The Scientific American Boy.

by A. Russell (Alexander Russell) Bond.

PREFACE

All boys are nature lovers. Nothing appeals to them more than a summer vacation in the woods where they can escape from the restraints of civilization and live a life of freedom. Now, it may appear to be a bit of presumption to attempt to advise the boy camper how to spend his time. Surely the novelty of outdoor life, the fascinating charm of his surroundings, will provide him plenty of entertainment.

But, after all, a camp generally affords but two major amus.e.m.e.nts, hunting and fishing. These have been fully covered by a vast number of books. However, there is another side of camp life, particularly in a boys' camp, which has been very little dealt with, namely, the exercise of one's ingenuity in creating out of the limited resources at hand such devices and articles as will add to one's personal comfort and welfare.

It is, therefore, the aim of this book to suggest certain diversions of this character for the boy camper which, aside from affording him plenty of physical exercise, will also develop his mental faculties, and above all stimulate that natural genius which is characteristic of every typical American boy. To this end the story contains descriptions of a large collection of articles which can be made by any boy of average intelligence, not only in the camp but at home as well.

The use of a narrative to connect the various incidents marks a departure in this cla.s.s of book, and it is believed that the matter will thus be made more realistic and interesting. In all cases full directions are given for making the various articles. While it is not presumed that the directions will be slavishly followed, for this would defeat the general aim of the work, yet all the princ.i.p.al dimensions are given so that they can be used, if desired.

I beg to acknowledge the courtesy of Mr. Daniel C. Beard and Mr. Henry D. Cochrane in supplying a number of photographs. The directions for making the lee boards (page 119) were obtained from data furnished by the latter. Many of the details recorded in the chapter on Tramping Outfits are to be accredited to Mr. Edward Thorpe. In the preparation of this book I have received valuable a.s.sistance from my colleague, Mr. A.

A. Hopkins.

A. RUSSELL BOND.

New York, October, 1905.

THE SCIENTIFIC AMERICAN BOY.

CHAPTER I.

"BILL."

"Bill," he was it, the Scientific American Boy, I mean. Of course, we were all American boys and pretty scientific chaps too, if I do say it myself, but Bill, well he was the whole show. What he didn't know wasn't worth knowing, so we all thought, and even to this day I sometimes wonder how he managed to contrive and execute so many remarkable plans.

At the same time he was not a conceited sort of a chap and didn't seem to realize that he was head and shoulders above the rest of us in ingenuity. But, of course, we didn't all have an uncle like Bill did.

Bill's Uncle Ed was one of those rare men who take a great interest in boys and their affairs, a man who took time to answer every question put to him, explaining everything completely and yet so clearly that you caught on at once. Uncle Ed (we all called him that) was a civil engineer of very high standing in his profession, which had taken him pretty much all over the world, and his naturally inquisitive nature, coupled with a wonderful memory, had made him a veritable walking encyclopedia. With such an uncle it is no wonder that Bill knew everything. Of course, there were some things that puzzled even Bill.

But all such difficulties, after a reasonable amount of brain-work had failed to clear them, were submitted to Uncle Ed. Uncle Ed was always prompt (that was one thing we liked about him), and no matter where he was or what he was doing he would drop everything to answer a letter from the society.

THE OLD TRUNK.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Fig. 1. The Old Trunk in the Attic.]

[Ill.u.s.tration: Fig. 2. The Black Walnut Box.]

But hold on, I am getting ahead of my story. I was rummaging through the attic the other day, and came across an old battered trunk, one that I used when I went to boarding-school down in south Jersey. That trunk was certainly a curiosity shop. It contained a miscellaneous a.s.sortment of gla.s.s tubes, bra.s.s rods, coils of wire, tools, fish hooks--in fact, it was a typical collection of all those "valuables" that a boy is liable to pick up. Down in one corner of the trunk was a black walnut box, marked, with bra.s.s letters, "Property of the S. S. I. E. E. of W. C. I."

On my key-ring I still carried the key to that box, which had not been opened for years. I unlocked the box and brought to light the "Records and Chronicles of the Society for the Scientific Investigation, Exploration and Exploitation of Willow Clump Island." For hours I pored over those pages, carried back to the good old times we used to have as boys along the banks of the Delaware River, until I was brought sharply back to the present by the sound of the dinner bell. It seemed that the matter contained in those "Chronicles" was too good to be kept locked up in an old trunk. Few boys' clubs ever had such a president as Bill, or such a wonderful bureau of information as Uncle Ed. For the benefit of boys and boykind in general, I decided then and there to publish, as fully as practicable, a record of what our society did.

CHRISTMAS VACATION.

