A GANG OF FRIENDLY LOGGERS
A perfect day of early September was drawing to its close, and the gang
of loggers belonging to Camp No. 10 of the Northwest Lumber Company,
which operated in the vast timber belt clothing the northern flanks of
Mount Rainier, were about to knock off work. From earliest morning the
stately forest, sweet-scented with the odors of resin, freshly cut
cedar, and crushed ferns, had resounded with their shouts and laughter,
the ring of their axes, the steady swish of saws, and the crash of
falling trees. To one familiar only with Eastern logging, where summer
is a time of idleness, and everything depends on the snows of winter,
followed by the high waters of spring, the different methods of these
Northwestern woodsmen would be matters of constant surprise. Their work
goes on without a pause from year's end to year's end. There is no
hauling on sleds, no vast accumulations of logs on the ice of rivers or
lakes, no river driving, no mighty jams to be cleared at imminent risk
of life and limb--nothing that is customary in the East. Even the mode
of cutting down trees is different.
The choppers--or "fallers," as they are called in the Northwest--do not
work, as do their brethren of Maine or Wisconsin, from the ground,
wielding their axes first on one side and then on the other until the
tree falls. The girth of the mighty firs and cedars of that country is
so great at ordinary chopping height that two men working in that way
would not bring down more than two trees in a day, instead of the ten or
a dozen required of them. So, by means of what are known as
"spring-boards," they gain a height of eight or ten feet, and then begin
operations.
The ingenious contrivances that enable them to do this are narrow boards
of tough vine maple, five or six feet long, and about one foot wide.
Each is armed at its inner end with a sharp steel spur affixed to its
upper side. This end being thrust into a notch opened in the tree some
four feet below where the cut is to be made, the weight of a man on its
outer end causes the spur to bite deep into the wood, and to hold the
board firmly in place.
Having determined the direction in which the tree shall fall, and fixed
their spring-boards accordingly, two "fallers" mount them, and chop out
a deep under cut on the side that is to lie undermost. They work with
double-bitted or two-edged axes, and can so truly guide the fall by
means of the under cut that they are willing to set a stake one hundred
feet away and guarantee that the descending trunk shall drive it into
the ground. With the under cut chopped out to their satisfaction, they
remove their spring-boards to the opposite side, and finish the task
with a long, two-handled, coarse-toothed saw.
As the mighty tree yields up its life and comes to the ground with a
grand, far-echoing crash, it is set upon by "buckers" (who saw its great
trunk into thirty-foot lengths), barkers, rigging-slingers,
hand-skidders, and teamsters, whose splendid horses, aided by tackle of
iron blocks and length of wire-rope, drag it out to the "skid-road."
This is a cleared and rudely graded track, set with heavy cross-ties,
over which the logs may slide, and it is provided with wire cables,
whose half-mile lengths are operated by stationary engines. By this
means "turns" of five or six of the huge logs, chained one behind the
other, are hauled down the winding skid-road through gulch and valley,
to a distant railway landing. There they are loaded on a long train of
heavy flat cars that departs every night for the mills on Puget Sound.
Here the sawed lumber is run aboard waiting ships, and sent in them to
all ports on both shores of the Pacific.
So wastefully extravagant are the lumbermen of Washington that only the
finest trees are cut, and only that portion of the trunk which is free
from limbs is made into logs. All the remainder, or nearly half of each
tree, is left on the ground where it fell. Here it slowly decays, or,
turned into tinder, catches fire from some chance spark and leaps into a
sea of flame that sweeps resistlessly through the forest, destroying in
one day more timber than has been cut in a year.
Thus, while thoughtless and ignorant persons declare the timber supply
of the Northwest to be inexhaustible, others, who have carefully studied
the subject, do not hesitate to say that within fifty years, at the
present rate of reckless destruction, the magnificent forests of
Washington will have disappeared forever.
Such questions were far from troubling the light-hearted gang of loggers
whom we have just discovered in the act of quitting work for the day. If
any one of them were to be asked how long he thought the noble forests
from which he earned a livelihood would last, he would answer:
"Oh, I don't know and don't care. They will last as long as I do, and
that's long enough for me."
They were laughing and joking, lighting their pipes, picking up tools,
and beginning to straggle towards the road that led to camp, when
suddenly big Buck Ranlet, the head "faller," who was keener of hearing
than any of his mates, called out:
"Hush up, fellows, and listen! I thought I heard a yell off there in the
timber."
In the silence that followed they all heard a cry, faint and distant,
but so filled with distress that there was no mistaking its import.
"There's surely somebody in trouble!" cried Ranlet. "Lost like as not.
Anyway, they are calling to us for help, and we can't go back on 'em. So
come on, men. You teamsters stay here with your horses, and give us a
yell every now and then, so we can come straight back; for even we don't
want to fool round much in these woods after dark. Hello, you out there!
Locate yourselves!"
"Hello! Help!" came back faintly but clearly.
"All right! We're coming! Cheer up!"
So the calling and answering was continued for nearly ten minutes, while
the rescuing party, full of curiosity and good-will, plunged through the
gathering gloom, over logs and rocks, through beds of tall ferns and
banks of moss, in which they sank above their ankles, until they came at
length to those whom they were seeking--two lads, one standing and
calling to them, the other lying silent and motionless, where he had
fallen in a dead faint from utter exhaustion.
"You see," explained Alaric, apologetically, half sobbing with joy at
finding himself once more surrounded by friendly faces, "he has been
very ill, and we've had a hard day, with nothing to eat. So he gave out.
