bag that morn- 
 
SUMMER DAYS AT SEBEC LAKE 1 67 
 
 ing. The travelling bag was in his tent. When the 
 branches began to move, and the noise among the 
 twigs came so painfully near, he instinctively put 
 his hand into his hip pocket for the means of self 
 defense. It was not there. A moment later the 
 thick foliage parted, and the cause of it all appeared 
 in the opening. It was Sam. In the uncertain 
 light of the camp fire he presented a strange appear- 
 ance. His face was ghastly white, his lips tightly 
 compressed, his eyes seemed set, and stared into 
 vacancy. He held an unlighted lantern in his 
 hand. "Hello, Sam," said the student with an 
 air of relief. "That you? " said Gardiner, mechan- 
 ically. But Sam gave no reply. He moved quietly 
 forward. It was plain that Sam was not responsi- 
 ble for what he did. He was asleep. With steady 
 step he came nearer the fire — nearer the puzzled 
 night watchers — but as he stopped a few feet from 
 them, instead of noticing them, he seemed to be 
 gazing past them, in the direction of Granny Cross 
 Cove. "What's up now, Sam?" said Gardiner, 
 as he scanned the strange figure — "Say, what's up?" 
 
 "I — have — troubles — of — my — own!" said Sam, 
 in a tone which would never have been recognized 
 as belonging to him. 
 
 "Say, what are you trying to do, anyway," said 
 Gardiner, "trying to be funny?" 
 
 "Have troubles of my own — my own,'" said the 
 awkward visitor, mournfully. 
 
 Sam gave the unlighted lantern a flourish, and 
 
1 68 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 
 
 moved stiffly forward to the fireplace, made a circle 
 about the dying embers, and then turned to leave 
 the place. Gardiner and the student remained 
 silent, watching the visitor's strange movements. 
 As Sam reached the opening which he had made in 
 the bushes, as he first appeared to them, he turned 
 about, raised the lantern for a moment over his 
 head, and with the same vacant stare in his eyes, 
 said: 
 
 ' ' Troubles — of — my — own ! ' ' 
 
 Then he disappeared. 
 
 "Say," said the student, "Sam's a sleepwalker, 
 isn't he?" 
 
 "Looks like it," said Gardiner. "What they 
 call a somnambulist. Say, we'd better get to bed, 
 anyway." 
 
 There is always more pleasure in getting ready 
 for a camping trip, or getting the tents up after the 
 woods are reached, than in preparing for the return 
 home. The camp of 1900 had been a happy suc- 
 cess. The location was beautiful, the weather, 
 with the exception of three days early in our stay 
 at the lake, had been fine. Everybody with whom 
 we had to deal in any way had been kind and help- 
 ful. The fishing had not been up to the expecta- 
 tion, but this may have been because too much 
 had been expected. The cooking had been good. 
 Blake and Dan had been very faithful. In fact, 
 in Blake's honor, some one evolved the following: 
 
SUMMER DAYS AT SEBEC LAKE 169 
 
 "Oh, a very wonderful cook is Blake; 
 He's sometimes asleep and sometimes awake; 
 He can boil, he can fry, but he cannot bake; 
 But a wonderful cook is Blake." 
 
 This was a reference to the somewhat limited 
 cooking facilities in the woods. The cooks had no 
 oven. So their operations were confined to boiling 
 and frying. There was also another song com- 
 posed by an irresponsible member of the party. 
 At the close of the camp an effort was made to get 
 it for publication. No one seemed to know much 
 about it except Sam. He said that he remembered 
 something about it; he had forgotten the words 
 and the tune, but the general sentiment remained 
 with him. General sentiments are of no use in a 
 condensed report like this; and Sam's contribution 
 is worth no more, for the writer's purpose, than the 
 testimony of those who had forgotten everything. 
 
 The day fixed for the breaking of camp was 
 August 23rd — a good day for it, as the sky was 
 cloudless at sunrise, and, as Blake said, the lake 
 was as "calm as a hardwood floor." We do not 
 like to dwell on the scenes of camp-breaking — the 
 taking down of tents, the final plunge in the lake, 
 the last handful of huckleberries fresh from the 
 bush, the farewell look at everything to which we 
 had become more or less attracted. No; there is a 
 bit of pathos in it all. But the sun was bright; 
 the steamer arrived at eight o'clock sharp. 
 
 It was sunset when the procession reached T. E, 
 
170 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 
 
 Ham's house in Cambridge, but the good man and 
 his household were on the lookout, and it was a 
 tempting spread which had been prepared for the 
 travellers. The ladies occupied rooms in the house ; 
 Gardiner slept in a hammock suspended from the 
 posts of the veranda; Sam and the Yale student 
 rolled themselves in blankets and slept out in the 
 field, in the dew and under the stars; Nutter 
 occupied a hay cart which stood on the barn floor, 
 the rest — including the man with the boys — slept 
 in the hay mow. 
 
 Probably everybody would have slept peacefully 
 till the morn, but for a single occurrence. It 
 happened that some of the party who occupied the 
 hay mow were blessed with a generous covering 
 for their skeletons — there was not a scrawny one 
 among them. The rotund forms of Ed McDonald, 
 Jumbo, and others, whom we need not specify, 
 had been the objects of criticism several times on 
 the journey. Nutter's reference to the hay mow 
 as the "Fatties' Gallery," rankled in the bosom of 
 each well-fed object of his wit. 
 
 It was after midnight when there was a rustle in 
 the hay mow, followed a little later by a movement 
 of the wheels on the barn floor — first slow, then 
 faster, then a heavy thump and rattle as the hay 
 wagon in which Nutter, author of the irreverent 
 remark above quoted, was sleeping, rolled from the 
 barn floor out into the field. After a period of 
 silence the man who was with the boys crept cau- 
 
SUMMER DAYS AT SEBEC LAKE 171 
 
 tiously to the edge of the mow, to the railing of the 
 " Fatties' Gallery" and peered out. The moonlight 
 struggled through a thick mist which enshrouded 
 the forms of Sam and the student. Nutter was 
 trying to adjust himself to new conditions. 
 
 "Is that you, Nutter?" said theman with the boys. 
 
 ' ' I think so, " responded a voice out of the thick fog. 
 
 "How came you out there?" said the man in a 
 tone of mock interest and sympathy. 
 
 "You can't prove it by me," said Nutter, "I 
 don't know." 
 
 He never will know. Several efforts have been 
 made to discover who started the wheels. It has 
 been proved again and again that several of Nut- 
 ter's companions — chiefly the fat ones — heard the 
 wheels move and the general commotion when the 
 wagon went out of the barn, and Sam has confessed 
 that the noise "sounded awfully funny" to him. 
 There have been some interesting rides — ^John 
 Gilpin's, and Paul Revere's, and Sheridan's, — but 
 Nutter's midnight ride from the barn to the hay- 
 field — for certain fleshy fellows — has an interest all 
 its own. 
 
 At an early hour the party said "Good-bye" to 
 host and hostess, and started on the homeward 
 way. Before sunset they caught a glimpse of 
 Good Will Farm — a spot which means more to 
 most of the party than lakeside camp or summer 
 outing can ever mean — and an hour later all were 
 at home again. 
 
VI 
 
 MEMOIRS OF A CAMP FOR TWO 
 
 July i^. It has been understood between us for 
 several days that we two — "Chick" and I — should 
 start for Greenville, Maine, and go into the woods 
 in the Moosehead Lake region this morning. I 
 selected Chick as a comrade this year, as a sharer 
 of the joys and vicissitudes of first days in camp, 
 for several reasons. Chick knows how to cook; 
 he is quiet in manner; he is companionable. Now, 
 there are other fellows at Good Will who would 
 have been pleased to take his place, and they would 
 have met the requirements even to the art of cook- 
 ing, but I had to select one of them and the above 
 reasons are all valid. It would be rather hard for 
 me to cook in the woods, hobbling about on two 
 crutches; it's so far sometimes from the fireplace 
 to the salt box and other things called for in getting 
 a meal. 
 
 Nothing happened on our journey until we 
 reached Dexter, something over fifty miles from 
 home. Here a former Good Will boy boarded the 
 train; said he was going to Greenville today and 
 to Wilson Pond fishing tomorrow. I never start 
 for Moosehead Lake that I don't unexpectedly 
 find a Good Will boy somewhere on the way. This 
 
 172 
 
MEMOIRS OF A CAMP FOR TWO 1 73 
 
 time it is a "one time boy" who is now an ambi- 
 tious junior in a New England college — success to 
 him. And we journeyed together, Chick, the stud- 
 ent and I. 
 
 At Foxcroft, we waited an hour for a belated 
 train, and while waiting I fell in with an old-time 
 friend, and a long-time Maine school teacher. We 
 talked of the woods and of a curious and interesting 
 controversy now in progress, a bloodless war over 
 so-called "nature fakirs," the doings of the lower 
 order of creation, the place of the imagination in 
 the study of natural history, and kindred features 
 of interest. 
 
 "Well," said my friend, "I owned a calf once; 
 it died; it lay in the field not far from an old shed. 
 You know that crows have their sentinels — their 
 leaders and so forth ; and a sentinel will alight in a 
 place and if everything is all right the rest will 
 follow. I've seen them do it lots of times. I wanted 
 to shoot that crow and I could do it from the shed, 
 while he (the crow) was at the carcass. So I went 
 into the shed with my gun. But the crow saw me 
 go in and he kept away. I left the shed and he 
 saw me go out of the field and as soon as I was out 
 of the way he went to the carcass of the calf and 
 called the rest. Then I took a man with me and 
 went into the shed ; after we had been there a while, 
 I sent the man away; but the crow stayed at a 
 safe distance. I hadn't come out and he knew it. 
 So I went away and the crow returned. I tried it 
 
174 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 
 
 again and this time I took two men with me; and 
 after staying in the shed a while the two departed ; 
 but the crow kept away: he knew one man was 
 left in the shed and that he was in gun shot. So the 
 next day I went to the shed again ; there were four 
 of us this time. After a while I sent three away 
 and remained in the shed with my gun. The crow 
 saw the three men leave the shed and the field; 
 he had reached the limit of his ability to count; he 
 couldn't tell the difference between four men and 
 three men and he deliberately lighted on the car- 
 cass. I shot him." 
 
 Just as he reached the conclusion of his graphic 
 little tale, the train for Greenville rounded the 
 curve, and we boarded it for our destination. 
 
 At Drew's, which is the place where we leave 
 trunks while we are in the woods, taking out such 
 things as we need in our return to the primitive, 
 we changed our clothes, divesting ourselves of all 
 " fineries, " donning woodsy attire. 
 
 "I'm enjoying this greatly," I said to Chick as 
 we sat at the table. "Yes, I am ; and do you know, 
 Chick, that a man feels peculiar when he eats a 
 meal like this and isn't sure that he will have an- 
 other chance at a good meal for six weeks. Six 
 weeks is a long time. " 
 
 Chick smiled. 
 
 There was a confident quality to his smile, and 
 I verily believe he thinks he can get good appetizing 
 meals for me. Nor do I doubt it, for had I doubts, 
 
MEMOIRS OF A CAMP FOR TWO 1 75 
 
 he would not be going with me; but what's the 
 harm of j ust asking a question ? Yet I should not be 
 much surprised if he got back at me soon, for these 
 little pleasantries are chickens that do come home 
 to roost. 
 
 For instance, last week I received in the mail 
 a volume of national statistics — a Congressional 
 Report — from our Senator, the Hon. Mark Petti- 
 john. 
 
 "Just in the nick of time," I said ironically; 
 "what would I have done for reading matter in the 
 woods if Mark had not sent that volume. Just 
 think of the happy hours I can spend in the wilder- 
 ness reading statistics" — and as I said it I turned 
 the pages so that a member of my family — one 
 of my sons, — could see the solid pages of figures. 
 Well, that was the end of it, I supposed, but to- 
 day when at Drew's I unpacked the trunk which 
 the son had packed for me and locked at the last 
 moment, the first article to attract my attention 
 was that volume of statistics. So for reading matter 
 in camp, thanks to my own thoughtfulness and 
 my son's facetiousness, we have the Bible and a 
 volume of congressional figures. 
 
 There is no spring at the point where we camp 
 and so the question of drinking water would be a 
 serious one, were it not for the fact that the water 
 in Wilson's Pond is clear as crystal and doubtless 
 pure enough ; but it is not cold. 
 
 "I'll tell you," said a guide to me today, "how 
 
176 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 
 
 you can get cold water out of the lake. Attach 
 a bottle or jug to a fish line and let it down sixty 
 or seventy feet in the middle of the pond ; then draw 
 it up and it will be as cold as you want, for it will 
 be from the bottom of the pond. " 
 
 "But the bottle will be filled with the warmer 
 water from near the surface, " I said. 
 
 "To be sure," replied the guide, "but as soon 
 as it gets down where it is cold the warm water 
 will rise — warm water always rises — and the cold 
 water takes its place. " 
 
 "Ah! " said I. 
 
 July 16. The very first night I ever spent on 
 this point was three years ago when Blake and I 
 lived close to nature five weeks — he a college 
 student earning one part of the wherewithal to 
 carry himself through another year of studies. That 
 night some wild beast was prowling about our tent ; 
 but after the first night we heard little or nothing 
 from him. It was the same way last night but a 
 different kind of beast. 
 
 Chick was asleep ; he sleeps wonderfully whenever 
 the mosquitos and midgets let up on him. I heard 
 twigs cracking and the steps of an animal coming 
 toward the tent. There was a pause of a full min- 
 ute; then the creature bounded away. I heard his 
 retreating footfalls and was pleased that he had 
 left us. But before I could get asleep he returned 
 and came nearer. I didn't like it. I let my imagi- 
 nation — what I have of one — take the reins. I 
 
MEMOIRS OF A CAMP FOR TWO 1 77 
 
 could see in my mind's eye, just outside my tent, 
 any one of several terrible beasts, such as inhabit 
 the Maine woods. Then the unwelcome visitor 
 started on the run again, back into the woods, 
 though all the while I had lain perfectly quiet and 
 Chick was in the land of dreams, where no midgets 
 are and where mosquitos neither bite nor buzz. 
 
 The next time he returned, and it was inside of 
 ten minutes, he made approaches of a few feet, 
 stopping for a long silence between each advance, 
 until he was not, to the best of my knowledge, 
 mxore than a rod from the tent. The situation 
 seemed uncanny. I had left the lantern out at 
 Greenville. My gun and rifle were down home — 
 for I take a peculiar satisfaction in leaving firearms 
 at home as I go into the woods in the summer, when 
 there is nothing to shoot except in the wanton 
 destruction of life. But I wished I knew what it 
 was, just outside the canvas and what his plans 
 were. I recall Manly Hardy's recent and ex- 
 plicit contrasting of the Maine bobcat and the 
 Canadian Lynx. I could see the broad woolly paws 
 of the one and the smooth cat-like paws of the 
 other. 
 
 I reached out my hand and laid it on Chick's 
 breast ; it semed full and strong and — too deep for a 
 lynx to crush in with his jaws; just as a caribou's, 
 according to Roosevelt, is too muscular for any such 
 feat. I felt of my own chest; that, too, was lynx 
 proof — bobcat proof — just like a caribou's. But 
 
 13 
 
178 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 
 
 as I happened to touch my own flesh, I was an- 
 noyed to find that it was not like human flesh at 
 all — it was rough, cold, pimply; for the first time 
 in my life fear had given me "goose skin. " 
 
 I continued to think, but it didn't help me. I 
 grew desperate. Wanting to say something, I 
 raised the wall of the tent suddenly and shouted. 
 I didn't expect the animal to understand my 
 language, but I fancied he would take the hint that 
 he wasn't wanted from the tone of my voice, — 
 my general attitude. 
 
 "Get out of this," I yelled. 
 
 The intruder had no idea of what was wanted 
 and didn't move. I rather hoped, too, that my 
 shout would awaken Chick so that I could feel 
 that I had company; but mosquitos and midgets 
 had suspended operations pending the break of 
 day and Chick was oblivious. About three min- 
 utes after my yell broke the stillness, that wild 
 beast — whatever it was — went rushing through the 
 woods making a great racket, having started from 
 the point where I had last heard him, about a rod 
 from the tent. 
 
 A rabbit makes a lot of noise In the dark. 
 
 This morning I said to Chick that we must decide 
 what we would have for morning reading in camp. 
 
