Provision Teams.--Liabilities.--A Night in the Woods.--Traveling on
Ice.--A Span of Horses lost.--Pat's Adventure.--Drogers' Caravan.--
Horses in the Water.--Recovery of a sunken Load.--Returning
Volunteers from Aroostook.--Description of a Log Tavern.--Perils
on Lakes in Snow-storms.--Camping at Night.--Rude Ferry-boats.
After the swamps, rivers, and lakes freeze, and the fallen snow has
covered the ground, supplies for the rest of the winter and spring
operations, consisting of hay, grain, flour, beef, pork, molasses, &c.,
are hauled on to the ground with horse-teams. In some instances the
route extends two hundred and fifty miles from the head of ship
navigation. As these routes, for the most part, lay through dense
forests, over rough roads, along the frozen channels of rivers, across
bleak and expansive lakes, far removed from the fireside and home of
the hardy logger, there is something of the _hardships_ of adventure,
if not its romance, connected with the experience of these transporting
teams during their winter trips.
Sometimes loaded sleds break down in their passage over the rough
forest roads, or horses tire by extra exertion over untrodden snows,
and night overtakes the lone teamster, many miles from the abode of
any human being, amid frosts and snow, without fire and without
comfortable sustenance. Detaching his horses, and covering them with
their blankets, if he be loaded with hay, he allows them to feed from
the load during the night, while, muffled in his coat, he burrows deep
in the hay, alternately lulled and aroused by the tinkling of the
horses' bells and by the howling of the hungry wolf. Sometimes the
treacherous ice parts beneath his horses, and the swift current
carries them under, hiding them in a moment and forever from his
vision. I recollect the occurrence of the following thrilling event.
It is customary to travel on ice as far as it makes on the rivers and
streams, taking to the shore to pass the open and rapid sections, and
then returning to the river and traveling as before. Returning
homeward, after a trip into the woods with a load of provision, just
at nightfall, might have been seen a span of fine horses, measuring
off their ten miles an hour with the ease and fleetness of reindeers,
upon the smooth surface of one of our eastern rivers far up in the
interior. With vision circumscribed by the gathering darkness, and
misjudging his position, the driver, quietly seated upon his sled,
failed to see the danger in season to check the speed of his horses,
when suddenly he plunged into one of those open places in the river
where the water ran too rapidly to allow it to freeze. A few rods
below the ice closed over again, beneath which the current swept with
fearful rapidity. With the teamster still floating upon the
half-sunken sled, the horses swam directly down with the current to
the edge of the ice below. The moment they reached it, the noble
creatures, as if confident of clearing the chilling element at a
bound, simultaneously reared, and, striking their fore feet upon the
ice, their hinder parts sank in the deep channel, and, falling
backward, they were swept beneath the ice, together with the sled
attached, and were drowned, while the teamster alone escaped by
springing from the sled before it went under.
When a team breaks in where the water is stagnant, a deliberate and
calculating teamster may succeed in extricating his horses, while a
shiftless man will let them drown. A gentleman of my acquaintance
harnessed a fine mare into a single sled, loaded with provisions,
which he sent by an Irishman up into the woods to his logging-camps.
While passing the river, the horse broke in, and, after struggling
several hours, sank through exhaustion and chill, and was drowned.
In giving a brief account of the affair, Pat, evidently affected by
the disaster, observed, "Ah! indade, sir, but she looked at me very
wishfully, indade she did, sir!" "But why did you not help her,
Patrick?" "'Dade, sir, an' didn't I put on the whip pretty smartly,
sure?"
It is quite common for drogers, as they are sometimes called, to form
a northern caravan, by congregating together in their up-river tours
to the number of twenty, and sometimes thirty teams. Some of these are
composed of two horses, and others from four to six. Company, and
mutual assistance in cases of necessity, are the motives which unite
them, and the difficulties which they encounter often call into
requisition this friendly interference.
