Hunting with the Bow & Arrow
by Saxton T. Pope · English · Gutenberg #8084 · 420,839 chars · public domain (US)
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Title: Hunting with the Bow & Arrow
Author: Saxton T. Pope
Release date: May 1, 2005 [eBook #8084]
Most recently updated: March 2, 2015
Language: English
Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/8084
Credits: Produced by Eric Eldred, Marvin A. Hodges, Tonya Allen,
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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HUNTING WITH THE BOW & ARROW ***
Produced by Eric Eldred, Marvin A. Hodges, Tonya Allen,
Charles Franks and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team.
[Illustration: THE SHADES OF SHERWOOD FOREST]
HUNTING with the
BOW & ARROW
By
Saxton Pope
With 48 Illustrations
* * * * *
DEDICATED
TO
ROBIN HOOD
A SPIRIT THAT AT SOME TIME DWELLS IN
THE HEART OF EVERY YOUTH
CONTENTS
I.--THE STORY OF THE LAST YANA INDIAN.
II.--ISHI'S BOW AND ARROW.
III.--ISHI'S METHODS OF HUNTING.
IV.--ARCHERY IN GENERAL.
V.--HOW TO MAKE A BOW.
VI.--HOW TO MAKE AN ARROW.
VII.--ARCHERY EQUIPMENT.
VIII.--HOW TO SHOOT.
IX.--THE PRINCIPLES OF HUNTING.
X.--THE RACCOON, WILDCAT, FOX, COON, CAT, AND WOLF.
XI.--DEER HUNTING.
XII.--BEAR HUNTING.
XIII.--MOUNTAIN LIONS.
XIV.--GRIZZLY BEAR.
XV.--ALASKAN ADVENTURES.
A CHAPTER OF ENCOURAGEMENT BY STEWART EDWARD WHITE.
THE UPSHOT.
ILLUSTRATIONS
THE SHADES OF SHERWOOD FOREST
A DEATH MASK OF ISHI
ISHI AND APPERSON
CALLING GAME IN AMBUSH
THE INDIAN'S FAVORITE SHOOTING POSITION
CHOPPING OUT A JUNIPER BOW
OUR CARAVAN LEAVING DEER CREEK CANYON
ISHI FLAKING AN OBSIDIAN ARROW HEAD
THE INDIAN AND A DEER
THREE TYPES OF HUNTING ARROWS
A BLUNT ARROW SHOT THROUGH AN INCH BOARD
"BRER" FOX UP A TREE
ART YOUNG SHOOTS FISH
DETAILS OF BOW CONSTRUCTION
SEVERAL STEPS IN ARROW MAKING
ARROW HEADS OF VARIOUS SORTS USED IN HUNTING
NECESSARY ARCHERY EQUIPMENT
AN ARCHER'S MEASURE, A FISTMELE
THE ENGLISH METHOD OF DRAWING THE ARROW
NOCKING THE SHAFT ON THE STRING
THE LONG BOW FULL DRAWN
WILL AND MAURICE THOMPSON, AS THEY APPEARED IN 1878
SHOOTING BRUSH RABBITS
ARCHERS IN AMBUSH
ISHI RIDING A HORSE FOR THE FIRST TIME
A REST AT NOON
A LYNX THAT MET AN ARCHER
THE CHIEF LOOKING OVER GOOD DEER COUNTRY
MR. COON BROUGHT INTO CAMP
A PRETTY PAIR OF WINGS
JUST A LITTLE HUNT BEFORE BREAKFAST
YOUNG AND COMPTON WITH A QUAIL APIECE
WOODCHUCKS GALORE!
PORCUPINE QUILLS TO DECORATE A QUIVER
A FATAL ARROW AT 65 YARDS
THE CHIEF AND ART GET A BUCK AT 85 YARDS
TOM MURPHY WITH HIS TWO BEST DOGS, BUTTON AND BALDY
YOUNG AND I ARE VERY PROUD OF OUR MAIDEN BEAR
ARTHUR YOUNG AND HIS COUGAR
OUR FIRST MOUNTAIN LION
WE PACK THE PANTHER TO CAMP
CAMP AT SQUAW LAKE, WYOMING
THE RESULT OF OUR FIRST ENCOUNTER WITH GRIZZLY BEAR
BRINGING HOME THE TROPHIES
LOOKING FOR GRIZZLIES ON CUB CREEK
THE TREE THAT NED FROST CLIMBED TO ESCAPE DEATH
MY FEMALE GRIZZLY AND THE ARROW THAT KILLED HER
ARTHUR YOUNG SLAYS THE MONARCH OF THE MOUNTAINS
BULL MOOSE BAGGED ON THE KENAI PENINSULA
THE GREAT KADIAC BEAR BROUGHT LOW
ARTHUR YOUNG OUTWITS THE ALASKA BIGHORN
* * * * *
Hunting with the Bow and Arrow
I
THE STORY OF THE LAST YANA INDIAN
The glory and romance of archery culminated in England before the
discovery of America. There, no doubt, the bow was used to its greatest
perfection, and it decided the fate of nations. The crossbow and the
matchlock had supplanted the longbow when Columbus sailed for the New
World.
It was, therefore, a distinct surprise to the first explorers of
America that the natives used the bow and arrow so effectively. In
fact, the sword and the horse, combined with the white man's
superlative self-assurance, won the contest over the aborigines more
than the primitive blunderbuss of the times. The bow and arrow was
still more deadly than the gun.
With the gradual extermination of the American Indian, the westward
march of civilization, and the improvement in firearms, this contest
became more and more unequal, and the bow disappeared from the land.
The last primitive Indian archer was discovered in California in the
year 1911.
When the white pioneers of California descended through the northern
part of that State by the Lassen trail, they met with a tribe of
Indians known as the Yana, or Yahi. That is the name they called
themselves. Their neighbors called them the Nozi, and the white men
called them the Deer Creek or Mill Creek Indians. Different from the
other tribes of this territory, the Yana would not submit without a
struggle to the white man's conquest of their lands.
The Yana were hunters and warriors. The usual California natives were
yellow in color, fat and inclined to be peaceable. The Yana were
smaller of stature, lithe, of reddish bronze complexion, and instead of
being diggers of roots, they lived by the salmon spear and the bow.
Their range extended over an area south of Mount Lassen, east of the
Sacramento River, for a distance of fifty miles.
From the earliest settlement of the whites, hostilities existed between
them. This resulted in definitely organized expeditions against these
Indians, and the annual slaughter of hundreds.
The last big round-up of Mill Creek Indians occurred in 1872, when
their tribe was surprised at its seasonal harvest of acorns. Upon this
occasion a posse of whites killed such a number of natives that it is
said the creek was damned with dead bodies. An accurate account of
these days may be obtained from Watterman's paper on the Yana Indians.
[1][Footnote 1: Vol. 13, No. 2, _Am. Archaeology and Ethnology_.]
During one of the final raids upon the Yana, a little band of Indian
women and children hid in a cave. Here they were discovered and
murdered in cold blood. One of the white scouting party laconically
stated that he used his revolver to blow out their brains because the
rifle spattered up the cave too much.
So it came to pass, that from two or three thousand people, the Yana
were reduced to less than a dozen who escaped extermination. These were
mainly women, old men and children. This tribal remnant sought the
refuge of the impenetrable brush and volcanic rocks of Deer Creek
Canyon. Here they lived by stealth and cunning. Like wild creatures,
they kept from sight until the whites quite forgot their existence.
It became almost a legend that wild Indians lived in the Mount Lassen
district. From time to time ranchers or sheep herders reported that
their flocks had been molested, that signs of Indians had been found or
that arrowheads were discovered in their sheep. But little credence was
given these rumors until the year 1908, when an electric power company
undertook to run a survey line across Deer Creek Canyon with the object
of constructing a dam.
One evening, as a party of linemen stood on a log at the edge of the
deep swift stream debating the best place to ford, a naked Indian rose
up before them, giving a savage snarl and brandishing a spear. In an
instant the survey party disbanded, fell from the log, and crossed the
stream in record-breaking time. When they stopped to get their breath,
the Indian had disappeared. This was the first appearance of Ishi, [2]
[Footnote 2: Ishi is pronounced "E-she."] the Yana.
Next morning an exploring expedition set out to verify the excited
report of the night before. The popular opinion was that no such
wildman existed, and that the linemen had been seeing things. One of
the group offered to bet that no signs of Indians would be found.
As the explorers reached the slide of volcanic boulders where the
apparition of the day before had disappeared, two arrows flew past
them. They made a run for the top of the slide and reached it just in
time to see two Indians vanish in the brush. They left behind them an
old white-haired squaw, whom they had been carrying. She was partially
paralyzed, and her legs were bound in swaths of willow bark, seemingly
in an effort to strengthen them.
The old squaw was wrinkled with age, her hair was cropped short as a
sign of mourning, and she trembled with fear. The white men approached
and spoke kindly to her in Spanish. But she seemed not to understand
their words, and apparently expected only death, for in the past to
meet a white man was to die. They gave her water to drink, and tried to
make her call back her companions, but without avail.
Further search disclosed two small brush huts hidden among the laurel
trees. So cleverly concealed were these structures that one could pass
within a few yards and not discern them. In one of the huts acorns and
dried salmon had been stored; the other was their habitation. There was
a small hearth for indoor cooking; bows, arrows, fishing tackle, a few
aboriginal utensils and a fur robe were found. These were confiscated
in the white man's characteristic manner. They then left the place and
returned to camp.
Next day the party revisited the site, hoping to find the rest of the
Indians. These, however, had gone forever.
Nothing more was seen or heard of this little band until the year 1911,
when on the outskirts of Oroville, some thirty-two miles from the Deer
Creek camp, a lone survivor appeared. Early in the morning, brought to
bay by a barking dog, huddled in the corner of a corral, was an
emaciated naked Indian. So strange was his appearance and so alarmed
was the butcher's boy who found him, that a hasty call for the town
constable brought out an armed force to capture him.
Confronted with guns, pistols, and handcuffs, the poor man was sick
with fear. He was taken to the city jail and locked up for safekeeping.
There he awaited death. For years he had believed that to fall into the
hands of white men meant death. All his people had been killed by
whites; no other result could happen. So he waited in fear and
trembling. They brought him food, but he would not eat; water, but he
would not drink. They asked him questions, but he could not speak. With
the simplicity of the white man, they brought him other Indians of
various tribes, thinking that surely all "Diggers" were the same. But
their language was as strange to him as Chinese or Greek.
And so they thought him crazy. His hair was burnt short, his feet had
never worn shoes, he had small bits of wood in his nose and ears; he
neither ate, drank, nor slept. He was indeed wild or insane.
By this time the news of the wild Indian got into the city papers, and
Professor T. T. Watterman, of the Department of Anthropology at the
University of California, was sent to investigate the case. He
journeyed to Oroville and was brought into the presence of this strange
Indian. Having knowledge of many native dialects, Dr. Watterman tried
one after the other on the prisoner. Through good fortune, some of the
Yana vocabulary had been preserved in the records of the University.
Venturing upon this lost language, Watterman spoke in Yana the words,
_Siwini_, which means pine wood, tapping at the same time the edge of
the cot on which they sat.
In wonderment, the Indian's face lighted with faint recognition.
Watterman repeated the charm, and like a spell the man changed from a
cowering, trembling savage. A furtive smile came across his face. He
said in his language, _I nu ma Yaki_--"Are you an Indian?" Watterman
assured him that he was.
A great sense of relief entered the situation. Watterman had discovered
one of the lost tribes of California; Ishi had discovered a friend.
They clothed him and fed him, and he learned that the white man was
good.
Since no formal charges were lodged against the Indian, and he seemed
to have no objection, Watterman took him to San Francisco, and there,
attached to the Museum of Anthropology, he became a subject of study
and lived happily for five years.
From him it was learned that his people were all dead. The old woman
seen in the Deer Creek episode was his mother; the old man was his
uncle. These died on a long journey to Mt. Lassen, soon after their
discovery. Here he had burned their bodies and gone into mourning. The
fact that the white men took their means of procuring food, as well as
their clothing, contributed, no doubt, to the death of the older
people.
Half starved and hopeless, he had wandered into civilization. His
father, once the chieftain of the Yana tribe, having domain over all
the country immediately south of Mt. Lassen, was long since gone, and
with him all his people. Ranchers and stockmen had usurped their
country, spoiled the fishing, and driven off the game. The acorn trees
of the valleys had been taken from them; nothing remained but evil
spirits in the land of his forefathers.
Now, however, he had found kindly people who fed him, clothed him, and
taught him the mysteries of civilization. When asked his name, he said:
"I have none, because there were no people to name me," meaning that no
tribal ceremony had been performed. But the old people had called him
Ishi, which means "strong and straight one," for he was the youth of
their camp. He had learned to make fire with sticks; he knew the lost
art of chipping arrowheads from flint and obsidian; he was the
fisherman and the hunter. He knew nothing of our modern life. He had no
name for iron, nor cloth, nor horse, nor road. He was as primitive as
the aborigines of the pre-Columbian period. In fact, he was a man in
the Stone Age. He was absolutely untouched by civilization. In him
science had a rare find. He turned back the pages of history countless
centuries. And so they studied him, and he studied them.
From him they learned little of his personal history and less of that
of his family, because an Indian considers it unbecoming to speak much
of his own life, and it brings ill luck to speak of the dead. He could
not pronounce the name of his father without calling him from the land
of spirits, and this he could only do for some very important reason.
But he knew the full history of his tribe and their destruction.
His apparent age was about forty years, yet he undoubtedly was nearer
sixty. Because of his simple life he was in physical prime, mentally
alert, and strong in body.
He was about five feet eight inches tall, well proportioned, had
beautiful hands and unspoiled feet.
His features were less aquiline than those of the Plains Indian, yet
strongly marked outlines, high cheek bones, large intelligent eyes,
straight black hair, and fine teeth made him good to look upon.
As an artisan he was very skilful and ingenious. Accustomed to
primitive tools of stone and bone, he soon learned to use most expertly
the knife, file, saw, vise, hammer, ax, and other modern implements.
Although he marveled at many of our inventions and appreciated matches,
he took great pride in his ability to make fire with two sticks of
buckeye. This he could do in less than two minutes by twirling one on
the other.
About this time I became an instructor in surgery at the University
Medical School, which is situated next to the Museum. Ishi was employed
here in a small way as a janitor to teach him modern industry and the
value of money. He was perfectly happy and a great favorite with
everybody.
From his earliest experience with our community life he manifested
little immunity to disease. He contracted all the epidemic infections
with which he was brought in contact. He lived a very hygienic
existence, having excellent food and sleeping outdoors, but still he
was often sick. Because of this I came in touch with him as his
physician in the hospital, and soon learned to admire him for the fine
qualities of his nature.
[Illustration: A DEATH MASK OF ISHI, THE LAST YANA INDIAN]
Though very reserved, he was kindly, honest, cleanly, and trustworthy.
More than this, he had a superior philosophy of life, and a high moral
standard.
By degrees I learned to speak his dialect, and spent many hours in his
company. He told us the folk lore of his tribe. More than forty myths
or animal stories of his have been recorded and preserved. They are as
interesting as the stories of Uncle Remus. The escapades of wildcat,
the lion, the grizzly bear, the bluejay, the lizard, and the coyote are
as full of excitement and comedy as any fairy story.
He knew the history and use of everything in the outdoor world. He
spoke the language of the animals. He taught me to make bows and
arrows, how to shoot them, and how to hunt, Indian fashion. He was a
wonderful companion in the woods, and many days and nights we journeyed
together.
After he had been with us three years we took him back to his own
country. But he did not want to stay. He liked the ways of the white
man, and his own land was full of the spirits of the departed.
He showed us old forgotten camp sites where past chieftains made their
villages. He took us to deer licks and ambushes used by his people long
ago. One day in passing the base of a great rock he scratched with his
toe and dug up the bones of a bear's paw. Here, in years past, they had
killed and roasted a bear. This was the camp of _Ya mo lo ku_. His own
camp was called _Wowomopono Tetna_ or bear wallow.
We swam the streams together, hunted deer and small game, and at night
sat under the stars by the camp fire, where in a simple way we talked
of old heroes, the worlds above us, and his theories of the life to
come in the land of plenty, where the bounding deer and the mighty bear
met the hunter with his strong bow and swift arrows.
I learned to love Ishi as a brother, and he looked upon me as one of
his people. He called me _Ku wi_, or Medicine Man; more, perhaps,
because I could perform little sleight of hand tricks, than because of
my profession.
But, in spite of the fact that he was happy and surrounded by the most
advanced material culture, he sickened and died. Unprotected by
hereditary or acquired immunity, he contracted tuberculosis and faded
away before our eyes. Because he had no natural resistance, he received
no benefit from such hygienic measures as serve to arrest the disease
in the Caucasian. We did everything possible for him, and nursed him to
the painful bitter end.
When his malady was discovered, plans were made to take him back to the
mountains whence he came and there have him cared for properly. We
hoped that by this return to his natural elements he would recover. But
from the inception of his disease he failed so rapidly that he was not
strong enough to travel.
Consumed with fever and unable to eat nourishing food, he seemed doomed
from the first. After months of misery he suddenly developed a
tremendous pulmonary hemorrhage. I was with him at the time, directed
his medication, and gently stroked his hand as a small sign of
fellowship and sympathy. He did not care for marked demonstrations of
any sort.
He was a stoic, unafraid, and died in the faith of his people.
As an Indian should go, so we sent him on his long journey to the land
of shadows. By his side we placed his fire sticks, ten pieces of
dentalia or Indian money, a small bag of acorn meal, a bit of dried
venison, some tobacco, and his bow and arrows.
These were cremated with him and the ashes placed in an earthen jar. On
it is inscribed "Ishi, the last Yana Indian, 1916."
And so departed the last wild Indian of America. With him the neolithic
epoch terminates. He closes a chapter in history. He looked upon us as
sophisticated children--smart, but not wise. We knew many things and
much that is false. He knew nature, which is always true. His were the
qualities of character that last forever. He was essentially kind; he
had courage and self-restraint, and though all had been taken from him,
there was no bitterness in his heart. His soul was that of a child, his
mind that of a philosopher.
With him there was no word for good-by. He said: "You stay, I go."
He has gone and he hunts with his people. We stay, and he has left us
the heritage of the bow.
II
HOW ISHI MADE HIS BOW AND ARROW AND HIS METHODS OF SHOOTING
Although much has been written in history and fiction concerning the
archery of the North American Indian, strange to say, very little has
been recorded of the methods of manufacture of their weapons, and less
in accurate records of their shooting.
It is a great privilege to have lived with an unspoiled aborigine and
seen him step by step construct the most perfect type of bow and arrow.
The workmanship of Ishi was by far the best of any Indian in America;
compared with thousands of specimens in the museum, his arrows were the
most carefully and beautifully made; his bow was the best.
It would take too much time to go into the minute details of his work,
and this has all been recorded in anthropologic records, [1]
[Footnote 1: See _Yahi Archery_, Vol. 13, No. 3, _Am. Archaeology and
Ethnology_.]
but the outlines of his methods are as follows:
The bow, Ishi called _man-nee_. It was a short, flat piece of mountain
juniper backed with sinew. The length was forty-two inches, or, as he
measured it, from the horizontally extended hand to the opposite hip.
It was broadest at the center of each limb, approximately two inches,
and half an inch thick. The cross-section of this part was elliptical.
At the center of the bow the handgrip was about an inch and a quarter
wide by three-quarters thick, a cross-section being ovoid. At the tips
it was curved gently backward and measured at the nocks three-quarters
by one-half an inch. The nock itself was square shouldered and
terminated in a pin half an inch in diameter and an inch long.
The wood was obtained by splitting a limb from a tree and utilizing the
outer layers, including the sap wood. By scraping and rubbing on
sandstone, he shaped and finished it. The recurved tips of the bow he
made by bending the wood backward over a heated stone. Held in shape by
cords and binding to another piece of wood, he let his bow season in a
dark, dry place. Here it remained from a few months to years, according
to his needs. After being seasoned he backed it with sinew. First he
made a glue by boiling salmon skin and applying it to the roughened
back of the bow. When it was dry he laid on long strips of deer sinew
obtained from the leg tendons. By chewing these tendons and separating
their fibers, they became soft and adhesive. Carefully overlapping the
ends of the numerous fibers he covered the entire back very thickly. At
the nocks he surrounded the wood completely and added a circular
binding about the bow.
During the process of drying he bound the sinew tightly to the bow with
long, thin strips of willow bark. After several days he removed this
bandage and smoothed off the edges of the dry sinew, sized the surface
with more glue and rubbed everything smooth with sandstone. Then he
bound the handgrip for a space of four inches with a narrow buckskin
thong.
