In the Burned Forest
The two boys were almost stunned by their discovery. For a moment neither
spoke. Indeed neither dared to speak. Their disappointment was so keen,
their thirst so intense, that both boys were near to tears. But presently
they got command of themselves.
"I knew it had been a mighty dry season," said Lew, in amazement, "but I
never imagined it was anything like this. I supposed that spring never
went dry."
The two lads stood looking at each other in consternation.
"What in the world shall we do?" asked Charley, slowly.
"I don't see that we can do anything," rejoined Lew. "I'm all in myself. I
couldn't go another rod if somebody would pay me. We'll just have to make
the best of it."
"Well, we can eat if we can't drink," said Charley. "Start a fire and I'll
get out the grub."
Charley began to unroll his pack, while Lew gathered up a few twigs and
made a cone-shaped little pile of them close beside the great rock. He
struck a match and in a moment flames were drawing upward through the
twigs. With the hatchet Lew cut some short lengths of heavier wood and
soon the flames were leaping high, lighting up the forest for rods around.
Dismal, indeed, was the sight the two lads looked upon. Nowhere could they
see anything green, save a few scattered ferns. Everywhere gaunt, ragged,
blackened trees thrust their sorrowful looking trunks aloft. The earth was
littered with blackened débris--burned and partly charred limbs and fallen
trees. The very rocks were fire-scarred and scorched. Hardly could the
mind of man conceive a picture more desolate. As the two boys looked at
the scene before them, Lew quoted the sign on the hemlock.
"Everybody loses when timber burns," he said. But though both boys were
looking directly at what seemed the very acme of destruction and loss,
neither as yet comprehended the full significance of the statement Lew was
quoting.
Charley spread the grub out on his blanket and put the dishes together
near the fire. While he was waiting for a bed of coals to form, he cut
some bread and spread the slices with butter. Presently he put the little
frying-pan over the coals and began to cook some meat. Every time he bent
over his pile of grub, he smelled the coffee. The odor was tantalizing,
almost torturing. Never, it seemed to him, had he ever wanted anything so
much as he now wanted a drink of coffee. But with no water they could
have no coffee. Finally Charley put the package of coffee in the
coffee-pot and clamped down the lid so that the odor could reach him no
longer. From time to time Lew quietly stirred the coals. Charley fried the
meat in silence. Neither boy felt like talking.
When the meal was ready, they sat down on the dry ground and in silence
ate their food.
Presently Lew broke the quiet. "I wonder what Roy had to say to-night. I
thought maybe we'd be able to get our wireless up and listen in. But I'm
too tired to bother with any wireless to-night, even from Roy. It'll be
the hay for mine, quick."
He began to look for a place where they could sleep. When he had selected
a spot, he took the hatchet and with the back of it smoothed the ground,
removing all stones and little stumps. Charley, meantime, put the food
away and piled the dishes. They could not be washed. Then the two boys
rolled themselves in their blankets, put their pack bags under their heads
and were asleep almost instantly. Their difficult climb had tired them
utterly.
The next morning found them fully refreshed. No clouds hung above them,
and the sun's rays awoke them early. Aside from their intense thirst,
neither felt any the worse for his hard experience.
"It's still early," said Lew, as he looked at the sun that had hardly more
than cleared the summit of the eastern hills. "Let's push on down to the
bottom and cook breakfast after we reach water. It won't take very long
to get down, and then we can have some coffee. Oh boy! I never knew how
good coffee was."
"I could drink anything--even medicine," smiled Charley, "so it was wet."
Rapidly the packs were assembled and the blankets rolled. "Put things
together good," said Lew, "for it will be a tough journey even if we are
going down-hill. I've been looking at some of the tangles we came through
last night and I don't see how we ever made it."
"Sometimes," replied Charley, "it's a good thing a fellow can't know
exactly what he's attempting. If he did know, maybe he'd never have the
nerve to try."
They started down the slope, their packs and blankets securely slung about
them and even tied fast with strings, to prevent them from catching among
the fallen trees. Unintentionally they followed the dry bed of the stream.