I was once passing up the Penobscot in company with twenty or thirty
horse-teams, all loaded with supplies, immediately after a thaw, which
had so far wasted the snow that we were obliged to leave the land
road, and, at some risk, venture upon the ice, although in many places
it was thin, and covered with water to the depth of two feet.
It was deemed prudent to form a line with the teams at such distances
apart as would subject the ice to the pressure of one team only on a
given point, the whole preceded by a man with ax in hand to test its
capacity to bear the approaching load. In some instances, where the
current was stagnant, the ice was sufficiently strong to bear us for a
mile or two without much alteration in our course. In places where the
swiftness of the current had prevented the formation of ice of
suitable thickness, we were obliged to use much caution, passing from
one side of the river to the other to avoid suspicious places, making
but little progress in our serpentine path. In this way several miles
had been traveled without accident, which induced our pilot to
exercise less vigilance, when suddenly the line was broken by the
disappearance of one team through the ice. The alarm passed along the
line, with the order to "Hold up! a team in!" "Don't close up; we
shall all be in together!" But teamsters are afraid of ice over a
running current; indeed, there is imminent danger to life under such
circumstances. Some reined up; others, taking alarm, made for the
shore; others put their horses into the run and passed by; while
others, more cool and generous, came to the rescue of the drowning
team. It proved to be a pair of our heaviest horses. The load
consisted of thirteen barrels of pork, with other lighter articles,
the whole team and load weighing over three tons. It was the work of
but a few moments to extricate the horses, after disengaging them from
their harness. The barrels rolled from the sled, and sank in fifteen
feet of water. The most of the teamsters concurred in the opinion that
the barrels were not recoverable; but, procuring a long pole, with a
sharp pike in the end, I ran it down and stuck it firmly into one of
the staves, and raised one barrel with perfect ease to the surface. A
rope was thrown around it, by which it was rolled out upon the firm
ice. Thus one after another was fished up, reloaded, and we were under
way again in less than an hour.
About noon we stopped to feed the horses and take some dinner on the
ice. Unloosing the straps which attached the horses to the pole, we
proceeded to bait. While thus situated, a company of volunteers,
returning from the bloodless boundary war on the Aroostook, passed us,
who, to amuse themselves, wantonly discharged a volley of musketry,
which created a tremendous panic among our horses, causing them to
upset several loads, breaking harnesses, and doing other damage, which
occasioned considerable delay, and much swearing among the exasperated
teamsters. One of our little teamsters was so enraged that he
challenged the whole company to fight him. I really believe he would
have engaged any one, or any number of them, had they halted.
During the first three or four days' travel, particularly up the
Penobscot, we find taverns at convenient distances for the
accommodation of travelers, after which we leave, on some of the
up-river routes, all settlements, for the distant and wild locations
of the logging-camps. All along these solitary routes, at convenient
distances, of late years, log shanties have been erected for the
accommodation, principally, of supply-teams, where, during the winter,
the temporary inn-holders do a driving business, abandoning the
premises when the traveling season is over.
[Illustration: LOG TAVERN IN THE WILDERNESS.]
It may not be uninteresting to take a peep into one of these log
taverns. We see here, then, rude walls thrown up of round logs,
notched together at the ends--a building about as high as a common
one-story house, covered with shingles laid upon ribs only. These are
so closely put together that common short shingles may be laid on them
quite as well as if the roof were boarded--a plan frequently adopted
in new country settlements, where boards are not to be obtained. This
building is divided by a partition into two apartments, in one of
which, perhaps in the corner, a huge fire-place is constructed of rude
stones, to the height of six or seven feet, where a large wooden
mantle-bar is thrown across, from which point, with small split
sticks, straw, and clay, it is topped out in the fashion of a chimney.
This is the cook, eating, sitting, bar, and often the card-playing
room, where teamsters, in crowded numbers, enjoy all the luxuries
which their circumstances will admit, one of which is a most excellent
appetite. The other room is strictly appropriated to sleeping
purposes, with births rudely constructed, in tiers one above the
other (with a space between the feet and fire), similar to the
accommodations on board a vessel, so that in a space seven by thirty
feet sixty men may be accommodated with lodging. Such a number of men,
crowded into an area of so scanty dimensions, might be supposed to
suffer inconvenience from confined and impure air; but the ready
access which the twinkling starlight and sparkling hoar-frost find to
the apartment through the numerous unstopped crevices warrants a more
agreeable conclusion.