In his native state he seems never to have greased his bow nor
protected it from moisture, except by his bow case, which was made of
the skin from a cougar's tail. But while with us he used shellac to
protect the glue and wood. Other savages use buck fat or bear grease.
The bowstring he made of the finer tendons from the deer's shank. These
he chewed until soft, then twisted them tightly into a cord having a
permanent loop at one end and a buckskin strand at the other. While wet
the string was tied between two twigs and rubbed smooth with spittle.
Its diameter was one-eighth of an inch, its length about forty-eight
inches. When dry the loop was applied to the upper nock of his bow
while he bent the bow over his knee and wound the opposite end of the
string about the lower nock. The buckskin thong terminating this
portion of the string made it easier to tie in several half hitches.
When braced properly the bowstring was about five inches from the belly
of the bow. And when not in use and unstrung the upper loop was slipped
entirely off the nock, but held from falling away from the bow by a
second small loop of buckskin.
Drawn to the full length of an arrow, which was about twenty-six
inches, exclusive of the foreshaft, his bow bent in a perfect arc
slightly flattened at the handle. Its pull was about forty-five pounds,
and it could shoot an arrow about two hundred yards.
This is not the most powerful type of weapon known to Indians, and even
Ishi did make stronger bows when he pleased; but this seemed to be the
ideal weight for hunting, and it certainly was adequate in his hands.
According to English standards, it was very short; but for hunting in
the brush and shooting from crouched postures, it seems better fitted
for the work than a longer weapon.
According to Ishi, a bow left strung or standing in an upright
position, gets tired and sweats. When not in use it should be lying
down; no one should step over it; no child should handle it, and no
woman should touch it. This brings bad luck and makes it shoot crooked.
To expunge such an influence it is necessary to wash the bow in sand
and water.
In his judgment, a good bow made a musical note when strung and the
string is tapped with the arrow. This was man's first harp, the great
grandfather of the pianoforte.
By placing one end of his bow at the corner of his open mouth and
tapping the string with an arrow, the Yana could make sweet music. It
sounded like an Aeolian harp. To this accompaniment Ishi sang a
folk-song telling of a great warrior whose bow was so strong that,
dipping his arrow first in fire, then in the ocean, he shot at the sun.
As swift as the wind, his arrow flew straight in the round open door of
the sun and put out its light. Darkness fell upon the earth and men
shivered with cold. To prevent themselves from freezing they grew
feathers, and thus our brothers, the birds, were born.
Ishi called an arrow _sa wa_.
In making arrows the first thing is to get the shafts. Ishi used many
woods, but he preferred witch hazel. The long, straight stems of this
shrub he cut in lengths of thirty-two inches, having a diameter of
three-eighths of an inch at the base when peeled of bark.
He bound a number of these together and put them away in a shady place
to dry. After a week or more, preferably several months, he selected
the best shafts and straightened them. This he accomplished by holding
the concave surface near a small heap of hot embers and when warm he
either pressed his great toe on the opposite side, or he bent the wood
backward on the base of the thumb. Squinting down its axis he lined up
the uneven contours one after the other and laid the shaft aside until
a series of five was completed. He made up arrows in lots of five or
ten, according to the requirements, his fingers being the measure.
The sticks thus straightened he ran back and forth between two grooved
pieces of sandstone or revolved them on his thigh while holding the
stones in his hand, until they were smooth and reduced to a diameter of
about five-sixteenths of an inch. Next they were cut into lengths of
approximately twenty-six inches. The larger end was now bound with a
buckskin thong and drilled out for the depth of an inch and a half to
receive the end of the foreshaft. He drilled this hole by fixing a
long, sharp bone in the ground between his great toes and revolved the
upright shaft between his palms on this fixed point, the buckskin
binding keeping the wood from splitting.
The foreshaft was made of heavier wood, frequently mountain mahogany.
It was the same diameter as the arrow, only tapering a trifle toward
the front end, and usually was about six inches long. This was
carefully shaped into a spindle at the larger end and set in the
recently drilled hole of the shaft, using glue or resin for this
purpose. The joint was bound with chewed sinew, set in glue.
The length of an arrow, over all, was estimated by Ishi in this manner.
He placed one end on the top of his breast-bone and held the other end
out in his extended left hand. Where it touched the tip of his
forefinger it was cut as the proper length. This was about thirty-two
inches.
The rear end of his arrow was now notched to receive the bowstring. He
filed it with a bit of obsidian, or later on, with three hacksaw blades
bound together until he made a groove one-eighth of an inch wide by
three-eighths deep. The opposite end of the shaft was notched in a
similar way to receive the head. The direction of this latter cut was
such that when the arrow was on the bow the edge of the arrowhead was
perpendicular, for the fancied reason that in this position the arrow
when shot enters between the ribs of an animal more readily. He did not
seem to recognize that an arrow rotates.
At this stage he painted his shafts. The pigments used in the wilds
were red cinnabar, black pigment from the eye of trout, a green
vegetable dye from wild onions, and a blue obtained, he said, from the
root of a plant. These were mixed with the sap or resin of trees and
applied with a little stick or hairs from a fox's tail drawn through a
quill.
His usual design was a series of alternating rings of green and black
starting two inches from the rear end and running four inches up the
shaft. Or he made small circular dots and snaky lines running down the
shaft for a similar distance. When with us he used dry colors mixed
with shellac, which he preferred to oil paints because they dried
quicker. The painted area, intended for the feathers, is called the
shaftment and not only helps in finding lost arrows, but identifies the
owner. This entire portion he usually smeared with thin glue or sizing.
A number of shafts having been similarly prepared, the Indian was ready
to feather them. A feather he called _pu nee_. In fledging arrows Ishi
used eagle, buzzard, hawk or flicker feathers. Owl feathers Indians
seem to avoid, thinking they bring bad luck. By preference he took them
from the wings, but did not hesitate to use tail feathers if reduced to
it. With us he used turkey pinions.
Grasping one between the heel of his two palms he carefully separated
the bristles at the tip of the feather with his fingers and pulled them
apart, splitting the quill its entire length. This is called stripping
a feather. Taking the wider half he firmly held one end on a rock with
his great toe, and the other end between the thumb and forefinger of
his left hand. With a piece of obsidian, or later on a knife blade, he
scraped away the pith until the rib was thin and flat.
Having prepared a sufficient number in this way he gathered them in
groups of three, all from similar wings, tied them with a bit of string
and dropped them in a vessel of water. When thoroughly wet and limp
they were ready for use.
While he chewed up a strand of sinew eight or ten inches long, he
picked up a group of feathers, stripped off the water, removed one, and
after testing its strength, folded the last two inches of bristles down
on the rib, and the rest he ruffled backward, thus leaving a free space
for later binding. He prepared all three like this.
Picking up an arrow shaft he clamped it between his left arm and chest,
holding the rear end above the shaftment in his left hand. Twirling it
slowly in this position, he applied one end of the sinew near the nock,
fixing it by overlapping. The first movements were accomplished while
holding one extremity of the sinew in his teeth; later, having applied
the feathers to the stick, he shifted the sinew to the grasp of the
right thumb and forefinger.
One by one he laid the feathers in position, binding down the last two
inches of stem and the wet barbs together. The first feather he applied
on a line perpendicular to the plane of the nock; the two others were
equidistant from this. For the space of an inch he lapped the sinew
about the feathers and arrow-shaft, slowly rotating it all the while, at
last smoothing the binding with his thumb nail.
The rear ends having been lashed in position, the arrow was set aside
to dry while the rest were prepared.
Five or ten having reached this stage and the binding being dry and
secure, he took one again between his left arm and chest, and with his
right hand drew all the feathers straight and taut, down the shaft.
Here he held them with the fingers of his left hand. Having marked a
similar place on each arrow where the sinew was to go, he cut the
bristles off the rib. At this point he started binding with another
piece of wet sinew. After a few turns he drew the feathers taut again
and cut them, leaving about a half inch of rib. This he bound down
completely to the arrow-shaft and finished all by smoothing the wet
lapping with his thumb nail.
The space between the rib and the wood he sometimes smeared with more
glue to cause the feather to adhere to the shaft, but this was not the
usual custom with him. After all was dry and firm, Ishi took the arrow
and beat it gently across his palm so that the feathers spread out
nicely.
As a rule the length of his feathers was four inches, though on
ceremonial arrows they often were as long as eight inches.
After drying, the feathers were cut with a sharp piece of obsidian,
using a straight stick as a guide and laying the arrow on a flat piece
of wood. When with us he trimmed them with scissors, making a straight
cut from the full width of the feather in back, to the height of a
quarter of an inch at the forward extremity. On his arrows he left the
natural curve of the feather at the nock, and while the rear binding
started an inch or more from the butt of the arrow, the feather drooped
over the nock. This gave a pretty effect and seemed to add to the
steering qualities of the missile.
Two kinds of points were used on Ishi's arrows. One was the simple
blunt end of the shaft bound with sinew used for killing small game and
practice shots. The other was his hunting head, made of flint or
obsidian. He preferred the latter.
Obsidian was used as money among the natives of California. A boulder
of this volcanic glass was packed from some mountainous districts and
pieces were cracked off and exchanged for dried fish, venison, or
weapons. It was a medium of barter. Although all men were more or less
expert in flaking arrowheads and knives, the better grades of bows,
arrows, and arrow points were made by the older, more expert
specialists of the tribe.
Ishi often referred to one old Indian, named _Chu no wa yahi_, who
lived at the base of a great cliff with his crazy wife. This man owned
an ax, and thus was famous for his possessions as well as his skill as
a maker of bows. From a distant mountain crest one day Ishi pointed out
to me the camp of this Indian who was long since dead. If ever Ishi
wished to refer to a hero of the bow, or having been beaten in a shot,
he always told us what _Chu no wa yahi_ could have done.
To make arrowheads properly one should smear his face with mud and sit
out in the hot sun in a quiet secluded spot. The mud is a precaution
against harm from the flying chips of glass, possibly also a good luck
ritual. If by chance a bit of glass should fly in the eye, Ishi's
method of surgical relief was to hold his lower lid wide open with one
finger while he slapped himself violently on the head with the other
hand. I am inclined to ascribe the process of removal more to the
hydraulic effect of the tears thus started than to the mechanical jar
of the treatment.
He began this work by taking one chunk of obsidian and throwing it
against another; several small pieces were thus shattered off. One of
these, approximately three inches long, two inches wide and half an
inch thick, was selected as suitable for an arrowhead, or _haka_.
Protecting the palm of his left hand by a piece of thick buckskin, Ishi
placed a piece of obsidian flat upon it, holding it firmly with his
fingers folded over it.
In his right hand he held a short stick on the end of which was lashed
a sharp piece of deer horn. Grasping the horn firmly while the longer
extremity lay beneath his forearm, he pressed the point of the horn
against the edge of the obsidian. Without jar or blow, a flake of glass
flew off, as large as a fish scale. Repeating this process at various
spots on the intended head, turning it from side to side, first
reducing one face, then the other, he soon had a symmetrical point. In
half an hour he could make the most graceful and perfectly proportioned
arrowhead imaginable. The little notches fashioned to hold the sinew
binding below the barbs he shaped with a smaller piece of bone, while
the arrowhead was held on the ball of his thumb.
Flint, plate glass, old bottle glass, onyx--all could be worked with
equal facility. Beautiful heads were fashioned from blue bottles and
beer bottles.
The general size of these points was two inches for length,
seven-eighths for width, and one-eighth for thickness. Larger heads
were used for war and smaller ones for shooting bears.
Such a head, of course, was easily broken if the archer missed his
shot. This made him very careful about the whole affair of shooting.
When ready for use, these heads were set on the end of the shaft with
heated resin and bound in place with sinew which encircled the end of
the arrow and crossed diagonally through the barb notches with many
recurrences.
Such a point has better cutting qualities in animal tissue than has
steel. The latter is, of course, more durable. After entering
civilization, Ishi preferred to use iron or steel blades of the same
general shape, or having a short tang for insertion in the arrowhead.
Ishi carried anywhere from five to sixty arrows in a quiver made of
otter skin which hung suspended by a loop of buckskin over his left
shoulder.
His method of bracing or stringing the bow was as follows: Grasping it
with his right hand at its center, with the belly toward him, and the
lower end on his right thigh, he held the upper end with his left hand
while the loop of the string rested between his finger and thumb. By
pressing downward at the handle and pulling upward with the left hand
he so sprung the bow that the loop of the cord could be slipped over
the upper nock.
[Illustration: ISHI AND APPERSON, THE GUIDE, ONCE OLD ENEMIES, NOW
FRIENDS]
[Illustration: CALLING GAME IN AMBUSH]
[Illustration: THE INDIAN'S FAVORITE SHOOTING POSITION]
[Illustration: CHOPPING OUT A JUNIPER BOW]
In nocking his arrow, the bow was held diagonally across the body, its
upper end pointing to the left. It was held lightly in the palm of the
left hand so that it rested loosely in the notch of the thumb while the
fingers partially surrounded the handle. Taking an arrow from his
quiver, he laid it across the bow on its right side where it lay
between the extended fingers of his left hand. He gently slid the arrow
forward until the nock slipped over the string at its center. Here he
set it properly in place and put his right thumb under the string,
hooked upward ready to pull. At the same time he flexed his forefinger
against the side of the arrow, and the second finger was placed on the
thumb nail to strengthen the pull.
Thus he accomplished what is known as the Mongolian release.
Only a few nations ever used this type of arrow release, and the Yana
seem to have been the only American natives to do so. [2]
[Footnote 2: See Morse on _Arrow Release_.]
To draw his bow he extended his left arm. At the same time he pulled
his right hand toward him. The bow arm was almost in front of him,
while his right hand drew to the top of his breast bone. With both eyes
open he sighted along his shaft and estimated the elevation according
to the distance to be shot.
He released firmly and without change of position until the arrow hit.
He preferred to shoot kneeling or squatting, for this was most
favorable for getting game.
His shooting distances were from ten yards up to fifty. Past this range
he did not think one should shoot, but sought rather to approach his
game more closely.
In his native state he practiced shooting at little oak balls, or
bundles of grass bound to represent rabbits, or little hoops of willow
rolled along the ground. Like all other archers, if Ishi missed a shot
he always had a good excuse. There was too much wind, or the arrow was
crooked, or the bow had lost its cast, or, as a last resource, the
coyote doctor bewitched him, which is the same thing we mean when we
say it is just bad luck. While with us he shot at the regulation straw
target, and he is the first and only Indian of whose shooting any
accurate records have been made.
Many exaggerated reports exist concerning the accuracy of the shooting
of American Indians; but here we have one who shot ever since
childhood, who lived by hunting, and must have been as good, if not
better, than the average.
He taught us to shoot Indian style at first, but later we learned the
old English methods and found them superior to the Indian. At the end
of three months' practice, Dr. J. V. Cooke and I could shoot as well as
Ishi at targets, but he could surpass us at game shooting.
Ishi never thought very much of our long bows. He always said, "Too
much _man-nee_." And he always insisted that arrows should be painted
red and green.
But when we began beating him at targets, he took all his shafts home
and scraped the paint off them, putting back rings of blue and yellow,
doubtless to change his luck. In spite of our apparent superiority at
some forms of shooting, he never changed his methods to meet
competition. We, of course, did not want him to.
Small objects the size of a quail the Indian could hit with regularity
up to twenty yards. And I have seen him kill ground squirrels at forty
yards; yet at the same distances he might miss a four-foot target. He
explained this by saying that the target was too large and the bright
colored rings diverted the attention. He was right.
There is a regular system of shooting in archery competition. In
America there is what is known as the American Round, which consists of
shooting thirty arrows at each of the following distances: sixty,
fifty, and forty yards. The bull's-eye on the target is a trifle over
nine inches and is surrounded by four rings of half this diameter.
Their value is 9, 7, 5, 3, 1, successively counting from the center
outward. The target itself is constructed of straw, bound in the form
of a mat four feet in diameter, covered with a canvas facing.
Counting the hits and scores on the various distances, a good archer
will make the following record. Here is Arthur Young's best score:
March 25, 1917.
At 60 yards 30 hits 190 score 11 golds
50 yards 30 hits 198 score 9 golds
40 yards 30 hits 238 score 17 golds
Total 90 hits 626 score 37 golds
This is one of the best scores made by American archers.
Ishi's best record is as follows:
October 23, 1914.
At 60 yards 10 hits 32 score
50 yards 20 hits 92 score 2 golds
40 yards 19 hits 99 score 2 golds
Total 49 hits 223 score 4 golds
His next best score was this:
At 60 yards 13 hits 51 score
50 yards 17 hits 59 score
40 yards 22 hits 95 score
Total 52 hits 205 score
My own best practice American round is as follows:
May 22, 1917.
At 60 yards 29 hits 157 score
50 yards 29 hits 185 score
40 yards 30 hits 196 score
Total 88 hits 538 score
Anything over 500 is considered good shooting.
It will be seen from this that the Indian was not a good target shot,
but in field shooting and getting game, probably he could excel the
white man.
III
ISHI'S METHODS OF HUNTING
Hunting with Ishi was pure joy. Bow in hand, he seemed to be
transformed into a being light as air and as silent as falling snow.
From the very first we went on little expeditions into the country
where, without appearing to instruct, he was my teacher in the old, old
art of the chase. I followed him into a new system of getting game. We
shot rabbits, quail, and squirrels with the bow. His methods here were
not so well defined as in the approach to larger game, but I was struck
from the first by his noiseless step, his slow movements, his use of
cover. These little animals are flushed by sound and sight, not scent.
Another prominent feature of Ishi's work in the field was his
indefatigable persistence. He never gave up when he knew a rabbit was
in a clump of brush. Time meant nothing to him; he simply stayed until
he got his game. He would watch a squirrel hole for an hour if
necessary, but he always got the squirrel.
He made great use of the game call. We all know of duck and turkey
calls, but when he told me that he lured rabbits, tree squirrels,
wildcats, coyote, and bear to him, I thought he was romancing. Going
along the trail, he would stop and say, "_Ineja teway--bjum--metchi bi
wi_," or "This is good rabbit ground." Then crouching behind a suitable
bush as a blind, he would place the fingers of his right hand against
his lips and, going through the act of kissing, he produced a plaintive
squeak similar to that given by a rabbit caught by a hawk or in mortal
distress. This he repeated with heartrending appeals until suddenly one
or two or sometimes three rabbits appeared in the opening. They came
from distances of a hundred yards or more, hopped forward, stopped and
listened, hopped again, listened, and ultimately came within ten or
fifteen yards while Ishi dragged out his squeak in a most pathetic
manner. Then he would shoot.
To test his ability one afternoon while hunting deer, I asked the Yana
to try his call in twelve separate locations. From these twelve calls
we had five jackrabbits and one wildcat approach us. The cat came out
of the forest, cautiously stepped nearer and sat upon a log in a bright
open space not more than fifty yards away while I shot three arrows at
him, one after the other; the last clipped him between the ears.
This call being a cry of distress, rabbits and squirrels come with the
idea of protecting their young. They run around in a circle, stamp
their feet, and make great demonstrations of anger, probably as much to
attract the attention of the supposed predatory beast and decoy him
away, as anything else.
The cat, the coyote, and the bear come for no such humane motive; they
are thinking of food, of joining the feast.
I learned the call myself, not perfectly, but well enough to bring
squirrels down from the topmost branches of tall pines, to have foxes
and lynx approach me, and to get rabbits.
Not only could Ishi call the animals, but he understood their language.
Often when we have been hunting he has stopped and said, "The squirrel
is scolding a fox." At first I said to him, "I don't believe you." Then
he would say, "Wait! Look!" Hiding behind a tree or rock or bush, in a
few minutes we would see a fox trot across the open forest.
It seemed that for a hawk or cat or man, the squirrel has a different
call, such that Ishi could say without seeing, what molested his little
brother.
Often have we stopped and rested because, so he said, a bluejay called
far and wide, "Here comes a man!" There was no use going farther, the
animals all knew of our presence. Only a white hunter would advance
under these circumstances.
Ishi could smell deer, cougar, and foxes like an animal, and often
discovered them first this way. He could imitate the call of quail to
such an extent that he spoke a half-dozen sentences to them. He knew
the crow of the cock on sentinel duty when he signals to others; he
knew the cry of warning, and the run-to-shelter cry of the hen; her
command to her little ones to fly; and the "lie low" cluck; then at
last the "all's well" chirp.
Deer he could call in the fawn season by placing a folded leaf between
his lips and sucking vigorously. This made a bleat such as a lamb
gives, or a boy makes blowing on a blade of grass between his thumbs.
