Barbour Ralph Henry
Four in Camp: A Story of Summer Adventures in the New Hampshire Woods

CHAPTER XV
CONCLUDES THE ADVENTURE AND SHOWS TOM SLEEPING THE SLEEP OF THE JUST

At the first alarm Nelson and Tom had sprung down the gangway to the float, ready to lend assistance to Dan. Luckily there were no boats at the head of the pier, and so Dan had struck nothing harder than the water. He was up in an instant.

“Are you hurt?” called Nelson anxiously.

“No, I’m all right,” was the reply. “Did they hear?”

“Yes, they’re coming!” And Nelson slipped into the water, followed by Tom, and struck out vigorously.

“Swim like the dickens!” counseled Dan. “Make for the shore!”

Back of them a lantern was swaying down the path and a voice cried:

“Who’s that? What’s the matter?”

But the boys offered no explanations. They were very busy at that moment. There was no thought now of quietness; their one endeavor was to get to shore as soon as possible. Once Nelson turned to look. The light of the lantern showed two or possibly three forms on the pier, and from the way the lantern was lowered and carried back and forth he knew that they had seen the wet footprints and, perhaps, had discovered the loss of the pole.

“Some of your boys on a lark, I fancy,” said a voice. “I’m certain I heard them swimming away as I came down. No, I won’t go along, thanks.”

When Nelson glanced back again the lantern was moving about the float. After that he attended strictly to business. Tom and Dan were well in the lead and he swam his hardest to overtake them. Hand over hand he went, splash, splash, his eyes full of water, and his breath coming harder and harder. Then a new sound came to him, the steady churn of the Chicora’s propeller. Desperation lent new strength and in a dozen strokes he was even with Dan; Tom still led by a couple of lengths.

“They’re after us in the launch,” gasped Dan. “When we get – near shore – spread out – and take – to the woods. They won’t see – the canoe.”

“All right,” answered Nelson.

The camp record for the quarter mile was something a little under nine minutes, but there is no doubt but that that record was smashed to fragments that night, at least by Tom. Yet in spite of their best endeavors the launch gained on them from the start. Had they had much farther to go they would have been caught beyond a doubt. As it was they were in the darkness under the trees before the Chicora could reach them. The launch could not come nearer than twenty yards from shore because of her draft, and that fact saved them. As they floundered, up to their waists, over the submerged branches and rocks toward land they heard a hail from the boat:

“Stop where you are or I’ll fire at you!”

“Down!” whispered Dan. Nelson heard, but Tom, who was well ahead, splashed on, sounding in the stillness like an elephant at his bath. The Chicora had stopped her screw, and those on board were listening intently. Dan and Nelson, flat on their stomachs in two feet of water, made no sound and waited nervously for the report of Mr. Clinton’s revolver. They were certain that he couldn’t see them and certain that he wouldn’t shoot them if he did; but he might discharge his revolver to scare them, and there was just an unpleasant possibility that one or other of them might be hit by mistake. Tom had subsided on the ground at the edge of the woods, and they could hear him panting heavily where he lay. Then:

“I heard only one,” said Mr. Clinton, his words coming clear and distinct across the water. “Surely one of our boys wouldn’t do such a trick alone.”

“There may be more around, though,” said Thorpe.

“I doubt it. More likely it was some one looking for a chance to steal. Although why he wanted a flagpole is beyond me. Anyhow, we can’t get any nearer. We’ll go on to camp, I guess.”

Then, to the boys’ relief, the screw started again and the light that marked the position of the launch moved away up the lake.

“Quick!” whispered Dan. “We must make a run for it. If we can get into our bunks before he gets there we’ll be all right.”

They floundered out of the water, were joined by Tom, and went crashing through the woods, bumping into trees, lashing their faces with branches, and making enough noise to be heard by those on the launch had it not been for the beat of the propeller. Fortunately the road was but a short distance, and once on that they made fine time.

“Talk about your hare-and-hounds!” gasped Nelson. “Gee!”

When they reached the clearing they stopped running and went forward cautiously. All was silent and deserted. In a moment they had gained Maple Hall. But Dan stopped them before they had laid foot on the porch.

“We must wipe our feet,” he said, “or Clint will see the tracks. Here.”

Some one had left a towel over the railing, and with this they hurriedly wiped their feet clean of dirt and leaves. Their bodies had dried long since and were glowing from their exertions. Just as the towel was thrown aside and they had mounted the porch a light gleamed between the trees of the path from the landing and voices reached them.

