The Scientific American Boy by A. Russell Bond

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Of course, this little episode gave us a scare, but it was only temporary.
We swore everyone to secrecy, so that Mr. Clark, the principal, wouldn't
hear of the mishap and suppress any further cave building. It was obvious
that the only roof we could depend on for our cave would be a wooden roof.
If we had been at Willow Clump Island we would have gotten any amount of
slabs from the lumber mills across the river.

One of our schoolmates, a day scholar, came to the rescue. His name was
Chester Hill, a little bit of a chap, about the shortest for his age that
I have ever seen. His name was so at variance to his size that we called
him "Hillock," for short. Now Hillock lived on a farm about eight miles
from school, and used to drive in every day on a farm wagon. He had helped
us dig the cave under the cedar tree, and when he learned that we would
need some lumber to build a safe cave, he told us that he had an uncle who
owned a lumber mill on the Morris River, from whom he was sure we could
get all the slabs we wanted. Of course, we were delighted, and laid our
plans for an elaborate cave house. Hillock promised to be on hand on the
following Saturday afternoon with his load of lumber.

Excavating for the Cave.

We immediately set out to make the necessary excavation. The side of a
bushy knoll was chosen as a suitable site. First we carefully transplanted
the bushes that grew in the square we had marked out for the cave, and
cutting the sod into squares, piled it all neatly to one side. Then we
shoveled away the top-soil and heaped it up for future use. After that we
dug away the sandy subsoil. The cave proper we planned to make about 8
feet by 10 feet, with a passageway 2 feet wide and 6 feet long, leading in
from a large bush at the base of the knoll. Our excavation was therefore
somewhat T-shaped (see Fig. 182). At the deepest part we had to dig down
about 10 feet.

[Illustration: Fig. 182. Excavation for the Cave.]

The digging was all done by Saturday, when Hillock pulled up with a big
load of slabs. Slabs are a very unsatisfactory kind of wood for most
purposes. Being the outside cut, they are usually very irregular and weak
in spots. In many places they are almost clear bark. Of course, had our
pocketbooks permitted, we would have used stout scantlings for the corner
posts of our cave house and substantial boards for the walls, roof and
flooring, but we had to be content with materials at hand. Eight of the
best slabs were selected for our corner posts; four of them we cut to the
length of 8 feet and the others to a length of 6 feet. The long slabs were
set up at the rear of the cave, two at each corner, one flat against the
rear wall, with its edge buried in the corner, and the other against the
side wall, with its edge tight against the rear slab, as in Fig. 183. The
same was done at the forward corners with the shorter slabs. A couple of
slabs were now set up on each side of the passageway, and a corresponding
pair against the rear wall. The upper and lower ends of the uprights were
then connected with slabs, called stringpieces.

[Illustration: Fig. 183. Framework of the Cave.]

[Illustration: Fig. 184. The Siding and Flooring.]

The sides were now boarded up with upright slabs nailed to the
stringpieces. An opening 3 feet 6 inches high was left in the forward wall
for a passageway. Several slabs were now placed on the edge across the
bottom of the cave, to serve as floor beams, upon which a flooring of
slabs was laid. Next the rafters were set in place, one on each upright
slab. Slots were cut in the ends of the uprights to receive the rafters,
which were slabs placed on edge. As the forward uprights were 2 feet
shorter than the rear ones, the rafters were given a good slant, so that
the roof would properly shed any water that might soak in through the
ground above.

[Illustration: Fig. 185. Notching in the Rafters.]

The roof was laid on the same way that we had made the roof of our tree
house; that is, a slab was first nailed at the forward end of the rafters
with its edge projecting far enough to make a good eave; then the second
slab was nailed on, with its edge overlapping the first, and a third with
its edge overlapping the second, and so on with the rest. At the rear end
of the roof a hole was cut, into which we fitted a piece of stovepipe. We
didn't plan to have a fire in the house, but set the stovepipe in place to
provide the necessary ventilation. As the pipe had an elbow in it, there
was no danger of rain or dirt falling through it. The upper end of the
stovepipe was concealed among some rocks at the top of the knoll.

A suitable flooring was now laid in the passageway, and the sides were
boarded up to a height of 2 feet from the floor at the entrance to a
height of 3 feet 6 inches at the inner end. A roof of slabs was nailed on,
and then we were ready to cover our slab house with dirt.

Covering the Cave.

