The Wolf Patrol: A Tale of Baden-Powell's Boy Scouts

by John Finnemore

CHAPTER XXVIII

THE SCOUTS MARCH FORTH

At seven o'clock on Whit-Monday morning the sun's rays fell on the backs of two boys marching westwards from Bardon at the scout's pace: Dick and Chippy were on the road. They were in full scout's uniform, and Chippy, in his new rig, looked as smart as Dick. Their hats and shorts were of khaki shade, their shirts grey flannel, their neckerchiefs and shoulder-ties of their patrol colours, their coats rolled at their waists with spare socks and vests tucked away in the pockets, their haversacks slung over their shoulders. In their haversacks there was no food at present, for they had to purchase everything they would need from their precious ten shillings; but each carried a blanket which Mrs. Elliott had found for them. Then Chippy carried a tin billy—a present from their instructor—and Dick bore, slung at his belt, a tiny axe, tomahawk shape, its head weighing fourteen ounces. This was intended for cutting wood; and, beside the axe, each had a strong, sharp jack-knife, with spring back, so that the blade could not close on the fingers. Being patrol-leaders, each wore his badge on the front of his hat, and had a lanyard and whistle; and thus accoutred, with patrol staff in hand, they marched on their way.

'I hope it will keep fine, Chippy,' said Dick; 'we can't afford to pay money for lodgings. How long do you think we shall be able to keep going on our money—till the end of the week?'

'Hope so,' replied Chippy. 'I don't want to goo back till we're obliged.'

'Nor do I,' cried Dick. 'Well, there's the last of Bardon for a bit.'

They looked back from a little ridge, and saw the spires of the town over a row of poplars.

'Ta-ta, Bardon,' said Dick. 'We mean to have a look at Newminster before we see you again.'

'We do,' grunted Chippy.

Newminster was a famous cathedral city rather more than forty-five miles from Bardon. To go there and back would mean a tramp of some ninety miles in the six days, and that would be a very fair achievement to carry out on ten shillings for all expenses. The boys talked over ways and means as they went on. 'We got to look out for everythin' we can pick up as 'ull help us,' said Chippy.

'I see,' replied Dick; 'we must try to live on the country. That would be real scout style, Chippy. But it isn't a hostile country; we can't take anything.'

'No, no,' agreed Chippy; 'no pinchin', o' course. Still, theer's things to be had in places. Fish, now—we could cop some fish in some rivers wheer it's free to put a line in.'

'I never thought of fishing,' said Dick; 'that's a good idea. But we've got no rods or tackle.'

Chippy gave a chuckle, and dived a band into a pocket of his shorts. He drew out a hank of fine cord and a screw of paper. In the paper were half a dozen hooks on gut. 'That's all as we want,' he remarked. 'Wait till we come acrost a river wheer there's suthin' to cop.'

'Good for you, Chippy,' laughed Dick. 'A few fish will help us along in style. Only we mustn't poach.'

'No, no,' said Chippy; 'we'll play fair.'

By eleven o'clock the boys had made, with occasional halts, just about eight miles, and both had the knot out of their neckties. Dick had seen an old cottage woman labouring at her well, and had lent her a hand with the heavy bucket, and drawn all the water she would want for the day, while Chippy had sprung forward to hold the pony of a lady who was visiting a sick woman in a cottage near by.

In connection with Chippy's good turn, a discussion arose between the two scouts as they marched on from the hamlet where these things had happened. The lady had offered Chippy sixpence, and, of course, he had refused it.

'Now, look 'ere,' said Chippy; 'o' course, I didn't tek' the sixpence, becos the knot worn't out o' me neckerchief, an' the job worn't worth sixpence, nohow, an' we got to do all them sorts o' things for nuthin', by orders. But s'pose I did a job for some'dy as was really worth sixpence, an' I'd done me good turn that day, could I tek' the sixpence to help us along? It 'ud come in uncommon handy. An', besides that, we're allowed to earn money, though we mustn't beg it or tek' it for little trifles as we ought to do for nuthin'.'

Dick looked puzzled, and thought for a moment before he spoke.

'What you say is very true, Chippy,' he said at last, 'and if you like to earn some money for scout work, why, that's all right. But I don't think we could use a single farthing of it for this trip. You see, we're bound to the ten shillings.'

'Righto, Wolf,' said the faithful Raven; 'but if some'dy offered us a drink o' milk for a hand's turn, or summat like that, I s'pose there'd be no wrong theer?'

'No, I should think not,' replied Dick. 'That would be living on the country in an honest sort of way, and on good scouting lines.'

'Just so,' said his fellow scout. 'I don't mind a rap how it goes, as long as we understand one another. Now we'll look out for a good place to mek' our fust halt.'

At the general shop of the hamlet they had made their first purchases and broken into the ten shillings. They had bought enough flour to fill a ration-bag for sevenpence, two ounces of tea for twopence-halfpenny, a penny packet of baking-powder, half a pound of brown sugar for a penny farthing, and the old woman who kept the shop had thrown a lump of salt as big as Dick's fist in for nothing. So they had spent elevenpence three-farthings, and their purchases were stowed away in the linen bags which Dick and his sister had made ready for the trip.

'Big hole in a bob for a start,' commented Chippy; 'but we must stretch the stuff out.'

'Oh, the flour will make us a heap of chupatties,' said Dick. 'We'll get a lot more to eat for the money than if we'd spent it in bread.'

'Rather,' said Chippy, 'an' we'll want it, too. Here's a spring. Just the place to fill the billy.'

He filled the big tin, and then they looked round for a spot to make a fire. Fifty or sixty yards past the spring a grassy cart road turned aside from the track, and they went down it for a hundred yards till they reached a quiet sunny corner.

Chippy set the billy down, and both turned to and built a fire, at which they were now pretty expert. First they gathered a dozen handfuls of dried grass and made a little heap. Over this heap they built a pyramid of dried twigs and tindery sticks gathered at the foot of the hedgerow. A match was set to the dried grass, and a little red flame sprang swiftly up and began to curl about the twigs and sticks. Now the boys were busy scouting here and there for large sticks to pile again in a bigger pyramid above the burning heap, and in a corner where hedge-cuttings had been flung in the previous winter they found plenty of fuel. Soon they had a capital fire, and the billy was put on to boil, while Dick turned his hand to the chupatties.

He unrolled his coat, and spread it on the ground with the lining upwards. Upon the lining he made a heap of flour, and formed a hole in the centre with his hand. Into this hole he poured hot water from the billy, and added a little salt and baking-powder. Then he mixed the whole well together, kneading and working it with his hands, the latter sprinkled with flour to prevent the dough from sticking to his fingers. Finally he had a couple of flat buns or cakes of dough. In the meantime Chippy had been getting the fire ready. A good pile of red-hot wood ashes had gathered in the centre of the burning sticks. When the dough was ready these ashes were swept aside, and the cakes laid on the hot earth. Then the ashes were piled round the cakes, and they were left to bake.

When the chupatties were nearly baked, the billy was boiled up again, and some tea and a handful of sugar thrown into it. Dick had cut a long skewer of wood to try the cakes, and he now pronounced them done. They were taken from the ashes and set to cool, while each scout fished a tin mug out of his haversack. Soon they were seated at their first meal, a thousand times more happy than any two kings.