“Quick!” whispered Nelson. “What did you do with the towel? We mustn’t leave it here.” He picked it up and followed the others into the gloom of the dormitory, treading softly over the creaking boards. If Dr. Smith was awake it was all up with them. But the bed by the door gave no sound. The hall was silent save for the deep breathing and occasional snores of its occupants. Nelson found his bunk, tossed the soiled towel beneath it, dived into his pajamas, and slipped into bed just as the door at the end of the dormitory became suddenly illumined and footsteps sounded on the porch outside. He was panting hard, but he drew the clothes up to his chin, threw one arm over his head, and strove to look as though he had been asleep for hours. Then he waited, hoping that Tom and Dan had gained their bunks and that Mr. Clinton would not look too closely at his hair, which was still wet.

Then the light glowed against his closed lids and he heard the Chief and Mr. Thorpe walking slowly down the aisle. And at the same moment he became aware of a sound he had not heard before, a loud, unmusical wheeze and gurgle that came from his side of the hall further down. The next instant he realized what it was and would have given much to have been able to give vent to the laughter that threatened to choke him. Tom was snoring!

To have heard that snore would have satisfied any one that Thomas Courtenay Ferris had been sleeping the sleep of the just for many hours. And Mr. Clinton was no exception. When he raised the lantern over Tom’s wide-open mouth and listened to the evidence that poured forth he smiled and walked on. Up the aisle he went, stopping at each bunk. And then:

“Everything seems all right here, Thorpe,” Nelson heard him mutter.

“Yes, I guess you were right, sir,” answered Mr. Thorpe with a yawn.

“I guess I was, only – what any one should want with a flagpole is more than I can see!”

Then they retraced their steps, passed out of the door and disappeared, and Nelson, raising his head with a sigh of relief, saw the lantern’s light grow dimmer and dimmer. Two minutes later they were all on Dan’s bunk, hysterically whispering and giggling, and it was an hour later when sleepiness at last broke up the meeting. When the first bugle sounded three of the occupants of Maple Hall only muttered and turned over again, to arise finally with heavy eyes and aching limbs.

CHAPTER XVI
RECORDS TWO VICTORIES OVER WICKASAW AND AN EPISODE WITH FISH

That afternoon a new flagpole was raised at Wickasaw and on it appeared again a square of white cloth bearing the inscription “W. 18; C. 4.” But Dan and Nelson and Tom only smiled knowingly when they saw it. There are flags and flags; and they knew of one flag that would never flutter again over the Wickasaw landing. For Dan had greatly surprised the other two that morning by producing a very bedraggled square of white sheeting bearing marks that, before its immersion in water, had been two letters and two numerals.

“Why, you got it after all!” exclaimed Tom.

“You didn’t think I was coming away without it, did you?” asked Dan scornfully.

It was subsequently cut into four equal pieces and distributed among the quartet, Bob having been duly apprised of the midnight proceedings and having been so evidently hurt at being left out of their confidence that he was made a recipient of a share of the spoils of war. Directly after breakfast the Four had taken themselves unobtrusively off through the woods to bring back the abandoned canoe. When they neared the spot where they had left it they heard voices and paused to consider.

“Some of the fellows are ahead of us,” said Dan. “It’s Carter’s canoe and they’ll want to know how the dickens it got down here. If Clint hears of it he will put two and two together – ”

“And make we three,” finished Tom.

“Come on,” said Bob. “You can say you paddled down a little while ago and left it there.”

“Which would be a silly lie,” said Dan. “Besides, they know we haven’t had time. We’ll see who it is and ask them not to say anything about it.”

So they went on and emerged from the woods just in time to see two boys in the white jerseys and trunks of Camp Wickasaw climb into the canoe and start to paddle away to where, a little ways out, the Wickasaw launch, manned by three other fellows was waiting.

“Here, that’s our canoe!” shouted Dan.

The two stopped paddling and looked doubtfully at the new arrivals.

“Come on, Jack!” called a voice from the launch. “Don’t mind them!” Whereupon the pair in the canoe dug the paddles again.

“Drop those paddles and let that canoe alone, I tell you,” commanded Dan again. “That canoe belongs to us and you know it.”

“We found it,” said one of the fellows. They stopped paddling again and would undoubtedly have relinquished the craft then and there had not their companions in the launch encouraged them to keep on.

