Boys’ Life, 1912 August (article)/en
The other day I was reviewing a troop of Scouts. Following up my plan when the general public is not present, I asked a number of questions about their daily kind act.
“Did you do your good turn today?” I asked the first Scout.
“Yes, sir,” he replied.
“Will you tell me what it was?”
“I’d rather not,” was the answer.
“All right,” I said, “it’s quite proper for you to refrain from telling if you wish to do so.”
“Next Scout! Did you do your good turn?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Will you tell me what it was?” Of course you are not obliged to speak, but it is often helpful to other fellows if they learn how you succeed in carrying out your promise.”
The Scout blushed, looked on the ground and said, “I’d rather not talk about it.”
“All right,” I said, pleasantly, “I understand.”
Then turning to the third Scout, I said, “Did you do your kind act today?”
He was a small boy with a bright and beaming face, and he grinned all over as he answered, “Yes, sir.”
“Will you tell me what it was?” I rejoined, and he continued.
“I gave up my seat in the street car to a lady who was standing.”
“Good for you,” I said. “Did you ever do that before.” “No, sir,” he replied with emphasis that made everyone laugh.
“Exactly,” I added; “you never would have thought of doing such a thing had it not been for your promise, would you?”
“No,” he reckoned not.
“There, you see, it’s working in your blood already, and it won’t take long before it has a permanent hold.
On another occasion I asked this same leading question of a boy, who answered with some hesitation.
“Y-e-s, s-i-r. Y-e-s; well, I think I did. I don’t know; I meant to, any way.”
I replied: “Well, if you did something and meant it to be kind, the chances are a thousand to one you didn’t miss your mark. Now, if you will tell us what it was we’ll judge as to how far your succeeded.”
“Well,” he said, “it was this way: I was coming to this meeting and as I walked along I remembered that I hadn’t done a kind act all day, and I kept wondering what I could do, but I couldn’t find a thing. Everything seemed done without me. Then all at once out in the road I saw a broken bottle standing up with jagged points and I said to myself, ‘That there broken bottle is liable to hurt someone,’ so I gathered up the whole thing and put it in a garbage tin. I do not know if it was kind or not, but I meant it all right.”
“Of course it was kind,” I replied, with quickness and emphasis. “It was kind to a great many people and creatures; every man with a motor car, every man with a bicycle, every man with a horse, every dog and every bare-footed boy would have cause to bless you for what you did. You have struck a new and admirable line of work. Keep right on. You certainly carried out your promise today in a new and satisfactory manner.”
Sometimes the telling of the daily good turn in these semi-private interviews results in some very funny things. While reviewing some Scout in England not long ago, I asked this important question and got the following interesting answer:—
“Yes, sir, I did my good turn today. I guess I did a good many good turns.”
“Indeed,” I said; “that is interesting. Now, won’t you tell us about them.”
“Well,” he said, “it was this way. My Mother, she takes in washing, and the clothes was all through the tubs and ready for the mangle, and I turned the mangle, and I guess I gave it a good many good turns.”
At this, all the other Scouts began to laugh, evidently not accepting their comrade’s answer as satisfactory, but I said: “Hold on, now; it all depends on two things.
First — Was it your regular job to turn the mangle?”
“No, sir,” he answered.
“Second — Then, were you paid for it?”
“No, sir,” to which I replied: “Well, then, you did your good turn all right enough, and one of the very best kind. I congratulate you upon your success.” Ernest Thompson Seton (m.p.), Chief Scout
“Trail! Ki yi!” shouted Little-Otter as he pointed to the deer track. The other warriors came running to the place. The track was fresh, and Little-Otter led away on it while the Medicine Man scored one point to his credit.
The eager hunters followed the trail swiftly through the woods; the grass bent down, a leaf turned white side up, a print in the moss, or best of all, a clean hoof mark on the bare ground, was enough to keep them running.
“Ki yi, Ki yi,” resounded from one to another as they found the tell-tale signs. A long, straight run across an open field where a hoof mark was as plain as on snow, was followed by a check.
