Alone in the wilderness

Front matter

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Contents

Chapter Pace

I An Idea and a Birthday i

II The First Days in the Wilderness . 19

Chapter I

On the Saturday afternoon of October fourth, nineteen hundred and thirteen, just at the time ^vhen sunshine marked the end of two days' heavy rain, I emerged from the Canadian forest on the shores of Lake Megantic, having lived the life of a primitive man for two months in the wilderness of northern Maine.

I was tanned to the color of an Indian. I had a matted beard, and long, matted hair. I was scratched from head to foot by briers and underbrush.

Over the upper part of my body I wore the skin of a black bear, which I had fastened together in front with deerskin thongs. My legs were incased in crudely tanned deerskin chaps, with the hair inside. On my feet I wore moccasins of buckskin, sewed together with sinew. I wore no hat. On my back was a pack, made from woven lining bark of the cedar, in which I carried various implements from the forest.

I had a rude bow and arrows, and a crude knife, made from the horn of a deer, dangled at my waist.

It was thus that I entered the little French- Canadian town of Megantic — back to the civilized world.

I received a welcome that I had not dreamed of, and I was very happy, for it proved to me at that time that the people were really interested. However, as the hours went on, I began to realize that they considered that I had done a wonderful thing.

It is because of this impression, which seems to have taken hold of many people since my return, that I will begin this narrative by saying that it was not wonderful. Above all else I want to emphasize that my living alone in the wilderness for two months without clothing, food, or implements of any kind was not a wonderful thing. It was an interesting thing; but it was not wonderful.

Any man of fair health could do the same thing, provided he meant business and kept his head. But, to the best of my knowledge, no other man in the history of civilization ever did what I did; and for that reason the people are marveling at it. To be sure, doing a thing for the first time has its usual and mysterious side; but it is not necessarily wonderful.

The idea of this experiment came to me about a year ago, while I was spending a few weeks at Bradford, Vermont. At the time I was painting pictures of outdoor life in a little log cabin on what is known in that locality as Saddleback Mountain. I was painting a moose, and, as I added a touch of color to the canvas, I began to wonder how many people would notice that particular bit of color, which, from a standpoint of faithful portrayal, was as important as the eye of the creature itself.

From this thought my mind wandered on to the realization that the people of the present time were sadly neglecting the details of the great book of nature.

And, as I thought, I forgot the picture before me. I said to myself, "Here, I know something about nature. I wonder if it would not be possible for me to do something for the benefit of others."

Then I would laugh at the idea of my doing anything for the world! Probably all of us have wild dreams now and then. I am beginning to think that wild dreams are wonderful things to have. I have always hoped, more than anything else, that I might sometime do something which would benefit mankind, even in a small way.

The idea of "nature and myself" stuck in my mind, and I began to wonder what I might do to turn the attention of the public back to nature. I knew that art appealed to only a part of the people. I couldn't do it by art alone; no one ever had. A new impetus was needed.

I believed there was too much artificial life at the present day in the cities. I found myself comparing our present mode of living with the wild rugged life of the great outdoors. Then, all of a sudden, I wondered if the man of the present day could leave all his luxury behind him and go back into the wilderness and live on what nature intended him to have.

In that thought came the birth of the idea.

That night I went down to the hotel in Bradford and began talking it over with several of my friends. At first they all laughed at the absurdity of a man of to-day going back to the life of the primitive man of yesterday. I remember, as we sat around the fireplace, they asked me all kinds of questions.

I told them that in order to make such an experiment interesting it would be necessary

JOSKPH KNOWLES AS HE APPEARED A MONTH BEFORE ENTERING

THE WOODS for a man to enter the woods entirely naked, without even a match or a knife, and live a stipulated time without the slightest communication or aid from the outside world.

" What would you do for fire? " one man asked me.

I replied to that very quickly.

Another wanted to know what food I would be able to get in the wilderness and how I would get it without weapons. I mentioned a dozen ways.

Then the conversation became like a game. Every one wanted to see if he could n 't stick me in some way.

That night I couldn't think of a single thing that would keep me from undertaking such an experiment.

In the busy days which followed I promptly forgot all about the idea, just as nine tenths of all ideas are forgotten. Not until the beginning of last summer did the thought take hold of me again.

