"Now, for example, I am going to measure the distance to that tree over there. Get out your chain and measure off a straight line 10 feet long.

Now, I'll set the surveying instrument with the plumb-bob right over the end of this line, and sight through the two sight holes until I bring the two vertical hairs in line with each other and the tree. Look at the compa.s.s needle. It points to the 173 degree mark on the cardboard ring.

Now, Bill, you hold the rod at the other end of our base line while I swing this instrument around and sight it. There, the needle points to 92 degrees, and subtracting this from 173 the difference, 81 degrees, is the angle at the right end of our base line. We'll do the same thing at the other end of our line. See, the compa.s.s needle points to 189 degrees, and now sighting to the pole at the other end of the line we find that the needle points to 268. The difference, 79 degrees, is therefore the size of the angle at the left end of our base line. Now we will draw this out on paper, as we did our first triangle, using quarter-inches to represent feet. Our base line was 10 feet long, and we will therefore draw a line 10 quarter-inches, or 2-1/2 inches long, on our drawing board. On this line we will construct the triangle, using the angles 81 and 79 degrees. There, that's how our triangle looks, and the right hand side measures 7-1/4 inches, while the left hand side measures 7-5/16 inches. That is, 29 quarter-inches for one side and 29-1/4 quarter-inches for the other. As each quarter-inch represents a foot, you will find that the tree is about 29 feet from the right end of our base line and 29 feet 3 inches from the left hand end. Of course, our instrument is not perfect, neither is our drawing; but if you measure it off with the chain you will see that I am not very far from correct."

MAPPING THE ISLAND.

Most of our surveying was done by actual measurement, the surveying instrument being used only to determine the exact direction of the measurement. However, there were some measurements which we could not make directly with the chain. For example, we wished to know just how far it was from our tent to the Jersey sh.o.r.e of the river. We measured off a base line along our sh.o.r.e 400 feet long and sighted to a point directly across the river from our tent. The angle in front of our tent was 90 degrees, and at the other end of the base line was 73 degrees.

When we drew out our triangle on the scale of 100 feet to the inch we found that the shorter side directly in front of the tent was almost exactly 13 inches long. This meant that the river at this point was 1,300 feet wide, nearly a quarter of a mile. On the other side of the island we found, in the same way, that the river at its narrowest point was about 500 feet wide. This portion of the river we named Lake Placid, as the water was very still and quite deep. This was due to a sort of natural dam formed at the lower end of our island. The small island that Dutchy found was kite-shaped, with a tail of boulders which extended almost all the way across to a rocky point on the Pennsylvania sh.o.r.e.

The channel between "Kite Island," as we called it, and Willow Clump Island was not more than fifteen feet wide in some places, and through this the water swept with a swift current down past a narrow neck of land to join the main current. This narrow stretch of land we named the Tiger's Tail, owing to its peculiar shape. It was in the hook at the end of this tail that we discovered the old bridge wreck above referred to.

From the tip of the Tiger's Tail to Point Lookout, at the extreme upper end of Willow Clump Island, it was a little under a half-mile. The sh.o.r.e all along Lake Placid was very steep, except near Point Lookout. At one place there was a shallow bay which we called the lagoon.

CHAPTER VIII.

SWIMMING.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Fig. 85. The Diving Tree.]

Lake Placid was a favorite swimming place for us. We used to plunge in from the branches of a tree which overhung the water a little ways above the lagoon and made a natural springboard. We could all swim like ducks, except Dutchy, who couldn't do anything but paddle. However, Uncle Ed was an expert, and he took Dutchy in hand and soon made a pretty good swimmer out of him. He also taught us some fancy strokes. Of course I took no record of these lessons. You would hardly expect me to sit on the bank with a book in hand jotting down notes while the rest were splashing around in the cool water having the best of fun in the world, and even if I had, I wouldn't republish the notes here, because whoever heard of a boy learning to swim while reading a book on the subject? A beginner had better leave books alone and plunge right into the water.

