Chapter 42

AN ARCTIC EXPEDITION.

As soon as our scooter canoe was completed we prepared for the long-planned winter expedition to Willow Clump Island. The weather conditions were ideal. We had had ten days of steady cold weather, which had followed a heavy fall of snow, so that we could tramp up the island on snow shoes, or we could use our scooter canoe and scooter scow on the river. It was out of the question to use our skate sails or the ice boat on the river, and the canal would be serviceable only in case the wind should blow from a southerly quarter. But we stowed them on the sledge for use on Lake Placid.

On the Tuesday morning following Christmas we made the start. Bill in the scooter canoe and Dutchy in the scooter scow sailed up the river, and the rest of us, on snow shoes, took the tow path of the canal, hauling the sledge along. We carried provisions for a week and a good supply of blankets. The island was reached without mishap, except that Dutchy had to be helped several times in dragging the heavy scow around the rapids. Bill reached the island long before we did, and after unloading the canoe came racing back under a stiff breeze for a second load. Then he took his turn at hauling the sledge, while Reddy sailed the reloaded scooter canoe up to the island.

WILLOW CLUMP ISLAND IN WINTER.

We brought no tent with us, as we expected to take up our quarters in the straw hut. When we reached the hut we hardly recognized it. It was almost completely covered with snow and looked like an Eskimo house. The snow had drifted well up over the north side, completely closing the entrance. We had to set to work at once with a shovel and open up a passageway, and then we had to shovel out a large pile of snow that had drifted into the hut from the open doorway.

KINDLING A CAMP FIRE.

In the meantime Jack scoured the island for some dry wood. In this he was not very successful, because everything was covered with snow, and when he tried to kindle a fire in the open space in front of our hut he found the task an exceedingly difficult one. Unfortunately we forgot to bring the oil stove with us, and the prospect of something warm to eat was exceedingly remote. We hadn't yet learned the trick of building a camp fire in wet weather. After exhausting our stock of paper Fred and I started over to Lumberville for several newspapers and a can of kerosene. We went to old Jim Halliday's, who had befriended us on one or two occasions the previous summer, and made known to him our troubles.

"What! A can of oil to build yer fire with? Well, ye won't git it from me. I know a man as got blowed up apourin' oil on a fire. Why, shucks, boys, you don't need no oil ner paper nuther on that there island. Its chuck-full of silver birch trees, and there ain't no better kindlin' than birch bark."

Birch bark! Why, yes, why hadn't we thought of that? We had used it for torches the summer before and knew how nicely it burned. So back we skated to camp, and then, peeling off a large quantity of bark from the birch trees around us, we soon had a rousing big fire in front of the hut.

THE OUTDOOR FIREPLACE.

But there were more things to be learned about open fires. In our summer outing Jack had done most of his cooking on a kerosene stove, and he soon found that it was a very different matter to cook over an unsheltered fire. The heat was constantly carried hither and thither by the gusts of wind, so that he could scarcely warm up his saucepans. We had to content ourselves with cold victuals for the first meal, but before the next meal time came around we had learned a little more about fire building. Two large logs were placed about 10 inches apart, and the space between them was filled in with pieces of bark and small twigs and sticks. The back of the fireplace was closed with stones. One touch of a match was enough to kindle the fire, and in a moment it blazed up beautifully. The logs at the sides and the stones at the back prevented the wind from scattering the flames in all directions, and a steady draft poured through the open end of the fireplace and up through the heart of the fire. The side logs were so close together that our cooking utensils could be supported directly on them.

A STONE-PAVED FIREPLACE.

The following summer we continued our open fireplace experiments. Instead of using logs we drove stakes into the ground, forming a small circular stockade about 2 feet high and 3 feet in diameter. A paving of small stones covered the floor of the fireplace, and a lining of stones was laid against the wall. The stakes were driven in on a slant, as illustrated in Fig. 198, so as to better support the stone lining. A break in the stockade at one side let in the necessary draft. Two of the stakes on opposite sides of the fire were made extra long, and were crotched at their upper ends. They served to support the cross stick from which our kettles were hung. This form of fireplace was more satisfactory for baking than the one in which logs were used for the side walls, because the stone lining retained the heat much longer. To bake biscuit, a pot of beans, or the like, the ashes would be drawn away from the stone paving and the pot placed directly on the hot stones, after which it was covered with hot embers and ashes.

A COLD NIGHT IN THE HUT.

But to return to our experiences on the island. We found it very cold on the first night in the hut. We were afraid to build a fire inside lest the straw thatchings would catch fire, and so we huddled together in the corner, rolled up tightly in our blankets. But it was cold, nevertheless. We had no door to close the opening into the hut, and instead had piled up branches of cedar and hemlock against the doorway. But a bitterly cold northwest wind was blowing down the river, and we couldn't keep warm, no matter what we did. Most of the boys were ready to go right home, but we stuck it out until the morning, and then after we had toasted ourselves before a blazing bright fire, and had eaten a hot breakfast, we forgot much of the discomfort of the night and were ready for more "fun." We thought we would spend the next night in our tree house, and so, right after breakfast, we packed up our blankets and some provisions and started for the Jacob's Ladder.

