Woods Runner

“When he first started going into the forest, Samuel went only a short distance. That first time, though he was well armed with his light Pennsylvania rifle and dry powder and a good knife, he instantly felt that he was in an alien world. As a human he did not belong. It was a world that did not care about man any more than it cared about dirt, or grass, or leaves.”

Samuel speaks of the woods with a type of reverence, attributing it an otherworldliness that’s notable, considering his knowledge of and comfort within the woods. Saying that the forest “did not care about men” further divides “civilization” from nature as a creation that comes from man forcing his will onto the natural world to make it more comfortable for himself.

“Once, sitting by the fire, a distant relative, a shirttail uncle who was a very old man of nearly fifty named Ishmael, had looked over his shoulder as if expecting to see monsters and said, “Nothing dies of old age in the forest. Not bugs, not deer, not bear nor panthers nor man. Live long enough, be slow enough, get old enough and something eats you. Everything kills.” 

Here, Samuel reveals his initial thoughts about death and violence. In this first chapter, the woods are described as a place of death, a constant tension between predator and prey, compared to the reasoned civilization of man. As this impression will be inverted over the course of the novel, Ishmael’s words set up the complexity of the novel’s perspective on death and violence.

“Although Samuel’s parents lived in the wilderness, they were not a part of it. They had been raised in towns and had been educated in schools where they’d been taught to read and write and play musical instruments. They moved west when Samuel was a baby, so that they could devote themselves to a quiet life of hard physical work and contemplation. They loved the woods, but they did not understand them. Not like Samuel.” 

This quote indicates that Samuel sees the dividing line in their cabin as one that further divides himself and his parents: On one side, his mother and father read and value the instruments of culture; on the other, Samuel feels a greater affinity with the wilderness he’s grown up in, rather than the cities he knows only from books and stories.

“He could not stop his wondering about what lay to the east. The World. It was supposed to be a better place than the frontier, with a more sensible way to live. And yet he had just learned an ugly truth about that world only the evening before. Those people in the world who were supposed to be civilized, full of knowledge and wisdom and graciousness and wealth and education, were caught in the madness of a vicious, bloody war. It did not make any sense.” 

Samuel’s view of civilization before the attack verges on mythic. It is a world wholly unfamiliar to him and thus can be understood only through pieces. The “war” piece does not fit neatly with the other pieces he’s been given, so he struggles to reconcile it. Too, these thoughts emphasize the contrast between civilization and wilderness that continues through the novel.

“There was always some measure of violence on the frontier: marauding savages, drunks, thieves—“evil-doers,” men who operated outside the walls of reason. Harshness was to be expected in the wild. But nothing like this, nothing that challenged the established order, the very rule of the Crown, the civilized life that came from the English way of living.” 

Samuel’s experience with violence and wrongdoing to this point has been the actions of individuals who stepped outside of the boundaries of civilized life. These are small-scale, isolated occurrences. The idea of large-scale, organized, intentional warfare is so new and shocking that Samuel has trouble processing it. 

“He stood, his breathing ragged, sobbing softly. Twice he had thrown up, and the smell and taste mixed with the tears of frustration and grief for his friends, and rage for what had been done to them. He knew that if he lived to be a hundred, he would never lose the taste, the smell, or the images of what he had seen: the madness of what men could do to other men in savage rage.” 

Samuel, as a skilled hunter, has seen and even caused death. What he has not seen before is the pointless and brutal slaughter of innocent people at the hands of other men. This is a moment that strips from him a large portion of his innocence and also marks a point of significant trauma that will shape him for the rest of his life.

“Samuel was just thirteen, but he lived on a frontier where even when things were normal, someone his age was thirteen going on thirty. Childhood ended when it was possible to help with chores; for a healthy boy or girl, it ended at eight or nine, possibly ten.” 

Most of this type of information is contained within the informational passages, but Paulsen makes a point of including this within the narrative itself. This is possibly because it reflects Samuel’s own knowledge of this convention. It could also be a way of emphasizing the information within the narrative. Either way, this allows us to position Samuel along the scale of childhood-to-adulthood as it stood in the late 18th century, rather than our current understanding. Samuel is several years out from “childhood” but not so far out that he’d be considered an “adult” either.

“Samuel’s knowledge grew until when he heard a twig break, he would know whether it was a deer or bear or squirrel that broke it. He could look at a track and know when the animal or man made it, and whether or not the creature was in a hurry and if so, why, and how fast it was going and what, if anything, was chasing it and how close the purser might be.” 