The head chief, Deerslayer, shouted “Lost Trail!” and every hunter bent to the task of finding it, while the chief rebuked some of the younger ones who had thoughtlessly trampled the trail already passed. “Never run on the trail, we may need it to go back to.” And so it proved, Eagle-Eye of the Sinawas, after circling once without success, came back wisely “to the place where last we were sure of it.” Within a minute he had it again, though his difficulty was increased by the heedless feet of the band, and shouted “Ki yi!” The deer had doubled back on its track and Eagle-Eye scored a point for finding out this.
The chase now led across a valley and over a ridge. The trail was easily read by these experts, though it is probable that a novice would have seen nothing to guide him. Eagle-Eye was one of the best trailers, and as the band began the next descent, he shouted “Deer!” and pointed afar. Yes, there it was, the famous burlap deer of the Sinawas.
It looked very like a real deer, but a close examination would have shown it to be stuffed with straw, and the track it left was made by the peculiar shoes of the boy who had hidden the deer in the woods. The Medicine Man put down ten points for Eagle-Eye, and the other hunters claimed place in order of seeing the quarry.
Nothing but bows and arrows are allowed in this hunt, and the rule is that the finder has first shot, but must shoot from the spot whence he saw the deer.
Eagle-Eye drew an arrow to the head and let it go. Half a dozen pairs of anxious eyes followed its flight, and a satisfied “ah” went up from three of the hunters as the arrow whizzed wide of the mark.
“Five steps up now,” shouted the chief, and the second hunter took five steps forward, and as long as he could make them. He was yet forty yards away and his arrow missed. Now the third hunter had his turn, after taking five paces. At length number four, at 25 yards, sent his arrow deep into the deer’s flank.
“Hooray, a body wound for Mustang!” and the Medicine Man put down five points for the Mustang.
All shooting now, according to the rules, must be from the spot whence the successful shot was fired.
Each took a shot in turn. Anything outside the body line was a scratch, and counted two, the body counted five, but the dim oval on its side representing the heart was what all were trying to hit; a shot in this counts ten, and ends the hunt; for this means the death of the deer.
Each hunter is entitled to six shots unlesss the deer is killed before that. On the third round the deer was beginning to look like a porcupine, for many arrows were sticking in its body. Its heart was protected by two saplings, that had received more than one of the shafts, when Eagle-Eye sent his next fairly between the two small trees, and deep into the heart of the deer.
“In the heart, Hooray! Ten for Eagle-Eye!” and the Medicine Man noted it down, while Eagle-Eye having been also the finder of the deer, now put on the “hoof mark” boots, to be the deer for the next hunt, and carrying the dummy along he ran off in the woods, plotting a crooked trail and a careful hide that should baffle the hunters, and so add to the score of his side the 25 that is allowed for the “deer that escapes,” that is, which is not shot in the heart when all have emptied their quivers.
They were small boys except the Medicine Man, who was the local schoolmaster, and this game of deerhunting was a pastime of their summer holidays, that had proved fascinating enough to band the schoolboys together in voluntary submission to the natural enemy.
It was the slowly evolved result of efforts to combine the charms of archery with those of woodcraft. It was so very like real deer-hunting that its appeal to the imagination of the village boys was irresistible, and the hunts after the burlap deer were many and of growing popularity.
The deer itself had a wire skeleton with a pine plank for back bone. Fine hay made the best of stuffing, and a cover of coarse open burlap was about right in general color, as well as easily penetrable by the arrows of the feeblest warriors.
A few touches of black and white paint were a great help to its appearance and an outlined oval on each side for a heart, with a larger one to mark the body, showed the hunters the exact value of their shots.
This completed the deer, but the question of the trail had also to be slowly worked out. The first was a paper trail, that is, with torn up paper for “scent.” The objections to this were that the trail of yesterday was confused with the trail of today, so that it was impossible to hunt many times on the same ground, and scraps of paper are unsightly in the woods and meadows.
The use of corn met these difficulties. When sparingly used, a handful of corn will go a long way and the birds and squirrels keep it cleared up from one day to another, and so make it possible to hunt daily in the same woods.
But there were serious objections to the corn trail; it was impossible to tell which way it was going or when it was doubled. This led to the introduction of the boots, with a hoof-mark on them. The hoof-marks were made by the local blacksmith, and nailed to the soles of a pair of old boots.