He also enticed deer by means of a stuffed buck's head which he wore as
a cap, and bobbing up and down behind bushes excited their curiosity
until they approached within bow-shot. Ordinarily in hunting deer, the
Indian used what is termed the still hunt, but with him it was more
than that. First of all he studied the country for its formation of
hills, ridges, valleys, canyons, brush and timber. He observed the
direction of the prevailing winds, the position of the sun at daybreak
and evening. He noted the water holes, game trails, "buck look-outs,"
deer beds, the nature of the feeding grounds, the stage of the moon,
the presence of salt licks, and many other features of importance. If
possible, he located the hiding-place of the old bucks in daytime, all
of which every careful hunter does. Next, he observed the habits of
game, and the presence or absence of predatory beasts that kill deer.
Having decided these and other questions, he prepared for the hunt. He
would eat no fish the day before the hunt, and smoke no tobacco, for
these odors are detected a great way off. He rose early, bathed in the
creek, rubbed himself with the aromatic leaves of yerba buena, washed
out his mouth, drank water, but ate no food. Dressed in a loin cloth,
but without shirt, leggings or moccasins, he set out, bow and quiver at
his side. He said that clothing made too much noise in the brush, and
naturally one is more cautious in his movements when reminded by his
sensitive hide that he is touching a sharp twig.
From the very edge of camp, until he returned, he was on the alert for
game, and the one obvious element of his mental attitude was that he
suspected game everywhere. He saw a hundred objects that looked like
deer, to every live animal in reality. He took it for granted that ten
deer see you where you see one--so see it first! On the trail, it was a
crime to speak. His warning note was a soft, low whistle or a hiss. As
he walked, he placed every footfall with precise care; the most
stealthy step I ever saw; he was used to it; lived by it. For every
step he looked twice. When going over a rise of ground he either
stooped, crawled or let just his eyes go over the top, then stopped and
gazed a long time for the slightest moving twig or spot of color. Of
course, he always hunted up wind, unless he were cutting across country
or intended to flush game.
At sunrise and sunset he tried always to get between the sun and his
game. He drifted between the trees like a shadow, expectant and nerved
for immediate action.
Some Indians, covering their heads with tall grass, can creep up on
deer in the open, and rising suddenly to a kneeling posture shoot at a
distance of ten or fifteen yards. But Ishi never tried this before me.
Having located his quarry, he either shot, at suitable ranges, or made
a detour to wait the passing of the game or to approach it from a more
favorable direction. He never used dogs in hunting.
When a number of people hunted together, Ishi would hide behind a blind
at the side of a deer trail and let the others run the deer past. In
his country we saw old piles of rock covered with lichen and moss that
were less than twenty yards from well-marked deer trails. For
numberless years Indians had used these as blinds to secure camp meat.
In the same necessity, the Indian would lie in wait near licks or
springs to get his food; but he never killed wantonly.
Although Ishi took me on many deer hunts and we had several shots at
deer, owing to the distance or the fall of the ground or obstructing
trees, we registered nothing better than encouraging misses. He was
undoubtedly hampered by the presence of a novice, and unduly hastened
by the white man's lack of time. His early death prevented our ultimate
achievement in this matter, so it was only after he had gone to the
Happy Hunting Grounds that I, profiting by his teachings, killed my
first deer with the bow.
That he had shot many deer, even since boyhood, there was no doubt. To
prove that he could shoot through one with his arrows, I had him
discharge several at a buck killed by our packer. Shooting at forty
yards, one arrow went through the chest wall, half its length; another
struck the spine and fractured it, both being mortal wounds.
It was the custom of his tribe to hunt until noon, when by that time
they usually had several deer, obtained, as a rule, by the ambush
method. Having pre-arranged the matter, the women appeared on the
scene, cut up the meat, cooked part of it, principally the liver and
heart, and they had a feast on the spot. The rest was taken to camp and
made into jerky.
In skinning animals, the Indian used an obsidian knife held in his hand
by a piece of buckskin. I found this cut better than the average
hunting knife sold to sportsmen. Often in skinning rabbits he would
make a small hole in the skin over the abdomen and blow into this,
stripping the integument free from the body and inflating it like a
football, except at the legs.
In skinning the tail of an animal, he used a split stick to strip it
down, and did it so dextrously that it was a revelation of how easy
this otherwise difficult process may be when one knows how. He tanned
his skins in the way customary with most savages: clean skinning, brain
emulsion, and plenty of elbow grease.
[Illustration: OUR CARAVAN LEAVING DEER CREEK CANYON]
[Illustration: ISHI FLAKING AN OBSIDIAN ARROW HEAD]
[Illustration: THE INDIAN AND A DEER]
His people killed bear with the bow and arrow. Ishi made a distinction
between grizzly bear, which he called _tet na_, and black bear, which
he called _bo he_. The former had long claws, could not climb trees,
and feared nothing. He was to be let alone. The other was "all same
pig." The black bear, when found, was surrounded by a dozen or more
Indians who built fires, and discharging their arrows at his open
mouth, attempted to kill him. If he charged, a burning brand was
snatched from the fire and thrust in his face while the others shot him
from the side. Thus they wore him down and at last vanquished him.
In his youth, Ishi killed a cinnamon bear single handed. Finding it
asleep on a ledge of rock, he sneaked close to it and gave a loud
whistle. The bear rose up on its hind legs and Ishi shot him through
the chest. With a roar the bear fell off the ledge and the Indian
jumped after him. With a short-handled obsidian spear he thrust him
through the heart. The skin of this bear now hangs in the Museum of
Anthropology in mute testimony of the courage and daring of Ishi. Had
this young man been given a name, perhaps they would have called him
Yellow Bear.
While he shot many birds, I never saw Ishi try wing shooting except at
eagles or hawks. For these he would use an arrow on which he had
smeared mud to make it dark in color. A light shaft is readily
discerned by these birds, and I have often seen them dodge an arrow.
But the darker one is almost invisible head on. The feathers of the
arrows were close cropped to make them swift and noiseless.
The sound of a bowstring is that of a sharp twang accompanied by a
muffled crack. To avoid this and make a silent shot, the Indian bound
his bow at the nocks with weasel fur; this effectually damped the
vibration of the string, while the passage of the arrow across the bow,
which gives the slight crack, is abolished by a heavy padding of
buckskin at this point.
Ishi never wore an arm guard or glove or finger stalls to protect
himself as other archers do. He seemed not to need them. When he
released the arrow, the bow rotated in his hand so that the string
faced in the opposite direction from which it started. His thumb alone
drew the string, and this was so toughened that it needed no leather
covering.
In a little bag he carried extra arrowheads and sinews, so that in a
pinch he could mend his arrows.
When not actually in use, he promptly unstrung his bow, and gently
straightened it by hand. In cold weather he heated it over a fire
before bracing it. The slightest moisture would deter him from
shooting, unless absolutely necessary--he was so jealous of his tackle.
If his bowstring stretched in the heat or dampness, as sinew is liable
to do, he shortened it by twisting one end prior to bracing it.
Before shooting he invariably looked over each arrow, straightened it
in his hands or by his teeth, re-arranged its feathers, and saw that
the point was properly adjusted. In fact, he gave infinite attention to
detail. With him, every shot must count. Besides arrows in his quiver,
he carried several ready for use under his right arm, which he kept
close to his side while drawing the bow.
In all things pertaining to the handicraft of archery and the technique
of shooting, he was most exacting. Neatness about his tackle, care of
his equipment, deliberation and form in his shooting were typical of
him; in fact, he loved his bow as he did no other of his possessions.
It was his constant companion in life and he took it with him on his
last long journey.
IV
ARCHERY IN GENERAL
Our experience with Ishi waked the love of archery in us, that impulse
which lies dormant in the heart of every Anglo-Saxon. For it is a
strange thing that all the men who have centered about this renaissance
in shooting the bow, in our immediate locality, are of English
ancestry. Their names betray them. Many have come and watched and shot
a little, and gone away; but these have stayed to hunt.
From shooting the bow Indian fashion, I turned to the study of its
history, and soon found that the English were its greatest masters. In
them archery reached its high tide; after them its glory passed.
But the earliest evidence of the use of the bow is found in the
existence of arrowheads assigned to the third interglacial period,
nearly 50,000 years ago.
That man had material culture prior to this epoch, there is no doubt,
and the use of the bow with arrows of less complicated structure must
have preceded this period.
All races and nations at one time or another have used the bow. Even
the Australian aborigine, who is supposed to have been too low in
mental development to have understood the principles of archery, used a
miniature bow and poisoned arrow in shooting game. In the magnificent
collection of Joseph Jessop of San Diego, California, I saw one of
these little bows scarcely more than a foot long. The arrows, he
stated, the natives carried in the hair of their heads.
Those who are interested in the archaeology of the bow should read the
volume on archery of the Badminton Library by Longmans.
Various peoples have excelled in shooting, notably the Japanese, the
Turks, the Scythians, and the English. Others have not been suited by
temperament to use the bow. The Latins, the Peruvians, and the Irish
seem never to have been toxophilites. The famous long bow of Merrie Old
England was brought there by the Normans, who inherited it from the
Norsemen settled along the Rhine. Here grew the best yew trees in days
gone by, and this, doubtless, was a strong determining factor in the
superior development of their archery.
Before the battle of Hastings, the Saxons used the short, weak weapon
common to all primitive people. The conquered Saxon, deprived of all
arms such as the boar-spear, the sword, the ax, and the dagger,
naturally turned to the bow because he could make this himself, and he
copied the Norman long bow.
Although the first game preserves in England were established by
William the Conqueror at this time, the Saxon was permitted to shoot
birds and small beasts in his fields and therefore was allowed to use a
blunt arrow, headed with a lead tip or pilum, hence our term pile, or
target point. If found with a sharp arrowhead, the so-called broad-head
used for killing the king's deer, he was promptly hanged. The evidence
against such a poacher was summed up thus in the old legend:
Dog draw, stable stand
Back berond, bloody hand.
One found following a questing hound, posed in the stand of an archer,
carrying game on his back, or with the evidence of recent butchery on
his hands, was hanged to the nearest tree by his own bowstring.
It was under these circumstances that outlawry took the form of deer
killing and robust archery became the national sport. In these days the
legendary hero, the demi-myth, Robin Hood, was born. What boy has not
thrilled at the tales of Greenwood men, the well-sped shaft, the
arrow's low whispering flight, and the willow wand split at a hundred
paces?
Every boy goes through a period of barbarism, just as the nations have
passed, and during that age he is stirred by the call of the bow. I,
too, shot the toy bows of boyhood; shot with Indian youths in the Army
posts of Texas and Arizona. We played the impromptu pageants of Robin
Hood, manufactured our own tackle, and carried it about with unfailing
fidelity; hunted small birds and rabbits, and were the usual savages of
that age.
But when it comes to the legends of the bow, the records of these past
glories are so vague that we must accept them as a tale oft told; it
grows with the telling.
It seems that distances were measured in feet, paces, yards, or rods
with blithe indifference, and the narrator added to them at will. Robin
is supposed to have shot a mile, and his bow was so long and so strong
no man could draw it. In sooth, he was a mighty hero, and yet the
ballads refer to him as a "slight fellow," even "a bag of bones." As a
youth he slew the king's deer at three hundred yards, a right goodly
shot! And no doubt it was.
Of all the bows of the days when archery was in flower, only two
remain. These are unfinished staves found in the ship _Mary Rose_, sunk
off the coast of Albion in 1545. This vessel having been raised from
the bottom of the ocean in 1841, the staves were recovered and are now
in the Tower of London. They are six feet, four and three-quarters
inches long, one and one-half inches across the handle, one and
one-quarter inches thick, and proportionately large throughout. The
dimensions are recorded in Badminton. Of course, they never have been
tested for strength, but it has been estimated at 100 pounds.
Determined to duplicate these old bows, I selected a very fine grained
stave of seasoned yew and made an exact duplicate, according to the
recorded measurements.
This bow, when drawn the standard arrow length of twenty-eight inches,
weighed sixty-five pounds and shot a light flight arrow two hundred and
twenty-five yards. When drawn thirty-six inches, it weighed seventy-six
pounds and shot a flight arrow two hundred and fifty-six yards. From
this it would seem that even though these ancient staves appear to be
almost too powerful for a modern man to draw, they not only are well
within our command, but do not shoot a mile.
The greatest distance shot by a modern archer was made by Ingo Simon,
using a Turkish composite bow, in France in 1913. The measured distance
was four hundred and fifty-nine yards and eight inches. That is very
near the limit of this type of bow and far beyond the possibilities of
the yew long bow. But the long bow is capable of shooting heavier
shafts and shooting them harder.
Since archery is fast disappearing from the land, and the material for
study will soon become extinct, I have undertaken to record the
strength and shooting qualities of a representative number of the
available bows in preservation, together with the power of penetration
of arrows.
To do this, through the mediation of the Department of Anthropology of
the University of California, I have had access to the best collection
of bows in America. Thousands of weapons were at my disposal in various
museums, and from these I selected the best preserved and strongest to
shoot.
The formal report of these experiments is in the publications of the
University, and here 'tis only necessary to mention a few of the
findings.
In testing the function of these bows and their ability to shoot, a
bamboo flight arrow made by Ishi was used as the standard. It was
thirty inches long, weighed three hundred and ten grains, and had very
low cropped feathers. It carried universally better than all other
arrows tested, and flew twenty per cent farther than the best English
flight arrows.
To make sure that no element of personal weakness entered into the
test, I had these bows shot by Mr. Compton, a very powerful man and one
used to the bow for thirty years. I myself could draw them all, and
checked up the results.
It is axiomatic that the weight and the cast of a bow are criteria of
its value as a weapon in war or in the chase. Weight, as used by an
archer, means the pull of a bow when full drawn, recorded in pounds.
The following is a partial list of those weighed and shot. They are, of
course, all genuine bows and represent the strongest. Each was shot at
least six times over a carefully measured course and the greatest
flight recorded. All flights were made at an elevation of forty-five
degrees and the greatest possible draw was given each shot. In fact we
spared no bows because of their age, and consequently broke two in the
testing.
Weight Distance Shot
Alaskan....................... 80 pounds 180 yards
Apache........................ 28 " 120 "
Blackfoot..................... 45 " 145 "
Cheyenne...................... 65 " 156 "
Cree.......................... 38 " 150 "
Esquimaux..................... 80 " 200 "
Hupa.......................... 40 " 148 "
Luiseno....................... 48 " 125 "
Navajo........................ 45 " 150 "
Mojave........................ 40 " 110 "
Osage......................... 40 " 92 "
Sioux......................... 45 " 165 "
Tomawata...................... 40 " 148 "
Yurok......................... 30 " 140 "
Yukon......................... 60 " 125 "
Yaki.......................... 70 " 210 "
Yana.......................... 48 " 205 "
The list of foreign bows is as follows:
Weight Distance Shot
Paraguay...................... 60 pounds 170 yards
Polynesian.................... 49 " 172 "
Nigrito....................... 56 " 176 "
Andaman Islands................45 " 142 "
Japanese.......................48 " 175 "
Africa.........................54 " 107 "
Tartar.........................98 " 175 "
South American.................50 " 98 "
Igorrote.......................26 " 100 "
Solomon Islands................56 " 148 "
English target bow (imported)..48 " 220 "
English yew flight bow.........65 " 300 "
Old English hunting bow........75 " 250 "
It will be seen from these tests that no existing aboriginal bow is
very powerful when compared with those in use in the days of robust
archery in old England.
The greatest disappointment was in the Tartar bow which was brought
expressly from Shansi, China, by my brother, Col. B. H. Pope. With this
powerful weapon I expected to shoot a quarter of a mile; but with all
its dreadful strength, its cast was slow and cumbersome. The arrow that
came with it, a miniature javelin thirty-eight inches long, could only
be projected one hundred and ten yards. In making these shots both
hands and feet were used to draw the bow. A special flight arrow
thirty-six inches long was used in the test, but with hardly any
increase of distance gained.
After much experimenting and research into the literature, [1]
[Footnote 1: Balfour, _Composite Bows_.]
I constructed two horn composite bows, such as were used by the Turks
and Egyptians. They were perfect in action, the larger one weighing
eighty-five pounds. With this I hoped to establish a record, but after
many attempts my best flight was two hundred and ninety-one yards. This
weapon, being only four feet long, would make an excellent buffalo bow
to be used on horseback.
In shooting for distance, of course, a very light missile is used, and
nothing but empirical tests can determine the shape, size, and weight
that suits each bow. Consequently, we use hundreds of arrows to find
the best. For more than seven years these experiments have continued,
and at this stage of our progress the best flight arrow is made of
Japanese bamboo five-sixteenths of an inch in diameter, having a
foreshaft of birch the same diameter and four inches long. The nock is
a boxwood plug inserted in the rear end, both joints being bound with
silk floss and shellacked. The point is the copper nickel jacket of the
present U. S. Army rifle bullet, of conical shape. The feathers are
parabolic, three-quarters of an inch long by one-quarter high, three in
number, set one inch from the end, and come from the wing of an owl.
The whole arrow is thirty inches long, weighs three hundred and twenty
grains, and is very rigid.
With this I have shot three hundred and one yards with a moderate wind
at my back, using a Paraguay ironwood bow five feet two inches long,
backed with hickory and weighing sixty pounds. This is my best flight
shot.
It is not advisable here to go further into this subject; let it stand
that the English yew long bow is the highest type of artillery in the
world.
Although the composite Turkish bows can shoot the farthest, it is only
with very light arrows; they are incapable of projecting heavier shafts
to the extent of the yew long bow, that is, they can transmit velocity
but not momentum; they have resiliency, but not power.
Besides these experiments with bows, many tests were made of the flight
and penetration of arrows. A few of the pertinent observations are here
noted.
A light arrow from a heavy bow, say a sixty-five pound yew bow, travels
at an initial velocity of one hundred and fifty feet per second, as
determined by a stopwatch.
Shooting at one hundred yards, such an arrow is discharged at an angle
of eight degrees, and describes a parabola twelve to fifteen feet high
at its crest. Its time in transit is of approximately two and one-fifth
seconds.
Shooting straight up, such an arrow goes about three hundred and fifty
feet high, and requires eight seconds for the round trip. This test was
made by shooting arrows over very tall sequoia trees, of known height.
The striking force of a one-ounce arrow shot from a seventy-five pound
bow at ten yards, is twenty-five foot pounds. This test is made by
shooting at a cake of paraffin and comparing the penetration with that
made by falling weights. Such a striking force is, of course,
insignificant when compared with that of a modern bullet, viz., three
thousand foot pounds. Yet the damage done by an arrow armed with a
sharp steel broad-head is often greater than that done by a bullet, as
we shall see later on.
A standard English target arrow rotates during flight six complete
revolutions every twenty yards, or approximately fifteen times a
second. Heavy hunting shafts turn more slowly. This was ascertained by
shooting two arrows at once from the same bow, their shafts being
connected by a silk thread, so that one paid off as the other wound up
the thread. The number of complete loops, of course, indicated the
number of revolutions. A sand-bank makes a good butt to catch them. In
rotating, much depends on the size and shape of the feather.
Shooting a blunt arrow from a seventy-five pound bow at a white pine
board an inch thick, the shaft will often go completely through it. A
broad hunting head will penetrate two or three inches, then bind. But
the broad-head will go through animal tissue better, even cutting bones
in two; in fact, such an arrow will go completely through any animal
but a pachyderm.
To test a steel bodkin pointed arrow such as was used at the battle of
Cressy, I borrowed a shirt of chain armor from the Museum, a beautiful
specimen made in Damascus in the 15th Century. It weighed twenty-five
pounds and was in perfect condition. One of the attendants in the
Museum offered to put it on and allow me to shoot at him. Fortunately,
I declined his proffered services and put it on a wooden box, padded
with burlap to represent clothing.
Indoors at a distance of seven yards, I discharged an arrow at it with
such force that sparks flew from the links of steel as from a forge.
The bodkin point and shaft went through the thickest portion of the
back, penetrated an inch of wood and bulged out the opposite side of
the armor shirt. The attendant turned a pale green. An arrow of this
type can be shot about two hundred yards, and would be deadly up to the
full limit of its flight.
The question of the cutting qualities of the obsidian head as compared
to those of the sharpened steel head, was answered in the following
experiment:
A box was so constructed that two opposite sides were formed by fresh
deer skin tacked in place. The interior of the box was filled with
bovine liver. This represented animal tissue minus the bones.
At a distance of ten yards I discharged an obsidian-pointed arrow and a
steel-pointed arrow from a weak bow. The two missiles were alike in
size, weight, and feathering, in fact, were made by Ishi, only one had
the native head and the other his modern substitute. Upon repeated
trials, the steel-headed arrow uniformly penetrated a distance of
twenty-two inches from the front surface of the box, while the obsidian
uniformly penetrated thirty inches, or eight inches farther,
approximately 25 per cent better penetration. This advantage is
undoubtedly due to the concoidal edge of the flaked glass operating
upon the same principle that fluted-edged bread and bandage knives cut
better than ordinary knives.
