Log hauling
Log hauling—Process of loading Logs.
In the process of loading, the bob-sled is placed several feet from the side of that end of the log which is to be placed upon it. Then a large skid, from four to eight inches in diameter and several feet in length, is placed near the large bar running under the log. A chain is next attached to the bar, passing now under, then over the log, back to the sled, crossing it. It is then attached by other chains to one or two yoke of oxen, whose united strength is requisite to roll one end of it upon this big bar, to which it is bound with strong, heavy chains. Of late, the tackle and fall has been introduced in loading, which very much facilitates the operation.
The six oxen are now attached to the sled, one pair of them to the tongue; the others are attached by chains in advance as leaders. The teamster now arranges every ox in the most advantageous position, passing through several evolutions with his goad-stick; then giving the word of command, they settle to it. Slowly it moves forward, while the vociferations of the animated teamster, the squatting-like posture of the hard-drawn team, indicate the importance and interest of the occasion; and the bob-sled, as though it were a thing of life, actually screams out at every joint as if in keenest agony beneath its ponderous load.
The reader has perhaps been present at a "launching;" the nervous emotions experienced in the process described, including the felling of the gigantic Pines, the skidding and hauling, quite equal those awakened at the launching of a vessel. This process is gone through with several times each day during the winter (Sundays excepted); really it is like going to launching every day, and the pleasurable excitement of the labor renders it extremely delightful to most who are engaged in it.
The general custom is to take the whole trunk of the tree to the landing at one load, when its size will allow, where it is sawed into short logs from fourteen to thirty feet in length, to facilitate the driving down river. I have cut one tree into five logs, the shortest of which was not less than fourteen feet. I have seen them hauled eighty-two feet in length, resembling, in their passage to the landing, immense serpents crawling from their lurking-places. Thus we continue to fell, clear, and haul until the "clump" is exhausted, and our attention is again directed to another school of these forest whales, and so on until our winter's work is completed.
Formerly, Pine-trees grew in abundance on the banks of rivers and streams, and the margins of those wild lakes found in the interior. Thousands were cut and rolled into the water, or on the ice, and perhaps a much larger number were so near the landing as to require merely to be dragged out, thus avoiding the labor of loading, in which case, from the massive size of the trees, it was necessary to cut them into short logs. Such opportunities, however, for lumber have gone by, and the greater portion has now to be hauled from a considerable distance. A greater scarcity is too evidently at hand, though, were every Pine-tree sound and good, no end to the quantity might yet be thought of; for, notwithstanding the immense quantities cut, and the devastating fires by which hundreds of millions have been destroyed, on some rivers it still abounds, but a large portion of Pine is found in a rotten and decayed state at heart. Having long since come to maturity, that peculiar process which makes its impress upon all earthly objects,decay, is nowhere more general in its depredations than among the noble Pines in the north and east. There is a cancerous disease peculiar to the Pine-tree, to which lumbermen give the original name of "Conk" or "Konkus." The manifestation of this disease on the outside of the tree, usually several feet from the butt-end, is a small spot of a brown color, sometimes resembling gingerbread in appearance and texture, protruding as a general thing only to the surface, and varying in size from a ninepence to the crown of a hat. In some clumps of Pine, all that indicates the presence of this disease is a little yellow pitch starting out through the bark and trickling down the outside.
The uninitiated would be led to suspect but little, if indeed any, harm from an appearance so slight and unnoticeable as that presented by the konkus. It exerts no influence either upon the size or beautiful proportions of the tree, as those most seriously affected, in outward appearances, are as handsomely grown as the most perfect, which leads to the conclusion that the disease does not much affect them until quite mature.
On cutting one of these trees, the infection is found to spread itself, more or less, throughout the trunk, turning the wood to a reddish color, making it spongy in texture; and while the fibrous portions of the wood retain their thread-like straightness, the marrowy portion or flesh-like membranes, and intermediate layers between the fibers, appear dry and of a milky whiteness. Sometimes the rot shoots upward, in imitation of the streaming light of the Aurora Borealis; in others downward, and even both ways, preserving the same appearance.
Large families, and even communities of the Pine, are thus infected, so that in a group of thirty trees perhaps not more than half a dozen short logs can be obtained.
Frauds are sometimes practiced upon those who purchase logs, by driving a knot or piece of a limb of the same tree into the konkus and hewing it off smoothly, so that it has the appearance of a natural knot, but the dissecting process at the saw-mill exposes the imposition.
Much of this timber is hollow at the butt, affording in some instances fine winter retreats for bears, where they den. We have a high time of it when we chance to make such a discovery. "A few rods from the main logging road, where I worked one winter," said Mr. Johnson, "there stood a very large Pine-tree. We had nearly completed our winter's work, and it still stood unmolested, because from appearances it was supposed to be worthless. While passing it one day, not quite satisfied with the decision that had been made upon its quality, I resolved to satisfy my own mind touching its value; so, wallowing to it through the snow, which was nearly up to my middle, I struck it several blows with the head of my ax, an experiment to test whether a tree be hollow or not. When I desisted, my attention was arrested by a slight scratching and whining.
"Suspecting the cause, but not quite satisfied, I thumped the tree again, listening more attentively, and heard the same noise as before: it was a bear's den. Examining the tree more closely, I discovered a small hole in the trunk, near the roots, with a rim of ice on the edge of the orifice, made by the freezing of the breath and vapor from the inmates.
"Satisfied now of the character of the prisoners, I communicated my discovery at once to the rest of the crew, who immediately left their work and ran like a pack of hounds, jumping and leaping through the deep snow. We kicked the snow away from the roots to learn the place of entrée, which we plugged up with bits of wood, after removing the frozen dirt and turf with which it was closed. We next cut a hole into the tree, about four feet from the ground, some eight or ten inches in diameter; into this a pole was thrust, to 'stir them up' and prepare them to thrust their heads out below when the hole should be opened again.
