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to boil an abundance of ashes in water, strain off the lye, adding the
gall of any animal you may have killed, and let the clothes soak in it.
Next morning, take them to the water-side, and wash and beat them with a
flat piece of wood, or lay them on a broad stone and knead and wring them
with the hands.
Lye of Ashes.--In choosing plants to burn for ashes (whence the lye is
to be made by pouring hot water on them), it must be recollected that all
plants are not equally efficacious: those that contain the most alkali
(either potash or soda) are the best. On this account, the stalks of
succulent plants, as reeds, maize, broom, heath, and furze, are very much
better than the wood of any trees; and twigs are better than timber. Pine
and fir-trees are the worst of woods. The ashes of most kinds of seaweed
yield abundance of alkali. Potash is the alkali that is obtained from the
ashes of land plants, and soda from those of marine plants.
10,000 parts of pine or fur.......contain.... 4 parts of alkali.
" poplar " 7 "
" beech-wood " 14 "
" oak " 15 "
" willow " 28 "
" elm, maple,
and wheat straw. " 39 "
" thistles, flax-stems,
and small rushes " 50 "
" large rushes " 72 "
" stalk of maize " 175 "
" bean-stalks " 200 "
Soap is made by keeping fat constantly simmering in lye of ashes (see
preceding paragraphs) for some days; adding fresh lye as fast as the
water boils away, or is sucked up by the fat. After one or two trials,
the knack of soap-making is easily caught. The presence of salt makes the
soap hard; its absence, soft; now many ashes contain a good deal of salt,
and these may make the soap too hard, and will have to be mixed with
other sorts of ashes before being used: experience must guide the
traveller in this. A native woman will be probably be found without
difficulty, who will attend night and day to the pot-boiling for a small
payment. Inferior soap may be made by simply putting some grease into a
tub of very strong lye, and letting it remain for two or three weeks,
without any boiling, but stirring it every day.
Marine Soap is made of soda lye (the lye of seaweeds) and cocoa-nut oil;
it makes a lather with salt water, but it has the defect of being very
bulky.
To wash Flannels.--Make a lather of soap on a small piece of flannel, and
rub with it those parts that require the most cleansing, such as the neck
and wristbands of a shirt; then plunge the shirt in water as hot as you
can bear it, rinsing it and wringing it out very thoroughly, and hang it
up to dry as quickly as possible. Soda should not be used with coloured
flannels.
Washing Oneself.--Warmth of Dirt.--There is no denying the fact, though
it be not agreeable to confess it, that dirt and grease are great
protectors of the skin against inclement weather, and that therefore the
leader of a party should not be too exacting about the appearance of his
less warmly-clad followers. Daily washing, if not followed by oiling,
must be compensated by wearing clothes. Take the instance of a dog. He
will sleep out under any bush, and thrive there, so long as he is not
washed, groomed, and kept clean; but if he be, he must have a kennel to
lie in, the same is the case with a horse; he catches cold if he is
groomed in the day, and turned out at nights; but he never catches cold
when left wholly to himself. A savage will never wash unless he can
grease himself afterwards--grease takes the place of clothing to him.
There must be a balance between the activity of the skin and the calls
upon it; and where the exposure is greater, there must the pores be more
defended. In Europe, we pass our lives in a strangely artificial state;
our whole body swathed in many folds of dress, excepting the hands and
face--the first of which are frequently gloved. We can afford to wash,
but naked men cannot.
Best Times for Washing.--The most convenient time for a traveller to make
his toilet, in rough travel, is after the early morning's ride, a bath
being now and then taken in the afternoon. It is trying work to wash in
ice-cold water, in the dark and blowing morning; besides which, when the
sun rises up, its scorching heat tells severely on a face that has been
washed.
Toilet made overnight.--During the harassing duties of active warfare,
officers who aim at appearing in a decorous dress, in whatever emergency
their presence may be required, make their toilet overnight before going
to sleep.
Economising Water in Washing.--Where water has to be economised, by far
the best way of using it is after the Mahomedan fashion. An attendant
pours a slender stream from a jug, which the man who washes himself
receives in his hands and distributes over his person.
Bath-glove.--Fold a piece of very coarse towel in two parts: lay your
hand upon it, and mark its outline rudely; then guided by the outline,
cut it out: sew the two pieces together, along their edges, and the glove
is made. It is inexpensive, and portable, and as good a detergent as
horsehair gloves or flesh-brushes.
Brushes.--It is well to know how to make a brush, whether for clothes,
boots, or hair, and the accompanying section of one will explain itself.
