Sample Menu for an Over-night Camp and a Day Hike or Tramp

Breakfast Griddle-Cakes, Fried Bacon and Potatoes, Bread, Coffee, Preserves

Dinner Creamed Salmon on Toast, Baked Potatoes, Bread, Pickles, Fruit

Supper Fried Eggs, Creamed or Chipped Beef, Cheese, Bread, Cocoa

Ration List for Six Boys, Three Meals

2 pounds bacon (sliced thin) 1 pound butter 1 dozen eggs 1/2 pound cocoa 1/2 pound coffee 1 pound sugar 3 cans salmon 24 potatoes 2 cans condensed milk 1 small package of self-raising flour Salt and pepper

Utensils

Small griddle Small stew pan Small coffee-pot Large spoon Plate and cup Matches and candle.

Dish Washing

First fill the frying-pan with water, place over the fire, and let it boil. Pour out water and you will find the pan has practically cleaned itself. Clean the griddle with sand and water. Greasy knives and forks may be cleaned by jabbing {153} them into the ground. After all grease is gotten rid of, wash in hot water and dry with cloth. Don't use the cloth first and get it greasy.

Leadership

The most important thing about a camping party is that it should always have the best of leadership. No group of boys should go camping by themselves. The first thing a patrol of scouts should do when it has determined to camp is to insist upon the scout master accompanying the members of the patrol. The reason for this is that there is less likely to be accidents of the kind that will break up your camp and drive you home to the town or city. When the scout master is one of the party, all of the boys can go in swimming when the proper time comes for such exercise, and the scout master can stay upon the bank or sit in the boat for the purpose of preventing accidents by drowning. There are also a hundred and one things which will occur in camp when the need of a man's help will show itself. A scout ought to insist on his scout master going to camp. The scout master and patrol leader should be present, in order to settle the many questions which must of necessity arise, so that there may be no need of differences or quarrels over disputed points, which would be sure to spoil the outing.

Scout Camp Program

In a scout camp there will be a regular daily program, something similar to the following:

6:30 A.M. Turn out, bathe, etc. 7:00 A.M. Breakfast 8:00 A.M. Air bedding in sun, if possible, and clean camp ground 9:00 A.M. Scouting games and practice 11:00 A.M. Swimming 12:00 P.M. Dinner 1:00 P.M. Talk by leader 2:00 P.M. Water games, etc. 6:00 P.M. Supper 7:30 P.M. Evening council around camp fire.

Order of Business

1. Opening Council 2. Roll-call 3. Record of last council 4. Reports of scouts 5. Left over business 6. Complaints 7. Honors 8. New scouts 9. New business 10. Challenges 11. Social doings, songs, dances, stories 12. Closing Council (devotional services when desired) 8:45 lights out

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Water Supply

Dr. Charles E. A. Winslow, the noted biologist, is authority for the following statement: "The source of danger in water is always human or animal pollution. Occasionally we find water which is bad to drink on account of passage through the ground or on account of passage through lead pipes, but the danger is never from ordinary decomposing vegetable matter. If you have to choose between a bright clear stream which may be polluted at some point above and a pond full of dead leaves and peaty matter, but which you can inspect all around and find free from contamination, choose the pond. Even in the woods it is not easy to find surface waters that are surely protected and streams particularly are dangerous sources of water supply. We have not got rid of the idea that running water purifies itself. It is standing water which purifies itself, if anything does, for in stagnation there is much more chance for the disease germs to die out. Better than either a pond or stream, unless you can carry out a rather careful exploration of their surroundings, is ground water from a well or spring; though that again is not necessarily safe. If the well is in good, sandy soil, with no cracks or fissures, even water that has been polluted may be well purified and safe to drink. In a clayey or rocky region, on the other hand, contaminating material may travel for a considerable distance under the ground. Even if the well is protected below, a very important point to look after is the pollution from the surface. I believe more cases of typhoid fever from wells are due to surface pollution than to the character of the water itself. There is danger which can, of course, be done away with by protection of the well from surface drainage, by seeing that the surface wash is not allowed to drain toward it, and that it is protected by a tight covering from the entrance of its own waste water. If good water cannot be secured in any of these ways, it must in some way be purified. ... Boiling will surely destroy all disease germs."

The Indians had a way of purifying water from a pond or swamp by digging a hole about one foot across and down about six inches below the water level, a few feet from the pond. After it was filled with water, they bailed it out quickly, repeating the bailing process about three times. After the third bailing the hole would fill with filtered water. Try it.

Sanitation

A most important matter when in camp, and away from modern conveniences is that of sanitation. This includes not {155} only care as to personal cleanliness, but also as to the water supply and the proper disposal of all refuse through burial or burning. Carelessness in these matters has been the cause of serious illness to entire camps and brought about many deaths. In many instances the loss of life in the armies has been greater through disease in the camp than on the battlefields.

Typhoid fever is one of the greatest dangers in camping and is caused by unclean habits, polluted water, and contaminated milk, and food. The armies of the world have given this disease the most careful study with the result that flies have been found to be its greatest spreaders. Not only should all sources of water supply be carefully examined, an analysis obtained if possible before use, but great care should also be taken when in the vicinity of such a supply, not to pollute it in any way. In districts where typhoid is at all prevalent it is advisable for each scout to be immunized before going to camp.

A scout's honor will not permit him to disobey in the slightest particular the sanitary rules of his camp. He will do his part well. He will do everything in his power to make his camp clean, sanitary, and healthful from every standpoint.

General Hints

Two flannel shirts are better than two overcoats.

Don't wring out flannels or woolens.

Wash in cold water, very soapy, hang them up dripping wet, and they will not shrink.

If you keep your head from getting hot and your feet dry there will be little danger of sickness.

If your head gets too hot put green leaves inside of your hat.

If your throat is parched, and you cannot get water, put a pebble in your mouth. This will start the saliva and quench the thirst.

Water Hints

If you work your hands like paddles and kick your feet, you can stay above water for some time even with your clothes on. It requires a little courage and enough strength not to lose your head.



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Many boy swimmers make the mistake of going into the water too soon after eating. The stomach and digestive organs are busy preparing the food for the blood and body. Suddenly they are called upon to care for the work of the swimmer. The change is too quick for the organs, the process of digestion stops, congestion is apt to follow, and then paralyzing cramps.

Indian Bathing Precaution

The Indians have a method of protecting themselves from cramps. Coming to a bathing pool, an Indian swimmer, after stripping off, and before entering the water, vigorously rubs the pit of the stomach with the dry palm of his hands. This rubbing probably takes a minute, then he dashes cold water all over his stomach and continues the rubbing for another minute, and after that he is ready for his plunge. If the water in which you are going to swim is cold, try this method before plunging into the water.

Good Bathing Rule

The rule in most camps regarding entering the water is as follows: "No one of the party shall enter the water for swimming or bathing except at the time and place designated, and in the presence of a leader." Laxity in the observance of this rule will result disastrously.

Clouds

Every cloud is a weather sign: Low clouds, swiftly moving, indicate coolness and rain; hard-edged clouds, wind; rolled or jagged clouds, strong wind; "mackerel" sky, twelve hours day.

Look out for rain when A slack rope tightens. Smoke beats downward. Sun is red in the morning. There is a pale yellow or greenish sunset.

Rains

Rain with east wind is lengthy.

A sudden shower is soon over.

A slow rain lasts long.

Rain before seven, clear before eleven.

A circle round the moon means "storm."

"The evening red, the morning gray Sets the traveler on his way; The evening gray, the morning red Brings down showers upon his head."

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"When the grass is dry at night Look for rain before the light."

"When the grass is dry at morning light Look for rain before the night."

Clear

"When the dew is on the grass Rain will never come to pass."

A heavy morning fog generally indicates a clear day.

East wind brings rain.

West wind brings clear, bright, and cool weather.

North wind brings cold.

South wind brings heat.

Direction of the Wind

The way to find which way the wind is blowing is to throw up little bits of dry grass, or to hold up a handful of light dust and let it fall, or to suck your thumb, wet it all around and let the wind blow over it, and the cold side of it will then tell you which way the wind is blowing.

Weather Flags

The United States Weather Bureau publishes a "Classification of Clouds" in colors, which may be had for the asking. If you are near one of the weather signal stations, daily bulletins will be sent to camp upon request; also the weather map.

A set of flag signals run up each day will create interest. The flags are easily made or may be purchased.

Keep a daily record of temperature. A boy in charge of the "weather bureau" will find it to be full of interest as well as offering an opportunity to render the camp a real service. He will make a weather vane, post a daily bulletin, keep a record of temperature, measure velocity of wind, and rainfall.