From time to time my friends would jokingly inquire when I was going to leave them and become a wild man.

Then, all of a sudden, it hit me hard. Another mood seized me like the one I had felt in the cabin while painting the picture of

6 ALONE IN THE WILDEHNESS

the moose. I said — and this time I meant it — ''I'll try this stunt, and demonstrate to the people that there are marvelous things to be derived from life in the great outdoors. "

When I told my friends that I really was going to try the experiment during the months of August and September they became serious indeed. They were not joking now, when they cried, "Do not think of such a thing!" They reminded me that it might be easy enough to answer all their theoretical questions satisfactorily; but to actually find fire and food and clothing would be impractical and, indeed, utterly impossible.

But my mind was fully made up. I left Bradford immediately for Boston, to make preparations for the trip. By preparations I do not mean that I went back to the city to train for the trip. I went to Boston simply to discuss with other friends the plans that were in my mind.

First of all it was necessary for me to choose a location for the experiment. This was some task, inasmuch as I desired to enter a wilderness far away from civilization, where I would not be bothered by people from the outside world.

Finally I decided that I would go into the forest on the fourth of August, in what is known in the northwest Maine country as the Dead River Region.

This country is covered with heavy black growth timber. Directly north is Bear Mountain, below which stretches Spencer Lake. To the east is Little Spencer, with Heald Mountain just beyond. Horseshoe Pond and the Spencer Stream lie to the southward, and the domain is bounded on the west by King and Bartlett Lake.

I selected this particular time for the experiment because I wanted it to be the most severe kind of a test.

I was handicapped by civilization's habits and comforts: my skin was not tough; my muscles were not firm; and my stomach was used to- seasoned and well-cooked food.

However, I still retained my knowledge of the woods, and it was on that alone I placed dependence. It is in the mind, I claim, the mind that has been trained to know nature, that the spark of complete independence is retained down through the ages.

As August fourth drew near some of my closest friends literally begged me to abandon the idea. They warned me that I might become ill and wreck my future health, or even lose my life, and all that kind of talk. They were good to me, and I appreciated their feelings, but I knew they did not understand.

I knew better. I was confident.

I left Boston for Bigelow, Maine, which is the end of the railroad in that part of the country. From there I took the stage for eight miles to Eustis, a village of fifty inhabitants, situated on the edge of the forest.

Then came something worse than living two months alone in the forest — a ride for sixteen miles over the King and Bartlett buckboard trail. The terminus of this road brought me to the King and Bartlett Camps, where I stayed until I entered the wilderness.

Directly in front of these camps is the King and Bartlett Lake. It was a mile across to the opposite shore, where, in the presence of professional men and sportsmen who were stopping at the camps in the vicinity, I disrobed and started for the wilds, leaving my clothes behind and taking absolutely nothing with me.

Presently I will relate my struggles for existence during those first few days, but first I want to mention one morning when I awoke with a flood of sunshine pouring into my lean-to and mark the tenth notch in my calendar stick. That made it August thirteenth, and it suddenly dawned on me that this was my birthday. Then the thought came to me that my mother would know it was my birthday, and in that thought it seemed to me as if, for the first time, my early life and memories mobilized and passed in review before me, while I sat gazing off between the trees.

I saw the old-fashioned house in the forest clearing in Wilton, Maine, where I had been born just forty-four years ago that day. I saw myself as a boy, living in poverty and being forced to do things for myself.

It seemed, sitting there in the sunshine, as if a blizzard were raging off there, among the trees, and through the whirl of snow I could see my mother coming out of the woods with a load of wood on her back, just as she had done many years ago. Never until that day did I realize what my mother had done for me. It was she who had taught me about the woods and the animals.

I remembered what a hard time father had had after he had come home from the Civil War, crippled and unable to help support the family.

My mother was born in the wilds of Canada, near the Indians, and is the most courageous person I ever met. In those days of privation in Wilton she alone supported the whole family for ten years. There were father, my two brothers, my sister, and I.

In winter she would haul the wood from the forest to keep us warm. In summer she would pick berries and walk six miles to the village to sell them. She wove baskets, made moccasins, and took in work from the people of the village to make both ends meet.

