SOMETHING ABOUT THE MAINE LUMBER TRADE
Owen was as amazed as Dale to think that the man who had leaped on the
disappearing freight train was the French-Canadian who had caused the
latter so much trouble.
"Well, he's gone," said he, after a moment's pause. "It's a pity you
didn't spot him before the train started."
"He didn't show himself, Owen." Dale drew a long breath. "Do you know
what I think? I think he was hanging around this town, when he saw us
and made up his mind that he had better get out."
They made a number of inquiries and soon learned that Ducrot had been
in Lakeport two days. He had applied to Joel Winthrop and several
other lumbermen for a position, but had smelt so strongly of liquor
that nobody had cared to engage him. From general indications all the
lumbermen doubted if the fellow had much money in his possession.
"I'll wager he sold the horse and drank up the best part of the
proceeds," said Dale. "It's a rank shame, too! I'll have to save a long
time to square up with Mr. Larson. I'd give a week's wages if I could
have Ducrot arrested."
"You might telegraph to the next station, Dale."
"So I might!" Dale's face brightened a little, then fell again. "But
I guess I won't. It will cost extra money, and I'll have to go and
identify him, and stay around when he is tried, and all that. No, I'll
watch my chance to catch him some time when it is more convenient."
Promptly at the time appointed by old Joel Winthrop the journey up the
lake was begun. Counting Dale and Owen there were five lumbermen on the
_Lily_, which was a craft ten feet wide by about twenty feet long. The
_Lily_ was to be towed along by a small tug which did all sorts of odd
jobs around the lake. The bateau was piled high with the provisions and
with the boxes and valises belonging to the lumbermen, not forgetting
the case that contained Owen's precious violin and the green bag with
the banjo.
"I see you're a player," said Joel Winthrop. "I used to scratch a
fiddle myself years ago. You'll have to give us some music goin' up."
And Owen did, much to the satisfaction of all on board.
The distance to the Paxton lumber camp was over a hundred and fifteen
miles, and it took five days to cover the journey. At the end of the
lake the goods had to be portaged up to the river, and then had to
be portaged around the falls beyond. On the West Branch and the side
stream on which the camp was located the bateau had to be poled along,
and owing to the low water often caught on the mud or the rocks. But
nobody minded the work, and as the weather was cool and dry the journey
passed off pleasantly enough.
The two strange lumbermen were from Bangor and were named Gilroy and
Andrews. They were experienced hands, and Gilroy was an under boss at
the camp, having charge of the North-Section Gang, as it was called.
All the older men loved to talk about lumbering in general and old
times in Maine in particular, and Dale and Owen listened to the
conversation with interest.
"Got to go putty far back for lumber now," said Joel Winthrop. "All the
good stuff nigh to the river has been cut away."
"I've heard my grandfather tell of the times when they cut good logs
less than ten miles from Bangor," put in Gilroy. "I reckon they didn't
think what an industry lumbering would become in these days."
"I suppose they cut nothing but pine in those days," said Dale.
"Nothing but pine, lad; spruce wasn't looked at."
"Yes, and pine was the great thing even up to the Civil War," said
Joel Winthrop. "But that was the last of it, and a couple of years
after the war ended spruce came to the front, and now, as you perhaps
know, we cut five times as much spruce as we do anything else."
"I've often wondered how many men worked in Maine at lumbering," said
Owen. "There must be a small army of us, all told."
"I heard that last year more than fourteen thousand men were in the
woods," came from Andrews. "The total number of feet of all kinds of
lumber cut was over half a billion."
"What a stack of logs!" cried Dale.
"No wonder we have a pine tree on the coat of arms of the State," added
Owen. "But it ought to be a spruce tree now instead of a pine," he
continued.
"I can remember the day when the lumber camps claimed the very best of
our people," said Joel Winthrop. "Folks wasn't stuck up in them days,
and many of the richest men in Bangor and Portland earned their first
dollar choppin' down pine trees. But now we've got all sorts in the
camps, an' have to take 'em or git nobody. Not but what we've got good
men at our camp," he added hastily.
"I wouldn't mind a job as a lumber surveyor," said Dale. "They get good
wages, don't they?"
"A deputy surveyor gets ten cents a thousand on all the lumber he
checks off," answered Gilroy. "I've known a man to make six to ten
dollars a day at it. The fellows who overhaul the lumber for him get
seven and a half cents a thousand each. The surveyor-general of the
county gets a cent a thousand on all lumber passed on in the county."
"Some day I reckon I'll be a surveyor-general," observed Owen dryly.
"I'd rather own a rich lumber tract," returned Dale. "I'd work it
systematically, cutting nothing but big trees and planting a new tree
for every old one cut. By that means I'd make the tract bring me in a
regular income."
