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

by A. Hyatt Verrill

One of my greatest troubles was lack of light, for the winter days were short, and within the windowless hut it was dark by mid-afternoon, and I was thus obliged to cease work and sit idle for many hours each day. The fire gave enough light to enable me to see to cook and even to perform certain tasks which required little care, such as cutting up fire-wood, whittling sticks to form triggers for traps, and similar work, but the fitful, unsteady glare of the flames was not sufficient to enable me to accomplish any fine or delicate work.

I had often thought of making an artificial light of some sort and had tried torches of birch bark, resinous sticks, and other devices, but none of these was satisfactory. The bark burned brightly and cast a fine light, but it flared wildly, sputtered, crackled, and soon burned out, while the pine knots made the interior of the cabin unbearable with their dense smoke.

Then it occurred to me that I might make tallow candles, for I had an abundance of fine bear’s grease and deer’s fat stored away, and this, I judged, would serve as well as mutton tallow. For wicks I decided to use strips torn from the remnants of my civilized clothes, and, having conceived the idea, I immediately proceeded to put it into execution. I knew that I would have to melt the fat and cast it in molds to form the candles, but I had now learned to make use of the resources at my command, and birch bark at once came to mind as suitable for making the molds. By rolling strips of the bark around a smooth stick, wrapping them with sinew, and then withdrawing the cylinders from the stick I formed the molds, but at my first attempt I found the melted grease ran out between the edges of the bark and from beneath the bottom of the molds as fast as I poured it in.

For a time I was greatly puzzled to devise a method of sealing up the cylinders, and then a happy idea occurred to me, and stepping to the door I dug a quantity of snow and packed it solidly in a corner of the hut away from the fire. Slipping one of the birch-bark molds over the stick, I pushed both down into the cake of snow, and then, withdrawing the stick, left the cylinder of bark remaining in the snow. By means of a small, slender stick I pushed one end of a narrow strip of cotton into the snow at the bottom of the mold, and poured in the melted tallow. Although the hot grease melted the surrounding snow somewhat, yet little escaped from the mold, and as soon as it commenced to thicken I moved the wick to the center of the mass of grease and held it in position until the tallow hardened. I could hardly wait until the tallow was fully hard before withdrawing the mold from the snow to examine the result of the experiment. By pushing on the lower end of the tallow with the stick about which I had formed the mold I slipped the rude candle from the bark, set it upright on the table, and touched a blazing stick to the wick. Instantly it burst into flame and burned brightly, casting a steady light about the room. I was immensely pleased, for with half a dozen such lights I could see to work despite the darkness outside. My joy was short-lived, however, for the wick burned rapidly, curled over to one side, flared and smoked, and melted the candle away.

Evidently something was wrong, some small detail had been overlooked, and, casting the remnants of my first candle into the can of melted grease, I sat down to try and reason it out. Soon it came to my mind that all the candle-wicks I had ever seen were twisted or braided. I thought that with a braided wick my candles might succeed, and, tearing a strip of cloth into narrow ribbons, I braided it tightly. But I soon found the result would be far too coarse for a wick, and again I was at a loss. Not for a long time did I hit upon the plan of unraveling cloth and braiding the yarns together to produce the compact, firm cord which I desired. When at last this was accomplished and another candle was cast, with the braided wick, it proved a great success and thereafter I never wanted for light. But it was slow work making the birch-bark molds and casting the candles in them, and I sought for some easier and more rapid means of making them, and kept my eyes open for something better than the birch-bark cylinders for molds. It was some time before I thought of anything better, but finally I remembered that as a boy I had often made willow whistles and had slipped the cylinders of bark from the branches without splitting them. I had noticed willows near the outlet to the lake and soon I gathered a number of smooth, straight branches free from knots or sprouts. At first the bark refused to budge, for the wood was frozen, and, moreover, no sap was flowing through the bark, but I discovered that by steaming the branches or by soaking them in boiling water the bark stripped easily from the twigs, and thereafter I had little difficulty in casting my candles rapidly and easily, without wasting tallow or requiring the snow about the molds.

Oddly enough, my candle-making led me to two other most important discoveries, one of which was soap, the other a method of removing the hair or fur from hides without waiting for them to decompose.

I discovered how to make soap quite by accident. While working at my candles I upset a quantity of grease on the hearth, and this, running down into a hollow at one side, formed quite a pool, which remained liquid, owing to the warmth of the fire. In order to cool it so I could scrape it up, I poured water upon it, but when I tried to remove it I discovered that it was full of wood-ashes and was soft, slippery, and stringy. Deciding that it was not worth bothering about, I abandoned the idea of recovering it, and proceeded to wash my hands. Much to my surprise, the water bubbled and frothed and my hands became cleaner than they had been for months. Then, all at once, it dawned upon me that I had made soap—crude, greasy, imperfect soap, to be sure, but still soap which possessed wonderful cleansing properties.

Any school-boy should have known that wood-ashes contained potash and that potash or lye and water would transform fat to soap, but during all my life in the woods it had never once occurred to me.

Now, however, I lost no more time. By soaking fine wood-ashes in water and then boiling this with grease I soon succeeded in producing soft soap which served my purposes exceedingly well.

It was a great comfort to be able to wash myself thoroughly, although the free potash in the soap stung and burnt my skin.