Camp-fire was always a pleasant hour. The fire was built each morning on a circular floor of stones some eighty feet up the hill from The Tepee and just at the edge of the forest. About it each night the councillors and boys gathered. At eight the fire was lighted and in its cheery glare the day’s events were discussed, stories were told, songs were sung, and plans for the morrow laid. Several of the boys played instruments. When the entire orchestra was assembled there were three mandolins, two banjos, and a violin to make music. None of the performers save perhaps Horace Chase was very talented, but all made up for lack of skill by their willingness to entertain. Young Chase, who played the violin, was of different calibre, and when he took his instrument out of its case the audience was sure of a real treat.
Sam never forgot those nights when, stretched out on the pine-needles, or, if the evening was damp, on a blanket from his cot, he lay in the mellow firelight and listened to Horace Chase play “Annie Laurie” or “Home, Sweet Home.” He had merrier tunes, but those two seemed to be the choice of the boys. Or perhaps the mandolins and banjos would be strumming together, or fairly near together, some rag-time tune. Or perhaps the fellows would be singing such songs as “Solomon Levi” or “Boola” or some more recent favourite. Often a big white moon swam overhead or played hide-and-seek amongst the branches of the dark trees, and the lake, below them, showed a wonderful silvery path to the farthest shore. They were very pleasant, those camp-fire hours; fragrant with the night odours of trees and grass and pungent pine-needles, musical with the lap of the water against the shore and the whisper of the breeze amidst the trees and the sleepy chirp of unseen birds; blessed, too, with a fine atmosphere of good-comradeship; nights to be long remembered.
Sam did continue his baseball talks, although he didn’t give one every evening, and the boys liked them and always demanded more. Not all of Sam’s knowledge had been gained at first-hand, you may be sure. Much of it he had read or been told, but all of it he had seen put to the test. And, before the summer was over, much of it was put to the test again, for the fellows profited by what they heard and, as far as it was possible in the circumstances, followed Sam’s advice.
Some amusing incidents developed. As, on the Wednesday following Sam’s first talk, when, in the game between the Indians and Brownies, Jimmy Benson signalled for a fast ball and the fielders, getting the signal from Jimmy, moved to the left, and the batter lined a hot one six feet inside of third base, and there was no one there to even knock it down! But the incident didn’t prove Sam’s theory at fault, since Jimmy and Porter both acknowledged afterwards that the ball had not been what the signal called for, but a slow out-shoot. It had been a case of mixed signals between catcher and pitcher. Again, in a later contest between the same teams, the Brownies, who had fixed up a most elaborate system of signals, had a runner on third and one on second. With two gone, a double steal was called for. The boy on second got the signal, but the runner on third was evidently day-dreaming, and a moment later the surprising sight of two runners each claiming third base was in evidence! That bungle probably cost the Brownies the game and for some time a signal code was viewed by them with disfavour.
But baseball was not the only interest at The Wigwam. The first week in August there was an afternoon of water sports that provided lots of fun and not a little excitement. By that time many of the beginners had attained to quite a degree of proficiency, and in the forty-yard swimming race more than twenty younger boys lined up and struggled gallantly for the honours. What a splashing and gurgling and general rumpus there was! Mr. Langham laughingly said that it reminded him of a swarm of minnows trying to get away from a pickerel!
Harry Codman, a sturdy thirteen-year-old youth, won by a scant yard over Billy White, and after that most of the others floundered across the finish in a bunch and none of the judges could have told who was entitled to third place. A twelve-year-old chap named Walters very nearly made a tragedy of the event. Walters tired himself so in the first dash that when, halfway through the race, one of the other swimmers accidentally kicked him in the stomach, Walters lost all interest in the race and tried hard to drown in three feet of water. It was Sam who saw what had happened and dropped from the landing and pulled a much-exhausted and water-logged youth to dry land. The programme was halted while young Walters restored some of the water he had swallowed.
There were many entries for the tilting tournament. The contestants occupied canoes and were armed with ten-foot poles. The poles held a pad at one end and the bows of the canoes were likewise protected. The boys “had at” each other most briskly until some fortunate thrust deposited one or other of the tilters either in the bottom of his canoe or in the water. Joe Groom emerged triumphant from three encounters and finally met George Porter in the final bout. Cheered by the onlookers, the boys approached each other warily. Each canoe was paddled by a partner in the stern, Ned Welch for Joe and Ralph Murdock for George. Naturally, a good deal depended on the cleverness of the paddler in manœuvring the canoe and each of the operators was well skilled. Joe and George, poles ready, stood in the bows while the craft neared each other cautiously and the audience laughed and jeered. Then Ned Welch dug his paddle and his canoe shot forward.
But George and his mate were ready. Their craft sheered aside, avoiding the bow of the other, and George, thrusting low, almost won the event there and then. Fortunately for Joe, however, the padded pole glanced off his leg and he recovered his balance but not in time to retaliate. The canoes swept past each other, turned and again drew together. This time they met bows on and a fast and furious battle ensued. Once George went reeling backward and his canoe rocked dangerously, but steady work by Murdock avoided an upset. Ned Welch, pressing the advantage, pushed after the retreating craft, and Joe sought to get under the guard of his opponent. George, though, recovered finely and defended himself so well that in a moment he was again forcing the fighting and only a well-executed retreat by Ned saved Joe from defeat. Ned backed away quickly, turning almost in the length of the canoe, and before Murdock could solve his intention, had drawn parallel and slightly to the rear. Murdock paddled furiously and shot his craft ahead, but Ned was on his heels and the spectacle of the two warriors, each maintaining his equilibrium with difficulty, proceeding frantically out into the lake almost side by side brought bursts of laughter from the onlookers.
It was a stern chase for a minute and then Ned’s muscles prevailed and Joe drew up within pole’s length of his enemy. George, facing toward the stern of his rocking canoe, strove to beat down the thrust that Joe made. But Joe’s aim was good and he put all his force into the delivery and the padded end of his pole caught George under one shoulder and fairly lifted him off his feet. Over he went, backward, still grasping his pole, and disappeared from sight, while a shout of applause and laughter arose from the landing and boats, a shout which redoubled an instant later when Joe, having lost his balance in the desperate thrust, staggered, tried to save himself, failed finally, and, dropping his weapon, plunged heels over head in the lake!