We avoided piling on the dirt very deep, because there was danger of
breaking in the roof with a heavy load. A thin layer of sand covered with
the top-soil brought up the level to about that of the rest of the knoll.
Then the sod was laid back in place and well watered, and the few bushes
planted back in their original positions. Our sodding should have been
done in the spring for best results. The frost soon killed the grass, and
the bushes withered away. But a few cents' worth of grass seed was sowed
in, and in time gave the knoll a very natural appearance. A bush at the
bottom concealed the entrance of the cave, so that no one who was not in
the secret would have suspected that beneath that innocent looking knoll
were gathered the members of the "Big Bug Club."

The Big Bug Club.

[Illustration: Fig.186. A Section through the Completed Cave.]

Of course, we had to organize a secret society, to occupy our subterranean
dwelling. In that I fear we overstepped the rules of the school. Of
course, Mr. Clark knew of our cave, in fact he visited us there once,
lowering his dignity sufficiently to squeeze into the narrow passageway,
and playing Bill a game of chess at our club table. He seemed quite
pleased with our work, and complimented us very highly on the masterful
way in which we had built the underground house. We told him that we had
organized a club of the older fellows to play indoor games and have
occasional spreads, but we did not tell him that most of our spreads were
held at the dead of night, when there was no moon and the stars were
hidden by clouds. At 10 o'clock each night the bell rang for us to turn
out our lights, and after that the six members would each, in turn, keep a
half-hour watch, that is, first one would sit up and try to keep awake for
half an hour, after which he would waken the next fellow, who at the end
of a half hour would rouse the third, and so on, until 1 o'clock, when the
sixth watcher would wake up the entire club. Then we would all creep out
the back window in the hall, onto the roof of the rear annex of the
schoolhouse, and thence climb down a rope ladder to the ground.

Midnight Banquets.

I suppose we could have just as easily have tiptoed downstairs and out the
back door, but it would have spoiled the romance of it all. The absolute
stillness and the pitch black darkness of the night were awe-inspiring.
The roll of a pebble or the crack of a twig under foot would set us all
a-tingle as we stole out to our cave house. Sometimes the night was so
black that we could hardly find the entrance of the cave. Once inside, in
the light of a few candles, the nervous tension was relieved, and we
reveled in a banquet of cold victuals and dainties, purchased out of the
monthly club dues. Our meetings in the cave lasted scarcely half an hour.
In fact, the meeting, and even the banquet, were mere incidentals. The
main enjoyment consisted in stealing out to the cave and back again,
always at the risk of getting caught. Usually when we got to bed again we
would be too excited to fall asleep right away, and when we did finally
drop off our sleep was so sound that several times the breakfast bell
caught one or more of us still napping.

The Club Pin.

The only other charm our secret club afforded was the wearing of a
mysterious club pin. It was a silver beetle, with the letter G engraved on
the head and the letter B on the body, while down the center of the back
was the letter I (see Fig. 187). In public we called ourselves the G. I.
B.'s, but it was only the initiated members who knew that these letters
were to be read backward, and, with the beetle on which they were
engraved, signified the "Big Bugs." Of course, we had some secret signs
and signals, a secret hand grasp, a peculiar whistle as a warning to run,
another meaning "lie still," and a third signifying "all is well."

[Illustration: Fig. 187. The Club Pin.]

The Combination Lock.

We found it necessary to close the entrance of our cave with a door
fastened with a padlock, so as to keep meddlers out. The entire school had
watched us build the cave house, and, of course, knew just where our
entrance lay. Then, in addition to the outer door, we put in another one,
half-way down the dark passageway. On this Bill rigged up a simple
combination lock which would baffle anyone who managed to pick the
padlock. This inner door opened outward. It was hinged to the floor of the
passageway, and swung up against a frame set in the passageway. At the top
was a board whose lower edge lay flush with the edge of the door when it
was closed. For the combination lock we used a couple of spools, each with
one head cut off and the central hole plugged up with a stick of wood. In
the door and the top board of the frame, holes were drilled just large
enough for the shanks of the spools to fit snugly in them. Next we made a
trip to a hardware store for a file and a couple of large copper washers,
about 1-1/4 inches in diameter. The washers were fastened to the inner
ends of the spools after they had been pushed through the hole. The washer
on the door came just to the edge of the door, while the other extended
below the door frame and lapped under the door washer. Then in the edge of
the washer on the frame a notch was filed, while in the other washer two
notches were filed, so as to leave a tooth which fitted snugly into the
notch of the first washer (see Figs. 188, 189). The door was locked by
turning both the washers until the notch and tooth came in line with each
other, then pushing the tooth through the notch, and turning the washers
so that the frame washer hooked over the door washer. Then the door could
be opened only when the tooth and notch were brought in line.

