“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 today 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 today 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.”
CHAPTER XIII
A Bit of Detective Work
Less than half a mile farther brought the troop of Boy Scouts to the home of Elkanah Sisum, their Instructor in Woodcraft. Naturally he took the lead, with Scout Master Hall next and the youths straggling after them.
Expressions of pleased surprise followed the sight of the log structure in the midst of the neat patch of cultivated ground. Mike Murphy was the only lad who was familiar with the place and he held his peace. While his waggishness was generally irrepressible, he knew when good taste suggested that others do most of the talking.
The party had stood only a few minutes feasting their eyes, when Mr. Hall asked:
“How long have you lived here, Uncle Elk?”
“Some fifteen years, which have been years of quiet meditation and serene enjoyment. While I do not wish to cut myself wholly off from the society of my fellow men and I make occasional visits to Boothbay Harbor and even to Portland, yet my comfort is here among my books with my own thoughts and in communion with my Maker, tending the piece of ground, fishing, and hunting for the smaller game that is found in this part of Maine.”
A slight but significant fact must be recorded. It was at this time that Scout Master Hall noticed a vague peculiarity in the manner of the old man which he would have found it hard to describe. It appeared in his manner and very faintly in his voice. The leader was the only one who detected it and he made no reference to it until long afterward.
The survey was brief when their guide walked forward to the open space in front of his dwelling, where he again halted and spoke to those gathered about him:
“When I finished building my cabin, the only lock I placed on the door was the old-fashioned latch. I shoved the leathern string through the auger hole above it, so that it hung outside, and never since then by night or day, in sunshine or storm, through winter or summer, has it been drawn inside. I keep open house and every one who chooses to honor me with a call is welcome.”
“Do you have many visitors?” asked Alvin Landon.
“Weeks have passed without bringing one; then I have had as many as two in twenty-four hours. I have lately had that number. The first was Michael last night and the second a stranger whom I have never seen, but who called this forenoon after I left home.”
The old man enjoyed the astonishment of his visitors.
“If you have never seen him how do you know he has been here?” was the natural question of Patrol Leader Chase.
“I saw the proof in the same moment that I reached the clearing. He came across the lake in a canoe, walked up the path, entered the house, stayed a little while and then left. You being strangers in this section could hardly be expected to discover the shadowy impressions of his shoe here and there, especially since your failure a little while ago to find the trail of the wild animal prowling in your neighborhood.”
“Ye will not forgit, Uncle Elk, that it was mesilf that told ye about the beast that took a promenade by the spot,” reminded Mike Murphy.
“No; I am not likely to forget that, but I am forgetting the claims of hospitality. I can’t offer you the elbow room you have at the clubhouse, but you are none the less welcome.”
He twitched the latchstring, the door being so balanced on its hinges that it swung inward of itself. He stepped across the threshold to the mantel where Scout Master Hall was sure he saw him take a small article, glance at it and then shove it into his pocket. Facing about he called to his friends to enter.
They crowded into the room. The host did not draw aside the curtain which shut off the other half of the lower floor and which was his sleeping quarters.
You have read a partial description of the home of the hermit,—the most surprising feature of which was the well-thumbed volumes of scientific and scholarly works, in addition to several high class magazines and publications. Mr. Hall noticed that while the visitors were gazing around with natural curiosity, Uncle Elk stopped for a moment in front of his book shelf, glanced at the volumes and then quickly stooping, picked up what seemed to be a speck of dust from the bare floor. It was all done so quickly that the Scout Master would never have recalled it but for that which followed.
There were not enough seats for a third of the company and the youths kept their feet. Perhaps it was a harmless touch of vanity, with which all of us are more or less endowed, that led Uncle Elk to make a display of his skill as a detective.
“Yes,” he added a few minutes later; “there has been a caller here during my absence this forenoon.”
Scout Master Hall had the tact to humor the harmless weakness of the old man.
“Can you tell me whether he was an Indian or a white man?”
“He was of the same race as ourselves and is about forty years old. He carried no weapon,—nothing more than a fishing tackle. He is well off in the world’s goods, has been three days in the neighborhood and is friendly toward me.”
“I could have told ye
the last, Uncle Elk,” said Mike, “for there isn’t anybody who doesn’t feel that way.”
“Well said,” commented Scout Master Hall, “and it is true.”
The old gentleman bowed in acknowledgment of the compliment.
“You may suspect I am guessing, but I am not. When the man entered and saw that the owner was absent, he made himself at home, as I wish every one to do while awaiting my return. I suppose it was natural that he should be struck by my little library. He examined some of the books, and while doing so used the fingers of his right hand to scratch his beard, as a man often does unconsciously. He withdrew four of the volumes from the shelf, but was not much interested in them, for he replaced them, lighted a perfecto cigar, sat down in my easy chair, smoked a little while, with the chair gently rocking, then with his cigar half consumed, he passed out of the door and down the path to where he had left his canoe and paddled across the lake.”
Even with the assurance given by Uncle Elk, some of his listeners found it hard to credit all he said. He looked calmly into the array of faces, well aware of what was in the minds of his callers. He expected a question and Mr. Hall asked it:
“We know that all you have told us is true, because you said it was. They recall so vividly some of the ‘deductions’ of Sherlock Holmes that I hope you will enlighten us as to your methods.”
“What doubt has occurred to you?”
“You detected the faint disturbances made by the visitor’s feet, where he did not keep to the middle of the path. These told you the shoes were those of a white man, because, I presume of their fashionable make, and they showed that he came from and returned to the lake, but what warrant have you for saying he carried a rod?”
“He leaned it against the front of the house at the side of the steps where the imprint plainly shows. It was natural for him to do that instead of carrying it inside.”
“Why do you decide that he is a man in middle life?”
The Edward S. Ellis Megapack Page 305