"That's the way to talk," came from Joel Winthrop. "And unless the
owners do something like that putty soon Maine won't be in the lumber
business no more."
"They tell me that the big pulp mill near here can use up 50,000,000
feet of lumber in a year," went on Dale.
"It's true," said Gilroy. "They'll chew up logs almost as fast as you
can raft 'em along. What we are coming to if the pulp mills and paper
makers keep on crowding us for logs, I don't know."
It was night when they reached the landing place nearest to the Paxton
camp, which was located up the hillside, half a mile away. At this
point the stream opened up into something of a pond, with a cove in
which several small boats were moored.
The shores of the pond were rocky and covered in spots with a stunted
undergrowth, while further back was the forest of spruce, pine, fir,
and a few other trees, sending forth a delicious fragrance that was as
invigorating as it was delightful. As the bateau grounded, Dale leaped
ashore, stretched himself and took a long, deep breath, filling his
lungs to their utmost capacity.
"This is what I like!" he cried. "It's better than a tonic or any other
medicine."
"And what an appetite it will give a fellow," added Owen. "I can always
eat like a horse when I'm in the woods working."
As it was a clear night, the bateau was hauled up on the shore and the
provisions carefully covered with a thick tarpaulin. Then the party
struck out up the hillside for the camp, Joel Winthrop leading the way.
The trail was a rough one, for this camp was new, being located nearly
a mile from the one of the season before, the loggers moving from place
to place according to the cutting to be done. More than once they had
to climb over the rough rocks with care, and once Owen slipped into
a hollow and gave his leg a twist that was far from agreeable. The
ground lay thick with needles, cones, and dead leaves, and here and
there a fallen tree brought down by storm or old age.
The young lumbermen had already been informed that the camp was a new
one, so they were not surprised when they learned that so far only a
cook's shanty had been erected and that the men assembled were sleeping
in little shacks and tents or in the open. When they arrived they found
but two men awake, the others having retired almost immediately after
supper.
Joel Winthrop had his own shack, a primitive affair, made by leaning a
number of poles against a rocky cliff eight or ten feet high. Over the
poles were placed a number of pine boughs, and boughs were also placed
on the floor of the structure, for bedding purposes.
"Come right in and make yourselves at home," he said cheerily, after
lighting a camp lantern and hanging it on a notch of one of the poles.
"Nothing more to do to-night, so we might as well go to sleep."
"The boys can sleep with you; I'll stay outside where I can get the
fresh air," said Gilroy, and wrapping himself in a blanket he went to
rest at the foot of a neighboring tree, with Andrews beside him.
A youth not used to roughing it might have found the flooring of the
shack rather a hard bed. But Dale and Owen thought nothing of this. The
last day on the river had been a busy one, and soon each was in the
land of dreams, neither of them being disturbed in the slightest by the
loud snoring around them--for lumbermen in camp do snore, and that most
outrageously--why, nobody can tell, excepting it may be as a warning to
wild beasts to keep away!
The next morning the sun came up as brightly as ever. Long before that
time the camp was astir, and from the cook's shanty floated the aroma
of broiled mackerel, fried potatoes, and coffee.
"That smells like home!" exclaimed Owen and started for a spring near
by, where there was a small tub, in which the men washed, one after
another.
A table of rough deal boards had been erected under the trees, with a
long bench on either side. There was no tablecloth, but the table was
as clean as water and soap could make it. Each man was provided with a
tin cup, a tin plate, a knife, a fork, and a spoon, and each was served
his portion by the cook or the cook's assistant. If the man wanted more
he usually rapped on his empty cup or plate until he was supplied.
The cook was a burly negro named Jeff, his full name being Jefferson
Jackson. Jeff was usually good-natured, but when the men hurried him
too much for their victuals he would often growl back at them.
"Fo' de lan' sake!" he would bellow. "Say, can't you gib dis chile no
chance 'tall? Yo' lobsters dun got no bottom to yo' stummicks. T'ink
I'se heah to fill up de hull ob de 'Nobscot Ribber? Yo' dun eat like
yo' been starvin' all summah."
"Jeff wants to turn us into skeletons," cried one of the young
lumbermen, winking at the others. "He's got a contract to furnish a
Boston museum with 'em."
"Skellertons, am it?" exploded Jeff. "Wot yo' is gwine to do is to hire
out to 'em fer a fat man--if yo' kin git filled up yere. But Mastah
Paxton aint raisin' no fat men fo' no museums 'round dis camp, so yo'
jest dun hole yo' hosses till I gits 'round dar a fo'th time."
And then the men would have to wait, until each had had his fill, when
he would scramble from his seat with scant ceremony and prepare for the
day's work.