Scout Master Hall here interposed:
“Uncle Elk, I don’t think any of the boys have a flint and steel, and I
am sure I do not possess them; matches are so cheap and convenient that
we have discarded the method of our grandparents.”
“I knew that when I spoke; the conditions are that no match nor flint,
steel and tinder shall be called into use. The only artificial helps the
scouts can have are their knives, hatchets and such aids as they may
carry with them. Come, boys, use your wits and inaugurate the
conflagration.”
The command or rather proposition stumped the lads, who looked at one
another, smiled and shook their heads. Finally Patrol Leader Chase
approached the Instructor, who was calmly waiting, saluted and said:
“I suppose all of us, sir, have read in story books that the Indians and
other savages often start a fire by rubbing a couple of dry sticks
together.”
“Have you ever seen it done?”
“No, sir.”
“And you never will. No person ever produced a flame by that means, for
the reason that he cannot move the sticks fast enough and keep them
going. I tried it once till my arms ached and found that I had only
succeeded in slightly warming the surfaces of the pieces of pine. I
might have kept it up until to-day with no other result.”
“What whoppers lots of the story books tell!” commented Colgate Craig.
“We expect them to do that; my only objection is that so many of the
yarns are absurd. Will you allow me to diverge for a minute?” added
Uncle Elk, with a bow to Scout Master Hall, who nodded.
“You are always interesting, Uncle Elk.”
“To illustrate: some of our most popular stories are of hidden treasure
and the means used to unearth it, the most interesting yarn being that a
key to its location is left which is in so complicated a cipher that its
solution baffles every one for a long time. Now why in the name of
common sense did Captain Kidd or whoever buried his ill-gotten riches
leave any cipher at all? Who taught the ignorant pirate or brigand how
to build up a wonderful cryptogram? Why does he leave a riddle for the
mere sake of making strangers rack their brains over it? So it is that
many of the most successful detective stories of to-day are simply
feverish conglomerations of ingenious impossibilities.”
Uncle Elk paused and chuckled.
“Excuse those tremendous words,—I forgot myself. Let’s get back to the
business before us. It is true that Indians obtain fire by means of
friction, that is, when they know how to do it, but the majority are
ignorant of the secret. Boys,” added the Instructor, brightening up,
“have you ever reflected upon the almost limitless uses of friction?
Life would be impossible without it. When the axle of a railway car uses
up its oil the brakeman is notified of the fact by the blaze which
speedily follows. The falling stars shooting through space are invisible
till they reach our atmosphere, when the friction causes them to glow
with heat.”
“Well, nothing is clearer than that fire can be produced by friction,
but, as I said, no man can take two pieces of the dryest wood and evolve
a flame without aid. Am I right in saying that none of you know how to
generate fire without matches or the old-fashioned flint and steel?”
Unanimous inclination of heads and a general chorus, “You are.”
“I propose to teach you the trick. One boy will do, but it is better to
have two. Will Corporal Robe and Michael oblige?”
The lads stepped forward and gravely saluted Uncle Elk.
“I observe that the corporal carries his hatchet in the sheath at his
belt, but Michael has none.”
“I don’t naad the constant reminder of Gin’ral Washington as he does, to
make me stick to the truth,” said Mike with a grin and a quickness which
was answered by a laugh from all. He added:
“It’ll be my plaisure to see that the corporal obeys insthructions; I’m
not afeard of him if he does carry that axe wid him.”
“The first thing to do,” continued Uncle Elk, “is to cut two pieces of
dry cedar, one a foot and a half long and say an inch through, though it
does not matter if it is slightly less.”
Mike had forgotten everything told the boys by the Instructor regarding
the _Juniperus Virginiana_, but from his manner you would have thought
him competent to give points to Uncle Elk himself. I have said that our
young Irish friend was gifted with an excellent memory, a fact which he
had proved many times, and especially while listening to the words of
the hermit in his home the night before. In the latter instance,
however, he was deeply interested while he had become a trifle wearied
by the dissertations of the Instructor. You know how it is in such
circumstances.
None the less, as I said, Mike’s manner gave the opposite impression.
Assuming the pose of director he walked slightly in advance of the
corporal, as the two set out to find the cedar sticks needed. Since all
the boys had heard the directions of Uncle Elk, they followed their
comrades and joined in the search. Kenneth Henke, prompted by the
waggish spirit of Mike, ran a little in advance and halted beside a
vigorous maple sapling.
“What do you ask better than this? Aren’t we lucky, Mike?”
“That we are, ’tis just what we want, as me cousin Hughey said when his
mither set a bushel of peeled praties in front of him for dessert.”
And Mike walked up to the maple and tapped it smartly with his
buckthorn.
“What are you driving at?” asked the astonished corporal; “that isn’t a
cedar.”
“And who said it was? Why didn’t ye wait till I finished my enlightening
observation? I was about to say whin ye broke in that it is the very
tree that we want to lave alone. What do ye maan by such unseemly
levity?” demanded Mike, turning upon the other lads who were laughing at
his slip. “Now, corporal, don’t try to cut down that cedar wid the back
of yer hatchet; the blade will sarve ye much better.”
With the keen-edged implement the other youth quickly severed a dry limb
from the proper tree and trimmed it to a length of eighteen inches.