Bristles are usually employed, but fibres of various kinds may be used.
[Sketch of brush].
BEDDING.
General Remarks.--The most bulky, and often the heaviest, parts of a
traveller's equipment are his clothes, sleeping-mat, and blankets: nor is
it at all desirable that these should be stinted in quantity; for the
hardship that most tries a man's constitution and lays the seeds of
rheumatism, dysentery, and fever, is that of enduring the bitter cold of
a stormy night, which may happen to follow an exhausting day of extreme
heat or drenching wet. After many months' travel and camping, the
constitution becomes far less susceptible of injury from cold and damp,
but in no case is it ever proof against their influence. Indeed, the
oldest travellers are ever those who go the most systematically to work,
in making their sleeping-places dry and warm. Unless a traveller makes
himself at home and comfortable in the bush, he will never be quite
contented with his lot; but will fall into the bad habit of looking
forwards to the end of his journey, and to his return to civilisation,
instead of complacently interesting himself in its continuance. This is a
frame of mind in which few great journeys have been successfully
accomplished; and an explorer who cannot divest himself of it, may
suspect that he has mistaken his vocation.
It is a common idea among men who are preparing to travel for the first
time, that all the bed-clothing about which they need concern themselves,
is a sufficiency to cover them, forgetting that a man has an under as
well as an upper side to keep warm, and must therefore have clothing
between him and the earth, as well as between him and the air. Indeed, on
trying the experiment, and rolling oneself up in a single blanket, the
undermost side in a cold night is found to be by far the colder of the
two. The substance of the blanket is compressed by the weight of the
sleeper; the interstices between its fibres cease to exist; and the air
which they contained and which is a powerful non-conductor of heat, is
squeezed out. Consequently wherever the blanket is compressed, its power
of retaining the heat of the sleeper is diminished. Soft fleecy
substances, like eider-down quilts, which are extremely warm as
coverlets, are well-nigh useless as mattresses. There is another cause
why a sleeper requires more protection from below, than from above: it is
that if the ground be at all wet, its damp will penetrate through very
thick substances laid upon it. It will therefore be clearly understood
that the object of a mattress is not alone to give softness to the bed,
but also to give warmth; and that if a man lies in a hammock, with only
the hammock below, and blankets above, he will be fully as much chilled
as if the arrangement had been reversed, and he had lain upon blankets,
with only the hammock as a sheet to cover him.
Vital Heat.--The vital heat of a man, either in an active or a latent
form, is equal to that which is given out by two ordinary candles: I
judge so from the following reasons. All our vital heat is produced by
the combustion--for it is simple combustion--of the carbon in our food.
Now the quantity of carbon consumed by a man in full diet, in 24 hours,
is about 22 oz. in weight. On the other hand, I find that ordinary
candles, which mainly consist of carbon, burn at the rate of 11 oz. in 24
hours. Therefore the heat given out by two candles is just about the same
as that given out by one man, either in a sensible form, or else under a
latent form by the vapour of the breath. Secondly, I have frequently
heard it estimated, as the result of the ordinary experience of social
life, that a saloon is warmed by each couple of candles somewhat more
than it is by the presence of a single guest. Where I write these lines,
I have not an opportunity of verifying my rough estimate, by reference to
physiological works, but accuracy is of little consequence to my present
purpose, which is to give a general idea of the magnitude of the problem
to be solved by clothes and tenting. Their joint office is to retain the
heat of a mass of flesh and blood, the size and shape of a man, warmed by
two candles burning within it, at a temperature of not less than 96
degrees in its inward parts.
Mattresses and their Substitutes.--A Strip of Macintosh.--If a traveller
can do so, he should make a point of having a strip of macintosh sheeting
7 feet by 4, certainly not less than 6 feet by 3, to lay on the ground
below his bedding. Every white servant in the expedition ought to be
furnished with a strip of macintosh sheeting, or, failing that, with a
strip of painted canvas. However, painted cloth is much inferior to
macintosh, as it will not fold up without cracking: it also tears easily,
and is heavy. Macintosh, of the sort that suits all climates, and made of
linen, not of silk, is invaluable to an explorer, whether in the form of
sheeting, coats, water-bags. swimming belts, or inflatable boats. A
little box full of the composition for mending it, and a spare bit of
macintosh, should always be taken.
Mattress.--Making a mattress is indeed a very simple affair. A bag of
canvas, or other cloth, is made of the size wanted. It is then stuffed
full of hair, wool, dry leaves, or cotton, and a strong stitch is put
through it every few inches. The use of the stitching is to prevent the
stuffing from being displaced, and forming lumps in different parts of
the bag.