Thus sociably, quietly, and snugly ensconced within that rude shelter,
enveloped and surrounded with interminable forests, the hours of
darkness are passed, while without, the piercing cold causes even the
nestling trees to quake as the wings of the wild winter night labor
with the furious snow-storm.
Sometimes a portion of the route lays across large lakes, where the
bleak winds pierce, or the dense snow-storm thickens the atmosphere,
and obliterates alike the path and the shore from sight. I have known
teamsters, while crossing these icy regions, suddenly overtaken by
snow-storms so dense as to circumscribe the compass of vision to
thirty rods, and to be compelled to wander all day long upon those
bleak fields before they were able to find the logging road which
formed their egress from the lake.
Belated at other times, night overtakes them on the ice. In such
cases, where it is not deemed prudent to proceed, they find access to
the shore, where the thick evergreen forest trees afford some
protection from the night winds. Here a fire is kindled, some coarse
boughs plucked and thrown upon the snow, upon which a buffalo-skin is
spread, and with a similar covering they repose, after snugly
blanketing their horses. A biscuit of pilot-bread, with a "frizzled"
slice of pork, constitute their repast--ten to one if it be not rinsed
down with a draught of "fire-water" from the little canteen in the
pea-jacket pocket. On some routes early fall trips are made with loads
of camp supplies on wheels, over very rough roads, before the rivers
and streams freeze. These are crossed upon a raft made of poles or
logs capable of bearing a portion only of the load, which is carried
over in parcels, according to the capacity or tonnage of the rude
ferry-boat; sometimes swimming, and at others transporting the horses
singly on the raft. In like manner we manage with our ox-teams, when
we take an early start for the scene of our winter operations.
RIVER LIFE.
PART III.
CHAPTER I.
"Breaking Up."--Grotesque Parading down River.--Rum and Intemperance.
--Religious Rites profaned.--River-driving on Temperance Principles.
--The first Experiment.--A spiritual Song.
Having completed our winter's work in hauling logs, another period
commences in the chain of operations, "breaking up," moving down
river, and making preparations for "river-driving."
The time for breaking up is determined by various circumstances;
sometimes an early spring, warm rains, and thawing days render the
snow roads impassable for further log hauling. In other cases, when it
is the intention to take the teams down river, where lakes and rivers
are to be crossed on the route, it is necessary to start before the
ice becomes too weak to bear up the oxen. Sometimes scarcity of timber
renders an early removal necessary, while in those instances where it
is concluded to turn the oxen out to shift for themselves, on browse
and meadow grass, we haul as long as it can be done, esteeming every
log hauled under such circumstances clear gain.
Breaking up is rather a joyful occasion than otherwise, though camp
life, as a whole, is very agreeable. Change is something which so well
accords with the demands of our nature, that in most cases, when it
occurs, its effects are most exhilarating. Under such circumstances,
after three or four months spent in the wild woods, away from home,
friends, and society, the anticipation of a renewed participation in
the relations of life, in town and country, creates much buoyancy of
feeling. All is good nature; every thing seems strangely imbued with
power to please, to raise a joke, or excite a laugh.
Whatever of value there may be about the premises not necessary for
the driving operation, is loaded upon the long sled; the oxen being
attached, the procession moves slowly from the scene of winter
exploits, "homeward bound," leaving, however, a portion of the crew to
make the necessary preparations for river-driving.