"Having annoyed them sufficiently to induce them to attempt an egress from the passage below, the obstacles were removed, after stationing two men, one on either side, with their axes to dispatch them—when the old bear thrust out her head. A severe wound was inflicted, which sent her back growling and gnashing her teeth. Again thrusting the pole through the upper aperture, we punched and jibed her for some minutes before she could be induced to make a second effort to escape; when she did, she was met as before, receiving a second and more deadly wound, which was succeeded with less furious demonstrations of rage than before. A third effort was made to drive them out, but there was no response save the piteous crying of small cubs. We then cut a small hard-wood tree, trimmed off the branches, leaving one prong about six inches long, sharpened out, forming a hook. Enlarging the aperture below, we thrust in the wooden hook, which grappled a heavy but resistless carcass. With much exertion we drew it forth: she was dead. The cubs, four in number—a thing unusual by one half—we took alive, and carried them to the camp, kept them a while, and finally sold them. They were quite small and harmless, of a most beautiful lustrous black, and fat as porpoises. The old dam was uncommonly large; we judged she might weigh about three hundred pounds. Her hide, when stretched out and nailed on to the end of the camp, appeared quite equal to a cow's hide in dimensions."
Here in our wild winter quarters, where we delight to dwell during a period of from three to four months, we find much to interest and amuse—much to do, for an equal amount of labor is rarely performed within the same time under any other circumstances, and I may add, too, with less fatigue or disrelish. With incident, romance, story, song, and adventure, time passes rapidly away.
CHAPTER V.
The Skill and Enterprise of Lumbermen.—Method of taking Logs down Hills and Mountains.—Dry Sluice.—Stern Anchor.—Giant Mountain Steps.—Alpine Lumbering.—Warping a Team down Steeps.—Trial of Skill and Strength.—The rival Load.—Danger and Inconvenience of Hills in Logging Roads.—A distressing Accident.—Solemn Conclusion of a Winter's Work.—Some of the Perils attendant upon Lumbering.—A fearful Wound.—Narrow Escape.—The buried Cap.—The safest Way of Retreat.—A Sabbath in the Logging Camp.—Sunday Morning Naps.— Domestic Camp Duties.—Letter Writing.—Recreations.—Sable Traps.—Deer and Moose.—Bear Meat.—A rare Joke.—Moose Hunt. —Bewildered Hunters.—Extraordinary Encounter.—Conclusion of Sabbath in the Woods.
Lumbermen not only cut and haul from clumps and communities, but reconnoiter the forest, hill, vale, and mountain side for scattering trees; and when they are deemedworthaneffort, no location in which they may be found, however wild or daring, can oppose the skill and enterprise of our men.
For taking logs down mountain sides, we adopt various methods, according to the circumstances. Sometimes we construct what are termed dry sluice-ways, which reach from the upper edge of a precipice down to the base of the hill. This is made by laying large poles or trunks of straight trees together the whole distance, which is so constructed as to keep the log from running off at the sides. Logs are rolled into the upper end, the descent or dip often being very steep; the log passes on with lightning-like velocity, quite burying itself in the snow and leaves below. From the roughness of the surfaces, the friction is very great, causing the bark and smoke to fly plentifully.
At other times, when the descent is more gradual and not too steep, and when there is not a sufficient quantity to pay the expense of a sluice-way, we fell a large tree, sometimes the Hemlock, trim out the top, and cut the largest limbs off a foot, more or less, from the trunk. This is attached to the end of the log by strong chains, and as the oxen draw the load, this drag thrusts its stumpy limbs into the snow and frozen earth, and thus prevents the load from forcing the team forward too rapidly. Should the chain give way which attaches the hold-back to the load, nothing could save the team from sudden destruction.
There is a mountain on the "west branch" of the Penobscot where Pine-trees of excellent quality stand far up its sides, whose tops appear to sweep the very clouds. The side which furnishes timber rises in terraces of gigantic proportions, forming a succession of abrupt precipices and shelving table-land. There are three of these giant mountain steps, each of which produces lumber which challenges the admiration and enterprise of the logmen. The ascent to these Alpine groves is too abrupt to allow the team to ascend in harness; we therefore unyoke and drive the oxen up winding pathways. The yokes and chains are carried up by the workmen, and also the bob-sled in pieces, after taking it apart. Ascending to the uppermost terrace, the oxen are re-yoked and the sled adjusted. The logs being cut and prepared as usual, are loaded, and hauled to the edge of the first precipice, unloaded, and rolled off to the table of the second terrace, where they are again loaded, hauled, and tumbled off as before, to the top of the first rise, from which they are again pitched down to the base of the mountain, where for the last time they are loaded, and hauled to the landing.
To obtain logs in such romantic locations was really as hazardous as it was laborious, varying sufficiently from the usual routine of labor to invest the occasion with no ordinary interest. It was, indeed, an exhibition well calculated to awaken thrilling emotions to witness the descent of those massive logs, breaking and shivering whatever might obstruct their giddy plunge down the steep mountain side, making the valleys reverberate and ring merrily with the concussion.
In other instances loads are eased down hill sides by the use of "tackle and fall," or by a strong "warp," taking a "bite" round a tree, and hitching to one yoke of the oxen. In this manner the load is "tailed down" steeps where it would be impossible for the "tongue oxen" to resist the pressure of the load. Sometimes the warp parts under the test to which it is thus subjected, when the whole load plunges onward like an avalanche, subjecting the poor oxen to a shocking death.
But the circumstance which calls forth the most interest and exertion is the "rival load." When teams are located with sufficient proximity to admit of convenient intercourse, a spirit of rivalry is often rife between the different crews, on various points. The "largest tree," the "smartest chopper," the "best cook," the "greatest day's work," and a score of other superlatives, all invested with attractions, the greater from the isolated circumstances of swamp life.
The "crack" load is preceded by all needful preliminaries. All defective places in the road are repaired. New "skids" are nicely pealed by hewing off the bark smoothly, and plentifully as well as calculatingly laid along the road. All needful repairs are made on the bob-sled, and the team put in contending plight. The trees intended for the "big load" are carefully prepared, and hauled to some convenient place on the main road singly, where they are reloaded, putting on two and sometimes three large trees. All things in readiness, the men follow up with hand-spikes and long levers. Then comes the "tug of war;" rod by rod, or foot by foot, the whole is moved forward, demanding every ounce of strength, both of men and oxen united, to perform the feat of getting it to the landing. Were life and fortune at stake, more could not be done under the circumstances. The surveyor applies the rule, and the result gives either the one or the other party "whereof to glory." If not "teetotalers," the vanquished "pay the bitters" when they get down river. Men love and will have excitement; with spirits never more buoyant, every thing, however trifling, adds to the stock of "fun alive" in the woods. Every crew has its "Jack," who, in the absence of other material, either from his store of "mother-wit" or "greenness," contributes to the merry shaking of sides, or allows himself to be the butt of good-natured ridicule.