Palliasse.--Straw, well knitted or plaited together, forms a good
mattress, commonly called a palliasse.
Shavings of Wood.--Eight pounds' weight of shavings make an excellent
bed, and I find I can cut them with a common spokeshave, in 3 1/2 hours,
out of a log of deal. It is practicable to make an efficient spokeshave,
by tying a large clasp-knife on a common stick which has been cut into a
proper shape to receive it.
Oakum.--Old cord, picked into oakum, will also make a bed.
Various Makeshifts.--If a traveller, as is very commonly the case, should
have no mattress, he should strew his sleeping-place with dry grass,
plucked up from the ground, or with other things warm to the touch,
imitating the structure of a bird's-nest as far as he has skill and
materials to do so. Leaves, fern, feathers, heather, rushes, flags of
reeds and of maize, wood-shavings, bundles of faggots, and such like
materials as chance may afford, should be looked for and appropriated; a
pile of stones, or even two trunks of trees rolled close together, may
make a dry bedstead in a marshy land. Over these, let him lay whatever
empty bags, skins, saddle-cloths, or spare clothes he may have, which
from their shape or smallness cannot be turned to account as coverings,
and the lower part of his bed is complete.
If a night of unusual cold be expected, the best use to make of spare
wearing-apparel, is to put it on over that which is already on the
person. With two or three shirts, stockings, and trousers, though
severally of thin materials, a man may get through a night of very trying
weather.
Preparing the Ground for a Bed.--Travellers should always root up the
stones and sticks that might interfere with the smoothness of the place
where they intend to sleep. This is a matter worth taking a great deal of
pains about; the oldest campaigners are the most particular in making
themselves comfortable at night. They should also scrape a hollow in the
ground, of the shape shown in fig. 2 (next page), before spreading their
sleeping-rugs. It is disagreeable enough to lie on a perfectly level
surface, like that of a floor, but the acme of discomfort is to lie upon
a convexity. Persons who have omitted to make a shapely lair for
themselves, should at least scrape a hollow in the ground, just where the
hip-bone would otherwise press.
[Sketch of person sleeping and bed; Fig. 1 and 2].
The annexed sketch (fig. 1) represents a man sleeping in a natural
attitude. It will be observed that he fits into a concavity of about 6
inches in greatest depth. (The scale on which he is drawn is 6 feet long
and 1 foot high.)
Hammocks.--See section on "furniture."
Coverlets.--General Remarks.--For an upper cover, it is of importance to
an otherwise unsheltered person, that its texture should be such as to
prevent the wind blowing through. If it does so, no thickness is of any
avail in keeping out the cold; hence the advantage of skin carosses,
buffalo robes, leather sheets, and macintosh rugs. All clothes lose much
of their closeness of texture in a hot, dry climate; the fibres shrink
extremely, and the wind blows through the tissue as through network. It
is in order to make their coverings wind-proof, that shepherd-lads on the
hills in Scotland, when the nights are cold, dip their plaids in water,
before sitting or lying down in them. The wet swells up the fibres of the
plaid, and makes the texture of it perfectly dense and close. It is also
of importance that the outer covering should have a certain weight, so as
not to be too easily displaced, either by the person fidgeting in his
sleep or by the blowing of the wind. In dry weather there is nothing like
furs; but in a rainy country I prefer a thick blanket bag (see "Sleeping
Bags"), a large spare blanket, and a macintosh sheet and counterpane. It
may be objected that the bag and macintosh would be close and stuffy, but
be assured that the difficulty when sleeping on mother earth, on a bitter
night, is to keep the fresh air out, not to let it in. On fine nights I
should sleep on the bag and under the spare blanket.
Stuffy Bedding.--It must be understood that while recommending coverlets
that resist the wind, I am very far from advocating extreme stuffiness,
and for the following reason. Though a free passage of the wind abstracts
an excessive amount of animal heat from the sleeper, yet the freshness of
pure air stimulates his body to give it out in an increased proportion.
On the other hand, sleeping-clothes that are absolutely impervious to the
passage of the wind, necessarily retain the cutaneous excretions: these
poison the sleeper, acting upon his blood through his skin, and
materially weaken his power of emitting vital heat: the fire of his life
burns more languidly. I therefore suspect it would be more dangerous to
pass a very cold night enclosed tightly in thin macintosh buttoned up to
the chin, than without it. Much less heat would be robbed from the
sleeper in the first case, but he would have very much less heat to
spare. There is, therefore, an intermediate arrangement of sleeping-gear,
neither too stuffy on the one hand nor too open on the other, by which
the maximum power of resisting the chill of the night is obtainable.