How to Get Your Bearings

If you have lost your bearings, and it is a cloudy day, put the point of your knife blade on your thumb nail, and turn the blade around until the full shadow of the blade is on the nail. This will tell you where the sun is, and decide in which direction the camp is.

Face the sun in the morning, spread out your arms straight {158} from body. Before you is the east; behind you is the west; to your right is the south; the left hand is the north. Grass turns with the sun. Remember this when finding your way at night.

Building a Camp Fire

There are ways and ways of building a camp fire. An old Indian saying runs, "White man heap fool, make um big fire—can't git near! Injun make um little fire—git close! Ugh! good!"

Make it a service privilege for a tent of boys to gather wood and build the fire. This should be done during the afternoon. Two things are essential in the building of a fire—kindling and air. A fire must be built systematically. First, get dry, small, dead branches, twigs, fir branches, and other inflammable material. Place these on the ground. Be sure that air can draw under it and upward through it. Next place some heavier sticks and so on until you have built the camp fire the required size. An interesting account of "How to Build a Fire by Rubbing Sticks," by Ernest Thompson Seton, will be found in Chapter 11. In many camps it is considered an honor to light the fire.

Never build a large camp fire too near the tent or inflammable pine trees. Better build it in the open.

Be sure and use every precaution to prevent the spreading of fire. This may be done by building a circle of stones around the fire, or by digging up the earth, or by wetting a space around the fire. Always have the buckets of water near at hand. To prevent the re-kindling of the fire after it is apparently out, pour water over it and soak the earth for a space of two or three feet around it. This is very important, for many forest fires have started through failure to observe this caution.

Things to remember: First, it is criminal to leave a burning fire; second, always put out the fire with water or earth.

"A fire is never out," says Chief Forester H. S. Graves, "until the last spark is extinguished. Often a log or snag will smolder unnoticed after the flames have apparently been conquered only to break out afresh with a rising wind."

Be sure to get a copy of the laws of your state regarding forest fires, and if a permit is necessary to build a fire, secure it, before building the fire.

Kephart, in his book on "Camping and Woodcraft" (p. 28), says: "When there is nothing dry to strike it on, jerk the head {160} of the match forward through the teeth. Or, face the wind. Cup your hands back toward the wind, remove the right hand just long enough to strike the match on something very close by, then instantly resume former position. Flame of match will run up stick instead of blowing away from it."

———————————————————————————————— {159} FOREST FIRES!

The great annual destruction of forests by fire is an injury to all persons and industries. The welfare of every community is dependent upon a cheap and plentiful supply of timber, and a forest cover is the most effective means of preventing floods and maintaining a regular flow of streams used for irrigation and other useful purposes.

To prevent forest fires Congress passed the law approved May 5, 1900, which—

Forbids setting fire to the woods, and

Forbids leaving any fires unextinguished.

This law, for offenses against which officers of the FOREST SERVICE can arrest without warrant, provides as maximum punishment—

A fine of $5000, or imprisonment for two years, or both, if a fire is set maliciously, and

A fine of $1000, or imprisonment for one years, or both, if a fire is set carelessly,

It also provides that the money from such fines shall be paid to the school fund of the county in which the offense is committed.

THE EXERCISE OF CARE WITH SMALL FIRES IS THE BEST PREVENTIVE OF LARGE ONES. Therefore all persons are requested—

1. Not to drop matches or burning tobacco where there is inflammable material.

2. Not to build larger camp fires than are necessary.

3. Not to build fires in leaves, rotten wood, or other places where they are likely to spread.

4. In windy weather and in dangerous places, to dig holes or clear the ground to confine camp fires.

5. To extinguish all fires completely before leaving them, even for a short absence.

6. Not to build fires against large or hollow logs, where it is difficult to extinguish them.

7. Not to build fires to clear land without informing the nearest officer of the FOREST SERVICE, so that he may assist in controlling them.

This notice is posted for your benefit and the good of every resident of the region. You are requested to cooperate in preventing the removal or defacement, which acts are punishable by law.

JAMES WILSON, Secretary of Agriculture ————————————————————————————————

The above is a copy of one of a series of notices posted in forests by the U. S. Department of Agriculture, directing attention to U. S. laws on this important subject.

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The Camp Fire

"I cannot conceive of a camp that does not have a big fire. Our city houses do not have it, not even a fireplace. The fireplace is one of the greatest schools the imagination has ever had or can ever have. It is moral, and it always has a tremendous stimulus to the imagination, and that is why stories and fire go together. You cannot tell a good story unless you tell it before a fire. You cannot have a complete fire unless you have a good story-teller along!

"There is an impalpable, invisible, softly stepping delight in the camp fire which escapes analysis. Enumerate all its charms and still there is something missing in your catalogue.

"Anyone who has witnessed a real camp fire and participated in its fun as well as seriousness will never forget it. The huge fire shooting up its tongue of flame into the darkness of the night, the perfect shower of golden rain, the company of happy {161} boys, and the great dark background of piny woods, the weird light over all, the singing, the yells, the stories, the fun, and then the serious word at the close, is a happy experience long to be remembered."

Camp-fire Stunts

The camp fire is a golden opportunity for the telling of stories—good stories told well. Indian legends, war stories, ghost stories, detective stories, stories of heroism, the history of life, a talk about the stars. Don't draw out the telling of a story. Make the story life-like.

College songs always appeal to boys. Let some leader start up a song in a natural way, and soon you will have a chorus of unexpected melody and harmony. As the fire dies down, let the songs be of a more quiet type like "My Old Kentucky Home," and ballads of similar nature.

When the embers are glowing is the time for toasting marshmallows. Get a long stick sharpened to a point, fasten a marshmallow on the end, hold it over the embers, not in the blaze, until the marsh-mallow expands. Oh, the deliciousness of it! Ever tasted one? Before roasting corn on the cob, tie the end of the husk firmly with string or cord; soak in water for about an hour; then put into the hot embers. The water prevents the corn from burning and the firmly tied husks enable the corn to be steamed and the real corn flavor is thus retained. In about twenty minutes the corn may be taken from the fire and eaten. Have a bowl of melted butter and salt at hand. Also a pastry brush to spread the melted butter upon the corn. Try it.

Story Telling

For an example of a good story to be told around the camp fire this excellent tale by Prof. F. M. Burr is printed by permission:

How Men Found the Great Spirit

In the olden time, when the woods covered all the earth except the deserts and the river bottoms, and men lived on the fruits and berries they found and the wild animals which they could shoot or snare, when they dressed in skins and lived in caves, there was little time for thought. But as men grew stronger and more cunning and learned how to live together, they had more time to think and more mind to think with.

Men had learned many things. They had learned that cold weather followed hot; and spring, winter; and that the sun got up in the morning and went to bed at night. They said that the great water was kindly when the sun shone, but when the sun hid its face and the wind blew upon it, it grew black and angry and upset their canoes. They found that knocking flints together or rubbing dry sticks would light the dry moss and that the {162} flames which would bring back summer in the midst of winter and day in the midst of night were hungry and must be fed, and when they escaped devoured the woods and only the water could stop them.

These and many other things men learned, but no one knew why it all was or how it came to be. Man began to wonder, and that was the beginning of the path which led to the Great Spirit.

In the ages when men began to wonder there was born a boy whose name was Wo, which meant in the language of his time, "Whence." As he lay in his mother's arms she loved him and wondered: "His body is of my body, but from whence comes the life—the spirit which is like mine and yet not like it?" And his father seeing the wonder in the mother's eyes, said, "Whence came he from?" And there was no one to answer, and so they called him Wo to remind them that they knew not from whence he came.

As Wo grew up, he was stronger and swifter of foot than any of his tribe. He became a mighty hunter. He knew the ways of all the wild things and could read the signs of the seasons. As he grew older they made him a chief and listened while he spoke at the council board, but Wo was not satisfied. His name was a question and questioning filled his mind.

"Whence did he come? Whither was he going? Why did the sun rise and set? Why did life burst into leaf and flower with the coming of spring? Why did the child become a man and the man grow old and die?"

The mystery grew upon him as he pondered. In the morning he stood on a mountain top and stretching out his hands cried, "Whence?" At night he cried to the moon "Whither?" He listened to the soughing of the trees and the song of the brook and tried to learn their language. He peered eagerly into the eyes of little children and tried to read the mystery of life. He listened at the still lips of the dead, waiting for them to tell him whither they had gone.

He went out among his fellows silent and absorbed, always looking for the unseen and listening for the unspoken. He sat so long silent at the council board that the elders questioned him. To their questioning he replied like one awakening from a dream:

"Our fathers since the beginning have trailed the beasts of the woods. There is none so cunning as the fox, but we can trail him to his lair. Though we are weaker than the great bear and buffalo, yet by our wisdom we overcome them. The deer is more swift of foot, but by craft we overtake him. We cannot fly like a bird, but we snare the winged one with a hair. We have made ourselves many cunning inventions by which the beasts, the trees, the wind, the water and the fire become our servants.

