XXIIIOFF TO THE LUMBER CAMP
To reach the river which would take them thirty miles on its racing waters to the lumber camp on its shore, the three voyagers were obliged to traverse the length of the lake, portage through the woods to the splendid sheet of water from which they had gone to the beaver-dam, and paddle the entire length of this large lake, whence they must take to land and carry to the river.
The morning was well advanced when Ben set the canoe down on the river-bank and wiped the moisture from his forehead.
“Very warm, isn’t it?” said Ed, slipping his pack and dropping down to rest in the shade.
“You bet!” declared George, as he did likewise.
Ben stood with his back to them, and seemed to be thinking about something. He gazed intently at the yellow water gliding swiftly along beneath him. He noted theeffect along shore of the “going out” of the ice with the recent flood.
Great trees had been gashed and splintered by the resistless rush of huge, grinding cakes borne along and piled one upon the other by the raging, snow-fed river. Others had been uprooted and carried down with the flood, or piled in a tangled jam along the shore. In some places the steep banks themselves had been undermined, until large portions had crumbled and fallen into the water, taking trees and rocks with them. It was the annual toll of the river, exacted and collected by its freshet-swollen waters each spring.
“She’s still quite high. Guess we’ll go some when we hit the rapids,” he laughed.
“Are we really going through the rapids?” inquired George, eagerly.
“Yes, we have two sets to run,” Ben replied.
The boys did a double shuffle in their delight. They had read thrilling tales of shooting rapids. Now they were to shoot rapids themselves.
Ben carried the canoe some distance along the bank and launched it in a quiet backwater. The boys brought the packs, and the guide stowed them skilfully away in the canoe. He made sure that the light craft would be evenly balanced. He shifted thebags several times, until the canoe floated on a proper keel.
Then he ordered the lads to take their places. Seating himself in the stern, he pushed from the shore, with a long, iron-shod pike-pole, which he used in the rapids and in pushing up-stream against the current. Once in the stream, the canoe shot forward with the current, and the eventful journey was begun.
They were carried along so swiftly that Ben needed to do little more than to steer. In the rapids waves broke along the sides of the fragile bark, and then swept on, hissing, in a swirl of amber foam along the stern. George declared it was like going to sea in a peanut-shell. The canoe raced along, steady as a rock, thanks to Ben’s care in loading it.
It was past noon when they entered a quieter stretch of water and Ben turned the bow of his craft toward shore. Beaching the canoe, they pulled it up and took out what they needed for luncheon.
Ben started a fire, and when it was crackling merrily he told his young companions to joint their fish-rods. When they had done this, he searched carefully through their stock of artificial flies and chose those he thought would be most alluring. Then hebade them follow up a little brook which flowed down through the woods and emptied into the river near-by. He told them to go along this brook until they came to a large, foam-covered pool at the base of a falls, and to fish this pool thoroughly. Then, wishing the lads luck, he dismissed them and promised to have dinner ready when they returned.
Ed and George hastened eagerly upstream toward the coveted pool. Heeding Ben’s instructions, they kept well back from the bank of the brook, to avoid frightening any trout which might be lurking between the falls and the river. They hoped to fish on the way down.
After some rough traveling over prostrate logs and through exasperating tangles of deadwood they arrived within sound of the falls. In their impatience to reach the scene of action they hurried forward carelessly, and were “hung up” many times by twigs and bushes which caught their lines and rods. But soon they were standing on huge, moss-grown boulders near the foot of the falls. The top was far above them. The water formed a glittering curtain, which fell into the rocky basin below with an echoing roar. Drifting clouds of misty vapor arose and blew into their faces. And there at theirfeet was the pool: deep, black, and dotted with patches of foam that circled slowly about its edges.
“Isn’t this great?” shouted Ed, endeavoring to make himself heard.
But George, who was only a few yards away, shook his head to show that he could not hear. Then he raised his rod and let his fly drop gently on the water close to a cake of foam.
Instantly there was a flash from beneath, a swirl on the surface, and with a swift turn of his wrist George struck and felt the hook go home. The line tightened, the light rod bent, and as the trout felt the barb and darted away, the reel began to sing.
