A Boy Crusoe; or, The Golden Treasure of the Virgin Islands

by Allan Eric

My knife!

Here was steel; now for a flint, and fire would be procurable at any moment. I understood the use of flint and steel, for many times, in our boyhood, my brother and I, on our excursions in the woods, had made fires with old gun-flints and our pocket-knives as steel, for cooking grey squirrels when we were fortunate enough to shoot any. We did this from choice, because of the novelty.

Without further thought of breakfast I turned toward the shore to search for a substitute for flint, for I did not expect to find the real article here, as I had only seen soft, calcareous rock which appeared to be the prevailing kind.

A long search up and down the beach failed to disclose any hard rock, not even a pebble of sufficient size. Shells were abundant, but they would not answer the purpose. I next turned my attention to the brook, and searched along the shallowest places for a hard stone. I found one at last, round and flat, about the size of a silver dollar. It was very dark, almost black, and appeared to be quite hard. Wiping it with my hand I laid it down in the sun and waited impatiently for it to dry. When perfectly free of moisture, I opened my knife, and holding the blade firmly in my left hand, I struck the stone sharply against the back of the blade, with a quick downward stroke. No spark appeared. Over and over again I tried but without success, but I saw that the stone scratched the steel, which gave me hope that the stone was sufficiently hard.

After several more trials, a tiny spark shot downward from the blade. My joy knew no bounds. Tinder must be procured. Like a flash came to my mind the feathery heads of the wild cane. If I could find one dry enough I thought it would do. I at once ran up stream to where the canes grew, and after a little search I found a plume that was dead and quite dry. Bending the cane down I gathered a handful of the floss from the head, and going to the foot of a cocoanut tree, I lay the cane floss down by the foot of the tree and once more tried to produce a spark. I was soon able to obtain a spark frequently, but they invariably failed to reach the floss, or to ignite when they touched it. But I saw that I had fire within reach, and it only required perseverance to procure it. Holding the knife blade closer to the floss, I struck again. This time a shower of tiny sparks descended to the floss, and, yes, it had caught! Quickly dropping the knife and stone I partially covered it with my hands and very gently blew upon it. A tiny wreath of smoke arose as the fire spread through the wad of floss. Blowing upon it still harder, in short quick puffs, a tiny flame leaped up; and quickly gathering such dry leaves and grass as I could reach, I heaped them upon the flame. These were followed by small dry sticks until I had a good fire going. I now only needed something to cook, and that I proposed to search for. But fire was desirable as company at night, and to ward off wild beasts should any be found; also in the future I might wish to make signals by the aid of smoke.

Not wishing to injure my faithful friend the cocoanut tree, I allowed the fire to go out, feeling full confidence in my ability to procure it any time I wished.

I now set about preparing for my journey of exploration, meanwhile carefully watering, several times each day, the creepers that I had set out along the walls of the stockade, until they showed no further signs of wilting during the greatest heat of the day. The water I brought, with much labor and many trips, from the brook, in cocoanut shells.

It occurred to me to plant vines in front of the door of the stockade, so that, should I be absent for a great length of time, they would grow up over the door and still further obscure my retreat. Acting on this idea, I searched about the bush for a vine less woody than those planted along the stockade. At length, on the further side of the clearing, I discovered a vine, not unlike a morning glory vine, only it had larger leaves, climbing up a tall, smooth tree, and this seemed to answer my purpose. So, getting down upon my knees I began to dig around the root in order to move it without disturbing the earth immediately surrounding it; when but a few inches below the top of the ground I came across a round, hard object which I at first thought to be a large root of the tree, but in digging still further around it I saw that the supposed root moved, until finally I lifted it out of the ground. As I did so I noticed that it had one end attached to the vine that I was after. The root was fully a foot and a half long, and about five inches in diameter, slightly rounded at the ends. I cut off the vine with my knife, and ran with the root to the brook and washed it clean. I now saw that I had found some kind of a tuber. With my knife I cut through the thin rough skin, disclosing a white substance beneath. Quickly cutting it in halves I found that the inside of the tuber was white and starchy. I wondered what it could be. It was not a sweet potato, for the latter is yellow. Then I began to think of the roots that I had read about in books of travel in the tropics, and the first that came to my mind was the yam. Yes, this must be the yam, though I did not know before that its foliage was in the form of a vine.

Here food was in plenty, healthful and nourishing, and sufficient to sustain life even if I found no other, it being only necessary to roast them in ashes.

I resolved to plant yam vines in front of the gate to the stockade, for, while the vines were growing up to conceal it, they would, in the meantime be storing away food for me against my return. This plan I put into immediate execution.