It led along a slight depression that ran diagonally down the
mountainside. But quickly they realized that this was the most difficult
path they could have chosen. For along the margins of the brook, the
timber, fed by the flow of water, had been much denser and larger than the
timber farther from the bank of the stream. So dense was the tangle now
that at first the boys could see only a few hundred yards ahead of them.
Presently they noticed that they were traveling through the thickest part
of the timber, or what had been timber. If possible, their way was more
difficult than it had been in ascending the mountain. But daylight and the
fact that they were going down-hill made it possible for them to travel
with comparative rapidity. Once they noticed that they were advancing by
the most difficult route, they left the margin of the brook and cut
straight down the slope.
Now the way was more open. They could see farther. But both were so
preoccupied with what lay immediately around them that for a time neither
gave heed to more distant views. Furthermore, the bottom was still
obscured by a heavy night mist. The warm spring sun rapidly dissipated
this, opening the valley to view as though some invisible hand had rolled
back a giant cover. Presently Lew reached a little area that was swept
absolutely bare of everything. Nothing remained but the nude rocks and
soil. Lew, who was leading the way, paused to spy out the best path. Then
he cried out in dismay. A moment later Charley stood by his side and both
boys gazed in speechless horror at the scene before them.
The magnificent stand of pines that they had expected to see in the bottom
was no more. For miles the valley before them was a blackened waste. Like
giant jackstraws the huge pine sticks, that they had last seen as
magnificent, towering trees, were heaped in inextricable confusion or
still stood, broken, blasted, gaunt, limbless, spectral, awful remnants of
their former selves. No words could convey the terrible desolation of the
scene. Where formerly these giant pines had risen heavenward, higher and
more stately than the most exquisite church spires or cathedral columns,
there were now only scattered and blasted stumps, while the floor of the
valley was strewn with the horrible débris. The scene was sickening,
appalling.
For a moment neither lad spoke. The scene before them oppressed them, made
them sick at heart. They knew no language that would convey what was in
their minds. But even yet they did not fully understand the tragedy of a
forest fire. They were soon to learn. Silently they went on; but they had
gone no more than a hundred yards when they came upon a sight that fairly
sickened them. In a little circle, as though the animals had crowded close
together in their terror and helplessness, lay the remains of a number of
deer. The flesh had either been burned or had rotted away; but the most of
the bones and parts of the hides remained. There could be no mistake as to
the identity of the dead animals. The very positions of the skeletons told
a pitiful story. Blinded by smoke and flame, made frantic by the red death
that was sweeping the forest, confused, terror-stricken, weakened by gas
and fumes, the poor beasts had finally crowded together and perished under
the onrushing wave of fire. For a moment the boys gazed at the scene in
fascinated horror; then they turned away, to shut out the picture. They
were oppressed, almost stunned.
They went on. Not a vestige of its former magnificent vegetation covered
the slope. Nothing in the world could be more awful, more desolate, more
disheartening to behold than the area the two chums were now crossing.
Never had either seen anything that so oppressed him. For not only had the
slope of Old Ironsides been laid waste, but the entire bottom had been
swept by fire, and the opposite mountain slope devastated. Before them was
nothing but desolation.
Soon they were near enough to see the sparkle of water in the bottom. In
their horror at their immediate surroundings they had temporarily
forgotten even their terrible thirst. The sight of water recalled their
need.
"Thank God water can't burn!" cried Lew, as the sparkle of the brook
caught his eye. "We'd be in a fine pickle if the brook had been consumed,
too."
The prospect of a drink stirred them. They threw off the spell that so
depressed them and hastened downward, reckless alike of menacing branches
and loose stones and obstructing tree trunks. Headlong they pushed
downward. But fortune was with them and neither a broken bone nor a
strained ligament resulted, though more than once each lad slipped and
fell. Presently they reached the bottom of the slope and came to the very
brink of the run. Almost frantically they flung themselves on the ground
and drank.
