[Illustration: A CRUSOE OF THE WILDERNESS]
MAROONED IN THE FOREST
THE STORY OF A PRIMITIVE FIGHT FOR LIFE
BY
A. HYATT VERRILL
AUTHOR OF
“HARPER’S BOOK FOR YOUNG NATURALISTS” ETC.
ILLUSTRATED
HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS
NEW YORK AND LONDON
Books by
ALPHEUS HYATT VERRILL
MAROONED IN THE FOREST. Illustrated.
HARPER’S BOOK FOR YOUNG NATURALISTS. Illustrated. 8vo.
HARPER’S WIRELESS BOOK. Illustrated. Crown 8vo.
HARPER’S AIR CRAFT FOR BOYS. Illustrated. Crown 8vo.
HARPER’S BOOK FOR YOUNG GARDENERS. Crown 8vo.
HARPER’S GASOLINE-ENGINE BOOK. Illustrated Crown 8vo.
HARPER & BROTHERS, NEW YORK
Marooned in the Forest
Copyright, 1916, by Harper & Brothers
Printed in the United States of America
Published May, 1916
CONTENTS
Preface
I. Alone in the Wilderness
II. Food and Shelter
III. Important Discoveries
IV. I Set Forth on My Journey
V. I Go a-Fishing
VI. I Meet with an Accident
VII. Crippled
VIII. A Midnight Visitor
IX. Winter Sets In
X. Back to the Primitive
XI. An Unexpected Meeting
XII. Strange Adventures
XIII. Spring Approaches
XIV. I Find a Companion
XV. The End of the Trail
ILLUSTRATIONS
A Crusoe of the Wilderness
“I Called Out Joe’s Name”
“I Emptied the Contents of My Pockets on a Rock”
“I Struck the Stone with My Knife-blade”
Setting the Deadfall
“I Plucked a Bit of the Queer Growth and Tasted It”
“With Steady Strokes I Whirled the Drill Around and Around”
“I Aimed at the Sleek, Brown Body”
“I Looked upon a Broad, Fair Valley”
PREFACE
If a man or a well-grown boy is lost in the wilderness, what can he do?
Shall he whimper and give up? Never, if he has real blood in his veins.
He faces a primitive struggle for life. It is a question of reinventing
primitive means of living. How to make a fire, how to obtain food, how
to clothe and shelter himself—these are the immediate problems to be
met. He is a Robinson Crusoe of the wilderness.
This story of a modern Crusoe in the far Northern forests embodies many
actual experiences, and it is an epitome of the basic facts of outdoor
life. In books like Harper’s Camping and Scouting, Outdoor Book, Young
Naturalists, and others, the appliances of civilization are always at
hand. It is a very different situation when one is lost in the depths of
the forest without food, fire, weapons, or compass. But the problem of
working out means of existence is one that will interest every lover of
outdoor life, whether his interest is in camping, canoeing, fishing, or
hunting, whether he is a member of the Boy Scouts or the Woodcraft
Indians or simply an individual who knows the call of the wild. The
adventures of Mr. Verrill’s hero forth a story of thrilling interest and
constant suspense. And it is also full of suggestions which will
stimulate many readers to work out some of the hero’s problems for
themselves.
MAROONED IN THE FOREST
CHAPTER I
ALONE IN THE WILDERNESS
It all happened in the twinkling of an eye. I turned quickly at a sudden
cry from Joe—my half-breed guide—in time to see him cast the handle of
his broken paddle aside and leap forward for the extra paddle. Before he
could reach it the canoe swerved, swung broadside to the rushing
current, crashed sickeningly against the jagged rocks, and the next
instant I was floundering about in the icy, swirling water. Bumping
against rocks, struggling for breath, battling frantically with the
torrent, I was swept down the river. Time and again my feet touched
bottom, but each time, ere I could gain a foothold, I was drawn under,
and each second I realized that my strength was growing less, that my
lungs were bursting for air, and that in a few more moments all would be
over. Down, down, I sank; above me the green water closed in and from my
mouth and nostrils tiny bubbles of escaping air rose upward despite my
every effort to withhold the scanty breath within my lungs. I was
drowning I knew, and vaguely I wondered what had become of Joe, and how
my friends would take the news of my loss here in this river of the
great wilderness. Suddenly my foot touched a hard object. I threw all of
my last remaining strength into a spasmodic kick and lost consciousness.
Slowly I opened my eyes and with wonder looked upon a strip of deep-blue
sky against which the dark-green boughs of evergreens were sharply
outlined. For a space I marveled, for so firmly convinced had I been
that I was drowned I could scarce realize that I was not looking with
spiritual eyes at a scene in another world. Then it dawned upon me that
through some miracle I had been saved, and with a mighty effort I sat
up.