He will soon learn to keep himself afloat and can then practise any fancy strokes that he sees others try. Then, again, don't try to learn in shallow water, because you will never do it. Of course it doesn't pay to jump into water that is over your head unless there is a good swimmer near by to help you out. But you will never learn to swim until you have become accustomed to putting your head under water. You can not swim with a dry face. The first time we went swimming, we couldn't persuade Dutchy to try it. The water was deep right up to the very bank and he had never been in over his head. Instead he sat up in the diving tree swinging his feet and trying to hide the fact that he was having a dull time.

"Say, we've got to douse that fellow," said Reddy.

"You're right; he needs a wash," said Jim. "Let's sneak up behind him and chuck him in."

They landed a little ways up the stream behind a large bush and then crept down stealthily on their victim. But Dutchy had his suspicions aroused and saw them coming. He scrambled out of the tree in a jiffy and tore off into the woods as fast as his legs could carry him.

SWIMMING ON A PLANK.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Fig. 86. Swimming on a Plank.]

We didn't expect to see him again that afternoon, for the pace he was leading should have carried him miles in no time; but while he couldn't swim, Dutchy had his own ideas of fun on the water. It was about twenty minutes later that we saw him coming down-stream lying full length on one of the 2-inch planks taken from the bridge wreck. He was paddling himself along with arms and legs hung over the sides of the plank. We all gave him a cheer, and then started out to have some fun with him. We tried to pull him off his raft, but he stuck on like a leech. It was only when we made his craft turn turtle that Dutchy got his head under water. But it wasn't a moment before he scrambled back on top again, gasping and sputtering to get the water out of his nose and mouth.

Uncle Ed all this time had been sunning himself on the bank, when suddenly he uttered a shout of warning. We were right at the mouth of the mill-race. For the moment we forgot about Dutchy, and swam out for sh.o.r.e. Before we realized it Dutchy was caught in the current, and was being swept full tilt down the stream. My but wasn't he scared. I can see him yet clinging for dear life to the plank, his face the color of ashes and his eyes bulging out in terror. First he tried to make for the bank, but the water was so swift that when the front end of the board struck land the rear end swung around in a circle, carrying him on again, but backward this time, before we could reach him. Two or three more times the plank struck the bank and turned him around, while we raced along the high bank, scrambling down to catch him every time he headed for sh.o.r.e, but each time just missing him. Then he swung out past the Tiger's Tail into the open river just above the rapids. Fortunately he was going along headforemost this time, and Uncle Ed, who had just arrived, panting and breathless, from running, shouted to him to keep his head and steer for a narrow opening between two jutting boulders. I don't know whether Dutchy did any steering or not, but the raft shot straight through the opening, and was lost in a cloud of spray. In a moment he reappeared below the rapids, paddling like mad for a neck of land on the Pennsylvania side of the river.

Dutchy would never own up that he was afraid. He never told a lie under other circ.u.mstances, but when it came to a question of courage he had the habit of stretching facts to the very limit. Even in this case, he said that he started out with the idea of shooting the rapids, and if we hadn't fl.u.s.tered him so, he would not have b.u.mped into the bank and turned about so many times. Dutchy was a very glib talker. He nearly persuaded us that it was all done intentionally, and his thrilling account of the wild dash between the rocks and through the shower of spray stirred us up so that we all had to try the trick too.

SHOOTING THE RAPIDS.

The next day, while Uncle Ed was taking a nap, we stole off to the upper end of Lake Placid, each one towing a plank. We needn't have been so afraid of Uncle Ed, for we found out later that he intended to try a plank ride through the rapids himself next time he went in swimming.

Down Lake Placid we paddled in single column to the mill-race. In a moment the current had caught us and we were off. I shall never forget the thrilling ride down the swirling mill-race, the sudden pause as we shot out into the open river, the plunge between the boulders and the dive through the spray. It was all over too soon. Something like coasting--whiz, whiz-z-z, and a half-mile walk. Were it not for the trouble of hauling the planks back by the roundabout course along the Pennsy sh.o.r.e we would have thought shooting the rapids a capital game.

RESTORING THE DROWNED.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Fig. 87. Pressing the Water out of the Stomach.]