Long, copious draughts they drank; and it was not until they had quenched
their thirst that they really noticed how shrunken the brook was. Instead
of the deep, rushing mountain stream they had seen when last they visited
the spot, they now found but a slender rivulet that flowed quietly along
the middle of the stream bed, leaving bare, bordering ribbons of stony
bottom along its margins. Nowhere did the water seem to reach from bank to
bank, excepting where some obstruction in the stream bed dammed the
current back. Like the forest, the brook was also a sorrowful picture. But
there was this difference. The forest was dead, whereas the brook, though
feeble, still lived.
The full significance of the shrunken stream did not strike the two boys
until they had traveled for some distance up the bank of the run.
Presently they came to a spot they recognized as a favorite trout-hole. A
great boulder jutted out from one bank, while opposite it, on the other
shore, stood or had stood, a mammoth hemlock. These obstructions had
formed a little pool, and the current had eaten away much earth from
beneath the roots of the great tree, forming an ideal lurking place for
trout. And in this dark, deep, secure retreat great fish had lived since
time immemorial. More than one huge trout had the two chums taken here.
Never was the pool without its giant occupant, for when one big fellow was
caught another moved in to take his place, the run being fully stocked
from year to year by the smaller fishes from the spring brooks, like the
vanished rivulet above. But now no trout hid under the hemlock's roots.
They stood high and dry, while the puny stream that trickled beneath them
would hardly have covered a minnow. The two boys looked at each other in
dismay.
"You don't suppose the entire stream is like that, do you, Lew?" asked
Charley. "There won't be a trout in it if it is." Then, after a pause, he
added: "What in the world do you suppose has become of the trout, anyway?"
His question was soon answered, at least in part. Continuing along the
bank of the run, the boys presently came to one of the deepest pools in
the stream. In the crystal water they could see many trout, for there were
no hiding-places in the pool at this low stage of water. Some of the fish
were large. At the approach of the boys the frightened trout darted
frantically about in the pool, vainly seeking cover.
Around the margins of this pool were innumerable little tracks in the
earth. "Raccoons!" exclaimed Lew. "There must have been dozens of them
here."
But not until he found some little piles of fish-bones near the farther
end of the pool did he grasp the significance of the tracks. He stopped in
amazement.
"Look here, Charley," he called, pointing to the piles of fish-bones.
"Those coons have been catching and eating trout." Then, after a moment's
thought, he added, "If this stream is like this in April, what will it be
in August? There will be hardly a drop of water or a trout left. Why, this
brook is ruined for years as a trout-stream--maybe forever. And it used to
be absolutely the finest trout-stream in this part of the mountains."
Depressed and silent, the two lads continued along the brook. The
mountains on either side of them and the entire bottom between lay black
and desolate. But far up the run they could now see green foliage again,
where the fire had been stopped.
"Let's go on to those pines before we eat our breakfast," said Charley.
"It would make me sick to eat here in these ruins."
"That's exactly the way I feel, too," replied Lew. "It is the most awful
thing I ever saw. Let's get out of it."
As rapidly as they could, they forced their way up-stream. The valley
became narrower as they advanced. It was shaped like a huge wish-bone; and
they were nearing the small end, where the mountains came together and
formed a high knob. As the valley narrowed, the grade became much steeper,
and their progress was correspondingly slower.
The pines they were heading for stood almost at the top of the knob at the
crotch of the wish-bone. They were, therefore, at a considerable
elevation. From the edge of these pines one would have to travel only a
short distance to reach the very summit of the knob. After a hard walk the
boys reached the end of the burned tract. They penetrated into the living
forest far enough to shut out the sight of the dead forest they had just
traversed. Then they threw down their packs and hastily set about cooking
their breakfast.
"Gee!" cried Lew. "I never was so glad to get away from anything in my
life. I hope I shall never again see a sight like that. It fairly makes a
fellow sick."
In their haste to start cooking, they were not as careful as they might
have been in building their fire, and they made considerable smoke. Before
they were half done eating, a man appeared farther up the run, advancing
through the pines at great speed. He seemed to be in a big hurry until he
caught sight of the two boys as they sat on the dry pine-needles. After
that he came forward at an ordinary gait.