 "You may decide first whether it shall be the 
 Old Testament or the New; if the Old, whether it 
 
MEMOIRS OF A CAMP FOR TWO 1 79 
 
 shall be historical, prophetical or devotional; if 
 prophetical, whether major or minor prophets. 
 If you decide on the New Testament, you must 
 choose between the Gospels, the Epistles, and the 
 Revelation." When we reached a final decision, 
 it was the book of Proverbs. So today we began 
 to read Solomon's Proverbs, "To give subtilty to 
 the simple, to the young man knowledge and discre- 
 tion." 
 
 At dinner we had two guests, though any house- 
 keeper would say that the first day in a new house, 
 and before anything is set to rights, is not the best 
 time to entertain. They paid us a compliment, 
 however, by eating quite heartily of the food placed 
 before them, "asking no questions for conscience' 
 sake, " and we were very happy. 
 
 One of our guests goes on two crutches; so do 
 I — and as we sat around the fireplace there were, 
 of course, four crutches, one for each of the party. 
 I expected that crutches would be very inconvenient 
 at times in the woods and they are; in fact, they 
 are little short of a nuisance, but at the same time 
 I am surprised to discover what a convenience they 
 are. If one is leaning on a pair of crutches, he can 
 do a deal of stirring among the dried leaves and 
 branches without stooping; he can even poke the 
 fire with his crutch and do many other similar 
 things. And yet no one ever thinks of taking a 
 crutch into the woods for convenience. 
 
l8o ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS ' 
 
 July ly. Chick and I had a long talk today 
 about various things. He does not talk all the 
 time — a most fortunate thing for me — but at times 
 he is the best kind of a comrade because of what he 
 says; at other times he is equally good because of 
 the way he keeps silent. I would not want to begin 
 camp with a mere talking machine ; a sphinx would 
 be equally undesirable. Chick can be either to 
 me; but, as a matter of fact, he is neither, and that 
 is one reason why I like him in camp. 
 
 I had read, not long ago, a magazine article about 
 boys — an article which contained many statements 
 about them. One was that boys do not care to be 
 loved. Nothing had been said about the magazine 
 article, but we were out trolling for salmon. It is 
 understood that there are salmon in Wilson Pond, 
 — near the bottom ; I have never seen one of them 
 and I would be a poor witness in an effort to prove 
 that there are salmon in the pond, but there is no 
 harm in trolling for them. Chick remarked that he 
 remembered when I told him that I loved him. 
 
 "Tell me about it," I said. 
 
 "It was when they were building the Manual 
 Training Building at Good Will," replied Chick, 
 "and Prospect Cottage had been moved back to 
 make room for it. They were going to make Pros- 
 pect Cottage a part of the 'Buckminster' and it 
 was propped up on piles of old railroad ties. You 
 had your writing desk in one of the rooms — the 
 old office — and the only way to get to it was to 
 
MEMOIRS OF A CAMP FOR TWO l8l 
 
 walk from the ground up to the doorway on a 
 narrow plank. I was looking around and you called 
 me to you. You said, ' Did I ever tell you that I 
 love you?' and I said, 'No, you never did,' and 
 you said, 'Well, I'll tell you now, I do, so you'll 
 know.' " 
 
 Chick is seventeen years old now; he must have 
 been thirteen when he learned that a man loved him ; 
 but he gives me no hint that his feelings were hurt 
 or his pride injured by the knowledge. Chick was 
 a genuine boy then — a fair sample of boyhood, 
 and he is an equally good sample of older boyhood 
 now. When he fell into the reminiscent mood, and 
 told me this incident, which I could not have possi- 
 bly recalled and of which I had no recollection, 
 I was reminded of that magazine article. 
 
 I do not write for magazines ; perhaps no maga- 
 zine would buy my wares, and what is the use; 
 but had I the pen of a skilled writer, I would like 
 to prepare an article on, "Some Wrong Statements 
 About Boyhood." Some of these that I would 
 write about are: (i) that boys do not care to be 
 loved; (2) that boys are young savages; (3) that 
 boys are of no value except as " Men of Tomorrow ' ' ; 
 (4) that boys expect everything to be done for them 
 and are unappreciative ; (5) that boys are corrupted 
 by a clean, wholesome knowledge of physiological 
 facts too often withheld; (6) that boys have no 
 use for religion, prayer being irksome, and thoughts 
 of God repellent. 
 
1 82 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 
 
 July i8. It was in my boyhood that I read of 
 the Irish landlord, who taking an early morning 
 stroll on his estate, met one of his tenants with 
 a gun on his shoulder, although the privilege of 
 hunting was not given to tenants. " Good morning, 
 my lord," said the tenant, "you are out early to- 
 day." "Yes," replied the landlord, "I am out 
 after an appetite for my breakfast; but what are 
 you out here for? " "I am out for a breakfast for 
 my appetite, " responded the tenant. 
 
 A somewhat similar situation was noted this 
 morning when Chick and I were out in the boat — 
 Chick after a fish for his appetite; I after an appetite 
 for fish. Neither of us was successful. Chick 
 caught nothing; and I failed to get an appetite. 
 "If a man will not work, neither shall he eat," is 
 a scripture capable of various interpretations; but 
 it is true in the woods as elsewhere, that unless 
 a man does something, he cannot have the appetite 
 that makes eating a pleasure and digestion easy. 
 And a man who must travel on crutches is not 
 likely to do much in the thick woods. That's why 
 it was as desirable that I should succeed in my 
 search for an appetite for breakfast as it was that 
 Chick should succeed in his search for a breakfast 
 for his appetite. 
 
 July ig. We have no almanac or calendar in 
 camp ; but this morning we read the fourth chapter 
 of Proverbs, which indicates that this is the fourth 
 
MEMOIRS OF A CAMP FOR TWO 1 83 
 
 full day in camp. It is not an eventful day; none 
 of these camp days are. There is a simple routine, 
 which is observed with considerable faithfulness, 
 though the time varies a bit from day to day. This 
 morning we took a dip at four-thirty o'clock in- 
 stead of five, which is our custom. Last night, 
 when we came in from fishing, it sounded as though 
 there was a great orchestra somewhere in the dis- 
 tance — all the instruments playing one monotonous 
 strain. We stopped and listened. It was the mos- 
 quitos. We estimated that there were forty million 
 of them — a rough estimate; this is equal to half 
 the population in the United States. 
 
 I wonder why the "nature fakirs" don't turn 
 their attention to the mosquito. There is nothing 
 else below man that exhibits such intelligence — 
 such ingenuity. Dogs are patient; cats are relent- 
 less ; foxes are crafty ; wolves are ferocious ; bobcats 
 are savage; but mosquitos — the blood-thirsty 
 denizens of the Maine woods in June — have all 
 these qualities and several more which I have not 
 mentioned. They are atrocious enemies. I think 
 the word "atrocious" is a good one in this case, 
 for it comes from "ater" which is the Latin for 
 "dark" and these pests breed in the dark and do 
 their worst work in the twilight. They are dastardly 
 miscreants, bold fiends, cowardly villains. They 
 sneak into our tent while we are away, and occupy 
 secret places till we are undressed ; they hide under 
 the beds and remain silent till Chick and I have 
 
1 84 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 
 
 said "good-night;" they crawl under the walls of 
 our tent and celebrate the feat with unseemly 
 noises. 
 
 As soon as we come in from the lake for the night, 
 we build a tiny fire of paper in the tent and half 
 smother it with cedar boughs. In three minutes 
 the tent is filled with a sweet white smoke, so dense 
 that man nor beast could live in it — so dense that 
 it hides the ridgepole of the tent. The mosquitos 
 lie low; not a buzz is heard. We could not breathe 
 ourselves, only that our bed is four inches from the 
 ground and the air is better there. We cover our- 
 selves with blankets, rap a towel about the head, 
 so that the only part of the body that is exposed 
 is the tip of the nose and the nostrils. In ten min- 
 utes, or just as soon as we begin to doze, the smoke 
 thins out and we hear a buzz. It is equivalent to, 
 " Come on fellows; it's all over with. " Then there 
 come answering buzzes from all parts of the tent. 
 The grand search for blood is on again. 
 
 Last night I thought that one buzz sounded like, 
 "Where did they go? " and another like, "Their 
 blood is for the swiftest, " but it was probably imagi- 
 inary. If our noses were woodchucks, it would 
 take a dog some time to locate them; if our noses 
 were mice, it would take a cat some time to dis- 
 cover them; if our noses were ground sparrows* 
 nests, full of tender fledglings, it would take a fox 
 some time to get at them. But our noses are just 
 human noses with blood in them. The mosquitos 
 
MEMOIRS OF A CAMP FOR TWO 1 85 
 
 go straight for them and the noses of proud human- 
 ity — the crowning work of creation — are ruthlessly 
 punctured by the proboscides of these pusillanimous 
 insects. '*0h! why should the spirits of mortals 
 be proud! " Mosquitos have no business in the 
 Maine woods at this particular time anyway; but 
 in all things the season is two weeks later than usual 
 and we expect one more week of them — one week 
 only. It's a question of staying quality and we 
 expect to win out. 
 
 July 20. I told Chick this morning that tomor- 
 row would be Sunday; that though I would have 
 no audience, I had better select a text; and that we 
 would talk it over when the time came. Toward 
 noon, he was cutting wood for the fireplace; I was 
 in the tent and had just opened the Bible at random 
 and was about to begin a search for a text when 
 he called: "Oh my, come here and see these ants 
 carrying off their eggs." I left the Bible and the 
 tent and joined him. He had dragged a part of a 
 half decayed log into the kitchen — all the space 
 around the fire place, where we cut wood, cook, and 
 the like, is the kitchen — and had split it open. The 
 log was the home of hundreds of great black ants 
 that were in a state of greatest excitement, and were 
 trying to carry innumerable pupae, larger than 
 themselves, to places of safety. The pupae were 
 large and white and there were enough to nearly 
 fill a pint cup. 
 
l86 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 
 
 We talked about the ant, his natural history, 
 and his habits, for a few minutes, then I went back 
 to the tent and to the open Bible. Glancing at the 
 page, my eyes fell on this: "Go to the ant, thou 
 sluggard; consider her ways, and be wise: which, 
 having no guide, overseer or ruler, provideth her 
 meat in the summer and gathereth her food in the 
 harvest." 
 
 "O, come here, " I cried to Chick, "and see what 
 my eyes first fell on after examining those ants." 
 It was just a coincidence and one that gave a 
 moment's pleasure. 
 
 "What's the matter with those words for your 
 text? " queried Chick, and I searched no farther. 
 
 A poster appeared in a conspicuous place in 
 camp today, though probably no one but Chick 
 and I ever will see it. It hung in the pantry — the 
 pantry is the corner of the tent where Chick has 
 nailed five packing cases, of various dimensions,' 
 together, into a symmetrical whole that contains 
 our supplies — and it reads as follows: 
 
 Lost. 
 One fine, live male loon. Head and neck black, showing iri- 
 descence; beak black, dotted with white; breast pure white. A 
 magnificent bird. For further particulars inquire at "The 
 Camp." 
 
 The particulars are these: Chick was at work in 
 the pantry, arranging our canned goods in a rather 
 appetizing order on the pantry shelves. I was 
 writing letters, and was sitting at the kitchen table, 
 
MEMOIRS OF A CAMP FOR TWO 1 87 
 
 facing the pond. The table is three feet from the 
 water's edge. I heard a splash of water and, look- 
 ing up, saw a loon sitting on the water, about two 
 rods from the shore. He must have arrived there 
 in a passage under water like a submarine boat 
 and it was his coming to the surface which made the 
 slight splash I heard. "Look out of the tent," 
 I said to Chick in a low tone and Chick obeyed. 
 The beautiful bird remained silent for a minute or 
 two and three times I gave the loon call which 
 these birds have often answered when at a distance. 
 He turned about and heading toward the opposite 
 shore half a mile away, he dove. "Now watch," 
 I said, "and see how long he stays under and where 
 he comes up." We watched. The seconds grew 
 into minutes. "Well, what became of him," I 
 said musingly. "I should say as much," quoted 
 Chick. We continued to scan the smooth surface 
 of the pond, but no loon appeared. Three minutes 
 passed; five minutes went; ten minutes had gone. 
 We gave it up. Our loons — for they belonged to 
 us as much as to anyone — have called and answered, 
 day after day, night after night, and have often 
 come quite near to our camp; but since this one 
 mysteriously disappeared, we have seen nothing 
 of loons. He probably swam a long distance with 
 only his bill out of the water and went so near the 
 other shore before his body emerged that we could 
 not distinguish him. But it may safely be said that 
 Chick and I are not very close students of nature. 
 
l88 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 
 
 July 21. The rain fell in torrents last night. It 
 began with a thunder storm. Not thunder claps, 
 but continuous roarings and rattlings as the thunder 
 seemed to travel over our heads from one horizon 
 to the other. It is a joy to listen to the rain on the 
 canvas. We retired early because it was drier in 
 bed than anywhere else ; then Chick began to talk. 
 I wonder why it is that a boy, or man for that mat- 
 ter, will talk more freely lying down than he will 
 standing or sitting. Chick was no sphinx last night. 
 Perhaps the rain coming in torrents on our tents, 
 the wind roaring in the tree tops above us, the 
 water dashing against the rocky point in angry, 
 ragged splashes, the dense darkness and the red 
 lightnings, before the heaviest thunderings, served 
 to loosen his tongue and his thoughts; anyway, 
 from seven to eleven there was no cessation in all 
 these phenomena, including Chick's display of con- 
 versational powers. Of course we slept late this 
 morning. A guide in passing paddled his canoe to 
 our point and left three letters; one from David 
 Pontus saying that he comes Wednesday, one from 
 a co-worker at Good Will saying that all are well 
 at the Farm, and one from a Good Will boy, who 
 hopes to visit my camp soon. It was Sunday in 
 the woods. A chapter from the Bible; a short 
 story fitting the day; two meals; a bit of letter 
 writing; many thoughts of home and Good Will 
 and friends here and there, and God. Then the 
 day was done and we slept. 
 
MEMOIRS OF A CAMP FOR TWO 1 89 
 
 Jiily 22. Chick has asked for stories lately and 
 I have told him about some boys I have known, 
 and other bits to take the place of stories which we 
 would be reading had we brought any into camp; 
 but we deliberately and purposely omitted them 
 from our supplies. I asked him today if he had 
 ever heard of the strange experience that Wishy 
 Fleetfoot and I had on Upper Wilson Pond. Then, 
 just to amuse him with the spinning of a yarn I 
 told him this: 
 
 Fleetfoot's name was William, but he had two 
 sets of front teeth and when he was a boy his 
 schoolmates fancied that his dental outfit resembled 
 a woodchuck's and so for a time he was called 
 "Woodchuck," but this soon degenerated as all 
 names with any flavor of dignity must degenerate 
 in the m.ouths of boyhood into a nickname and he 
 was called "Wishy," — just "Wishy Fleetfoot." 
 Wishy was about thirty years old when he guided 
 me through the Wilson Pond region in the summer 
 of 1853. 
 
 One afternoon we had caught one fish when 
 Wishy broke his line. He said he thought the hook 
 caught in a seam in a rock someway, for as he pulled 
 hard, the hook seemed to loosen its hold on what- 
 ever it had hit, but at the same instant the line 
 broke, so he lost part of the line and all of the hook. 
 It spoiled his fishing and while I was trying for a 
 fish to go with the one in the bottom of the boat, 
 Wishy set about the task of dressing the fish I had 
 
190 ROUTHING IT WITH BOYS 
 
 just caught. He was a bungler at dressing fish — 
 as awkward a man with a knife as I ever saw. He 
 began to dress that fish by cutting off its tail. He 
 only got that far when I said ; 
 
 "There's a tempest coming, Wishy; get hold of 
 that rope as quick as you can, pull up and we'll 
 get back to camp. " 
 
 Wishy obeyed my orders and I laid hold of the 
 oars. He sat back in the boat as I began to row 
 and suddenly said : 
 
 "What's the use of taking this fish to camp; 
 why not throw it over and let a fish hawk pick it 
 up?" 
 
 It is not my custom to catch more fish than my 
 party can eat and we had violated no custom or 
 principle that day; we had erred only in capturing 
 one fish not large enough for a full meal for us and 
 the two men in camp. 
 
 "Oh, were there others in camp with you? " 
 queried Chick interrupting me at the risk of break- 
 ing the thread of my story. 
 
 " Certainly, " I replied. " I neglected to say that 
 Abraham Lincoln was my guest in camp for two 
 weeks that summer, and after he arrived, we de- 
 cided to invite Stephen A. Douglas to join us. 
 Douglas ran up just to spend three or four days 
 with us and got there the night before. We left 
 the two men in camp talking politics. Lincoln 
 was anxious that I should represent my district but 
 Douglas thought I lacked political acumen. Well, 
 
MEMOIRS OF A CAMP FOR TWO 19I 
 
 as I was saying, Wishy proposed that he throw the 
 fish overboard, and I said, "It's a happy thought, 
 Wishy, let her go, " and overboard went that tailless 
 fish. We supposed that it was dead and you can 
 understand our surprise, Chick, when we saw that 
 fish right itself and start for the depths of the 
 pond. 
 