[Ill.u.s.tration: Fig. 88. Expanding the Chest.]

[Ill.u.s.tration: Fig. 89. Squeezing out the Air from the Lungs.]

It was on the second day after Dutchy's exploit of the rapids that Bill came so near drowning. He probably would have drowned if Uncle Ed hadn't been on hand to work over him. Bill was a fine swimmer, but even the best of swimmers will sometimes get a cramp, so it is never safe for any one to go into the water without some one at hand to help him out in case of accident. In the present case Bill was doing some fancy strokes by himself over near the Pennsy sh.o.r.e, while the rest of us were watching Uncle Ed give Dutchy a lesson in swimming. All of a sudden Bill threw up his hands and sank. I happened to glance up as he did it. We thought he was fooling at first, but soon made out that he was in genuine trouble. Uncle Ed dropped Dutchy to my tender care, and raced over with a powerful stroke to the spot where he had last seen his nephew. He failed to find him on the first dive, but the second time was successful and he carried the lifeless body to the Pennsylvania sh.o.r.e.

In the meantime I had landed Dutchy and with the rest of the boys had crossed the lake. Uncle Ed first laid Bill on his back and hastily wiped dry the mouth and nostrils. Then he pried his jaws apart, holding them open with a piece of wood wedged in between the teeth. After which he turned him on his face over a log which was placed under his stomach. By stomach I do not mean the bowels, but the real stomach, which lies just under the ribs in front. Then he pressed with a good weight on the back directly over the log for nearly a minute, causing the water to flow out of the mouth. Dutchy had by this time rowed across in the scow, in which fortunately there happened to be some of Uncle Ed's clothing. This he took and rolled into a bundle, then Bill was laid on his back over the roll of clothing, which was arranged to raise the pit of his stomach above the rest of his body. Uncle Ed now wrapped a handkerchief around his forefinger, and with it wiped out Bill's mouth and throat. Reddy, who was the least excited of the lot, was told to draw Bill's tongue forward so as to prevent it from falling back and choking the windpipe.

This he did with the dry part of the handkerchief, drawing the end of the tongue out at the corner of the mouth, and holding it there while Uncle Ed and I started the pumping action, which produced artificial respiration. I was directed to grasp Bill's arms just below the elbows, and swing them vertically in an arc until the hands met the ground again above the head. This expanded the chest. Uncle Ed at the same time stood over the body with his elbows on his knees and hands extended, as ill.u.s.trated in Fig. 88. Then I swung the arms up and back to the sides of the body, but just before the hands touched the ground Uncle Ed seized the body in both hands just below the ribs, and as soon as I touched the arms to the ground he swung forward with all his weight on his hands, squeezing the waist and pushing upward so as to force out the air in the chest. Then he slowly counted, one, two, three, four, all the time steadily increasing the pressure, until at the signal four, with a final push, he shoved himself to the first position, shown in Fig. 88.

At the same signal I drew the arms up again over the head, and held them there while Uncle Ed again counted four; then I returned the arms to the sides, and Uncle Ed repeated the squeezing process. These movements were continued for about three minutes, and then Bill gave a short, faint gasp. We kept on with the artificial respiration, a.s.sisting the gasps, which gradually grew stronger, until they had deepened into steady breathing. Then we stripped off the wet bathing suit, and wrapping Bill in Uncle Ed's clothing, laid him in the bottom of the boat. While Dutchy hurried the boat across, Uncle Ed rubbed the patient's arms and legs.

The rest of us swam over and ran for blankets from the tent. Bill was wrapped in one of the blankets and the other was used as a stretcher, on which we carried him to the tent. Then one of us was sent post-haste across to Lumberville for some whiskey, which was diluted in hot water and given the patient a teaspoonful at a dose, every fifteen minutes at first, and then at less frequent intervals. Uncle Ed kept Bill in bed all the next day for fear of congestion of the lungs. He told us that unless the patient kept perfectly quiet for a couple of days, he was liable to be seized with a sudden attack of hard breathing that might choke him to death in a short time. To stop such an attack he told us that the best plan was to apply a mustard plaster to the chest, and if the patient commenced to gasp, to start pumping the arms and squeezing the waist so as to help him breathe. After Bill had come around and was himself again Uncle Ed gave us a thorough drill in methods of restoring the drowned. He laid down on the gra.s.s and made us practise on him the various directions which he gave us.