"Good-morning, boys," he said pleasantly, as he drew near. Then, catching
sight of their rods, he added, "If you came to get fish, you struck a
mighty poor place."
"It used to be the best place for trout I ever saw," replied Lew. "This
brook used to be full of 'em--big ones, too. But the season has been so
dry, the brook has almost disappeared."
"You mean that the fires that have swept this valley have burned it up,"
replied the stranger.
"It's too awful a thing to joke about," replied Lew.
"A joke!" exclaimed the stranger, frowning.
"It's the literal truth--and a most terrible truth, at that."
"I don't understand," said Lew, slowly. "How can fire burn water? I
supposed the lack of snow last winter and of rain this spring had made the
brook shrink."
"Not for a minute, young man, not for a minute. If fires hadn't swept this
valley the past two or three years, there would have been plenty of water
in the run, rain or no rain."
"I--I don't exactly understand," said Lew hesitatingly.
"It's like this," said the stranger. "The forest floor is like a great
sponge. The decayed leaves and twigs are so light and porous that they
soak up most of the rain as it falls and hold the water indefinitely. That
keeps the springs full, and the springs feed the brooks, and so there is
water all the year round. It is nature's method of storing up water. When
a fire sweeps through the forest, especially such awful fires as have gone
through this valley, the leaves and twigs above ground are burned, and
even the roots and the decaying vegetable matter under the earth are
consumed. Nothing is left but mineral matter--particles of rock, stones,
sand, and the like. The rain will no longer sink into the ground, nor will
the earth hold the water as the rotting leaves do. Then when it rains, the
water runs off as fast as it falls. The brooks are flooded for a few hours
and then they dry up until another rain comes. So you see I meant exactly
what I said. This trout-stream was burned up by the forest fires.
Likewise many of the trout were burned up with it, for in places the fire
made the water hotter than trout can stand. Thousands of them were
literally cooked."
For a while both boys were silent. The idea was a new one to them.
Presently Charley spoke. "I knew that fire burned up our timber," he said,
"but I never thought about its burning up our water, too. I know we're
getting awful short of lumber. Is there any danger of our running out of
water? But that can't be, surely."
"It surely can be," said the stranger. "I judge you boys have been here
before, and-----"
"We have," interrupted Lew.
"Then you know what a magnificent stream this run used to be. Look at it
now. I don't believe there is one-tenth as much water in it as there used
to be. Suppose all the mountains in this state should be devastated like
this valley. Where would the towns and cities get their water?"
"Great Cæsar!" said Lew. "I never thought of that. There wouldn't be any
water for them to get. If the brooks dried up, the rivers would dry up,
too. Why--why--what in the world would we do? There wouldn't be any water
to drink or wash in or cook with or run our factories. Why, great Cæsar!
If the forests vanished, I guess we'd be up against it. I never thought of
the forests as furnishing anything but lumber. And I never thought much
about that until we tried to buy a little lumber the other day and the
dealer wanted ten dollars for half a dozen boards."
"Exactly!" said the stranger. "That's the price you and I and the rest of
us in Pennsylvania pay for allowing our forests to be destroyed."
"They haven't all been destroyed," protested Lew.
"No, but the greater part of them have been."
"You don't mean really destroyed, do you?" asked Lew.
"Yes, sir. Absolutely destroyed. You came up this valley, didn't you?"
"Sure," said Charley.
"Would you call the forest there destroyed?"
"If it isn't, I don't know how you would describe it," said Lew.
"All right, then. There are some 45,000 square miles in this state.
Originally practically all of that area was dense forests. The early
settlers thought the timber would last forever and they cut and destroyed
it recklessly. The lumbermen that followed were just as wasteful. It was
all right to clear the land that was good for farming. But there are more
than 20,000 square miles in this state just like these mountains--land
that is fit for nothing but the production of timber. None of that land is
producing as much timber as it should. Much of it yields very little. And
more than 6,400 square miles are absolutely desert, as bare and hideous as
the burned valley below us. That's one acre in every seven in
Pennsylvania. Think of it! Six thousand, four hundred square miles, an
area larger than the states of Connecticut and Rhode Island put together,
that is absolute desert! Every foot of that land ought to be producing
timber for us. Then we should have lumber at a fraction of its present
cost. You see the freight charges alone on the lumber used in this state
are enormous."