 "Well, ril be bumped, "exclaimed Wishy. "Say, 
 fishy, here's your tail," and he picked up the tail 
 that lay in the bottom of the boat and threw it 
 back toward the place where the fish had gone 
 down. Of course, we forgot all about the circum- 
 stance soon as we reached camp. The next morn- 
 ing Wishy began to talk about his line. He de- 
 clared that five-sixths of it was in the pond and he 
 wished he could get it. The water in Upper Wil- 
 son is as clear as crystal and that morning the sur- 
 face was like a mirror in its smoothness. He 
 thought he might be able to see the bottom and, 
 by using a sinker and hook and another line, haul it 
 up. So we went out to the place and as soon as 
 the disturbance caused by our oars had passed, 
 Wishy leaned over, and using his broad brimmed 
 hat to shade the water, he peered into the depths. 
 I had no idea that he would ever see that line again ; 
 to tell the truth I regarded our journey out there 
 after it as a kind of fool's errand. But Wishy 
 hadn't been scanning the bottom of the lake two 
 minutes, when he gave a sudden little start as 
 though he had caught sight of something. In the 
 
19^ ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 
 
 new position he had taken by a slight shift of his 
 body, he remained motionless for several minutes. 
 
 "What do you see? " I asked. 
 
 "Hist!" said Wishy in a hoarse whisper, and 
 I waited another ten minutes. Then I ventured 
 to repeat my question. 
 
 "What do you see? " 
 
 "Hist! I tell ye," whispered Wishy. Thinking 
 that Wishy was trying to guy me, for we were like 
 schoolmates when we got into a boat, I said : 
 
 "Come, Wishy, I am going back to camp." 
 
 "Don't, don't, I beg of you don't," was the 
 pleading response in a low tone — "just look over 
 the side of the boat; don't make any noise. " 
 
 I was convinced by my comrade's earnest manner 
 that he had discovered something very unusual 
 beneath the surface; I also saw that, whatever he 
 had discovered, I must move carefully or I could 
 not share it with him. Taking off my broad- 
 brimmed hat — we all wore hats in the woods back 
 in the 50's — I shaded the water as Wishy was 
 doing and peered into the depths. 
 
 How can I tell what I saw? Some thirty feet 
 below was a rocky bottom. A few large boulders 
 were scattered about. Two of these boulders lay 
 close together, leaving a crevice of only an inch or 
 two between them. The fish which Wishy had 
 de-tailed the day before, and still later thrown into 
 the water, had pushed its head into the crevice 
 between the boulders. The tail which had been 
 
MEMOIRS OF A CAMP FOR TWO 193 
 
 ruthlessly detached by Wishy, was already a part 
 of its owner's body again, but the work was not 
 finished. When the hook was lost, it had been 
 caught on the bottom and Wishy's theory was 
 correct; he had pulled so hard on the line that the 
 hook, lacking in temper, had bent out straight. 
 The line and hook were both there. A larger fish 
 than the one which had lost its tail was making use 
 of it. He would pick up the hook which made an 
 excellent needle, and backing off from the unfortu- 
 nate companion, would dash with lightning rapidity 
 toward the fish held in place by the two boulders. 
 The movement was so swift that we could not follow 
 it easily but in an instant we would see that this 
 finny surgeon of Upper Wilson had pushed the 
 straightened hook entirely through that part of 
 his patient's body which protruded from beneath 
 the boulders much as a woman pushes the needle 
 through the stocking she is darning. Then the 
 fish surgeon would swim around to the other side 
 and pick up the needle and tug away at it until 
 he had drawn the line through and made half a 
 stitch. Then starting on that side, he would re- 
 peat the operation and the stitch would be com- 
 pleted. Two complete stitches had been taken 
 before we began to watch the proceedings. Wishy 
 and I watched while three others were taken and 
 the work seemed complete. The surgeon fish 
 moved away and disappeared. 
 
 " I'll tell you what I think, Wishy," said I. "The 
 
 14 
 
194 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 
 
 job is completed to the old doctor's satisfaction, 
 but the patient has got to stay in bed till the 
 wound heals. See? We can't wait for that and we 
 might as well go home. Your fish line is of more 
 use down there than it ever will be to you. " 
 
 We were just about to move, when we saw the 
 surgeon coming majestically back, and circling 
 around the spliced tail. He was followed by a 
 small fish, such as I had never seen before. It had 
 a large sharp dorsal fin like a black bass, but it 
 could not have been a bass, for there are none in 
 this part of the state and never have been. The 
 fish that had done all this work for his afflicted 
 fellow fish picked up one of the long ends of the 
 line and swam slowly aw^ay till it was drawn tight 
 as a fiddle string. Then the strange little fish with 
 his dorsal fin erect, darted underneath the line 
 close to the patient's body, with such rapidity 
 that the fin cut the line off close up to the scales. 
 Then the sam^e operation was performed on the 
 other side. The strange little fish went away, and 
 while we still lingered and watched, the patient 
 backed out of the crevice and tried his mended 
 appendage. It was such an awkward movement 
 that I couldn't help laughing. It was about as 
 much like a fish's swim as my first steps on a pair 
 of crutches was like a man's walk. It was so funny, 
 in fact, that Wishy was convulsed with laughter, 
 though he didn't dare to make any noise. I could 
 feel the boat tremble as Wishy — who was quite 
 
MEMOIRS OF A CAMP FOR TWO 195 
 
 fat — shook with merriment. Suddenly there was a 
 tiny splash as though some small object had fallen 
 into the water, and Wishy stopped laughing. Both 
 fish darted away as though frightened, and I saw 
 Wishy 's false teeth reach the bottom of the lake, close 
 to the place where this operation had been performed. 
 
 "Well, I'll be hanged! " cried Wishy. "There 
 goes my teeth! " 
 
 ' ' I thought you said that Mr. Woodchuck Fleetfoot 
 had two sets of natural front teeth," interrupted 
 Chick, "and got his first name because of them." 
 
 "I did say that very thing," I retorted, "but 
 they were his upper front teeth. Wishy lost his 
 lower front teeth when he had bilious fever, at 
 sixteen years of age. The attending physician 
 gave him an overdose of calomel, and his teeth 
 dropped out. But really the splicing of that fish's 
 tail was the most extraordinary thing I ever saw. 
 I have never read anything like it before nor did 
 I ever see anything like it before or — 
 
 "What are you laughing at. Chick? You don't 
 believe it? Who asked you to believe it, anyway? 
 You said, 'Tell me a story,' and I told it. But I 
 guess when I tell you that about a week later I 
 caught that same fish in Upper Wilson Pond, you 
 will have to believe it. Yes, I caught him. The 
 tail had grown on and the stitches had been taken 
 out; the scales were just forming on the joint. You 
 don't believe it. Chick, you say you don't believe 
 it? Then don't ask me to tell you any more stories.*' 
 
VII. 
 
 LETTERS FROM A CAMP BY THE SEA 
 
 Dear Good Will Record: 
 
 We are here in camp. There are seventeen in 
 the party. The camp is on the east shore of Egge- 
 moggin Reach, not far from Sargentville, Me. 
 There is not the first hint of dissipation or intem- 
 perance in camp, and yet I seem doomed to have 
 suggestions of the spirituous attached to my outing 
 this year. First I planned to camp three miles 
 from Moosehead Lake, on the shores of a beautiful 
 pond. After arrangements were all made, I real- 
 ized that we were to camp at the foot of Rum 
 Mountain. Later I learned our best fishing was to 
 be done in Rum Pond. In July word came that 
 the water in Wilson Pond — the site of the camp — 
 was very high on account of a dam which had been 
 built. I abandoned my plans, and was at a loss 
 to know what to do. My thoughts turned to the 
 sea. I was influenced somewhat, in forming my 
 plans, by the poor health of one of the boys who 
 was to accompany me, and by the hope that the 
 sea air would prove beneficial to him. So the de- 
 cision was finally reached that we come here — to 
 this beautiful spot known as " Punch-Bowl." Rum 
 Mountain, Rum Pond and the Punch Bowl! If I 
 196 
 
LETTERS FROM A CAMP BY THE SEA 197 
 
 don't stay through my two weeks here I can proba- 
 bly go to Bluehill and camp at Toddy Pond. 
 There is not much choice in nomenclature. Proba- 
 bly all these places were named before the passage 
 of the prohibitory law — I cannot tell. 
 
 But this is an ideal spot for a camp by the sea. 
 A few rods from the tents, between them and the 
 shore, stands an old brick chimney. There has been 
 some contention about its height, and so we counted 
 the layers of bricks and then multiplied. We 
 probably failed to allow enough for the mortar 
 between the bricks, for by our calculation the chim- 
 ney is seventy-two feet high, while we have been 
 told since our measurement that it is just seventy- 
 five feet. It was here, that years ago, the Egge- 
 moggin Mining Co. commenced mining silver and 
 copper. About $30,000 was expended, and then 
 the project was abandoned. The buildings burned 
 — ^were struck by lightning, some one says — and 
 this chimney now represents $30,000 of the hopeful 
 investors' money. I mean that this is the only 
 thing in sight; but near by is a shaft filled with 
 water to the brim. Considerable anxiety has been 
 expressed lest some one of us fall into this deep 
 hole, as though one would be more likely to drown 
 in one hundred and ten feet of water than in twenty 
 feet; but a well twenty feet deep, with six feet of 
 water in it, would be a greater danger, by far, than 
 is this hole of startling depth. 
 
 This old chimney has its uses. It is a landmark 
 
198 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 
 
 for the boys, and go where they will, unless there 
 is a fog, they can find their way back to camp. 
 Then, too, on the south side, about thirty feet 
 from the ground, there is a hole in it; and this has 
 already served as a balloting place. Any question 
 between the two tents full of boys — there are seven 
 fellows in each tent — can be adjusted thus: each 
 boy takes six stones and has his turn at throwing 
 them at that hole in the chimney. The first 
 question was which group of boys should go on 
 the first fishing trip; that was when we had only 
 one boat. It was Sam's ballot of five stones out of 
 six which settled it. Sam sleeps in my tent. 
 
 By the way, we have four tents in our little 
 canvas settlement — one in which the mother of two 
 of the boys lives. She has her two daughters with 
 her. One tent is the commissary's; the other two 
 are for the boys. These tents are 12 by 14 feet, 
 and seven boys are easily accommodated in each. 
 One tent is supposed to be noisier than the other. As 
 the boys sleep side by side — seven in a row — it has 
 got abroad in our settlement in some way that, in 
 one tent the seven sleep in a "row" — a continuous 
 line, while in the other they sleep in a "row" — a 
 noisy time or riot. So both are called the "Row" 
 tent, the import of the name depending on the pro- 
 nunciation. I will write again. 
 
 Yours, sleeping in a row, 
 
LETTERS FROM A CAMP BY THE SEA 1 99 
 
 Dear Good Will Record: 
 
 We have had a row in camp. It happened last 
 night, and was a most friendly affair, but it made 
 a great deal of noise while it lasted. You see, 
 Sam came to camp with us, but only to stay two 
 or three days, because he is to canvass for the 
 Good Will Publishing Company. Monday night 
 he went up to Sargentville with Blake and Kimball. 
 They hinted to Sam that they would like some ice 
 cream, but Sam was stolid. He wouldn't order for 
 them, nor let them order at his expense, nor any- 
 thing. They told him that if he didn't order, he 
 would be ''awfully sorry." But he couldn't be 
 scared. So they came back to camp, and Sam was 
 as defiant as that good natured soul can be. Sam 
 has never been known to lose his temper, or, as 
 the boys say, to "get mad." So he puts up with a 
 lot of banter and loving imposition, from time to 
 time, and enjoys it. Sam started off on his can- 
 vassing trip, and nothing had been done to make him 
 sorry. The regrets were with Blake and Kimball. 
 
 "Why didn't we think to duck him," said Blake. 
 
 "If he comes again he'll get a ducking," said 
 Kimball, "and don't you forget it." 
 
 Everybody in camp missed Sam during the three 
 days of his absence. Many a time did one boy and 
 another say, "I wish Sam were here," and last 
 night he arrived. He had been very successful in 
 canvassing, and came back to report, before starting 
 on a longer trip. There was a smile of quiet satis- 
 
200 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 
 
 faction on Blake's face; Kimball wore an expression 
 of expectancy. They came to me to say that they 
 proposed to duck Sam in the sea before they slept. 
 There was no reason why I should object. When 
 bed time came, for some reason not apparent to 
 most of the boys, Kimball had an idea of turning 
 in without undressing. Blake was already between 
 the blankets without removing his clothing, but the 
 boys did not notice it. Finally the light was putout. 
 
 "Isn't this nice," said Sam, as he stretched out 
 under the blankets, "it's fun to camp out." 
 
 The other camp was quiet ; ours was becoming so, 
 when Kimball lifted up the end of the canvas, and 
 saw that the boys from the other tent were in read- 
 iness to do their part. Then Blake and Kimball 
 made a plunge for the unsuspecting Sam, and in a 
 moment he had been dragged from under the tent. 
 
 "Oh! what you doing?" "Where you going?" 
 "Let go!" and a score of other exclamations woke 
 everybody but Damren, and outside the tent was 
 the sound of a mighty struggle. As the party 
 carried Sam down over the hill, we who were in the 
 tent heard him saying, "I'm awfully sorry I didn't 
 treat you," and then we could hear him pleading 
 in tones of mock terror, "Don't drown me!" 
 " Don't drown me ! " Then there was a splash and 
 a plunge. This morning Sam is quietly boasting 
 that he is the only person in camp who has friends 
 so devoted that when he wants a salt water bath, 
 they will carry him to the water's edge, and put 
 
LETTERS FROM A CAMP BY THE SEA 201 
 
 him in. He declares he is the most fortunate fel- 
 low in camp. I think he may be right, in a measure, 
 for the water is so cold here that it requires all the 
 courage one can muster to go in, or, as Kimball said 
 yesterday, "It takes a lot of sand to wade out up 
 to your neck — a lot of real grit." 
 
 On the other hand. Holmes says the water is 
 "slick." But each day we are in for a bath — most 
 of us — though the water seems very cold to us, 
 who have been accustomed to the waters of the 
 lakes, or the Kennebec River. 
 
 We have discovered that we are catching more 
 fish than we can eat, and so a halt has been called. 
 The boys today are playing games, writing letters, 
 watching the steam yachts of millionaires as they 
 cruise through the Reach, occasionally exclaiming, 
 "There's a bute!" and doing a lot of lazy, happy 
 things. The northeast breeze blows into camp, 
 right off the salt water. This is worthy of note. 
 You understand that the northwest breeze is the 
 clear weather breeze, and so, at most seaside re- 
 sorts, the clear weather wind is over-land. But 
 we are on the southeast shore of the Reach, and 
 the clear weather breeze is direct from the sea. As 
 a matter of fact, I must repeat it, this is an ideal 
 camping place, and we are in the midst of a garden, 
 bounded by the sea. 
 
 Yours in the garden, 
 
202 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 
 
 Dear Good Will Record: 
 
 You know that we left Good Will on the after- 
 noon train, and changing cars at Waterville, took 
 the Bar Harbor express as far as Bangor. The 
 boys had from 3 o'clock P. M. to bed time to see 
 the city, except that they needed time for supper. 
 This was procured at the Lowder, where they 
 had a table and a room by themselves. Through 
 the kindness of Secretary Jordan they were allowed 
 to sleep in the Young Men's Christian Association 
 gymnasium. 
 
