WHITE MONKEY WEEK
Cutting and drawing the year's supply of firewood to the door occupied
us for a week; and following this we boys had planned to take matters
easy awhile, for the old Squire was to be away from home. Asa Doane had
left us, too, for a visit to his folks. As it chanced, however, a
strenuous emergency arose.
A year previously the old Squire had made an agreement with a New York
factory, to furnish dowels and strips of clear white birch wood, for
piano keys and _passementerie_.
At that time _passementerie_ was coming into use for ladies' dresses.
The fine white-birch dowels were first turned round on small lathes and
afterwards into little bugle and bottle-shaped ornaments, then dyed a
glistening black and strung on linen threads.
On our own forest lots we had no birch which quite met the requirements.
But another lumberman, an acquaintance of the old Squire's, named John
Lurvey (a brother of old Zachary Lurvey), who owned lots north of ours,
had just what we needed to fill the order.
Lumbermen are often "neighborly" with each other in such matters, and
with John Lurvey the old Squire made a kind of running contract for
three hundred cords of white-birch "bolts" from a lakeside lot. Each one
made a memorandum of the agreement in his pocket note-book; and as each
trusted the other, nothing more exact or formal was thought necessary.
The white birch was known to be valuable lumber. We were to pay two
thousand dollars for it on the stump,--one thousand down,--and have two
"winters" in which to get it off and pay the balance of the money. And
here it may be said that in the Maine woods a winter is supposed to mean
the snowy season from November till April.
Meanwhile other ventures were pressing. In company with a Canadian
partner, the old Squire was then getting spruce lumber down the St.
Maurice River at Three Rivers, in the Province of Quebec. This New York
birch contract was deferred a year, the plan being finally to get off
the birch in March of the second winter, when the crews and teams from
two other lumber-camps could conveniently be sent to the lake, and make
a quick job of it.
But in December of that second winter John Lurvey died suddenly of
pneumonia. His property passed into the hands of his wife, who was by no
means easy-going. She overhauled this note-book agreement, took legal
advice of a sharp lawyer, and on February 21st sent us legal
notification that the agreement would expire on February 28th, the last
day of winter, according to the calendar. The notification also demanded
payment of the second thousand dollars. Her scheme, of course, was to
get the money in full and cut us off, in default, from removing the
birch lumber from the lot. The old Squire himself had gone to Canada.
The notification came by letter, and as usual when the old Squire was
away, grandmother Ruth opened his mail to see what demanded our
attention. We were all in the sitting-room, except Halstead, who was
away that evening.
"What can this mean?" grandmother suddenly exclaimed, and handed the
letter to Addison. He saw through it instantly, and jumped up in
excitement.
"We're trapped!" he cried. "If we don't get that birch off next week we
shall lose two thousand dollars!"
Grandmother was dismayed. "Oh, that wicked woman!" she cried. "Why,
winter always means through sledding!"
"I'm afraid not, in law," said Addison, looking puzzled. "Winter ends
either the first or the twenty-first of March. I think a good argument
could be made in court for the twenty-first. But she may be right, and
it's too late to take chances. The only thing to do is to get that
lumber off right away."
Addison and I went out to the stable to talk the matter over; we did not
want to excite grandmother any further. At best, she had a good deal to
worry her that winter.
"Now what can we do?" Addison exclaimed. Five or six days would be
required to get the old Squire home from Canada.
"And what could he do after he got here?" Addison asked. "The teams and
the choppers are all off at the lumber-camps."
"Let's take our axes and go up there and cut what birch we can next
week," said I, in desperation.
"Oh, we boys couldn't do much alone in so short a time," replied
Addison.
Still, we could think of nothing else; and with the loss of two thousand
dollars staring us in the face, we began planning desperately how much
of that birch we could save in a week's time. In fact, we scarcely slept
at all that night, and early the next morning started out to rally what
help we could.
Willis Murch and Thomas Edwards volunteered to work for us, and take
each a yoke of oxen. After much persuasion our neighbor Sylvester
promised to go with a team, and to take his son Rufus, Jr. Going on to
the post-office at the Corners, we succeeded in hiring two other young
men.
But even with the help of these men we could account for scarcely a
seventh part of the contract, since one chopper could cut not more than
a cord and a half of birch bolts in a day; and moreover, the bolts had
to be removed from the lot.
But as we rushed round that forenoon, it occurred to Addison to hire a
horse-power and circular saw that was owned by a man named Morefield,
who lived near the wood-sheds of the railway-station, six miles from the
old Squire's. It was a rig used for sawing wood for the locomotives.
Hurrying home, we hitched up, drove to the station, and succeeded in
engaging Morefield and his saw, with two spans of heavy horses.
But other cares had now loomed up, not the least among them being the
problem of feeding our hastily collected crew of helpers and their teams
sixteen miles off in the woods. Just across the lake from the lot where
the birch grew there was a lumber-camp where we could set up a stove and
do our cooking; and during the afternoon we packed up supplies of pork,
beans and corned beef, while in the house grandmother and the girls were
baking bread. I had also to go to the mill, to get corn ground for the
teams.