But while the greater part of swamp life is more or less merry, there are occasional interruptions to the joyousness that abounds. Logging roads are generally laid out with due regard to the conveniences of level or gently descending ground. But in some instances the unevenness of the country admits only of unfavorable alternatives. Sometimes there are moderate rises to ascend or descend on the way to the landing; the former are hard, the latter dangerous to the team. I knew a teamster to lose his life in the following shocking manner: On one section of the main road there was quite a "smart pitch" of considerable length, on which the load invariably "drove" the team along on a forced trot. Down this slope our teamster had often passed without sustaining any injury to himself or oxen. One day, having, as usual, taken his load from the stump, he proceeded toward the landing, soon passing out of sight and hearing. Not making his appearance at the expiration of the usual time, it was suspected that something more than usual had detained him. Obeying the impulses of a proper solicitude on his behalf, some of the hands started to render service if it were needed. Coming to the head of the hill down which the road ran, they saw the team at the foot of it, standing with the forward oxen faced about up the road, but no teamster. On reaching the spot, a most distressing spectacle presented itself; there lay the teamster on the hard road, with one of the sled runners directly across his bowels, which, under the weight of several tons of timber, were pressed down to the thickness of a man's hand. He was still alive, and when they called out to him, just before reaching the sled, he spoke up as promptly as usual, "Here am I," as if nothing had been the matter. These were the only and last words he ever uttered. A "pry" was immediately set, which raised the dead-fall from his crushed body, enabling them to extricate it from its dreadful position. Shortly after, his consciousness left him, and never more returned. He could give no explanation; but we inferred, from the position of the forward oxen, that the load had forced the team into a run, by which the tongue cattle, pressed by the leaders, turning them round, which probably threw the teamster under the runner, and the whole load stopped when about to poise over his body.
He was taken to the camp, where all was done that could be, under the circumstances, to save him, but to no purpose. His work was finished. He still lingered, in an apparently unconscious state, until midnight, when his spirit, forsaking its bruised and crushed tenement, ascended above the sighing pines, and entered the eternal state. The only words he uttered were those in reply to the calling of his name. As near as we could judge, he had laid two hours in the position in which he was found. It was astonishing to see how he had gnawed the rave[8]of the sled. It was between three and four inches through. In his agony, he had bitten it nearly half off. To do this, he must have pulled himself up with his hands, gnawed a while, then fallen back again through exhaustion and in despair. He was taken out to the nearest settlement, and buried.
At a later period, we lost our teamster by an accident not altogether dissimilar. It was at the winding up of our winter's work in hauling. Late in the afternoon we had felled and prepared our final tree, which was to finish the last of the numerous loads which had been taken to the well-stowed landing. Wearied with the frequency of his travels on the same road for the same purpose, this last load was anticipated with no ordinary interest; and when the tree was loaded, he seemed to contemplate it with profound satisfaction. "This," said he, "is my last load." For the last time the team was placed in order, to drag from its bed the tree of a hundred summers. Onward it moved at the signal given, and he was soon lost to view in the frequent windings of the forest road. It was nearly sundown, and, had it not been for closing up the winter's work that day, the hauling would have been deferred until next morning.
The usual preparations for our evening camp-fire had been made, and the thick shadows of evening had been gathering for an hour, and yet he did not come. Again and again some one of the crew would step out to listen if he could catch the jingling of the chains as they were hauled along; but nothing broke upon the ear in the stillness of the early night. Unwilling longer to resist the solicitude entertained for his safety, several of us started with a lantern for the landing. We continued to pass on, every moment expecting to hear or meet him, until the landing was finally reached. There, quietly chewing the cud, the oxen were standing, unconscious of the cause that detained them, or that for the last time they had heard the well-known voice of their devoted master. Hastening along, we found the load properly rolled off the sled, but heavens! what a sight greeted our almost unbelieving vision! There lay the poor fellow beneath that terrible pressure. A log was resting across his crushed body. He was dead. From appearances, we judged that, after having knocked out the "fid," which united the chain that bound the load, the log rolled suddenly upon him. Thus, without a moment's warning, he ceased in the same instant to work and live. It proved, indeed, his "last load."
To contemplate the sameness of the labor in passing to and fro from the swamp to the landing several times a day, on a solitary wilderness-road, for a term of several months, with only those respites afforded in stormy weather and on Sundays, one might think himself capable of entering into the feelings of a teamster, and sympathetically share with him the pleasurable emotions consequent upon the conclusion of his winter's work. While it must be conceded that, of things possessing every element capable of contributing pleasure, we sometimes weary through excess, let it not be supposed that our knight of the goad has more than usual occasion to tire, or sigh for the conclusion of the hauling season. To be sure, "ta and fra" the livelong winter, now with a load wending along a serpentine road, as it winds through the forest, he repeats his visits to the swamp, and then the landing; but he is relieved by the companionship of his dumb but docile oxen, for whom he contracts an affection, and over whom he exercises the watchful vigilance of a faithful guardian, while he exacts their utmost service. He sees that each performs his duty in urging forward the laboring sled. He watches every hoof, the clatter of shoes, the step of each ox, to detect any lameness. He observes every part and joint of the bob-sled while it screeches along under the massive log bound to it. He examines the chains, lest they should part, and, above all, the objects more watched than any others, the "fid-hook" and the "dog-hook," the former that it does not work out, the latter that it loose not its grappling hold upon the tree. Sometimes his little journeys are spiced with the infinite trouble which a long, sweeping stick will give him, by suddenly twirling and oversetting the sled every time it poises over some abrupt swell in the road. There is really too much to be looked after, thought of, and cared for in his passage to the landing to allow much listlessness or burdensome leisure. As well might a pilot indulge irresponsible dormancy in taking a fine ship into port, as for a teamster to be listless under his circumstances. No; the fact is, that, with the excitement attendant upon each load as it moves to the landing, ten times the number of tobacco quids are required than would abundantly suffice him on his return.