I found myself upon the very brink of a little precipice—a natural dam
over which the river fell in a miniature cataract, although the greater
portion of the current swept to the left and poured like a mill-race
through a narrow channel in the rocks. In a moment I realized how I had
escaped. My final kick had driven me beyond the sweep of the current, I
had been washed upon the edge of the waterfall, and my position had
allowed the water to drain from my lungs. I was still terribly weak, I
was choking with the water I had swallowed, my head swam, and with the
utmost difficulty I half crawled, half waded to the shore and threw
myself upon the moss-covered bank where rays of sunshine penetrated the
foliage overhead.
Although I was saved from death in the river by the merest chance, still
my plight was desperate, for I was alone in the heart of the great
woods, miles from civilization or settlements and without food, weapons,
shelter, or anything save the clothes upon my back and the few trifles
my pockets might contain. Possibly, I thought, the canoe might be washed
ashore with its contents, or Joe might be safe and in the vicinity; and
with these ideas strong in my mind I rose and slowly walked along the
river’s bank. I was now rapidly regaining strength, and, with the aid of
a stout pole of dead wood which I picked up, I had little trouble in
making my way up the stream. Presently I called out Joe’s name, but only
the soft echo of the woods replied. Again I trudged on, frequently
calling and ever searching the edges of the stream and the eddies for
the wreckage of the canoe, but not a sign of my guide or of my outfit
could I find. At last, firmly convinced that Joe had been lost and that
the canoe and its contents were gone forever, I seated myself upon a log
and strove to collect myself and look squarely at the future. It would
have been bad enough to be cast away in a country which I knew, but here
I was completely at a loss. I had trusted entirely to Joe, and I knew
nothing of this wilderness nor of the direction or route to the
settlements; while, to make matters still worse, my compass had been
lost in the river.
The last was really the least of my troubles, for I had little doubt
that I could readily determine which direction was east and which west
by the sun, and I had also heard that the moss grew thickest on one side
of the trees; but as to whether that side was north or south I could not
remember, cudgel my brains as I might. I also knew, in a general way,
that the settlements were southward from the camp we had left, and I
knew that Joe had expected to reach them by running down with the
current, paddling across a lake, and tramping through the woods, and
that he had stated the entire trip would consume about five days.
However, I could not even I guess how many miles we had traveled before
the canoe upset, and I had taken no notice of the turns and twists in
the river. For all I knew, the stream might flow east, or even north, at
the spot where I had crawled ashore, and if I attempted to travel in any
direction—using the flow of the current as my guide—I might easily
travel directly _away_ from my fellow-men.
[Illustration: I CALLED OUT JOE’S NAME]
My sole hope of reaching civilization would be in following the banks of
the river, and this I realized would mean many weary days of tramping
alone and unguided through the great forest.
Vainly I regretted having trusted so completely to Joe that I had paid
no attention to the surroundings as we swept down the stream, and for
that matter had not even asked for information which would have proved
so valuable to me now. But it was wasting valuable time to spend the few
remaining hours of daylight in regrets, and I was thankful for the few
odds and ends of woodcraft and forest lore I had picked up during my
life in the woods.
My clothing had partly dried, but with the passing of the bit of
sunlight from the opening between the trees the air had become chilly
and I was shivering with cold, the strain of my recent experience and my
forebodings for the future. Rising from my seat, I strode back and
forth, swinging my arms and striving by exercise to regain in some
measure the circulation of my blood and a feeling of warmth. Activity,
even of this forced sort, did me a world of good, and I began to plan
for my immediate wants. Shelter I must have, and warmth, before night
fell, and while I was not at the moment hungry, I realized that food of
some sort would become a most pressing need by the following morning.
Shelter without warmth would be of little value, and I thought with
longing of the roaring fires which Joe had built before our camps each
night and about which we had lounged while telling tales of past
adventures.
Fire I _must_ obtain, and in a mad hope that at least one good match
might still remain in my pockets, I sought feverishly and emptied every
one of my pockets upon a smooth rock. My total possessions thus
displayed consisted of a small bunch of keys, a few small coins, a
cambric handkerchief, a heavy jackknife, and the headless sticks of some
matches from which the phosphorus had been completely soaked off. I
gazed at these few articles with the bitterest disappointment, for of
them all the knife was, as far as I could see, the only thing of any
value to me in my present plight. With it I thought I might be able to
fashion a bow-drill and spindle and thus obtain fire, for in my youth I
had accomplished this feat when “playing Indian,” but I well knew the
difficulty in obtaining just the proper kinds of wood and I realized
that a search for them would consume much valuable time, whereas but an
hour or two of daylight now remained. Then flint and steel occurred to
me. I had the steel in my knife, but I did not know whether flint was to
be obtained in the vicinity. However, I rose, made my way to the stony
edge of the river, and sought diligently for some bit of rock which
resembled flint. Each piece that struck my fancy I tried with my knife,
and several gave off faint, bright sparks. All these I pocketed and,
having obtained quite an assortment, I retraced my way to the rock
whereon I had left my other possessions and prepared to try my hand at
obtaining fire by means of my knife and the pebbles.