“I don’t care if you did,” answered Dan. “We left it here.”

“When?” asked a Wickasaw youth.

“That’s no affair of yours,” said Bob. “Just you tumble out or we’ll throw you out.”

“Bring it along, you fellows!” came from the launch. “If it’s theirs they’ll have to prove it.”

“It was on our land,” said Nelson, raising his voice and addressing the party in the launch.

“No, it wasn’t either. Your line’s away over there. This land belongs to Mr. Carpenter. You fellows swiped our flag last night and if you want that canoe you’ll have to come over to camp and prove it belongs to you. Bring it out, Jack.”

“Come on,” said Dan quietly. “We can get to ’em before they reach the launch.” And he led the way into the water on the run, stumbling over hidden obstacles and making straight for the canoe. Bob and Nelson and Tom followed. As soon as there was depth enough they threw themselves forward and began to swim. Meanwhile the two lads in the canoe were paddling for all they were worth and the launch had started up and was coming in gingerly to meet them. Had they been expert paddlers the two Wickasaw youths might easily have won that race with the long start they had, but neither of them knew very much about it and their strokes got more and more flurried and ragged as Dan and the others began to overhaul them. The launch had sighted obstructions and was now backing again, the while its occupants shouted encouragement to their companions and defiance to the foe. Half a dozen yards from the launch Dan’s hand reached up and seized the end of the canoe. The nearest paddler raised his “beaver tail” threateningly.

“If you hit me with that,” said Dan calmly, “I’ll just about drown you.” And while the other hesitated Tom, coming through the water like a torpedo-boat, joined Dan. The launch, its occupants angry and excited, was trying to reach the scene. But it didn’t get there in time.

“Over with them,” said Dan, and the next instant the two Wickasaw boys were struggling in the water. Dan grabbed one of them and Bob, who had arrived on the scene of action meanwhile, seized the other. The wearers of the white and red disappeared from sight. When they came up a moment later, choking and sputtering, the paddles had been wrested from them and the capsized canoe was yards away in charge of Nelson. A big youth with a very red and angry face stood on the bow of the launch aiming blows at Dan with the boat-hook. But he was a yard too far away and Dan only grinned at him exasperatingly and said:

“Say, if you don’t look out you’ll fall overboard, and if you do – well, I won’t do a thing to you!”

The former occupants of the canoe had been released and the way they were striking out for the launch was beautiful to see. Bob brought down the paddle he held behind one of them, which so alarmed the swimmer that he went down again. Nelson, having dragged the canoe out of range, returned, eager for the fray. But the fray was over, all save verbal encounters, and the Four, with a final retort to the revilements thrown at them, turned their backs to the enemy and swam leisurely back to land, rescuing and righting the canoe on the way. Then they got into it and paddled off up the shore, leaving the Wickasaw launch churning the water angrily in an effort to get free of a sunken tree trunk or rock upon which she had run her bow. As long as they were in ear-shot taunts and challenges followed them, but they could afford to be calm and undisturbed; they had come off victorious. When last seen the launch had finally got clear and was chugging its way home.

The Four returned to camp in the best of humor and set about their neglected duties. Luckily they all had easy tasks that morning and so were able to report on time to the orderly. Bob felt in such conceit with himself that he selected that morning for his interview with Mr. Clinton regarding the proposed canoe trip and half an hour afterward sought out the others with cheerful countenance.

“It’s all right,” he announced. “Clint says we may go for three days. We’re to start next Monday morning and we must be back to camp by Wednesday night. We’re to keep away from hotels and behave ourselves. He wanted to send one of the councilors along with us at first. Then he thought better of it; said he guessed we could be trusted to look after ourselves for three days. Isn’t it great?”

“Bu-bu-bu-bully!” sputtered Tom.

“Swell!” said Nelson.

“Out of sight!” declared Dan. And they began to lay plans for the trip then and there. Bob produced a map of the country thereabouts and they proceeded to mark it up with pencil lines until, had they followed all the routes laid out, they would have been busy for the rest of the year. When it was time for “soak” the route was still undecided, but as the hour of departure was yet six days off that didn’t much matter.

The next day Dan and Nelson went fishing up at the head of the lake near Evergreen Island. They brought home seven bass and four chub. The bass went to the cook, and appeared on the supper table, but the chub Dan took up to the storehouse with the explanation that he was going to put them on ice until the next day.

“Oh, throw them away,” said Nelson. “Nobody wants to eat chub.”