Then look at the relaxation and comfort of the return. The jingling chains, as they trail along on the hard-beaten way, discourse a constant chorus. With his goad-stick under his arm or as a staff, he leisurely walks along, musing as he goes, emitting from his mouth the curling smoke of his unfailing pipe, like a walking chimney or a locomotive; anon whistling, humming, or pouring forth with full-toned voice some favorite air or merry-making ditty. He varies the whole exercise by constant addresses to the oxen, individually and collectively: "Haw, Bright!" "Ge, Duke!" "Whoap! whoap!" "What ye 'bout there, you lazy——" "If I come there, I'll tan your old hides for you!" "Pchip, pschip, go along there!" Knowing him not half in earnest, unless it happens to be a sharp day, the oxen keep on the even tenor of their way, enjoying the only apparent comfort an ox can enjoy while away from his crib—chewing the cud.
Recently, however, the wolves have volunteered their services, by accompanying the teams, in some places, on their way to and from the landing, contributing infinitely more to the fears than conscious security of the teamsters.
Three teams, in the winter of 1844, all in the same neighborhood, were beset with these ravenous animals. They were of unusually large size, manifesting a most singular boldness, and even familiarity, without the usual appearance of ferocity so characteristic of the animal.
Sometimes one, and in another instance three, in a most unwelcome manner, volunteered their attendance, accompanying the teamster a long distance on his way. They would even jump on the log and ride, and approach very near the oxen. One of them actually jumped upon the sled, and down between the bars, while the sled was in motion.
Some of the teamsters were much alarmed, keeping close to the oxen, and driving on as fast as possible. Others, more courageous, would run toward and strike at them with their goad-sticks; but the wolves sprang out of the way in an instant. But, although they seemed to act without a motive, there was something so cool and impudent in their conduct that it was trying to the nerves—even more so than an active encounter. For some time after this, fire-arms were a constant part of the teamster's equipage. No further molestation, however, was had from them that season.
One of my neighbors related, in substance, the following incidents: "A short time since," said he, "while passing along the shores of the Mattawamkeag River in the winter, my attention was suddenly attracted by a distant howling and screaming—a noise which might remind one of the screeching of forty pair of old cart-wheels (to use the figure of an old hunter in describing the distant howling of a pack of wolves). Presently there came dashing from the forest upon the ice, a short distance from me, a timid deer, closely pursued by a hungry pack of infuriated wolves. I stood and observed them. The order of pursuit was in single file, until they came quite near their prey, when they suddenly branched off to the right and left, forming two lines; the foremost gradually closed in upon the poor deer, until he was completely surrounded, when, springing upon their victim, they instantly bore him to the ice, and in an incredibly short space of time devoured him, leaving the bones only; after which they galloped into the forest and disappeared." On the same river a pack of these prowling marauders were seen just at night, trailing along down river on the ice. A family living in a log house near by happened to have some poison, with which they saturated some bits of meat, and then threw them out upon the ice. Next morning early the meat was missing, and, on making a short search in the vicinity, six wolves were found "dead as hammers," all within sight of each other. Every one of them had dug a hole down through the snow into the frozen earth, in which they had thrust their noses, either for water to quench the burning thirst produced by the poison, or to snuff some antidote to the fatal drug. A bounty was obtained, on each, of ten dollars, besides their hides, making a fair job of it, as well as ridding the neighborhood of an annoying enemy. The following account of a wolf-chase will interest the reader:
"During the winter of 1844, being engaged in the northern part of Maine, I had much leisure to devote to the wild sports of a new country. To none of these was I more passionately addicted than that of skating. The deep and sequestered lakes of this northern state, frozen by intense cold, present a wide field to the lovers of this pastime. Often would I bind on my rusty skates, and glide away up the glittering river, and wind each mazy streamlet that flowed on toward the parent ocean, and feel my very pulse bound with joyous exercise. It was during one of these excursions that I met with an adventure which, even at this period of my life, I remember with wonder and astonishment.
"I had left my friend's house one evening, just before dusk, with the intention of skating a short distance up the noble Kennebeck, which glided directly before the door. The evening was fine and clear. The new moon peered from her lofty seat, and cast her rays on the frosty pines that skirted the shore, until they seemed the realization of a fairy scene. All Nature lay in a quiet which she sometimes chooses to assume, while water, earth, and air seemed to have sunken into repose.
"I had gone up the river nearly two miles, when, coming to a little stream which emptied into the larger, I turned in to explore its course. Fir and hemlock of a century's growth met overhead, and formed an evergreen archway, radiant with frost-work. All was dark within; but I was young and fearless, and as I peered into the unbroken forest, that reared itself to the borders of the stream, I laughed in very joyousness. My wild hurra rang through the woods, and I stood listening to the echo that reverberated again and again, until all was hushed. Occasionally a night-bird would flap its wings from some tall oak.
"The mighty lords of the forest stood as if naught but time could bow them. I thought how oft the Indian hunter concealed himself behind these very trees—how oft the arrow had pierced the deer by this very stream, and how oft his wild halloo had rung for his victory. I watched the owls as they fluttered by, until I almost fancied myself one of them, and held my breath to listen to their distant hooting.
"All of a sudden a sound arose, it seemed from the very ice beneath my feet. It was loud and tremendous at first, until it ended in one long yell. I was appalled. Never before had such a noise met my ears. I thought it more than mortal—so fierce, and amid such an unbroken solitude, that it seemed a fiend from hell had blown a blast from an infernal trumpet. Presently I heard the twigs on the shore snap as if from the tread of some animal, and the blood rushed back to my forehead with a bound that made my skin burn, and I felt relieved that I had to contend with things of earthly and not spiritual mold, as I first fancied. My energies returned, and I looked around me for some means of defense. The moon shone through the opening by which I had entered the forest, and considering this the best means of escape, I darted toward it like an arrow. It was hardly a hundred yards distant, and the swallow could scarcely excel my desperate flight; yet, as I turned my eyes to the shore, I could see two dark objects dashing through the underbrush at a pace nearly double that of my own. By their great speed, and the short yells which they occasionally gave, I knew at once that they were the much-dreaded gray wolf.
A wolf
The Common Wolf
"I had never met with these animals, but, from the description given of them, I had but little pleasure in making their acquaintance. Their untamable fierceness, and the untiring strength which seems to be a part of their nature, render them objects of dread to every benighted traveler.