In the same way we discovered that steel broad-heads sharpened by
filing have a better meat-cutting edge than when ground on a stone.
In our experience with game shooting, we never could see the advantage
of longitudinal grooves running down the shaft of the arrow, such as
some aborigines use, supposed to promote bleeding. In the first place
these marks are inadequate in depth, and secondly it is not the
exterior bleeding that kills the wounded animal so much as the internal
hemorrhage.
A sufficiently wide head on the arrow cuts a hole large enough to
permit the escape of excess blood, and, as a matter of fact, nearly all
of our shots are perforating, going completely through the body.
Conical, blunt, and bodkin points lack the power of penetration in
animal tissue inherent in broad-heads; correspondingly they do less
damage.
[Illustration (up-left): THREE TYPES OF HUNTING ARROWS]
[Illustration (up-right): A BLUNT ARROW SHOT THROUGH AN INCH BOARD]
[Illustration (down-left): "BRER" FOX UP A TREE]
[Illustration (down-right): ART YOUNG SHOOTS FISH]
Catlin, in his book on the North American Indian, relates that the
Mandans, among other tribes, practiced shooting a number of arrows in
succession with such dexterity that their best archer could keep eight
arrows up in the air at one time.
Will Thompson, the dean of American archery, writing in _Forest and
Stream_ of March, 1915, says very definitely that the feat of the
legendary hero, Hiawatha, who is supposed to have shot so strong and
far that he could shoot the tenth arrow before the first descended, is
manifestly absurd. Thompson contends that no man ever has, or ever will
keep more than three arrows up in the air at once.
Having read this and determined to try the experiment of dextrous
shooting, I constructed a dozen light arrows having wide nocks and
flattened rear ends so they might be fingered quickly. Then I devised a
way of grasping a supply of ready shafts in the bow hand, and invented
an arrow release in which all the fingers and thumb held the arrow on
the string, yet remained entirely on the right side of it.
After quite a bit of practice in accurate, later in rapid, nocking, I
succeeded in shooting seven successive arrows in the air before the
first touched the ground. I used a perpendicular flight. Upon several
occasions I almost accomplished eight at once. I feel that with
considerable practice eight, and even more, are possible, proving again
that there is an element of truth in all legends.
It has long been a bone of contention among archers which element of
the yew, the sap wood or the heart, gives the greater cast. To obtain
experimental evidence, I constructed two miniature bows, each
twenty-two inches long, one of pure white sap wood, the other of the
heart from the same stave. I made them the same size, and weighing
about eight pounds when drawn eight inches.
Shooting a little arrow on these bows, the sap wood shot forty-three
yards; the red wood sixty-six yards, showing the greater cast to be in
the red yew.
Corroborating this, Mr. Compton relates that while working in Barnes's
shop in Forest Grove, Oregon, during the last illness of that noted
bowyer, he came across a laminated bow made entirely of sap wood.
Barnes stated that he had constructed it at the instigation of Will
Thompson. The cast of this bow was slow, flabby, and weak. As a
shooting implement it was a failure.
Taking two pieces of wood, one white and one red, each twelve inches
long, I placed them in a bench vise and fastened a spring scale to the
top of each. Drawing the sap wood four inches from the perpendicular,
it pulled eight pounds. Drawing the heart wood the same distance it
pulled fourteen pounds, showing the greater strength of the latter.
When drawn five inches from a straight line, the red piece broke. The
sap wood could be bent at a right angle without fracture.
It is obvious from this that the sap wood excels in tensile strength
the red wood in compression strength and resiliency. In fact, they are
reciprocal in action. The red yew on the belly of the bow gives the
energy, the sap wood preserves it from fracture. It is, in fact,
equivalent to sinew backing, and though less durable, probably adds
more to the cast of the bows.
In our experiments with a catgut and rawhide backing, we have not found
that they add materially to the cast of a bow, only insure it against
fracture. On the other hand, sap wood and hickory backing materially
add to the power of the implement.
The little red yew bow used in the previous experiment was backed
heavily with rawhide and catgut. It then weighed ten pounds, but only
shot sixty-three yards, showing a decrease in cast. But the backing
permitted its being drawn to ten inches, when it shot a distance of
eighty-five yards. A draw of twelve inches fractured it across the
handle.
In a similar experiment it was shown that two pieces of wood of the
same size, but one being of a coarse-grained yew running sixteen lines
to the inch, the other a fine-grained piece running thirty-five lines
to the inch, the finer grain had the greater strength and resiliency up
to the breaking point, but the yellow coarse-grained piece was more
flexible and less readily broken.
The question often arises, "How would an arrow fly if the bow is held
in a mechanical rest and the string released by a mechanical release?"
Such an apparatus would permit of several experiments. It would answer
some of the queries that naturally pass through the mind of every
archer.
_Question 1._ How accurate is the bow and arrow as a weapon of
precision, or as they say in ballistics, "What is the error of
dispersion?"
_Question 2._ What is the angle of declination to the left of the point
of aim in the flight of such an arrow?
_Question 3._ What is the effect of placing the cock feather next the
bow?
_Question 4._ What is the effect of shooting different arrows? How do
they group? Would not such a machine give accurate data regarding the
flight of new arrows and help in the selection of shafts for target
shooting?
_Question 5._ What effect does the time of holding a bow full drawn
have on the flight of an arrow?
_Question 6._ What is the result of changing the weight of bows when
the arrows remain the same?
Therefore, we devised a rest, consisting of a post set firmly in the
ground, with a rigid cross arm and a vise-like hand grip. This latter
was padded thickly with rubber, so that some resiliency was permitted.
The bow was fastened in this mechanical hand by sturdy set screws.
At the other end of the cross arm a hinged block was attached, from
which projected two short wooden fingers, serving the exact function of
the drawing hand. These were spaced so that the arrow nock fitted
between them, and when the string was pulled into position and caught
upon these fingers, the bow was drawn 28 inches.
We adopted a system of loading, drawing and releasing on count, so that
every shot was delivered with equal time factors.
_Answer 1._ Using the same arrow each time, with the target set at 60
yards, we found, of course, that the arrow always flies to the left
when drawn on the left side of the bow, and that the angle of
divergence for a 50 pound bow and a 5 shilling English target arrow was
between six and seven degrees. Using a stronger bow this angle was
increased,--also that with a weaker arrow the angle was greater,--but
six degrees might be designated as the normal declination.
_Answer 2._ Every rifle expert knows what his gun is capable of, in
accuracy, and an archer should know just what to expect of an arrow
under the most favorable conditions. We therefore tried shooting the
same arrow over the same course with the same release, under these
fairly stable conditions: The day was calm. We shot an arrow ten times
in succession and all the shots centered in a six inch bull's-eye; that
is, none went out of a circle of this diameter. In other words, at
sixty yards a bow can shoot arrows with an error of dispersion of no
more than six inches. This is surprisingly accurate for a weapon of
this sort, when it is considered that the best rifles of today will
average between one and a half to three inches dispersion at 100 yards.
_Answer 3._ Placing the cock feather next the bow diverts the arrow to
the left and causes it to drop lower on the target. The group formed by
six flights was fairly close and consistent.
_Answer 4._ Out of nine arrows tested, five consistently made a good
close group and four as consistently went out. The "outs," however,
were uniform in the direction and distance they took. It would be
possible by this machine to select arrows that would make co-incidental
patterns. It is obvious, however, that differences in individual arrows
are greatly exaggerated by the apparatus, because it was quite apparent
by this test that any good archer could group these hits much closer
than the machine delivered them.
_Answer 5._ In our shooting, we universally allotted five seconds for
drawing, setting and discharging. However, when this time was increased
to fifteen seconds, we found that our groups averaged seven and
one-half inches lower. This shows the decided loss of cast incidental
to long holding of the bow.
_Answer 6._ Placing a 65 pound bow in the frame immediately showed
increased reactions throughout. The lateral divergence in arrow flight
was increased to fifteen degrees and all individual reactions were
correspondingly increased. The flight of the individual arrow was less
consistent, showing plainly the necessity of a proper relation in
weight between the arrow and bow,--a very essential factor in accurate
shooting.
In conclusion, it seems to me that the machine naturally exaggerated
the errors, for this reason. If the pressure of the arrow against the
bow, in passing, amounts to two ounces, the arrow will fly a two ounce
equivalent to the left, when the bow is held rigidly. An arrow that
exerts four ounces pressure will fly correspondingly a greater distance
to the left. But when the bow is held in the hand, there is
considerable give to the muscles and the two ounce pressure is
compensated for; thus, the arrow tends to fly straight. The four ounce
arrow would with the same adjustment hold a correspondingly straighter
course.
The vertical error, however, depends more on the weight of the arrow,
on the feathering, the holding time, the maintainance of tension, and
on the release of the bowstring.
There are many problems in the ballistics of archery that are unsolved,
waiting the experiments of modern science. Empirical methods have
dictated the art so far. In target equipment and shooting there is a
wide field for investigation. Our interests, however, are more those of
the hunter, and less those of the physicist.
V
HOW TO MAKE A BOW
Every field archer should make his own tackle. If he cannot make and
repair it, he will never shoot very long, because it is in constant
need of repair.
Target bows and arrows may be bought in sporting stores, here or in
England, but hunting equipment must be made. Moreover, when a man
manufactures his bow and arrows, he appreciates them more. But it will
take many attempts before even the most mechanically gifted can expect
to produce good artillery. After having made more than a hundred yew
bows, I still feel that I am a novice. The beginner may expect his
first two or three will be failures, but after that he can at least
shoot them.
Since there are so many different kinds of bows and all so inferior to
the English long-bow, we shall describe this alone.
Yew wood is the greatest bow timber in the world. That was proved
thousands of years ago by experience. It is indeed a magic wood!
But yew wood is hard to get and hard to make into a bow once having got
it. Nevertheless, I am going to tell you where you can get it and how
to work it, and how to make hunting bows just as we use them today, and
presumably just as our forefathers used them before us. Later on I
shall tell you what substitutes may be used for yew.
The best yew wood in America grows in the Cascade Mountains of Oregon,
in the Sierra Nevada and Coast Ranges of northern California. By
addressing the Department of Forestry, doubtless one can get in
communication with some one who will cut him a stave. Living in
California, I cut my own.
A description of yew trees and their location may be had from
Sudworth's "_Forest Trees of the Pacific Slope_," to be obtained from
the Government Printing Office at Washington.
My own staves I cut near Branscomb, Mendocino County, and at Grizzly
Creek on the Van Duzen River, Humboldt County, California. Splendid
staves have been shipped to me from this latter county, coming from the
neighborhood of Korbel.
Yew is an evergreen tree with a leaf looking a great deal like that of
redwood, hemlock, or fir at a distance. It is found growing in the
mountains, down narrow canyons, and along streams. It likes shade,
water, and altitude. Its bark is reddish beneath and scaly or fuzzy on
the surface. Its limbs stand straight out from the trunk at an acute
angle, not drooping as those of the redwood and fir.
The sexes are separate in yew. The female tree has a bright red
gelatinous berry in autumn, and the male a minute cone. It is
interesting that in bear countries the female trees often have long
wounds in the bark, or deep scratches made by the claws of these
animals as they climb to get the yew berries. It is also stated by some
authorities that the female yew has light yellow wood, is coarser
grained, and does not make so good a bow. I have tried to verify this,
but so far I have found some of my bear marked female yew to be the
better staves.
The best wood is, of course, dark and close grained. This generally
exists in trees that have one side decayed. It seems that the rot
stains the rest of the wood and nature makes the grain more compact to
compensate for the loss of structural strength. It is also apparent
that yew grown at high altitudes, over three thousand feet, is superior
to lowland yew.
In selecting a tree for a hunting bow, the stave must be at least six
feet long, free from limbs, knots, twists, pitch pockets, rot, small
sprouting twigs and corrugations. One will look over a hundred trees to
find one good bow stave; then he may find a half dozen excellent staves
in one tree.
There is no such thing as a perfect piece of yew, nor is there a
perfect bow; at least, I have never seen it. But there is a bow in
every yew tree if we but know how to get it out. That is the mystery of
bowmaking. It takes an artist, not an artisan.
Before one ever fells a tree, he should weigh the moral right to do so.
But yew trees are a gift from the gods, and grown only for bows. If you
are sure you see one good bow in a tree, cut it. Having felled it and
marked with your eye the best stave, cut it again so that your stave is
seven feet long. Then split the trunk into halves or quarters with
steel or wooden wedges so that your stave is from three to six inches
wide. Cut out the heart wood so that the billet is about three inches
thick. Be careful not to bruise the bark in any of these operations.
Now put your stave in the shade. If you are compelled to ship it by
express, wrap it in burlap or canvas, and preferably saw the ends
square and paint them to prevent checking. When you get it home put it
in the cellar.
If you must make a bow right away, place the stave in running water for
a month, then dry in a shady place for a month, and it is ready for
use. It will not be so good as if seasoned three to seven years, but it
will shoot; in fact, it will shoot the same day you cut it from the
tree, only it will follow the string and not stand straight as it
should. Of course, it will not have the cast of air-seasoned wood.
The old authorities say, cut your yew in the winter when the sap is
down, or as Barnes, the famous bow-maker of Forest Grove, Oregon, used
to say: "Yew cut in the summer contains the seeds of death." But this
does not seem to have proved the case in my experience. I am fully
convinced that the sap can be washed out and the process of seasoning
hastened very materially by proper treatment.
Kiln dried wood is never good as a bow. It is too brash; but after the
first month of shade, the staves may be put in a hot attic to their
advantage.
In selecting the portion of the tree best suited for a bow, choose that
part that when cut will cause the stave to bend backward toward the
bark. Since your bow ultimately will bend in the opposite direction,
this natural curve tends to form a straighter bow, or as an archer
would say "set back a bit in the handle."
If it is impossible to get a stave six feet in length, then a wide
stave three and a half feet long may be used. It is necessary in this
case to split it and join the two pieces with a fishtail splice in the
handle. Target bows are made this way, to advantage, but such a
makeshift is to be deprecated in a hunting bow. The variations of
temperature and moisture combined with hard usage in hunting demand a
solid, single stave. It must not break. Your life may depend upon it.
Before engaging in any art, it is necessary to study the anatomy of
your subject. The anatomical points of a bow have a time-honored
nomenclature and are as follows: Bows may be single staves, or
one-piece bows, those of one continuity and homogeneity; spliced bows
consist of two pieces of wood united in the handle; backed bows have an
added strip of wood glued on the back; and composite bows are made up
of several different substances, such as wood, horn, sinew, and glue.
That surface of the bow which faces the string when drawn into action,
that is, the concave arc, is called the belly of the bow. The opposite
surface is the back. A bow should never be bent backwards, away from
the belly; it will break.
The center of the bow is the handle or hand grip; the extremities are
the tips, usually finished with notches cut in the wood or surmounted
by horn, bone, sinew, wooden or metal caps called nocks. These are
grooved to accommodate the string. The spaces between the nocks and the
handle are called the limbs.
A bow that when unstrung bends back past the straight line is termed
reflexed. One that continues to bend toward the belly is said to follow
the string. A lateral deviation is called a cast in the bow.
The proper length of a yew bow should be the height of the man that
shoots it, or a trifle less. Our hunting bows are from five feet six
inches to five feet eight inches in length. The weight of a hunting bow
should be from fifty to eighty pounds. One should start shooting with a
bow not over fifty pounds, and preferably under that. At the end of a
season's shooting he can command a bow of sixty pounds if he is a
strong man. Our average bows pull seventy-five pounds. Though it is
possible for some of us to shoot an eighty-five pound bow, such a
weapon is not under proper control for constant use.
Some pieces of yew will make a stronger bow at given dimensions than
others. The finer the grain and the greater the specific gravity, the
more resilient and active the wood, and stronger the bow.
Taking a yew stave having a dark red color and a layer of white sap
wood about a quarter of an inch thick, covered with a thin
maroon-colored bark, let us make a bow. Counting the rings in the wood
at the upper end of the stave, you will find that they run over forty
to the inch.
Ishi insisted that this end of the stave should always be the upper end
of the weapon. It seems to me that this extremity having the most
compact grain, and the strongest, should constitute the lower limb,
because, as we shall see later on, this limb is shorter, bears the
greater strain, and is the one that gives down the sooner.
We shall plan to make the bow as strong as is compatible with good
shooting, and reduce its strength later to meet our requirements.
Look over the stave and estimate whether it is capable of yielding two
bows instead of one. If it be over three inches wide, and straight
throughout, then rip it down the center with a saw. Place one stave in
a bench vise and carefully clean off the bark with a draw knife. Do not
cut the sap wood in this process.
Cut your stave to six feet in length. Sight down it and see how the
plane of the back twists. If it is fairly consistent, draw a straight
line down the center of the sap wood. This is the back of your bow. Now
draw on the back an outline which has a width of an inch and a quarter
extending for a distance of a foot above and a foot below the center.
Let this outline taper in a gentle curve to the extremities of the bow,
where it has a width of three-quarters of an inch. This will serve as a
rough working plan and is sufficiently large to insure that you will
get a strong weapon.
With the draw knife, and later a jack plane, cut the lateral surfaces
down to this outline. The back must stand a tremendous tensile strain
and the grain of the wood should not be injured in any way. But you may
smooth it off very judiciously with a spoke shave, and later with a
file. The transverse contour of this part of the bow remains as it was
in the tree, a long flat arc.
Shift the stave in the vise so that the sap wood is downward, and set
it so that the average plane of the sap is level. With the raw knife
shave the wood very carefully, avoiding cutting too deeply or splitting
off fragments, until the bow assumes the thickness of one and
one-quarter inches in the center and this decreases as it approaches
the tips, where it is half an inch thick.
The shape of a cross-section of the belly of the bow should be a full
Roman arch. Many debates have centered on the shape of this part of the
weapon. Some contend for a high-crested contour, or Gothic arch, what
is termed "stacking a bow"; some have chosen a very flat curve as the
best. The former makes for a quick, lively cast and may be desirable in
a target implement, but it is liable to fracture; the latter makes a
soft, pleasant, durable bow, but one that follows the string. Choose
the happy medium.
The process of shaping the belly is the most delicate and requires more
skill than all the rest. In the first place you must follow the grain
of the wood. If the back twists and undulates, your cut must do the
same. The feather of the grain must never be reversed, but descend by
perfect gradation from handle to tip.
Where a knot or pin occurs in the wood, here you must leave more
substance because this is a weak spot. If the pin be large and you
cannot avoid it, then it is best to drill it out carefully and fill the
cavity with a solid piece of hard wood set in with glue. A pin crumbles
while an inserted piece will stand the strain. If such a "Dutchman" be
not too large nor too near the center of either limb, it will not
materially jeopardize the bow. If, in your shaving, you come across a
sharp dip in' the grain, such that will make a decided concavity, here
leave a few more layers of grain than you would were the contour even;
for a concave structure cannot stand strain as well as a straight one;
the leverage is increased unduly.
The following measurements, with a caliper, are those of my favorite
hunting bow, called "Old Horrible," and with which I've slain many a
beast. The width just above the handle is 1-1/4 by 1-1/8 inches thick.
Six inches up the limb the width is 1-1/4, thickness 11-1/16.
Twelve inches above the handle it is a trifle less than 1-1/4 wide by 1
inch thick. Eighteen inches above the handle it is 1-1/8 wide by 7/8
thick. Twenty-four inches above it is 15/16 wide by 3/4 thick. Thirty
inches above it is 11/16 by 9/16 thick. At the nock it is practically
1/2 by 1/2 inches.
Having got the bow down to rough proportions, the next thing is to cut
two temporary nocks on it, very near the ends. These consist in lateral
cuts having a depth of an eighth of an inch and are best made with a
rat tail file.
Now you can string your bow and test its curve.
Of course, you must have a string, and usually that employed in these
early tests is very strong and roughly made of nearly ninety strands of
Barbour's linen, No. 12. Directions for making strings will be given
later on.
It is difficult to brace a new heavy bow and one will require
assistance. In the absence of help he can place it in the vise, one of
those revolving on a pivot, and having the string properly adjusted on
the lower limb, pull on the upper end in such a way that the other
presses against the wall or a stationary brace, thus bending the bow
while you slip the expectant loop over the open nock. Or you can have
an assistant pull on the upper nock, while you brace the bow yourself.
In ancient times, at this stage, the bow was tillered, or tested for
its curve, or, as Sir Roger Ascham says, "brought round compass," which
means to make it bend in a perfect arc when full drawn.
The tiller is a piece of board three feet long, two inches wide, and
one inch thick, having a V-shaped notch at the lower end to fit on the
handle and small notches on its side two inches apart, for a distance
of twenty-eight inches. These are to hold the string.