 After taking breakfast at the Lowder, they 
 boarded the "Cymbria" for the sail down the 
 Penobscot. It is a rare sail. On the "Cymbria" I 
 met Mr. Foster, of the Maine Lake Ice Co., and 
 learned that the plant of this company is near the 
 Punch Bowl. Mr. Foster is a Christian gentleman, 
 and has shown us many courtesies. First he told us 
 to come to the ice house for all the ice we wanted. 
 We are now using one of his boats. Several of us 
 have been shown by him over the entire plant — 
 ice and granite — of his company. The Maine Lake 
 Ice Company is not in the trust. The houses now 
 hold 26,000 tons, but another house is to be built 
 before winter. The ice comes from a lake of won- 
 derful clearness half a mile away. An endless 
 chain carries the ice from the lake to the ice houses, 
 which stand on the shores of Eggemoggin Reach, 
 where the largest sailing vessels can load. This is 
 the longest ice chain in existence. A visit to the 
 
LETTERS FROM A CAMP BY THE SEA 203 
 
 pond — on the map as Walker's Pond — is worth the 
 time and trouble. The Indian name is "Minne- 
 waukon," "the place of beautiful waters." This 
 lake so near our sea-side camp, makes a pleasing 
 variety, and we have already caught a few black 
 bass. I say "we," but must acknowledge that 
 while "we" went after them, Kimball caught the 
 only ones which were taken into the boat. The 
 shores of Minnewaukon are beautiful. Our Sundays 
 here are unlike those we have had in our former 
 camps. Sometimes in the past we have had ser- 
 vices to which the nearest neighbors were invited. 
 Here we go to church five miles away ; last evening 
 we attended service in the Sargentville chapel, 
 which proved to be too small to accommodate the 
 people who assembled. Sargentville's summer 
 visitors are of the very best class. 
 
 Yours 'twixt salt water and fresh. 
 
 Dear Recqrd: 
 
 I have concluded that boys were intended to live 
 in the country and out of doors. President Hall, 
 of Clark University, once exclaimed in a public ad- 
 dress, "Oh, that we might put the schoolhouses 
 on wheels and take these purblind boys into the 
 country." But the boys, for six months of the 
 year, at least, wouldn't care for the schoolhouse 
 — tents would delight them. In our party this 
 year are some fellows who have camped every sum- 
 mer for years. They know just how to act; they 
 
204 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 
 
 are "old-timers," and adjust themselves to tent 
 accommodations at once. There are also three or 
 four fellows camping out for the first time in their 
 lives. It is interesting to see how readily they 
 take to camp life. One would think they had 
 spent most of their days in just such a place as 
 this, with a canvas for shelter. They seem to be- 
 long to all out-of-doors; all out-of-doors seems to 
 belong to them. 
 
 The fellow^s in the next tent to mine sleep under 
 the canvas at night; but at any time after day- 
 break it's not much that can happen without their 
 knowledge. If they hear a noise outside their tent, 
 they do not get up and go to the end of the tent to 
 look out; up goes the canvas wall, and there you 
 have it — a long row of heads, each curious to know 
 "what's up." They don't get up very early — the 
 boys don't. The tent has a charm for a fellow, 
 and he lingers in it often till breakfast is ready, 
 and even after that, a boy is often found in tent 
 reading or sleeping when the shade of a tree would 
 seem to be so much better, and the heat and light 
 under the close canvas is almost unendurable. The 
 other day I came near a tent, and made a discovery. 
 The tallest, or at least the longest boy in camp, 
 probably, had his feet out one side the tent, and 
 his head out at another. There he lay, reading; 
 anyway, that's the way it looked, but I send you a 
 photograph so you will understand. An old man 
 
LETTERS FROM A CAMP BY THE SEA 205 
 
 who saw the fellow, said, "that boy looked dret- 
 fuUy long." 
 
 We had clams for dinner today. 
 
 From your friend on the clam flats. 
 
 Dear Good Will Record: 
 
 At the Punch Bowl one easily gets the impres- 
 sion that he is on an island. In fact, it was in my 
 thought to write a little about the natural history of 
 the island; then it occurred to me that we were on 
 the mainland. I am glad we came to the sea shore 
 this summer, for the boys are confronted with a 
 multitude of new forms of life. The sea urchins, 
 starfish, barnacles, limpets, snails, crabs, clams, as 
 well as the various kinds of fish caught with hook 
 and line, are full of interest. At least one of the 
 party had never extracted a clam from its shells 
 until he sat down to a meal of the bivalves here in 
 camp. It's a great place for clams. I've been dig- 
 ging after them several times, and never saw them 
 so thick anywhere. When I was a boy, if there 
 came a heavy rain in the haying season, or in the 
 hoeing time, and the clearing off was early in the 
 day, the soil being too wet for the hoe, and the 
 hay unfit to handle, father would take Beckwith's 
 Almanac from the nail in the kitchen — the nail on 
 which nothing but the almanac was ever hung, and 
 say: 
 
 "Boys, if the tide's right you may go clamming 
 today." 
 
206 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 
 
 A brief consultation usually resulted in assurance 
 that the tide permitted such a trip, and we would 
 soon be on our way to Great Harbor or Sachem's 
 Head. There was not much poetry in clam dig- 
 ging, in those days, but we were willing to dig a 
 half bushel of them, for the sake of getting to the 
 seashore. It was the price we had to pay for the 
 outing. 
 
 Clam digging today on Eggemoggin Reach differs 
 not from the clam digging of thirty years ago on 
 Long Island Sound, in Connecticut, but it arouses 
 different sentiments. The very first clam I pick 
 out of its muddy environment brings up the days 
 of boyhood, and I have a vision of the old farm 
 horse, the drive through the village, the shore of 
 the Sound, and Falkland Island in the midst of the 
 bright waters. There's a trifle more poetry in clam 
 digging today than there was then, but even now, 
 the poetical element is not strong. It is not true 
 fishing, anyway. But the clams themselves! You 
 should see them disappear at dinner time, and the 
 pile of shells that remain alone to tell the story. 
 
 Next to the festive clam, in the affection of the 
 boys, is the flounder. This is because he can be 
 captured in sufficient numbers to supply the table. 
 The Punch Bowl yields a lot of them. Other bays 
 and coves offer equally good fishing. One needs to 
 know where to go, and then he needs a lot of pa- 
 tience in order to use proper language, when three 
 out of four of his hauls prove to be sculpins. Why 
 
LETTERS FROM A CAMP BY THE SEA 207 
 
 some boys catch sculpins chiefly, and others in the 
 same boat catch flounders, has not been fully ex- 
 plained. Last night Harry and I were fishing in a 
 cove off little Deer Isle, when a resident on the 
 Island, who had been out after driftwood, came 
 alongside. As he passed us he said: "What be 
 you fishing for?" to which I replied: "Flounders." 
 "You're too far out, neighbor," he said, "Get 
 nearer the shore." I thanked him, and asked if 
 there was any way of catching flounders without 
 catching sculpin. He told us, if we'd catch all the 
 sculpins there are in the sea first, then we'd have 
 clear flounder fishing. Roberts is of the opinion 
 that he has caught nearly all the sculpins; anyway, 
 after his continued luck with them, he don't see 
 how there can be many left in the sea. While 
 Kimball was taking a sculpin off his hook, he said 
 to the fisherman who had advised us to change our 
 location: "Say, did you ever see a horn-pout?" 
 "Yes, sir," the fisherman replied, "that is a 
 horn-pout you have in your hand." That's one 
 more name for the grotesque fish which so annoys 
 the fellows when after flounders. Poor sculpin! 
 He has already been referred to by our boys as the 
 sculpin, scalpin, scorpin, and scallawag; and now 
 we are told he is a horn-pout! It is good illus- 
 tration of the value of scientific nomenclature, for 
 if you say "horn-pout" to our boys and the lake 
 fishers they understand you mean the "miller's- 
 thumb" or "bull-head," but the salt water fisher- 
 
208 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 
 
 man understands you mean thesculpin. Last night 
 as Harry hauled in his seventh sculpin he exclaimed, 
 "Hang those tormented old sculps. I'd like to 
 smash the whole of them." I've asked Harry to 
 eliminate three words from his vocabulary: they 
 are "Hang," "Old," and "Tormented." He man- 
 ages lately to get all these words into many of his 
 sentences. 
 
 The time for our departure from this spot is near. 
 We have done our last rowing, caught our last fish, 
 had our last swim. There is a thick fog every- 
 where — not an unusual condition at the seashore. 
 After supper tonight we gathered about the open 
 fire, and in the gathering darkness, a trio of lusty 
 voices sang this song, to the tune of "It was my 
 last cigar," and the boys joined in the chorus: 
 
 "For thirteen happy, fleeting days 
 At Eggemoggin Reach 
 We've slept beneath the canvas tents 
 And sauntered on the beach. 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 We're going to leave our camp. 
 
 We're going to leave our camp, 
 The fog has covered up the sea. 
 We're going to leave our camp. 
 We've listened to the noises 
 
 Where the boys slept in a row, 
 And heard the riot die away. 
 To breathings soft and low. 
 
 Chorus. 
 
LETTERS FROM A CAMP BY THE SEA 209 
 
 We've heard some awful noises too, 
 
 But they are ended now; 
 Where naughty boys within their tent, 
 
 Stayed in a mighty row. 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 We've smiled at Kimball's vain attempt 
 
 To hook the wily cod 
 While Holmes was catching flounders 
 
 Without a reel or rod. 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 We've learned with unfeigned gratitude 
 
 That Dunn has learned to swim; 
 And only wish that Roberts, too. 
 
 Had boldly waded in." 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 We leave here in the morning. 
 Yours in a fog bank, 
 
 IS 
 
VIII 
 
 MY THIRTEENTH TRIP 
 
 A man was going on a camping trip with some 
 Good Will boys — the thirteenth trip of the kind. 
 Every superstitious person knows what misfortunes 
 cling, or are supposed to cling, to that number. It 
 would seem a foregone conclusion that the thirteenth 
 excursion of a given kind would be a gross failure 
 at best. He was going to Greenville, Maine, on 
 the shores of Moosehead Lake, and thence three 
 miles through woods to Lower Wilson Pond, thence 
 across the pond to camp "Idlewild," where the 
 party was to occupy the cottage by that name, and 
 a tent. The ladies — a mother and her two daugh- 
 ters — were to occupy the cottage, and the rest were 
 to occupy the tent. The cooking was to be done 
 in the cottage ; Roberts and Chisholm were to cook. 
 In the party was a Harvard student — a young man 
 who sang Harvard songs at the expense of "Old 
 Yale," and played Harvard airs on his mandolin 
 till the entire party was more (or less) enthusiastic 
 for Harvard. Someone has longed to write the 
 songs of a nation : he who writes "catchy " songs for 
 a college is a more potent factor In its life than some 
 of us imagine. Let this young Harvard enthusiast 
 be called "Crimson." 
 
 210 
 
MY THIRTEENTH TRIP 211 
 
 There were several high school boys in the party, 
 one of whom has such a predilection for punning 
 that he can best be designated as "Baby Punster." 
 He was the small boy of the party. 
 
 It was the plan to reach Greenville at noon and 
 have the full afternoon to get to camp and settle. 
 To do this they must arise at an early hour; take 
 teams six miles to Benton Station, and get there in 
 time to take the 7.05 train to the east. There were 
 twelve in the party when we left Good Will, and 
 one more — a young student — was added at Ben- 
 ton. We had been waiting at the station possibly 
 five minutes, when two discoveries were made by 
 the boys. First, they had come away in such 
 haste that they had left fish rods at home: second, 
 the train they had got up so early to meet would 
 not connect with the train at Foxcroft for Green- 
 ville. They would therefore get to their destina- 
 tion the same moment they would if they had staid 
 at home till the 1.05 P. M. train. They therefore 
 had before them the prospects of a five hours' wait 
 at Foxcroft. How cheering! Yet what else could 
 one expect on his thirteenth trip of the kind? 
 
 Only a few years ago, crossing the Atlantic, the 
 man had been told there was some one on board 
 who was making his thirteenth trip across the 
 ocean. It was undesrtood at once that some dis- 
 aster would overtake the passengers; and on that 
 very trip the ship was on fire for five long hours. 
 What else could be expected? 
 
212 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 
 
 Jumbo was delegated to return home for the 
 fish rods; and soon after he returned the train 
 arrived. It brought the last member of the party, 
 and there had been twelve. 
 
 "I shall hoo-doo the whole thing" he said, "I 
 am number thirteen." 
 
 The thirteenth trip; thirteen in the party! But 
 if they were going to Greenville again they would 
 want to do just what they stumbled into doing 
 that day, they would take that delightful morning 
 ride from Good Will to Benton Station, stop off at 
 Newport, spend four hours on Lake Sebasticook, 
 catch all the white perch they could; dine at the 
 Shaw House, and take the 2.35 P. M. train for 
 Moosehead Lake and arrive there at 5.05. Its the 
 happiest way to do; they found it so. 
 
 There seemed to be one disadvantage, however, 
 in arriving so late. At Foxcroft the stop was so 
 short that our baggage which had been checked to 
 that station — thirteen pieces — could not be re- 
 checked in time for the train, and they had to go 
 on without it. Thus it happened that the ladies 
 stopped at Gerrish's over night while the rest went 
 over the pond to the cottage. This gave the ladies 
 a quiet night of rest before going into camp; it 
 gave the others a night at Idlewild with all the 
 freedom that boys like the first night in the woods. 
 The next day the baggage came and the ladies 
 arrived in camp, leaving their hats at Gerrish's. 
 Ordinarily this would have been a wise thing for 
 
MY THIRTEENTH TRIP 213 
 
 them to do; but two mornings later when Crim- 
 son and "No. 13" returned from Gerrish's with 
 milk they told how the Gerrish house had burned 
 to the ground in the night, and the ladies' hats 
 had been consumed in the conflagration. "Didn't 
 I tell you? "said the last one who had joined the 
 party, "Didn't I tell you I was No. 13? Who 
 knows what will happen next?" 
 
 It did look as though they were fated to petty 
 evils ; but when two days later they learned that in 
 some unaccountable way the ladies' hats had been 
 saved though practically everything else in the 
 house had been burned, the props seemed to be 
 knocked out from under the " thirteen " theory of 
 disaster. But they still had No. 13 with them. 
 
 The Moosehead Lake region is beautiful. The 
 most beautiful part of it includes Upper Wilson 
 and Lower Wilson ponds. The camp was on the 
 shore of the latter. From that point delightful 
 trips can be made to interesting sections. A three 
 mile buckboard ride takes one to the steamboat 
 wharf at Greenville for a sail up the great lake. A 
 mountain walk of twenty minutes from Lower 
 Wilson brings one to Rum Pond — a pond whose 
 trout rise to the fly, are reasonably ready to strike, 
 but are neither large nor gamey. 
 
 Twelve minutes' walk from Lower Wilson, but in 
 another direction, one arrives at Upper Wilson, the 
 most picturesque of all the ponds in this vicinity. 
 The fishing here is like that in Lower Wilson — not 
 
214 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 
 
 the best by any means, but the trout are large and 
 lively. The only one the writer saw taken from 
 either of the Wilson ponds was served at dinner in 
 camp the second day — a fish lacking a little of 
 being a four pounder. But if one does not catch 
 a fish, a glimpse of the scenery amply repays one 
 for his trip. 
 
 From Upper Wilson an interesting trip lies along 
 the carry to Mountain Pond. There are no cot- 
 tages or boats at this sheet of water except boats 
 or canoes which parties take in for their own use. 
 One should allow two hours for the tramp from 
 Upper Wilson to Mountain Pond. The carry is 
 through marshy places, up the steep mountain side 
 several hundred feet, over sections of abandoned 
 corduroy lumber roads and around Fogg Pond, in 
 which there are no fish. It would prove to be a 
 rather hard trip for an old man, impossible for the 
 majority of ladies, but it is an ideal trip for boys 
 who have any grit in them. 
 
 Having "done" Moosehead Lake, Rum Pond, 
 Upper Wilson and Lower Wilson, Mountain Pond 
 was next in order. A professional guide — some 
 one who had a larger knowledge of the mountain 
 path than the man with the boys who is himself a 
 licensed guide — seemed desirable. The man ac- 
 knowledged that his license did not insure the party 
 against getting lost anywhere in the wilderness 
 round about. Jacob Drew was chosen guide. 
 "Jake" is equal to any task one may assign him 
 
MY THIRTEENTH TRIP 215 
 
 about this region. Whether it was due to the 
 rarified atmosphere of the mountain side as the 
 boys cHmbed, or to some other cause the punning 
 fever reached its height on this trip, and "Baby 
 Punster" was all the time happy. 
 
 The three ladies remained in camp, Roberts, 
 Kelly, Chisholm and Eccles staying as a kind of 
 body guard, and to keep camp. The rest made up 
 the party and in it were included Crimson, 
 Baby Punster, No. 13, the man, with the boys 
 and Jake. This resulted in two licensed guides 
 in the party, but they were soon designated as the 
 guide, and the guide; emphasis on that little word 
 expressing the boys' relacive confidence in Jake 
 as compared with the other. Crimson called at- 
 tention to the way in which some of the party had 
 been guying the guide, and suggested that the two 
 men might be appropriately designated as "the 
 guide," and the "guyed guide." This stroke had 
 a dispiriting effect on the man with the boys, but 
 delighted Baby Punster. 
 