I should have too, but just then I heard the sound of chopping, and knew
the light was shining, and--and--" Here the poor tired lad broke down,
sobbing hysterically, and trying to laugh at the same time.
"There! there, son!" exclaimed Buck Ranlet, soothingly, but with a
suspicious huskiness in his voice. "Brace up, and forget your troubles
as quick as you can; for they're all over now, and you sha'n't go hungry
much longer. But where did you say you came from?"
"The top of the mountain."
"Not down the north side?"
"Yes."
"Great Scott! you are the first ever did it, then. How long have you
been on the way?"
"I don't know exactly, but something over a month."
"The poor chap's mind is wandering," said the big man to one of his
companions; "for no one ever came down the north side alive, and no one
could spend a whole month doing it, anyway. I've often heard, though,
that folks went crazy when they got lost in the woods."
The men took turns, two at a time, in carrying Bonny, and Buck Ranlet
himself assisted Alaric, until, guided by the shouts of the teamsters,
they reached the point from which they had started.
By this time Bonny had regained consciousness, and was wondering, in a
dazed fashion, what had happened. "Is it all right, Rick?" he asked, as
his comrade bent anxiously over him.
"Yes, old man, it's all right; and the light I told you of is shining
bright and clear at last."
"Queer, isn't it, how the poor lad's mind wanders?" remarked Ranlet to
one of the men. "He thinks he sees a bright light, while I'll swear no
one has so much as struck a match. We must hustle, now, and get 'em to
camp. Do you think you feel strong enough to set straddle of a horse,
son?" he asked of Alaric.
"Yes, indeed," answered the boy, cheerfully. "I feel strong enough for
anything now."
"Good for you! That's the talk! Give us a foot and let me h'ist you up.
Why, lad, you're mighty nigh barefooted! No wonder you didn't find the
walking good. Here, Dick, you lead the horse, while I ride Sal-lal and
carry the little chap."
Thus saying, the big man vaulted to the back of the other horse, and,
reaching down, lifted Bonny up in front of him as though he had been a
child.
Camp was a mile or more away, and as the brawny loggers escorted their
unexpected guests to it down the winding skid-road, they eagerly
discussed the strange event that had so suddenly broken the monotony of
their lives, though, with a kind consideration, they refrained from
asking Alaric any more questions just then.
"Hurry on, some of you fellows," shouted Ranlet, "and light up my shack,
for these chaps are going to bunk in with me to-night. I claim 'em on
account of being the first to hear 'em, you know. Start a fire in the
square, too, so's the place will look cheerful."
No one will ever know how cheerful and home-like and altogether
delightful that logging camp did look to our poor lads after their long
and terrible experience of the wilderness, for they could never
afterwards find words to express what they felt on coming out of the
darkness into its glowing firelight and hearty welcome.
"Stand back, men, and give us a show!" shouted Ranlet, as they drew up
before his own little "shack," built of split cedar boards. "This isn't
any funeral; same time it ain't no circus parade, and we want to get in
out of the cold."
The entire population of the camp, including the cook and his
assistants, the blacksmith with his helper, and the stable-boys, as well
as the logging gang, were gathered, full of curiosity to witness the
strange arrival. Besides these there were Linton, the boss, with his
wife, who was the only woman in that section of country. Her pity was
instantly aroused for Bonny, and when he had been tenderly placed in
Buck Ranlet's own bunk, she insisted on being allowed to feed and care
for him. She would gladly have done the same for Alaric, but he
protested that he was perfectly well able to feed himself, and was only
longing for the chance.
"Of course you are, lad!" cried the big "faller," heartily, "and you
sha'n't go hungry a minute longer. So just you come on with me and the
rest of the gang over to Delmonico's."
The place thus designated was a low but spacious building of logs,
containing the camp kitchen and mess-room. Ranlet sat at the head of the
long table, built of hewn cedar slabs, and laden with smoking dishes.
Alaric was given the place of honor at his right hand, and the rest of
the rough, hearty crowd ranged themselves on rude benches at either
side.
The plates and bowls were of tin; the knives, forks, and spoons were
iron; but how luxurious it all seemed to the guest of the occasion! How
wonderfully good everything tasted, and how the big man beside him
heaped his plate with pork and beans, potatoes swimming in gravy, boiled
cabbage, fresh bread cut in slices two inches thick, and actually butter
to spread on it! After these came a huge pan of crullers and dozens of
dried-apple pies.
How anxiously the men watched him eat, how often they pushed the tin can
of brown sugar towards him to make sure that his bowl of milkless tea
should be sufficiently sweetened, and how pleased they were when he
passed his plate for a second helping of pie!
"You'll do, lad; you'll do!" shouted Buck Ranlet, delighted at this
evidence that the camp cookery was appreciated. "You've been brought up
right, and taught to know a good thing when you see it. I can tell by
the way you eat."
After supper Alaric was conducted to a blanket-covered bench near the
big fire outside, and allowed to relate the outline of his story to an
audience that listened with intense interest, and then he was put to bed
beside Bonny, who was already fast asleep. When Buck Ranlet picked up
his guest's coat, that had fallen to the floor, and a baseball rolled
from one of its pockets, the big logger exclaimed, softly:
"Bless the lad! He's a genuine out-and-out boy, after all! To think of
his travelling through the mountains with no outfit but a baseball! If
that isn't boy all over, then I don't know!"