Theodora and Ellen were eager to go and do the cooking at the camp; but
grandmother knew that an older woman of greater experience was needed in
such an emergency, and had that morning sent urgent word to Olive
Witham,--"Aunt Olive," as we called her,--who was always our mainstay in
times of trouble at the old farm.
She was about fifty-five years old, tall, austere, not wholly
attractive, but of upright character and undaunted courage.
By nine that evening everything was ready for a start; and sunrise the
next morning saw us on the way up to the birch lot, Aunt Olive riding in
the "horse-power" on a sled, which bore also a firkin of butter, a
cheese, a four-gallon can of milk, a bag of bread and a large basket of
eggs.
One team did not get off so early, neighbor Sylvester's. He was to start
two hours later and draw up to camp the heaviest part of our supplies,
consisting of half a barrel of pork, two bushels of potatoes, a peck of
dry beans, a hundredweight of corned beef and two gallons of molasses.
Twelve miles of our way that morning was by a trodden winter road, but
the last four miles, after crossing Lurvey's Stream, had to be broken
through three feet of snow in the woods, giving us four hours of
tiresome tramping.
We reached the lot at one o'clock, and during the afternoon set up the
horse-power on the lake shore, at the foot of the slope where the white
birch grew. We also contrived a log slide, or slip, down which the long
birch trunks could be slid to the saw and cut up into four-foot bolts.
For our plan now was to fell the trees and "twitch" them down-hill with
teams to the head of this slip. By rolling the bolts, as they fell from
the saw, down an incline and out on the ice of the lake, we would remove
them from Mrs. Lurvey's land, and thereby comply with the letter of the
law, by aid of which she was endeavoring to rob us and escheat our
rights to the birch.
There were ten of us. Each knew what was at stake, and all worked with
such good-will that by five o'clock we had the saw running. The white
birches there were from a foot up to twenty-two inches in diameter,
having long, straight trunks, clear of limbs from thirty to forty feet
in length. These clear trunks only were used for bolts.
Plying their axes, Halstead, Addison, Thomas and Willis felled upward of
forty trees that night, and these were all sawn by dark. On an average,
five trees were required for a cord of bolts; but with sharp axes such
white-birch trees can be felled fast. Morefield tended the saw and drove
the horses in the horse-power; the rest of us were kept busy sliding the
birch trunks down the slip to the saw, and rolling away the bolts.
By dark we had made a beginning of our hard week's task, and in the
gathering dusk plodded across the lake to the old lumber-camp, expecting
to find Aunt Olive smiling and supper ready.
But here disappointment awaited us. Sylvester, with the sled-load of
supplies, had not come, did not arrive, in fact, till half an hour
later, and then with his oxen only. Disaster had befallen him on the
way. While crossing Lurvey's Stream, the team had broken through the ice
where the current beneath was swift. He had saved the oxen; but the
sled, with our beef pork, beans and potatoes, had been drawn under and
carried away, he knew not how far, under the ice.
A stare of dismay from the entire hungry party followed this
announcement. It looked like no supper--after a hard day's work! Worse
still, to Addison and myself it looked like the crippling of our whole
program for the next five days; for a lumber crew is much like an army;
it lives and works only by virtue of its commissariat.
But now Aunt Olive rose to the emergency. "Don't you be discouraged,
boys!" she exclaimed. "Give me twenty minutes, and you shall have a
supper fit for a king. You shall have _white monkey_ on toast! Toast
thirty or forty slices of this bread, boys," she added, laughing
cheerily. "Toast it good and brown, while I dress the monkey!"
Addison, Thomas and I began toasting bread over the hot stove, but kept
a curious eye out for that "white monkey."
Of course it was figurative monkey. Aunt Olive put six quarts of milk in
a kettle on the stove, and as it warmed, thickened it slightly with
about a pint of corn-meal.
As it grew hotter, she melted into it a square of butter about half the
size of a brick, then chipped up fine as much as a pound of cheese, and
added that slowly, so as to dissolve it.
Last, she rapidly broke, beat and added a dozen eggs, then finished off
with salt and a tiny bit of Cayenne pepper, well stirred in.
For five minutes longer she allowed the kettleful to simmer on the
stove, while we buttered three huge stacks of toast.
The monkey was then ready. All hands gathered round with their plates,
and in turn had four slices of toast, one after another, each slice with
a generous ladleful of white monkey poured over it.
It was delicious, very satisfying, too, and gave one the sense of being
well fed, since it contained all the ingredients of substantial food. As
made by Aunt Olive, this white monkey had the consistency of moderately
thick cream. It slightly resembled Welsh rabbit, but we found it was
much more palatable and whole-some, having more milk and egg in it, and
far less cheese.
We liked it so well that we all wanted it for breakfast the next
morning--and that was fortunate, since we had little else, and were
exceedingly loath to lose a day's time sending teams down home, or
elsewhere, for more meat, beans and potatoes.