"Then we speak great swelling words: 'How great and wise we are! There is none like us in the air, in the wood, or in the water!'

"But the words are false. Our pride is like that of a partridge drumming on his log in the wood before the fox leaps upon him. Our sight is like that of the mole burrowing under the ground. Our wisdom is like a drop of dew upon the grass. Our ignorance is like the great water which no eye can measure.

"Our life is like a bird coming out of the dark, fluttering for a heart-beat in the tepee and then going forth into the dark again. No one can tell whence it comes or whither it goes. I have asked the wise men and they cannot answer. I have listened to the voice of the trees and wind and water, but I do not know their tongue; I have questioned the sun and the moon and the stars, but they are silent.

"But to-day in the silence before the darkness gives place to light, I seemed to hear a still small voice within my breast, saying to me, 'Wo, the {163} questioner, rise up like the stag from his lair; away, alone, to the mountain of the sun. There thou shalt find that which thou seekest.' I go, but if I fail by the trail another will take it up. If I find the answer I will return."

Waiting for none, Wo left the council of his tribe and went his way toward the mountain of the sun. For six days he made his way through the trackless woods, guided by the sun by day and the stars by night. On the seventh day he came to the great mountain—the mountain of the sun, on whose top, according to the tradition of his tribe, the sun rested each night. All day long he climbed saying to himself, "I will sleep tonight in the teepee of the sun, and he will tell me whence I come and whither I go."

But as he climbed the sun seemed to climb higher and higher; and, as he neared the top, a cold cloud settled like a night bird on the mountain. Chilled and faint with hunger and fatigue, Wo struggled on. Just at sunset he reached the top of the mountain, but it was not the mountain of the sun, for many days' journey to the west the sun was sinking in the Great Water.

A bitter cry broke from Wo's parched lips. His long trail was useless. There was no answer to his questions. The sun journeyed farther and faster than men dreamed, and of wood and waste and water there was no end. Overcome with misery and weakness he fell upon a bed of moss with his back toward the sunset and the unknown.

And Wo slept, although it was unlike any sleep he had ever known before, and as he slept he dreamed. He was alone upon the mountain waiting for the answer. A cloud covered the mountain but all was silent. A mighty wind rent the cloud and rushed roaring through the crags, but there was no voice in the wind. Thunder pealed, lightning flashed, but he whom Wo sought was not there.

In the hush that followed up the storm Wo heard a voice, low and quiet, but in it all the sounds of earth and sky seemed to mingle—the song of the bird, the whispering of the trees, and the murmuring of the brook.

"Wo, I am he whom thou seekest, I am the Great Spirit. I am the All Father. Ever since I made man of the dust of the earth, and so child of the earth and brother to all living, and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life, thus making him my son, I have waited for a seeker who should find me. In the fullness of time thou hast come, Wo the questioner, to the answerer.

"Thy body is of the earth and to earth returns; thy spirit is mine; it is given thee for a space to make according to thy will; then it returns to me better or worse for thy making.

"Thou hast found me because thy heart was pure, and thy search for me tireless. Go back to thy tribe and be to them the voice of the Great Spirit. From henceforth I will speak to thee, and the seekers that come after thee in a thousand voices and appear in a thousand shapes. I will speak in the voices of the woods and streams and of those you love. I will appear to you in the sun by day and the stars by night. When thy people and mine are in need and wish for the will of the Great Spirit, then shall my spirit brood over thine and the words that thou shalt speak shall be my words."

And Wo awoke, facing the east and the rising sun. His body was warmed by its rays. A great gladness filled his soul. He had sought and found and prayer came to him like the song to the bird.

"O Great Spirit, father of my spirit, the sun is thy messenger, but thou art brighter than the sun. Drive thou the darkness before me. Be thou the light of my spirit." As Wo went down the mountain and took the journey back to the home of his people, his face shone, and the light never seemed to leave it, so that men called him "He of the shining face."

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When Wo came back to his tribe, all who saw his face knew that he had found the answer, and they gathered again about the council fire to hear. As Wo stood up and looked into the eager faces in the circle of the fire, he remembered that the Great Spirit had given him no message and for a moment he was dumb. Then the words of the Great Spirit came to him again. "When thy people and mine shall need to know my will, my spirit shall brood over thine and the words that thou shalt speak shall be my words." Looking into the eager faces of longing and questioning, his Spirit moved within him and he spoke:

"I went, I sought, I found the Great Spirit who dwells in the earth as your spirits dwell in your bodies. It is from Him the spirit comes. We are His children. He cares for us more than a mother for the child on her breast, or the father for the son that is his pride. His love is like the air we breathe: it is about us; it is within us.

"The sun is the sign of His brightness, the sky of His greatness and mother-love and father-love, and the love of man and woman are the signs of His love. We are but His children; we cannot enter into the council of the Great Chief until we have been proved, but this is His will, that we love one another as He loves us; that we bury forever the hatchet of hate, that no man shall take what is not his own and the strong shall help the weak."

The chiefs did not wholly understand the words of Wo, but they took a hatchet and buried it by the fire saying, "Thus bury we hate between man and his brother," and they took an acorn and put it in the earth saying, "Thus plant we the love of the strong for the weak." And it became the custom of the tribe that the great council in the spring should bury the hatchet and plant the acorn. Every morning the tribe gathered to greet the rising sun, and with right hand raised and left upon their hearts prayed: "Great Spirit hear us; guide us to-day; make our wills Thy will, our ways Thy way."

And the tribe grew stronger and greater and wiser than all the other tribes—but that is another story.

Tent Making Made Easy

By H. J. Holden

(Reprinted from Recreation. Apr. 1, 1911. by permission of the Editor.)

The accompanying sketches show a few of the many different tents which may be made from any available piece of cloth or canvas. The material need not be cut, nor its usefulness for other purposes impaired, except that rings or tapes are attached at various points as indicated. For each tent the sketches show a front elevation, with a ground plan, or a side view; also a view of the material laid flat, with dotted lines to indicate where creases or folds will occur. Models may be made from stiff paper and will prove as interesting to the kindergartner in geometry as to the old campaigner in camping. In most of the tents a ring for suspension is fastened at the centre of one side. This may be supported by a pole or hung by means {165} of a rope from any convenient fastening; both methods are shown in the sketches. Guy ropes are required for a few of the different models, but most of them are pegged down to the ground.

After making paper models, find a stack cover, a tarpaulin, a tent fly, an awning, or buy some wide cotton cloth, say 90-inch. All the shapes may be repeatedly made from the same piece of material, if the rings for changes are left attached. In Nos. 3, 4, 6, 7, 8, 9, 11, a portion of the canvas is not used and may be turned under to serve as sod-cloth, or rolled up out of the way. If your material is a large piece, more pegs and guy lines will be required than is indicated in the sketches. The suspension ring, 1-1/2 inches or 2 inches in diameter, should be well fastened, with sufficient reinforcement to prevent tearing out; 1-inch rings fastened with liberal lengths of tape are large enough for the pegs and guy lines. Also reinforce along the lines of the strain from peg to pole.

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Fig. 1.—A square of material hung by one corner, from any convenient support, in a manner to make a comfortable shelter; it will shed rain and reflect heat. This square makes a good fly or a good ground cloth for any of the tents.



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Fig. 2.—A rectangle equal to two squares. A shelter roomy and warm, with part of one side open toward the fire.



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Fig. 3.—Here the rectangle is folded to make a "lean-to" shelter, with the roof front suspended from a rope or from a horizontal pole by means of cords. The two corners not in use are folded under, making a partial ground cloth. A square open front is presented toward the camp fire.



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Fig. 4.—Same in plan as No.3, but has a triangular front and only one point of suspension.



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Fig 5.—Uses all the cloth, has a triangular ground plan, a square front opening, plenty of head room at the back and requires two or more guy lines. This shelter resembles a "toque."



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Fig. 6.—Square or "miner's" tent. Two corners are turned under. This tent is enclosed on all sides, with a door in front.



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Fig. 7.—Conical tent or "wigwam," entirely enclosed, with door in front. Two corners of the canvas are turned under.



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Fig. 8.—Has a wall on one side and is called a "canoe tent" in some catalogues. It requires two or more guy lines and is shown with a pole support. The front has a triangular opening.



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Fig. 9.—A combination of No. 8, with No. 1 in use as an awning or fly. This sketch shows both tent and fly suspended by means of a rope. The "awning" may be swung around to any angle.



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Fig. 10.—Combination of Nos. 1 and 2; they may be fastened together by a coarse seam or tied with tapes. The ground plan is an equal-sided triangle, with a door opening on one side, as shown. There is no waste cloth.