Sleeping Clothes.--Some travellers prefer to have their blanket at once
made up into a loose coat, trousers, and cap, pockets ad libitum, and a
tape in the trouser band. An extra suit is thus always at hand, the
sleeper loses little of the advantages of comfortable bedding, and is
always, in some sense, dressed for any emergency.
Feathers.--When you collect bed feathers for coverlets, recollect that if
they are cleanly plucked, they will require no dressing of any kind, save
drying and beating.
Brown Paper.--Brown paper is an excellent non-conductor of heat and
excluder of draughts: English cottagers often enclose sheets of it within
their quilted counterpanes. If thoroughly soaked and then dried, it will
not crackle.
Extra Clothes.--If a man be destitute of proper wraps, he cannot do
better than put on all the spare clothes he possesses. The additional
warmth of a single extra shirt is remarkable.
Dry Clothes.--However wet the weather may be during the day, the
traveller should never relax his endeavours to keep a dry and warm change
of clothes for his bivouac at night. Hardships in rude weather matter
little to a healthy man, when he is awake and moving, and while the sun
is above the horizon; but let him never forget the deplorable results
that may follow a single night's exposure to cold, malaria, and damp.
Pillows.--A mound of sand or earth, scraped together for a pillow, is
ground down into flatness, after a few minutes. A bag filled with earth,
or it may be with grass, keeps its shape. Many people use their saddles
as pillows; they roll up the flaps and stirrups, and place the saddle on
the ground with a stone underneath, at its hindmost end, to keep it level
and steady, and then lay their heads on the seat. I prefer using anything
else; as, for instance, the stone without the saddle: but I generally
secure some bag or other for the purpose, as, without a pillow, it is
difficult to sleep in comfort. A bag shaped like a pillow-case, and
stuffed with spare clothes, is very convenient. Some people advocate
air-cushions.
Mr. Mansfield Parkyns' excellent plan, of sleeping on the side, with the
stock of the gun between the head and the arm, and the barrel between the
legs, will be described when I speak of "Guns."
BIVOUAC.
There are four ways in which travellers who are thrown upon their own
resources may house themselves. They may bivouac, that is to say, they
may erect a temporary shelter of a makeshift character, partly from
materials found on the spot, and partly from the cloths they may happen
to possess; they may build a substantial hut, which of course takes a
good deal of labour to complete; they may use sleeping-bags; or they may
pitch a regular tent. I will speak of these four methods of encamping,
--the bivouac, the hut, the sleeping-bag, and the tent, in that order.
General Remarks.--Bivouacking is miserable work in a wet or unhealthy
climate; but in a dry and healthy one, there is no question of its
superiority over tenting. Men who sleep habitually in the open, breathe
fresher air and are far more imbued with the spirit of wild life, than
those who pass the night within the stuffy enclosure of a tent. It is an
endless pleasure to lie half awake watching the stars above, and the
picturesque groupings of the encampment round about, and to hear on all
sides the stirrings of animal life. And later in the night, when the fire
is low, and servants and cattle are asleep, and there is no sound but of
the wind and an occasional plaintive cry of wild animals, the traveller
finds himself in that close communion with nature which is the true charm
of wild travel. Now all this pleasure is lost by sleeping in a tent. Tent
life is semi-civilization, and perpetuates its habits. This may be
illustrated by a simple trait; a man who has lived much in bivouacs, if
there be a night alarm, runs naturally into the dark for safety, just as
a wild animal would; but a man who travels with tents becomes frightened
when away from its lights, or from the fancied security of its walls.
In a dangerous country there can be no comparison between the hazard of a
tent and that of a bivouac. In the former a man's sleep is heavy; he
cannot hear nearly so well; he can see nothing; his cattle may all
decamp; while marauders know exactly where he is lying, and may make
their plans accordingly. They may creep up unobserved and spear him
through the canvas. The first Napoleon had a great opinion of the
advantages of bivouacking over those of tenting. He said it was the
healthier of the two for soldiers. (See p. 153.)