This passage emphasizes the ease with which Samuel understands and navigates the woods. Unlike most humans, he reads the sights, sounds, and smells of the forest in a way that mimics the animal residents. The detail of this passage reflects the depth and breadth of knowledge that Samuel has gained from his time in the woods, largely alone.

“Samuel’s father had seen bad things happen to other people, but was too good inside, too generous, to believe that they could happen to him. He must believe now, Samuel thought.” 

This passage sets Samuel’s father in a position of innocence relative to that of Samuel’s worldliness. This could reflect how dramatically Samuel’s world view has changed, or it could be an indication of his already growing maturity. In an earlier passage, Samuel had referred to his father as someone who would not have carried his gun if he were near the house. These observations suggest that Samuel, even in the fading bloom of childhood, believes himself to view the world more realistically and pragmatically than his parents. 

“Coop snorted. ‘Don’t take much thinkin’. Them that starts in to killing people for no reason, them that comes and takes your folks with a rope around their necks—they’s the bad ones. Your good people don’t do that.’” 

This is one of several perspectives on the difference between good and bad, right and wrong. Samuel has earlier expressed that there is a type of reasonable, justified killing (such as culling the deer so that they don’t destroy the corn fields) but has struggled to reconcile the brutal actions of the attackers with any kind of reason. Later passages will debate whether the British soldiers are bad or if they can be good on an individual level. Here, Coop suggests that all one must do to tell if someone is good or bad is to pay attention to their actions; good people will do good things, bad people will do bad.

“First, chicken would taste good. The thought of a roasted chicken made him salivate. Second, if they hadn’t been attacked it must mean they were friendly to the raiders, who must have come right through here. Third—an easy jump in thinking—it would be all right for Samuel to “confiscate” a chicken, assuming the farmer was friendly with Samuel’s mortal enemy.” 

This is another example of the novel’s conversation about good versus bad. Samuel is a responsible and virtuous young man and would ordinarily not steal. In this case, however, he is starving—and yet, before he can decide the theft of a chicken, he reasons through whether the actions can be justified by the situation. 

“I heard the officer say to another soldier that the only reason he brought your father was that he saw a chessboard when they raided the cabin and he wanted somebody to play with.” 

Samuel’s father’s appreciation for and knowledge of civilized culture is what saves his life. The officer, missing the comforts of home, takes Olin prisoner rather than killing him. Though civilization has proved nothing but bloody for Samuel thus far, this moment requires the reader to complicate their understanding of both the British soldiers and their motivations.

“Samuel was sickened by the cruelty, the absolute viciousness, of the attack, and he hunched over and retched […] Caleb and Ma. The food, eating together, how open and gentle and pleasant and good it had been to sit with them and talk. Destroyed. Gone. Gone in this ugly war with these evil men.” 

Samuel has come upon the scene of destruction once the attackers have already passed. This time, he is present to watch both the senselessness and speed with which it occurs. He struggles profoundly with the way these people had been kind and vibrantly alive so very recently. Life is so difficult to build and so easy to destroy. The Hessians having done this gratuitously, with no claim to self-defense or necessity, cements them as evil in Samuel’s mind.

“He was having a very difficult time. With almost everything. The jolt from what his life had been just short weeks ago to what it was now had been so sudden, the gulf so vast, that he felt he was in a completely different world, one dominated by violence and insanity. The woods were the one thing he knew and still believed in. He was thankful for the haven of the forest as they traveled.” 

This is one of the few passages where Samuel is explicit about his pain and trauma. The world he’s entered is nothing like the one he’d imagined when his parents told him about the civilized world—instead, it is marked by viciousness and mad violence. For Samuel, then, his journey has landed him in an alien world entirely outside of his understanding of either side of the dividing line in his cabin. 

“They avoided everybody. Samuel trusted no one, not even people who might have been friendly. Annie complained only once. ‘We jump into the woods every time we see somebody,’ she said. ‘They can’t all be bad.’ ‘Yes, Samuel said, thinking of the Hessians, ‘they can. Every single one of them can be bad. So we hide. And that’s it.’ His voice had an edge that kept her from arguing.” 

Along with the loss of his innocence, Samuel has also lost his ability to trust in the goodness of people. Instead of seeing the people they encounter as fellow travelers or humans, he sees them all as a threatening source of potential violence. Annie, despite having seen her parents’ murder, still retains enough of her innocence to believe that other humans—maybe even most humans—have the capacity for goodness.

“Samuel almost smiled. She looked so ragged—her dress was indescribably dirty and so was her face. Her hair stuck out at odd angles. The dirt was caked on her legs, and her feet looked like shoe leather—and yet she was ready to do what had to be done. I’m proud, he thought, to have you as a sister.” 