Having done this, he looked up and saw Uncle Elk and Scout Master Hall
among the spectators gathered round him. Robe turned to the old man for
further directions.
“Whittle each end to a sharp point.”
This was quickly done.
“Cut another stick and hew it flat, with the thickness of the first;
make a notch in it and at the end of the small end of the notch a little
saucer-like pit.”
Let me describe what was done under the direction of the Instructor.
A small pine knot was selected and a little excavation cut in it with
the point of the corporal’s knife. This was to receive the upper end of
the vertical sharpened stick, the knot serving as a cap to hold the
upright in position and in which it revolved, after the fashion of the
common auger which is worked with one hand. The lower end of the upright
fitted in the cavity of the flat stick which lay horizontal on the
ground and this revolving point generated the fire.
The one necessity was that the dry, pointed lower extremity should be
made to spin around fast enough for the friction to produce a flame.
This speed had to be much faster than can be secured by the unaided
hand, no matter how swift it may be. The needed velocity is thus
secured:
A cedar bow, some two feet long was made. There was no difficulty in
doing this, since every patrol of Boy Scouts is sure to be well provided
with twine or cord. The bow was bent sufficiently to hold taut the
string that is wound once around the upright stick. Then, by drawing the
bow back and forth for its whole length, the vertical piece revolved
very fast and the necessary friction was secured on the lower point
which rested in the cavity of the flat stick lying on the ground.
Before operations began some thin dry cedar shavings, macerated with
cedar bark, were rolled into a sphere the size of a billiard ball. This
made excellent tinder and all was ready.
Instructed by Uncle Elk, Corporal Robe rested his left hand on the pine
knot or cap on the top of the upright stick, so as to hold it in place.
He fixed one knee on the flat piece on the ground to keep it from
slipping. Then, as indicated, he started the business by drawing the bow
its full length back and forth. The drill fairly hummed. It was hardly a
minute when the dust thus ground out turned black, smoked and filled the
notch. The flat stick was withdrawn and with his hat the corporal fanned
the powder, which quickly showed a crimson point. The tinder was gently
laid on top of this, the fanning renewed and lo! a glowing flame broke
forth. Then followed clapping of hands and compliments.
Although Mike Murphy had played the part of spectator all through, he
doffed his hat and bowed low.
“This is so sudden, gintlemen, as Terry O’Brien said whin the lightning
knocked him off the church steeple where he was working, but I thank ye
all the same.”
“It took about three minutes,” remarked Uncle Elk, “because the corporal
is an apprentice; I have done it in less than a minute. In these modern
days it isn’t often necessary to know how to start a fire solely by
means of friction, but you can see that such knowledge might well prove
the means of saving one’s life. There isn’t a flint and steel in your
whole party, and I presume the same may be said of all troops of Boy
Scouts. Suppose that in the depths of the woods, in the middle of
winter, a small company finds that every match has been used. The only
method of starting a fire is by the means just employed. It is so simple
that it is always at command. So many story writers have the habit of
saying in their glib, off-hand way that their marooned or astray heroes
kindled a flame by rubbing two sticks together that the readers believe
it, when the thing is as impossible as perpetual motion. Now, since you
have started a fire, your next duty is to put it out.”
No water being handy, the few embers were scattered and stamped into the
moist earth, until not a spark remained. Addressing the company, Uncle
Elk said:
“Ernest Thompson-Seton tells an amusing story which he heard from Walter
Hough. An Apache Indian turned up his nose at the matches of the white
men and boasted that he could ignite a quantity of sticks quicker than
Hough could with matches. It was such, a preposterous claim that Hough
challenged him to a trial. It was accepted, they took their positions,
the buck gave a few turns, but as the umpire was about to say ‘Go!’ the
Indian called, ‘Stop—stop him—no good.’ He rearranged the contrivance
and Mr. Hough grasped his match.
“‘Stop—stop him—no good,’ protested the redskin again, demanding a
delay a third time before he nodded his head and the umpire called,
‘Go!’
“Mr. Hough felt his advantage was so overwhelming that he did not hurry
in striking the sputtering match, but hardly had it ignited, when the
Apache uttered an exclamation of triumph, for he had produced smoke.
This was covered with tinder, fanned a few seconds and broke into a
vivid flame before the white man had his sticks ablaze.
“The Indian had won, but it was by a trick. While he appeared to be
testing his contrivance the sly rascal was really ‘winding it up’ and it
was a part of his game.
“The Moros of the Philippines have an ingenious way of producing fire.
They use a short piece of bamboo, a bit of broken china and tinder.
Holding the bamboo firmly in his left hand, the bit of china, with a
pinch of tinder between the china and thumb in his right hand, the
native strikes a quick downward blow with the china along the bamboo. A
long spark follows and ignites the tinder which is readily blown into
the blaze.”
“Why should the process you describe cause a flame?” asked Scout Master
Hall.
“The bamboo is very hard with a glazed surface; the sharp edge of the
china pares off a thin strip of the glaze, and the friction of the blow
ignites it. The operation is so simple that the Moro children have no
trouble with it. But we have no bamboo in our woods, and that method is
consequently impossible. The method you have just learned is quite
likely to be at your command in all circumstances when lost in the woods
and is much more convenient than the other means.”