“That’s all you know about it,” answered Dan. “Bob’s terribly fond of them. I’m going to give them to him, but don’t say anything about it because I want to surprise him.”

Nelson eyed him suspiciously.

“I’ll bet you’re up to one of your silly jokes,” he said. Nevertheless he kept his own counsel.

That night Bob and Joe Carter and his brother, who since Saturday’s baseball game was looked upon as a veritable hero, played euchre on Bob’s bunk from after camp-fire until it was time to go to bed. Dan looked on awhile but seemed very fidgety and quoted somebody whose name he didn’t remember to the effect that cards were only fit for fools and imbeciles. Finally he wandered back to his own bunk and began to prepare for slumber. Tom was already in bed with his lantern rigged up beside his pillow and was deep in his fascinating book.

“What are that silly hero and the girl doing now?” asked Dan.

“Escaping from the lighthouse,” answered Tom without raising his eyes from the volume.

“How? In a trolley car?” asked Dan sarcastically.

“Boat; and they’ve only got one oar and there’s a peach of a storm coming up, and they haven’t got anything to eat, and – ”

“Tommy, you ought to be ashamed to read such trash,” said Dan severely. Then he seized the book and sent it with excellent aim to the farther end of the hall, where it narrowly missed Bob’s nose and created consternation among the card-players. Tom leaped out of bed and raced after it, and during the next thirty seconds Dan, unnoticed of all, worked very hard. Having recovered his book Tom started to retrace his steps.

“Don’t you bring that pernicious literature around here,” warned Dan. “If you do I shall be forced to take it away from you. I must protect my morals at any cost.”

Tom told him what he thought of his morals and then annexed Nelson’s bunk and returned to his story. When he was ready for bed Dan went visiting farther down the dormitory. The result of this maneuvering was that when bedtime came and the lights at the ends of the hall were put out by the councilors Tom and Dan were still out of their bunks. The former closed his book with a sigh of regret and stumbled down the aisle. Dan heard him putting the book away. Then there was a moment of silence save for the whispers of the fellows, and then —

“Gu-gu-gosh!” shrieked Tom, leaping out of bed again. “Wh-wh-wh-what’s in my bed?”

Instantly the dormitory was in a turmoil, the fellows, scenting fun, tumbling out of their bunks to gather about Tom, who stood, wild-eyed and disgusted, in the middle of the aisle.

“What’s the matter?” they asked him expectantly.

“Somebody’s pu-pu-put something nu-nu-nasty in my bed,” he answered. “I bu-bu-bu-bet it was Du-du-du-Dan did it!”

“What’s that about me?” asked Dan innocently. By this time there were plenty of lanterns, and Tom gingerly threw back his blankets. In the bed repose four slimy, cold chub, their round eyes seemingly fixed reproachfully upon Tom.

“Fish!” shouted Nelson quite as though he hadn’t expected it.

“Chub!” cried Dan.

Tom, cautiously examining his bedfellows, caught the expression on Dan’s face.

“You du-du-did it!” he shrieked wrathfully, and seizing one of the fish by the tail he whirled it once around his head and let it fly at Dan. Now, as anybody who had ever attempted to throw a fresh fish by his tail must know, accuracy is impossible. That’s why the chub, instead of hitting Dan, smacked itself straight into Dr. Smith’s face. But Tom was not to be easily discouraged. Without stopping for apologies he seized upon the remaining fish and chased Dan down the aisle and out into the darkness under a veritable fusillade of chub. Tom’s aim was hasty and the chub were slippery, and so Dan escaped all save one of the missiles. That one took him squarely in the back and imprinted itself upon his nice clean light blue pajamas. Then Tom went back to make his peace with Dr. Smith.

That night was long remembered. Tom’s misadventure was the forerunner of others. Several beds were upset with their contents and “sneakers” were so thick in the air that Dan, cautiously returning from outer darkness into inner gloom, was struck twice between the door and his bunk.

It was almost midnight when the councilors at last secured quiet. And then, just when most fellows were getting drowsy, there was a strange, uncanny noise like that of a man talking through a hundred feet of gas-pipe, a whirring and buzzing, and finally a loud discordant laugh and a jumble of shrill words that sounded as though they were coming from the stove. Somebody in some manner had got hold of Wells’s phonograph and started it going. Up and down the hall fellows sat up in bed and laughed and shouted their applause. Bedlam was loose again!