I fancied I could see her smiling face that birthday morning as I lay naked on the ground.

One vivid memory came to me of the day when we had been snowed in for some time and all mother could find for us to eat was one solitary turkey egg. It was n't very much for a hungry family of six, but she was equal to the occasion. She took the last of some flour she had and made up a batter. This concoction was all we had to eat for three days. Mother didn't take a mouthful during that time, always maintaining that she wasn't hungry!

While such thoughts made me a bit homesick, as I lay there alone, I remembered that my mother had no use for a quitter.

My back door led right into the woods. I could not go outside of the house without running into them. I used to play among the trees, and when I saw a strange animal I would rush toward home to ask mother what it might be. She would make me describe it; and, when I did, she always knew what it was. Then she would tell me all about the life and habits of that animal, so that soon I knew all the wild creatures that haunted the wilds about us.

One particular incident of that childhood past came to my mind. One day, while playing in the woods, it occurred to me that I was old enough to be a hunter — I was ten years old at the time. So I walked back to the house and got the old family gun out. The gun was longer than I was, but I managed to drag it into the woods with me.

About eight feet of snow covered the ground. I had on my father's old slippers, which acted like snowshoes on the crust. Hardly had I lost sight of the house when I heard a noise above me in a tree. Looking up I saw something dark moving in the branches.

My first thought — I remember it to this day — was to run, but I got my courage up and at the same time managed to lift the gun to my shoulder and fired. Not a sound came from the animal in the tree, but in a moment my hair stood on end to see the creature come backing slowly down the trunk!

I let out a yowl, dropped the gun, tripped in the big slippers, and fell face downward on the crust. But I was up again in a flash, dashing away toward home, and leaving the slippers behind on the snow.

When I reached the door I fell flat on my face and howled. Mother and father came rushing out to see who had been killed.

"There 's a bear after me!" I shrieked.

With that, my father limped down the steps and, giving me a little shake, cried out, "Don't you tell such a lie as that. The bears are all in their dens at this time of year!"

Mother calmed him and helped me to my feet. "Now let's find out just what it was," she said.

When I blurted out the part where the animal backed down the tree she assured me that it was no bear, but a hedgehog!

They knew that hedgehogs look very much like bear cubs at night, so they did n 't get after me any further.

I laughed out loud there alone in the forest that thirteenth of August as these recollections flittered across my mind, but I quickly sobered again at the remembrance of my running away from home. I ran away to go to sea when I was a boy of only thirteen years.

TKICPAKING TO ENTER THE WILDERNESS

During the long winter evenings, father, who had seen something of life in his earlier days, used to tell us fascinating stories of the sea and the full-rigged ships that sailed across the ocean. Those stories got me. For six months I planned to go to sea; and one night, after father had scolded me for not working in the field with the other boys, I left the house quietly and went out into the night. I walked all the way to Portland. It took me two whole days.

The first thing I saw on arriving in that great city was a vessel just about to sail from one of the wharves.

I went the rounds of the various wharves asking for a job, but my size was against me and I was turned down everywhere. I was discouraged and homesick that first night in a big city. I had n 't had anything to eat since leaving home and had nowhere to sleep.

I left the docks and started up the railroad tracks looking for some place to sleep. Luck was with me in this respect, for I soon came to an old barn in a field by the side of the railroad tracks. I crept inside and dropped down on the hay and fell asleep immediately.

When I awoke the sun was shining through the barn door. Looking off toward Portland I could see the masts along the waterfront.

I gazed off up the tracks toward Wilton. I was hungry and homesick, but, nevertheless, when once more I turned my eyes to the sea it was all sea again for me. So I trotted along toward the wharves. All that day I met disappointment. Not one of the captains would give me a job.

It was my third day away from home and I had not eaten a thing. Again that night I went back to the shelter of the barn, but before I fell asleep I firmly resolved to go home as soon as it was daylight.

When morning came I started on my way toward Wilton. I didn't feel the hunger so keenly now, and as I walked along it came into my mind that I had heard that a man could go nine days without eating. Already I had been away from home three days. It would take two more to reach Wilton, which would leave four more before I actually starved to death, I figured.