Shelter from the Wind.--Study the form of a hare! In the flattest and
most unpromising of fields, the creature will have availed herself of
some little hollow to the lee of an insignificant tuft of grass, and
there she will have nestled and fidgeted about till she has made a
smooth, round, grassy bed, compact and fitted to her shape, where she may
curl herself snugly up, and cower down below the level of the cutting
night wind. Follow her example. A man, as he lies upon his mother earth,
is an object so small and low that a screen of eighteen inches high will
guard him securely from the strength of a storm. A common mistake of a
novice lies in selecting a tree for his camping-place, which spreads out
nobly above, but affords no other shelter from the wind than that of its
bare stem below.
[Sketch of sleeping man behind wall].
It may be, that as he walks about in search of shelter, a mass of foliage
at the level of his eye, with its broad shadow, attracts him, and as he
stands to the leeward of it it seems snug, and, therefore, without
further reflection, he orders his bed to be spread at the foot of some
tree. But as soon as he lies down on the ground the tree proves worthless
as a screen against the wind; it is a roof, but it is not a wall. The
real want in blowy weather is a dense low screen, perfectly wind-tight,
as high as the knee above the ground. Thus, if a traveller has to encamp
on a bare turf plain, he need only turn up a sod seven feet long by two
feet wide, and if he succeeds in propping it on its edge, it will form a
sufficient shield against the wind.
In heavy gales, the neighbourhood of a solitary tree is a positive
nuisance. It creates a violent eddy of wind, that leaves palpable
evidence of its existence. Thus, in corn-fields, it is a common result of
a storm to batter the corn quite flat in circles round each tree that
stands in the field, while elsewhere no injury takes place. This very
morning that I am writing these remarks, November 158, I was
forcibly struck by the appearance of Kensington Gardens, after last
night's gale, which had covered the ground with an extraordinary amount
of dead leaves. They lay in a remarkably uniform layer, of from three to
five inches in depth, except that round each and every tree the ground
was absolutely bare of leaves for a radius of about a yard. The effect
was as though circular discs had been cut out, leaving the edges of the
layer of leaves perfectly sharp and vertical. It would have been a
dangerous mistake to have slept that night at the foot of any one of
those trees.
Again, in selecting a place for bivouac, we must bear in mind that a gale
never blows in level currents, but in all kinds of curls and eddies, as
the driving of a dust-storm, or the vagaries of bits of straw caught up
by the wind, unmistakably show us. Little hillocks or undulations,
combined with the general lay of the ground, are a chief cause of these
eddies; they entirely divert the current of the wind from particular
spots. Such spots should be looked for; they are discovered by watching
the grass or the sand that lies on the ground. If the surface be quiet in
one place, while all around it is agitated by the wind, we shall not be
far wrong in selecting that place for our bed, however unprotected it may
seem in other respects. It is constantly remarked, that a very slight
mound or ridge will shelter the ground for many feet behind it; and an
old campaigner will accept such shelter gladly, notwithstanding the
apparent insignificances of its cause.
Shelter from the Sky.--The shelter of a wall is only sufficient against
wind or driving rain; we require a roof to shield us against vertical
rain, and against dew, or what is much the same thing, against the cold
of a clear blue sky on a still night. The temperature of the heavens is
known pretty accurately, by more than one method of calculation: it is
-239 degrees Fahr.; the greatest cold felt in the Arctic regions being
about -40 degrees Fahr. If the night be cloudy, each cloud is a roof to
keep off the cold; if it be clear, we are exposed to the full chill of
the blue sky, with only such alleviation as the warming and the
non-conducting powers of the atmosphere may afford. The effect is greater
than most people would credit. The uppermost layer of the earth, or
whatever may be lying exposed upon it, is called upon to part with a
great quantity of heat. If it so happen that the uppermost layer is of a
non-conducting nature, the heat abstracted from it will be poorly
resupplied by communication from the lower ones. Again, if the night be a
very calm one, there will be no supply of warmth from fresh currents of
air falling down upon it. Hence, in the treble event of a clear blue sky,
a non-conducting soil, and a perfectly still night, we are liable to have
great cold on the surface of the ground. This is shared by a thin layer
of air that immediately rests upon it; while at each successive inch in
height, the air becomes more nearly of its proper temperature. A vast
number of experiments have been made by Mr. Glaisher on this subject
('Phil. Trans.' 1847), the upshot of which is that a thermometer laid on
grass, under a blue sky on a calm night, marks on an average 8 degrees
Fahr. colder than one 4 feet above it; 1 inch above grass, 5 1/2 degrees;
1 foot, 1 degrees; 4 feet, 1/2 degrees; on gravel and sand the
differences are only about one-third as much. Sheep have a practical
knowledge of these differences. Often, in an early walk on dewy mornings,
I see all the sheep in Hyde Park bivouacked on the gravel walks of Rotten
Row. The above figures are the results of experiments made in England,
where the air is always moist, and the formation of dew, while it
testifies to the cold of the night, assists largely to moderate it. In
arid climates the chill would be far greater; such would also be the case
at high elevations. One of Mr. Glaisher's experiments showed a difference
of no less than 28 degrees between the cold on the ground and that at 8
feet high. This might often be rivalled in an elevated desert, as in that
of Mongolia. Hence the value of the protection of a roof and of a raised
sleeping-place, to a man sleeping under a blue sky in still weather,
admits of easy interpretation.