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Fig. 11.—No. 10 changed to a conical shape and suspended as a canopy. The circular shape is secured by the use of small-size gas pipe or limber poles bent into a large hoop. Of course guy lines may be used, but would probably be in the way. Notice that a little more material for making a wall would transform the canopy into a "Sibley" tent.



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There are other shapes and combinations, but perhaps these sketches are enough in the line of suggestion.

The diagram Fig. 12 shows a method for laying out, on your cloth, the location of all the rings to make the tents and shelters. No dimensions are given and none is required. The diagram is good for any size. Most of the fastenings are found on radial lines, which are spaced to divide a semi-circle into eight equal {169} angles, 22-1/2 degrees each; these intersect other construction lines and locate the necessary loops and rings. Figures are given at each ring which refer back to the sketch numbers.



Suppose the material at hand is the widest unbleached cotton cloth, 90 inches wide, 5 yards long, or 7-1/2 feet by 15 feet. The accompanying table will give the dimensions for the various shapes from Fig. 1 to Fig. 11.

If in doubt about the location of rings on your canvas, suspend the tent by the centre ring and fasten the loops temporarily by means of safety pins, draw the tent into shape and shift the fastenings as required. The guy lines should have hooks or snaps at one end for ready attachment and removal; the other end should be provided with the usual slides for "take up." The edge of the cloth where the large ring for suspension is fastened should be bound with tape or have a double hem, for it is the edge of the door in most of the tents shown.

TABLE OF DIMENSIONS, 90 IN. MATERIAL

Size Area, Height Remarks Sq. Ft. Ft. 1 7-1/2 ft. triangle 25 6-1/4 One side open 2 6-1/2 X 15 ft. 65 6-1/4 One side open 3 6 x 7-1/2 ft. 45 4-1/2 One side open 4 7-1/2 x 8 ft. 60 5-1/2 One side open 5 7-1/2 ft. triangle 25 7-1/2 One side open 6 6-1/4 x 6-1/4 ft. 39 7 Enclosed 7 7-1/2 ft. diam. 44 6-1/2 Enclosed 8 5 x 7-1/2 ft. 37-1/2 6-1/2 2-1/2 ft. wall 9 7-1/2 x 8 ft. 60 6-1/2 No.8, with fly 10 15 ft. triangle 97 6-1/4 Enclosed 11 11-1/4 ft. circle 108 5 Canopy, no sides

{170}

Waterproofing a Tent

Dissolve half a pound of alum in two quarts of boiling water; then add two gallons of pure cold water. In this solution place the material and let it remain for a day. Dissolve a quarter of a pound of sugar of lead in two quarts boiling water, then add two gallons of cold water. Take the material from the alum solution, wring it lightly, place in the second solution and leave for five or six hours; then wring out again lightly and allow it to dry.

[Transcriber's note: Sugar of Lead (Lead Acetate) is toxic.]

If you want to avoid trouble with a leaky tent, the following solution is a "sure cure;" Take a gallon or two gallons of turpentine and one or two cakes of paraffin, drug store size. Chip the paraffin fairly fine; dump it into the turpentine. Place the turpentine in a pail and set same in a larger pail or a tub of hot water. The hot water will heat the turpentine, and the turpentine will melt the paraffin. Stir thoroughly, and renew your supply of hot water if necessary. Then pile your tent into a tub and pour in the turpentine and paraffin mixture. Work the tent all over thoroughly with your hands, so that every fiber gets well saturated. You must work fast, however, as the paraffin begins to thicken as it cools; and work out of doors, in a breeze if possible, as the fumes of the turpentine will surely make you sick if you try it indoors. When you have the tent thoroughly saturated, hang it up to dry. It is not necessary to wring the tent out when you hang it up. Just let it drip. If you use too much paraffin the tent may look a little dirty after it dries, but it will be all right after you have used it once or twice.

An Open Outing Tent

By Warren H. Miller, Editor "Field and Stream."

To make an open outing tent, get thirteen yards of 8 oz. duck canvas, which can be bought at any department store or dry goods store for seventeen or eighteen cents a yard. This makes your total expense $2.21 for your tent. Layout the strip of canvas on the floor and cut one end square; measure up 8 inches along the edge and draw a line to the other corner. {171} From this corner layoff 7 ft. 8 in. along the edge and on the opposite side, layoff 5 ft. 9 in. beginning at the end of your 8-in. measurement. Now take a ruler and draw another diagonal across the canvas at the ends of these measurements and you have the first gore of your tent. Cut it across, turn the gore over, lay it down on the strip so as to measure off another one exactly like it. This is the corresponding gore for the other side of the tent. To make the second pair of gores, layoff 5 ft. 9 in. along one side of the remaining strip of canvas beginning at the pointed end, and 3 ft. 10 in. on the other side. Join these points with a diagonal and you have a second gore, a duplicate of which is then cut by using it as a pattern, reversing and laying it down on the strip of canvas. To make the third gore, layoff 3 ft. 10 in, on one edge of your strip beginning at the point, and 1 ft. 11 in. on the other side. Draw a diagonal across and you have the third gore.



You have now used up all but two yards of your canvas, plus a little left-over piece of about two feet long. Out of this little left-over piece make a triangle 1 ft. 11 in. on the side, which will form the back triangle of your tent. Now pin your three gores together to make the side of your tent, just as in the illustrations, and pin the two sides together along the ridge. Then sew this tent up. Sew in the little back triangle and hem all around the edges. Leave a hole at the peak of the little triangle through which the ridge pole must go.

{172}

To set it up, cut three small saplings, one of which should be twelve feet long and the other two, ten feet long. Tie these two together at the ends making what the sailors call a "shears." Take the twelve-foot pole and run it down the ridge inside the tent, and out through the hole in the back. Now raise the ridge pole with one end stuck in the ground and the front end resting on the two shear poles and tie all three of them together. At the end of each seam along the hem you must work in a little eyelet hole for a short piece of twine to tie to the tent pegs. Stretch out the back triangle, pegging it down at the two corners on the ground, and then peg out each hole along the foot until the entire tent stretches out taut as in our illustrations. Three feet from the peak along the front edge you must have another eyelet hole with a little piece of twine and you tie this out to the shear pole on each side which gives the tent the peculiar gambrel roof which it has, and which has the advantage of giving you lots more room inside than the straight tent would. You now have what is known as the "open" forester tent.



If a thunder storm comes up with a driving rain it will surely rain in at the front unless you turn the tent around by moving the poles one at a time. If you don't want to do this you can make a hood for the front out of the two yards of canvas you have left. Simply draw a diagonal from one corner to the other of this {173} two-yard piece of duck and cut it down the diagonal, making two thin triangles which are sewed to the front edges of the open forester tent, making a hood of the shape shown in our picture. This prevents the rain beating in the opening of your tent but still lets the heat of your fire strike in and at the same time it keeps the heat in the tent as it will not flow out along the ridge pole as it does in the open type.

This tent weighs six pounds and packs into a little package fourteen inches long by seven inches wide by six: inches thick, and can be carried as a shoulder strap or put in a back pack or any way you wish to take it. It will sleep three boys, or two men and a boy, very comfortably indeed. While it really does not need to be water-proofed, as it immediately shrinks tight after the first rain, you can water-proof it if you wish by making a solution of ten ounces of quick lime with four ounces of alum in ten quarts of water. Stir occasionally until the lime has slackened. Put the tent in another pail and pour the solution over it, letting it stand twelve hours. Take out and hang it on the clothes-line to dry. It will then be entirely waterproof.

To make a good night fire in front of the tent, drive two stout stakes three feet long in the ground about three feet from the mouth of the tent; pile four logs one on top of the other against these stakes or take a large flat stone and rest it against it. Make two log andirons for each side of the fire and build your fire in the space between them. It will give you a fine cheerful fire and all the heat will be reflected by the back logs into the tent, making it warm and cheerful. Inside you can put your browse bags stuffed with balsam browse; or pile up a mountain of dry leaves over which you can stretch your blankets. Pile all the duffle way back in the peak against the little back triangle where it will surely keep dry and will form a sort of back for your pillows. You will find the forester tent lighter and warmer than the ordinary lean-to, as it reflects the heat better. After a couple of weeks in it you will come home with your lungs so full of ozone that it will be impossible to sleep in an ordinary room without feeling smothered.

Canoeing, Rowing and Sailing (Prepared with the cooperation of Mr. Arthur A. Carey, Scout Master, Boy Scout ship Pioneer; Mr. Carleton E. Sholl, Captain Lakanoo Boat Club Crew; Mr. Frederick K. Vreeland, Camp-Fire Club of America. and Mr. R. F. Tims, Vice-Commodore, American Canoe Association.)