“Good boy, you’ve got him!” yelled Ed.
George was too busy to reply, if he heard his friend at all. His fight was on. He was pitting skill and light rod and delicate line against the cunning and courage of the trout. Twice it leaped from the water in its struggles, and each time the glistening body shot into the air it appeared larger in the eyes of the excited boys. Then down it went into the depths of the pool again, and the taut line cut widening circles through the crust of foam.
Ed was too absorbed in the battle to thinkof wetting his own line. Rod in hand, he stood idly by cheering on the efforts of his friend. Several times, as the fortunes of war shifted from one to the other of the combatants, Ed almost slipped from the rock upon which he had recklessly climbed.
George played his fish skilfully, and soon began to work it, inch by inch, toward the spot where he stood. It was not yet subdued, however, and in one of its frantic rushes it caught the young angler off his guard and came near smashing his rod. After that he was more careful, and at last the plucky fish, weakened by the long struggle against the spring of the rod, was drawn slowly in; and presently George landed it on the bank, glistening and beautiful in its brave dress of dark back, vermilion spots, and ivory-lined fins.
They fished the pool for a time, and then started down the stream, fishing it carefully from either side. By the time they reached Ben they had a splendid catch of trout to show for their work.
“That’s a mighty good string of fish,” he declared, stooping to examine the larger ones. “Say, there’s a dandy; about three pounds. Who got that fellow?”
The boys gave him the full details of the battle, and he listened with interest. Whilethey were talking he opened and cleaned the fish, which gave them a fine woodland feast. When it was over they embarked and floated rapidly down the river toward the lumber camp, which Ben hoped to reach before dark.
The boys thought it strange that they did not see more deer and moose. But it seemed that at that particular season of the year the cow moose and doe deer were hidden deep away in the woods with their young. There they would remain until the little ones were able to follow them about, later in the season.
At the same time the bull moose and the buck deer were growing new horns, having shed the old ones late in the winter. Until these new antlers grew to respectable size the bulls and the bucks remained out of sight as much as possible, as though ashamed of being seen without the formidable weapons which would later adorn their brows.
The boys learned also that when the new antlers begin to form they look like velvety knobs or bumps. These are at first pulpy and tender, and filled with blood. Then they begin to grow into the shape of real horns, and are covered with a moss-like protection, known to woodsmen as “velvet.” Later in the summer, when the new horns have attainedfull length and hardened, they are rubbed against trees and bushes to free them of this outside covering, which then comes off in long strips, leaving the antlers clean and shiny.
“I’m glad to learn that,” said Ed. “Isn’t it wonderful?”
“I should say so,” replied George, as he thought of the strange wild life of the woods.
“Now then, sit close!” Ben warned, rising in the stern of the canoe, pole in hand. “We’re coming to the first rapids, and they’re mad! Hear them?”
The boys heard a low, indistinct rumbling ahead of them. They noted that the canoe was moving faster, as the rumbling increased to a loud, sullen roar. Before them they saw a long, steep pitch of white-crested water. Great curling waves seemed to beckon them on. And, as if in reply to the challenge, Ben swung his little craft into the middle of the river and sent it boldly on into the clutches of the raging torrent.
Crouching low, their hands grasping the sides of the canoe, Ed and George gazed straight ahead with startled eyes and serious faces. The roar of the angry, white-topped water, the shock from waves which hurled themselves against the canoe and dashedtheir spray into the faces of its occupants, the danger from submerged boulders and water-logged tree-trunks whose branches, like arms, reached hungrily toward the frail sides of the little craft, the fear of capsizing and being swept to destruction by the swirling waters—all this overwhelmed the lads and kept them silent. A fragile barrier of cedar and canvas, and the alert eye, clear brain, and strong arm of Ben was all that stood between them and destruction. He was equal to the task, however, and with feet well braced, body inclined slightly forward, and the pole tightly clenched in his powerful hands, he stood in the stern of the plunging canoe and guided it safely through that raging inferno into the safe water beyond.
“Well, we made that all right,” he said, quietly, resuming his seat and substituting the paddle for the pole. “Sort of scared you a little, didn’t it?” he laughed.