Various Methods of Bivouacking.--Unprotected.--Mr. Shaw, the traveller
in Thibet, says:--"My companion and I walked on to keep ourselves warm,
but halting at sunset, had to sit and freeze several hours before the
things came up. The best way of keeping warm on such an occasion, is to
squat down, kneeling against a bank, resting your head on the bank, and
nearly between your knees. Then tuck your overcoat in, all round you,
over head and all; and if you are lucky, and there is not too much wind,
you will make a little atmosphere of your own inside the covering, which
will be snug in comparison with the outside air. Your feet suffer
chiefly, but you learn to tie yourself into a kind of knot, bringing as
many surfaces of your body together as possible. I have passed whole
nights in this kneeling position, and slept well; whereas I should not
have got a wink had I been stretched at full length with such a scanty
covering as a great-coat."
Bushes.--I have shown that the main object before sleeping out at night
is to secure a long wind-tight wall, and that the next is to obtain a
roof. Both these objects may be attained by pleachingtwo or three small
neighbouring bushes into one; or branches may be torn off elsewhere and
interwoven between the bushes. A few leafy boughs, cut and stuck into the
ground, with their tops leaning over the bed, and secured in that
position by other boughs, wattled-in horizontally, give great protection.
Long grass, etc., should be plucked and strewn against them to make them
as wind-tight as possible.
Walls.--A pile of saddle-bags and other travelling gear may be made into
a good screen against the wind; and travellers usually arrange them with
that intention. Walls of stone may be built as a support to cloths, whose
office it is to render the walls wind-tight, and also by lapping over
their top, to form a partial roof. We have already spoken of a broad sod
of turf propped up on edge.
"The Thibetan traveller cares for no roof overhead if he can shelter
himself from the wind behind a three-foot wall. Hence the numerous little
enclosures clustered together like cells of a honeycomb at every
halting-place, with one side always raised against the prevailing wind.
(Shaw.) These walls are built round shallow pits, each with its rough
fireplace in the middle.
Cloths.--Any cloth may be made to give shelter by an arrangement like
that in the sketch.
[Sketch of cloth shelter].
The corners of the cloth should be secured by simple hitches in the rope,
and never by knots. The former are sufficient for all purposes of
security, but the latter will jam, and you may have to injure both cloth
and string to get them loose again. It is convenient to pin the sides of
the cloth with a skewer round the ropes. Any strip of wood makes a
skewer. Earth should be banked against the lowest edge of the cloth, to
keep out the wind, and to prevent its flapping. The sticks may, on an
emergency, be replaced by faggots of brushwood, by guns, or by ropes
carried down from the overhanging branches of a large tree. (For a sail
supported by oars, see "Sail Tent" p. 108.)
Fremont, the American traveller bivouacked as follows:--His rifles were
tied together near the muzzles, the butts resting on the ground widely
apart; a knife was laid on the rope that tied them together, to cut it in
case of an alarm; over this extempore framework was thrown a large
india-rubber cloth, with which he covered his packs when on the road; it
made a cover sufficiently large to receive about half of his bed, and was
a place of shelter for his instruments.
Gordon Cumming.--The following extract is from Mr. Gordon Cumming's book
on Africa: it describes the preparations of a practised traveller for a
short excursion from his wagons away into the bush. "I had at length got
into the way of making myself tolerably comfortable in the field, and
from this date I seldom went in quest of elephants without the following
impedimenta, i.e. a large blanket, which I folded and secured before my
saddle as a dragoon does his cloak, and two leather sacks, containing a
flannel shirt, warm trousers, and a woollen night-cap, spare ammunition,
washing-rod, coffee, bread, sugar, pepper and salt, dried meat, a wooden
bowl, and a tea-spoon. These sacks were carried on the shoulders of the
natives, for which service I remunerated them with beads. They also
carried my coffee-kettle, two calabashes of water, two American axes, and
two sickles, which I used every evening to cut grass for my bed, and
likewise for my horses to eat throughout the night; and my after-rider
carried extra ammunition and a spare rifle."
