A LOG JAM ON THE PENOBSCOT
Several days later came letters for Dale and Owen, which the pair read
with much interest.
The communications were from Mr. Jefferson Wilbur, and he wrote to each
thanking them for what they had done in his interest. He begged them
to accept what he inclosed as a slight return for their services, and
ended by stating that if they ever came to Boston he would be glad to
have them call upon him. In each letter was a post-office money order
for fifty dollars.
"That is what I call generous!" cried Owen. "I wasn't expecting a
thing."
"I thought he might thank us, but I wasn't looking for money," returned
Dale. "I hardly like to keep it."
"Why not?"
"Oh, I can't exactly say. It looks something like a charity."
"I don't see it in that light. He has plenty of money, and this is a
substantial evidence of how he appreciates what we did."
Owen appealed to Mr. Paxton, and the camp owner told them to keep the
money by all means.
"Mr. Wilbur is very rich," he said. "And he wouldn't like it at all if
you returned his gift. Perhaps he'd think you wanted something larger.
Thank him for his kindness and let it go at that." And in the end each
penned the best letter he was able, and kept the reward.
"Our cigar-box account is growing," laughed Owen, when they counted up
their savings. "Here is a clean hundred from Mr. Wilbur, and thirty-six
dollars besides, and all the wages Mr. Paxton is holding back on us.
Dale, we'll be rich before we know it."
"Aren't you glad you started to save when I wanted you to, Owen?"
"To be sure. But now I've really got to have some new fiddle strings.
That E is patched in two places, and the G is getting all unwound. And
I've got to have a new pair of boots if I am going down the river on
that last drive."
"Did Mr. Paxton say he'd let you go with Herrick?"
"Yes, if I'd take charge of the boat. Will you go with me?"
"Will a duck swim? I know Herrick will let us help when there is a jam,
and that's the fun of it," added Dale.
The drives had already been started on the river, and pile after pile
of logs left the yards, on their long way down river and lakes to the
booms and the mills. Other drives from other camps were also coming
along, and at times the river presented a scene of unusual activity,
quite in contrast to the dreariness of the winter just past.
Herrick was one of the old-time "Bangor boys," a log driver as good as
the best. He was Yankee to the backbone, tall, thin, and "leathery,"
with jaws continually working on a quid of tobacco, and eyes that
looked one through and through at a glance. He was a "codfish" man
too, and insisted on having that dainty for his morning meal with the
regularity of the sun's rising. He was usually of a mild temper, but
when a jam occurred unexpectedly, his flow of language was terrific,
and his sarcasm most biting. But despite this failing, the men loved to
work with and under him, and he never lacked for helpers when he wanted
them.
"Goin' to start the drive sun-up ter-morrer," he announced, after being
in camp little short of a week. "All them as is goin' along must hump
themselves an' be on hand. An' the feller as thinks log-drivin' is
dangerous work or jest play hed better stay to hum."
"We'll be on hand," said Andrews.
"Who's goin' ter manage the boat?"
"I'll take care of the boat," said Owen. "Colette will be with me, and
Gilroy says he is going down."
"And I am going," put in Dale.
Herrick gazed at Dale from head to foot.
"So you be a-goin', eh? Do you think it's dangerous or child's fun?"
"I don't expect any fun--I expect to work, same as I've been working,"
replied Dale quietly.
"He's all right, Joe," said Andrews. "He's done his full share up here
all winter."
"Humph! Drivin' aint tree-cuttin', not by a jugful," muttered Herrick;
but he made no further objections to having Dale along.
All told, Herrick had a crew of sixteen, including Jeff, the cook. Four
men went with the driver, at the head of the drive, four followed a
little further up the stream, and the remainder brought up the rear,
either in the boat or on foot. The boat was a large, flat-bottomed
affair, managed both with poles and with oars, and carried all the
provisions for the trip, as well as numerous other articles, including
dynamite, for blowing up a jam that became too dangerous and could not
be started by hand power.
"We are off!" said Dale, who was with Owen. "We've got a splendid
start, too."
He was right; the start of the drive was all that could be expected,
and as log after log caught the current and started on its long
journey, a cheer went up from those left at the camp.
"Good-by to dat camp fo' anudder yeah," came from Jeff. "We dun hab a
putty good time of it, didn't we?"
"That's true," came from Owen. And he added to Dale: "Do you think
we'll come up another season?"
"That is more than I can say now. I'll be willing to go back if I can't
find anything better to do."
Day after day went by, and the work along the drive remained about
the same. At noon the boat would tie up, and Jeff would go ashore and
cook all hands a square meal, and this would either be carried to the
workers in kettles, or they would come to the spot for it. At night the
men slept anywhere that suited them.
Thus the first of the lakes were passed, and they found themselves
drawing down to what was locally termed the Sugar-Bowl, why, no
lumberman could tell. The Sugar-Bowl was a place where the river made
a double turn, and in the center were several rocks, where the water
swirled and foamed continually.