On the head of each spool we pasted a disk of white cardboard, the edge of
which was graduated, as in Fig. 190. Then we had a secret combination, say
11-19, which meant that when the spools were turned so that the number 11
on the door spool came in line with the number 19 on the frame spool the
tooth and notch would be in line, and the door could then be opened. Of
course, this combination was known to the members of the club only, and
anyone outside who tried to open the door might have tried for some time
without bringing the tooth and notch into line with each other.
Occasionally we changed the combination by loosening the screws which held
the washers, and turning them so that the notch and tooth came opposite
different numbers on the dials. This was done so that if anyone should
chance to learn our combination he could not make use of it very long.

[Illustration: Fig. 188. The Notched Washers.]

[Illustration: Fig. 189. Washers Fastened on Spools.]

[Illustration: Fig. 190. The Combination Lock.]

CHAPTER XVI.

SCOOTERS.

"Hello, Dutchy! What in thunder have you got there?" It was Bill who
spoke. We were on our way home for the winter holidays, and had been held
up at Millville by Reddy Schreiner, who had informed us that Dutchy was
down by the river with the boat to give us a sail up to Lamington.

A vision of a fleet ice boat skimming up the river at express train speed
swam before our eyes. But the next moment, as we turned the corner into
River Street, we were surprised by the sight of our old scow just off the
pier at anchor, and in open water. It was rigged up with a jib and
mainsail, which were flapping idly in the wind. It had also been altered
by decking over the top, with the exception of a small cockpit, evidently
for the purpose of keeping out the water when she heeled over under the
wind. We were disappointed and quite annoyed at not finding the ice boat
on hand; furthermore, our annoyance was considerably heightened by
Dutchy's broad grin of evident delight at our discomfiture. "The river
wasn't all frozen over," he explained, "and we couldn't bring the ice boat
down, so we rigged up the scow and she came down splendidly."

A Sail in the Scow.

There was nothing to do but to jump in, though I, for one, would have
taken the train in preference had there been one inside of two hours.
Dutchy, however, seemed to be in a surprisingly good humor, and kept up a
lively chatter about things that the club had made in our absence. The
skis, which have already been described on page 42, had been built under
Reddy's guidance, and they had already used them on Willard's Hill,
coasting down like a streak and shooting way up into the air off a hump at
the bottom. Then there was the toboggan slide down Randall's Hill, and way
across the river on the ice.

Our Craft Strikes the Ice.

[Illustration: A Sail on the Scooter Scow.]

Dutchy talked so incessantly that we hadn't noticed the field of ice which
we were nearing. Just at this point Bill turned around with an
exclamation.

"Here, Dutchy, you crazy fellow, where are you going to? Hard to port,
man--hard aport--or you will crash into the ice!"

But Dutchy only grinned nervously.

"I tell you, you will smash the boat!" Bill cried again, making a dive
for the steering oar; but just then the boat struck the ice, and both Bill
and I were thrown backward into the bottom of the boat. But the boat
didn't smash. There was a momentary grinding and crunching noise, and,
much to my surprise, I found that the old scow had lifted itself clean out
of the water, and was skating right along on the ice. Then Dutchy could
control himself no longer. He laughed, and laughed, as if he never would
stop. He laughed until the steering oar dropped from his hands, and the
old scow, with the head free, swung around and plunged off the ice ledge
with a heavy splash into the open water again. Then Reddy, who was almost
equally convulsed, came to his senses. "Now you've done it, Dutchy; you're
a fine skipper, you are! How do you expect to get us back to shore again?"
The steering oar was left behind us on the ice, and there we were drifting
on the open water, with no rudder and no oar to bring us back.

The Scooter Scow.

[Illustration: Fig. 191. Scow with Runners nailed on.]