Importance of Comfort.--To conclude these general hints, let the
traveller, when out in trying weather, work hard at making his
sleeping-place perfectly dry and comfortable; he should not cease until
he is convinced that it will withstand the chill of the early morning,
when the heat of the yesterday's sun is exhausted, and that of the coming
sun has not begun to be felt. It is wretched beyond expression for a man
to lie shivering beneath a scanty covering and to feel the night air
become hourly more raw, while his life-blood has less power to withstand
it; and to think, self-reproachfully, how different would have been his
situation if he had simply had forethought and energy enough to cut and
draw twice the quantity of firewood, and to spend an extra half-hour in
labouring to make himself a snugger berth. The omission once made becomes
irreparable; for in the cold of a pitiless night he has hardly sufficient
stamina to rise and face the weather, and the darkness makes him unable
to cope with his difficulties.
Bivouac in Special Localities.--Encampment in Forests.--A clump of trees
yields wonderful shelter. The Swedes have a proverb that "the forest is
the poor man's jacket." In fir-woods there is great facility in making
warm encampments; for a young tree, when it is felled, yields both poles
to support branches for shields against weather, and finer cuttings for
flooring above the snow or damp. A common plan is to support a cross-bar
by two uprights, as shown in the figure; against this cross-bar a number
of poles are made to lean; on the back of the poles abundance of fir
branches are laid horizontally; and lastly, on the back of these are
another set of leaning poles, in order to secure them by their weight.
[Sketch of pole shelter].
On Bare Plains.--Avoid sleeping in slight hollows during clear still
weather. The cold stratum of air, of which I spoke in the section of
"Shelter from the Sky," pours down into them, like water from the
surrounding plain, and stagnates. Spring frosts are always more severely
felt in hollows. Therefore, in a broad level plain, especially if the
night be clear and calm, look out for some slightly rising ground for an
encampment. The chilled stratum of air drains from off it, and is
replaced by warmer air. Horses and cattle, as the night sets in, always
draw up to these higher grounds, which rise like islands through the sea
of mist that covers the plain.
Walls have been built for shelter against the wind, on a bare sandy
plain, by taking empty bags, filling them with sand, and then building
them up as if they had been stones.
Buried, or in Holes.--A European can live through a bitter night, on a
perfectly dry sandy plain, without any clothes besides what he has on, if
he buries his body pretty deeply in the sand, keeping only his head above
ground. It is a usual habit of the naked natives in Australia to do so,
and not an unfrequent one of the Hottentots of South Africa. Mr. Moffat
records with grateful surprise how he passed a night, of which he had
gloomy forebodings, in real comfort, even luxury, by adopting this
method. A man may be as comfortable in a burrow as in a den. I shall
speak of underground houses under "Hutting;" and for the present will
only mention that, in arid countries, dry wells, dug by natives and
partially choked by drifted sand, are often to be met with. They are
generally found near existing watering-places, where they have been
superseded by others, better placed and deeper. Now, there are few warmer
sleeping-places than one of these dry wells; a small fire is easily kept
burning at the bottom, and the top may be partially roofed over.
In Ashes of Camp Fire.--A few chill hours may be got over, in a plain
that affords no other shelter, by nestling among the ashes of a recently
burnt-out camp fire.
Warm Carcases.--In Napoleon's retreat, after his campaign in Russia, many
a soldier saved or prolonged his life by creeping within the warm and
reeking carcase of a horse that had died by the way.
By the water-side.--A stony beach makes a fine dry encamping-place, and
has this advantage, that it makes it impossible for marauders to creep up
unheard. But the immediate neighbourhood of fresh water is objectionable,
for, besides being exposed to malaria and mosquitoes, the night air is
more cold and penetrating by its side, than at one or two hundred yards'
distance from it. (I will speak of walls of rushes and reeds, under
"Huts.")
By Rocks.--In the cruel climate of Thibet, Dr. Hooker tells us that it is
the habit to encamp close to some large rock, because a rock absorbs heat
all day, and parts with it but slowly during the night-time. It is,
therefore, a reservoir of warmth when the sun is down, and its
neighbourhood is coveted in the night-time. Owing to the same cause,
acting in the opposite direction, the shadow of a broad rock is
peculiarly cool and grateful, during the heat of the day, in a thirsty
land.