The birch-bark canoe is the boat of the North American Indians, and our modern canvas canoes are made, with some {174} variations, on the Indian model. With the possible exception of the Venetian gondola, the motion of a canoe is more graceful than that of any other boat propelled by hand; it should be continuous and gliding, and so silent that it may be brought up in the night to an animal or enemy, Indian fashion, without making any sound, and so take them by surprise.



175 Campcraft

Many accidents happen in canoes—not because they are unsafe when properly handled, but because they are unsafe when improperly handled—and many people do not take the trouble even to find out the proper way of managing a canoe. Many canoes have seats almost on a level with the gunwale, whereas, properly speaking, the only place to sit in a canoe is on the bottom; for a seat raises the body too high above the centre of gravity and makes the canoe unsteady and likely to upset. It is, however, difficult to paddle while sitting in the bottom of a canoe, and the best position for paddling is that of kneeling and at the same time resting back against one of the thwarts. The size of the single-blade paddle should be in proportion to the size of the boy who uses it—long enough to reach from the ground to the tip of his nose. The bow paddle may be a little shorter. The canoeman should learn to paddle equally well on either side of a canoe. When paddling on the {175} left side the top of the paddle should be held by the right hand, and the left hand should be placed a few inches above the beginning of the blade. The old Indian stroke, which is the most approved modern method for all-round canoeing, whether racing or cruising, is made with the arms almost straight—but not stiff—the arm at the top of the paddle bending only slightly at the elbow. This stroke is really a swing from the shoulder, in which there is little or no push or pull with the arm. When paddling on the left side of the canoe the right shoulder swings forward and the whole force of the body is used to push the blade of the paddle through the water, the left hand acting as a fulcrum. While the right shoulder is swung forward, the right hand is at the same time twisted at the wrist so that the thumb goes down; this motion of the wrist has the effect of turning the paddle around in the left hand—the left wrist being allowed to bend freely—so that, at the end of the stroke, the blade slides out of the water almost horizontally. If you should twist the paddle in the opposite direction it would force the head of the canoe around so that it would travel in a circle. At the recovery of the stroke the right shoulder swings back and the paddle is brought forward in a horizontal position, with the blade almost parallel to the water. It is swung forward until the paddle is at right angles across the canoe, then the blade is dipped edgewise with a slicing motion and a new stroke begins. In paddling on the right side of the canoe the position of the two hands and the motion of the two shoulders are reversed.



Something should also be said about double paddles—that is, paddles with two blades—one at each end—as their use is becoming more general every year. With the double paddle a novice can handle a canoe, head on to a stiff wind, a feat which {176} requires skill and experience with a single blade. The doubles give greater safety and more speed and they develop chest, arm and shoulder muscles not brought into play with a single blade. The double paddle is not to be recommended to the exclusion of the single blade, but there are many times when there is an advantage in its use.



In getting in or out of a canoe it is especially necessary to step in the very centre of the boat; and be careful never to lean on any object—such as the edge of a wharf—outside of the boat, for this disturbs your balance and may capsize the canoe. Especially in getting out, put down your paddle first, and then, grasping the gunwale firmly in each hand, rise by putting your weight equally on both sides of the canoe. If your canoe should drift away sideways from the landing-place, when you are trying to land, place the blade of your paddle flat upon the water in the direction of the wharf and gently draw the canoe up to the landing-place with a slight sculling motion.

When it is necessary to cross the waves in rough water, always try to cross them "quartering," i. e. at an oblique angle, but not at right angles. Crossing big waves at right angles {177} is difficult and apt to strain a canoe, and getting lengthwise between the waves is dangerous. Always have more weight aft than in the bow; but, when there is only one person in the canoe, it may be convenient to place a weight forward as a balance; but it should always be lighter than the weight aft. A skillful canoeman will paddle a light canoe even in a strong wind by kneeling at a point about one third of the length from the stern.

For the purpose of sailing in a canoe the Lateen rig is the safest, most easily handled, and the best all-round sailing outfit. For a seventeen-foot canoe a sail having forty square feet of surface is to be recommended, and, in all except very high winds, this can be handled by one man.



The Lateen sail is made in the form of an equilateral triangle, and two sides are fastened to spars which are connected at one end by a hinge or jaw. The mast—which should be set well forward—should be so long that, when the sail is spread and the slanting upper spar is swung from the top of the mast, the lower spar will swing level about six to eight inches above the gunwale and hang clear above all parts of the boat in going about. The sail is hoisted by a halyard attached at, or a little above, the centre of the upper spar, then drawn through a block attached to the brace which holds the mast in position, {178} and thus to the cleats—within easy reach of the sailor. The sheet line is fastened to the lower spar, about two feet from the outer end; and, when not held in the hand, may be fastened to another cleat. Both halyard and sheet should at all times be kept clear, so as to run easily, and with knots about the cleats that can be instantly slipped.

The leeboard is a necessary attachment to the sailing outfit. It is made with two blades—about three feet long and ten inches wide would furnish a good-sized surface in the water—one dropping on each side of the canoe and firmly supported by a bar fastened to the gunwale. The blades should be so rigged that, when striking an object in the water, they will quickly release, causing no strain on the canoe. The leeboard, like a centre board, is of course intended to keep the canoe from sliding off when trying to beat up into the wind. When running free before the wind the board should be raised. The general rules for sailing larger craft apply to the canoe.

The paddle is used as a rudder and may be held by the sailor, but a better plan is to have two paddles, one over each side, made fast to the gunwale or the brace. The sailor can then grasp either one as he goes about and there is no danger of losing the paddles overboard. In sailing, the sailor sits on the bottom, on the opposite side from the sail, except in a high wind, when he sits on the gunwale where he can the better balance the sail with his weight. The combination of sail, leeboards, and the balancing weight of the sailor, will render the canoe stiff and safe, with proper care, in any wind less than a gale. A crew may consist of two or three in a seventeen foot canoe.

The spars and mast of a sailing outfit should be of spruce or some other light but strong wood, while cedar or some non-splitting wood is best for the leeboards. Young canoeists will enjoy making their own sailing outfits; or a complete Lateen rig as made by various canoe manufacturers can be purchased either directly from them or through almost any dealer.

In case of an upset the greatest mistake is to leave the boat. A capsized canoe will support at least four persons as long as they have strength to cling to it. A single man or boy, in case of upsetting beyond swimming distance to land, should stretch himself flat upon the bottom of the canoe, with arms and legs spread down over the tumblehome toward the submerged gunwales. He can thus lie in safety for hours till help arrives. When two persons are upset, they should range themselves one {179} on each side of the overturned boat; and, with one hand grasping each other's wrists across the boat, use the other hand to cling to the keel or the gunwale. If the canoe should swamp, {180} fill with water, and begin to sink, it should be turned over in the water. It is the air remaining under the inverted hull that gives the craft sufficient buoyancy to support weight.

Never overload a canoe. In one of the ordinary size—about seventeen feet in length—three persons should be the maximum number at anytime, and remember never to change seats in a canoe when out of your depth.

{179}

Running free, or before the wind Wind abeam Port tack Wind abeam Starboard tack Pointing into the wind Port tack Pointing into the wind Starboard tack.

{180 continued}

Row-boats

There is a certain caution in the use of boats which you will always find among sailors and fishermen and all persons who are using them constantly. Such a person instinctively steps into the middle of the boat when getting in, and always sits in the middle of the thwart or seat. This is a matter of instinct with seafaring people, and so is the habit of never fooling in a boat. Only landlubbers will try to stand up in a small boat while in motion; and, as for the man who rocks a boat "for fun," he is like the man "who didn't know the gun was loaded."

Rowing

Row-boats are propelled either by rowing or by sculling; and rowing is either "pulling" or "backing water." The usual way of rowing is to "pull" and to do so, you sit with your back to the bow and propel the boat by pulling the handles toward your body and so pressing the blades of the oars against the water toward the stern, while pushing with your feet against a brace. In backing water you reverse the action of the oars, pushing the handles away from your body and pressing the blades of the oars against the water toward the bow.

Turning

To turn your boat to the right, when pulling, you row only with the left oar; or, if you wish to make a sharp turn "pull" with the left oar and "back water" with the right. To turn your boat to the left the action of the oars is reversed.

Feathering

To prevent the momentum of the boat from being checked by the wind blowing on the blades of the oars, the blades must be turned into a horizontal position as they leave the water. In "pulling" this is done by turning the hands backward at {181} the wrist, and in backing water it is done by turning the hands forward at the wrist.

Sculling

To scull is to propel a boat by a single oar at the stern. The boat must be provided with rowlock or a semicircular scoop in the stern, and the boat is propelled by working the oar at the stem, obliquely from side to side. This is a convenient way of doing when you are working among boats in the water, and have to go short distances without the necessity of speed.