This was how the society came to be formed. Bill, whom I met at boarding-school, was an orphan, and that's why he was sent to boarding-school. His uncle had to go down to Brazil to lay out a railroad, I believe, and so he packed Bill off to our school, which was chosen in preference to some others because one of the professors there had been a cla.s.smate of Uncle Ed's at college. Bill roomed with me, and naturally we became great chums. When Christmas time came, of course I invited him to spend the holidays with me. My home was situated in the little village of Lamington, on the Jersey side of the Delaware River.

Here we arrived late at night on the Sat.u.r.day before Christmas. A cold wind was blowing which gave promise of breaking the spell of warm weather we had been having, and of giving us a chance to try our skates for the first time. True to our expectations, the next day was bitterly cold, and a visit to the ca.n.a.l which ran along the river bank, just beyond our back fence, showed that quite a thick skim of ice had formed on the water. Monday morning, bright and early, found us on the smooth, slippery surface of the ca.n.a.l. "Us" here includes, in addition to Bill and myself, my two younger brothers, Jack and Fred, and also Dutchy Van Syckel and Reddy Schreiner, neighbors of ours. It was the custom at the first of December every year to drain out most of the water in the ca.n.a.l, in order to prevent possible injury to the ca.n.a.l banks from the pressure of the ice. But there was always a foot or two of water covering the bottom of the ca.n.a.l, and this afforded a fine skating park of ample width and unlimited length, while the high ca.n.a.l banks on each side protected us from the bitter wind that was blowing. Toward noon, however, the wind shifted and swept at a terrific rate down the narrow lane between the ca.n.a.l banks. We could scarcely make headway against the blow. It was too much for Bill, who wasn't as used to skating as we were. He sat down in a sheltered nook and commenced to think. When Bill sat down to think it always meant that something was going to happen, as we soon learned.

"Say, Jim," said he to me, "have you got any canvas up at the house?"

"No," I replied. "What do you want it for?"

"I want to rig up a skate sail. If you have an old sheet, that will do just as well."

"Well, I guess I can find you an old sheet. Do you think you can make one?"

"Sure thing," answered Bill, and off we went to the house, where I received my first lesson on the practical genius of my chum.

"BILL'S" SKATE SAIL.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Fig. 3. Laying Out the Sail.]

[Ill.u.s.tration: Fig. 4. The Tape Tie Strings.]

[Ill.u.s.tration: Fig. 5. "Bill's" Sail Complete.]

The old sheet which Mother furnished us was laid out on the floor and two corners were folded over to the center, as shown in the drawing, making a triangle with base 7 feet long and sides each about 4 feet 6 inches long. The surplus end piece was then cut off, and a broad hem turned and basted all around the edges of the triangle. Bill wanted to work the sewing machine himself, but Mother was afraid he would break something, so she sewed down the hem for us. Then, under Bill's supervision, she re-enforced the corners by sewing on patches of cloth.

Along the diagonal a strip of heavy tape was sewed, leaving loops at intervals, which afterward were cut and provided means for tying the sail to the mast. Tie strings of tape were also sewed at the corners, as shown in the ill.u.s.tration, and then a trip was made to the garden in search of suitable spars. A smooth bean pole of about the right weight served for the mast, and another stick with a crotch at one end served as the boom or cross-spar. The spars were cut to proper length, and the sail was then tied on, as ill.u.s.trated, with the crotch of the cross-spar fitted against and tied to the center of the mast. A light rope, long enough to provide plenty of slack, was tied to the ends of the mast to a.s.sist in guiding the sail when in use. In the meantime I had procured another sheet from one of our neighbors, and Bill helped me make a sail for myself. It was not until long after dark that we finished our work.

WILLOW CLUMP ISLAND.

The next day we tried the sails and it didn't take me very long to learn how to steer the device. The wind had changed again and this time blew up the ca.n.a.l. We took the line of least resistance, and went skimming up the ice lane like birds for several miles before we realized how far we were getting away from home. As we rounded a bend in the ca.n.a.l, much to my astonishment, I saw just before us the bridge at Raven Hill, eight miles from our town. We started to go back, but the wind was too strong for us, and there wasn't much room in which to do any tacking; nor could we make any progress when the sails were folded. I began to get extremely tired and rather exasperated at Bill for not having thought of the return trip before he led me such a hot pace up the ca.n.a.l. But Bill was getting tired, too.

"Look here, Jim," he said, "we haven't covered a mile, and I'm worn out."

"Why in thunder didn't you think of this before we started?" I returned.

"How much money have you with you?" was the reply.

"What's that got to do with it?"

"I'll tell you in a minute. How much have you?"

A careful search of my dozen odd pockets netted the sum of twenty-seven cents.

"I have fifty-nine," said Bill, "and that makes eighty-six altogether, doesn't it? Isn't there a railroad depot near here?"

"There is one at Raven Hill, and the next is at Lumberville. That is about eleven miles from home."

"Well," said Bill, "at three cents each per mile that would amount to sixty-six cents. Let's sail on to Lumberville and then take the train back."