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

by A. Hyatt Verrill

I had expected that the lynx would prowl about and disturb me, but I heard nothing of him that night. The next day I devoted all my time and energies to finishing my new bow. It promised to be a powerful and beautiful weapon. The following morning I fitted it with a string of braided deer-sinew and, stepping outside, proceeded to test its power.

I used one of my old bone-tipped shafts—for I had determined to discard them for better ones. It took all my strength to draw the arrow to the head. My target was a tree some fifty yards distant. The loud, musical twang of the string, the speed of the whizzing shaft, and the sounding thump with which it struck the tree filled me with delight, and I hurried forward to examine the arrow where it stuck, quivering, in the tree trunk.

Although it was a light, bone-headed affair, it had buried its tip for fully an inch in the frozen bark, and while the head was ruined and the shaft split and shattered from the blow, I was overjoyed at the result of the shot.

Returning to the hut, I now gave my attention to making a supply of arrows. I had already gathered a good number of straight sticks for the shafts, and I soon bound the stone heads I had made to these, using fine deer-sinews for lashings, and by this means making a far neater and better job than I had been able to accomplish before. Moreover, I had profited by my experience in shrinking hide upon the snow-shoes, and wrapped the arrows with wet sinew, which tightened until it sank into the wood when it dried. These arrows I feathered with strips cut from partridge-wing quills, binding them on with slender, thread-like sinew. Having used up all my stone arrow-points, I proceeded to make some more tips from the deer’s horns. This was an easy matter compared with many things which I had accomplished, for I could cut off the tips of the antlers, grind them to sharp points, and work down the bases to fit the shafts, all by means of the grindstone. While engaged at this occupation I wondered how I would have fared had I not found the cabin, the grindstone, the file, and the other contents of the hut. In an open lean-to I would doubtless have frozen to death long ago; the file had enabled me to kill the bear and secure a warm robe; while the grindstone had provided means for making the spear. The hut had unquestionably saved my life, but I felt that even without the file and the grindstone I might have succeeded very well, for my traps and snares had provided food and clothing without the aid of the hut’s contents. I could have used birch-bark utensils instead of the kettle, and nothing which I had found in the cabin had helped me in making stone arrow-heads. I was grateful for everything I had found, however, for I realized how much I had been helped by the odds and ends which the former occupants of the cabin had not thought worth taking away, and I breathed a blessing upon them for what they had left behind.

With my strong, powerful bow and quartz-tipped arrows I felt well armed and able to attack any creature which I might meet—not excepting the abominable lynx. I was so anxious to test my new weapons on real game that I decided to set out the next morning without waiting to complete my horn-tipped arrows.

As I stood outside my hut, hesitating which way to go, I thought of the trail which led away from the cabin and immediately decided to follow this. I had given up all thoughts of making my way out of the forest until spring, but my snow-shoes were such a success that I could travel almost as readily as if no snow covered the earth, and I became quite excited as I reasoned that, after all, there was no reason why I should not explore the trail for as far as I could walk and return in a day. For all I knew the settlements might be much nearer than I suspected, and while I was far too wise to dream of cutting myself off from the comforts and safety of my cabin by making a long trip through the winter woods, I might learn something of value by following the old trail for a few miles.

In any case, I had not gone in this direction since the snow fell and I was as likely to find game there as anywhere else, and, so thinking, I trudged off along the track. In the autumn, before snow had hidden the ground, the trail had been easy to follow, for half-obliterated ax-marks on the trees, old moss-grown stumps where trees had been felled to form a rough road, and other signs made the way unmistakable. Now, however, the old stumps and logs were many feet beneath the snow, while many of the “blazes” on the trees were hidden by it, and only by using great care and by noting the more open space in the forest—which indicated where the trees had been cut—was I able to follow the trail.

I saw my first game when about a mile from my cabin—a sleek, red fox—which trotted out of the woods ahead and stopped short and gazed at me curiously as his keen nose caught my scent.

Hastily fitting an arrow to my bow, I drew it to the head and let drive at Reynard, but at the twang of the bowstring he was up and away like a flash of red light, and the whizzing, stone-tipped arrow buried itself harmlessly in the snow. I was somewhat disappointed, but I was also encouraged when I found the arrow had struck fair and square exactly where the fox had stood, for I knew then that there was no question of the accuracy of my weapons.

It took me a long time to dig the arrow out, for it had penetrated several feet of snow, but I recovered it at last and resumed my tramp. Soon after this I started a white hare from a clump of drooping evergreen boughs and marked him down where he squatted beside a fallen branch, a score of paces distant. Had I not actually seen him stop I should never have been able to distinguish him, for his white fur rendered him invisible against the snow, and only by keeping my eyes fixed upon him could I be sure of his presence. As the speeding arrow struck home there was a little commotion in the snow and, hurrying forward, I found the hare pierced through and through. It was really an excellent shot, and I felt wonderfully proud of my skill as I slung the hare at my belt and continued on my way.