Steering

When rowing a boat without the use of a rudder, instead of constantly turning the head around to see where you are going, it is convenient to fix upon some object in the landscape on an imaginary line with the middle of the stern and the middle of the bow; you can then keep your boat approximately in the right position, without the trouble of turning your head, by keeping the object selected on a line with the middle of the stern board.

Coming Alongside

When coming alongside of a boat or wharf always approach on the leeward side or that opposite from which the wind is blowing, and come up so that the boat will be headed into the wind and waves. Stop rowing at a convenient distance from the landing-place and come up with gentle headway; then take in the oar nearest the landing, and, if necessary, back water with the other oar.

Keeping Stroke

When two or more are rowing together the length and speed of the stroke are set by the man sitting nearest the stern.

Rough Weather

Always try to row as nearly as possible into the waves at right angles. In this way you are likely to ship less water and to avoid capsizing.

Going Ashore

When going ashore always leave your oars lying flat on the thwarts on either side of your boat.

The Salute

To salute a passing vessel or boat, hold the oars up at right angles with the water.

{182}

Every row-boat should be provided with a rough sponge and a tin dipper to be used in bailing out the water. Always bail out the water after a rain and keep your boat clean and tidy.

Sailing in Small Boats

The most convenient kind of a boat to learn to sail in is a cat-boat, which is a boat with a single fore and aft sail held in place by a boom at the bottom and a gaff at the top.

To understand the principle of sailing we must realize that a sail-boat, without the use of a rudder, acts in the water and wind very much the way a weather vane acts in the air. The bow of the boat naturally turns toward the wind, thus relieving the sail of all pressure and keeping it shaking. But if by keeping the main sheet in your hand you hold the sail in a fixed position, and, at the same time, draw the tiller away from the sail, it will gradually fill with air beginning at the hoist or mast end of the sail and impel the boat in the direction in which you are steering. Given a certain direction in which you want to travel, the problem is, by letting out or hauling in your main-sheet, to keep the sail as nearly as possible at right angles with the direction of the wind. We must remember, also, that, while the sail must be kept full, it should not be kept more than full; that is, its position must be such that, by the least push of the tiller toward the sail, the sail will begin to shake at the hoist. It is even desirable in a strong wind, and especially for beginners, to always let the sail, close to the mast, shake a little without losing too much pressure. When you are sailing with the wind coming over the boat from its port side you are sailing on the port tack, and when you are sailing with the wind coming across the boat on its starboard side you are sailing on the starboard tack. The port side of the boat is the left hand side as you face the bow while standing on board, and the starboard side is the right hand side. An easy way of remembering this is by recalling the sentence, "Jack left port."

Direction of Wind

Of course, you will see that, if you should forget which way the wind is blowing, you could not possibly know the right position for your sail; and this is one of the first requirements for a beginner. It is quite easy to become confused with regard to the direction of the wind, and therefore every boat should be provided with a small flag or fly at its mast-head and you should keep watching it at every turn of the boat until the habit {183} has become instinctive. It is convenient to remember that the fly should always point as nearly as possible to the end of the gaff, except when you are sailing free or before the wind.

Close to Wind

Sailing with the boat pointing as nearly as possible against the wind is called sailing close to the wind; when you have turned your bow to the right or left so that the wind strikes both boat and sail at right angles you are sailing with the wind abeam; as you let out your sheet so that the boom makes a larger angle with an imaginary line running from the mast to the middle of the stern you are sailing off the wind; and, when your sail stands at right angles to this same line, you are sailing free or before the wind.

Before the Wind

Sailing free, or before the wind, is the extreme opposite of sailing close hauled or on the wind, and the wind is blowing behind your back instead of approaching the sail from the direction of the mast. If you are sailing free on the port tack, with the boom at right angles to the mast on the starboard side, and you should steer your boat sufficiently to starboard, the wind would strike the sail at its outer edge or leech and throw the sail and boom violently over to the port side of the mast. This is called jibing and is a very dangerous thing; it should be carefully guarded against whenever sailing before the wind.

Reefing

If you find that the wind is too strong for your boat, and that you are carrying too much sail, you can let her come up into the wind and take in one or two reefs. This is done by letting out both the throat and peak halliards enough to give sufficient slack of sail, then by hauling the sail out toward the end of the boom, and afterward by rolling the sail up and tying the points under and around it, but not around the boom. Always use a square or reef knot in tying your reef points. In case of a squall or a strong puff of wind, remember that you can always ease the pressure on your sail by turning the bow into the wind, and if for any reason you wish to shorten suddenly you can drop your peak by loosening the peak halliards.

Ready About

Before "going about," or turning your bow so that the wind will strike the other side of the sail at its mast end, the man {184} at the helm should always give warning by singing out the words, "ready about." "Going about" is just the opposite of jibbing.

Right of Way

When two boats approach each other in opposite directions, close hauled, the boat on the starboard tack has the right of way and should continue her course. The responsibility of avoiding a collision rests with the boat sailing on the port tack. But a boat running before the wind must always give way to a boat close hauled.

When sailing through high waves, always try as far as possible to head into them directly at right angles. Always steer as steadily as possible. If you are careful to keep the boat on her course and do not let your mind wander, only a slight motion of the tiller from side to side will be necessary.

Flying the Flag

While the "fly" or "pennant" is carried at the top of the mast, the flag is carried at the peak or upper corner of the sail at the end of the gaff. The salute consists of tipping or slightly lowering the flag and raising it again into position.

{185}

Notes

{186}

Notes

{187}

CHAPTER IV

TRACKS, TRAILING AND SIGNALING

By Ernest Thompson Seton, Chief Scout

"I wish I could go West and join the Indians so that I should have no lessons to learn," said an unhappy small boy who could discover no atom of sense or purpose in any one of the three R's.

"You never made a greater mistake," said the scribe. "For the young Indians have many hard lessons from their earliest day—hard lessons and hard punishments. With them the dread penalty of failure is 'go hungry till you win,' and no harder task have they than their reading lesson. Not twenty-six characters are to be learned in this exercise, but one thousand; not clear straight print are they, but dim, washed-out, crooked traces; not in-doors on comfortable chairs, with a patient teacher always near, but out in the forest, often alone and in every kind of weather, they slowly decipher their letters and read sentences of the oldest writing on earth—a style so old that the hieroglyphs of Egypt, the cylinders of Nippur, and the drawings of the cave men are as things of to-day in comparison—the one universal script—the tracks in the dust, mud, or snow.

"These are the inscriptions that every hunter must learn to read infallibly, and be they strong or faint, straight or crooked, simple or overwritten with many a puzzling, diverse phrase, he must decipher and follow them swiftly, unerringly if there is to be a successful ending to the hunt which provides his daily food.

"This is the reading lesson of the young Indians, and it is a style that will never become out of date. The naturalist also must acquire some measure of proficiency in the ancient art. Its usefulness is unending to the student of wild life; without it he would know little of the people of the wood."

There Are Still Many Wild Animals

It is a remarkable fact that there are always more wild animals about than any but the expert has an idea of. For {188} example, there are, within twenty miles of New York City, fully fifty different kinds—not counting birds, reptiles, or fishes—one quarter of which at least are abundant. Or more particularly within the limits of Greater New York there are at least a dozen species of wild beasts, half of which are quite common.

"Then how is it that we never see any?" is the first question of the incredulous. The answer is: Long ago the beasts learned the dire lesson—man is our worst enemy; shun him at any price. And the simplest way to do this is to come out only at night. Man is a daytime creature; he is blind in the soft half-light that most beasts prefer.

While many animals have always limited their activity to the hours of twilight and gloom, there are not a few that moved about in daytime, but have given up that portion of their working day in order to avoid the arch enemy.

Thus they can flourish under our noses and eat at our tables, without our knowledge or consent. They come and go at will, and the world knows nothing of them; their presence might long go unsuspected but for one thing, well known to the hunter, the trapper, and the naturalist: wherever the wild four-foot goes, it leaves behind a record of its visit, its name, the direction whence it came, the time, the thing it did or tried to do, with the time and direction of departure. These it puts down in the ancient script. Each of these dotted lines, called the trail, is a wonderful, unfinished record of the creature's life during the time it made the same, and it needs only the patient work of the naturalist to decipher that record and from it learn much about the animal that made it, without that animal ever having been seen.

Savages are more skilful at it than civilized folk, because tracking is their serious life-long pursuit and they do not injure their eyes with books. Intelligence is important here as elsewhere, yet it is a remarkable fact that the lowest race of mankind, the Australian blacks, are reputed to be by far the best trackers; not only are their eyes and attention developed and disciplined, but they have retained much of the scent power that civilized man has lost, and can follow a fresh track, partly at least by smell.