Lay the braced bow on the floor, place the end of the tiller on the
handle while you steady the tiller upright. Then put your foot on the
bow next the tiller and draw the string up until it slips in the first
notch, say twelve inches from the handle. If the curve of the bow is
fairly symmetrical, draw the string a few inches more. If again it
describes a perfect arc raise the string still farther. A perfect arc
for a bow should be a trifle flat at the center. If, on the other hand,
one limb or a part of it does not bend as it should, this must be
reduced carefully by shaving it for a space of several inches over the
spot and the bow tested again.
Proceeding very cautiously, at the same time not keeping the bow full
drawn more than a second or two at a time, you ultimately get the two
limbs so that they bend nearly the same and the general distribution of
the curve is equal throughout.
As a matter of fact, a great deal of experience is needed here. By
marking a correct form on the floor with chalk, a novice may fit his
bow to this outline.
The perfect weapon is a trifle stiff at the center and the lower limb a
shade stronger than the upper.
The real shooting center, the place where the arrow passes, is actually
one and one-quarter inches above the geographic center, and the hand
consequently is below this point. Your finished hand grip, being four
inches long, will be one and a quarter inches above the center and two
and three-quarters below the center. This makes the lower limb
comparatively shorter, so it must be relatively stronger. Your bow,
therefore, when full drawn should be symmetrical, but when simply
braced, the bend of the upper limb is perceptibly greater than the
stronger lower limb.
You will find the bow we have made will pull over eighty pounds, even
after it is thoroughly broken to the string. It is necessary,
therefore, to reduce it further. This is done with a spoke shave, a
very small hand plane or a file. Ultimately I use a pocket knife as a
scraper, and sandpaper and steelwool to finish it.
Your effort must be to get every part of the wood to do its work, for
every inch is under utmost strain, and one part doing more than the
rest must ultimately break down, sustain a compression fracture, or, as
an archer would say, "chrysal or fret."
"A bow full drawn is seven-eighths broken," said old Thomas Waring, the
English bowmaker, and he was right. Draw your bow three inches more
than the standard cloth yard of twenty-eight inches and you break it.
It is more accurate to say that a full drawn bow is nine-tenths broken.
It is also essential that the bow be stiff in the handle so that it
will be rigid in shooting and not jar or kick, which one weak at this
point invariably does.
A bow should be light at the tips, say the last eight inches, which is
accomplished by rounding the back slightly and reducing the width at
this point. This gives an active recoil, or as it is described, "whip
ended." This can be overdone, especially in hunting-bows, where a
little more solidity and safety are preferable to a brilliant cast.
And so you must work and test your bow, and shoot it, and draw it up
before a full length mirror and observe its outline, and get your
friends to draw it up and pass judgment on it. In fact, while the
actual work of making a bow takes about eight hours, it requires months
to get one adjusted so that it is good. A bow, like a violin, is a work
of art. The best in it can only be brought out by infinite care. Like a
violin, it is all curved contours, there is not a straight line in it.
Many of my bows have been built over completely three or four times.
Old Horrible first pulled eighty-five pounds. It was reduced,
shortened, whip ended, and worked over again and again so to tune the
wood that all parts acted in harmony. Every good bow is a work of love.
Your bow is now ready to shoot, but let us weigh it first. Brace it and
put it horizontally in the vise with the string facing you. Take a
spring scale registering at least eighty pounds and catch the hook
under the string. Draw it until the yardstick registers twenty-eight
inches from the string to the back of the bow. Now read the scale; that
is its weight.
As a matter of convenience I have devised a stick that facilitates the
weighing. I take a dowel and attach to one end by glue and binding a
bent piece of iron so fashioned that the extremity serves as a hook to
draw the string and the bent portion permits the attachment of the
scale. The dowel is marked off in inches so that one can test different
lengths of draw. With the bow in the bench vise, this measure hooked on
the string and resting on the bow at the arrow plate, the scale is
hooked in place, the dowel drawn down to the standard length and the
registered weight read off on the scale.
If you still find that your bow is too strong for you, it must be
further reduced. Begin all over again with the spoke shave and the
file, trying to correct any inequalities that may have existed before
and reducing it to what ultimately will be sixty-five pounds. Put on
the string and weigh it again and again until you get the weight you
want. If you have reduced it too much, cut it down two or four inches;
it will be stronger and shoot better.
All yew bows tend to lose in strength after much use, and your new one
should pull five pounds more than the required weight. If a bow is put
away in a dry, warm place for several years it nearly always increases
in strength. In our experience one in constant use lasts from three to
five years. The longer the bow, the longer its life. Some, of course,
break or come to grief after a short period, others live to honorable
old age. Yew bows are in existence today that were made many thousands
of years ago, but, of course, they would break if shot. Many bows over
one hundred years old are still in use occasionally. I have estimated
that the average life of a good bow should exceed one hundred thousand
shots, after which time it begins to fret and show other signs of
weakness.
Keeping in mind the idea of making your weapon as beautiful, as
symmetrical and resilient as possible, free from dead or overstrained
areas, work it down with utmost solicitude until it approaches your
ideal. Smooth it with sandpaper; finish it with steelwool.
Now comes the process of putting on the nocks. A bow shoots well
without them, but is safer with them.
From time immemorial, horn tips have been put on the ends of the limbs
to hold the string. We have used rawhide, hardwood, aluminum, bone, elk
horn, deer horn, buffalo horn, paper fiber or composition, and cow's
horn. The last seems best of all. From your butcher secure a number of
horns. With a saw cut off three or four inches of the tip. Place one in
a vise and drill a conical hole in it an inch and a quarter deep and
half an inch wide. This can be done by using a half-inch drill which
has been ground on a carborundum stone to a conical point the proper
length. In this hole set a stout piece of wood with glue. This permits
you to hold the horn in the vise while you work it.
After the glue has set, take a coarse file and shape the horn nock to
the classical shape, which is hard to describe but easy to illustrate.
It must have diagonal grooves to hold the string. The nock for the
upper limb has also a hole at its extremity to receive the buckskin
thong which keeps the upper loop of the string from slipping too far
down the bow when unbraced.
The nocks for hunting bows should be short and stout, not over one and
a half inches long, for they get a lot of hard usage in their travels.
They should also be broader and thicker than those used on target bows.
Two nocks having been roughly finished, they are loosened from their
wooden handles by being soaked in boiling water, and are ready for use.
Cut the ends of the bow to fit the nocks in such a way that they tip
slightly backward when in place, but do not attach them yet.
[Illustration: DETAILS OF BOW CONSTRUCTION]
At this point we back the bow with rawhide. Ordinarily a yew bow
properly protected by sapwood requires no backing; but having had many
bows break in our hands, we at last took the advice of Ishi and backed
them. Since then no bow legitimately used has broken.
The rawhide utilized for this purpose is known to tanners as clarified
calfskin. Its principal use is in the manufacture of artificial limbs,
drum heads and parchment. Its thickness is not much more than that of
writing paper.
Having secured two pieces about three feet in length and two inches
wide, soak them in warm water for an hour.
While this is being done, slightly roughen the back of your bow with a
file. Place it in the vise and size the back with thin, hot carpenter's
glue. When the hide is soft, lay the pieces smooth side down on a board
and wipe off the excess water. Quickly size them with hot glue, remove
the excess with your finger, turn the pieces over and apply them to the
bow. Overlap them at the hand grip for a distance of two or three
inches. Smooth them out toward the tips by stroking and expressing all
air bubbles and excess glue. Wrap the handle roughly with string to
keep the strips from slipping; also bind the tips for a short distance
to secure them in place. Remove the bow from the vise and bandage it
carefully from tip to tip with a gauze surgical bandage. Set it aside
to dry over night. When dry, remove the bandage and string binding, cut
off the overlapping edges of the hide and scrape it smooth. Having got
it to the required finish, size the exterior again with very thin glue,
and it is ready for the final stage.
The tips of the bow having been cut to a conical point and the nocks
fitted prior to the backing process the horn nocks are now set on with
glue; the ordinary liquid variety will do.
Glue a thin strip of wood on the back of the bow to round out the
handle. This should be about one-eighth of an inch thick, one inch wide
and three inches long and rounded at the edges.
Bind the center of your bow with heavy fish line to make the handgrip,
carefully overlapping the start and finish. A little liquid glue or
shellac can be placed on the wood to fix the serving. Some prefer
leather or pigskin for a handgrip, but a cord binding keeps the hand
from sweating and has an honest feel.
The handle occupies a space of four inches with one and a quarter
inches above the center and two and three-quarters below it. Finish off
the edges of the cord binding with a band of thin leather half an inch
wide. This should be soaked in water, beveled at the edge, sized with
glue, put around the bow, and overlapped at the back. I also glue a
small piece of leather on the left-hand side of the bow above the
handle to prevent the arrow chafing the wood at this spot. This is
called the arrow plate and usually is made of mother-of-pearl or bone;
leather is better. These finishing pieces are wrapped temporarily with
string until they dry.
The bow is then given a final treatment with scraper and steelwool and
is ready for the varnish.
The best protection for bows seems to be spar varnish. This keeps out
moisture. It has two disadvantages, however; it cracks after much
bending, and it is too shiny. The glint or flash of a hunting bow will
frighten game. I have often seen rabbits or deer stand until the bow
goes off, then jump in time to escape the arrow. At first we believed
they saw the arrow; later we found that they saw the flash. Bows really
should be painted a dull green or drab color. But we love to see the
natural grain of the wood.
The finish I prefer is first of all to give a coat of shellac to the
backing, leather trimmings and cord handle. After it is dry, give the
wood a good soaking with boiled linseed oil. Using the same oiled cloth
place in its center a small wad of cotton saturated with an alcoholic
solution of shellac. Rub this quickly over the bow. By repeated oiling
and shellacking one produces a French polish that is very durable and
elastic.
Permit this to dry and after several days rub the whole weapon with
floor wax, giving a final polish with a woolen cloth.
When on a hunt one should carry a small quantity of linseed oil and
anoint his bow every day or so with it. Personally I add one part of
light cedar oil to two parts of linseed. The fragrance of the former
adds to the pleasure of using the latter.
When not in use hang your bow on a peg or nail slipped beneath the
upper loop of the string; do not stand it in a corner, this tends to
bend the lower limb. Keep it in a warm, dry room; preserve it from
bruises and scratches. Wax it and the string often. Care for it as you
would a friend; it is your companion in arms.
SUBSTITUTES FOR YEW
Where it is impossible to obtain yew, the amateur bowyer has a large
variety of substitutes. Probably the easiest to obtain is hickory,
although it is a poor alternative. I believe the pig-nut or smooth bark
is the best variety. One should endeavor to get a piece of second
growth, white sapwood, and split it so as to get straight grain.
This can be worked on the same general dimensions as yew, but the
resulting bow will be found slow and heavy in cast and to have an
incurable tendency to follow the string. It will need no rawhide back
and will never break.
Osage orange, mulberry, locust, black walnut with the sap wood, red
cedar, juniper, tan oak, apple wood, ash, eucalyptus, lancewood,
washaba, palma brava, elm, birch, and bamboo are among the many woods
from which bows have been made.
With the exception of lancewood, lemon wood, or osage orange, which are
hard to get, the next best wood to yew is red Tennessee cedar backed
with hickory.
Go to a lumber yard and select a plank of cedar having the fewest knots
and the straightest grain. Saw or split a piece out of it six feet
long, two inches wide, and about an inch thick. Plane it straight and
roughen its two-inch surface with a file. Obtain a strip of white
straight-grained hickory six feet long, two inches wide, and a quarter
inch thick.
Roughen one surface, spread these two rough surfaces with a good liquid
glue and place them together. With a series of clamps compress them
tightly. In the absence of clamps, a pile of bricks or weights may be
used. After several days it will be dry enough to work.
From this point on it may be treated the same as yew. The hickory
backing takes the place of the sap wood.
Cedar has a soft, lively cast and the hickory backing makes it almost
unbreakable.
This bow should be bound with linen or silk every few inches like a
fishing rod. Several coats of varnish will keep the glue from being
affected by moisture or rain.
Since both woods are usually obtainable at any lumber yard, there
should be no difficulty in the matter save the mechanical factors
involved. These only add zest to the problem. A true archer must be a
craftsman.
MAKING A BOWSTRING
A bow without a string is dead; therefore, we must set to work to make
one.
Sinew, catgut, and rawhide strings were used by the early archers, but
have been abandoned by the more modern. Animal tissue stretches when it
is put under strain or subjected to heat and moisture. Silk makes a
good string, but it is short-lived and is not so strong as linen.
A comparative test of various strings was made to determine which
material is the strongest for bows. Number 3 surgical catgut is
apparently a D string on the violin. Taking this as a standard
diameter, a series of waxed strings of various substances were made and
tested on a spring scale for their breaking point. The results are as
follows:
Horsehair breaks at 15 pounds.
Cotton breaks at 18 pounds.
Catgut breaks at 20 pounds.
Silk breaks at 22 pounds.
Irish linen breaks at 28 pounds.
Chinese grass fiber breaks at 32 pounds.
This latter, with similar unusual fibers, is not on the market in the
form of thread, so is of no practical use to us.
We use Irish linen or shoemakers' thread. It is Barbour's Number 12.
Each thread will stand a strain of six pounds; therefore, a bowstring
of fifty strands will suspend a weight of 300 pounds.
A target bow may have a proportionately lighter string than a hunting
bow because here a quick cast is desired; but in hunting, security is
necessary. We therefore allow one strand of linen for every pound of
the bow.
This is the method of manufacturing a bowstring as devised by the late
Mr. Maxson and described in _American Archery_. Some few alterations
have been introduced to simplify the technique.
It is advisable to take the threads in your hands as you follow the
directions.
If you propose making a string for a sixty-five-pound bow, it should
have about sixty threads in it, and these are divided into three
strands of twenty threads each. Start making the first of these strands
by measuring off on the bow a length eight inches beyond each end--that
is, sixteen inches longer than your bow. Double your thread back,
drawing it through your hand until you reach the beginning. Now repeat
the process of laying one thread with another, back and forth, until
twenty are in the strand. But these must be so arranged that each is
about half an inch shorter than the preceding, thus making the end of
the strand tapered.
When twenty are thus stroked into one cord, they are heavily waxed by
drawing the strand through the hand and wax, from center to the ends,
each way. Now roll the greater part of this strand about your fingers
and make a little coil which you compress, but allow about twenty-four
inches to remain free and uncoiled. Thus abbreviated it is easier to
handle in the subsequent process of twisting it into a cord.
Make two other strands exactly like this, roll them into a compressed
coil and lay them aside. Now to form the loop or eye it is necessary to
thicken the string at this point with an additional splice. So lay out
another strand of twenty threads six feet long. Cut this into six
pieces, each twelve inches in length. Take one of these and so pull the
ends of the threads that they are made of uneven length, or that the
ends become tapered. Wax this splice thoroughly; do this to each one in
turn.
Now pick up one of your original strands and apply to its tapered end
and lying along the last foot of its length one of the above described
splices. Wax the two together. So treat the two other strands.
Grasp the three cords together in your left hand at a point nine inches
from the end. With the right hand pick up one strand near this point
and twist it between the thumb and finger, away from you, rolling it
tight, at the same time pulling it toward you. Seize another strand,
twist it from you and pull it toward you. Continue this process with
each in succession, and you will find that you are making a rope. By
the time the rope is three inches in length, it is long enough to fold
on itself and constitute a loop. Proceed to double it back so that the
loose ends of the strands are mated and waxed into cohesion with the
three main strands of the string. Arrange them nicely so that they
interlace properly and are evenly applied.
Now while being seated, slip the upper limb of your bow under your
right knee and over the left, and drop the new formed loop of your
string over the horn nock. Begin again the process of twisting each
strand away from you while you pull it toward you. Continue the motion
until you have run down the string a distance of eight inches. During
the process you will see the wisdom of having rolled the excess string
up into little skeins to keep them from being tangled. Thus the upper
eye is formed. At this stage unwind your skeins and stretch the string
down the bow, untwisting and drawing straight the three strands.
Seize them now three inches below the lower nock of your bow. At this
point apply the short splices for the lower loop. They should be so
laid on that three inches extends up the string from this point and the
rest lies along the tapered extremity. Wax them tight. Hold the three
long strands together while you give them final equalizing traction.
Start here and twist your second loop, drawing each strand toward you
as you twist it away from you until a rope of three inches is formed
again. This you double back on itself, mate its tapered extremities
with the three long strands of the string and wax them together.
Slip the upper loop down your bow and nock the lower loop on the lower
horn. Swing your right knee over the bow below the string and set the
loop on this horn while you work. Give the string plenty of slack.
Start again the twisting and pulling operation, keeping the strands
from tangles while you form the lower splice of the string. When it is
eight inches long, take off the loop and unroll the twist in the main
body of the string. Replace the loop and brace your bow. This will take
the kinks from the cord. Wax it thoroughly and, removing the lower
loop, twist the entire bowstring in the direction of the previous
maneuver until it is shortened to the proper length to fit the bow.
Nock the string again and, taking a thick piece of paper, fold it into
a little pad and rub the bowstring vigorously until it assumes a round,
well-waxed condition.
If the loops are properly placed, the final twisting should make one
complete rotation of the string in a distance of one or two inches. A
closer twist tends to cut itself.
If, by mistake, the string is too short or too long, and adjusting the
twist does not correct it, then you must undo the last loop to overcome
the error. The fork of these loops is often bound with waxed carpet
thread to reduce their size and strengthen them. The whole structure at
this point may be served with the same thread to protect it from
becoming chafed and worn.
The center of the string and the nocking point for the arrow must now
be served with waxed silk, linen, or cotton thread to protect it from
becoming worn.
Ordinarily we take a piece of red carpet thread or shoe button thread,
about two yards in length, wax it thoroughly and double it. Start with
the doubled end, threading the free end through it around the string,
and wind it over, from right to left. The point of starting this
serving is two and one-half inches above the center of the bowstring.
When you come to the nocking point, or that at which an arrow stands
perpendicular to the string while crossing the bow at the top of the
handle, make a series of overlapping threads or clove hitches. This
will form a little lump or knot on the string at this point. Continue
serving for half an inch and repeat this maneuver; again continue the
serving down the string for a distance of four or five inches,
finishing with a fixed lashing by drawing the thread under the last two
or three wraps.
A nocking point of this character has two advantages: the first is that
you can feel it readily while nocking an arrow in the dark or while
keeping your eye on the game, and the other point is that the knots
prevent the arrow being dislodged while walking through the brush.
We have found that by heating our beeswax and adding about one-quarter
rosin, it makes it more adhesive.
In hot or wet weather it is of some advantage to rub the string with an
alcoholic solution of shellac. Compounds containing glue or any hard
drying substance seem to cause the strings to break more readily.
Paraffin, talcum powder, or a bit of tallow candle rubbed on the
serving and nocking point is useful in making a clean release of the
string.
So far as dampness and rain go, these never interfere with the action
of the string. A well-greased bow will stand considerable water, though
arrows suffer considerably.
Wax your string every few days if in use; you should always carry an
extra one with you.
Strings break most commonly at the nocking point beneath the serving.
Here they sustain the greatest strain and are subject to most bending.
An inspection at this point frequently should be done. An impending
break is indicated by an uneven contour of the strands beneath the
serving. Discard it before it actually breaks.
By putting a spring scale between one of the bow nocks and the end of
the string, the unexpected phenomenon is demonstrated that there is
greater tension on a string when the bow is braced but not drawn up. A
fifty-six pound bow registers a sixty-four pound tension on the string.
As the arrow is drawn up the tension decreases gradually until
twenty-six inches are drawn, when it registers sixty-four pounds again.
At the moment of recoil, when the bow springs back into position, this
strain must rise tremendously, for if the arrow be not in place the
string frequently will be broken.
The tension on the string at the center or nocking point during the
process of drawing a bow--that is, the accumulated weight--rises quite
differently in different bows. The arrow being nocked on the string, it
is ordinarily already six inches drawn across the bow. Now in the same
fifty-six pound bow for every inch of draw past this, the weight rises
between two and three pounds. As the arrow nears full draw, the weight
increases to such a degree that the last few inches will register five
or six pounds to the inch, depending on many variable factors in the
bow.
The gradient thus formed dictates the character of a bow to a great
extent. One that pulls softly at first and in the last part of the draw
is very stiff, will require more careful shooting to get the exact
length of flight than one whose tension is evenly distributed.
Reflexed bows are harder on strings than those that follow the string.
A breaking cord may fracture your bow. I saw Wallace Bryant lose a
beautiful specimen this way. One of Aldred's most perfect make, dark
Spanish yew and more than fifty years old, flew to splinters just
because a treacherous string parted in the center. Sturdy hunting bows
are not so liable to this catastrophe, but be sure you are not caught
out in a game country with a broken string and no second. You will see
endless opportunities to shoot. Wax is to an archer what tar is to a
sailor; use it often, and always have two strings to your bow.
