Camping in 1876

The three grand requisites we have been looking out for — grass, wood, and water — are reached, a halt called,
the loads are taken off and placed on the riatas, and the mules allowed to cool before unsaddling; if you expose 
their backs suddenly to the air whilst the skin is heated, the skin rapidly gets covered with large lumps. During this 
waiting, fires are lighted, tents pitched, and supper set a-going.

The cardinal point to be observed in making camp fires is 'never be in a hurry.' The most unpromising material, 
such as the twigs and boughs of green willow bushes, may be made to bum even during rain; if the traveller has 
been sufficiently provident to lay away a small parcel of well-dried or resinous wood from a previous camp, this is to 
be carefully used in the foundation; upon it the smallest ends of twigs are to be placed, frayed out at the ends in 
order to hold the flame. When these are kindled, somewhat larger twigs may be added, but in all cases proceed 
carefully, bearing in mind that green wood even in its driest state contains more than half its weight of water, and 
that a very large proportion of the heating effect, of the previously kindled brands, has to be expended in 
evaporating off water, before the fresh fuel can be ignited. It is, therefore, in almost all cases a work of labour to fell 
trees for fires as is sometimes recommended, as dead sticks, which can generally be collected with less labour, 
usually make a much better fuel.

In all cases, the traveller cannot be too strongly impressed, with the absolute necessity of always extinguishing the 
fire to the last embers, before breaking up camp. Neglect of this precaution has led, in many instances, to the 
devastation of vast tracts of forest country, which was formerly land redolent with animal life, into the so-called 
'barren' lands, destitute of almost all the necessaries of life, and which can only be travelled through with great 
suffering and privation. 

Bush and prairie fires are sometimes attended with terrible results as affecting both life and property. I saw the 
ravages a bush fire had made along the Fraser river, and that extended its devastations inland, I am unable to say 
how far — which fire had been burning for nearly four years. Where it had passed not a single vestige of vegetation
was to be seen, and the massive pines, black and cindered, bore no inapt resemblance to a forest of charcoal 
trees. Once or twice during our Commission work the bush got on fire, whether by accident or from Indian malice it 
was impossible to discover. At any rate, it rendered many of the trails impassable for a long time, and the vast 
accumulations of smoke frequently obstructed the astronomers, when taking observations. No one would believe, 
except he saw it, how terribly fast fire runs through a forest of growing trees; it seems to consume them as though
they were dead and dry. Moss, dried leaves and twigs, are the active agents in carrying on a brisk tire. The fire
creeps along, fed by these combustibles, until it reaches the stump of a tree; then leaping from bark to branch, and 
branch to leaf, rapidly devours all but the solid substance of the tree, and even this very often succumbs to fire's 
insatiable appetite, and the burnt tree comes crushing to the ground, like a gigantic rocket sending off myriads of 
brilliant sparks in its downward course. The only remedy for the evil is to cut a road, or line in other words, betwixt 
the burning forest and the portion you desire to save, and to stamp out, or by beating with bashes extinguish, the 
fire running along in the moss and underbrush. By adopting this plan, we succeeded once or twice in checking the 
progress of a bush-fire.

A prairie fire is altogether a different affair. Settlers are in the constant habit of setting the prairies on fire purposely,
in order to clear off and get rid of the old and coarse grass; by doing this a young sweet herbage springs up in its 
place, better suited to grazing stock. Indeed, I am inclined to think vast tracts of forest have in the course of ages, 
been converted into what is now prairie, by the Red-men, who regularly burn the grass from off the prairies; in most 
cases to ensure a supply of young grass for the bison, and in later years for their horses; although they not 
unfrequently fire the dry grass in order to burn out an enemy.

Fire so kindled does not halt at the edges of the prairie land, but extends its ravages into the timber, and in this way
gradually increases the size of the prairie. I have invariably noticed, when living on the Western prairies, that 
wherever a space of ground, say 300 acres or more, has been fenced in for any length of time, and carefully 
guarded from the effects of fire, that it has rapidly assumed the character of a forest. Trees and underbrush soon 
gain a mastery over the grass and flowers, which give place in their turn to a vegetation, more adapted to thrive in 
damp and shady situations. Fire is easily kept from injuring a fence, by ploughing a space four or five furrows in 
width entirely round it. There are stringent laws in the States and Territories relating to firing prairies; it can only be 
done legally at a given date, and all settlers, I believe, are expected to 'fire' at the same time, in order to insure the
removal of cattle, horses, and hogs, that might otherwise be 'roasted whole.'

Grand as a bush fire is, I think a blazing prairie exceeds it in magnificence, the dense columns of wreathy smoke, as
they curl up resemble mighty waves rolling on, to hurl themselves against some storm-lashed coast, whilst just 
ahead of them, a red line of flame extends right and left as far as eye can pierce the distance.

