This story, written by a man who has passed many years of his life in
the Adirondack woods, strikes a note not often sounded--the power of
the primeval over the human mind.
Once abandoned in the wilderness, wholly dependent upon what can
be wrested from its clutch to prolong existence, all the ordinary
standards and ambitions of life become as naught: for neither love,
hatred, revenge, honour, money, jewels, or social success will bring a
cup of water, a handful of corn or a coal of fire. Under this torture
Nature once more becomes king and man again an atom; his judgment
clarified, his heart stripped naked, his soul turned inside out. The
untamed, mighty, irresistible primitive is now to be reckoned with,
and a lie will no longer serve.
Such is the power of the primeval, and for the unique way in which it
has been treated between these covers, the father takes off his hat to
the son.