Longhead: The Story of the First Fire

by C. H. Robinson

So much was the man now interested in this new phenomenon that he forgot for a moment his usual caution when in the forest, and failed to observe a huge tiger which was slowly creeping up behind him, and, but for the sharp sound of a dry stick breaking under the animal's weight, this story would have ended then and there.

The man had just drawn from the fire a burning pole and was examining with much curiosity its glowing end, when the sound caused him to turn, only to meet the tiger, which had made its leap. The man bounded to one side, and at the same time, more by accident than design, he thrust the burning stick against the animal's breast. The fierce beast came against it with such impact that it penetrated through the skin and into the flesh. With a scream of terror and pain and many snarls and spits, the tiger began biting the injured spot and then turned and fled into the forest. Our man, who had given himself up for lost, stared in bewilderment at the retreating animal and then at the pole which had saved his life. He thought longer and more deeply than he had ever done before, as he stood beside the smouldering embers. Without any particular reason for his action, he gathered up some of the unconsumed ends of the branches, cast them into the coals, and was much amused to see them ignited and the flame renewed. It was a new plaything, and for a long time he continued to pile sticks upon the coals and to delight in the bright flame, the ascending smoke and the crackling sparks; but that he could make any practical use of his new discovery had not yet been suggested to his feeble intellect.

Tiring at length of the sport, he realized that he was hungry, and, turning into the forest, he sought for food. For some hours he roamed the hills and valleys, striking down with his stick a small animal which he devoured raw; finding a few grubs under fallen logs which he turned over; and he found also a few berries, prematurely ripened, and finally satisfied his ravenous appetite by filling his stomach with buds of shrubs and some succulent roots, which experience had taught him were not injurious and were at least satisfying.

By this time he had reached a part of the forest in which he had been making his home for a few weeks and, seeking out a tree, in which he had constructed a sort of nest with interlaced sticks and leaves, he lay down for a nap. He wakened late in the afternoon, climbed to the ground and started on an aimless walk through the forest, carrying his stick, but no other weapon, for other weapons than stones for throwing and sticks for striking were then unknown.

Most of the people in the group to which he belonged had short round heads, such as scientists call brachiocephalic, but this man was dolichocephalous, or longheaded, and this peculiarity had given him the name of Longhead among this group at the few gatherings of these people, which happened occasionally, more by accident than design, for they had no social organization whatever. They had no laws; no leaders; no permanent habitations and wore no clothing. They slept in nests built in the branches of trees at night, or sought shelter in any chance caves of the region through which they roved. This had no defined boundaries and they remained in the locality only because they found food fairly plentiful.

As yet, there was not even family organization, for it was many ages after this time before it dawned upon man anywhere that the male animal played any part in the propagation of species. To the ordinary and usual phenomena of nature our primitive forefathers never gave a thought or question, but accepted them without speculation as to their cause or fear as to their continuance, so long as regularity obtained. The rising and setting of the sun were to him perfectly natural events of daily occurrence from his childhood, and had so continued during the recollection of the oldest members of the group, and it was only when eclipses occurred, breaking this orderly continuity, that he felt at all alarmed. It was natural for the moon to shed her soft light when not obscured by clouds, and even its waxing and waning occasioned no alarm, for this, likewise, had continued "since the fathers fell asleep." There was nothing strange about the gentle dew descending by night or rain falling from the clouds; these he had observed from his earliest youth; but when the loud thunders reverberated through the hills, and the forked lightnings flashed athwart the sky, frequently rending the giant trees of the forest or bringing sudden death to a comrade, this mysterious and dangerous display of an unknown power, was, to him, alarming, and he early attributed these and all other infrequent or unaccountable phenomena to supernatural beings with whom his fancy peopled the hills and forests, the rivers and the sky.

It was entirely natural to primitive man that in the spring the trees and plants should bud and send forth leaves and blossoms, to be followed later by fruit, "each after its kind." This, also, had always occurred from his earliest recollection and that of his elders, and it occasioned no thought upon his part. It was only when floods, drouths and other calamities interfered with this orderly sequence of events that any mystery was presented or any thought required. It is clear that among these common and natural occurrences, which were simply accepted without question because they had always happened, must be classed the bringing forth of young by all mammals. Man had always observed that the females of all the animals about him brought forth young, "each after its kind." This was to be expected and gave him no surprise, nor, in the then condition of his intellect, did it give rise to a thought as to its cause. Likewise, his own womankind gave birth to young, from time to time, just as did the other animals, and there was no cause for speculation or thought in regard to this; the occurrence was too common to be a mystery.

There being then no knowledge of fatherhood, there were no fathers, and for many generations no relatives were known except in the female line. Consequently, there was no family hearthstone; no paternal love; no marriage. The relations of the sexes was purely physical and were generally indiscriminate, as opportunity might afford; but doubtless, with some, this companionship was continued for a longer or shorter period, as circumstances or congeniality might induce.

In these ages, and they were long ones among some peoples, it is obvious that there could have been no such emotion as paternal love, for no man even suspected that he was a father. No man experienced the exquisite pleasure of hearing the first cry of his first-born child; no man heard "Dada," from infant lips. No man assisted in the support of his children or took part in their care, except unconsciously as he aided in the maintenance of the children of the group or tribe; no man cared more for the mother of his children than he did for any other woman who might attract his fancy or passion. Above all, the men and women of that long epoch were strangers to the sacred companionship, the life-long attachment and communion of souls with mutual interests which attach to the true marriage of to-day. The children were the common care of the group or tribe; the boys that they might grow up to be hunters and warriors, and the girls that they might contribute to the sensual enjoyment of the men, or, if it pleased the spirits, or stars, or some other supernatural agency, might become mothers for the perpetuation of the tribe. In times of extreme danger, famine or privation, or when too feeble to follow the migrations of the group, the babies, especially the female ones, were ruthlessly abandoned to wild beasts or slaughtered outright. There existed, doubtless, the mother instinct which prompts females, even among the lower animals, to care for and defend their offspring, but it certainly fell far short of the mother love among civilized peoples.

After wandering aimlessly a number of miles, Longhead encountered a female of his own species who was not altogether unknown to him. They had met occasionally at the infrequent gatherings of the people who inhabited that part of the forest, and on one or two occasions had remained together for a few days in that anomalous companionship which took the place of marriage in those far-off days. There was no kiss, caress or other sign of affection or pleasure; the pair merely gave each other a friendly grin and grunted in a satisfactory tone. Words were scarce in the vocabulary of the people of that epoch, and they communicated with each other largely by means of signs, gesticulation and pantomime. The woman could not have been called handsome, according to our ideas of beauty. She, too, was naked and hairy, but the hair on her head was longer and less matted than on that of the man, and was held back from her face by being drawn behind the ears with a strip of bark twisted about her head to keep it somewhat in that condition. Her body was smaller than that of Longhead; but her limbs were slender and ungainly and her stomach also protruded, in consequence of the quantities of coarse vegetable food required to sustain life. By an accident in childhood, she had lost one of her front teeth, and on this account, she was known as Broken Tooth.