VI
HOW TO MAKE AN ARROW
Fletching is a very old art and, necessarily, must have many empirical
methods and principles involved. There are innumerable types of arrows,
and an equal number of ways of making them. For an excellent
description of a good way to make target arrows, the reader is referred
to that chapter by Jackson in the book _American Archery_.
Having learned several aboriginal methods of fletching and studied all
the available literature on the subject, we have adopted the following
maneuvers to turn out standard hunting arrows: The first requisite is
the shaft. Having tested birch, maple, hickory, oak, ash, poplar,
alder, red cedar, mahogany, palma brava, Philippine nara, Douglas fir,
red pine, white pine, spruce, Port Orford cedar, yew, willow, hazel,
eucalyptus, redwood, elderberry, and bamboo, we have adopted birch as
the most rigid, toughest and suitable in weight for hunting arrows.
Douglas fir and Norway pine are best for target shafts; bamboo for
flight arrows.
The commercial dowel, frequently called a maple dowel, is made of white
birch and is exactly suited to our purpose. It may be obtained in
quantities from dealers in hardwoods, or from sash and door mills. If
possible, you should select these dowels yourself, to see that they are
straight, free from cross-grain, and of a rigid quality. For hunting
bows drawing over sixty pounds, the dowels should be three-eighths of
an inch in diameter; for lighter bows five-sixteenths dowels should be
used. They come in three-foot lengths and bundles of two hundred and
fifty. It is a good plan to buy a bundle at a time and keep them in the
attic to dry and season.
Where dowels are not obtainable, you can have a hickory or birch plank
sawed up or split into sticks half an inch in diameter, and plane these
to the required size, or turn them on a lathe, or run them through a
dowel-cutting machine.
Take a dozen dowels from your stock and cut them to a length of
twenty-eight and one-quarter inches, or an inch less or more according
to the length of your arms. In doing this you should try to remove the
worst end, keeping that portion with the straightest grain for the head
of your shaft.
Having cut them to length, take a hand plane and shave the last six
inches of the rear end or shaftment so that the diameter is reduced to
a trifle more than five-sixteenths of an inch at the extremity.
Now comes the process of straightening your shafts. By squinting down
the length of the dowel you can observe the crooked portions. If these
are very bad, they should be heated gently over a gas flame and then
bent into proper line over the base of the thumb or palm. A pair of
gloves will protect the hand from burning. If the deviation be slight,
then mere manual pressure is often sufficient. During this process the
future arrow should be tested for strength. If it cannot stand
considerable bending it deserves to break. If it is limber, discard it.
Nocking the shaft comes next. Hunting arrows require no horn, bone,
aluminum, or fiber nock. Simply place the smaller end of the shaft in a
vise and cut the end across the grain with three hack saws bound
together, your cut being about an eighth of an inch wide by
three-eighths deep; finish it carefully with a file. Thus nock them all
and sandpaper them smooth throughout, rounding the nocked end
gracefully. To facilitate this process I place one end in a
motor-driven chuck and hold the rapidly revolving shaft in a piece of
sandpaper in my hand. When finished the diameter should be a trifle
under three-eighths of an inch at the center and about five-sixteenths
at the nock.
Mark them now, where the feathers and binding should go. At a point one
inch from the base of the nock make a circular line, this is for the
rear binding; five inches above this make another, this is for the
feather; one inch above this make another, this is for the front
binding; and an inch above this make another, this is for the painted
ribbon.
Feathers come next, but really they should have come long ago. The best
are turkey feathers, so we won't talk about any others. The time to get
them is at Thanksgiving and Christmas. Then you should get on good
terms with your butcher and have him save you a boxful of turkey wings.
These you chop with a hatchet on a block, saving only the six or seven
long pinions. Put them away with moth balls until you need them. Of
course, if you cannot get turkey feathers when you want them, goose,
chicken, duck, or plumes from a feather duster may be employed. Your
milliner can tell you where to purchase goose feathers, but these are
expensive.
Cutting arrow feathers is a pleasant occupation around the fire in the
winter evenings, and the real archer has the happiness of making his
tackle while his mind dwells upon the coming spring shooting. As he
makes his shaft he wonders what fate will befall it. Will it speed away
in a futile shot, or last the grilling of a hundred practice flights,
or will it be that fortunate arrow which flies swift and true and
brings down the bounding deer? How often have I picked up a shaft and
marked it, saying, "With this I'll kill a bear." And with some I've
done it, too!
So your feathers should be cut in quantity. This is the way you cut
them: Select a good clean one, steady it between your palms while with
your fingers you separate the bristles at the tip. Pull them apart,
thus splitting the rib down the center. If by chance it should not
split evenly, take your sharpened penknife and cut it straight.
Have ready a little spring clip, such as is used to hold your cravat or
magazine in a book store. One end of this is bent about a safety-pin so
that it can be fastened to your trousers at the knee. Now you have a
sort of knee vise to hold your feather while trimming it. Place the
butt of the rib in the jaws of the clip and shave it down to the
thickness of a thirty-second of an inch. Make this even and level so
that the feather stands perpendicular to it. With a pair of long
scissors cut off the lateral excess of rib on the concave side of the
feather. This permits it to straighten out.
At the same stage cut the feather roughly to shape; that is, five
inches long, half an inch at the anterior end, an inch wide
posteriorly, and having an inch of stem projecting at each extremity.
For this work you must keep your pocket-knife very sharp. With practice
you should cut a feather in two or three minutes.
Donnan Smith, a worthy archer and a good fletcher, has devised a spring
clamp which holds the feather while being cut. It is composed of a
strong binder clip to which are soldered two thin metal jaws the size
and shape of a properly cut feather. Having stripped his feather, he
clamps it rib uppermost between the jaws and trims the rib with a
knife, or on a fast-revolving emery stone, or sandpaper disc. This
accomplished, he turns the feather around in the clamp and cuts the
bristles to the exact shape of the metal jaws with a pair of scissors.
It is an admirable method.
Some fletchers cut their feathers on a board by eye with only a knife.
James Duff, the well-known American maker of tackle, learned this in
the shop of Peter Muir, the famous Scotch fletcher.
If you wish to dye your feathers it may be done by obtaining the
aniline dye used on wool. Adding about 10 per cent of vinegar to the
aqueous solution of the stain, heat it to such a temperature that you
can just stand your finger in it. Soak your feathers in this hot
solution, stir them for several minutes, then lay them out on a piece
of newspaper to dry in the sun. Red, orange, and yellow are used for
this purpose; the former helps one to find a lost arrow, but all colors
tend to run if wet, and stain the clothing.
Having prepared a sufficient quantity of feathers, you are ready to
fledge your shaft. Select three of a similar color, strength, and from
the same wing of the bird. With a stick, run a little liquid glue along
the rib of each and lay it aside. Along the axis of your arrow run
three parallel lines of glue down the shaftment. The first of these is
for the cock feather and should be on a line perpendicular to the nock.
The other two are equidistant from this. A novice should mark these
lines with a pencil at first.
Now comes a difficult task, that of putting on the feathers. Many ways
and means have been devised, and in target arrows nothing is better
than just sticking them on by hand. Some have used clamps, some use
pins, some lash the feathers on at the extremities with thread, and
then glue beneath them. We take the oldest of all methods, which is
shown in the specimens of old Saxon arrows rescued from the Nylander
boat in Holland, [1]
[Footnote 1: See _Archer's Register_ of 1912.]
also depicted in many old English paintings--that of binding the
feathers with a piece of thread running spirally up the shaft between
the bristles.
Starting at a point six inches from the nock, set your thick end of the
rib in position on the lines of glue. Hold the shaft under your left
arm while with the left thumb, forefinger, and middle finger steady the
feathers as they are respectively put in place. With one end of a piece
of cotton basting thread in your teeth and the spool in your right
hand, start binding the ribs down to the arrow shaft. After a few turns
proceed up the shaftment, adjusting the feathers in position as you
rotate the arrow. Let your basting thread slip between the bristles of
the feather about half an inch apart. When you come to the rear end,
finish up with several overlapping turns and a half-hitch. Line up your
feathers so that they run straight down the shaftment and are
equidistant. Of one thing be very sure--see that your feather runs a
trifle toward the concave side, looking from the rear, and that the
rear end deviates quite perceptibly toward this direction. This insures
proper steering qualities to your arrow. Set it aside and let it dry.
When all are dry, remove the basting thread and trim the ribs to the
pencil marks, leaving them about three-quarters of an inch long. Bevel
their ends to a slender taper.
The next process is that of binding the feathers in position. The
material which we use for this purpose is known as ribonzine, a thin
silk ribbon used to bind candy boxes. In the absence of this, floss
silk may be employed. Cut it into pieces about a foot long. Put a
little liquid glue on the space reserved for binding and, while
revolving the shaft under your arm, apply the ribbon in lapping spirals
over the feather ribs. Cover them completely and have the binding
smooth and well sized in glue. The ribbon near the nock serves to
protect the wood at this point from splitting. When dry, clean your
shaft from ragged excess of glue with knife and sandpaper, and finish
up by running a little diluted glue with a small brush along the side
of the feather ribs to make them doubly secure.
Now comes the painting.
We paint arrows not so much for gayness, as to preserve them against
moisture, to aid in finding them when lost, and to distinguish one
man's shaft from another's.
Chinese vermilion and bright orange are colors which are most
discernible in the grass and undergrowth. With a narrow brush, paint
between your feathers, running up slightly on to the rib, covering the
glue. If your silk ribbon binding is a bright color--mine is green--you
can leave it untouched. We often paint the nock a distinguishing color
to indicate the type of head at the other end, so that in drawing the
shaft from the quiver we can know beforehand what sort it will be. The
livery should be painted in several different rings. My own colors are
red, green, and white.
One or two coats are applied according to the fancy of the archer. The
line between the various pigments should be striped with a thin black
ring.
Unless you use a lathe to hold your arrows in the painting process, you
can employ two wooden blocks or rests, one having a shallow countersunk
hole on its lateral face to hold the nock while rotating, the other
having a groove on its upper surface. Clamp these on a bench, or on the
opposite arms of your easy chair before the fire, and you can turn your
shafts slowly by hand while you steady your brush and apply the paint
in even rings.
At this stage I have added a device which seems to be helpful in
nocking arrows in the dark, or while keeping one's eye on the game.
Having put a drop of glue on the ribbon immediately above the nock and
behind the cock feather, I affix a little white glass bead. One can
feel this with his thumb as he nocks his arrow, when in conjunction
with knots on his string, he can perform this maneuver entirely by
touch.
The paint having dried, varnish or shellac your arrow its entire
length, avoiding, of course, any contact with the feathers. In due time
sandpaper the shaft and repeat the varnishing. Rub this down with
steelwool and give it a finishing touch with floor wax.
Here we are ready for the arrow-heads.
We use three types of points. The first is a blunt head made by binding
the end of the shaft with thin tinned iron wire for half an inch and
running on solder, then drilling a hole in the end of the shaft and
inserting an inch round-headed screw. In place of soldered wire, one
can use an empty 38-caliber cartridge, either cutting off the base or
drilling out the priming aperture to admit the screw. This type of
arrow we use for rough practice, shooting tin cans, trees, boxes, and
other impedimenta. It makes a good shaft for birds, rabbits, and small
game.
A second type of head we use is made of soft steel about a sixteenth of
an inch thick. We cut it with a hack saw into a blunt, barbed,
lanceolate shape having a blade about an inch long and half an inch
wide, also a tang about the same length and three-eighths of an inch
wide.
This we set into a slot sawed in the arrow in the same plane as the
nock, and bind the shaft with tinned wire, number 30, soldered
together. The end of the shaft has a gradual bevel where it meets the
lateral face of the head.
This is a sturdy little point and will stand much abuse. We use it for
shooting birds, squirrels, and small vermin.
But the point that we prefer to shoot is the old English broad-head.
Starting from small dimensions, we have gradually increased its size,
weight and strength and cutting qualities till now we shoot a head
whose blade is three inches long, an inch and a quarter wide, a trifle
less than a thirty-second thick. It has a haft or tubular shank an inch
long. Its weight is half an ounce. The blades are made of spring steel.
After annealing the steel we score it diagonally with a hack saw, when
it may be broken in triangular pieces in a vise. With a cold chisel, an
angular cut is made in the base to form the barbs. With a file and
carborundum stone, they are edged and shaped into blades as sharp as
knives. Soft, cold drawn steel will serve quite as well as spring steel
for these blades, but it does not hold its edge. It may be purchased at
hardware supply depots in the form of strips an inch and a half wide,
by one-thirty-second thick, and is much easier to work than the
tempered variety.
Then taking three-eighths number .22 gauge steel or brass tubing, we
smash it to a short bevel on the anvil, file off the corners and cut it
to a length of an inch and three-quarters. This makes the haft or
socket. Fixing a blade, barbs uppermost in the vise, this tubing is
driven lightly into position, the filed edges of the beveled end
permitting the blade to be held between the sides of the tubing. A
small hole is drilled through the tubing and blade, and a soft iron
wire rivet is inserted. The blade is held over a gas flame while the
joint between it and the tubing is filled with soft soldering compound
and ribbon solder.
The heated head is plunged into water and later finished with file and
emery cloth. The whole process of making a steel broad-head requires
about twenty minutes. Every archer should manufacture his own. Then he
will treat them with more respect. Very few artisans can make them, and
if they can, their price is exorbitant.
Be sure that your heads are straight and true. To set them on your
shaft, cut the wood to fit, then heat a bit of ferrule cement and set
them on in the same plane as the nock. In the absence of ferrule
cement, which can be had at all sporting goods stores, one can use
chewing gum, or better yet, a mixture of caoutchouc pitch and scale
shellac heated together in equal parts. Heat your fixative as you would
sealing wax, over a candle, also heat the arrow and the metal head. Put
on with these adhesives, it seldom pulls off. In the wilds we often fix
the head with pine resin. Glue can be used, but it is not so good.
Having brought your arrows to this stage, the next act is to trim the
feathers. First run them gently through the hand and smooth out their
veins; then with long-bladed scissors cut them so that the anterior end
is three-eighths of an inch high, while the posterior extremity is one
inch. I also cut the rear tip of the feather diagonally across,
removing about half an inch to prevent it getting in the way of the
fingers when on the string.
Mr. Arthur Young cuts his feathers in a long parabola with a die made
of a knife blade bent into shape. These things are largely a matter of
taste.
Look your arrows over; see that they are straight and that the feathers
are in good shape, then shoot them to observe their flight. Number them
above the ribbon so that you can keep record of their performances. The
weight of such an arrow is one and one-half ounces.
The small blunt, barb-headed arrows we often paint red their entire
length. Because they are meant for use in the brush, they are more
readily lost; the bright color saves many a shaft.
To make a hunting arrow requires about an hour, and one should be
willing to look for one almost this time when it is lost. Finding
arrows is an acquired art. Don't forget the advice of Bassanio: "In my
school days when I had lost one shaft, I shot his fellow of the
self-same flight, the self-same way, with more advised watch to find
the other forth; and by adventuring both, I oft found both."
If, indeed, the shaft cannot be found, then give it up with good grace,
remembering that after all it is pleasant work to make one. Dedicate it
to the cause of archery with the hope that in future days some one may
pick it up and, pricking his finger on the barb, become inoculated with
the romance of archery.
When an arrow lodges in a root or tree, we work the head back and forth
very carefully to withdraw it. A little pair of pliers comes in very
handy here. If it is buried deeply we cut the wood away from it with a
hunting knife. Blunt arrows, called bird bolts by Shakespeare, are best
to shoot up in the branches of trees at winged and climbing game.
In our quivers we usually carry several light shafts we call eagle
arrows, because they are designed principally for shooting at this
bird.
Once while hunting deer, and observing a doe and fawn drinking at a
pool, we saw a magnificent golden eagle swoop down, catch the startled
fawn and lift it from the ground. Mr. Compton and I, having such arrows
in our quivers, let fly at the struggling bird of prey. We came so
close that the eagle loosened the grip of his talons and the fawn
dropped to earth and sped off with its mother, safe for the time being.
[Illustration: SEVERAL STEPS IN ARROW MAKING]
Often we have shot at hawks and eagles high up in the air, where to
reach them we needed a very light arrow, and they have had many close
calls. For these we use a five-sixteenths dowel, feather it with short,
low cut parabolic feathers and put a small barbed head on it about an
inch in length. Such an arrow we paint dark green, blue, or black, so
that the bird cannot discern its flight.
It is great sport to shoot at some lazy old buzzard as he comes within
range. He can see the ordinary arrow, and if you shoot close, he
dodges, swoops downward, flops sidewise, twists his head round and
round, and speeds up to leave the country. He presents the comic
picture of a complacent old gentleman suddenly disturbed in his
monotonous existence and frightened into a most unbecoming loss of
dignity.
Eagle arrows can be used for lofty flights, to span great canyons, to
rout the chattering bluejay from the topmost limb of a pine, and sooner
or later we shall pierce an eagle on the wing.
We make another kind of shaft that we call a "floo-floo." In Thompson's
_Witchery of Archery_ he describes an arrow that his Indian companion
used, which gave forth such a fluttering whistle when in flight that
they called it by this euphonious name. This is made by constructing
the usual blunt screw-headed shaft and fledging it with wide uncut
feathers. It is useful in shooting small game in the brush, because its
flight is impeded and, missing the game, it soon loses momentum and
stops. It does not bound off into the next county, but can be found
near by. As a rule, these are steady, straight fliers for a short
distance.
In finishing the nock of an arrow, it should be filed so that it fits
the string rather snugly, thus when in place it is not easily disturbed
by the ordinary accidents of travel. Still this tightness should be at
the entrance of the nock, while the bottom of the nock is made a trifle
more roomy with a round file. I file all my nocks to fit a certain
two-inch wire nail whose diameter is just that of my bowstring.
After arrows have been shot for a time and their feathers have settled,
they should again be trimmed carefully to their final proportions. The
heads, if found too broad for perfect flight, should be ground a trifle
narrower.
When hunting, one does well to carry in his pocket a small flat file
with which to sharpen his broad-heads before shooting them. They should
have a serrated, meat-cutting edge. Even carrying arrows in a quiver
tends to dull them, because they chafe each other while in motion. From
time to time you should rub the shafts and heads with the mixture of
cedar and linseed oil, thus keeping them clean and protected from
dampness.
On a hunting trip an archer should carry with him in his repair kit,
extra feathers, heads, cement, a tube of glue, ribonzine, linen thread,
wax, paraffin, sandpaper, emery cloth, pincers, file and small
scissors. With these he can salvage many an arrow that otherwise would
be too sick to shoot.
Extra arrows are carried in a light wooden box which has little
superimposed racks on which they rest and are kept from crushing each
other.
As a rule, nothing does an arrow so much good as to shoot it, and
nothing so much harm as to have it lie inactive and crowded in the
quiver.
The flight of an arrow is symbolic of life itself. It springs from the
bow with high aim, flies toward the blue heaven above, and seems to
have immortal power. The song of its life is sweet to the ear. The rush
of its upward arc is a promise of perpetual progress. With perfect
grace it sweeps onward, though less aspiring. Then fluttering
imperceptibly, it points downward and with ever-increasing speed,
approaches the earth, where, with a deep sigh, it sinks in the soil,
quivers with spent energy, and capitulates to the inevitable.
VII
ARCHERY EQUIPMENT
Besides a bow and arrow, the archer needs to have a quiver, a bow case,
a waterproof quiver case, an arm guard or bracer, and a shooting glove
or leather finger tips. Our quivers are made of untanned deer hide,
usually from deer shot with the bow. The hide, having been properly
cleaned, stretched, and dried, is cut down the center, each half making
a quiver. Marking a quadrilateral outline twenty-four inches on two
sides, twelve at the larger end, and nine at the smaller, in such a way
that the hair points from the larger to the smaller end; cut this piece
and soak it in water until soft, and wash it clean with soap. At the
same time cut a circular piece off the tough neck skin, three inches in
diameter.
With a furrier's needle having three sharp edges, and heavy waxed
thread, or better yet, with catgut, sew up the longer sides of the skin
with a simple overcast stitch. Let the hair side be in while sewing. In
the smaller end sew the circular bottom. Invert the quiver on a stick;
turn back a cuff of hide one inch deep at the top. To do this nicely,
the hair should be clipped away at this point. This cuff stiffens the
mouth of the quiver and keeps it always open.
Now put your quiver over a wooden form to dry.