 Everybody knows the evil which superstition 
 sees in spilled salt. It was plain that the trip 
 would be a quarrel from the start, when Jake, the 
 guide, in packing provisions into the canoe acci- 
 dently broke the salt package and upset every 
 particle of it — a quart at least upon the landing. 
 What an omen of quarrels and bickerings and 
 No. 13 was with them. To make matters the- 
 oretically and super stitiously worse, the entire salt 
 
2l6 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 
 
 supply was again spilled on the ground soon after 
 reaching Mountain Pond. 
 
 Leaving the boat and canoe on the beach near 
 the Baker Cottage they started into the wilderness. 
 They had gone but a short distance when Jake had 
 to return for the axe which had been left at the 
 landing. Crimson was not sure whether this was 
 an "ax-ident" or the result of deliberate "ax-tion." 
 At this Baby Punster whooped with joy. The 
 party wanted to go through the woods quietly and 
 if possible see deer and moose, for they were in the 
 home of big game. 
 
 "Deer me," exclaimed Baby Punster, with a 
 dejected air as the party trudged quietly along the 
 rough path, " I do hope we can see a deer or a moose. 
 I suppose it would be 'a-mooseing' to see some deer ; 
 but I suppose for the 'moosepart' that" — but 
 Crimson interrupted him and declared that such 
 rotten punning ought to be "punished" and that 
 no punishment was too severe. 
 
 The boys supposed they were to sleep out — that 
 is, to open their blankets under a tree, turn their 
 feet toward a camp fire and go to sleep if they could, 
 for the man with them had neglected to state that 
 Jake had a tent all pitched at Mountain Pond, and 
 ready for them. They were happily surprised, 
 therefore, when they saw the canvas and were told 
 that it was for them. It was lucky, too, that the 
 tent was there, for it was the coldest night of the 
 season. 
 
MY THIRTEENTH TRIP 217 
 
 While Jake made ready for a big camp fire the 
 man with the boys, and Baby Punster were sent in 
 a canoe over to an old boat which, because of holes 
 in the bottom, had been placed on a raft by Jake 
 a few days before. The raft supported this rem- 
 nant of a boat in such a manner that with two per- 
 sons only in it, the boat would not take more than 
 two inches of water. It was too cold and windy to 
 fish long, but enough were caught to afford fried 
 trout for all. The man sat in one end of the old 
 boat which was floating on the raft. Baby Punster 
 sat in the other end. The fish began to nibble — 
 that is they nibbled at Baby Punster's hook, and 
 they got caught. One by one they began to land 
 in the boat. He and the man would drop their 
 baited hooks within two feet of each other; the man 
 would have a nibble, then Baby Punster would pull 
 in a fish. Nine trout — beautiful specimens — did 
 Baby Punster pull in as they sat there in that old 
 craft. All the man got was thirteen nibbles — little 
 nibbles at that. Thus does a hook baited by a 
 freckled faced boy have special fascination for the 
 average fish; for there sat Baby Punster, freckled 
 and noisy, on whose head a cap had not rested for 
 a week, and around his hook did the fish gather and 
 fool to their own destruction. 
 
 It was too cold to fish long, and at sunset every- 
 body was in camp; Jake had a rousing fire just in 
 front of it — a fire which the fitful wind fanned and 
 whisked in every conceivable direction. The smoke 
 
2l8 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 
 
 was blown into the open tent in clouds; the boys 
 who were in there wiped tears from their eyes. 
 The sparks alighted on a pair of blankets which had 
 not been unrolled and which were just outside the 
 tent. Good sized holes were burned before they 
 were discovered. It was then decided that the 
 fire must be moved further from the tent. It was 
 done; the hot stones where the fire had been, gave 
 out an agreeable warmth which Jumbo and Blake 
 soon discovered. They sat on these hot stones so 
 as to get over the chills they had experienced. 
 
 Everything went well at first; but Blake had a 
 bunch of matches in his hip pocket. The heat 
 from a big stone proved too much for them. 
 
 "Seems as though I smell brimstone" said 
 Blake. 
 
 Jumbo sensed the situation but was silent. A 
 moment later Blake comprehended his predicament. 
 It was curious the way Blake woke up. There's 
 hardly anything that will make a fellow move more 
 lively than a good sized fire in his hip pocket. 
 
 But how the boys slept that night! The next 
 morning was cold and clear. The man and Baby 
 Punster went again to the old boat. It was the 
 thirteenth day of August, the thirteenth trip and 
 there were thirteen in the party. Something was 
 sure to happen. 
 
 The man and Baby Punster began to catch 
 trout. Crimson and No. 13 were fishing on 
 the shore. The man saw Crimson attempt to 
 
MY THIRTEENTH TRIP 219 
 
 step from one rock to another. He slipped, ex- 
 tended his arm frantically and went head fore- 
 most into the water. For an instant there was 
 no movement. The man had time to conclude 
 that Crimson's head had struck a rock— that he 
 was either killed instantly or stunned. If only 
 stunned, his position with head in the water and 
 feet on the rocks would mean death. 
 
 "Something has happened to Crimson" ex- 
 claimed the man who was with Baby Punster. 
 Just then Crimson's form rose from the water. 
 "Are you hurt Crimson?" 
 
 "Not much" he shouted back; "but I'm wet." 
 Then he took off all his clothing and spread it on 
 the rocks to dry in the sun; and wrapped himself 
 in the blanket which he had been using as a pro- 
 tection from the wind. He was not much hurt 
 though his knees were bruised some. 
 
 In telling Baby Punster of it, Crimson said "My 
 knees are lame, and it will not be *a-kneesy' 
 thing for me to walk back to camp. I may 'kneed' 
 help." This remark received Baby Punster's 
 unqualified approval. 
 
 While Crimson was drying off in the sun, and 
 Number Thirteen was occasionally landing a trout 
 on shore. Baby Punster and the man were having 
 great success in the old boat. Baby Punster had 
 caught twelve fish; then there came a pause. 
 There were no fish ; there were no nibbles. As near 
 
220 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 
 
 as they could estimate they sat in silence thirteen 
 minutes. 
 
 Then there was a twitch at Baby Punster's line 
 — a cry of excitement from his lips — a splash of 
 water — a short struggle — a flash of color, and the 
 thirteenth fish lay glistening in the boat. It was 
 the largest, handsomest fish caught on the trip. 
 
 And after all the trip was much like others. It 
 is true that it was the thirteenth — and the best of 
 all. There were thirteen in the party, and No. 13 
 proved to be a royal good fellow; the thirteenth 
 fish was the finest caught; and the thirteenth day 
 of August was the banner day. Taken all in all, 
 if the writer could do it he would like to make his 
 thirteenth trip over again, and if he could do so he 
 would take No. 13 along, and would bank on the 
 thirteenth day. 
 
IX 
 
 THE YEAR AFTER THE THIRTEENTH 
 
 This year my party numbered fourteen souls 
 against thirteen a year ago. It was much like the 
 former party for "Crimson" and "Baby Punster" 
 were along; but ''Tom" was a stranger, and the 
 " Tarentumite " — a lover of the woods and lakes 
 and a frequent comrade in my former camps had 
 not before been to Moosehead Lake. He had a 
 cottage and a tent — this, too, is an ideal arrange- 
 ment for there are those who are as ill at ease under 
 a canvas as I am under a shingled roof if there is a 
 tent near by. Some of the party preferred "Idle- 
 wild ' ' — the cottage secured for our use — as a sleep- 
 ing place; but neither Jumbo, Tom, Crimson, 
 McDonald nor myself had any use for other lodg- 
 ings than those afforded by the tent with its soft 
 light by day and its wax candle by night ; its odor of 
 grass and bunch-berry and mother earth ; its abso- 
 lute silence in the wee hours except as the breezes 
 from off the lake would gently lift the unfastened 
 walls or sway the open flap. Surely we had no 
 quarrel with the Tarentumite, Baby Punster, Kim- 
 ball and any others who willingly deprived them- 
 selves of the joy of the tent on the hill; but what 
 are the woods for if not to be enjoyed in the open 
 
 221 
 
522 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 
 
 and when is the forest at its best if not in the 
 silence of the night? 
 
 In one respect the spirit of my party had changed 
 since we arrived at "Idlewild," in 1902. At that 
 time few of us had ever seen a Hve hedgehog. 
 These creatures were interesting. We wanted to 
 see them, and, having seen them we wished we 
 might see a hedgepig — diminutive of hedgehog (?). 
 When we met a hedgehog in the woods we watched 
 him curiously and passed him or let him pass. 
 The prints of their teeth on the two inch plank at 
 our boat landing where they gnawed off the entire 
 end of the planks in order to get what salt or grease, 
 as we supposed, had given taste to the wood, were 
 studied. But on the very last night Blake left his 
 shoes on the veranda and the next morning dis- 
 covered that one of these uncouth neighbors had 
 gnawed the uppers leaving the lining, the soles, 
 heels, shoe strings and eyelets. It was too late to 
 seek an interview with the marauder that year, 
 but when the party arrived this time, though Blake 
 was not with it, there was enmity to the hedgehog 
 and all his kin, and this, too, by common consent. 
 
 This explains the suddenness with which the 
 ladies in Idlewild were awakened the first morn- 
 ing in the woods this year by the discharge of a 
 revolver directly under the floor and the sound of 
 half suppressed excitement over the slaying of the 
 first hedgehog. This explains, too, the visit of the 
 Tarentumite and earnest sympathizers to the ruins 
 
THE YEAR AFTER THE THIRTEENTH 2:25 
 
 of a farm house in the rear of the cottage and tent 
 — a rickety old building which has been head- 
 quarters for hedgehogs for years until floors and 
 stairways have been nibbled and gnawed in a 
 wonderful way — and their solemn vigil waiting for 
 the spiny creatures to come out from under the 
 house, while the hunted as solemnly waited for the 
 hunters to retire or the moon to set, both of which 
 things came to pass before there was any excite- 
 ment; it also explains the thrilling time when a 
 hedgehog was finally discovered one morning, just 
 after day break on the back steps of " Idlewild" — 
 a hedgehog that hesitated not to climb a tree while 
 Tom and Sam were slaying its mate. But aside 
 from this enmity against these ungainly creatures 
 that leave their cruel spines about so carelessly 
 (Sam found one of these spines in his nose between 
 his eyes) — a more peaceful or happier party never 
 visited the shores of Wilson Pond. 
 
 It should be recorded and kept in mind that an 
 ideal spot for camping has not been selected unless 
 it affords opportunity for side trips. If there is a 
 village within three or five miles of camp some of 
 the boys will want to visit it again and again, no 
 matter how sleepy and forlorn the village may be, 
 unless there are chances to satisfy the exploiting 
 spirit in some other way. Wilson Pond offers 
 side trips. 
 
 Rum Mountain is less than two miles away 
 by boat or canoe. Weeks before we made the trip 
 
224 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 
 
 I promised Tom that he should have a sleeping out 
 experience. He was from out the state, but I am 
 a registered guide and we would surely go together 
 into the depths and taste the joys of a tentless trip. 
 After reaching Rum Pond and making a brief stay 
 for fly-fishing, we decided to go up some afternoon, 
 take in the fly-fishing at sunset, sleep somewhere on 
 the shore of the pond and try the early morning 
 fishing with the fly again. Crimson wanted to 
 go ; so did Kimball and the Tarentumite ; but had I 
 not promised Tom that we would make the trip by 
 ourselves? I assured these fellows that they could 
 go with us, fish on the same pond and sleep in the 
 same forest ; but while Tom and I could fry our fish 
 in a small pan and make our coffee in a small pot, 
 to add three to our party would change the entire 
 aspect of the trip. We did not care to help build 
 a hotel for five, or to open a restaurant for the same 
 number ; we should therefore look out for ourselves 
 and they might do the same. 
 
 This was satisfactory to all. We made the trip 
 from Idlewild to the foot of Rum Mountain in the 
 same canoe; but on Rum Pond we separated. It 
 rained before we reached the pond. Tom and I 
 went ashore and made preparations for the night. 
 We built a lean-to or bower or something of the 
 kind and only regretted that all our friends every- 
 where could not see it; we caught fish and fried 
 them ; made coffee and drank it and wondered how 
 the other fellows were making it. 
 
THE YEAR AFTER THE THIRTEENTH 225 
 
 It rained. Just as we were landing at our shore 
 for the last time before turning in for the night 
 Crimson arrived. He had previously shouted to 
 us on the pond asking if we had a spare candle in 
 camp. He had come for the candle. We showed 
 him our camp-fire; our protection of evergreen 
 boughs; our bed for the night — a thing of indescrib- 
 able attractiveness. Crimson was pleased with 
 it all. He sat down on the bed close to where Tom 
 had laid his revolver, which he had been wiping with 
 his handkerchief. Crimson reached out to the foot 
 of the bed and helped himself to some hard-tack — 
 a part of our slender provisions for breakfast; then 
 he took some more and some more. Tom cast 
 anxious glances at me ; but really it would not do to 
 tell Crimson that our supplies were limited, for had 
 we not assured Crimson that we were beautifully 
 fixed and only wished that other fellows had things 
 as well arranged. At last to our great relief Crim- 
 son said "good night" and we were alone. 
 
 It rained. Already it was late in the evening 
 and for the sake of an early start in the morning we 
 decided to retire. Absolute silence reigned in the 
 woods except such noises as were made by the 
 rain on the leaves, the pond, the frying-pan and the 
 thick but by no means water-proof roof of boughs. 
 
 "Is your revolver loaded?" I said to Tom as we 
 were taking all precautions for the night. 
 
 "That's the trouble," said Tom, "I can't find 
 it." 
 
 16 
 
226 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 
 
 "Can't find the revolver," I said with some 
 anxiety, "We are in a pretty fix." 
 
 Then a search followed. There was no breeze 
 to make the flame of a candle even flicker, and by 
 the aid of it we hunted from our bed to the fire- 
 place and back again, then under our bed of boughs, 
 and over it and all about it. 
 
 "I can't imagine what became of it," said Tom, 
 "unless Crimson swiped it?" 
 
 "He would have no reason for that," I ventured, 
 "and I hardly credit it." 
 
 Still another search and then we decided that 
 armless and defenceless we must bivouac in the 
 woods. 
 
 It rained. We extinguished the flamiC of the little 
 wax taper and listened to the rain drops and to the 
 dripping of the roof upon our blankets. We were a 
 long way from home — there was no mistake about 
 that — and we were in the dark; in the woods; in the 
 wet; in solitude profound; in a revolverless and 
 defenceless condition. Where was that revolver 
 anyway? 
 
 I was glad Tom slept, and when at last I heard 
 his measured breathing I felt that I had a right to 
 sleep myself — if I could. 
 
 I was awakened by some unusual heavy drops 
 coming through the roof and striking in my ear. 
 In attempting to move "out from under," I dis- 
 turbed Tom. It was pleasant to know that he was 
 there; it re-assured me to hear him speak my name. 
 
THE YEAR AFTER THE THIRTEENTH 227 
 
 "What?" I said. 
 
 "Are you going to take this path or are you going 
 around the pond ? I mean around the pond to the 
 camp. Of course I don't mean home." 
 
 It rained. I was in the woods. It was night. 
 I said in my heart, "This is lonesome, fearfully 
 lonesome. I'd rather Tom wouldn't talk than to 
 talk like that." 
 
 The night wore on; the dripping through the 
 roof increased and I had to turn out once more. 
 This startled my comrade. 
 
 "Late of Harvard College but sent home on 
 account of his fishing," he said speaking very 
 deliberately. 
 
 "What's that?" I asked as that peculiar forlorn 
 feeling again stole over me. 
 
 " I said," replied Tom with a show of impatience, 
 " Late of Harvard College but sent home on account 
 of his fishing. ' ' Then he added timidly, ' ' I intended 
 it for a joke but I don't think 'twas very funny; 
 jokes don't go well in a wet time like this anyway." 
 
 I pulled the wet blanket a little closer to me as 
 an unusually big drop through the boughs over 
 head fell into my eye, and said in my heart: 
 
 "This is lonesome; fearfully and gruesomely 
 lonesome. 'Twould be kind of lonesome like for 
 two of us anyway; but to have the other fellow 
 talking that way makes a man feel that he can't 
 count on much." 
 
 It rained. I lay under the blankets and noted 
 
228 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 
 
 the steady dripping of the rain through the boughs 
 and felt the progress of the accumulated rain as it 
 crept along on the under blanket. I also wondered 
 what had become of the revolver. 
 
 But nights end ; there is always a dawning even 
 though it be long in coming. 
 