However, I did not go back home that day. I discovered, moored to one of the wharves, a two-topmast schooner, which had n't been there the day before. ''I'll take one chance at her, and then, if there's nothing doing, I'll go home," I said to myself.

As I approached the craft I could see members of the crew unloading merchandise. Close by, on a keg of salt mackerel, sat a graywhiskered old man, who occasionally shouted something to the busy men about him.

''He's the feller," I reasoned.

''It's a great day, ain't it!" I greeted, coming nearer.

"What of it!" was his curt reply.

This unexpected answer didn't phase me. I had too much at stake.

"Oh, nothing much," I continued. "I just had to say something."

"Why did you have to say something?" he demanded, looking steadily at me.

" 'Cause I'm looking for a job," I put in quickly.

"Huh?" grunted the captain, for it was in truth he. " What can you do? "

I had n't the least idea. But even that day in the wilderness, looking back after all those years, I seemed to see the steering wheel of that vessel.

"I can steer a ship," I answered, believing for the moment that I really could.

"Did you ever go to sea before?"

"No, sir."

"Well, how do you know you can steer a ship then?" he demanded.

Just while I was hopelessly floundering around for a good reason, the cook came out of the cabin with a bucket in her hand and asked the captain to send someone for fresh water at the hydrant at the head of the wharf. I was the nearest to him, so he sent me for the water and told me I could make the trip with him.

At last I was going to sea! I was a real sailor! And, at least, I would get something to eat!

I made a few trips on the coast on that schooner. One day the jib blew away in a squall. The mate called me a "land lubber," and other choice names, which aren't fit to be printed, and the upshot of it was that I quit the ship. I landed at Portland with two ten-dollar bills in my pocket, the first money I had ever had in my life, and started at once for home.

First I bought the whole family presents.

What a joyful home-coming it was!

Father was down to the village when I arrived. He came in later, while I was relating my adventures to my mother. When he caught sight of me — the runaway son — he stood still a moment, looking at me. Then, without a word, he went into the next room. That hurt more than any licking he had ever given me.

That night, two hours after entering the house, I crept down stairs and ran away again, just as I had done the year before.

This time I was gone for a number of years.

At first I went back to the coasters. Then I shipped aboard the deep water ships. I traveled nearly all over the world. Later I entered the United States Navy, where I served enlistments for a number of years. After that I decided I would like to try sailing on the fresh-water lakes. So I left the coast and sailed on the Great Lakes for another twelve months.

It was while I was in that country that I became acquainted with tribes of Sioux and Chippcwah Indians. They were scattered all along the west coast of Michigan. I gave up the sailing and went among them. That year I went back into the mountains and hunted and trapped with them. Of course, I picked up valuable knowledge about the woods under these conditions.

It was remarkable to me, as I reflected there in the forest on my forty-fourth birthday, how the smallest details of my past life came back to memory. It seemed as if in those first few days the cobwebs were wiped away from my brain, revealing thoughts which were completely forgotten. It seemed as if I had never thought clearly before. I confess I was just a trifle homesick.

I reached out and ripped a piece of fungus from a tree close by, and began sketching on its smooth white surface a crude picture of my lean-to, as I had often done for hunters from the city, who told me I should make the most of such a talent.

That was the way I started my art work. I just drew the things I saw around me in the forest. I never went to an art school, but I studied the works of successful artists, and won what success has been mine through my own efforts.

The fascination of the panorama of the past that unfolded itself before me that birthday morning made me quite forget to eat. The sun, peeking down through the trees from high overhead, told me that hours had gone by.

I rose and started for the burnt lands after berries.

Chapter II The First Days In The Wilderness

To go back to the beginning of my life in the wilderness, heavy skies and a steady drizzle of rain greeted me on the morning of August fourth, when I awoke in the King and Bartlett Camps. However, the weather did n't bother me.

The sportsmen and professional men who were interested in my departure joked with me, and laughingly said that they would see me back again that night. Everyone was in the best of spirits.

Shortly after nine o'clock we all left the camps for the opposite side of King and Bartlett Lake.

The drizzle had increased to a steady downpour, and the brown suit of clothes which I wore became wet through.