"That lumber dealer told us they amounted to $25,000,000 a year," replied
Lew.
"They do," assented the stranger. "And when the new freight rates go into
effect the amount will be $40,000,000. What it will be when we get our
wood from the Pacific coast I have no idea, but I suppose it will be at
least double what it is now, anyway."
"The Pacific coast!" cried Lew. "Why should we get lumber from the Pacific
coast when we can get it from the South? The lumber dealer told us that
practically all the wood we use now conies from the South."
"He was right. But we shall presently be getting our lumber from the far
West for the same reason that we now get it from the South. In ten or a
dozen years there won't be any lumber left in the South for us to buy.
They will do well to supply themselves. Then we must bring our lumber from
Idaho and Oregon and Washington and California. The freight charges will
be something terrific, and the wood itself will cost a good deal more than
it now does because it will be so scarce."
"Great Cæsar!" cried Lew. "What will a poor devil do then if he wants to
build a boat?"
"Or if he wants to build a house?" suggested the stranger. "You know lots
of folks have to build houses every year. Look at all the people who get
married and build homes. Why, when I was a little boy, you could buy the
finest kind of lumber for ten or fifteen dollars a thousand. It didn't
cost much then to build a house. Now a man has to work for years before he
can save enough to pay for a home, even a very modest one. And what it
will cost when the wood from the South and the far West is all gone I hate
to imagine."
"The wood from the far West all gone!" cried Charley. "Surely that can
never be. Why, the forests there are enormous. I've read all about them."
"The forests here were enormous, too, young man. Forty years ago
Pennsylvania supplied a large part of the nation with its lumber. And
to-day we don't grow more than one-tenth of the wood we use. Yes, sir;
within twenty-five years or so after we have finished up the wood in the
South, there won't be any left in the far West, either."
"What in the world are we going to do?" asked Lew.
"God knows," said the stranger solemnly. "But there is one thing we've
<i>got</i> to do right now. Get these mountains to growing timber again. We
must take care of what has already started to grow and plant trees where
there are none. Most important of all, we must be careful with fire. I
came down here just to warn you boys to be careful with your fire."
"It wasn't necessary," said Lew. "We fought a forest fire once, and nobody
but an idiot would ever be careless with fire if he had seen what we have
seen this morning."
"Well, I must be moving, boys. There are lots of other fishermen that are
not as careful as you are. Good-bye."
The man started on, then turned back. "If you came here to fish," he said
slowly, "you're up against it. But I can tell you where to go to get all
the trout you want. Go on up to the top of this knob. Face exactly east
and you will see a gap in the second range of mountains. Make your way
through that gap and you'll find as fine a trout-stream as God ever made.
This is state forest and the Forestry Department wants everybody to use
and enjoy the forests. We are always glad to help campers."
"Are you connected with the State Forest Service?" asked Charley, all
interest.
"Of course," smiled the stranger. "I'm a forest-ranger," and he threw back
his coat, exhibiting a keystone shaped badge on his breast.
"And it's your duty to protect the forest from fire?" asked Charley.
"Yes; and do a lot more besides. A forest-ranger has to look after the
forest just as a gardener has to tend a garden. And that means we must
care for everything in the forest--birds and animals and fish as well as
trees, though, of course, the game wardens have particular charge of the
animals."
"And how do you take care of the animals and the trees?" demanded Charley
eagerly.
"Young man," he said, "it would take me all day to answer your question.
We do whatever is necessary to the welfare of the forest and its
inhabitants. We take out wolf trees, make improvement cuttings, plant
little trees, keep our telephone-line in shape, and do a million other
things, as we find them necessary. If I had time just now, I'd go down
this run and pile some stones in the pools for the trout to hide under. I
was through here the other day and I noticed that the coons are playing
hob with the fish."
"And does the state pay you for doing this work?"
"Certainly. Pays me well, too."
"Tell me how I could-----" began Charley.