I realized that the tiny sparks which I could obtain in this way would
never ignite a twig, or even a bit of bark, and that some inflammable
tinder, which would catch the spark and which could then be fanned to a
flame, must be secured before I could hope to succeed. As I was thinking
of this my gaze fell upon a black-edged hole in my handkerchief. It had
been burned, a couple of days before, by a spark from Joe’s pipe blown
back by the wind. The incident was too trivial to have filled my
thoughts for an instant at another time, but now all its details came
back to me with a rush and I gave a shout of joy as I suddenly realized
that this burnt hole and the events which had caused it had actually
solved my puzzle. Seizing the square of cotton cloth, which was now
quite dry, I weighted it down with bits of stone—for the apparently
useless handkerchief had now become of the utmost value to me—and
hurried into the woods in search of dry twigs and other inflammable
material. I had not long to hunt, for dead and dried trees were all
about; several white birches furnished sheets of paper-like bark, and
with a great armful of fire-wood I returned to my rock. Gathering the
handkerchief into a loosely crumpled mass, I placed it on the rock, held
the most promising of my pebbles close to it, and struck the stone
sharply with the back of my knife-blade. A little shower of sparks flew
forth at the blow, but none fell upon the handkerchief. Again and again
I tried, each time holding the stone in a different position and trying
my best to cause the sparks to fall upon the handkerchief. Finally I
gathered the cloth in my hand, held the pebble in the midst of its
folds, and struck it.
Sparks gleamed against the handkerchief, but no sign of charring cloth
or wisp of smoke rewarded me. Surely, I thought, these sparks must be as
hot as the tiny, glowing ember from Joe’s pipe, and I unfolded and
examined the handkerchief about the burned spot. Perhaps, I thought,
this particular part of the cloth was more inflammable than the rest,
and again gathering up the handkerchief, with the old burn close to the
pebble, I again struck it with my knife.
Carefully I examined the cloth and the next instant dropped knife and
pebble and cried aloud in triumph, for at one edge of the charred hole a
tiny speck of red glowed in the dusk of coming evening, and spread
rapidly in size. Carefully I blew upon it, folded another corner of the
cloth against it, and waved it back and forth. Brighter and brighter it
gleamed; a tiny thread of pungent smoke arose from it and an instant
later a little tongue of flame sprang from the cambric, and I knew that
fire, warmth, and comfort were mine. It was but an instant’s work to
ignite a piece of birch bark and push it among the pile of wood and
twigs, and then, carefully extinguishing the handkerchief—for it had now
grown very precious in my eyes—I squatted before the blazing fire and
reveled in the comforting warmth from its glow. Although it was too late
to consider ways and means of shelter that night, I knew that I could
keep warm, and as soon as the chill and stiffness had been driven from
my bones and muscles I set diligently at work gathering great piles of
fuel to feed the flames during the night. Several large logs were close
by, and these, with much labor, I dragged to the fire and placed near at
hand to use later on when I went to sleep. By the time I had accumulated
a supply which I judged would last through the night, I discovered that
I was very hungry. I had not eaten since the forenoon, and I had worked
strenuously, to say nothing of the utter exhaustion occasioned by my
semi-drowning. My efforts to obtain fire and the extent to which I had
concentrated my mind on this problem had kept me up and doing until now,
but, once the fire was blazing merrily and an ample supply of fuel was
at hand, I felt weary beyond words, famished, and absolutely worn out.
[Illustration: “I EMPTIED THE CONTENTS OF MY POCKETS ON A ROCK”]
[Illustration: “I STRUCK THE STONE WITH MY KNIFE-BLADE”]
The sun had set and the forest was black as midnight, but the sky was
still faintly bright with the afterglow and the river shone silvery as
it swirled and eddied between its shadowy banks. There was no hope of
finding berries, roots, or other edibles in the woods after dusk. I had
no means of catching game or fish, which, I knew, were abundant, and I
commenced to think that I would die a miserable death of starvation
before morning, when I suddenly recollected having seen a number of
fresh-water mussels in some shallow backwaters of the river while
hunting for my flinty pebbles. I had never eaten these shell-fish, but I
felt sure they were edible, and, seizing a blazing pine knot from the
fire, I made my way to the shore and soon found the pools where I had
noticed the mollusks. There were not many—a bare dozen were all I could
find that night—but these I felt would be far better than nothing, and
in a few moments I had them baking on a bed of hot coals. Hardly waiting
for them to cook, I raked them forth and devoured them ravenously, and
never did choicest food taste so delicate, so delicious, and so welcome
to my lips as did those half-baked, slimy, unseasoned mussels eaten
beside my fire in the midst of the wilderness. Few as they were, they
served to refresh me greatly and to drive away the most pressing pangs
of hunger, and, much as I desired more, I had not the strength or
ambition to trudge up and down the river-bank searching for the shells.
Piling several huge logs on the fire, I formed a rude bed of fir twigs
and, casting myself upon this, fell instantly into a deep, dreamless
sleep.