“Say, that was an experience!” declared Ed. “Did you stand all the way?”
“Had to,” said Ben.
“Talk about bare-back riders!” cried George. “You’ve got them beaten a mile.”
They were now in smooth, swift-flowing water, where they could regain their composure before plunging into the next set ofrapids, which Ben said were some distance ahead. Now that they had passed safely through their first experience in “swift water,” the boys caught the enthusiasm of it, and were eager to reach the second stretch.
“Look!” whispered Ben, suddenly, with a slight gesture, and as they turned they saw a large bull moose staring at them from the shore. For an instant they were too amazed to think, but then, noting the small, fuzzy-looking knobs, one over each eye, they had the evidence of the shedding and growth of horns verified by their own eyes. As the canoe approached, the massive creature shook its head impatiently, and, turning, entered the forest and disappeared into the shadows as noiselessly as a fox.
The day was a glorious one of sunshine and fragrance and song. The full flush of spring had come upon the wilderness and caused it to bloom. The delicate tint of the newly leafed trees; the flowering shad-bush, or more stately dogwood, white and conspicuous against a background of green; the sweet-scented breath of the dark, somber pines and hemlocks, mingled with that from myriads of early woodland blossoms, and wafted to them on the soft, balmy air; and, above all, the songs of the birds, which filled their earswith woodland music—all this thrilled them with the joy of living. “‘When the Red Gods call,’” whispered George, happily, as Kipling’s poem came into his mind.
Then they heard again the low, warning rumble of distant rapids, and once more their hearts beat fast. Anxiously they peered ahead for a sight of the long lane of “white caps.” The noise became louder; and, rounding a turn of the river, they saw the rapids tossing in front of them.
This time they had no fear when the canoe, with Ben standing in the stern, raced down through the center of that wild course. They had implicit confidence in the skill of the guide, and they enjoyed each moment as the little bark plunged and careened in its uncertain passage among the waves. As before, Ben brought them safely through, and paddled on down the river.
It was late in the afternoon when two sturdy figures emerged from the edge of the woods and hailed the canoe. Ben replied, and told the boys that they were lumbermen. He said they would soon reach the great camp itself, now but a short distance farther on.
“We’ve made a whole lot better time coming down than we’ll be able to make going back,” he said, when Ed expressed surprisethat they had finished the trip so soon. “Fact is, we’ve ridden down on the back of the flood; but we’ll return with what is left of it pushing us in the face.”
On both sides of the river were many logs lying along the bank close to the water. They had been cut and dragged there during the winter, and when the water subsided to the desired level they would be rolled into it and floated down to the mill, many miles below. Other men now appeared along the shores and waved their hands cheerfully at the canoemen.
“They have their booms stretched,” said Ben, pointing to a long line of floating logs chained one to the other. “That means they’re intending to send the logs down—probably to-morrow.”
The boys found that the booms were used to guide the logs in their course, and to hold them back at certain stations until the stream below was cleared for their passage or a jam broken up. He told them that a jam was a great tangled pile-up of logs, caused by one or two logs grounding, or jamming, and obstructing the progress of the hundreds afloat behind them.
It appeared that patrols of lumbermen were stationed along the river, while the logs were“running,” to watch for just such emergencies. These men would go fearlessly to work to break a jam, a hard and dangerous task. If unsuccessful, they would run to the nearest of the telephone-boxes, which the company had placed at intervals along the shore, and summon aid. Sometimes a bad jam required the work of several days to break it, and dynamite was often used in such cases.
Twilight was gathering when they spied a clearing some distance along on the right bank of the river. As they approached they saw that it contained several long, low, log cabins.
“There’s the camp,” said Ben, and he headed the bow of the canoe toward shore.
As he drew closer he shouted. Immediately some men made their appearance in the doorway of one cabin, and, seeing the canoe, came outside. Two of them left the group and started slowly toward the water. When they had come near enough to recognize Ben, they called to him and pointed to a suitable landing-place. As soon as the bow of the canoe touched bottom, they pulled it from the water, and the three occupants stepped out.
