Marooned in the Forest: The Story of a Primitive Fight for Life

by A. Hyatt Verrill

While skinning the beaver I was attracted by the strong, white tendons of his legs and tail, and, knowing how useful such tough, thread-like material might prove, I carefully removed and washed the tendons and placed them in a safe spot to dry.

The beaver’s meat looked white, clean, and tender and I decided to cook and taste some of it. The tail I also decided to cook, for I knew the Indians and trappers considered beaver tails a great delicacy. The meat was placed to broil above the hot coals, and the tail, which seemed tough, was placed to boil in the birch-bark pot—or rather, in a fresh receptacle—for I found that after once using the bark for boiling it was worthless and that a new dish must be provided each time I wished to boil anything.

While the meat and tail were cooking I spread the skin of my beaver to dry and it then occurred to me that perhaps beaver flesh might be jerked or dried as well as venison. Accordingly, I cut strips from the carcass and hung them up. By the time this was done the meat was thoroughly broiled and ready to taste. Much to my surprise, there was but a very slight musky taste to the flesh, and while it was far from delicious without salt or seasoning, yet it was much better than mussels, and I greatly relished the flavor of real meat once more. The tail proved too gristly and tough to suit me and I doubt if I could have devoured it unless I were actually starving. It reminded me of pig’s feet, and I wondered how any human beings could like it. No doubt if properly prepared it might be far more palatable, but I then and there decided that beavers’ tails would be eliminated from my menu unless I was face to face with starvation.

I was not sorry to discover that beaver flesh was edible, for I knew that where there was one beaver there were doubtless more, and that I might reasonably expect to catch others, but unless the meat could be dried and preserved it would be of little value for my purposes. I determined to try to dry trout. While thinking of this my mind turned to the matter of tackle with which to capture fish without the time and labor of bailing out the pools—a slow method at best and only possible where there were deep pools or basins. With the hemlock roots I could braid lines which I felt sure would serve my purpose, but I could not conceive of any way by which I could form a hook. I happened to notice the carcass of the beaver and picked it up to throw it into the river, when I noticed the sharp, chisel-like teeth and strong bones. For a moment I stood regarding them, turning over in my mind my various wants and striving to think of some purpose for which I could use either teeth or bones, for it seemed a pity to waste anything that might serve any useful purpose. I thought of fish-hooks, for I had heard of certain savage races using bone hooks, but I could not imagine a way of transforming either teeth or bones into trout-hooks, and I was on the point of throwing the body into the stream when bows and arrows again came to my mind, and instantly it occurred to me that the bones of my beaver might be sharpened and used for arrow-heads.

At any rate, it was a scheme worth trying, and I promptly began to dissect out the leg bones from the remaining meat. Lest I should want other material at some future time, I also removed and set aside the huge front teeth. This occupied a long time, and I had barely time to walk out to the trout-brook, catch two fish, after a deal of labor, and return to camp ere night fell. One of the trout served for my supper and the other was split, cleaned, and hung up to dry with the beaver meat.

The following morning I awoke to find the woods dripping and the world gray with a cold, drizzling rain. From my fire a thin, blue wisp of smoke arose, and I hurried to replenish the fuel and save the little life there was left in the embers. Before I could fan the coals into flame the lowering, gray sky poured forth a torrent of rain, and with a faint hiss the last hot coals grew black and dead.

Soaked through, chilled, miserable, and disgusted, I crept into my hut and, seeking a sheltered spot, sought to secure another fire with my knife, pebble, and handkerchief. What was my disappointment to find the handkerchief damp and soggy with moisture, and while one or two spots appeared quite dry, my utmost endeavors failed to ignite the cotton cloth. For an hour or more I labored, until my hands were cut and bleeding and the back of my knife-blade was worn rough and battered, and then, thoroughly disheartened, I gave up in despair. Hungry as I was, I had nothing save uncooked fungus to eat, for I had not yet reached the point where raw mussels, raw frogs, or raw fish could be considered.

Sitting in the partial shelter of my lean-to, I spent a dreary and forlorn morning, for while the roof was fairly tight the rain drove in at front and sides, and only in the very center of the hut could I remain fairly dry. My wet clothes clung to my skin, chilling me to the bone each time the cold wind whistled down the river, and my reflections were far from cheering, for I knew that this was but a sample of what I might expect. Summer was over and the autumn rains had begun, and in a few weeks more icy winds and snow-squalls would succeed them. With a roaring fire all might have been well, and I could have laughed at the elements, but without fire I realized how helpless I was and ever uppermost in my mind was how to safeguard myself against the loss of my fire in the future, provided I again succeeded in starting a blaze—something which I considered very doubtful.

Toward noon, however, the rain ceased, the sky cleared, and by mid-afternoon the sun was shining brightly. I lost no time in finding a sunny stone whereon to spread my handkerchief, and as soon as the bit of cloth was dry I again essayed to ignite it with a spark from my flint. This time I met with more success, and after several trials I obtained a blaze and soon had a roaring fire. As soon as the fire was burning well I cooked food and while this was being done busied myself in making a neat, tight box or case of birch bark in which to carry my handkerchief. I was fearful lest the cotton cloth should give out long before I reached the end of my journey, for only a small portion remained intact. To provide against such a loss I tore bits of cloth from my shirt, charred spots on the strips with coals from the fire, and packed these carefully in additional birch-bark receptacles. To make doubly sure that these were water-tight, I smeared the edges of the packages with pitch, as I had seen Joe repair rents in the canoe, and having thus provided against future showers as far as was possible, I sat down to my meager meal and the world and my future took on a more roseate hue. While I was fireless during the forenoon I had determined to try a bow-drill and spindle for making fire, for I felt that if I could obtain the proper materials this would be a far easier and quicker way of making fire than by flint and steel, which could be reserved for emergencies.

With this object in view I entered the woods and searched diligently for materials for my fire-making apparatus. As I have already mentioned, I had made fire by this crude, savage method when a boy and I knew by experience the materials best suited to the purpose.