It is hard to over-value the powers of the clever tracker. To him the trail of each animal is not a mere series of similar footprints; it is an accurate account of the creature's life, habit, changing whims, and emotions during the portion of life whose record is in view. These are indeed autobiographical chapters, {190} and differ from other autobiographies in this—they cannot tell a lie. We may get wrong information from them, but it is our fault if we do; we misread the document that cannot falsify.

{189}



{190 continued}

When to Learn Tracking

The ideal time for tracking, and almost the only time for most folk, is when the ground is white. After the first snow the student walks forth and begins at once to realize the wonders of the trail. A score of creatures of whose existence, maybe, he did not know, are now revealed about him, and the reading of their autographs becomes easy.

It is when the snow is on the ground, indeed, that we take our four-foot census of the woods. How often we learn with surprise from the telltale white that a fox was around our hen house last night, a mink is living even now under the wood pile, and a deer—yes! there is no mistaking its sharp-pointed un-sheep-like footprint—has wandered into our woods from the farther wilds.

Never lose the chance of the first snow if you wish to become a trailer. Nevertheless, remember that the first morning after a night's snow fall is not so good as the second. Most creatures "lie up" during the storm; the snow hides the tracks of those that do go forth; and some actually go into a "cold sleep" for a day or two after a heavy downfall. But a calm, mild night following a storm is sure to offer abundant and ideal opportunity for beginning the study of the trail.

How to Learn

Here are some of the important facts to keep in view, when you set forth to master the rudiments:

First.—No two animals leave the same trail; not only each kind but each individual, and each individual at each stage of its life, leaves a trail as distinctive as the creature's appearance, and it is obvious that in that they differ among themselves just as we do, because the young know their mothers, the mothers know their young, and the old ones know their mates, when scent is clearly out of the question.

Another simple evidence of this is the well known fact that no two human beings have the same thumb mark; all living creatures have corresponding peculiarities, and all use these parts in making the trail.

Second.—The trail was begun at the birthplace of that creature and ends only at its death place; it may be recorded in visible track or perceptible odor. It may last but a few {191} hours, and may be too faint even for an expert with present equipment to follow, but evidently the trail is made, wherever the creature journeys afoot.

Third.—It varies with every important change of impulse, action, or emotion.

Fourth—When we find a trail we may rest assured that, if living, the creature that made it is at the other end. And if one can follow, it is only a question of time before coming up with that animal. And be sure of its direction before setting out; many a novice has lost much time by going backward on the trail.

Fifth.—In studying trails one must always keep probabilities in mind. Sometimes one kind of track looks much like another; then the question is, "Which is the likeliest in this place."

If I saw a jaguar track in India, I should know it was made by a leopard. If I found a leopard in Colorado, I should be sure I had found the mark of a cougar or mountain lion. A wolf track on Broadway would doubtless be the doing of a very large dog, and a St. Bernard's footmark in the Rockies, twenty miles from anywhere, would most likely turn out to be the happen-so imprint of a gray wolf's foot. To be sure of the marks, then, one should know all the animals that belong to the neighborhood.

These facts are well known to every hunter. Most savages are hunters, and one of the early lessons of the Indian boy is to know the tracks of the different beasts about him. These are the letters of the old, old writing.

A First Try

Let us go forth into the woods in one of the North-eastern states when there is a good tracking snow, and learn a few of these letters of the wood alphabet.

Two at least are sure to be seen—the track of the blarina and of the deer mouse. They are shown on the same scale in Figs. 1 and 2, page 198.

In Fig. 3 is the track of the meadow mouse. This is not unlike that of the blarina, because it walks, being a ground animal, while the deer mouse more often bounds. The delicate lace traceries of the masked shrew, shown in Fig. 4, are almost invisible unless the sun be low; they are difficult to draw, and impossible to photograph or cast satisfactorily but the sketch gives enough to recognize them by.

The meadow mouse belongs to the rank grass in the lowland {192} near the brook, and passing it toward the open, running, water we may see the curious track of the muskrat; its five-toed hind foot, its four-toed front foot, and its long keeled tail, are plainly on record. When he goes slowly the tail mark is nearly straight; when he goes fast it is wavy in proportion to his pace. Page 193.

The muskrat is a valiant beast; he never dies without fighting to the last, but he is in dread of another brookland creature whose trail is here—the mink. Individual tracks of this animal are shown in No. 1, page 161. Here he was bounding; the forefeet are together, the hindfeet track ahead, and tail mark shows, and but four toes in each track, though the creature has five on each foot. He is a dreaded enemy of poor Molly Cottontail, and more than once I have seen the records of his relentless pursuit. One of these fits in admirably as an illustration of our present study.

A Story of the Trail

It was in the winter of 1900, I was standing with my brother, a business man, on Goat Island, Niagara, when he remarked, "How is it? You and I have been in the same parts of America for twenty years, yet I never see any of the curious sides of animal life that you are continually coming across."

"Largely because you do not study tracks," was the reply. "Look at your feet now. There is a whole history to be read."

"I see some marks," he replied, "that might have been made by some animal." "That is the track of a cottontail," was the answer. "Now, let us read the chapter of his life. See, he went in a general straight course as though making some well-known haunt, his easy pace, with eight or ten inches between each set of tracks, shows unalarm. But see here, joining on, is something else."

"So there is. Another cottontail."

"Not at all, this new track is smaller, the forefeet are more or less paired, showing that the creature can climb a tree; there is a suggestion of toe pads and there is a mark telling evidently of a long tail; these things combined with the size and the place identify it clearly. This is the trail of a mink. See! he has also found the rabbit track, and finding it fresh, he followed it. His bounds are lengthened now, but the rabbit's are not, showing that the latter was unconscious of the pursuit."

After one hundred yards the double trail led us to a great pile of wood, and into this both went. Having followed his {193} game into dense cover, the trailer's first business was to make sure that it did not go out the other side. We went carefully around the pile; there were no tracks leading out.

"Now," I said, "if you will take the trouble to move that wood pile you will find in it the remains of the rabbit half devoured and the mink himself. At this moment he is no doubt curled up asleep."

As the pile was large and the conclusion more or less self-evident, my brother was content to accept my reading of the episode.



Dog tracks, front and back (1/2 life-size)

Cat tracks, front and bad (1/2 life-size)

Uppermost, well-developed human foot

Middle, a foot always cramped by boots

Bottom, a bare foot, never in boots

Muskrat tracks, (1/3 life-size)

What About Winter Sleepers

Although so much is to be read in the wintry white, we cannot now make a full account of all the woodland four-foots, for there are some kinds that do not come out on the snow; they sleep more or less all winter.

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Thus, one rarely sees the track of a chipmunk or woodchuck in truly wintry weather; and never, so far as I know, have the trails of jumping mouse or mud turtle been seen in the snow. These we can track only in the mud or dust. Such trails cannot be followed as far as those in the snow, simply because the mud and dust do not cover the whole country, but they are usually as clear and in some respects more easy of record.

How to Make Pictures of Tracks

It is a most fascinating amusement to learn some creature's way of life by following its fresh track for hours in good snow. I never miss such a chance. If I cannot find a fresh track, I take a stale one, knowing that, theoretically, it is fresher at every step, and from practical experience that it always brings one to some track that is fresh.

How often I have wished for a perfect means of transferring these wild life tales to paper or otherwise making a permanent collection. My earliest attempts were in free-hand drawing, which answers, but has this great disadvantage—it is a translation, a record discolored by an intervening personality, and the value of the result is likely to be limited by one's own knowledge at the time.

Casting in plaster was another means attempted; but not one track in ten thousand is fit to cast. Nearly all are blemished and imperfect in some way, and the most abundant—those in snow—cannot be cast at all.

Then I tried spreading plastic wax where the beasts would walk on it, in pathways or before dens. How they did scoff! The simplest ground squirrel knew too much to venture on my waxen snare; around 'it, or if hemmed in, over it, with a mighty bound they went; but never a track did I so secure.

Photography naturally suggested itself, but the difficulties proved as great as unexpected, almost as great as in casting. Not one track in one thousand is fit to photograph; the essential details are almost always left out. You must have open sunlight, and even when the weather is perfect there are practically but two times each day when it is possible—in mid-morning and mid-afternoon, when the sun is high enough for clear photographs and low enough to cast a shadow in the faint track.

The Coon that Showed Me How

Then a new method was suggested in an unexpected way. A friend of mine had a pet coon which he kept in a cage in his bachelor quarters up town. One day, during my friend's {195} absence the coon got loose and set about a series of long-deferred exploring expeditions, beginning with the bachelor's bedroom. The first promising object was a writing desk. Mounting by a chair the coon examined several uninteresting books and papers, and then noticed higher up a large stone bottle. He had several times found pleasurable stuff in bottles, so he went for it. The cork was lightly in and easily disposed of, but the smell was far from inviting, for it was merely a quart of ink. Determined to leave no stone unturned, however, the coon upset the ink to taste and try. Alas! it tasted even worse than it smelt; it was an utter failure as a beverage.

