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 the bags 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 he bade 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 their feet 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 think of 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. While they 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 attained
full 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 dashed their 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 of rapids, 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 ears with 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 surprise that 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 the guide, 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-filled lamp, 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 lumber
crew--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 in little 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 when some 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 with an 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.
XXIV A DARING RESCUE
The boys were awakened before daylight by the “turning out” of the
crew. They found Ben up and ready for breakfast, and, hastening into
their clothes, they joined the line of jolly men waiting their turn at
the tin wash-basin. Having finally reached it, they completed their
toilet and followed Ben into the “grub-shanty.”
The merry meal was soon over, and, with an invitation to come and see
them at work, the lumbermen started for the woods and the river. Ned,
the foreman, was too busy to give much attention to his guests, and
telling the guide where he might find him at work, he quickly followed
after his men.
Left alone, Ben and the boys, feeling thoroughly at home, began a
closer inspection of the camp. Charley, the cook, came out and joined
them, and they found him a quaint and interesting character. He told
of his experiences in the lumber woods, and, of course, made a great
impression on Ed and George. When they had been sitting there some
little time, the guide rose and pointed toward the river.
“They’re running; here comes the head of the drive!” he cried.
Plowing their way swiftly down the current, the boys saw an
advance-guard of huge logs. Close behind were others, and as the boys
hurried to the water’s edge, they saw the river was dotted with logs as
far up as they could look. The majority drifted rapidly past, well out
in the middle of the stream. Occasionally, however, one would swerve
and bang against the bank, or become temporarily stranded on a sand-bar
or pebbly beach.