[Illustration: ARROW HEADS OF VARIOUS SORTS USED IN HUNTING]
I have one like a shoemaker's last, made of two pieces of wood
separated by a thin slat which can be removed, permitting easy
withdrawal of the quiver after drying. When dry, your quiver will be
about twenty-two inches deep, four inches across the top, and slightly
conical.
Cut a strip of deer hide eight inches long by one and a half wide,
shave it, double the hair side in, and attach it to the seamy side of
the quiver by perforating the leather and inserting a lacing of
buckskin thongs. Leave the loop of this strap projecting two inches
above the top of the quiver. In the bottom of your quiver drop a round
piece of felt or carpet to prevent the arrow points coming through the
hide.
If you are not so fortunate as to have deer hide, you may use any stiff
leather, or even canvas. This latter can be made stiff by painting or
varnishing it.
Such a receptacle will hold a dozen broad-heads very comfortably and
several more under pressure. It should swing from a belt at the right
hip in such a way that in walking it does not touch the leg, while in
shooting it is accessible to the right hand or may then be shifted
slightly to the front for convenience.
In running we usually grasp the quiver in the right hand, not only to
prevent it interfering with locomotion, but to keep the arrows from
rattling and falling out. When on the trail of an animal we habitually
stuff a twig of leaves, a bunch of ferns or a bit of grass in the mouth
of the quiver to damp the soft rustling of the arrows. Sometimes, in
going through brush or when running, we carry the quiver on a belt
slung over the left shoulder. Here they are out of the way and give the
legs full action.
To keep the arrows dry, and to cover them while traveling, we make a
sheath for the quiver of waterproof muslin. This is long enough to
cover the arrows and has a wire ring a bit larger than the top of the
quiver sewn in the cloth some three inches from the upper end. This
keeps the feathers from being crushed. The mouth of this cover is
closed with a drawstring. On the side adjacent to the strap of the
quiver, an aperture is cut to permit this being brought through and
fastened to the belt.
The bow itself has a long narrow case made of the same cloth, or
canvas, or green baize with a drawstring at the top and a leather tip
at the bottom. Where several bows are packed together, each has a
woolen bow case and all are carried in a canvas bag, composition
carrying cylinder, or in a wooden bow box. In hunting we prefer the
canvas bag, but you must carry it yourself, any one else will break
your bows.
The bracer, or arm guard, is a cuff of leather worn on the left forearm
to prevent the stroke of the bowstring doing damage. Some archers can
shoot without this protection, but others, because of their style of
shooting or their anatomical formation, need it. It can be made like a
butcher's cuff, some six or eight inches long, partially surrounding
the forearm and fastened by three little straps or by lacing in the
back. Another form is simply a strip of thin sole leather from two to
three inches wide by eight long, having little straps and buckles
attached to hold it in position on the flexor surface of the wrist and
forearm.
[Illustration: NECESSARY ARCHERY EQUIPMENT]
The bracer not only keeps the arm from injury, but makes for a clean
release of the arrow. Anything such as a coat sleeve touching the
bowstring when in action, diverts the arrow in its flight. On the
sleeve of your shooting jersey you can sew a piece of leather for an
arm guard.
While one may pick up a bow and shoot a few shots without a glove or
finger protection, he soon will be compelled to cease because of
soreness. Doubtless the ancient yeoman, a horny-handed son of toil,
needed no glove. But we know that even in those days a tab of leather
was held in the hand to prevent the string from hurting. The glove
probably is of more modern use and quite in favor among target archers.
We have found it rather hot in hunting, so have resorted to leather
finger tips. These are best made of pigskin or cordovan leather, which
is horse hide. This should be about a sixteenth of an inch thick and
cut to such a form that the tips enclose the finger on the palmar
surface up to the second joint and leave an oval opening over the
knuckle and upper part of the finger nail. The best way to make them is
to mould a piece of paper about each of the first three fingers on the
right hand, gathering the paper on the back and crimping it with the
thumb nail to show where to cut the pattern. Lay the paper out flat and
cut it approximately according to the illustrated form.
Transferring these outlines to the leather, cut three pieces
accordingly, soak them in water and sew them. This stitching is best
done by previously punching holes along the edges with a fine awl and
sewing an overcast stitch of waxed linen thread which, having reached
the end, returns backward on its course through the same holes. This
makes a criss-cross effect which is strong and pleasing to the eye.
The ends of the finger cots should be sewed closed, protecting the
fingers from injury and keeping out dirt. While the leather is still
soft and damp, place the tips on the fingers and press them home. At
the same time flex them strongly at the joints and try to keep them
bent there. Such angulation helps not only in holding the bowstring,
but keeps the tip from coming off under pressure. When dry, these
leather stalls should be numbered according to the finger to which they
belong, coated lightly with thin glue on the inside and waxed on the
outer surface. Then they are ready for use.
An archer should have two sets of tips so that, should misfortune
befall him and he loses one, he is not altogether undone. When not in
use keep them in your pocket or strung on the strap of your bracer. In
by-gone days they were sewed to straps which fastened to a wrist belt,
thus were more secure from loss, but more cumbersome.
From time to time oil your tips and always keep them from being
roughened or scratched. With a small amount of glue in the tip one has
only to moisten his fingers in his mouth and the leather stall will
stick on firmly. We have also used lead plaster of the pharmacopoeia
for the same adhesive purpose.
In the absence of pockets in ancient days, the archer carried his extra
equipment in a wallet slung at his waist. Even now it seems a handy
thing to have a deerskin wallet six by eight inches, by an inch or more
deep. I frequently carry my tips, extra string, wax, file wrapped in a
cloth, and a bit of lunch, in such a receptacle.
With his bow, his quiver, a wallet, our modern archer is ready and
could step into Sherwood Forest feeling quite at home.
VIII
HOW TO SHOOT
First, brace your bow. To do this properly, grasp it at the handle with
your right hand, the upper horn upward and the back toward you. Place
the lower horn at the instep of your right foot, and the base of your
left palm against the back of the bow, near the top below the loop of
the string. Holding your left arm stiff and toward your left side, your
right elbow fixed on your hip, pull up on the handle by twisting your
body so that the bow is sprung away from you. The string is now
relaxed, and the fingers of the left hand push it upward till it slips
in the nock.
Don't try to force the string, and don't get your fingers caught
beneath it. Do most of the work with the right hand pulling against the
rigid left arm.
The proper distance between the bow and the string at the handle is six
inches. This is ordinarily measured by setting the fist on the handle
and the thumb sticking upright, where it should touch the string. This
is the ancient fistmele, an archer's measure, also used in measuring
lumber.
Hunting bows should be strung a little less than this because of the
prolonged strain on them. Target bows shoot cleaner when higher strung.
Change your bow to your left hand and drop the arm so that the upper
end of the bow swings across the body in a horizontal position. Draw an
arrow from the quiver with the right hand and carry it across the bow
till it rests on the left side at the top of the handle. Place the left
forefinger over the shaft and keep it from slipping while you shift
your right hand to the arrow-nock, thumb uppermost. Push the arrow
forward, at the same time rotating it until the cock feather, or that
perpendicular to the nock, is away from the bow. As the feathers pass
over the string and the thumb still rests on the nock, slip the fingers
beneath the string and fit it in the arrow-nock.
Now turn the bow upright and remove your left forefinger from its
position across the shaft. The arrow should rest on the knuckles
without lateral support. Now place your fingers in position for
shooting. The release used by the old English is the best. This
consists in placing three fingers on the string, one above the arrow,
two below. The string rests midway between the last joint and the tip
of the finger. The thumb should not touch the arrow, but lie curled up
in the palm.
The release used by children consists in pinching the arrow between the
thumb and forefinger, and is known as the primary loose. This type is
not strong enough to draw an arrow half way on a hunting bow.
Stand sidewise to your mark, with the feet eight or ten inches apart,
at right angles to the line of shot. Straighten your body, stiffen the
back, expand the chest, turn the head fully facing the mark, look at it
squarely, and draw your bow across the body, extending the left arm as
you draw the right hand toward the chin.
Draw the arrow steadily, in the exact plane of your mark, so that when
the full draw is obtained and the arrowhead touches the left hand, the
right forefinger touches a spot on the jaw perpendicularly below the
right eye and the right elbow is in a continuous line with the arrow.
This point on the jaw below the eye is fixed and never varies; no
matter how close or how far the shot, the butt of the arrow is always
drawn to the jaw, not to the eye, nor to the ear. Thus the eye glances
along the entire length of the shaft and keeps it in perfect line. The
bow hand may be lowered or raised to obtain the proper elevation and
length of flight. The left arm is held rigidly but not absolutely
extended and locked at the elbow. A slight degree of flexion here makes
for a good clearance of the string and adds resiliency to the shot.
The arrow is released by drawing the right hand further backward at the
same time the fingers slip off the string. This must be done so firmly,
yet deftly, that no loss of power results, and the releasing hand does
not draw the arrow out of line. Two great faults occur at this point:
one is to permit the arrow to creep forward just before the release,
and the other is to draw the hand away from the face in the act of
releasing. Keep your fingers flexed and your hand by your jaw. All the
fingers of the right hand must bear their proper share of work. The
great tendency is to permit the forefinger to shirk and to put too much
work on the ring finger.
If the arrow has a tendency to fall away from the bow, tip the upper
limb ten degrees to the right and pull more on the right forefinger,
also start the draw with the fingers more acutely flexed, so that as
the arrow is pinched between the first and second fingers and as they
tend to straighten out under the pressure of the string, the arrow is
pressed against the bow, not away from it.
In grasping the bow with the left hand, it should rest comfortably in
the palm and loosely at the beginning of the draw. The knuckle at the
base of the thumb should be opposite the center of the bow, the hand
set straight on the wrist. As you draw, be sure that the arrow comes up
in a straight line with your mark, otherwise the bow will be twisted in
the grasp and deflect the shot. Then fully drawn, set the grasp of the
left hand without disturbing the position of the bow, make the left arm
as rigid as an oak limb; fix the muscles of the chest; make yourself
inflexible from head to toe. Keep your right elbow up and rivet your
gaze upon your mark; release in a direct line backward. Everything must
be under the greatest tension, any weakening spoils your flight.
The method of aiming in game shooting consists in fixing binocular
vision on the object to be hit, drawing the nock of the arrow beneath
the right eye and observing that the head of the arrow is in a direct
line with the mark by the indirect vision of the right eye. Both eyes
are open, both see the mark, but only the right observes the arrowhead,
the left ignores it. Your vision must be so concentrated upon one point
that all else fades from view. Just two things exist--your mark and
your arrowhead.
At a range of sixty or eighty yards, the head of the arrow seems to
touch the mark while aiming. This is called point blank range. At
shorter lengths the archer must estimate the distance below the mark on
which his arrow seems to rest in order to rise in a parabolic curve and
strike the spot. At greater ranges he must estimate a distance above
the mark on which he holds his arrow in order to drop it on the object
of his shot.
If his shaft flies to the left, it is because he has not drawn the nock
beneath his right eye, or he has thrown his head out of line, or the
string has hit his shirt sleeve or something has deflected the arrow.
If it falls to the right, it is because he has made a forward, creeping
release, or weakened in his bow arm, or in drawing to the center of the
jaw instead of the angle beneath the eye.
If the arrow rattles on the bow as it is released, or slaps it hard in
passing, it is because it is not drawn up in true line, or because it
fits too tightly on the string, or because the release is creeping and
weak. Always draw fully up to the barb.
If his arrows drop low and all else is right, it is because he has not
kept his tension, or has lowered his bow arm.
After the arrow is released, the archer should hold his posture a
second, bow arm rigidly extended, drawing hand to his jaw, right elbow
horizontal. This insures that he maintains the proper position during
the shot. There should be no jerking, swinging, or casting motions; all
must be done evenly and deliberately.
The shaft should fly from the bowstring like a bird, without quaver or
flutter. All depends upon a sharp resilient release.
Having observed all the prerequisites of good shooting, nothing so
insures a keen, true arrow flight as an effort of supreme tension
during the release. The chest is held rigid in a position of moderate
inspiration, the back muscles are set and every tendon is drawn into
elastic strain; in fact, to be successful, the whole act should be
characterized by the utmost vigor.
To get the best instructions for shooting the bow, one should read Sir
Roger Ascham in _Toxophilus_, and Horace Ford on _Archery._
Game shooting differs from target shooting in that with the latter a
point of aim is used, and the archer fixes his eyes upon this point
which is perpendicular above or below the bull's-eye. The arrowhead is
held on the point of aim, and when loosed, flies not along the line of
vision, but describes a curve upward, descends and strikes not the
point of aim, but the bull's-eye.
The field archer should learn to estimate distances correctly by eye.
He should practice pacing measured lengths, so that he can tell how
many yards any object may be from him.
In hunting he should make a mental note of this before he shoots. In
fact we nearly always call the number of yards before we loose the
arrow.
Where a strong cross-wind exists, a certain amount of windage is
allowed. But up to sixty yards the lateral deflexion from wind is
negligible; past this it may amount to three or four feet.
In clout shooting and target practice, one must take wind into
consideration. In hunting we only consider it when approaching game, as
a carrier of scent, because our hunting ranges are well under a hundred
yards and our heavy hunting shafts tack into the wind with little
lateral drift.
[Illustration: AN ARCHER'S MEASURE, A FISTMELE]
[Illustration: THE ENGLISH METHOD OF DRAWING THE ARROW]
[Illustration: NOCKING THE SHAFT ON THE STRING]
[Illustration: THE LONG BOW FULL DRAWN]
No matter how much a man may shoot, he is forever struggling with his
technique. I remember getting a letter from an old archer who had shot
the bow for more than fifty years. He was past seventy and had to
resort to a thirty-five pound weapon. He complained that his release
was faulty, but he felt that with a little more practice he could
perfect his loose and make a perfect shot. Since writing he has entered
the Happy Hunting Grounds, still a trifle off in form.
Even a sylvan archer needs to practice form at the targets. He should
study the game from its scientific principles as formulated by Horace
Ford, the greatest target shot ever known.
The point-of-aim system and target practice improve one's hunting.
Hunting, on the other hand, spoils one's target work. The use of heavy
bows so accustoms the muscles to gross reactions that they fail to
adjust themselves to the finer requirements of light bows and to the
precise technique of the target range.
The field archer gets his practice by going out in the open and
shooting at marks of any sort, at all distances, from five to two
hundred yards. A bush, a stray piece of paper, a flower, a shadow on
the grass, all are objects for his shafts.
The open heath, shaded forest, hills and dales, all make good grounds.
As he comes over a knoll a bush on the farther side represents a deer,
he shoots instantly. He must learn to run, to stop short and shoot,
fresh or weary he must be able to draw his bow and discharge one arrow
after another. With the bow unstrung walking along the trail, often we
have stopped at the word of command, strung the bow, drawn an arrow
from the quiver, nocked it, and discharged it within the space of five
seconds. Deliberation, however, is much more desirable.
Let several archers go into the fields together and roam over the land,
aiming at various marks; it makes for robust and accurate game
shooting.
Shooting an exact line is much easier than getting the exact length.
For this reason it is easier to split the willow wand at sixty or
eighty yards than it seems.
Often we have tried this feat to amuse ourselves or our friends, and
seldom more than six arrows are needed to strike such a lath or stick
at this distance. Hitting objects tossed in the air is not so difficult
either. A small tin can or box thrown fifteen or twenty feet upward at
a distance of ten or fifteen yards can be hit nearly every time,
especially if the archer waits until it just reaches the apex of its
course and shoots when it is practically stationary.
Shooting at swinging objects helps to train one in leading running or
flying game.
Turtle shooting, that form in which the arrow is discharged directly
upward and is supposed to drop on the mark, is difficult and attended
with few hits, but it trains one in estimating wind drift.
An archer should also learn the elevation or trajectory at which his
arrows fly at various distances. Shooting in the woods over hanging
limbs may interfere with a good shot. In this case the archer can kneel
and thus lower his flight to avoid interception.
In kneeling it seems that the right knee should be on the ground, while
the left foot is forward. This is a natural pose to assume during
walking, and the left thigh should be held out of the way of the
bow-string. When not in use, but braced, the bow should be carried in
the left hand, the string upward, the tip pointing forward. It never
should be swung about like a club nor shouldered like a gun.
Shooting from horseback is not impossible, but it must be done off the
left side of the horse, and a certain amount of practice is necessary
for the horse as well as for the archer.
It is surprising how accurately one can shoot at night. Even the
dimmest outline will serve the bowman, and his shaft has an uncanny way
of finding the mark.
When it comes to missing the mark, that is the subject for a sad story.
It takes an inveterate optimist to stand the moral strain of persistent
missing. In fact, it is this that spoils the archery career of many a
tyro--he gives up in despair. It looks so easy, but really is so
difficult to hit the mark. But do not be cast down, keep eternally at
practice, and ultimately you will be rewarded. Nothing stands a man in
such good stead in this matter as to have started shooting in his
youth.
And do not imagine that we are infallible in our shooting. Some of the
most humiliating moments of our lives have come through poor shooting.
Just when we wanted to do our best, before an expectant gathering, we
have done our most stupid missing. But even this has its compensations
and inures us to defeat.
It is a striking fact that we shoot better when confronted by the game
itself. Under actual hunting conditions you will hit closer to your
point than on the target field.
Study every move for clean, accurate shooting, and analyze your
failures so that you can correct your faults. Extreme care and utmost
effort will be rewarded by greater accuracy.
Other things being equal, it is the man who shoots with his heart in
his bow that hits the mark.
IX
THE PRINCIPLES OF HUNTING
In the early dawn of life man took up weapons against the beasts about
him. With club, ax, spear, knife, and sling he protected himself or
sought his game. To strike at a distance, he devised the bow. With the
implements of the chase he has won his way in the world.
Today there is no need to battle with the beasts of prey and little
necessity to kill wild animals for food; but still the hunting instinct
persists. The love of the chase still thrills us and all the misty past
echoes with the hunter's call.
In the joy of hunting is intimately woven the love of the great
outdoors. The beauty of woods, valleys, mountains, and skies feeds the
soul of the sportsman where the quest of game only whets his appetite.
After all, it is not the killing that brings satisfaction, it is the
contest of skill and cunning. The true hunter counts his achievement in
proportion to the effort involved and the fairness of the sport.
With the rapid development of firearms, hunting tends to lose its
sporting quality. The killing of game is becoming too easy; there is
little triumph and less glory than in the days of yore. Game
preservation demands a limitation of armament. We should do well to
abandon the more powerful and accurate implements of destruction, and
revert to the bow.
Here we have a weapon of beauty and romance. He who shoots with a bow,
puts his life's energy into it. The force behind the flying shaft must
be placed there by the archer. At the moment of greatest strain he must
draw every sinew to the utmost; his hand must be steady; his nerves
under absolute control; his eye keen and clear. In the hunt he pits his
well-trained skill against the instinctive cunning of his quarry. By
the most adroit cleverness, he must approach within striking distance,
and when he speeds his low whispering shaft and strikes his game, he
has won by the strength of arm and nerve. It is a noble sport.
However, not all temperaments are suited to archery. There must be
something within the deeper memories of his inheritance to which the
bow appeals. A mere passing fancy will not suffice to make him an
archer. It is the unusual person who will overcome the early
difficulties and persevere with the bow through love of it.
The real archer when he goes afield enters a land of subtle delight.
The dew glistens on the leaves, the thrush sings in the bush, the soft
wind blows, and all nature welcomes him as she has the hunter since the
world began. With his bow in his hand, his arrows softly rustling in
the quiver, a horn at his back, and a hound at his heels, what more can
a man want in life?
In America our hearts have heard the low whistle of the flying arrow
and the sweet hum of the bowstring singing in the book, _The Witchery
of Archery_ by Maurice Thompson. To Will and Maurice Thompson we owe a
debt of gratitude hard to pay. The tale of their sylvan exploits in the
everglades of Florida has a charm that borders on the fay. We who shoot
the bow today are children of their fantasy, offspring of their magic.
As the parents of American archery, we offer them homage and honor.
Ernest Thompson Seton is another patron of archery to whom all who have
read _Two Little Savages_ must be eternally grateful. Not only has he
given us a reviving touch of the outdoors, but he puts the bow and
arrow in its true setting, a background of nature.
When Arthur Young, Will Compton, and I began hunting with the bow, we
wrote Will Thompson to join us. Because he is such a commanding figure
in the history of our craft, I think it proper to quote from one of his
letters:
"MY DEAR DR. POPE:
"The _Sunset Magazine_ containing your charming account of Ishi and
your hunting adventures, and the bunch of photographs of the transfixed
deer, quail, and rabbits came duly, and are mine, now, tomorrow, and
for life. You were very fortunate to have won your archery triumphs
where you could photograph them. I would give much indeed if I could
have photos of the scenes of my brother's and my successes in the
somber and game-thronged wilds of the gloomy Okefinokee Swamp. I think
I sent you long ago the two numbers of _Forest and Stream_ in which the
history of that most wonderful of all my outings appeared. If I did not
do so I will loan you the only copy I have. Let me know.