MOUNTAIN CLIMBING.

Each fellow was provided with a pair of ice creepers of the same sort as we had used in connection with the rennwolf (see page 170). In addition to this each boy was provided with a home-made alpine stock, consisting of a stout wooden stick in the end of which a large nail was driven and the head filed off. Thus equipped we came to the foot of the cliff, and much to our delight found it one mass of ice from top to bottom. Now was our chance to try some Swiss mountain climbing. Bill took the lead, with an old hatchet in his hand, to hack out any necessary footholds in the ice wall, and the rest of us strung out behind him tied to a long rope, each boy about 10 or 12 feet from the one ahead. Bill cautioned us to keep our distance, holding the rope taut in one hand, so that if a fellow stumbled he could be kept from falling either by the one in front or by the one behind.

"Besides," he said, "if the rope drags on the ice, it is liable to be cut or worn so that it will break when any strain was put on it."

Now, one would think from all these precautions that we were launched on a perilous expedition. That was the impression we were trying to make on ourselves, though, as a matter of fact, any one of us could have climbed the cliff unaided and without any ice implements if he had used ordinary care not to slip on the ice-clad ladder rounds or the snow-covered ledges.

A POOR SHELTER.

The climb was without mishap and we reached our tree house, only to find it so badly racked by storm and weather that it was clearly out of the question to attempt to spend the night there. The wind howled around the house and whistled through dozens of cracks and chinks that had opened in the walls. All that we could do, therefore, was to turn back to the island and make the best of our straw hut again. On the way, however, we stopped at Lumberville for some straw to be used for bedding. The afternoon was spent sailing around on Lake Placid and the large smooth stretch above the island.

A COSTLY CAMP FIRE.

After supper Bill and Reddy went into the hut to arrange the straw bedding, while the rest of us gathered wood for a huge bonfire in front of the hut. The wind was blowing right down the river and we expected it to carry the warmth of the fire into the hut. The fire was built some distance in front of the doorway, so as to prevent the hut from catching fire. But we had evidently miscalculated the strength of the wind, for no sooner was the fire fairly started than a shower of flaming brands was blown right into the hut. In a moment the straw blazed up, cutting off all escape for Bill and Reddy. Fortunately the framing was not strong and the frost had loosened up the foundations, so that a few frantic kicks opened an exit in the rear of the hut just in time to save our comrades from cremation. Once it was fairly started we were powerless to put out the blaze until the hut was ruined. The snow that covered the walls checked the fire somewhat, but the thatching burned from the inside, melting the snow and dropping it suddenly into the flaming straw bedding on the floor. As we sat in a gloomy ring about the camp fire, watching the tongues of flame play about the charred ribs of our hut, we had reason to be thankful that the wind had played its pranks before we turned in for the night. What a risk we had run of being all burned to death! It made me shudder to think of it. Well, our hut was burned. What next? That was the question put before the society.

"Might build a snow hut," suggested Dutchy.

"Now, be sensible," answered Reddy. "We can't build a snow hut in five minutes."

"The best plan," I volunteered, "would be to go over to Jim Halliday's and ask him to let us sleep in his barn."

Immediately the suggestion was acted upon.

A FRIEND IN TIME OF TROUBLE.

Old Jim Halliday greeted us very gruffly. He said he wouldn't have us in his barn. "You'll be amussin' up the hay so't wouldn't be fit fer the horses to eat. Any boy that is fool enough to build a fire on a straw bed ought to go right home to his mother, and he hadn't oughter be trusted with matches, nuther. He might get his fingers burned."

But I caught a twinkle in the old man's eyes and wasn't surprised to have him end his lecture by taking us into the kitchen and seating us around an old-fashioned log fire while "Marthy," his daughter, made us some hot coffee to take the chill out of our bones. We didn't sleep in the barn that night. The Hallidays had only one spare bed, hardly enough for six boys, and the old man didn't want to be partial to any two of us, but his daughter solved the difficulty by dragging down two large feather mattresses and laying them on the kitchen floor in front of the hearth.

Before bidding us "good night," Mr. Halliday put on his sternest expression and bade Marthy clear out all the matches from the room.

"Jest as like as not they'll set fire to the house," he growled. "I expect this is my last night on airth." And then, with a solemn warning not to hang our clothes on the flames, and to "keep them feather beds offen the embers," he left us to a comfortable night's rest.

In the morning, after we had disposed of all the hot griddle cakes we could eat, and had sincerely thanked our host and hostess for their hospitality, we wended our way back to the island, silently packed up our goods and started home for Lamington.

"Well, this isn't going to happen again," was Bill's comment. "Next year we'll have a log cabin on the island."