“Howdy, Ben,” greeted the two lumbermen.
“Helloa, Ned! Helloa, Jim!” replied theguide, shaking each of them by the hand. Then he motioned to the boys. “These are young friends of mine, Ed Williams and George Rand; they’ve been spending the winter with me. Boys, shake hands with Ned Crawford and Jim Halliday. Crawford is foreman of this crew, and Jim is the greatest log-rider in the country.”
Ed and George unloaded their packs from the canoe and, manfully refusing an offer of assistance, shouldered the loads and followed Ben toward the cabins. They saw Ned wink at the guide and nod toward them approvingly, and they were glad they had declined help and “rustled” for themselves.
“The boys are at supper,” explained the big foreman, indicating the cabin with the smoking chimney. “I’ll take you fellows over to the bunk-house, and you can leave your ‘turkeys,’ and wash up a bit. Then we’ll mosey over and have something to eat.”
The lads looked about them curiously when they entered the great house with its rows of bunks. Along the first half of each side were long benches. In the center of the room was a huge, round stove, and, although it contained no fire—for the nights were not cold enough to require one—many articles of clothing were hung upon it to dry. A large kerosene-filledlamp, suspended from overhead in the middle of the room, furnished what light there was.
“You can leave your ‘turkeys’ over there; take those two bunks,” said Crawford, designating the proper ones.
Ben promptly tossed his pack into one of them and smiled broadly when the boys looked at him in some confusion.
“Your pack, or ‘duffle,’ is your ‘turkey,’” laughed the guide. “Put yours in that lower bunk.”
“Yep, that’s what we call it,” the foreman explained. “Now, you’ll find the basin and a pail of water outside by the door, and here’s a clean towel. When you’re all fixed up handsome like, come over and join us in the ‘grub-shanty,’” he said, and left them.
When they had stowed away their belongings, they went outside and washed at the battered tin basin. While they were going through this interesting and necessary ceremony several lumbermen came up to shake hands with Ben. Then they went to the “grub-shanty,” or dining-cabin, where the foreman was waiting to welcome them.
A long pine table, flanked on either side by low, continuous benches, extended almost the length of the room. At it sat the lumbercrew—deep-chested, quick-eyed men of the wilderness. Ben readily called most of them by name as he and the boys took seats.
Soon a big, swarthy-faced man, who wore a soiled apron and had his sleeves rolled above his elbows, came scuffling in and placed three smoking bowls of oatmeal—“oats” he called it—before the new-comers. Then he struck the guide a resounding whack between the shoulders, as proof of his delight at seeing him.
“Helloa, Charley!” said Ben, when he had recovered sufficient breath. “Why didn’t you hit me with an ax?—it wouldn’t have hurt so much.”
The cook roared his delight at the compliment to his strength, and Ben introduced Ed and George. “Remember to always keep on the proper side of the cook, and you’ll come out all right,” laughed the guide.
They watched Charley disappear into a sort of out-shanty, where several other men in aprons seemed to be fussing about with pots and pans. Presently he reappeared and supplied them with cups of tea, “sour-dough bread,” and a plentiful portion of baked beans.
“Pile into it strong,” he urged. “You’ll never get the gout from any fancy dishes of mine.”
The boys did not delay. The trip and the spring air had sharpened their appetites. They instantly became popular with the cook by their devotion to the substantial fare set before them, and from time to time they cast curious glances at the long rows of jolly, brown-faced men with whom they sat.
They had heard and read so much about the “lumber-jacks,” and they wanted to find out what sort of fellows they were. They were compelled to laugh outright at the quaint expressions used by these men in asking for the various things on the table.
“Hey, Joe, chase the cow down here, will you?” And at once Joe understood and passed the milk down the table toward several of his friends, who were calling, “Co boss, co boss.” “Roll along the spuds” meant to pass the potatoes. “Say, Charley, I’m shy a stabber,” was replied to by the gift of a fork. A spoon was alluded to as a “dipper,” and so on through the entire list. Ben laughingly explained each phrase as it was employed, and the boys memorized it with the purpose of trying it on the family at home.