Dale wanted to know how the front end of the drive was making out at
the Sugar-Bowl, and the news was not long in coming.
"Hold back the rest of the logs as long as you can," was the word sent
back. But it was too late. Most of the timber went forward with a rush,
and in less than quarter of an hour there was a jam at the rocks half
an acre in extent, and growing larger every moment.
"Consarn the luck!" came from Herrick. "Why in the name of blue peter
didn't ye hol' back them air logs as I told ye, Foley? Look at thet
current a-roarin' over yander. Fust thing yeou know we'll be a-havin'
a jam clear back to the lake, an' every lumberman on the 'Nobscot
a-blamin' me for't. Git over thar with yer dog and turn thet stick
around." And Foley, the man addressed, leaped to the place mentioned
with his hooked pole, commonly called a cant-dog or dog. The log went
over, and a few of the timbers went around the rocks in consequence,
but the main part of the jam stuck tighter than ever.
"I shouldn't wonder if they'd need some dynamite there," said Owen.
"But Paxton said not to use the stuff if it could be helped. It spoils
too much timber."
Nearly all of the lumbermen belonging to the drive were now assembled
on both sides of the river, waiting for orders and wondering how
Herrick would get out of the difficulty.
"Shall I bring up some dynamite?" asked Andrews.
"Naw!" exclaimed the old log driver, in disgust. "I driv logs on this
river afore thet stuff was heard of. Yeou jest stand over thar an'
start them logs when I give the word." He turned to some others. "Yeou
stand there, an' yeou go to them rocks an' watch thet big log thet's
a-bobbin' up an' down. An' all of ye do jest as I tell ye, or somebuddy
will git hurt, an' not by the logs nuther!"
With this caution Herrick leaped on the jam, with a cant-hook in one
hand, and an ax in the other. Out he went, hopping from one insecure
position to another. The others watched him with breathless interest.
They knew that the old driver was taking his life in his hands. An
unexpected turn of a timber or two, and he might go down in the midst
of that jam, to be smashed into a jelly.
Dale and Owen were on the left bank of the stream, where the logs were
now piled four and five deep. The water was rushing around the jam
with increasing fury, and they stood in it up to their ankles. Through
the flying spray they saw old Herrick begin to chop away at a big
timber that had caught sideways of the river, from one rock to the next.
"That's dangerous work," was Dale's comment. "When that stick goes how
is he to save himself?"
"Watch them logs!" yelled old Herrick. "When I h'ist the dog let 'em
go!"
The flying spray almost hid him from view, and every man watched with
bated breath. They heard the muffled blows of his ax, for he was
working partly in and partly out of the water. Then came a crack like
that of a gun report, as the key timber of the jam snapped in two. In
the nick of time old Herrick jumped back and began to run over the
logs shoreward with the agility of a trained athlete. As he came on he
hoisted his cant-hook and the men let the logs go, one after another as
he had directed.
It was a sight never to be forgotten. Down past the rocks and into the
broad river below swept the logs, occasionally piling up as before,
and then breaking away with a rush and a cracking to be heard a long
way off. The men rushed hither and thither, under the head driver's
directions, doing all in their power to prevent another such jam as
had first occurred.
It was exciting work for Dale and Owen. The logs bobbed up and down
along the shore and more than one threatened to take the young
lumbermen off their feet. They were now in water up to their knees and
working as hard as anybody. Herrick had come over to their side, and
was issuing directions with the rapidity of a Gatling gun.
"Hump yeourselves!" he roared. "Swing thet log over! Look out or ye'll
git struck. Throw thet log in fer a minit. Now then, all together on
this here pile. Hump! I tell ye! I didn't take no man along to go to
sleep on this job!" And everybody "humped," until he was bathed in
perspiration and ready to drop from exhaustion.
Three-quarters of the logs had passed the turn and the rocks, and old
Herrick and the majority of the men had gone ahead to take care of the
drive at the next difficult spot, when there came another jam, this
time on the rocks close to where Dale and Owen were standing.
"Gracious! this won't do!" exclaimed Owen. "See how the logs are piling
up again. I'll have to release them!" And he began to move across the
logs with his cant-hook.
"Look out!" came in warning from Dale, and then he ran to his chum's
assistance, carrying an ax.
The pair were hard at work, turning aside one log and chopping at
another, when there came a cry from up the river:
"Look out there! Danbury's drive is coming!"
Both looked up the stream and saw that the warning was true. Another
drive of logs was coming on swiftly. In a twinkling it hit the back
logs of the Paxton drive, and sent them up close to where Dale and Owen
were standing. The spray flew in all directions, and to their horror
those standing on shore saw the two young lumbermen slip and slide on
the upheaving timbers and then disappear from view.