"'With their long gallop, which can tireThe hound's deep hate, the hunter's fire,'
"'With their long gallop, which can tireThe hound's deep hate, the hunter's fire,'
"'With their long gallop, which can tire
The hound's deep hate, the hunter's fire,'
"they pursue their prey, and naught but death can separate them. The bushes that skirted the shore flew past with the velocity of light as I dashed on in my flight. The outlet was nearly gained; one second more, and I would be comparatively safe, when my pursuers appeared on the bank directly above me, which rose to the height of some ten feet. There was no time for thought; I bent my head and dashed wildly forward. The wolves sprang, but, miscalculating my speed, sprang behind, while their intended prey glided out into the river.
"Nature turned me toward home. The light flakes of snow spun from the iron of my skates, and I was now some distance from my pursuers, when their fierce howl told me that I was again the fugitive. I did not look back; I did not feel sorry or glad; one thought of home, of the bright faces awaiting my return, of their tears if they should never again see me, and then every energy of mind and body was exerted for my escape. I was perfectly at home on the ice. Many were the days I spent on my skates, never thinking that at one time they would be my only means of safety. Every half minute an alternate yelp from my pursuers made me but too certain they were close at my heels. Nearer and nearer they came; I heard their feet pattering on the ice nearer still, until I fancied I could hear their deep breathing. Every nerve and muscle in my frame was stretched to the utmost tension.
"The trees along the shore seemed to dance in the uncertain light, and my brain turned with my own breathless speed; yet still they seemed to hiss forth with a sound truly horrible, when an involuntary motion on my part turned me out of my course. The wolves close behind, unable to stop and as unable to turn, slipped, fell, still going on far ahead, their tongues lolling out, their white tushes gleaming from their bloody mouths, their dark, shaggy breasts freckled with foam; and as they passed me their eyes glared, and they howled with rage and fury. The thought flashed on my mind that by this means I could avoid them, viz., by turning aside whenever they came too near; for they, by the formation of their feet, are unable to run on ice except on a right line.
"I immediately acted on this plan. The wolves, having regained their feet, sprang directly toward me. The race was renewed for twenty yards up the stream; they were already close on my back, when I glided round and dashed past my pursuers. A fierce growl greeted my evolution, and the wolves slipped upon their haunches and sailed onward, presenting a perfect picture of helplessness and baffled rage. Thus I gained nearly a hundred yards each turning. This was repeated two or three times, every moment the wolves getting more excited and baffled, until, coming opposite the house, a couple of stag-hounds, aroused by the noise, bayed furiously from their kennels. The wolves, taking the hint, stopped in their mad career, and after a moment's consideration turned and fled. I watched them till their dusky forms disappeared over a neighboring hill; then, taking off my skates, I wended my way to the house, with feelings better to be imagined than described."
Such annoyances from these migrating beasts, in the vicinity of logging births as above-named, are of recent date. Up to 1840 I had been much in the wild forests of the northeastern part of Maine, clearing wild land during the summer and logging in the winter, and up to this time had never seen a satisfactory evidence of their presence. But since this period they have often been seen, and in such numbers and of such size as to render them objects of dread.
Every department of labor among the loggers, and in fact, to extend the observation, every department of life, is characterized more or less by adventure and peril. Our men get badly cut sometimes, and then, in the absence of a surgeon, are put upon their own resources to stanch blood and dress wounds.
I recollect an instance in which a man in one of the neighboring crews, while at work, received the whole bit of an ax into the muscular portion of his thigh, by an accidental blow from an associate. It was indeed a gaping wound. A wound of such an alarming character, in the absence of suitable medical aid, is deemed a serious matter, and not without just cause. In this instance use was made of handkerchiefs to swathe up the wound, so as to stanch the flowing blood, while they bore him to the camp upon a litter. He was laid upon the deacon seat, and the wound was sewed up by one of the crew with a common sewing-needle. It did well, and in the course of a few weeks he was able to resume his labors.
Life is constantly endangered in felling the Pine-trees. The tops of other trees seldom oppose any barrier to the giddy plunge of the towering Pine, breaking, splitting, and crushing all coming within its range. The broken limbs which are torn from its own trunk, and the wrenched branches of other trees, rendered brittle by the intense frosts, fly in every direction, like the scattered fragments of an exploding ship, always more or less endangering life. Often those wrenched limbs are suspended directly over the place where our work requires our presence, and on the slightest motion, or from a sudden gust of wind, they slip down with the stealthiness of a hawk and the velocity of an arrow. I feel an involuntary shudder, as if now in the presence of danger, while I remember some of the narrow escapes I have had from death by the falling of such missiles. I recollect one in particular, which was wrenched from a large Pine-tree I had just felled. It lodged in the top of a towering Birch, directly over where it was necessary for me to stand while severing the top from the trunk. Viewing its position with some anxiety, I ventured to stand and work under it, forgetting in the excitement my danger. While thus engaged, the limb stealthily slipped from its position, and, falling directly before me end foremost, penetrated the frozen earth. It was about four inches through, and ten feet long. It just grazed my cap; a little variation, and it would have dashed my head in pieces. But my time had not come. Attracted, on one occasion, while swamping a road, by the appearance of a large limb which stuck fast in the ground, curiosity induced me to extricate it, for the purpose of seeing how far it had penetrated. After considerable exertion, I succeeded in drawing it out, when I was perfectly amazed to find a thick cloth cap on the end of it. It had penetrated the earth to a considerable depth. Subsequently I learned that it belonged to a man who was killed instantly by its fall, striking him on the head, and carrying his cap into the ground with it.
It is never safe to run from a falling tree in a line directly opposite from the course in which it falls, as it sometimes strikes other trees in such a way as to throw the butt from the stump. I have sometimes seen them shoot back in this way with the velocity of lightning half their length. Running from a falling tree in the way above alluded to, I knew a man killed in an instant. Another reason which should induce choppers or spectators to avoid this manner of retreat is, that the broken limbs frequently rebound, and are thrown back in a direction opposite that in which the tree falls. It reminds one of a routed enemy hurling their missiles, as they retreat, back upon the pursuing foe. I have sometimes seen the air in the region of the tree-tops literally darkened with the flying fragments, small and great, torn from trees in the thundering passage of one of those massive columns to the ground. Sometimes they come down like a shower of arrows, as if from the departed spirits of aërial warriors. To retreat safely, one should run in a direction so as to make nearly a right angle with the falling tree. A man by the name of Hale, a master chopper, cut a Pine which, in its passage down, struck in the crutch of another tree and broke the trunk of the falling one, the top of which pitched back and instantly killed him.