HOW TO WORK OVER A PATIENT ALONE.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Fig. 90. Working alone over a Patient.]

"If you boys hadn't been so excited," he said, "I would have made you rub Bill's body and limbs while we were pumping the air into him, but I knew you would get in the way, and be more of a bother than a help. You must learn to be calm in any accident; excitement doesn't pay. Keep steadily and slowly at your pumping, for you might have to do it for four hours before the patient comes to." He taught us just how to swing the arms and squeeze the ribs to best advantage, and how to hold the tongue without getting in the way of the arms as they were pumped back and forth. There was also a special way of rubbing the arms and legs.

The limbs were always rubbed upward, or toward the body, with the bare hands, or a dry cloth if there was one at hand, but this all had to be done without interfering with the pumping action. "If the patient doesn't come around in five minutes," he said, "turn him on his face again over the roll of clothing, or any other suitable subst.i.tute, and press out the water from the stomach, rolling him first to one side and then to the other; be sure to get all the water out." When we had learned our lesson well, Uncle Ed took Dutchy for his patient, and proceeded to show us how a man could work over him alone. First he went through the operation of squeezing the water out of him, and drying his nose and mouth, much to the patient's discomfort; then he drew Dutchy's tongue out of the corner of his mouth, holding it there by closing the jaws on it, and holding the jaws together by pa.s.sing a handkerchief over his chin and lapping it over his head. After that he began to pump, seizing the patient's arms and swinging them up over the head and back, as before. Just as the arms were dropped back to the sides of the body, he squeezed them in against the ribs, at the same time drawing upward toward the head and counting four each time, as he had done before. But the lesson was abruptly interrupted by Dutchy, whose imagination was worked up to such a pitch that I actually believe he thought he had been drowning. Anyway, he squirmed out of Uncle Ed's grasp, and wouldn't play patient any longer. For several days after that we couldn't persuade him to venture near deep water.

CHAPTER IX.

BRIDGE BUILDING.

Willow Clump Island was, for the most part, a trackless wilderness, and as soon as we had made our map we laid out roads to the different important points. Our main highway ran from Point Lookout to Tiger's Tail. This road was made rather winding, to add to its picturesqueness, and from it a number of shorter roads branched off.

SPAR BRIDGE.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Figs. 91 and 92. Frames for the Spar Bridge.]

[Ill.u.s.tration: Fig 93. The Spar Bridge.]

We ran a bridge across the mill-race at its narrowest point. This bridge was made of trees which we had cut down in making our road. It was quite a piece of engineering, built under Uncle Ed's guidance. Two frames were made of the shape shown in Figs. 91 and 92. The side sticks were 15 feet long and s.p.a.ced about 10 feet apart at the base by crosspieces. At the upper end one frame was made 6 feet wide and the other 5 feet wide. The side and cross spars were mortised together and secured by lashing a rope around them. To make the frames more rigid we braced them with diagonal braces nailed on. When completed we set the frames up on opposite sides of the stream and with ropes carefully lowered their upper ends until they interlocked, the side spars of each frame resting on the cross spars of the other. In the angles formed by the crossing side spars a center spar was laid, and a number of floor beams or spars were stretched to this from the opposite sh.o.r.es. On these a flooring was spread made of saplings, cut and trimmed to the right size. A rustic railing on each side of the bridge completed the structure.

THE ROPE RAILWAY.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Fig. 94. The Swing Seat.]

[Ill.u.s.tration: Fig. 95. Tying the Ropes to the Seat.]

The mill-race was crossed further down by a rope line on which we rigged a traveling carriage. A light manila rope was used, anch.o.r.ed to a tree at each side about fifteen feet from the ground. A pulley block with a wheel or sheave 4 inches in diameter was mounted to travel on the rope.

Suspended from this block by means of fall and tackle was a swing seat.