And the coon, pushing it contemptuously away, turned to a pile of fine hand-made, deckle-edge, heraldry note-paper—the pride of my friend's heart—and when he raised his inky little paws there were left on the paper some beautiful black prints. This was a new idea: the coon tried it again and again. But the ink held out longer than the paper, so that the fur-clad painter worked over sundry books, and the adjoining walls, while the ink, dribbling over everything, formed a great pool below the desk. Something attracted the artist's attention, causing him to jump down. He landed in the pool of ink, making it splash in all directions; some of the black splotches reached the white counterpane of the bachelor's bed. Another happy idea: the coon now leaped on the bed, racing around as long as the ink on his feet gave results. As he paused to rest, or perhaps to see if any places had been neglected, the door opened, and in came the landlady. The scene which followed was too painful for description; no one present enjoyed it. My friend was sent for to come and take his coon out of there forever. He came and took him away, I suppose "forever." He had only one other place for him—his office and there it was I made the animal's acquaintance and heard of his exploit—an ink and paper, if not a literary affair.

This gave me the hint at the Zoo I needed, a plan to make an authentic record of animal tracks. Armed with printer's ink and paper rolls I set about gathering a dictionary collection of imprints.

After many failures and much experiment, better methods were devised. A number of improvements were made by my wife; one was the substitution of black paint for printer's ink, as the latter dries too quickly; another was the padding of the paper, which should be light and soft for very light animals, and stronger and harder for the heavy. Printing from a mouse, for example, is much like printing a delicate {196} etching; ink, paper, dampness, etc., must be exactly right, and furthermore, you have this handicap—you cannot regulate the pressure. This is, of course, strictly a Zoo method. All attempts to secure black prints from wild animals have been total failures. The paper, the smell of paint, etc., are enough to keep the wild things away.

In the Zoo we spread the black pad and the white paper in a narrow, temporary lane, and one by one drove, or tried to drive, the captives over them, securing a series of tracks that are life-size, properly spaced, absolutely authentic, and capable of yielding more facts as the observer learns more about the subject.

As related here, all this sounds quite easy. But no one has any idea how cross, crooked, and contrary a creature can be, until he wishes it to repeat for him some ordinary things that it has hitherto done hourly. Some of them balked at the paint, some at the paper, some made a leap to clear all, and thereby wrecked the entire apparatus. Some would begin very well, but rush back when half-way over, so as to destroy the print already made, and in most cases the calmest, steadiest, tamest of beasts became utterly wild, erratic, and unmanageable when approached with tracklogical intent.

Trying It on the Cat

Even domestic animals are difficult. A tame cat that was highly trained to do anything a cat could do, was selected as promising for a black track study, and her owner's two boys volunteered to get all the cat tracks I needed. They put down a long roll of paper in a hall, painted pussy's feet black, and proceeded to chase her up and down. Her docility banished under the strain. She raced madly about, leaving long, useless splashes of black; then, leaping to a fanlight, she escaped up stairs to take refuge among the snowy draperies. After which the boys' troubles began.

Drawing is Mostly Used

These, however, are mere by-accidents and illustrate the many practical difficulties. After these had been conquered with patience and ingenuity, there could be no doubt of the value of the prints. They are the best of records for size, spacing, and detail, but fail in giving incidents of wild life, or the landscape surroundings. The drawings, as already seen, are best for a long series and for faint features; in fact, the {197} drawings alone can give everything you can perceive; but they fail in authentic size and detail.

Photography has this great advantage—it gives the surroundings, the essential landscape and setting, and, therefore, the local reason for any changes of action on the part of the animal; also the aesthetic beauties of its records are unique, and will help to keep the method in a high place.

Thus each of the three means may be successful in a different way, and the best, most nearly perfect alphabet of the woods, would include all three, and consist of a drawing, a pedoscript and a photograph of each track, and a trail; i.e., a single footprint, and the long series of each animal.

My practice has been to use all whenever I could, but still I find free-hand drawing is the one of the most practical application. When I get a photograph I treasure it as an adjunct to the sketch.

A Story of the Trail

To illustrate the relative value as records, of sketch and photograph, I give a track that I drew from nature, but which could not at any place have been photographed. This was made in February 15, 1885, near Toronto. It is really a condensation of the facts, as the trail is shortened where uninteresting. Page 189, No. 2.

At A, I found a round place about 5 x 8 inches, where a cottontail had crouched during the light snowfall. At B he had leaped out and sat looking around; the small prints in front were made by his forefeet, the two long ones by his hind feet, and farther back is a little dimple made by the tail, showing that he was sitting on it. Something alarmed him, causing him to dart out at full speed toward C and D, and now a remarkable change is to be seen: the marks made by the front feet are behind the large marks made by the hind feet, because the rabbit overreaches each time; the hind feet track ahead of the front feet; the faster he goes, the farther ahead those hind feet get; and what would happen if he multiplied his speed by ten I really cannot imagine. This overreach of the hind feet takes place in most bounding animals.

Now the cottontail began a series of the most extraordinary leaps and dodgings (D,E,F.) as though trying to escape from some enemy. But what enemy? There were no other tracks. I began to think the rabbit was crazy—was flying from an imaginary foe—that possibly I was on the trail of a March hare. But at G I found for the first time some spots of blood. {198} This told me that the rabbit was in real danger but gave no due to its source. I wondered if a weasel were clinging to its neck. A few yards farther, at H, I found more blood. Twenty yards more, at I, for the first time on each side of the rabbit trail, were the obvious marks of a pair of broad, strong wings. Oho! now I knew the mystery of the cottontail running from a foe that left no track. He was pursued by an eagle, a hawk, or an owl. A few yards farther and I found the remains (J) of the cottontail partly devoured. This put the eagle out of the question; an eagle would have carried the rabbit off boldly. A hawk or an owl then was the assassin. I looked for something to decide which, and close by the remains found the peculiar two-paired track of an owl. A hawk's track would have been as K, while the owl nearly always sets its feet in the ground {199} with two toes forward and two toes back. But which owl? There were at least three in the valley that might be blamed. I looked for more proof and got it on the near-by sapling—one small feather, downy, as are all owl feathers, and bearing three broad bars, telling me plainly that a barred owl had been there lately, and that, therefore, he was almost certainly the slayer of the cottontail. As I busied myself making notes, what should come flying up the valley but the owl himself—back to the very place of the crime, intent on completing his meal no doubt. He alighted on a branch ten feet above my head and just over the rabbit remains, and sat there muttering in his throat.

The proof in this case was purely circumstantial, but I think that we can come to only one conclusion; that the evidence of the track in the snow was complete and convincing.

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{199 continued}

Meadow Mouse

The meadow mouse autograph (page 189) illustrates the black-track method. At first these dots look inconsequent and fortuitous, but a careful examination shows that the creature had four toes with claws on the forefeet, and five on the hind, which is evidence, though not conclusive, that it was a rodent; the absence of tail marks shows that the tail was short or wanting; the tubercules on each palm show to what group of mice the creature belongs. The alternation of the track shows that it was a ground-animal, not a tree-climber; the spacing shows the shortness of the legs; their size determines the size of the creature. Thus we come near to reconstructing the animal from its tracks, and see how by the help of these studies, we can get much light on the by-gone animals whose only monuments are tracks in the sedimentary rocks about us—rocks that, when they received these imprints, were the muddy margin of these long-gone creatures' haunts.

What the Trail Gives—The Secrets of the Woods

There is yet another feature of trail study that gives it exceptional value—it is an account of the creature pursuing its ordinary life. If you succeeded in getting a glimpse of a fox or a hare in the woods, the chances are a hundred to one that it was aware of your presence first. They are much cleverer than we are at this sort of thing, and if they do not actually sight or sense you, they observe, and are warned by the action of some other creature that did sense us, and so cease their occupations to steal away or hide. But the snow story will {201} tell of the life that the animal ordinarily leads—its method of searching for food, its kind of food, the help it gets from its friends, or sometimes from its rivals—and thus offers an insight into its home ways that is scarcely to be attained in any other way. The trailer has the key to a new storehouse of Nature's secrets, another of the Sybilline books is opened to his view; his fairy godmother has, indeed, conferred on him a wonderful {202} gift in opening his eyes to the foot-writing of the trail. It is like giving sight to the blind man, like the rolling away of fogs from a mountain view, and the trailer comes closer than others to the heart of the woods.

Dowered with a precious power is he, He drinks where others sipped, And wild things write their lives for him In endless manuscript.