 I reviewed the night with Tom and learned that 
 he sometimes talked in his sleep ; he surely did that 
 night. With the break of day we arose and pre- 
 pared our morning meal. Then we started out in 
 the boat to find the other fellows. Our search was 
 fruitless and our shouts were unanswered. Con- 
 cluding that they had left in the night we broke 
 camp and rowed toward the outlet of the pond. 
 As we drew near the landing we saw strange forms 
 — the forms of three drenched fellows wrapped in 
 blankets who had taken refuge in a lumberman's 
 camp. They were Crimson, Kimball and the 
 Tarentumite. Our first inquiry was for the revol- 
 ver; the first reply was a confession from Crimson 
 that he had taken it just as we suspected. It was 
 their plan to visit the woods near our camp in the 
 night and by prowling around give Tom and me 
 some blood-curdling experiences. They did not 
 dare do this so long as we had a revolver in camp 
 lest we fire it and hurt someone. Hence Crimson's 
 mock errand after a candle and the subsequent dis- 
 appearance of our only firearm; but it rained too 
 hard and Tom and I were spared. 
 
THE YEAR AFTER THE THIRTEENTH 229 
 
 How the trout did take the fly that day, and on 
 the whole it was a fine side trip. 
 
 It is autumn now. As I write I look through 
 the frost, the snow and the sleet of the coming 
 winter and beyond it all I see the fleecy clouds, the 
 glinted waves, the foliage clad mountains of another 
 summer vacation; and if I go again I would like 
 the same company — the same ladies at Idlewild 
 and the same boys, Crimson and Baby Punster, 
 Kimball and the Tarentumite, Tom, Sam, and the 
 rest. It's fun to camp out. 
 
AT PLEASANT POND 
 
 Early in the spring of 191 2 I began to speak 
 occasionally of a probable hike with the boys, which 
 was planned to take place soon after the close of 
 the spring term of the Good Will Schools, and one 
 morning early in May I posted the following: 
 
 Notice. 
 Any boys fourteen years old or older, who are eligible and 
 would like to be invited to go on a thirty-five mile hike and 
 return, are requested to hand their names, written with ink, 
 into the office before six o'clock Tuesday evening. 
 
 (Signed.) 
 
 Before two o'clock that day twenty-eight names 
 had been passed into the office: "Would like to go 
 on the hike," "A candidate for the hike," "Hope 
 to be invited to go on the hike," and other expres- 
 sions preceded the signature on the various slips, 
 and before six o'clock Tuesday evening more than 
 twenty more had been added. 
 
 All the boys understood that "eligible" meant 
 that a boy must be at liberty to leave the farm; 
 that he must have walked at least twenty miles 
 on some previous occasion; and it happened that 
 several boys who had been present on other hikes 
 were restricted in the liberties as a matter of dis- 
 230 
 
AT PLEASANT POND 23I 
 
 cipllne for a few weeks, and consequently were 
 debarred. They were not "eligible." 
 
 It was almost time for the hike, if there were to 
 be one, when the above decision was reached. A 
 telephone conference, an auto trip to Pleasant Pond 
 fifty-six miles north of Good Will to confer about 
 accommodations, and I was ready for a meeting of 
 the candidates. It was held on the steps of the 
 Quincy; the thirty-four eligibles who had in the 
 meantime been invited were present. 
 
 I announced that the hike was to be to Pleasant 
 Pond ; that the distance was too great for a single 
 day, and as my real object this time was not to test 
 the walking powers, an arrangement had been made 
 which would result in an easy tramp after all. It 
 was enough for me to know that each and every 
 one of the thirty-four could walk thirty-five miles 
 a day, and that each and every one expected to do 
 it. I explained that the route would be nine miles 
 to Skowhegan, fourteen miles by trolley from 
 Skowhegan to Madison, thirty miles by steam cars 
 from Madison to Bingham, fifteen on foot from 
 Bingham to Carratunk and three and a half from 
 Carratunk to the Camps; but as the route from 
 Carratunk to the Pond was all up hill the last 
 three and a half miles would seem like seven at 
 least. 
 
 It was a question as to the nine miles at the begin- 
 ning — Good Will to Skowhegan — and if the first 
 boy, when the roll was called had answered "W" 
 
232 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 
 
 to his name, which meant he would walk, probably 
 the next would have given the same answer and the 
 majority would have followed. But he answered 
 "T" and "T" meant he would take the train to 
 Skowhegan, cutting off nine miles; and the next 
 one said "T" also, and only six, including Scott, 
 the leader, voted for the longest hike which the 
 plan allowed, the first nine miles to be covered 
 before 7.30 o'clock in the morning. 
 
 It was at this same meeting that I gave all the 
 instructions that seemed necessary, and these were 
 positive. The negative form was avoided; in 
 other words there was not a "Don't" in the entire 
 list of suggestions. 
 
 "While the hike is not to be as long as usual, 
 see to it that your shoes fit and that you have shoes 
 with good stiff soles." 
 
 "After leaving Bingham you will walk miles at 
 a time without passing a house but you will pass 
 springs and watering troughs. If you must drink 
 use your paper drinking cups carried for the pur- 
 pose." 
 
 "Cheer as much as you choose, sing when you 
 feel like it, attract as much attention as you wish, 
 and be courteous and gentlemanly always," and 
 the like were put before the boys. 
 
 It might have been easier to say: "Don't drink 
 from watering troughs or public cups; don't wear 
 sneakers; don't act like rowdies or suggest hood- 
 lumism," and these would have been more direct, 
 
AT PLEASANT POND 233 
 
 but some people have a suspicion that there is a 
 limit beyond which the "Don't" racket becomes 
 hateful. A holiday loaded down with don'ts is a 
 holiday of burdens. 
 
 While the meeting was in progress I thought of 
 the thrilling things which are always happening in 
 fictitious camps; I thought of all the uneventful 
 camps and hikes I have directed in my lifetime, and, 
 notwithstanding the fact that the less eventful a 
 real camp is, the more enjoyable it is bound to be, 
 I said in closing: 
 
 " I hope something will happen." 
 
 The morning for the start proved to be fairly 
 good. There was a haze, and in some directions 
 appeared suggestions of rain, but it was predicted 
 that these signs would "burn off" as the sun rose 
 and they did. When the auto stopped for me in 
 front of my home, Thoroughgood and MacVeigh, 
 on the back seat, seemed to be stored away with 
 bags, bundles and suit-cases, half hidden as they 
 were with these things. 
 
 On all previous trips of the kind, each boy was 
 provided with full change of clothing and these 
 extras had always been shipped in advance. But 
 for this trip it had been directed that the outer suit 
 worn should serve all purposes; that as to under- 
 wear, if a boy was careful and used the pond for a 
 laundry tub occasionally, he could keep one suit 
 
234 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 
 
 clean and in good condition for the return trip. 
 This arrangement resulted, not in a big shipment 
 of clothing by rail and stage, but in various bags 
 and bundles crammed with towels, under-clothing 
 and other necessities packed into the automobile. 
 
 Thorough good and MacVeigh, or two other 
 hikers, were necessary to get things in readiness in 
 the camps and cottages. The rest of the hikers 
 were expected to arrive at Pleasant Pond between 
 5.30 and 6.00 P. M.; they would be ready for a 
 supper which would be served thirty minutes after 
 they arrived, but, because of the arrangements for 
 this particular party, it would be no small task to 
 get things ready. 
 
 Headquarters were to be two of Martin's cot- 
 tages, close to the water's edge and not far from 
 Martin's Hotel. Combers Cottage was half a mile 
 — more or less — to the north of headquarters, and 
 the Rogan Camps and the Huse Camp were at 
 least half a mile in the opposite direction. The 
 party therefore was to be scattered for more than 
 a mile; there were to be three kitchens in opera- 
 tion, and meals served in three places, viz.: at 
 Combers Cottage, at headquarters, at Huse's Cot- 
 tage. MacVeigh and Thoroughgood could get 
 ready easily if they had a good chance; we would 
 reach the Pond at twelve and all would be in readi- 
 ness when the hikers arrived. That was the plan. 
 
 We passed Scott and those who had voted " W" 
 instead of "T" half way to Skowhegan; all was 
 
AT PLEASANT POND 235 
 
 going well but I expressed a hope that something 
 would happen. I did not want an accident, nor 
 anything that would mar the enjoyment of any 
 hiker, but camps outside of fiction are likely to be 
 just enjoyable, happy experiences without any 
 thrills. 
 
 At Skowhegan there were clouds; at Madison it 
 was fair ; at Bingham the sun shone hot, and we who 
 were in the auto said that it was a perfect day for 
 the boys aside from the fact that it would be a 
 little warm tramping up the valley. 
 
 We arrived at Martin's before eleven o'clock, 
 and, because in the last half hour dark clouds had 
 appeared, which threatened to travel down the 
 Kennebec Valley, the auto and its owner started on 
 the return trip. 
 
 As soon as our dunnage was transferred to the 
 cottages on the shore of Pleasant Pond a few rods 
 beyond Martin's, and Thorough good and Mac- 
 Veigh had inspected headquarters, I said: 
 
 "I'll go down to Rogan's, open up the Huse 
 Cottage and be back soon. MacVeigh will be ready 
 to go to the Huse Cottage as soon as the groceries 
 are ready. You two boys take this list of groceries 
 and hasten up to Martin's — up to the house back 
 there which we just passed — and tell Mr. Martin 
 you will bring the groceries down. Have everything 
 here when I get back; Mr. Martin carries all 
 things in our line. It's mighty handy to have our 
 supplies so near," 
 
236 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 
 
 Thoroughgood and MacVeigh were willing mes- 
 sengers; they started for Mr. Martin's, who makes 
 no pretense of running a grocery store, but who 
 keeps certain things on hand for parties who may 
 need them. 
 
 And I wandered through the woods to Rogan's, 
 opened the Huse Cottage where MacVeigh was to 
 cook, and returned in a boat. 
 
 "It's all a fake," said MacVeigh, as he and 
 Thoroughgood stood on the steps of headquarters 
 and welcomed me back, "it's all a fake. That man 
 hasn't got the groceries; and said he would have 
 to go out to Carratunk after them if we want them 
 and to let him know." 
 
 "What!" I exclaimed, "and you haven't brought 
 any groceries back?" 
 
 "Not a thing," said MacVeigh, "Oh yes, we did, 
 too; we brought the salt you ordered but nothing 
 else." 
 
 It began to rain. 
 
 We listened in silence to the sound of the wet; 
 to innumerable drops that tinkled on the surface 
 of the pond ; to other drops that fell in multitudes 
 on the roof. 
 
 "I'll have to go up to Martin's," I said. 
 
 "Something's happened all right," muttered 
 Thoroughgood. "You hoped something would 
 happen." 
 
 "Yes," I acknowledged, "I did hope something 
 would happen, but I didn't mean that I wanted the 
 
AT PLEASANT POND 237 
 
 boys wet to their skin, and I didn't mean that I 
 wanted them to reach camp and find us in a state 
 of famine. This is different; I meant that I 
 wanted something interesting, something exciting, 
 while this is just famine and rain. Are you sure 
 you got the salt?" 
 
 "Sure; it's in the back room, and I guess there's 
 a quart of it; it's in a box." 
 
 ' * See here boys ; I ' ve sometimes had short rations 
 in camp, and had little scares lest we get out of food 
 entirely, but this is the first time that I started that 
 way. Here I go to Martin's." 
 
 A trip through the rain to Martin's and back! 
 
 "He's after the provisions," I reported, "but no 
 one knows how long he will be gone. It's two 
 o'clock now. Somewhere down the river a party 
 of over thirty is tramping through this rain — did 
 you ever see it rain harder? — and every minute 
 brings them nearer this spot, where they will 
 arrive before six, wet to the skin, hungry as bears, 
 and tired and footsore. What shall I do? " 
 
 "You may search me," said Thoroughgood 
 laconically. 
 
 "The only thing I could do if they should arrive 
 now," I replied, "would be to pass them the salt. 
 What do you think of that? " 
 
 "I guess something's going to happen," said one 
 of the boys — a remark which had little comfort 
 for me. 
 
 It continued to rain. Dense clouds hung over 
 
238 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 
 
 the mountains and seemed to droop lower and 
 lower till one could see only a few feet above the 
 line of the water on the opposite side of the pond, 
 where the shore rises precipitously ; rivulets formed 
 near the cottage and ran, thick and muddy into 
 the clear water of the pond; fitful gusts of wind 
 drove sheets of rain against the thin walls of the 
 boarded cottage. There was nothing for us to do 
 so we played another game ; we had played off and 
 on ever since we got back to the cottage from dinner 
 at Martin's. 
 
 Four o'clock came. 
 
 "Boys," I said, "this may be interesting but 
 it is not enjoyable — not for a man in my position. 
 Just thirty-four guests to supper; supper at six 
 at the latest, possibly at half past five, and its now 
 four, and absolutely the only thing in camp that's 
 ever used in food is salt — a quart of salt! It's 
 four o'clock, I'm going up to Martin's again." 
 
 As I neared Mr. Martin's house I caught sight 
 of him. 
 
 "You got the groceries all right, didn't you? " 
 he said with an air of confidence. 
 
 "Groceries! What groceries? " I ventured in 
 surprise. 
 
 "Why the groceries you ordered. I put them 
 down in the little building near the cottage — in the 
 building where that auto is; I thought you would 
 see them.'* 
 
 "When? " 
 
AT PLEASANT POND 239 
 
 "Well, about two hours ago, I should think; it 
 didn't take me long to go after them. " 
 
 Then followed a hurried trip back to the cottage; 
 hurried instructions to the boys how to arrange the 
 table; and some rather hurried activities which 
 the boys called "hustling for supper." 
 
 At five I was on the veranda at Martin's, and 
 a few minutes later there was a sound of many 
 voices in a rich harmony; the whole party of boys 
 we'd been waiting for was marching to the music of 
 their own song, and rounding the corner the hikers 
 tramped down to head-quarters singing. 
 
 But such a mess! They were wet through to the 
 skin and must have been far from comfortable. 
 But they sang, told incidents of the wayside, hung 
 clothing in places where they might reasonably 
 hope it would dry out by morning, and got ready 
 for supper. 
 
 "We're all here," said one of the boys "except 
 Sam and his brother Harold. In Skowhegan Harold 
 strayed away from the rest, Sam went to look for 
 him, and before Sam found Harold the car started. " 
 
 "And where are they now?" I asked. 
 
 "No one knows; perhaps they will follow us but 
 if they do they can't get here till tomorrow; it's 
 awfully hard travelling." 
 
 And less than ten minutes after that remark 
 one of the boys exclaimed: 
 
240 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 
 
 " Well I'll be hanged if there ain't Sam and Harold. 
 How did they get here this time of day? 
 
 And it was true that when the boys sat down to 
 supper Sam and Harold were with them. 
 
 The first day had ended and nothing had hap- 
 pened. 
 
 There is a curious and tantalizing custom which 
 seems to prevail among people who build cottages or 
 camps. These parties, building for their own use 
 and enjoyment, and ignoring the public, or that 
 part of the public which may chance to rent the 
 camp or cottage in the future, furnish their sum- 
 mer outing place with odds and ends from their 
 city homes. The cabinet organ which can no longer 
 be used but which will add a homelike appearance 
 and serve as a stand for bric-a-brac or as a side- 
 board ; the rocking chair which has tremors because 
 of age and use whenever anyone sits down in it; 
 the table with one weak leg and a leaf which has a 
 way of collapsing if more than two or three dishes 
 are risked upon it ; the discarded clock that has been 
 in the shed chamber without a solitary tick or 
 movement of its hands for years but which looks 
 as though it might tell the time of day — all these 
 and other odd pieces are counted good enough for 
 camp and probably they are. The line, however, 
 should be drawn at discarded cook stoves; but I 
 am not sure that it ever is or ever will be. 
 
AT PLEASANT POND 24I 
 
 When a man builds a camp he digs out the old 
 stove that has been on the dump heap for a year 
 but in some way has escaped the junk dealer, 
 treats it to a coat of blacking, props up the grate 
 with a stone or piece of brick, and declares it is 
 just the thing. 
 
 And it is just the thing; it is just the thing that 
 should be continued on its way to the junk dealer, 
 or be taken into the middle of the lake and dropped 
 overboard. There should be at least one new 
 thing in a camp or summer cottage ; that new thing 
 should be the cook stove. 
 
 Some of the cottages at Pleasant Pond, occupied 
 by the boys, had been furnished on the above prin- 
 ciple, and the discarded cook stove had been 
 installed in them. One stove had no hinges on the 
 front door; could anything be a more hopeless 
 proposition when biscuits and other things are 
 contemplated? 
 