As you watch the progress of the fire (the rate a fire travels varies in accordance with the force of the wind and 
length and dryth of the grass). A sullen kind of roar seems to come from everywhere, having for a refrain a 
continuous sharp crackling, made by the tongues of flame in their furious onward course, licking up the loose 
inflammable materials. Every living thing dashes on heedless of direction before a prairie fire. The lamb might run 
side by side with the hungriest wolf without any risk; all enmity seems for the time to be laid aside, the one grand 
absorbing instinct self-preservation obliterating all others.

Is it to be wondered at that emigrants, and even bands of savages, have been from time to time burnt to cinders in 
these fires? What chance would there be if one was enveloped in burning grass or reeds seven feet high? No man 
on foot, and if the wind is hard not even on horseback, can travel so rapidly as the flames pursuing him. What can 
be done? Why, only one thing that I know of, and that is to fire the grass before you, and as it burns walk close 
after it; if you have sufficient time and presence of mind, by this expedient you may be far enough away to avoid 
any serious harm from the fire coming on upon you. I once had a hard ride to escape being burnt in a prairie fire, 
and only escaped by plunging horse and all down over a steep bank into a river. The fire was close at my heels, 
and rushing on quite as fast as my poor terrified horse could carry me.

I felt the gallant mustang was getting winded, and I expected every moment that it would fall headlong with me. My
life hung, so to say, upon a mere chance; I knew not, cared not, what was before me, neither did I feel at all 
frightened when the horse, without even halting in its gallop, dashed over a bank, and we together plunged into the 
stream. The horrible dread of being burnt overcame every other feeling of fear; in no other case could I have 
forced the horse, by any amount of punishment, to jump from the top of such a high bank into a deep river. In this 
case its instincts told it that this one chance of escape alone remained.

At night these fires are more terrible than during the day; the whole horizon looks to be one sheet of flame.

The best material I have ever met with for kindling a fire, is known to the fur-traders in north-west America as 
gum-stick; nearly every Indian tribe employs it. When hunting or scouting, they carry small bundles of gum-stick with
them, which, as its name in some degree explains, is pinewood densely impregnated with a highly inflammable 
substance, that burns with a bright clear flame; and when a piece of gum-stick is lighted it forms an admirable torch.
Why, in a London fog, gum-stick would be worth its weight in silver. You may whisk and whirl about your torch to 
your heart's content, and never risk putting it out; I once accompanied a party of Red Indians in search of some 
missing persons; the night was intensely dark, but each one of the Indians, carried a bundle of flaming gum-stick
affixed to the end of a pole. The light so obtained was almost as bright as the magnesium light, and rendered the 
minutest objects perfectly conspicuous.

Gum-stick is obtained from dead, not decayed, pine trees; it is a most singular looking material in appearance, not 
unlike a piece of deal that has been soaking for a long time in oil ; it is immensely heavy, and quite translucent at 
the edges.

I have often been tempted to think, when examining a piece of gum-stick, the wood itself has been transmuted into 
a kind of paraffin; perhaps what has become gum-stick, would have grown into a branch, if nature had carried out 
her original design. The sap destined to form buds, leaves, and seeds, has been hindered at this spot in its upward
or downward course, concentrated, changed into an inflammable compound, and by some process impossible to 
explain, pressed into the woody fibre, to become in the end gum-stick.

It is not by any means a scarce material, if you know where and how to find it; a practised hand learns, by a kind of 
instinct, how to pitch upon the right tree for gum-stick, although to explain the way to do it is an impossibility. Indians
are particularly skilful in discovering it, and during the winters we passed at Fort Colville, they used to bring bundles
of gum-stick daily, to trade for tobacco or anything else they required.

A few shavings sliced off with your knife, and lighted, will kindle a fire even during pelting rain, to say nothing of its 
potency and power to give new life to a dying flame.

Another kind of resinous material exudes from the pine-trees in great quantities, more especially if the bark has 
been partly removed, or a chop has been made on the trunk. It is yellowish-white in colour, its consistence is that of
thick gum, its smell decidedly turpentiny as it exudes, runs down the tree, and hardens into large drops. An 
inexperienced hand on finding that it lights very readily, and blazes up like naphtha, would be disposed to employ it 
for fire-lighting; he would soon, however, discover that as the resin flamed away it at the same time densely coated 
the surface of the wood with a coating of lamp-black, or some other analagous form of carbon; and when pinewood 
is thus coated one might as well try to burn granite: hence this resin coated timber is utterly useless for firewood; 
not only does it render itself incombustible, but has a like effect upon all the sticks in the fire, and is nearly as 
effectual in extinguishing your fire, as would be the famed 'l'extinctuer.'

I frequently used to amuse myself by setting fire to the resin encrusting the side of a pine-tree. There was not the 
slightest risk of kindling the tree itself; the material blazed up furiously for a short time, coated the tree with its sooty 
deposit, and then went suddenly out; the flame would not even char the bark.

If you want a fire, never collect chips or timber coated with resin.

End of Excerpt.
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