Now the trail seemed very near to perfection and when finally the deer was allowed one handful of corn to drop in places where tracks could not show, a procedure justified by the fact that deer-pellets formed an essential aid to the real deer hunter, the Sinawa deer hunt was voted “the best fun of anything we play in the woods.”
In actual practice it was found convenient for the deer-boy to slip off his tracks and come back to the hunters after he had hidden the deer; the hunters, of course, awaiting his return. And it has also been found a good plan to let the deer-boy join with the archers, taking, of course, the last place in the shooting.
The resemblance of the chase to the real thing in all its essential features, except the killing, is very marked, and its appeal is not only to the small boy, it affords a new and delightful field sport to grown up men and women. Archery has always had some votaries, because it is a fine sport that gives one the fresh air and calls for all the nicely adjusted powers that are concerned in “the taking of aim,” etc., but archery has some deficiencies; it scarcely excercises the legs, and it does not regale the imagination with a continued variety of scene and circumstance. Compared with many other games, it lacks excitement. It is, in short, little more than an indoor game played out of doors.
All of these objections have been met by the deer hunt of our boy Indians, while the excellencies of the older pastime are wholly retained.
The skill of the archer, his nerve, his speed, his eye and his judgment, are all called into fullest play without the element of danger to the players.
A clever deer can do much to vary the hunt. On one occasion, the deer was placed so that the hunters could not help seeing it at one hundred yards distance. The rule is, shoot as soon as you see it, and, of course, the shooting was so bad that even with the five steps “walk-up” allowed to each, the deer escaped, and the deer-boy scored 25.
On another occasion the deer went to the edge of the lake, then along the margin, and stood in plain view on the opposite bank, 75 yards away. The first hunter missed his shot and the duty of the next one was to walk five steps nearer or give it up. As the water was deep, he gave it up and again the deer scored.
Those who have really hunted deer, recognize in this a close representation of the chase. It affords the same endless variety of situations, the perplexities of the trail, and the search, the opportunities for testing one’s nerve, judgment and eyesight, as well as good shooting, and yet while offering all the good things of hunting, it has these crowning advantages, it can be indulged in by any one, in any part of the country, at any season, and all the unpleasant and dangerous features of deer killing are left out.
Meanwhile, the hunters are awaiting the signal from the deer.
They crowd around the Medicine Man.
“What’s our score? Where do we stand now? How am I, by the Mustang?” the questions came.
The Medicine Man read off the list:
| Sinawa | Chief | Deerslayer | 45 |
| Eagle-Eye | 30 | ||
| The Mustang | 30 | ||
| Sinava | total | 105 | |
| Pequot | Chief | Red-Arrow | 35 |
| Little-Otter | 30 | ||
| Bluejay | 25 | ||
| Pequot | total | 90 |
The hunt was one of unusual interest, for Chief Red-Arrow, with Little-Otter, a famous swimmer and fair bowman, and Bluejay, a noisy chatterbox, like his namesake, were visitors from another tribe. They were here in answer to a challenge. The Sinawa chief Deerslayer had dared the Pequot chief Red-Arrow to a hunt for five deer, each chief to be supported by two of his braves, and each party to stake on the issue the horsehair scalp that hung from his beaded headband. Four deer had been started, three had been killed, one has escaped, now on one more deer the battle was to turn, and the interest grew accordingly. The Sinawas were the strongest tribe, they claimed to be the best hunters in Connecticut, and the Pequots were considered daring indeed to accept the challenge of the bigger boys.
The shout of Eagle-Eye close at hand announced that the deer was hidden, and the warriors dashed off to find the trail, while Eagle-Eye stayed back with the Medicine Man, according to law, so that he should not give his tribesmen any tips.
“Ki yi—trail!” and Bluejay scored one, for, though erratic and uncertain as the bird whose name he bore, Bluejay had sharp eyes.