There were several families of French-Canadians living at clearings on
Lurvey's Stream, three miles below the lake; and since I was the
youngest and least efficient axman of the party, they sent me down there
every afternoon to buy milk and eggs, for more white monkey. Of cheese
and butter we had a sufficient supply; and the yellow corn-meal which we
had brought for the teams furnished sheetful after sheetful of
johnny-cake, which Aunt Olive split, toasted, and buttered well, as a
groundwork for the white monkey.
And for five days we ate it as we toiled twelve hours to the day,
chopping, hauling and sawing birch!
We had a slight change of diet on the fourth day, when Aunt Olive cooked
two old roosters and a chicken, which I had coaxed away from the
reluctant French settlers down the stream.
But it was chiefly white monkey every day; and the amount of work which
we did on it was a tribute to Aunt Olive's resourcefulness. The older
men of the party declared that they had never slept so well as after
those evening meals of white monkey on johnny-cake toast. Beyond doubt,
it was much better for us than heavier meals of meat and beans after
days of hard labor.
From half an hour before sunrise till an hour after sunset, during those
entire five days, the tall white birches fell fast, the saw hummed, and
the bolts went rolling out on the ice-clad lake.
I never saw a crew work with such good-will or felt such enthusiasm
myself as during those five days. We had the exhilarating sensation that
we were beating a malicious enemy. Every little while a long, cheery
whoop of exultation would be raised and go echoing across the lake; and
that last day of February we worked by the light of little bonfires of
birch bark till near midnight.
Then we stopped--to clear the law. And I may state here, although it
must sound like a large story, that during those five working days the
ten of us felled, sawed and rolled out on the ice two hundred and
eighty-six cords of white-birch bolts. Of course it was the saw and the
two relieving spans of horses which did the greater part of the work,
the four axmen doing little more than fell the tall birch-trees.
The next day, after a final breakfast of white monkey, we went home
triumphant, leaving the bolts on the ice for the time being. All were
tired, but in high spirits, for victory was ours.
Two days later the old Squire came home from Three Rivers, entirely
unaware of what had occurred, having it now in mind to organize and
begin what he supposed would be a month's work up at the birch lot for
the choppers and teams from the two logging-camps farther north.
Neither grandmother Ruth nor the rest of us could resist having a little
fun with him. After supper, when we had gathered in the sitting-room,
grandmother quietly handed him Mrs. Lurvey's letter, with the
notification about the birch.
"This came while you were away, Joseph," she said to him, while the rest
of us, sitting very still, looked on, keenly interested to see how he
would take it.
The old Squire unfolded the letter and began reading it, then started
suddenly, and for some moments sat very still, pondering the
notification. "This bids fair to be a serious matter for us," he said,
at last. "We have lost that birch contract, I fear, and the money that
went into it.
"And I have only my own carelessness to thank for it," he added, looking
distressed.
Theodora could not stand that another minute. She stole round behind the
old Squire's chair, put her arms about his neck, and whispered something
in his ear.
"What!" he exclaimed, incredulously.
"Yes!" she cried to him.
"Impossible, child!" said he.
"No, it isn't!" shouted Addison. "We've got that birch off, sir. It is
all sawn up in bolts and out on the lake!"
"What, in a week?" exclaimed the old Squire.
"All in five days, sir!" cried Addison and I.
The old gentleman sat looking at us in blank surprise. He was an
experienced lumberman, and knew exactly what such a statement as ours
implied.
"Not three hundred cords?" said he, gravely.
"Close on to that, sir!" cried Addison.
Thereupon we all began to tell him about it at once. None of us could
remain quiet. But it was not till we had related the whole story, and
told him who had helped us, along with Addison's scheme of hiring the
horse-power and saw, that he really believed it. He sprang up, walked
twice across the sitting-room, then stopped short and looked at us.
"Boys, I'm proud of you!" he exclaimed. "Proud of you! I couldn't have
done as well myself."
"Yes, Joseph, they're chips off the old block!" grandmother chimed in.
"And we've beaten that wicked woman!"
Mrs. Lurvey, as I may add here, was far from sharing in our exultation.
She was a person of violent temper. It was said that she shook with rage
when she heard what we boys had done. But her lawyer advised her to keep
quiet.
During the next two weeks the birch bolts were drawn to our mill, four
miles down Lurvey's Stream, and sawn into thin strips and dowels, then
shipped in bundles, by rail and schooner from Portland, to New York; and
the contract netted the old Squire about twenty-five hundred dollars
above the cost of the birch.
But as I look back on it, I am inclined to think that Aunt Olive was the
real heroine of that strenuous week.
NOTE. The following recipe will make a sufficient quantity
of "white monkey" for three persons. Put over the fire one pint of
new milk in a double boiler. As soon as the milk is warm, stir in
one teaspoonful of flour mixed with two tablespoonfuls of cold
water. As the milk gets hotter, add slowly, so as to dissolve it,
two ounces of cheese, grated or chipped fine. Then add one ounce of
butter, a teaspoonful of salt, a dash of Cayenne pepper, and one
egg, well beaten and mixed with two tablespoonfuls of cold milk or
water. Let the mixture simmer five minutes, then serve hot on wheat
bread or brown-bread toast, well browned and buttered.