 One stove refused to make any show of that very 
 necessary adjunct called a "draft;" it could not 
 be made to draw, and smoke that would make 
 some boys cough and all weep would pour out from 
 the cracks and holes in the cast iron. The first 
 batch of biscuits from this particular stove was 
 covered with a thick coat of ashes which had show- 
 ered down from a big crevice back of the fire box. 
 
 Half a dozen fellows tried their skill on that 
 stove and as they did it they talked and said many 
 uncomplimentary things, but it was as unfeeling 
 17 
 
M^ ROUGHING tT WITH BOYS 
 
 and as unresponsive as a cast iron object can be. 
 Some condemned it and consigned it ; some deplored 
 the situation and wondered what we were going to 
 do ; some offered suggestions as to the way in which 
 the situation might be remedied. 
 
 But it was not yet a hopeless task because — well, 
 because Tenney Allen had not tried his hand at it. 
 And after a while Tenney began to meddle. He 
 put in the stove splinters, whittled with a dull 
 knife from a pine stick; he lighted matches; he did 
 all the things that the others had done before him, 
 and at one time it looked as though Tenney had 
 triumphed. 
 
 But it was not more than half an hour before 
 one of the boys passing the door, paused, looked in 
 and inquired : 
 
 "How's your fire, Tenney?" 
 
 And Tenney poked the ashes and held up the 
 wooden poker whose end smoked slightly and 
 replied : 
 
 " It's so as to be out, thank you." 
 
 The days passed pleasantly ; by this I mean that 
 the boys were in good spirits, and nothing occurred 
 to mar their happiness, but I do not mean that there 
 were no rainy days. When one plans for a trip, 
 he counts on pleasant weather, but rainy days have 
 their compensation; a camp without a wet day is 
 an incomplete outing. 
 
AT PLEASANT POND 243 
 
 North Mountain was directly across the lake 
 from our camp, and a trip was to be made to the 
 summit. The first clear day was chosen for this, 
 and it proved to be a better day for the purpose than 
 any that followed. There were boats enough 
 available to take only half the party across the lake 
 two miles to the foot of the mountain, so it became 
 necessary to make two trips. The party that went 
 in the boats first were to start in to climb as soon 
 as they reached the shore, while one boy in each 
 boat returned for the other fellows. 
 
 It was not good scouting, I admit, but as we 
 were leaving camp I provided myself with a teacup 
 of flour in a small reel box; this was used for the 
 benefit of the party which was to follow because 
 no one in the second party had ever been on the 
 mountain. Good scouting would have depended 
 upon foot-prints, broken twigs, and similar scout 
 signs, but our one object was to get to the top of the 
 mountain while the atmosphere was clear, and to 
 make the arrival of the other party sure and safe, 
 at as early a moment as possible. So when there 
 was a turn on the mountain side, and any possi- 
 bility of the second party missing the trail, a dash of 
 the white flour was a token which way to take; 
 other parties might have broken twigs that day or 
 made foot-prints, but no one else was using flour 
 for guiding purposes. 
 
 "I didn't know there was anything so beautiful," 
 
244 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 
 
 exclaimed one of the boys as he stood on the summit 
 of North Mountain that day. 
 
 "You will remember," I remarked, "that I 
 spoke in the Chapel one Sunday of my first trip 
 up this mountain, and that, reaching the top I 
 thought of myself as a tiny insect on the top of a 
 thimble, in the middle of a saucer; the thimble is 
 North Mountain, the rim of the saucer is the hori- 
 zon, which in every direction is broken and irreg- 
 ular with mountains." 
 
 On the mountain top we met unexpected con- 
 ditions. We were prepared to encounter mos- 
 quitoes and black flies on the way up the moun- 
 tain, because at that season they abound in the 
 thick Maine woods, but we expected to be undis- 
 turbed on the bare granite summit. The reverse 
 of our expectation was our real experience ; for we 
 encountered practically no flies or mosquitoes on 
 the way, but at the summit swarms of the tiniest 
 insects — probably the "midgets" of the white 
 folk, and the "no-see-ums" of the Indians — at- 
 tacked us. Sometimes a puffy breeze would give 
 us relief for a minute or two minutes, but no 
 longer. We waited patiently for the second party 
 to arrive, and while waiting the pests increased, 
 until "Ding-Ding Walker" in desperation ex- 
 claimed : 
 
 "I'll show you where I'll go and get out of the 
 way of these pesky critters," and taking off his 
 sweater he jumped from a granite ledge into a hoi- 
 
AT PLEASANT POND 245 
 
 low where many blueberry bushes were growing, and 
 put his sweater over his head. 
 
 "O, you simpleton," I shouted, "don't you know 
 that those sheltered bushy places are where all these 
 flies came from?" 
 
 "Well, if they came from here and are up there 
 with you, they are not down here now, are they?" 
 and he crouched still lower into the bushes and 
 under the sweater; but only for a moment, because 
 it took him a short time to learn that that clump 
 of bushes had yielded only a small portion of what it 
 possessed in the line of midgets and mosquitoes, 
 and he beat a hasty journey to a granite footing 
 again. 
 
 The second party arrived under the leadership 
 of Mr. Scott, and the first party lingered on the 
 mountain long enough to hear their exclamations 
 of surprise and delight as they looked in various 
 directions, and recognized Mt. Washington, the 
 "Bigelows," the "Spencers," Baker, Bald, Kineo, 
 Elephant, Moxie, and others, and then the first 
 party descended to the boats. 
 
 Under Scott's leadership the second party lin- 
 gered longer, and when they descended they had 
 prepared a birch roll containing the names of the 
 party, had selected a spot a stated number of feet 
 north of the summit and had buried it with certain 
 rites and ceremonies, to be uncovered by any mem- 
 bers of the party who may chance to visit the place 
 in coming years. 
 
246 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 
 
 On the way home a few trout were caught; the 
 return was made by both parties in ample time to 
 prepare for supper and for an enjoyable evening. 
 It had been a great day for Good Will boys; but 
 nothing had happened. 
 
 To have made the day interesting, my section 
 might have been confronted when near the top 
 of the mountain by a group of boys, demanding 
 from whence we came and who we were; and we 
 should have suddenly bethought ourselves of 
 rumors of the existence of a camp of boy out-laws 
 on the east side of the mountain. A description 
 of the encounter between these youthful des- 
 peradoes infesting the east side of the mountain 
 and making predatory trips to Carratunk and Mos- 
 quito Landing would have made interesting read- 
 ing; some real thrills could be put in and boys 
 would sit up nights to read the story. 
 
 After a war of words, the Good Will boys and 
 the boy desperadoes might have come to blows, 
 and in the encounter Chapman might have had 
 his ankle sprained; Tucker in a fierce encounter 
 with the leader of the desperadoes might have 
 received a telling blow in the eye, making him 
 stagger for a moment and lean against a birch tree 
 to regain balance and poise for another encounter, 
 and then Good Will — the first section — rallying 
 its forces, might have put the desperadoes to 
 flight, and as they disappeared down the precipi- 
 tous east side of North Mountain the leader might 
 
AT PLEASANT POND 247 
 
 have brandished his jack knife and vowed ven- 
 geance. 
 
 Then the Good Will boys — first section — might 
 have got together and after talking it over, have 
 solemnly pledged themselves not to tell section 
 number two anything about their thrilling adven- 
 tures until all were back in camp, and Chapman 
 and Tucker might have been concealed in the 
 bushes when section two arrived and not be missed, 
 because, you see if they should notice Chapman's 
 predicament and Tucker's black eye some explana- 
 tion would be expected. 
 
 Then section one might have returned to camp, 
 and the second section, all unsuspecting and happy 
 like, might have been wending their way down the 
 mountain side, only to be suddenly confronted by 
 the leader of the boy bandits, who had been routed 
 by section one, and he might have explained that 
 he and his recruited desperadoes were going to take 
 vengeance then and there for their defeat earlier 
 in the afternoon. Then could follow the fiercest 
 bloodiest encounter that ever was on North Moun- 
 tain, in which the youthful desperadoes would have 
 seized Earl Ormsby, and have led him, with his 
 hands tied, into the fastnesses of the east side of the 
 mountain. 
 
 In the meantime section one would have returned 
 to camp, and we would have prepared supper and 
 waited — waited for section two! The sun would 
 set ; the west would be lighted up with the glow of 
 
248 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 
 
 the dying day, and then as the dusk changed to 
 darkness and the stars came out one by one, fear 
 and consternation would brood over the camp. We 
 would wait for the return of section two ; we would 
 conjecture as to whether they had lost their way or 
 whether — oh the horrible suspicion! — they had 
 been attacked by that camp of hostile, desperate 
 boys, over the mountain. 
 
 Then, as the fires got low in the broken cook stoves 
 and the supper got cold on the tables and gloom 
 filled every heart, some one might have descried 
 the outline of three rowboats, half across the pond, 
 moving slowly toward us, but refusing to answer 
 our shouts and cheers. Like a funeral cortege the 
 boats might have moved toward the landing, and 
 when the boys got out, Scott should approach me 
 and say : 
 
 "Sir, I bring grewsome tidings; disaster has 
 overtaken us ; sorrow is in camp. On our way down 
 North Mountain we were attacked by a band of 
 boy bandits, who, rumor says have been camping 
 on the east side these many days. The leader told 
 us that his forces had suffered defeat in an encoun- 
 ter with Good Will boys, and he had sworn ven- 
 geance, and proposed to get even. We suffered 
 many injuries, but alas, in the end they seized 
 Ormsby, and hold him in the fastnesses of the east 
 side of the mountain." 
 
 Then it would be my duty to order a camp fire, 
 in order that we might hold a council, and the 
 
AT PLEASANT POND 249 
 
 council would last till near midnight and, when it 
 ended, definite plans would have been laid to res- 
 cue Ormsby. The plans would involve the setting 
 of a watch, the awakening of the entire camp at 
 daybreak, breakfast at 5.30, and a start of the whole 
 camp for the rescue of the unfortunate captive. 
 Here the story might be left to be "continued in 
 our next." 
 
 This, with details skilfully worked out, would 
 make an interesting camp incident; such things 
 happen in camp stories, but not in real camps. 
 As the Good Will camp was a real one, we had a 
 pleasant evening, and retired early. Another day 
 was gone and nothing had happened. 
 
 The days were passing rapidly and each brought 
 its share of interest. There were no serious acci- 
 dents ; there were many pleasing incidents ; life was 
 worth living at Pleasant Pond. 
 
 "Yes," I said to Mozart in reply to a question, 
 one evening, "I'll go. I don't want to prevent any 
 boy going out, but if you are sure that one of the 
 boats will not be wanted by any one else, we will 
 start early tomorrow morning and go across the 
 pond. But I shall fish for salmon; they say there 
 are salmon in this pond, but the boys are not likely 
 to get any. Mozart, we'll go." 
 
 And early the next morning Mozart and I went 
 quietly to the shore and chose a boat. 
 
250 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 
 
 "We'll make it twenty minutes each," I said; 
 "you row twenty minutes and I'll troll; then I 
 row twenty minutes and you troll." 
 
 So Mozart took the oars. 
 
 We were a quiet couple that morning; that is, we 
 were quiet for the first twenty minutes. There was 
 a rhythm about the slow stroke of the oars in 
 Mozart's hands which would have put us to sleep 
 had we been in positions of ease instead of sitting 
 upright and without support for our backs. The 
 sun was not yet high enough so the direct rays could 
 reach us, for North Mountain was a barrier; but 
 here and there from the still surface of the pond 
 little clouds of mist arose. 
 
 "I can hear the fellows moving in camp," said 
 Mozart, as he rowed slowly and listened to the 
 rhythmic sound of the oars: "I heard a tin pan 
 drop on the floor; I guess they heard us start." 
 
 But not much was passing between us, and at 
 length I said : 
 
 "Mosey, time's up and here's where we change; 
 I row and you fish. Let me get my position first 
 and then you move; two should not be moving 
 about in a boat like this at the same time;" and in 
 a minute I had the oars and Mozart was holding 
 the rod. 
 
 "What was that story the kids were laughing 
 about last night; didn't you tell a story just before 
 the lights were out?" 
 
 "I don't know which you mean," I replied, "but 
 
AT PLEASANT POND 251 
 
 I'll guess it is one that 'tis said President Garfield 
 used to tell on himself. It was when he was a 
 student in college and he and three of his class- 
 mates were driving through the country. They 
 saw an old man standing in a field near the road. 
 He was tall, long-bearded, white-headed — a patri- 
 archal looking farmer — do you know what patri- 
 archal means, Mosey? Well, there was that about 
 him which made them think of the old men, the 
 heads of families in Old Testament times. They 
 stopped and one of the students addressing the 
 old man said : 
 
 'Good morning. Father Abraham.' 
 Another student said: 
 ' ' Good morning, Father Isaac' 
 Another student said : 
 'Good morning, Father Jacob.' 
 "Then they listened to learn what the man — the 
 'old farmer' — as the story goes, would say, and 
 he said : 
 
 "'My friends, I am not your Father Abraham; 
 I am not your Father Isaac; I am not your Father 
 Jacob. I am Saul, the son of Kish, whose father 
 sent him to — '" 
 
 Whish! Whiz-z-z ! ! Splash ! ! ! 
 
 "Stop, stop," shouted Mozart: "I'm caught on a 
 rock ; back water — back — ' ' 
 
 "Caught on nothing," I exclaimed. "You've 
 got a strike. Mosey, you've got a strike. Careful, 
 or you'll lose him; careful, I say." 
 
252 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 
 
 Something like twenty yards from the boat a 
 fish had taken the bait, broke water, and for an 
 instant it seemed as though the rod which Mosey 
 was handUng in a clumsy manner, would snap 
 asunder. 
 
 " Let him have it slowly, now, let him have it, but 
 don't—" 
 
 "What, let him go away," said Mosey, appeal- 
 ingly. "Can't I get him?" 
 
 "Get him? I don't know. Mosey, whether you 
 can get him or not. You can't yank him in the way 
 you would a measley chub or a yellow perch ; what 
 you must do is to manage your reel so your line 
 is always taut — " 
 
 "Taut?" queried the boy. 
 
 "Yes, taut; or tight, if you understand better; 
 I mean if you let the line get slack — if he comes 
 toward you and you don't reel in fast enough, or if 
 you don't keep your hand on the reel and the line 
 goes out too fast and — " 
 
 "Oh, there — lost," exclaimed Mozart, as the 
 fish broke water; the line slacked as the creature 
 disappeared beneath the surface and evidently 
 headed toward the boat. A look of dismay spread 
 over Mosey's features. 
 
 "If I only could have got that fish — I have got 
 him," he shrieked, as the line tightened again, and 
 the reel whizzed and half a dozen yards of line went 
 out; "I thought I'd lost him." 
 
 "Mozart," I said slowly, "if you get excited and 
 
AT PLEASANT POND 253 
 
 go to threshing about in this boat you'll lose the 
 biggest and best fish that was ever hooked in this 
 pond. See? Well, then, keep cool. If he pulls 
 too hard, don't let him break the line; give it to 
 him, but just keep it taut, that's all. See?" 
 
 We sat in the boat ; for moments at a time neither 
 of us would speak as the contest went sullenly on. 
 The fish, sometimes twenty yards, sometimes forty 
 yards, and once so near fifty yards that I almost 
 despaired, for the reel carried only that length of 
 line. 
 
 I had nothing to do but watch Mozart ; but occa- 
 sionally I could not resist the temptation to make 
 some suggestion. Mozart was to capture it or lose 
 it; that much I settled when early in the contest 
 he had once begged me to take the rod, because he 
 feared he could not save the fish. 
 
 "Say," he exclaimed in a mock attempt at 
 secrecy, lowering his voice to a hoarse whisper, "say, 
 if I do catch this fellow, won't the kids' eyes bulge, 
 when we go ashore?" 
 
 Out in the pond midway between the two shores 
 while the battle twixt finny tactics and youthful 
 ambition was in progress, I became conscious that a 
 new bond of friendship between Mozart and I had 
 suddenly been created and was growing. "Mo- 
 sey" — I had never called him "Mosey" till that 
 morning — and I had been friends since the day 
 when, tow-headed and freckled, he arrived at Good 
 Will and, taking him by the hand, I said: " I'm glad 
 
254 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 
 
 to see you." I had watched him from his twelfth 
 year till now he was a youth of sixteen, and we 
 had spent happy hours together. But this was a 
 new experience; we were fishing together; and 
 though the fish now showing his glossy back above 
 water as he silently tugged, and now moving majes- 
 tically toward the bottom, was on Mosey's line, we 
 were sharing the battle, the hope of success, the 
 fear of loss, and, should he finally reach the boat, 
 he would be — not "mine," nor ''Mosey's," but 
 "ours." 
 