“Give us ‘Bluebell’!” some one demanded.

“I want ‘Hiawatha’!” called another.

“Cornet solo, please!”

Then Dr. Smith’s voice was heard above the babel.

“Cut it out now, fellows! Wells, stop that noise!”

“I didn’t do it, sir.”

“I don’t care who did it; I want it stopped.”

“Why, Wells, you know you did it!” said some one up the hall.

“Sounded just like your voice, Wells!” called another.

“Cut it out, fellows,” said Dr. Smith sternly.

“Yes, sir.”

“All right, Doctor!”

“Good night, sir!”

“Thank you for stopping the noise, Doctor; I’m very sleepy!”

“Yes, sir; thank you, sir!”

Then followed giggles – silence – slumber.

Three of the Four were very busy for the balance of the week. Every afternoon there was hard practise on the diamond for the baseball team in preparation for the second game with Wickasaw on Saturday afternoon. If Wickasaw should win this game she would have the series; if not, a third game would be played. Dan had made up his mind to conquer, and the way he worked the team was a caution. On Thursday there was a spirited contest between the camp nine and the scrub in which Mr. Clinton distinguished himself by knocking three home runs out of five times at bat. But for all that the first team won handily, displaying far better form than at any time during the season.

Besides the practise there was a lot of planning to do in regard to the trip. By Friday all arrangements were complete, and at last they had agreed on a route. They were to go through to Hipp’s Pond, carry across to Northwest Bay, and so reach Lake Winnipesaukee. Tuesday they would cruise on the lake and on Wednesday they would return as far as The Weirs by train and from there paddle home again. They were to take two canoes, not so much because they were both necessary as because it looked more imposing. A 7 x 9 canoe tent, blankets, an aluminum cooking outfit, a waterproof duffle bag, a few provisions, hatchet, fishing-tackle, camera, and compass made up the bulk of their luggage. Tom was strongly desirous of taking a great many more things, among them a checker-board, a pack of cards, and his wonderful book – but the others refused.

“We may have to carry a good ways,” explained Bob. “If we do you’ll be glad we haven’t any more truck, Tommy.”

Mr. Clinton gave his counsel and help and regretted many times that he wasn’t going along. By Saturday morning all luggage was assembled under Dan’s bed and nothing remained but to await as patiently as possible the hour of embarkment. Naturally, they were much envied by the other boys and many were the applications received for membership in the expedition.

Wickasaw appeared on the field Saturday afternoon minus one of their councilors, who was too ill to play. As he was one of the best of the Wickasaw nine his absence was partly accountable for the result of the contest. But Chicora’s playing had a good deal to do with it. Wells pitched a good game and very few hits were made off his delivery. On the other hand Nelson and Bob and Loom, who played short-stop, were able to find the Wickasaw pitcher for a number of timely hits. At the end of the sixth inning Chicora had a comfortable lead of four runs. In the seventh an epidemic of errors in the Wickasaw infield enabled her rival to pile on three more, and the game ended with a score 9 to 3 in Chicora’s favor.

Dan spent most of the evening manufacturing a flag of victory, while the other three lent him valuable advice. He sacrificed one of his two pillow-slips and on it drew a broom – which he explained was emblematic of victory and a clean sweep – from the upper right-hand to the lower left-hand corner. Above it, in amazing letters and numerals, he inscribed “Chicora 9!”; below it in much smaller characters he traced the inscription: “Wick. 3.” As his exclamation point had much the appearance of a figure 1, the score at first glance was a bit startling. When they went for their dip in the morning they attached the flag to the line under the camp banner.

“They won’t be able to steal it if they want to,” said Dan. “Because, you see, it’ll come down at night and go up to camp.”

The only thing that marred his happiness that morning was the fact that there was no breeze and consequently the flag hung straight downward and failed to flaunt its message to the eyes of the inhabitants of Bear Island.

Sunday passed very slowly for the Four. In the forenoon they wrote their regular weekly letters home and had their “soak.” At noon they ate a great deal of dinner. In the afternoon they secured the motor-dory and with three others went for a trip around the lake. But for the most part their thoughts were set on the morrow. In the middle of the night Nelson awoke in a most unhappy frame of mind. He had dreamed that it was raining so hard that the dormitory was afloat and Dr. Smith was dealing out rowboats so that they could get to breakfast. But one glance through the open window at the foot of the bunk brought relief. The night was still and cool and through the silent leaves the white stars were twinkling merrily.