If lumbermen do not love the return of the seventh day for its moral purposes, they welcome it for the rest it brings, and the opportunity it affords for various little matters of personal comfort which demand attention. On visiting our winter quarters, one of the first things which might arrest attention, indicating a Sabbath in the logging-swamp, would be a long morning nap. Dismissing care, they court the gentle spell, until, wearied with the lengthened night, they rise, not, as on other mornings, when their hurrying feet brush the early frosts as they pass to their work, while the lingering night casts back its wasting shadows upon their path. On the Sabbath morning they recline upon their boughy couches until the sun has traveled a long way upon his daily circuit.
Every one feels free to sleep, to lounge, or to do whatever he may choose, with a moderate abatement in behalf of the teamster and cook, whose duties require some seasonable attention on all mornings. Breakfast over, each individual disposes of himself as best accords with inclination or interest. There are a few general duties which come round every Sabbath, which some, by turns, feel the responsibility of performing. For instance, every Sabbath it is customary to replenish the bed with a fresh coat of boughs from the neighboring evergreens. Of the healthful and invigorating influence of this practice there is no doubt. Then follow the various little duties of a personal character. Our red flannel shirts are to be washed and mended, pants to be patched, mittens and socks to be repaired, boots to be tapped and greased, &c. Our clumsy fingers, especially if unused to the needle, make most ludicrous and unwoman-like business of patching up our torn garments. Letter-writing receives attention on this day, if at all, with no other than the deacon seat, perhaps, for a writing-desk, a sheet of soiled paper, ink dried and thick, or pale from freezing, and a pen made with a jack-knife; letters are dedicated to a wife, it may be, or to a mother by some dutiful son, or to his lady-love by some young swamper. There are some recreations to relieve the monotony of a Sabbath in the wilderness. Sometimes a short excursion in search of spruce gum; for many a young urchin at home has had the promise of a good supply of this article, to be furnished on the return of the campers. Others go in pursuit of timber for ax-helves. As neither the White Oak nor Walnut grow in the latitude of Pine forests in the eastern section of Maine, the White Ash, Rock Maple, Beech and Elm, and sometimes the Hornbeam, are in general use. Others spend, it may be, a portion of the day in short timber-hunting excursions. Where the contiguity of encampments allow it, visits are exchanged among the denizens of the camps.
Formerly, when sable were more plenty, some one or more proprietors of a line of sable traps would take the opportunity on the Sabbath to visit them, as time from the weekly employment could not be spared for this purpose. Such traps are very simple in their construction. Some thin, flat pieces of wood, cleft from the Spruce or Fir-tree, are driven into the ground, forming the outline of a small circle some nine inches in diameter, and about the same in height, with an opening of three or four inches on one side, over which is placed the trunk of a small tree some three inches through, running cross-wise, and raised at one end about four inches, supported by a standard spindle, to which a small piece of meat is fastened for bait. The top of the whole is covered with light fir or spruce boughs, to prevent the sable from taking the bait from the top. Access to the bait is then had only by passing the head and shoulders into the little door or opening under the pole, when the slightest nibbling at the spindle will bring down the dead-fall and entrap them. These traps occur every few rods, and thus a line or circuit is formed for several miles.
Wild cats sometimes take the business of tending these sable traps, in which case they tear them to pieces and devour the bait. One such animal will occasionally break up an entire line, and blast the hopes of the hunter till captured himself.
Although, when circumstances favor it, some portion of Saturday is devoted to hauling up camp wood, yet the practice of devoting a few hours of the concluding part of the Sabbath is not unfrequent. Upon the whole, we conclude that, notwithstanding the necessity of rest and recreation, and the necessary attentions to personal conveniences which the seventh day affords, the season usually wears away rather heavily than otherwise, and Monday morning, with its cheerful employments, brings not an unwelcome change. The pleasures of a forest life are, with lumbermen, found rather in the labor performed than the recreations enjoyed. Suspension from labor, without the pleasant relief which home privileges afford, leaves a vacancy of feeling not altogether free fromennui. The little domestic duties claiming attention—unpleasant, as indeed they are unnatural to the coarser sex—remind them strongly of the absence ofwoman, without whose amiable presence, society, and services man can not enjoy his quota of earthly bliss.
A tramp after deer and moose is sometimes taken. We often disturb them in penetrating the deep forests for timber. In such cases they always remove to some more sequestered place, and post themselves for winter quarters again, where we sometimes follow and take them when the condition of the snow renders their flight tardy and difficult. In the summer they roam at large through the forests and on the meadows, where they may often be seen feeding as we pass up the rivers; but in winter they confine themselves to much smaller limits, where they remain during the greater portion of the season. The flesh of the deer forms an agreeable change from our salt provisions. Venison is often quite plenty. From the hare and partridge our cook serves a delicious pot-pie. The flesh of the moose and bear are very good. Were it not for the unprepossessing appearance of the latter, his flesh would be esteemed before most wild meat. The flesh of a young black bear a year old, if fat, is not easily distinguished, when cooked, from a good pork spare rib. I recollect a ludicrous instance of imposition practiced upon an individual by furnishing him with bear meat for his dinner, while he supposed that he was feasting upon fresh pork. He was known to be exceedingly averse to eating bear meat, and often expressed his disrelish, and even disgust, at the idea. "Eat bear's meat? No! I would as soon eat a dog." A bear had been taken by a crew near by; it was fine meat, and it so happened that our anti-bear-eater was at their camp one day, when the cook served up in his best manner some of the flesh. Of course he was invited to dine, as lumbermen are always hospitable. On this occasion the invitation was especially urgent, as they "had a nice bit of fresh pork, which had been sent them by the provision-team."
Our friend ate and praised the nice pork alternately. "Fine, very; hadn't had any fresh pork before for nearly a year. It was tender—it was sweet and good." With much effort, the risibility of the jokers was kept in subjection through the meal. Many senseless things were said, and every thing seemed to elicit laughter.
Dinner over. "Well, captain, how have you enjoyed your dinner?" "First rate." "Do you know that you have been eating bear's meat?" "No!" said he; "that warn't bear's meat, was it?" "Yes." He seemed incredulous; but the evidences were at hand; the quarter from which the dinner had been taken was produced. Poor fellow! he looked as though he had swallowed a lizard; and, to "finish him up," the long-nailed shaggy paw was produced. He could stand it no longer; but, rushing out of the camp, and throwing himself down upon his hands and knees, he retched as though he had taken a dozen doses of ipecacuanha, while all the rest of the crew were convulsed with laughter at the poor fellow's distress.