But the ranger interrupted him. "I can't tell you another thing now," he
said. "I must be moving. You never can tell when some careless fisherman
will set the forest on fire. The fact is I ought to be at headquarters
with the other rangers. The chief keeps us pretty close to the office
during the fire season, so as to have a fire crew at hand to respond
instantly to an alarm. But we have had such difficulty in securing fire
patrols this spring that some of us rangers have to do patrol duty. This
piece of timber you are in is the most valuable part of this entire
forest. It is virgin pine. It would cut close to 100,000 feet to the acre.
There is very little timber left in all Pennsylvania as fine as this. A
good part of it has already been burned. We are keeping close watch on
what is left. You never can tell when or where fires will start and we
want to grab them at the first possible minute. So I must shake a leg."
"How do you grab a fire?" demanded Charley. "Please tell us. Maybe we
could help put one out some day if we knew how."
The ranger laughed. "You're a persistent Indian," he said, "and I'm glad
you like the forest."
"Like it!" exclaimed Charley. "I love it."
He poured a cup of hot coffee and handed it to the ranger. "Tell us how
you put out a fire," he pleaded.
The ranger chuckled. "You're a diplomat as well as a forest lover, I see,"
he said. "Well, I shall keep moving through this tract of timber all day
long. If I see a fire I shall hurry to it, the way I came down to your big
smoke. I'll put it out, if possible. And if I can't get it out, I'll
summon help. Then we'll fight it until we do get it out."
"How could you get help, when you're alone in the deep forest?"
"I'd make my way out to the highway where our wire runs and connect up
this portable telephone," and the ranger pointed to a little leather case,
like a kodak box, that hung from his shoulder by a leather strap. "In a
minute's time a fire crew would be on the way to my assistance in a
motor-truck."
The ranger handed Charley the empty cup and thanked him.
"Have some more coffee?" urged Charley.
"'Get thee behind me, Satan,'" quoted the ranger. "I believe you'd keep me
here all day if you could. I must be moving."
"Just a minute," pleaded Charley. "You said it was difficult to find fire
patrols. Could I get a job as a fire patrol? I don't know as much about
fighting fire as you do, but I can patrol the forest and report fires as
well as anybody."
"I wish you could be a patrol," replied the ranger heartily. "I'm sure
you'd make a good one. You seem to like the forest. But I don't believe it
is possible. The chief never hires anybody under twenty-one years of age
excepting in very unusual circumstances. In fact, I know of only two such
cases. And those two boys were almost of age and were unusualy well
qualified. I'm sorry, for I'd like to see you in the Forest Service.
Good-bye." He turned on his heel and was gone.
Lew watched the ranger until he disappeared from view. Charley scarcely
glanced at him. He was lost in thought. Evidently his thoughts were not
pleasant, for from time to time he scowled.
"Lew," he said, at length, "I never realized until this minute just what
that sign on the old hemlock meant." And he quoted: "'Everybody loses
when timber burns.' It's true. <i>Everybody</i> loses--positively everybody.
The sportsmen lose game, the fishermen lose fish, the towns lose their
water-supply, the mills lose their water-power, civilization loses wood.
Why, Lew, civilization's built of wood. How could we live without it? And
as for me, think what I've lost through forest fires. I've lost an
opportunity to own half of a boat. I've suffered from thirst. I've lost a
chance to catch some fish. And, Lew, I've lost a college education! I
never understood it before. If the cost of lumber hadn't gone up so much,
Dad could have paid for his house easily and helped me through college.
Now I've got to give up going to college. I've got to work two or three
years for Dad and if ever I get married and want to build a home, I see
where I've got to slave for the rest of my life to pay for the lumber
that's in it, and the wooden furnishings inside of it. Think of it, Lew!
You and I and all the rest of us have to work for years and years just to
pay for what a lot of reckless people did before we were born. It's
terrible, Lew, terrible. I've got to spend three years in a factory
because of it. I thought for a minute that I might get a job here in the
forest. That would have been grand. But there's no such luck. It's the
factory for me. I'm sure of it. I don't know how I'll ever stand it, Lew."