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

by A. Hyatt Verrill

I remembered many boyhood books and stories telling of men lost in the woods and subsisting upon roots and berries, but, try as I might, I could not remember a single one which told just what roots and berries provided sustenance for the fictitious heroes.

Berries, I felt sure, existed somewhere in the woods, but, aside from blueberries or blackberries and the tiny scarlet partridge berries, I knew of none which were edible, and I smiled to think how hungry I would be if I depended upon the meager and uncertain supply of such things for a livelihood. Once, when a youngster, I had dug up and eaten ground-nuts, but they were gritty, tasteless things, and moreover I could only tell where they grew by the delicate white flowers which bloomed only in the spring. Nuts did not exist in this forest, or, if they did, they were not ripe at this season, and I therefore cast aside all ideas of securing a supply of vegetable food. Determined to try my hand at trapping and also to attempt to capture some trout, I started again for the brook, carrying a supply of hemlock roots and my spear. It occurred to me that by braiding fine roots together I could devise a fishing-line, but the question of a hook then confronted me and I decided to try my plan of bailing the water from a pool before experimenting with hookmaking.

I soon found a pool containing several fine fish, and cautiously, for fear the trout might slip out among the stones, I piled gravel and small rocks in all the visible crevices which connected the pool with the running waters of the brook. This accomplished, I piled rocks across the little channel where the brook ran into the pool, and by chinking all the crevices with grass, twigs, and mud I at last had the satisfaction of seeing the water diverted to one side. The pool, with its fish, now remained cut off from the surrounding water, and all I had to do was to scoop out the contents, leave the trout floundering about on the bottom, and pick them up with my hands. This all sounds very simple and easy, but I had no scoop with which to bail out the water, and until I attempted the work I did not dream what a task I had set myself. I first tried bailing out the water with my hands, but as fast as I threw it out more oozed in through tiny crevices and I soon gave this up as impossible. Then it occurred to me that one of my shoes might serve as a dipper and, removing it from my foot, I tried to throw out the water by this means. I did succeed in making some progress, but very little, and I commenced to think that all my work had gone for naught when a bit of birch bark caught my eye and I had an inspiration. Many a time I had used birch-bark dippers and cups for drinking, when in camp with Joe, and I had seen boxes, packs, and other utensils made of the material. In fact, Joe had once proved to me that water could be boiled in a birch-bark dish, and I laughed to think how I had so far overlooked the manifold uses to which the bark could be put. It took but a few moments to strip a large sheet of bark from a convenient tree, and but a few moments more to bend this into a deep, boxlike form. The ends were easily secured by means of the hemlock roots, and with the bark dipper, which would easily hold a gallon of water, I proceeded to empty the pool. In a very short time the water was reduced to an inch or two at the bottom and the flashing, bright-colored fish were flopping about among the stones.

Four fine trout were the reward of my labors, and, placing them in my birch-bark dipper and covering them with cool leaves, I set them among the bushes beside the brook to await my return and then made my way toward the muskrat runway to set the trap.

SETTING THE DEADFALL

I did not know what sort of food the muskrat ate and I therefore decided to arrange a trap which would be sprung by the rat passing along the trail. First I placed a smooth stick of wood across the run, and on either side among the grass I drove two stakes with a space of a few inches between them. In this space I slipped a fairly heavy log which I found beside the pond, and I then lashed the tops of the stakes together so the log could slide readily up and down between the stakes which served as guides, and across the lashing of roots I laid a light stick. For a trigger I selected an “L”-shaped twig, and from one end of this I tied a strong root, with the other end of the fastening looped about the heavy log. This was adjusted until, when the trigger was placed across the light stick between the uprights, the heavy log was raised a few inches above the log set in the pathway. Next a very light stick was placed just above the lower log and the end of the trigger was placed resting against this, so that the pressure of the drop-log forced the trigger against the stakes. It was a very simple arrangement, but I knew that if any creature attempted to pass over the log upon the ground he would of necessity move the trigger-stick and allow the log to drop upon his back. The trap being set, I spent some time in securing a supply of frogs about the pond, and then started toward camp. I soon reached the brook and turned aside for the trout in their birch-bark receptacle, thinking with pleasurable anticipation of the fine meal in store for me.

HOW THE DEADFALL WAS ARRANGED

I passed the pool, which was now rapidly filling up again, pushed aside the bushes, and gave a gasp of astonishment—the birch-bark dish was lying on its side, absolutely empty.