The moose is the largest species of deer found in the New England forest. Their size varies from that of a large pony to the full-grown horse. They have large branching antlers, which grow and are shed every season.
The taking of moose is sometimes quite hazardous. The most favorable time for hunting them is toward spring, when the snow is deep, and when the warmth of mid-day melts the surface, and the cold nights freeze a crust, which greatly embarrasses the moose and deer in their flight.
"One pleasant morning, six of us started with the intention of taking deer; we had a gun and a large dog. Fatigued, at length, with several hours' travel, and meeting with no success, we concluded to give it up, and returned to camp late in the afternoon. Having been very intent in our search for game, we had taken little notice of the various courses which we had traveled, and, when the purpose was formed of returning, we found, much to our discomfort, that we were altogether in doubt as to the direction proper to be pursued. However, we were not without our opinions on the subject, though, unfortunately, these opinions differed. We finally separated into two parties, four supposing that the camp lay in a particular direction, while two of us entertained nearly opposite views. The gun was retained by the four, while the dog followed myself and comrade. We had not separated more than five minutes, when the dog started two fine moose. The other party, being within hail, soon joined us in the pursuit.
"As the snow was deep, and crusted sufficiently hard to bear us upon snow-shoes, while the moose broke through at every leap, we were soon sufficiently near them to allow a good shot. One of the men approached within a few yards of the hindermost, and fired. The ball took effect, but did not stop him. Still pursuing, another ball was lodged in his body, when he turned at bay. It was now our turn to retreat; but, after making a few bounds toward us, he turned and fled again, when we again came up to the charge. I took the gun this time, and approached within fifteen feet of him, and fired. He dropped instantly upon the snow. Supposing him dead, we left the spot and pursued the other with all possible dispatch, for there was not a moment to lose, as the fugitive, alarmed by the report of the gun, was redoubling his exertions to effect his escape. The dog, however, soon came upon him and retarded his flight. Emboldened in his successful encounter with the other, Rover dashed incautiously upon him, but nearly paid the forfeit of his life. The moose gave him a tremendous blow with one of his sharp hoofs, which made him cry out till the woods echoed with his piteous howl. In vain did we try to induce him to renew the encounter. His passion for the chase seemed effectually cooled; so we were obliged to abandon the pursuit, and the more readily, as the day was now quite spent. We returned to dress the one we had shot, but were astonished, on arriving at the place where we left him, to find that he, too, had made his escape. Tracking him by a trail of blood which appeared to spirt out at every leap he made, we soon came up with him, and fired again. The ball hit, but only to enrage him the more. Five additional bullets were lodged in his perforated body, now making in all nine. Having but one shot more, we desired to make it count effectively; so, taking the gun, I approached very near upon one side, and fired at his head. The ball passed directly into one eye and out at the other, thus rendering him completely blind. The last shot caused him to jump and plunge tremendously. He now became furious, and, guided by the sound of our footsteps, would dart at us like a catamount whenever we approached him. We had no ax to strike him down, or to cut clubs with which to dispatch him. We were at a stand what to do. We tried first to entangle him in the deep snow by approaching him, and thus induce him to spring out of the beaten into the untrodden snow; but the moment he found himself out, he would back directly into the beaten path again.
"Our feelings became very uncomfortable, and now, from pity, we desired to put an end to his sufferings. To see his noble struggle for life, with nine bullets in him, and blind, inspired a painful regard toward him. What to do we knew not. It was really unsafe to approach him so as to cut his throat. We could neither entangle him in the snow, nor bring him down with the small sticks we had cut with our jack-knives. At length we hit upon the following expedient: obtaining a long stiff pole, one end of it was gently placed against his side. We found he leaned against it, and the harder we pushed the more he opposed. Uniting our strength, we pressed it as powerfully as we were capable; he resisted with equal strength. While thus pressing, we suddenly gave way, when he fell flat upon his side. Before he had time to recover, we sprang upon him, and with a knife severed the jugular vein, when he yielded to his fate. It was nearly two hours from the commencement of our last encounter before we dispatched him. Leaving him for the night, we returned to camp, quite overcome with hunger and fatigue.
"Next morning we went out to bring in our prize. We found the other moose affectionately standing over the dead carcass of her slaughtered companion. Manifesting much reluctance to flee, she permitted our approach sufficiently near to afford a good shot, which we were not unwilling to improve; so, raising the fatal instrument to my cheek, I let go. She fell on the spot, and was soon dressed with the other. We took the carcasses into camp, and, after reserving what we wished for our own use, sent the remainder down river to our friends."[9]
The "bull moose" is a formidable foe when he "gets his dander up," and specially so at particular seasons of the year; then, unprovoked, they will make war on man, betraying none of that shrinking timidity so characteristic of thecervine genus. A hunter, who used to put up occasionally over night at our camp, entertained us with the following singular adventure. "Once," said he, "while out on a hunting excursion, I was pursued by a 'bull moose,' during that period when their jealousy was in full operation in behalf of the female. He approached me with his muscular neck curved, and head to the ground, in a manner not dissimilar to the attitude assumed by horned cattle when about to encounter each other. Just as he was about to make a pass at me, I sprang suddenly between his wide-spreading antlers, bestride his neck. Dexterously turning round, I seized him by the horns, and, locking my feet together under his neck, I clung to him like a sloth. With a mixture of rage and terror, he dashed wildly about, endeavoring to dislodge me; but, as my life depended upon maintaining my position, I clung to him with a corresponding desperation. After making a few ineffectual attempts to disengage me, he threw out his nose, and, laying his antlers back upon his shoulders, which formed a screen for my defense, he sprang forward into a furious run, still bearing me upon his neck. Now penetrating dense thickets, then leaping high "wind-falls,"[10]and struggling through swamp-mires, he finally fell through exhaustion, after carrying me about three miles. Improving the opportunity, I drew my hunter's knife from its sheath, and instantly buried it in his neck, cutting the jugular vein, which put a speedy termination to the contest and the flight."
The habits of the moose, in his manner of defense and attack, are similar to those of the stag, and may be illustrated by the following anecdote from the "Random Sketches of a Kentuckian."