The only thing we could do was to wait until the wind or current carried
us to the ice or land. In the meantime Dutchy, who had suddenly sobered
down when we took our water plunge, explained how he had rigged up the
scow to travel both on ice and on water. He called the rig a sled boat,
but the name by which such a rig is now known is a "scooter." It was
Dutchy's idea primarily, but Reddy had engineered the work. Along the
bottom of the scow two strips of hickory had been nailed to serve as
runners. The hickory strips had been bent up at the forward end, as shown
in Fig. 191. Each runner was shod with a strip of brass, fastened on with
flathead screws, which were countersunk, so that the heads should not
project below the brass. This virtually made a sledge out of the old scow,
and didn't spoil it for use on the water.

A Sprit Sail.

[Illustration: Fig. 192. Mainsail of Scooter Scow.]

A sprit sail and jib were rigged up. The dimensions of these sails, which
were taken from a book in Mr. Van Syckel's library, are given in the
illustrations. A sheet of heavy muslin was made to measure 7 feet square,
as indicated by dotted lines in the drawing; then the corners were cut off
along the full lines shown in the illustration. The edges were now hemmed
all around, and the lower edge of the sail was lashed to a boom, 7 feet 6
inches long. To the luff were attached a number of mast rings, which were
slipped over a stout mast projecting about 5 feet 6 inches above the deck
of the boat. The peak of the sail was held up by a spar called a sprit.
The sprit was sharpened at each end, and the point at the upper end was
inserted in a loop of heavy cord fastened to the peak of the sail, while
the lower point of the sprit rested in the loop of a rope on the mast,
called a "snotter." The snotter was a short piece of rope with a loop at
each end. It was wrapped around the mast, as shown in the drawing, with
one loop holding it in place, like a slip knot, and the other supporting
the end of the sprit. A single halyard was used to raise this sail. It was
attached to the boat and passed over a block in the mast. When raising the
sail it was first partly hoisted, then the sprit was hooked in the loop
and the snotter, after which the throat halyard was drawn taut. Then the
snotter was pulled up the mast as far as it would go, flattening out the
sail. The jib-sail was made out of the large corner piece left when
cutting the mainsail. The dimensions of the jib-sail are given in Fig.
194. It was such a small sail that no boom was used with it. In place of a
rudder the steering oar had to be used. This was made of a rake handle
with a large trowel blade fastened to the end of it. The sharp blade cut
into the ice, and so steered the scow when it was running as an ice boat,
and in the water the blade offered sufficient resistance to act as a
rudder.

[Illustration: Fig. 193. The Snotter.]

[Illustration: Fig. 194. Jib-sail of Scooter Scow.]

Scooter Sailing.

But to return to our sail home to Lamington, we were not out on the open
water long before the current carried us back to the ice ledge. Reddy
jumped off and soon returned with the steering oar; then we proceeded on
our way homeward, now in the water and now on ice. Once or twice the scow
was unable to climb out of the water, because she had not sufficient
headway, and was clumsy and heavy with four boys aboard. Then we had to
push off until we could get a sufficient start. It struck me that while
Dutchy was quite clever to think of such a rig, yet it was very clumsy and
capable of much improvement. Bill wasn't saying very much all this time,
and I could see he was doing a lot of thinking. Evidently he was planning
some improvement, but Bill was a very considerate fellow, and did not want
to spoil Dutchy's pleasure just then by telling him how much better a
scooter he might have built. It wasn't until after supper, when a meeting
of t he S. S. I. E. E. of W. C. I. was called, that Bill carne out with his
scheme.

A Meeting of the Society.

"Why not mount the sailing canoe on runners, instead of the scow? You
would have a very light rig then, and it would sail like a streak."

"Mr. President," said Reddy, "your plan sounds first-rate, but how are you
going to fasten runners onto the canoe?"

"I've thought all that out," replied Bill. "If we can only get hold of a
pair of sleigh runners it won't take long to rig up the sled boat."

Dutchy, who had looked rather crestfallen at a suggestion of an
improvement on his pet invention, now suddenly brightened up.

"I know where we can get the sleigh runners!" he exclaimed. "Dad has an
old ramshackle sleigh in the barn that is just falling to pieces with dry
rot. I'll ask him for it to-night."

"Do you think you can get it?" inquired Bill.

"I guess so," Dutchy answered, rather doubtfully. "But say, suppose we
send a delegation to see him about it?"

An Interview with Mr. Van Syckel.