When the meal was finished, they accompanied Ben to the canoe for the string of fish, which he presented to Ned, with the compliments of the young anglers.
“There’s sure one dandy fish in that bunch, and that’s calling it something, ’cause they’re all dandies,” declared the foreman, holding the trout at arm’s length, so that all might admire it.
Then they went into the bunk-house and took places on “the mourners’ bench,” which was what Ben said the lumbermen had christened the seats along the sides of the cabin.
“When do you figure on running your logs?” he asked, when Ned came in and seated himself beside them.
“To-morrow, if things go as we expect. Got all our booms stretched, and the water ought to be right if she slides down a notch or two before morning. Quite a gang of the boys along the river now—boom gangs,” he explained.
“Well, boys, we’re just in time to see the fun, and I guess Ned won’t mind if we stay around a day or two,” said Ben. “You see, Ned, I’d like these fellows to see something of a real log-drive before they go home.”
“The latch-string of this here camp is always out for you and your friends, Ben; and the longer your hat hangs on the peg, the better we like it,” was the foreman’s reply.
For some time the men talked together inlittle groups ranged along the wall. The guide seized the opportunity to make Ed and George familiar with some famous characters of the logging country. There was “Shorty” Brundage, a square-shouldered, stockily built young fellow, who bore the proud distinction of having loosened more jams than any other man in the crew. Several times he had escaped death by the merest margin. Next to him sat “Red” Thompson, who had achieved fame by “riding” a log through the first set of rapids. Slightly farther along, a dark-skinned man was stooped over unlacing his “larrigans.” Ben said that he was the renowned Pierre La Valley, known throughout the big woods wherever an ax was swung. With a double-headed ax he could fell a tree quicker than any two men. At each swing he turned the blade so that every stroke was made with an alternate edge. His fame as an axman had traveled abroad over the entire lumber country, and scores of good men had been matched against him; but as yet he was undefeated. At the far end of the bench was “Jake” Grant, champion “birler” of the crew. The boys asked what “birler” meant, and were told they would learn before they left the camp.
This roll-call of heroes was interrupted whensome one called for Tony and his fiddle. A tall youth, with the features and hair of an Indian, brought forth a violin and seated himself at the head of “the mourners’ bench.”
“He’s a half-breed,” whispered Ben.
“Cut her loose, Tony!”
“Open her up wide!”
“Wat you fellows want?” asked the fiddler.
“‘Turkey in the Straw,’” cried some.
“‘Old Dan Tucker,’” urged others.
Tony favored those making the most noise, and started the lively strains of “Turkey in the Straw,” a jig dear to the heart of every backwoodsman. The men kept time with feet and hands, and before long the boys joined in. “Lanky” Jack Stewart brought out a mouth-organ, and added his efforts to those of Tony. Then the foreman produced an accordion, and the home-made orchestra was complete. The music was loud and lively; and, unable to restrain their buoyant spirits, several of the “lumber-jacks” jumped to their feet and began to dance a “shake-down.”
The lads soon found themselves yelling like the rest, for the fun was contagious. Ben looked at them and smiled across at the foreman, who was rocking his body to the accompaniment of the notes from his accordion.
The merrymaking finally wound up withan impromptu Virginia Reel, in which the three visitors were compelled to dance. It was no gentle affair, that “going down the line.” Resounding whacks stung the bodies of the good-natured victims who gamely ran the gantlet between lines of whooping dancers. The boys, too, were soundly spanked before they reached the end of it. They retaliated enthusiastically on the couples that followed.
“Red Thompson and Miss Hank Davis are going down the line!” shouted Crawford, as the two “lumber-jacks,” one of whom played “lady,” turned to make their rush. And again: “Mr. and ‘Mrs.’ Ben Adams are going down the line,” as Ben and his partner, Jim Halliday, made their way to the end of the column. The boys laughed heartily when their turn came, and Ned called out, “A pair of bantams are going down the line.”
At last the music ceased, and the foreman said he guessed it was time to turn in. Pushing and wrestling good-naturedly, the men made their way to the bunks. Then Crawford extinguished the lamp, and the cabin became dark and quiet.