"I am glad, so glad, that you young athletic men are following the wild
trails armed with the most romantic weapon man ever fashioned, and I
would give almost any precious thing I hold to fare with you once to
the game land of your choice, and to watch and wait by a slender trail
while you and your young, strong comrades stole through the secret
haunts of the wild things, and to listen to the faint footfalls of the
coming deer, roused by your entrance into their secret lairs. To see
the soft and devious approach of the wary thing; to see the lifted
light head turned sharply back toward the evil that roused it from its
bed of ferns; to feel the strong bow tightening in my hand as the thin,
hard string comes back; to feel the leap of the loosened cord, the jar
of the bow, and see the long streak of the going shaft, and hear the
almost sickening 'chuck' of the stabbing arrow. No one can know how I
have loved the woods, the streams, the trails of the wild, the ways of
the things of slender limbs, of fine nose, of great eager ears, of mild
wary eyes, and of vague and half-revealed forms and colors. I have been
their friend and mortal enemy. I have so loved them that I longed to
kill them. But I gave them far more than a fair chance.
"How many I have missed to one I have killed! How often the fierce
arrow hissed its threat close by the wide ears! How often the puff of
lifted feathers has marked the innocuous passage of my very best arrow!
How often the roar of wings has replied to the 'chuck' of my
steel-head shaft as it stabbed the tree branch under the grouse's feet!
_Oh, le bon temps, que de siècle de fer_.
"Let me know whether I sent you _Deep in Okefinokee Swamp_. I enclose
you a little poem published long ago in _Forest and Stream_ and picked
up by the _Literary Digest_ and other periodicals. You will, I think,
feel the love of the bow, and the outdoors, as well as the great cry
for the lost brother running through the long sob that pervades it.
"Send me anything you publish, for I know I should be pleased. Love to
you and a handgrasp to your comrade archers.
"WILL THOMPSON."
After the Civil War, where both youths fought in the Confederate Army
and Maurice was wounded, they returned to their Southern home, broken
in health, reduced in circumstances, and deprived of firearms by
Government restrictions. They turned to the bow and hunting as
naturally as a boy turns to play. Out of their experiences we have a
lyric of exquisite purity, _The Witchery of Archery_.
As a result of the interest stimulated by the recount of their
exploits, the National Archery Association was established and held its
first tournament at Chicago in the year 1879. It has ever since
nurtured the sport and furthered competitive enthusiasm.
Maurice later became a noted author, Will an attorney-at-law, the dean
of American archers and a poet of remarkably happy expression. Here I
feel at liberty to insert one of Will Thompson's verses, sent me in
personal communications:
AN ARROW SONG
A song from green Floridian vales I heard,
Soft as the sea-moan when the waves are slow;
Sweeter than melody of brook or bird,
Keener than any winds that breathe or blow;
A magic music out of memory stirred,
A strain that charms my heart to overflow
With such vast yearning that my eyes are blurred.
Oh, song of dreams, that I no more shall know!
Bewildering carol without spoken word!
Faint as a stream's voice murmuring under snow,
Sad as a love forevermore deferred,
Song of the arrow from the Master's bow,
Sung in Floridian vales long, long ago.
WILL H. THOMPSON.
_A memory of my brother Maurice._
The Thompsons devoted much of their bow shooting to birds. Not only did
they hunt, but they studied the abundant avian life of the Florida
coast.
An archer must always, perforce, study animate nature and learn its
ways before he can capture it. In our early training with Ishi, the
Indian, he taught us to look before he taught us to shoot. "Little bit
walk, too much look," was his motto. The roving eye and the light step
are the signs of the forest voyageur.
The ideal way for an archer to travel is to carry on his shoulders a
knapsack containing a light sleeping bag and enough food to last him a
week. With me this means coffee, tea, sugar, canned milk, dried fruit,
rice, cornmeal, flour and baking powder mixture, a little bacon,
butter, and seasoning. This will weigh less than ten pounds. With other
minor appurtenances in the ditty bag, including an arrow-repairing kit,
one's burden is less than twenty pounds, an easy load.
If you have a dog, make him carry his own dry meal in little
saddle-bags on his back, as Dan Beard suggests. Then, with two dozen
arrows in your quiver, and your bow, the open trail lies ahead. There
is always meat to be had for the shooting. The camp fire and your dog
are companions at night, and at dawn all the world rolls out before you
as you go. It is a happy life!
When Ishi started to shoot with me, one bowman after another appeared
on the scene to join us. Among the first came Will Compton, a man of
mature years and many experiences. Brought up on the plains, he learned
to shoot the bow with the Sioux Indians. As a boy of fourteen he shot
his first deer with an arrow. From that time on, deer, elk, antelope,
birds of all sorts, and even buffalo fell before this primitive weapon.
He later hunted with the gun until the very ease of killing turned him
against it. So when he came to us, he was a seasoned archer. Upon a
visit to a Japanese archery gallery in the Panama-Pacific Exposition he
met for the first time Arthur Young, also an expert hunter with the
gun. A friendship sprang up between them, and Compton taught Young to
shoot the bow.
Compton had worked in the shop of Barnes, the bowmaker of Forest Grove,
Oregon, and later he went into the Cascade Mountains and cut yew staves
with an idea of selling them to the English bowyers. The Great War of
1914 prevented this, and so we had an unlimited supply of yew wood for
use.
We three gravitated together and shot with Ishi until his last sickness
and departure. Then our serious work began. We found it not only a
delightful way of hunting, but a trio makes success more certain in the
field.
In California there is an abundance of game; small animals exist
everywhere and there is no better training than to stalk the wary
ground squirrel or the alert cottontail. These every archer should
school himself to hit before he ventures after larger beasts.
Infinite patience and practice are needed to make a hunter. He must
earn his right to take life by the painful effort of constant shooting.
We shot together, and many are the bags of game we filled. We
discovered in the humble ground squirrel a delectable morsel more
palatable than chicken; re-discovered it, we may say, because the
Indian knew it first. In killing these little pests we take to the open
fields, approach a burrow by creeping up a gully or dip in the land,
rise up and shoot at such distances as we can. I recall one day when
Young and I got twenty-four squirrels with the bow. Upon another
occasion Young by himself secured seventeen in one morning; the last
five were killed with five successive arrows, the last squirrel being
forty-two paces away.
Rabbits are best hunted in company. Here the startled rodent skips
briskly off, down his accustomed run, only to meet another archer
standing motionless, ready with his arrow.
It seems legitimate with this rudimentary weapon to shoot animals on
the stand, or set, a sporting permit not granted to the devotee of the
shotgun, who has a hundred chances to our one.
We found from the very first that the arrow was more humane than the
gun. Counting all hunters, for every animal brought home with the gun,
whether duck, quail, or deer, at least two are hit and die in pain in
the brush.
Just to illustrate this, Mr. Young reported to me the results of his
shooting with a small rifle at ground squirrels. So expert is he that
to hit a squirrel in any spot but the head is quite unusual. In one
day's shooting between himself and his young son, they hit thirty-six
animals, sixteen of these escaped and disappeared down their burrows,
there to die later of their wounds.
[Illustration: THE PATRON SAINTS OF AMERICAN ARCHERY, WILL AND MAURICE
THOMPSON, AS THEY APPEARED IN 1878]
With the arrow it is different. Not only is the destructive power as
great as a small bullet, but the shaft holds the animal so that it
cannot escape. Practically none are lost in our hunts. A strange
phenomenon is seen in larger animals; they are easier to kill with an
arrow than small ones. A shot in either the chest or abdominal cavity
of a deer is invariably fatal in a few minutes; while a rabbit may
carry an arrow off until the obstructing undergrowth checks his flight.
It seems that their vital areas and blood vessels being smaller, are
less readily injured by the missile. A bullet can crash into the brain
of an animal, tear out a mass of tissue and generally shatter his
structure, but cause little bleeding. An arrow wound is clean-cut and
the hemorrhage is tremendous, but if not immediately fatal, it heals
readily and does little harm. The pain is no greater with the arrow
than with the bullet.
Our hunting of squirrel and rabbits was merely preparatory to the
taking of larger game; but even on our more pretentious expeditions, we
fill the vacant hours with lesser shooting and fill the camp kettle
with sweet tidbits.
Many a quail, partridge, sage hen, or grouse has flown from the heather
into our bag transfixed by a feathered shaft. Both Compton and Young
have shot ducks and geese, some on the wing. But we cannot compete with
the experiences of Maurice Thompson who, shooting ninety-eight arrows,
landed sixteen ducks on the wing.
Some amusing incidents have occurred in bird shooting. We consider the
bluejay a legitimate mark any day; he is a rascal of the deepest dye,
so we always shoot at him. Compton once tried one of his long shots at
a jay on the ground nearly eighty yards off. His line was good, but his
shot fell short. The arrow skidded and struck the bird in the tail just
as he left the ground for flight. The two rose together and sailed off
into space, like an aeroplane, with a preposterously long rudder, the
arrow out behind. They slowly wheeled in a circle a hundred yards in
diameter when the bird, nearing the archer, fell exhausted at his feet.
Compton picked up the jay, drew the arrow from the shallow skin wound
above his tail, and tossed him in the air. He disappeared with a volley
of expletives.
With an arrow it is also possible to shoot fish. Many wise old trout,
incurious and contented, deep in the shadowed pool, have been coaxed to
the frying pan through the archer's skill. Well I recall once, how
shooting fish not only brought us meat, but changed our luck. Young and
I were on a bear hunt. It had been a long, weary and unsuccessful quest
of the elusive beast. Bears seemed to have become extinct, so we took
to shooting trout in a quiet little meadow stream. Having buried an
arrow in the far bank, with a short run and a leap Young cleared the
brook and landed on the greensward beyond. The succulent turf slipped
beneath his feet and, like an acrobat, the archer turned a back
somersault into the cold mountain water. Bow, clattering arrows,
camera, field glasses and man, all sank beneath the limpid surface.
With a shout of laughter he clambered to the bank, his faithful bow
still in his hand, his quiver empty of arrows, but full of water. After
a hasty salvage of all damaged goods, we journeyed along, no worse for
the wetting. But immediately we began to see bear signs and ultimately
got our bruin. Young later said that if he had known the change of luck
that went with a good ducking, he would have tried it sooner.
We have often been asked if we do not poison our arrow points. Most
people seem to have the idea that an arrow is too impotent to cause
death; they conceive it a refined sort of torture and have no
conception of its destructive nature.
It is true that we thought at first of putting poison on our arrows
intended for lions, and we did coat some broad-heads with mucilage and
powdered strychnine, but we never used them. My physiologic experiments
with curare, the South American arrow poison, aconitin, the Japanese
Ainu poison, and buffogen, the Central American poison, had convinced
me that strychnine was more deadly. It would not harm the meat in the
dilution obtained in the blood, and it was cheap and effective.
Buffogen is obtained by the natives by taking the tropical toad, Buffo
Nigra, enclosing it in a segment of bamboo, heating this over a slow
fire and gathering the exuded juice of the dessicated batrachian. It is
a very powerful substance, having an action similar to that of
adrenalin and strychnine.
Salamandrine, an extract obtained from the macerated skin of the common
red water-dog, is also violently toxic.
But we had a disgust for these things. We soon learned, moreover, that
our arrows were sufficient without these adjuncts, and we deemed it
unsportsmanlike to consider them. Therefore, we abandoned the idea.
Ishi knew of the employment of these killing substances, but he did not
use them. In his tribe they made a poison by teasing a rattlesnake and
having it strike a piece of deer's liver. This was later buried in the
ground until it rotted, and the arrow points were smeared with this
revolting material. It was a combination of crotalin venom and ptomaine
poisons, a very deadly mess.
We much prefer the bright, clean knife-blade of our broad-heads to any
other missile.
The principles involved in seeking game with the bow and arrow are
those of the still hunt, only more refined.
An archer's striking distance extends from ten to one hundred yards.
For small animals it lies between ten and forty; for large game from
forty to eighty or a hundred. The distance at which most small game
flush varies with the country in which they live, the nature of their
enemies, and the prevalence of hunters. Quail and rabbits usually will
permit a man to approach them within twenty or thirty yards. This they
have learned is a safe distance for a fox or wildcat who must hurl
himself at them. It is quite a fair distance for any man with any
weapon, particularly the bow.
Most small game, especially rabbits, have sufficient curiosity to stand
after their first startled retreat. Beneath a bush or clump of weeds
they squat and watch on the _qui vive_. The arrow may find them there
when it strikes, but often the very flash of its departure and the
quick movement of the hand send the little beastie flying to his cover.
Here two sportsmen working together succeed better; one attracts the
rabbit's attention, the other shoots the shot.
[Illustration: SHOOTING BRUSH RABBITS]
[Illustration: ARCHERS IN AMBUSH]
[Illustration: ISHI RIDING A HORSE FOR THE FIRST TIME]
The marmot or woodchuck, is an impudent and cautious animal and he is a
difficult mark for a bowman's aim. But nothing has more comic
situations than an afternoon spent in a ground-hog village. After an
incontinent scuttle to his burrow, an old warrior backs into his hole,
then brazenly lifts his head and fastens his glittering eye upon you.
The contest of quickness then begins; the archer and the marmot play
shoot and dodge until one after the other all the arrows are exhausted
or a hit is registered. The ground-hog never quits. I can recall one
strenuous noon hour in an outcropping of rock where, between shattered
arrows, precipitous chasing of transfixed old warriors, defiant
whistlers on all sides, we piled up nearly a dozen victims.
Quail hunting requires careful shooting, but it is good training for
the bowman. A sentinel cock, sitting on a low limb, warns his covey of
our approach, but he himself makes a gallant mark for the archer. I saw
Compton spit such a bird on his arrow at fifty yards, while a confused
scurrying flock made easy shooting for two hunters. I am ashamed to say
that we have often taken advantage of the evening roosting of these
birds in trees to secure a supper for ourselves.
But the archer must exercise caution in this team work in the brush. He
should never forget that an arrow will kill a man as readily as it does
an animal and that one should always consider where his shot ultimately
will land, both for the purpose of finding his shaft and avoiding
accidents. Arrows have a great habit of glancing. Once when hunting
quail in a patch of willow in a dry wash, Compton shot at a bird on a
branch, missed it, and at the same instant Young, who was on the
opposite side of the thicket, heard a thwack at his right and turned to
find a broad-head arrow buried up to the barbs in a willow limb just
the height of the heart. It gave us all pause for thought. Look before
you shoot!
While small game may be taken by tactics of moderate cunning, larger
and more wary animals must be hunted by artful measures. Deer, still
abundant in our land, and properly safeguarded by game laws, test the
woodsman's skill to the utmost. To learn the art of finding deer, or
successful approach and ultimate capture, one must study life in the
open. Let him read the work of Van Dyke on still-hunting [1]
[Footnote 1: _The Still-hunter_, by Van Dyke. The Macmillan Co.]
to gain some idea of the many problems entailed.
In our country we have the Columbia black tail deer. Of course, only
bucks should be shot; as an old forest ranger said to me, "Does ain't
deer." And no one but a starving man would shoot a fawn. Here bucks are
hunted only in the fall, just as they shed their velvet and before the
rutting season. At this time they keep pretty quiet in the brush or
seek the higher lookout points on mountain ridges. They browse mostly
at night and are to be met wandering to water or back to their beds.
The older ones lie very quietly and seldom move far from their cover.
Sometimes in the heat of the day they stir about or go to drink. The
younger bucks are more audacious and seem to feel that their wisdom and
strength can carry them anywhere. For this reason a two-year-old or
forked horn is much more frequently brought down.
It is interesting to note that even in this day of civilization and the
extinction of wild life, deer are to be found within a radius of twenty
miles from our largest cities in California. We, however, invariably
journey by rail or motor car from fifty to three hundred miles to do
most of our hunting. We seek those regions that are most primeval. Here
game is largely in an undisturbed condition. From some station or
outpost we pack with horses into the foothills or higher levels of the
Coast Range or Sierra Nevada Mountains. Having made camp in a sheltered
spot, we hunt on foot over the adjacent country.
Just at dawn and at sunset are the favorite times for finding deer.
The hunters rise from their sleeping bags, make a hasty meal of coffee
and cakes, and long before the light of dawn sweeps the eastern sky,
they must be on the trail. Silently and alert they enter the land of
suspected deer. Taking advantage of every bit of cover, traveling into
the wind where possible, looking at every shadow, every spot of moving
color, they advance. Where trails exist they follow these, or if the
ground be carpeted with soft pine needles, they flit between the deeper
shades of the forest, watchful, and hearing every woodland sound.
Often the crashing bound of a deer through the brush proves that
cautious though the archer may be, more cautious is the deer. Or having
seen him first, the archer crouches, advances to a favorable spot,
gauges the distance, clears his eye, and nerves himself for a supreme
effort. He draws his sturdy bow till the sharpened barb pricks his
finger and bids him loose--a hit, a leap, a clattering flight. Watching
and immovable, the archer listens with straining ears. He must not
stir, he must not follow; later he can trail the quarry. Give the
wounded deer time to lie down and die, then find him.
It is a surprising experience to see animals stand and let arrows fall
about them without fear. An archer has special privileges because he
uses nature's tools.
The whizzing missile is no more than a passing bird to the beast. What
hurt can that bring? The quiet man is only an interesting object on the
landscape, there is no noise to cause alarm. Most animals are ruled by
curiosity till fright takes control. But some are less curious than
others, notably the turkey. There is a story among sportsmen that
describes this in the Indian's speech. "Deer see Injun. Deer say, 'I
see Injun; no, him stump; no, him Injun; no, maybe stump.' Injun shoot.
Turkey see Injun; he say, 'I see Injun.' He go!"
The use of dogs in deer hunting should be restricted to trailing
wounded animals. Here a little mongrel, if properly trained, serves
better than a blooded breed. No dog should be permitted to run deer,
especially if wounded. It is only the dog's nose we need, not his legs.
An ideal canine for an archer would be one having the olfactory organs
of a hound and the reasoning capacity of a college professor. With him
one could trail animals, yet not flush them; perceive the imminence of
game, yet not startle it; run coyotes, wolves, cougars, and bear, yet
never confuse their scent nor abandon the quest of one for that of
another. But as it is, no dog seems capable of doing all things, so we
need specialists. A good bear and lion dog should never taste deer meat
nor follow his tracks.
[Illustration: A REST AT NOON]
[Illustration: A LYNX THAT MET AN ARCHER]
[Illustration: THE CHIEF LOOKING OVER GOOD DEER COUNTRY]
A good coon dog should stick to coons and let rabbits alone. And the
sort of dog an archer needs for deer is one that can point them, yet
will not follow one unless it is wounded.
Every good dog will come to the ringing note of the horn.
And after all, there lies the soul of the sport. The fragrance of the
earth, the deep purple valleys, the wooded mountain slopes, the clean
sweet wind, the mysterious murmur of the tree tops, all call the hunter
forth. When he hears the horn and the baying hound his heart leaps
within him, he grasps his good yew bow, girds his quiver on his hip,
and enters a world of romance and adventure.
X
THE RACCOON, WILDCAT, FOX, COON, CAT, AND WOLF
Of all the canny beasts, Brother Coon is the wisest, and were it not
for his imprudence and self-assurance, he would be less frequently
captured than the coyote, who is also a very clever gentleman. As it
is, a raccoon hunt is a nocturnal escapade that may be enjoyed by any
lively boy or man who happens to own a coon dog.
Now a coon dog is any sort of a dog that has a sporting instinct and a
large propensity for combat. We have, of course, that product of
culture and breeding, the coon hound, an offshoot from the English fox
hound. This dog is a marvel in his own sphere.
Although we have not devoted a great deal of time to coon hunting, one
or another of our group has counted the scalps of quite a number of
_Procyon lotor_. Having been accepted as a companion of one or two or
more ambitious and enthusiastic dogs, we start out at dusk to hunt the
creek bottoms for coons. Provided with bows, blunt arrows, and a
lantern, we unleash the dogs, and the fun begins.
One must be prepared to scramble through blackberry vines, nettles,
tangled swamps, and to climb trees. The dogs busy themselves sniffing
and working through the underbrush, crossing the creek back and forth,
investigating old hollow trees, displaying signs of exaggerated
interest and industry.
Suddenly there is a change in their vocal expression. Heretofore the
short, snappy bark has spoken only of anticipation and eagerness; now
there comes the instinctive yelp of the questing beast, the hound on
the scent. It bursts from them like a wail from the distant past. As if
shot, they are off in a bunch. A clatter of sounds, scratching,
rustling, and scrambling, we hear them tearing through t
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