“Michael has described no fancy creation. Such a thing exists. Can any one tell me its name?”
Isaac Rothstein replied:
“It is the ornithorhynchus or water mole of Australia, but it is not classed as a bird.”
“No, although there seems to be some reason why it should be. You see what a limitless field opens before you when you leave the American continent to make investigations elsewhere. For a long time to come we shall find our hands full in our own country.”
“What about the birds that are called Indians?” gravely asked Mike.
“There are some facts regarding Maine Indians which are worth remembering. In 1612, they numbered 38,000. At the close of the French and Indian War this number had been reduced to a thousand, which is the aboriginal population to-day. The decrease was due to the fierce wars which the tribes waged among themselves. The Indians in Maine were four times as numerous as those in Massachusetts. The Pine Tree State was the ‘dark and bloody ground’ of colonial days.
“In a general way the tribes bore the same names as rivers. Those west of the Penobscot were of the Abnaki group, and those to the east into New Brunswick called themselves Etechemins. All belonged to the Algonquin nation. When King Philip’s War broke out in 1675, the Maine Indians numbered about 12,000. This was twice the white population and sufficient to wipe out the settlements nearly to the New Hampshire border. Finally, in 1759, the Indians in Maine did not number more than a thousand. They were mainly Penobscots and Passamaquoddies. They remained faithful to the Americans throughout the Revolution. It is a curious fact that while the Passamaquoddies have decreased in number during the last ninety years, the Penobscots have increased to the extent of seven, the former being slightly more numerous. Both keep up their tribal conditions, and the Penobscots live in the same village site that their forefathers occupied before the white men set foot on the continent.”
CHAPTER VIII — A Council of War
That night, after Uncle Elk had left the bungalow, Alvin Landon, Chester Haynes and Mike Murphy held what Alvin called a council of war.
Sauntering a little way from the building, they sat down in the silent depths of the woods where no one could overhear what was said by them. Not that a Boy Scout would be guilty of eavesdropping, but it was best that no inkling of what was in the air should become accidentally known to others.