On Heather.--Mr. St. John tells us of an excellent way in which Highland
poachers, when in a party usually pass frosty nights on the moor-side.
They cut quantities of heather, and strew part of it as a bed on the
ground; then all the party lie down, side by side, excepting one man
whose place among the rest is kept vacant for him. His business is to
spread plaids upon them as they lie, and to heap up the remainder of the
heather upon the plaids. This being accomplished, the man wriggles and
works himself into the gap that has been left for him in the midst of his
comrades.
[Sketch of sleeping arrangement].
On Snow.--I shall have to describe snow-houses and snow-walls covered
with sail-cloth, under "Huts." Here I will speak of more simple
arrangements. Dr. Kane says:--"We afterwards learnt to modify and reduce
our travelling-gear, and found that in direct proportion to its
simplicity and to our apparent privation of articles of supposed
necessity, were our actual comfort and practical efficiency. Step by
step, as long as our Arctic service continued, we went on reducing our
sledging outfit, until we at last came to the Esquimaux ultimatum of
simplicity--raw meat and a fur bag." Lieut. Cresswell, R.N., who, having
been detached from Captain McClure's ship in 1853, was the first officer
who ever accomplished the famous North-West passage, gave the following
graphic account of the routine of his journeying, in a speech at
Lynn:--"You must be aware that in Arctic travelling you must depend
entirely on your own resources. You have not a single thing else to
depend on except snow-water: no produce of the country, nor firewood, or
coals, or anything off the sort; and whatever you have to take, to
sustain you for the journey, you must carry or drag. It is found by
experience more easy to drag it on sledges than to carry it. The plan we
adopt is this:--we have a sledge generally manned by about six or ten
men, which we load with provisions, with tents, and all requisites for
travelling, simple cooking utensils, spirits-of-wine for cooking, etc.,
and start off. The quantity of people can generally drag over the ice is
forty days' provisions; that gives about 200 lbs. weight to each. After
starting from the ship, and having travelled a certain number of
hours--generally ten or eleven--we encamp for the night, or rather for
the day, because it is considered better to travel at night and sleep at
day, on account of the glare of the sun on the snow. We used to travel
journeys of about ten hours, and then encamp, light our spirits-of-wine,
put our kettle on it to thaw our snow-water, and after we had had our
supper--just a piece of pemmican and a glass of water--we were glad to
smoke our pipes and turn into bed. The first thing we did, after pitching
the tent, was to lay a sort of macintosh covering over the snow; on this
a piece of buffalo robe was stretched. Each man and officer had a blanket
sewn up in the form of a bag; and into these we used to jump, much in the
same way as you may see a boy do in a sack. We lay down head and feet,
the next person to me having his head to my feet, and his feet to my
head, so that we lay like herrings in a barrel. After this, we covered
ourselves with skin, spreading them over the whole of us; and the closer
we got, the better, as there was more warmth. We lay till the morning,
and then the process was the same again." It appears that people may bury
themselves in snow, and want neither air nor warmth. I have never made
the experiment; but have read of numerous instances of people falling
into snow-drifts, and not being extricated for many days, and when at
length they were taken out, they never seem to have complained of cold,
or any other sufferings than those of hunger and of anxiety.
HUTS.
Huts and Snow-Houses.--In making a depôt, it is usual to build a house;
often the men must pass weeks in inactivity, and they had better spend
their time in making their quarters comfortable than in idleness.
Whatever huts are used by the natives are sure, if made with extra care,
to be good enough for European travellers.
Log-huts.--In building log-huts, four poles are planted in the ground, to
correspond to the four corners; against these, logs are piled one above
another as in the drawing below; they are so deeply notched where their
ends are crossed, that the adjacent sides are firmly dovetailed. When the
walls are entirely completed, the door and windows are chopped out.
[Sketch of cabin].
The spaces between the logs must be caulked with moss, etc., or the
log-cabin will be little better than a log-cage. It requires a great many
logs to make a hut; for, supposing the walls to be 8 feet high, and the
trees to average 8 inches in diameter, twelve trees would be required to
build up one side, or forty-eight for all four walls. Other timber would
also be wanted for the roof.
Underground Huts are used in all quarters of the globe. The experience of
our troops when encamped before Sebastopol during an inclement season
told strongly in their favour. Their timely adoption was the salvation of
the British army. They are essentially, nothing else than holes in the
ground, roofed over, fig. 1.
[Sketch of roof and geometrical measure].
The shape and size of the hole corresponds to that of the roof it may be
possible to procure for it; its depth is no greater than requisite for
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