This was agreed upon, and in the morning, as soon as breakfast had been
downed, the entire society marched in a body into Mr. Van Syckel's
library. I was appointed spokesman, with Bill to back me, while the rest
of the party were strung out behind, with Dutchy bringing up the rear. Mr.
Van Syckel was not the man to take much interest in boys' work, but we
happened to strike him at the right moment, and before our interview was
over we had told him all our experiences of the summer before and all our
plans for the future. Then we did a good turn for Dutchy, too. Mr. Van
Syckel had always considered his boy a "know-nothing," and was very much
surprised to find that he had invented the scooter scow. Why, he actually
seemed proud of his son, much to Dutchy's embarrassment. After that there
was no trouble about getting the sleigh runners, and Mr. Van Syckel forgot
the objections he had offered at first.

The Scooter Canoe.

[Illustration: Fig. 195. Runners of Scooter Canoe.]

[Illustration: Fig. 196. The Scooter Canoe.]

Naturally we were very much elated at our success, and straightway made
for the barn, where we began operations on the scooter canoe. The sleigh
was an old-fashioned affair, with rather broad wooden runners. First we
removed the body of the sleigh, and then the runners were cut down to a
height of about 15 inches. We spaced them apart about 28 inches, and
connected them with four crosspieces at the top. The runners were now
placed over our larger canoe, with forward ends about on a line with the
mast, and the crosspieces were fastened with screws to the gunwales. As an
additional security, a pair of crosspieces were now run under the canoe at
each end and fastened with screws to the keel. At the bow the keel was
shod with a strip of brass. The rudder was taken off the boat, and an oar
lock was fastened to the stern to hold the steering oar. In place of lee
boards we nailed a couple of thin boards over each runner, as shown in the
drawing. We were in a hurry to finish this, as our vacation was short, so
we used on the scooter canoe the sails that we had made for our ice boat.
This required a bowsprit, but as we had little time to spare we used the
jib-boom of the ice boat, nailing it to the deck beam of the canoe. We
decided that the jib-sail could be used without a boom, as we had done
with the scow. The mast was braced by stays attached to the ends of the
runners and bowsprit. This spread of canvas was far greater than that
originally provided for sailing the canoe, but the heavy runners on each
side helped to keep the boat on even keel, and then to further balance the
sail a board was nailed across the aft end of the boat. This overhung the
runners about 18 inches each side, and in a strong wind we could sit out
on the windward end of this board, thus preventing the scooter from
heeling over too far.

CHAPTER XVII.

AN ARCTIC EXPEDITION.

As soon as our scooter canoe was completed we prepared for the
long-planned winter expedition to Willow Clump Island. The weather
conditions were ideal. We had had ten days of steady cold weather, which
had followed a heavy fall of snow, so that we could tramp up the island on
snow shoes, or we could use our scooter canoe and scooter scow on the
river. It was out of the question to use our skate sails or the ice boat
on the river, and the canal would be serviceable only in case the wind
should blow from a southerly quarter. But we stowed them on the sledge for
use on Lake Placid.

On the Tuesday morning following Christmas we made the start. Bill in the
scooter canoe and Dutchy in the scooter scow sailed up the river, and the
rest of us, on snow shoes, took the tow path of the canal, hauling the
sledge along. We carried provisions for a week and a good supply of
blankets. The island was reached without mishap, except that Dutchy had to
be helped several times in dragging the heavy scow around the rapids. Bill
reached the island long before we did, and after unloading the canoe came
racing back under a stiff breeze for a second load. Then he took his turn
at hauling the sledge, while Reddy sailed the reloaded scooter canoe up to
the island.

Willow Clump Island in Winter.

We brought no tent with us, as we expected to take up our quarters in the
straw hut. When we reached the hut we hardly recognized it. It was almost
completely covered with snow and looked like an Eskimo house. The snow had
drifted well up over the north side, completely closing the entrance. We
had to set to work at once with a shovel and open up a passageway, and
then we had to shovel out a large pile of snow that had drifted into the
hut from the open doorway.

Kindling a Camp Fire.

In the meantime Jack scoured the island for some dry wood. In this he was
not very successful, because everything was covered with snow, and when he
tried to kindle a fire in the open space in front of our hut he found the
task an exceedingly difficult one. Unfortunately we forgot to bring the
oil stove with us, and the prospect of something warm to eat was
exceedingly remote. We hadn't yet learned the trick of building a camp
fire in wet weather. After exhausting our stock of paper Fred and I
started over to Lumberville for several newspapers and a can of kerosene.
We went to old Jim Halliday's, who had befriended us on one or two
occasions the previous summer, and made known to him our troubles.

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