This passage comes after Annie has announced that she and Samuel will travel to New York to get “our ma and pa” (94). Samuel thinks then that she has found a way to cope with her trauma and loss: the adoption of Samuel and his parents as her own. Rather than refute this, Samuel accepts her and feels pride when he reflects on her toughness and endurance. This is an important insight into Samuel’s values.

“‘But the soldiers aren’t always a problem. Sometimes they take things, act up rough, but other times they seem to follow some sort of rule. Unless they be Hessians. Then even the pass might not work.’ He shook his head. ‘They ain’t nothing good about the Hessians. They were born bad.’ Annie nodded. She had been so quiet Samuel had almost forgotten she was there, sitting between them. Her voice was brittle, like it could break in the middle of a word. ‘They’re all bad.’” 

Abner provides another perspective on good and bad. He recognizes gradations of the “badness” of the British, native, and Hessian soldiers, though even he condemns the Hessians as too cruel to be redeemable. Though the novel certainly frowns upon the British soldiers and their native allies, it also acknowledges the hardships and torture they also experience. On the Hessians, though, the novel takes a hard stance: They are evil, they are “little more than beasts” (73), and they destroy indiscriminately.

“As they had gotten closer to the city, there had been more and more cleared farms. Some were nice, even beautiful. Some had been attacked and burned—probably by the Hessians—but many had not. It made no sense, nor did it follow any logic—like so much of what had happened.” 

This passage both shows Samuel’s struggle to understand what’s happening (and why it’s happening) and deepens the novel’s theme of gratuitous versus justified violence. The seemingly random nature of the attacks and the arbitrarily spared homes emphasizes the senselessness and pointlessness of the death and destruction. 

“How could they hope to find anybody in all those buildings? Looking at the city, imagining how many people must be there, made the rest of the trip seem almost easy. The woods, the forest, was nothing compared to this.” 

Samuel, finally out of the wilderness and into the civilization he’d only read about, is overwhelmed by how different it is. The population density, cramped buildings, and grid-like organization leave him feeling lost and out of place. Where others would feel that way in the woods, Samuel feels that way in a large city. This is a particularly interesting insight into Samuel’s character, as one would assume that most people would be more comfortable in the civil, developed human city than in the woods, where there are no street signs or shelter. 

“Like it? It’s life itself.”

Olin’s response to the humble meal he is provided during the escape shows the powerful symbolic and literal meaning of food within the novel. Olin is not exaggerating; he was well on the way to dying of starvation. Recognizing that life is as external as it is internal (food and water sustain the spark of life within the person) allows the novel to emphasize what a struggle it was for the frontier people to live with limited resources. Olin’s near starvation, too, demonstrates the cruel neglect that prisoners of war were subjected to. Olin was taken from his home for no reason, abducted for the sake of an abduction, and then was left to starve in a cramped warehouse, having committed no crime and posing no threat to the British soldiers. This narrative version of the informational passages about the taking and treatment of prisoners humanizes the historical record. 

“They’re going to try to be your ma and pa, but for now, you have to be the leader. They don’t have the knowledge for what’s coming. You do.” 

Abner’s acknowledgment of Samuel as the leader and provider for his family is an important part of the novel’s coming-of-age story. Abner, who has encountered Samuel as an equal and helped him as he would another man, rather than a child, articulates the ways Samuel’s relationship with his parents will change. They will see him as a child, but Abner advises him as a man.

“She shook her head. ‘No, you’ve changed. Not in a bad way. You…know things. See differently. Think differently. If I didn’t know you, I don’t think I would recognize you. It’s like you’ve gone to some far place and come back a different person. But I love the new Samuel as much as I loved the old. And I’m very glad, I’m so thankful, that you’re with us, to show us, to head us.’ She held his hand.”

Samuel’s skill and willingness to step up to the role of leader does not go unnoticed by his mother. She recognizes, accepts, and praises the “new” Samuel—a young man, now, who has been shaped by tragedy, danger, and courage. When she acknowledges the changes, she also acknowledges his movement out of childhood and embraces him as a man. This is repeated in the Epilogue, when she supports Samuel’s plan to return to the back trails and help others the way he was helped.

“Samuel tried not to look at the officer he had killed. As with the Indian, it had happened by reflex. So quick. And final. The death bothered him, but when he thought of that saber coming down at him, he knew there had been no choice.” 

This is not the first time Samuel kills or attacks a man in the novel, but it is the most explicit glimpse we get of his perspective. The Epilogue will tell us that Samuel refuses to join in the shooting even once he’s rejoined the rebel cause. When he shoots this officer, we can see the internal struggle between the high value he places on life and the necessity of killing in self-defense.