The time for my entering the forest was about ten o'clock.

The boats landed at the foot of what is known as the Spencer Trail, which rises straight up the side of Bear Mountain and winds its way up over the crest and down the other side for five miles through the woods to Spencer Lake.

"Here's your last cigarette," cried someone, offering me the smoke as I began to take off my clothes.

I took it and lit it, and then went on undressing. Presently I stood naked.

I took two or three final puffs of the cigarette, tossed it to the ground, and began to shake hands with everyone.

My body was already glistening with the rain but it did n't bother me any.

I waved my hand as a last farewell to human companionship for two months, and started up the trail. At the top of the incline, where, in another moment, I would be out of sight among the trees, I paused and waved once more to the waiting crowd below. Then I struck out straight along the trail.

I had left civilization!

I don't remember a great deal of that fivemile trip. My mind was filled with all kinds of thoughts. I kept saying to myself, "I shall keep on going straight ahead into the woods, where I shall not see anyone or talk with anyone for two months," Then the realization would come over me that what food and comfort I obtained would have to come through my own resourcefulness.

By now I had reached the ridge of Bear Mountain and swung along down the other side, where I easily recognized the lay of the land, though I had not seen it for ten years. Presently I saw the surface of Spencer Lake through the trees below me.

In order to avoid the Twin Camps I swung off the trail to the right, crossing over deadfalls and plunging through the tangled underbrush.

When I reached Spencer Lake I looked across that sheet of water, with its background of endless trees that rose up, up, up, and then to the sky line, way beyond, and saw a rugged picture. The sweep of rain hung like a filmy curtain between me and the distant mountain forest, softening the lights and shadows of everything.

For fully fifteen minutes I stood there in the rain and studied that wild stretch of nature. Three ducks flew around in a circle over the water.

I wasn't cold even then. Unconsciously I began to walk slowly along the Spencer shore, wondering just what I should do first.

To save my life I couldn't seem to make any connected plans. So I wandered aimlessly along for some time, finally reaching a point some distance below the Kempshall Camp.

Then I faced the heavy growth of woods and plunged in. I had no particular destination; I was just going anywhere.

Perhaps I had gone two miles when I found myself in a spruce thicket. By now the afternoon was well along, and I had n 't done a thing but wander about!

I had thought about building a fire, but saw there was little chance with everything dripping wet about me. However, I decided to make a try. First I hunted for a good piece of pine root to be used as a base; then a stick for a spindle. Next I ripped off a piece of bark of the cedar. I tore the inner bark into small strips, which I braided into a kind of rope. This I looped about the spindle, tying the ends to a bow-stick I had snapped off a dead tree.

I had to get my fire through friction, caused by whirling the spindle on the pine base by sawing back and forth with my crude fire-bow.

In vain I hunted in every crevice and log for dry punk. Everything was soaked through. I then saw the absolute foolishness of it all, and straightway gave up the task.

It was now dark, and here I was in this spruce thicket, without food or fire, naked, and miles from a camp.

I made up my mind that I would stay out one night anyway, even if I went back and called the stunt off early in the morning.

I found a place where I could walk back and forth a bit to keep warm, so I started in. With the darkness the air grew colder. The rain continued, unabated. I ran back and forth until I was tired and breathing heavily. Then I would stop for a moment to rest, sitting down on the wet ground with my back against a tree. Of course, I could n't sit there very long without catching cold, so after a little I would get up and begin walking again.

I must have run miles that night, in that little space in the spruce thicket. I would stop to rest, only to start walking again.

It must have been early the next morning, about three o'clock, I guess, when it began to get very cold. The rain had stopped. I increased my pace back and forth. Thus running and resting I spent the first night alone in the wilderness.

Daylight came very slowly, but with it I was on the move.

Not a thought had I given to food since I entered the forest. I was n 't hungry.

I struck a natural game trail and followed it along, not knowing where I was going.

Presently it began to rain again, and, while I got used to it later, I did not welcome it just then. My thoughts were the same jumbled thoughts of the day before.

As I roamed along, my resolve to leave the forest and call the experiment off did not figure particularly in the morning's mood. I somehow didn't care where I was going. And I did not feel the cold to any great degree.