The chase went fast now, Deerslayer and Red-Arrow staying close together in deadly rivalry. Red-Arrow was a small boy, only fourteen years of age, much smaller than his rival, Deerslayer, but there was a clever little brain lurking back of his twinkling black eyes and he conceived a cunning plot for beating the Sinawas at their own game. At the first chance he whispered to Bluejay, “Stick to the trail; never quit the trail. I’ll stick to you, but I'll watch the woods ahead.”
So when there was a balk, that is a lost trail, the point for finding it was scored by any one but Red-Arrow. Deerslayer was tireless, four points were scored by his tribe for trailing, and of these, three were by himself. The Pequots made but one, but Red-Arrow stuck to his plan, he kept to the front and watched the woods. Deerslayer had just shouted, “Lost trail!” for the sixth time, when a white ear and throat patch caught the keen eye of Red-Arrow. He gave a sign to Bluejay and to Little-Otter. Bluejay yelled in triumph, “Deer!” Then in quick succession, Little-Otter and himself claimed second and third places.
According to the rules, the hunters shot in order of seeing the deer, therefore the whole of the Pequots should now shoot before the Sinawas began, and the ten points for “find,” made the Pequots 101 against the Sinawas 109. This was the final hunt, and the interest increased mightily. Bluejay took his best arrow, and as he drew, Red-Arrow whispered, “Do not hit him.” It was scant 25 yards to the deer; its head only was clearly to be seen, but according to law, he must shoot from the place whence he had sighted him. He had calculated with apparent care the distance, and the place of the heart which he could not see, when the Medicine Man, observed him deliberately swing the arrow. Whizz! He had missed the deer. The Sinawas shouted and laughed, but his chief knew that he had obeyed orders. Now the next hunter, his tribesman Little-Otter, had the right to take five steps up. He did so, and they were not so much steps as Kangaroo hops. The Sinawas objected to their length, but the Medicine Man ruled that it was according to law as long as he started from the heel or always had a foot on the ground each time.
Acting on Red-Arrow’s advice, Little-Otter did not go straight towards the deer, but to one side, and thus exposed the trick that had been played. Knowing that the escape of this deer without a shot in the heart, would count 25 for the deer, that is for his own side, Eagle-Eye had set the dummy low behind a log that protected the heart.
Bluejay drew his shaft. “Do not hit him,” whispered this chief, impressively, and the arrow flew over, amid the jeers of the Sinawas.
“Now, Red-Arrow, it’s up to you to save all our scalps,” and the chief of the Pequots took five steps, four towards the deer, and one to the top of a stump. But the heart of the deer was still hidden behind a log. The Sinawas, sure of victory, began to chaff the Pequot, telling him he was “up a stump now,” “hoped he wouldn’t catch cold going home without his scalp.”
Red-Arrow, young as he was, had proved himself a capable leader, and his truly Indian woodcraft was never better shown than now. Fifteen yards from the deer he stood, the heart mark in this side hidden, the other unseen, at best he could score but five, and his enemies with eight points to the good and all their shots to come could easily outpoint him now, had him already beaten indeed. He took an arrow from his quiver, examined the point, took a second, then drew the bow to the full, the arrow whizzed—zip! just above the log through the deer’s back, “A scratch,” said the rival chief, scornfully, “tally two.” “A heart, a heart,” yelled Bluejay.
Red-Arrow turned towards the Medicine Man: “Guess you'll find that a heart.” The Medicine Man ran forward, followed by the hunters. The Pequots gave a yell of triumph; the arrow of the chief scored a scratch when it entered the deer, but it had passed tight through and on the farther side it had pierced the heart-mark.
“Heart and a dead deer, for Red Arrow! Score ten for the chief of the Pequots, the hunt is ended, and the Sinawas lose their scalps,” said the Medicine Man.
The score was, Sinawas, 109; Pequots, 111.
How the Pequots did cheer. How Bluejay did yell for Little-Otter, and how Little-Otter did yell for Red-Arrow and Bluejay, for this was their first victory. Never before had the Sinawas been defeated, and they were three happy little Pequots that tramped home that night, each carrying at his belt the horse-hair scalp that he had won from the rival Sinawas, to hang it tagged and labelled in his bedroom, with the bow and arrows that won it, a trophy almost as important to him, as a real scalp of his real enemy is to a real Indian.
