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

by A. Hyatt Verrill

The bow was an easy matter, for spruce was as good as anything, and this tree was abundant everywhere. While cutting the bow for fire-making I remembered my determination to attempt the manufacture of bow and arrows and I selected several likely-looking spruce boughs for this purpose. I next looked about for a suitable stick for the drill and selected some straight, old, dry fir roots from a tree which had been torn up and blown over by some winter’s storm years before. A piece of the dry, weathered wood from the same tree served as material from which to make a fire-block, and from beneath the bark of a dead pine I secured a good supply of “punk.” A hard pine knot was selected for a drill-socket, but despite every endeavor I could find nothing which I was sure would serve as tinder. Shredded cedar bark I knew was as good as anything, but not a cedar could I find, and finally I decided to try the thin, papery, dried birch bark which flaked in little curling rolls from the trees. Armed with these various things, I returned to my lean-to and was soon busily preparing the materials for use. The flexible, springy spruce limb was whittled down to a rude bow, and not until then did I remember that all my youthful attempts at thus making fire had proved failures until I used a leather bowstring. For a moment I was nonplussed, for leather was out of the question, until I thought of my shoe-laces. One of these was sacrificed and replaced by hemlock roots, and I then whittled down a fir root into a double-pointed, octagonal spindle about fifteen inches long. With the tip of my knife-blade I dug out a recess in the pine knot and whittled the outside to fit easily in my hand and then turned my attention to the fire-block. A piece of the dry, seasoned fir was split into a little slab about three-fourths of an inch thick with notches cut along one edge, and I was ready for my experiment at fire-making.

MY FIRE-MAKING APPARATUS

Upon a smooth, dry stone I placed a piece of the dry pine punk, with another piece close at hand. Next I set the fire-block upon the piece of pine and with the bowstring took a turn about the center of the drill. Setting one end of the drill in a notch of the fire-block, I placed the drill-socket, made from the knot, upon the other end of the drill, and steadying the fire-block with my foot I pressed firmly down upon the socket with my left hand and drew the bow back and forth with my right hand. With even, steady strokes I whirled the drill around and around, and presently a little mound of brownish, powdery sawdust began to accumulate on the punk beneath the fire-block. Gradually the pile increased, the hole made by the drill in the block grew larger and larger, and a faint smell of scorching wood greeted my nostrils. Harder and harder I pressed down on the socket, faster and faster I twirled the drill, and an instant later the sawdust turned black and a slender column of smoke rose from it. Dropping drill and bow, I stooped and blew gently on the smoldering powder, and as the smoke increased I lifted the fire-block from the punk beneath, slipped a few bits of the papery birch bark into the powder, clapped the second pine punk on top of all, and, seizing the whole in my hand, waved it swiftly back and forth. Hardly had I swept it through the air when the bark burst into flame, and, knowing success was mine, I danced and capered about, as pleased as the first time I had accomplished the feat, years before. The tinder, punk, fire-block, and socket were inclosed in birch-bark packages, the drill and bow were laid carefully in the roof of my hut, and I felt sure that I would be able at any time to secure a fire in dry weather and, unless soaked with rain, that I could be reasonably sure of kindling a flame even in wet weather—for I now had two distinct methods of obtaining fire.

“WITH STEADY STROKES I WHIRLED THE DRILL AROUND AND AROUND”

My fire-making apparatus was such a success that I was anxious to go ahead with my bow and arrows, and I spent a long time scraping and whittling down the best of my spruce branches to form a bow. The ones I had selected were dead, seasoned limbs, for I well knew that green wood would warp and would have a very limited spring. At last one of the boughs was fashioned to suit me and I looked about for a bowstring. Hemlock roots seemed the only available material and a long time was spent in braiding enough of the fine roots together to form a string for the bow. Eager to try the new weapon, I cut a notch in one end of a fairly straight stick, placed it on the string, and drew the bow. As I released the string the bow sprang straight with a delightful “twang,” and the stick went humming through the air, but with a loud snap the string parted. I was so greatly pleased at the strength and elasticity of my bow that the mere matter of the parted string troubled me very little, for I felt confident I could make some sort of a cord which would be strong enough for the purpose and I dropped my bow and hurried into the woods to search for suitable sticks from which to make arrows. Sticks there were in plenty, but, although I sought everywhere, I was unable to find one which was really straight and smooth. Cutting the best I could find, in the hope that I might be able to whittle them into presentable shape, I made my way back to camp.

I was exceedingly hungry, and with my mind on food I examined the beaver meat and fish which I had hung up.

It was an ill-smelling mess, and without more ado I cast it into the river and dined on mussels and fungus, for I was too tired to attempt a trip to my frog-pond or the brook. The next morning, however, I visited the brook and my deadfall, but the latter was empty, although sprung, and I failed to secure a single trout. The reason was simple. The brook had been so swollen by the recent rains that it was impossible to dam up any of the pools, while the pond was filled to overflowing and only one small frog could be found by dint of the most careful search. Despite my ill luck, however, I returned to camp quite elated, for while making my way about the little pond in search of frogs I had discovered some thick bushes with reddish stems so straight, smooth, and polished that they at once struck me as being perfectly adapted for arrows. Not until long afterward did I learn that this bush was known as “arrow wood” and that the Indians formerly used it for their arrows.

With a supply of this useful bush I busied myself at arrow-making, for although I had no feathers I thought that I might be able to make arrows which would serve to kill the tame and unsuspicious birds and animals, and I had but to kill one large bird in order to obtain feathers to make better arrows. Several times I had seen partridges or grouse, and on one or two occasions I had attempted to snare them by means of a hemlock-root noose on the end of a light pole, but the material was too coarse for the purpose and the birds invariably avoided the snare. Once or twice I had attempted to kill them with stones or clubs, and once I had even thrown my spear at them, but in every instance they had escaped. Perhaps it was the season, perhaps the birds were suspicious of the first man they had seen, but whatever the reason, the fact remains that they were far wiser and more wary than the grouse I had often seen when hunting in Joe’s company.