 "It's just as I told you, Mosey,' I exclaimed, 
 "it's just as I told you; there's nothing like it. 
 This is ideal. Better take it all in; better think of 
 it now while it's passing and then you can recall it 
 later; the sun just above the mountain; the little 
 wavelets as a breeze ripples the water here and 
 there; the blue smoke coming up from that camp 
 over yonder; great heron silently winging his way 
 northward; solitary loon breaking the silence at 
 intervals over in the cove ; vireos warbling in the 
 alders on the shore; reel clicking as our unwilling 
 guest careens under the surface ; azure sky over our 
 heads with a fleecy cloud here and there; Bigelow 
 Mountains in the distance, hazy and dignified; 
 white birches reflected in the liquid depths close 
 in shore; sandpiper winging his way like lightning 
 past us on his way to the beach; columbines in 
 bloom; joy in my heart; hope in yours — say, Mosey, 
 Mosey, my boy, it's all here and it's great; we'll 
 
AT PLEASANT POND 255 
 
 never forget it and — careful, boy, careful; now, I'll 
 get the net, for your game is getting tired; don't 
 reel in too fast. See his back; that fish will weigh 
 six pounds if he weighs an ounce, and it's a land- 
 locked salmon. Mosey, sure as you're born. You 
 remember I looked at my watch just after you 
 hooked him; well, it was twenty-five minutes ago, 
 and I don't blame you for wishing he was in the 
 boat. Move him now if you can over this way 
 and I'll put the net under and — " 
 
 ' ' Whizz-zz-zz — ' ' 
 
 Mosey had worked skillfully ; he had surprised me 
 by his coolness and his willingness to act upon any 
 suggestion I might make. The fish had shown signs 
 of weariness, and was at last within six or eight feet 
 of the boat, with enough of his shining back out 
 of the water to show us his size. It was not till I 
 reached out the net that he seemed to get a new 
 hold on life, and suddenly started for a fresh battle, 
 and reeled out the line till he was at least fifteen 
 yards from the boat again, to be slowly and cau- 
 tiously reeled back again. 
 
 *'How long is this going to last?" said Mosey, 
 appealingly. 
 
 "Till you get that fish into the boat, I hope," 
 was my quick response, "and in my judgment it 
 will take ten minutes longer; and not only that, my 
 boy, it will be the easiest thing in the world to lose 
 him now if you get a little careless. No, Mosey, 
 I'll not do it. It's kind of you to offer to let me 
 
^56 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 
 
 take the rod and finish the task, but it's your fish 
 or no one's till it's caught, and then it will be 
 'ours,' See?" 
 
 And it did take fifteen minutes longer, and five 
 minutes added to that ; then the net was under the 
 fish and as I lifted it over the side he flopped out 
 of the net and fell — into the boat. 
 
 In that last movement the hook fell out of the 
 salmon's mouth, showing that he had been so 
 slightly hooked that anyone might have been par- 
 doned for losing him; a wrong move on Mosey's 
 part and we would have gone back to camp empty 
 handed. But a salmon weighing six and a quarter 
 pounds made Mosey high line; only one or two 
 other salmon were caught on the trip and those 
 weighed less than two pounds each. 
 
 Of course Mozart's fish created a sensation in 
 camp ; its capture was just an incident of camp life — 
 that was all. 
 
 The next day the boys started for home; hiked 
 to Bingham, took the train for Madison, where 
 they had dinner, and reached home at a seasonable 
 hour. And though nothing particular had happened, 
 the boys declared, as boys are quite likely to do, 
 that it was the "best hike yet. " 
 
XI 
 
 A CAMP CHOWDER 
 
 Twenty boys started, one day in August, for 
 the east side of Sebasticook Lake, nearly thirty 
 miles from Good Will Farm. There was one man 
 in the party. The first team took tents and provi- 
 sions and about a dozen boys. The other team 
 took the remainder of the boys and the man. The 
 first team started an hour in advance, and the driver 
 was to ascertain the way, and whenever there were 
 two roads, he was to scatter fragments of paper on 
 the road he had taken. This plan worked admir- 
 ably until Palmyra was reached. At this place, 
 the first party took the road to Newport Village 
 and scattered the usual papers in the road. The 
 man who was with the boys, arriving twenty min- 
 utes later, refused to follow the lead, and went 
 with the second party to North Newport. The 
 town of Newport is like a basket — a large hole with 
 a rim around it. Sebasticook Lake is the hole. 
 What land there is in the town is the rim. So one 
 party went half way round the lake, on the rim, 
 going south ; the other party went half way round 
 going to the north, and they met within an hour of 
 each other at the desired destination. Five post- 
 ofiices were passed on the way, and at each ofiice a 
 18 257 
 
258 ROUGHING It WITH BOYS 
 
 postal-card was mailed to the folks at home saying 
 that "nothing had happened. " 
 
 Now White was in one of the parties. This 
 White is a naturalist and dotes on hornets. On the 
 way to the lake, he discovered a hornets' nest in a 
 tall tree by the roadside and threw stones at it. 
 The hornets were much disturbed, but in their 
 anger did not even catch a glimpse of their boyish 
 persecutor. He escaped. The next morning, near 
 the camp, he discovered another hornets' nest. 
 He threw some more stones. The hornets dis- 
 covered him and one of them hit him between the 
 eyes. It was a great victory for the hornet. White 
 says it bumped right against him. The face of the 
 vanquished began to swell. It kept on swelling. 
 He was a "sight. " Anyone who had a sense of the 
 ludicrous would smile as often as he looked at 
 White. If White saw anyone smiling at him, he 
 would smile also. And when anyone saw White's 
 dark and distorted features wreathed with a smile, 
 it didn't make any difference whether he had a 
 sense of the ludicrous or not, he had to laugh, be- 
 cause he couldn't help it. White had been stung 
 five times that summer — four times by bees and 
 once by a hornet. It was interesting to hear him 
 give particulars. The most pathetic of the five 
 cases, probably, was when Mr. Cofiin was attend- 
 ing to a swarm of bees at Good Will Farm and 
 wanted the queen caught. The queen bee doesn't 
 sting, and she can be easily distinguished by her 
 
A CAMP CHOWDER 259 
 
 form. White saw the queen and intended to pick 
 her up, but he took hold of the wrong bee. The 
 one he caught was a working bee. He worked in 
 his own interests and against White's comfort. 
 But White said he doesn't mind getting stung much 
 anyway. 
 
 The boys expected to live in tents and have the 
 use of a small cottage for cooking. Sammie and 
 Frank were the cooks. But the former occupants 
 of the cottage were to stay two days longer. So 
 Sammie cooked on an ancient stove, in an opening, 
 under a big maple tree. There were some very 
 unpopular things in the grove. They all belong to 
 the same family. To scientists, individual mem- 
 bers are known as Mephitis Mephitica. People 
 void of scientific discernment call them skunks. 
 Now any number of these things — Mephitica — are 
 as sweet as kittens and entirely harmless unless dis- 
 turbed. If attacked, or annoyed in any way, they 
 resort at once to powerful methods of self defense. 
 This is reasonable. The owner of the grove asked 
 us not to disturb them. He said two fishermen 
 were camping there, a few days before, and one 
 day, when they came back from fishing, there was 
 one of these things — a Mephitica — in the tent. 
 They waited for him to look around a bit, and then 
 he came out and went away. We promised we 
 wouldn't disturb them, if we saw them in the tent 
 or anywhere. That very night Henry was lying 
 awake in his tent, when one of them came in and 
 
260 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 
 
 went around him twice and then went out. Henry 
 lay still; didn't dare move a muscle, though it is 
 understood that the hair on Henry's head moved — 
 stood up straight. It's simply blood-curdling to 
 have wild beasts prowling around you in the woods, 
 at night, when you can't do a thing. 
 
 The next day a party came into the grove to stay 
 one night and two days. The party consisted of 
 several men and women and a very small boy. 
 They were to occupy a tent which stood a few feet 
 from Sammie's cook stove. They drove right 
 along side the opening in the woods, unharnessed 
 the horses and hitched them beside the carriages, 
 only a few feet from the stove and dining table. 
 So Sammie and Frank had two carriages and a pair 
 of horses in the kitchen. We didn't like it, but as 
 it was only for one day we decided not to say much. 
 The man who was with the boys wanted to shave. 
 He said we had a right to our own kitchen; so he 
 made one of the carriages a dressing room, spread 
 his shaving utensils on the cushion of the other, 
 hung a mirror on a tree and shaved himself, while 
 one of the horses meekly looked over his shoulder. 
 It was the first time that horse ever saw himself in 
 a looking glass. And when night came the very 
 small boy said: 
 
 "Mama, where are we going to sleep? " 
 The mother said: "In the tent," and the very 
 small boy looked at the cook stove, our table, the 
 two carriages, the horses, our wood-pile, and the 
 
A CAMP CHOWDER 261 
 
 tent, all huddled together in that opening, when 
 there was room — lots of room — elsewhere, and he 
 said: 
 
 "Mama, I don't want to sleep in a barn-yard." 
 We all felt like saying something; but we held 
 our peace. 
 
 We were going to have a chowder for supper 
 that night. The fish were dressed. A man had 
 promised to bring us a barrel of crackers and a 
 peck of onions. Chowder was to be served at five 
 o'clock. In the afternoon a very dark cloud ap- 
 peared in the west. It promised a heavy shower. 
 At half past three the cloud seemed to burst. The 
 rain came down in torrents. The canvas tents 
 were so dry that they were like sieves. The water 
 came through in little showers. The boys gath- 
 ered their blankets together in piles, and sat on 
 them to keep them dry, but the straw got very wet. 
 Hail fell, until, around the tent, the ground was 
 white. It stopped raining at five o'clock, which 
 was supper time. There was not a dry stick of 
 wood or piece of paper in the camp. The stove 
 did not look as though it had ever been dry. The 
 ash box, filled with ashes and rain water, looked 
 like a tank of gray kalsomine, mixed, and ready 
 for use. We sent a boy up to the man who was to 
 get the barrel of crackers, the peck of onions and 
 the Boston daily. Sammie and Frank tried to 
 start a fire in the wet stove. The man who was with 
 the boys helped. They got the fire started and it 
 
262 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 
 
 went out. They tried again. Two boys peeled 
 the potatoes. The fire got under way. The pork 
 was fried in the bottom of the kettle. It looked 
 very bright for a chowder by 6.30. Then the boy 
 came back. He brought the Boston daily and 
 said that when the man got to the village he didn't 
 know what kind of crackers we wanted and so he 
 didn't get any, and for some reason, he concluded 
 not to get the onions either. This was worse than 
 the shower; but we said "never mind" we would 
 have the chowder anyway, for we were cold and 
 wet and we must have a hot supper. So the fish 
 and potatoes were put into the kettle, and hot 
 water was added. Thirteen boys came from the 
 tents to watch. Now there is an adage that "a 
 watched pot never boils," but when a boy is cold, 
 wet, and hungry, and the crackers and onions 
 haven't come, and supper is already two hours 
 late, he doesn't take any stock in adages. To him 
 proverbs are without meaning. They watched; 
 but the kettle didn't boil. Then two boys shouted 
 that one of those things — Mephitica — was up in 
 the woods by the fence cleaning his fur, and the 
 thirteen boys rushed up to see it. Then they came 
 back with the other two and the fifteen gathered 
 around that kettle to see it boil. And the water 
 in the kettle was only milk warm. Then Frank and 
 Sammie put in more wet wood, and two more 
 boys joined the group, so there were nineteen boys 
 and a man watching the kettle. Night had come 
 
A CAMP CHOWDER 263 
 
 on; it was bed-time; the temperature of the water 
 was near boiling; but it dawned on the watchers 
 that there was no chowder for them that night. 
 It was decided to have supper of cold hasty pud- 
 ding and molasses. There was not a cross word 
 nor a grumble heard. Supper was eaten and the 
 boys retired. Sammie and Frank were to start 
 early in the morning, the chowder was to be com- 
 pleted and was to be served smoking hot. 
 
 There was a dog in the grove, with the party who 
 had hitched their horses in our kitchen, and we 
 did not dare think what would happen if he should 
 meddle with that chowder in the night. So the 
 big kettle was placed on one end of the long, rickety 
 table, carefully covered and left till morning. On 
 the table was a collection of tin cups, plates, spoons, 
 etc. Everybody slept. The man who was with 
 the boys dreamed a dream. He was at a church 
 fair, and he was very hungry. He had ordered 
 a dish of ice cream, as appetizing to look at as any- 
 thing that ever graced a table at a church fair. He 
 was just raising the first spoonful of the tempting 
 food to his lips when he awoke and for a moment 
 wondered why. Then he heard boys in one of the 
 other tents talking, and Fred, the boy who was 
 nearest him in his own tent, said : 
 
 "Did you hear that noise? " 
 
 "No," said the man, "what noise was It? " 
 
 "An awful noise — a thud and a rattling of tin 
 dishes. That old table where we've been eating 
 
2^4 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 
 
 has broken down. There must have been some- 
 thing heavy on it or else a dog jumped up on it or 
 something." 
 
 It is not probable that there is any single word 
 in our language that could have done satisfactory 
 duty as an expletive for the occasion. If there is, 
 that man had never heard it. For a full minute 
 he did not speak. Then he said, speaking with 
 solemnity : 
 
 "Fred, it's that chowder — our breakfast. I put 
 it up on the table myself to save it. It was too 
 heavy wasn't it? I think I can see it now. The 
 potatoes and fish are scattered all over the ground, 
 and the kettle's bottom side up; and it hadn't 
 even boiled." 
 
 For a minute or two there was absolute silence — 
 the silence of the woods at midnight. Fred and 
 the man were in deep thought. Then the ludicrous 
 situation seemed to dawn upon both at the same 
 time. They lay side by side on their bed of damp 
 straw, and made no attempt to restrain a fit of 
 boisterous laughter. 
 
 After awhile, the man decided what he would 
 do. At an early hour he would dispatch a boy to 
 the nearest farm-house for eggs, and these should 
 be the basis of a breakfast, in place of the chowder. 
 Then he slept again. When he awoke it was light. 
 A gentle breeze moved in the thick maple foliage 
 above the tent. The sunlight was struggling be- 
 tween the branches and falling in bright, movable 
 
A CAMP CHOWDER 265 
 
 spots on the canvas roof of the damp tent. Boys' 
 voices could be heard down by the stove. 
 
 "Sammie," he shouted, "Sammie! " 
 
 Sammie's smiling face appeared at the entrance 
 of the tent. 
 
 "How about the breakfast? " asked the man. 
 
 ''It's all right," said Sammie. ''That noise in 
 the night wasn't the table at all. It was a dead 
 tree that fell over near the tent. The chowder's 
 safe and it's all cooked. The man who didn't get 
 the crackers yesterday, started at four o'clock this 
 morning and the barrel of crackers and the onions 
 are here, and I've put some of the onions in the 
 chowder." 
 
 Now, my reader, such a chowder as that was! 
 You never ate one just like it. You probably 
 never will. To make such a chowder you must 
 have a thunder shower and a hail storm; you must 
 order a barrel of crackers and a peck of onions, 
 and after waiting several hours for them, you must 
 be told you can't have them, and be offered a 
 Boston daily paper instead. You must have a wet 
 stove and a lot of w^et wood ; you must have twenty 
 boys watch it an hour and twenty minutes, while 
 the darkness of an August night gathers in the 
 woods; you must then eat cold hasty pudding and 
 molasses for supper and leave the chowder to be 
 completed in the morning; you must wake up in 
 the middle of the night and be convinced that the 
 chowder is spilled upon the ground and the kettle 
 
266 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 
 
 bottom side up; you must give up the chowder 
 entirely and be resigned to your fate; then the 
 chowder must be returned to you in the morning 
 with crackers and onions added ; and you must eat 
 it under the spreading maple trees where you can 
 hear the weird cry of the loon upon the lake and the 
 harmonies of the song thrush in the adjacent thicket; 
 and you must have nineteen hungry boys to eat 
 with you; and you must sit down to the table out 
 of doors and eat with dishes of tin and after the 
 blessing has been asked you must see Sammie 
 standing at the head of the table with the kettle of 
 steaming food before him and a ladle in his hand; 
 and you must say as you pass him your tin plate: 
 "Some of the chowder, please, Sammie;" and you 
 must watch him fill your plate and hand it back to 
 you hot and savory. It's the only way you can 
 ever get a chowder that will taste just like that; 
 and as for the man who was with the boys, he never 
 expects to taste the like again.