"Who ever saw Bravo without loving him? His sloe-black eyes, his glossy skin, flecked here and there with blue; his wide-spread thighs, clean shoulders, broad back, and low-drooping chest, bespoke him the true stag-hound; and none who ever saw his bounding form, or heard his deep-toned bay, as the swift-footed stag flew before him, would dispute his title. List, gentle reader, and I will tell you an adventure which will make you love him all the more.
"A bright frosty morning in November, 1838, tempted me to visit the forest hunting-grounds. On this occasion I was followed by a fine-looking hound, which had been presented to me a few days before by a fellow-sportsman. I was anxious to test his qualities, and, knowing that a mean dog will not often hunt well with a good one, I had tied up the eager Bravo, and was attended by the strange dog alone. A brisk canter of half an hour brought me to the wild forest hills. Slackening the rein, I slowly wound my way up a brushy slope some three hundred yards in length. I had ascended about half way, when the hound began to exhibit signs of uneasiness, and at the same instant a stag sprang out from some underbrush near by, and rushed like a whirl-wind up the slope. A word, and the hound was crouching at my feet, and my trained Cherokee, with ear erect and flashing eye, watched the course of the affrighted animal.
"On the very summit of the ridge, full one hundred and fifty yards, every limb standing out in bold relief against the clear blue sky, the stag paused, and looked proudly down upon us. After a moment of indecision, I raised my rifle, and sent the whizzing lead upon its errand. A single bound, and the antlered monarch was hidden from my view. Hastily running down a ball, I ascended the slope; my blood ran a little faster as I saw the 'gouts of blood' which stained the withered leaves where he had stood. One moment more, and the excited hound was leaping breast high on his trail, and the gallant Cherokee bore his rider like lightning after them.
"Away—away! for hours we did thus hasten on, without once being at fault or checking our headlong speed. The chase had led us miles from the starting-point, and now appeared to be bearing up a creek, on one side of which arose a precipitous hill, some two miles in length, which I knew the wounded animal would never ascend.
"Half a mile further on, another hill reared its bleak and barren head on the opposite side of the rivulet. Once fairly in the gorge, there was no exit save at the upper end of the ravine. Here, then, I must intercept my game, which I was able to do by taking a nearer cut over the ridge, that saved at least a mile.
"Giving one parting shout to cheer my dog, Cherokee bore me headlong to the pass. I had scarcely arrived, when, black with sweat, the stag came laboring up the gorge, seemingly totally reckless of our presence. Again I poured forth the 'leaden messenger of death,' as meteor-like he flashed by us. One bound, and the noble animal lay prostrate within fifty feet of where I stood. Leaping from my horse, and placing one knee upon his shoulder, and a hand upon his antlers, I drew my hunting-knife; but scarcely had its keen point touched his neck, when, with a sudden bound, he threw me from his body, and my knife was hurled from my hand. In hunters' parlance, I had only 'creased him.' I at once saw my danger, but it was too late. With one bound he was upon me, wounding and almost disabling me with his sharp feet and horns. I seized him by his wide-spread antlers, and sought to regain possession of my knife, but in vain; each new struggle drew us further from it. Cherokee, frightened at the unusual scene, had madly fled to the top of the ridge, where he stood looking down upon the combat, trembling and quivering in every limb.
"The ridge road I had taken placed us far in advance of the hound, whose bay I could not now hear. The struggles of the furious animal had become dreadful, and every moment I could feel his sharp hoofs cutting deep into my flesh; my grasp upon his antlers was growing less and less firm, and yet I relinquished not my hold. The struggle had brought us near a deep ditch, washed by the fall rains, and into this I endeavored to force my adversary, but my strength was unequal to the effort; when we approached to the very brink, he leaped over the drain. I relinquished my hold and rolled in, hoping thus to escape him; but he returned to the attack, and, throwing himself upon me, inflicted numerous severe cuts upon my face and breast before I could again seize him. Locking my arms around his antlers, I drew his head close to my breast, and was thus, by great effort, enabled to prevent his doing me any serious injury. But I felt that this could not last long; every muscle and fiber of my frame was called into action, and human nature could not long bear up under such exertion. Faltering a silent prayer to Heaven, I prepared to meet my fate.
"At this moment of despair I heard the faint bayings of the hound; the stag, too, heard the sound, and, springing from the ditch, drew me with him. His efforts were now redoubled, and I could scarcely cling to him. Yet that blessed sound came nearer and nearer! Oh how wildly beat my heart as I saw the hound emerge from the ravine, and spring forward with a short, quick bark, as his eye rested on his game! I released my hold of the stag, who turned upon the new enemy. Exhausted, and unable to rise, I still cheered the dog that, dastard like, fled before the infuriated animal, who, seemingly despising such an enemy, again threw himself upon me. Again did I succeed in throwing my arms around his antlers, but not until he had inflicted several deep and dangerous wounds upon my head and face, cutting to the very bone.
"Blinded by the flowing blood, exhausted and despairing, I cursed the coward dog, who stood near, baying furiously, yet refusing to seize his game. Oh! how I prayed for Bravo! The thoughts of death were bitter. To die thus in the wild forest, alone, with none to help! Thoughts of home and friends coursed like lightning through my brain. At that moment, when Hope herself had fled, deep and clear over the neighboring hill came the baying of my gallant Bravo! I should have known his voice among a thousand. I pealed forth, in one faint shout, 'On, Bravo, on!' The next moment, with tiger-like bounds, the noble dog came leaping down the declivity, scattering the dried autumnal leaves like a whirl-wind in his path. 'No pause he knew,' but, fixing his fangs in the stag's throat, he at once commenced the struggle.
"I fell back, completely exhausted. Blinded with blood, I only knew that a terrific struggle was going on. In a few moments all was still, and I felt the warm breath of my faithful dog as he licked my wounds. Clearing my eyes from gore, I saw my late adversary dead at my feet, and Bravo, 'my own Bravo,' as the heroine of a modern novel would say, standing over me. He yet bore around his neck a fragment of the rope with which I had tied him. He had gnawed it in two, and, following his master through all his windings, arrived in time to rescue him from a horrible death.
"I have recovered from my wounds. Bravo is lying at my feet. Who does not love Bravo? I am sure I do, and the rascal knows it—don't you, Bravo? Come here, sir!"