After several days' travel, the neighborhood of home is reached; but,
before the arrival in town, some little preparations are made by the
hands for a triumphant entree. Accordingly, colors are displayed from
tall poles fastened to the sled, and sometimes, also, to the yoke of
the oxen, made of handkerchiefs, with streaming pennants floating on
the wind, or of strips of red flannel, the remains of a shirt of the
same material, while the hats are decorated with liberal strips of
ribbon of the same material, and waists sashed with red comforters;
their beards being such as a Mohammedan might swear by. Thus attired,
they parade the town with all the pomp of a modern caravan. The
arrival of a company of these teams, ten or a dozen in number,
sometimes amounting to forty or fifty oxen, and nearly as many men,
creates no little interest in those thriving towns on the river which
owe their existence, growth, and prosperity to the toils and hardships
of these same hardy loggers. Each team is an object of special
interest and criticism; and, according to the "condition" of flesh
they are found in, so is the praise or discredit of the teamster in
command, always making the amount of labor performed and the quality
of the keeping furnished an accompanying criterion of judgment. This
voluntary review, to the knight of the goad, is fraught with interest,
as by the decisions of this review he either maintains, advances, or
recedes from his former standing in the profession, and thus it
affects not only his pride, but also his purse, as a teamster of
repute commands the highest rate of wages.
Some twenty years since, these arrivals, and also those of the
river-drivers, were characterized by a free indulgence in spirituous
liquors, and many drunken carousals. Grog-shops were numerous, and the
dominion of King Alcohol undisputed by the masses. Liquor flowed as
freely as the waters which bore their logs to the mills. Hogsheads of
rum were drunk or wasted in the course of a few hours on some
occasions, and excessive indulgence was the almost daily practice of
the majority, even from the time of their arrival in the spring until
the commencement of another winter's campaign. I speak now more
particularly of employees, though I calculate, as a Southerner would
say, that many of the employers in those days had experience enough to
tell good West India from New England rum.
"In 1832, in a population not exceeding four hundred and fifty or five
hundred, on the St. Croix, three thousand five hundred gallons of
ardent spirits were consumed." A distinguished lumberman, whose opinion
is above quoted, remarks further, "So strong was the conviction that
men could not work in the water without 'spirits,' that I had great
difficulty in employing the first crew of men to drive on the river on
temperance principles. When I made known my purpose to employ such a
gang of men, the answer almost invariably was, 'You may _try_, but,
depend upon it, the drive will never come down.' But old men, who had
been spurred on to exertion for thirty years by ardent spirits, were
forced to acknowledge, when they came down river, that they had never
succeeded so well before; and learned, at that late period, that the
cause of their stiff joints and premature old age was not wholly on
account of exposure to the cold and work in the water, but the result
of strong drink."
It would be difficult to give an exaggerated sketch of the drunken
practices among loggers twenty-five years ago. I recollect that
matters were carried so far at Milltown, that the loggers would arrest
passers-by, take them by force, bring them into the toll-house
grog-shop, and baptize them by pouring a quart of rum over their
heads.
Distinctions of grade were lost sight of, and the office of deacon or
priest constituted no exemption "pass" against the ordeal, rather the
rite profaned. This process of ablution was practiced with such zeal
upon their own craft and transient passers-by, that a hogshead of rum
was drawn in a short time, running in brooks over the floor. The
affair was conducted amid the most boisterous and immoderate
merriment--the more distinguished the candidate, the more hearty the
fun.
But a change has come over, not the spirit of their dreams, but their
practices and estimate of such excesses. I doubt whether any portion
of society, or class of men whose intemperate habits were so
excessive, and whose excuses, at least for a moderate use of liquor,
were so reasonable, can be found where the principles of total
abstinence have wrought so thorough and complete a change. Not that
the evil is wholly eradicated, for many still continue its use. But it
has now been fully demonstrated that men can endure the chilling
hardships of river-driving quite as well, and, indeed, far better,
without the stimulus of ardent spirits, and perform more and
better-directed labor.
At the time alluded to, however, more prominence was given to rum as a
necessary part of the supplies than to almost any other article. "The
first and most important article," says Mr. Todd, of St. Stephen's, N.
B., "in all our movements, from the stump in the swamp to the ship's
hold, was _Rum_! RUM!" To show how truly this one idea ran through the
minds of the loggers, I present the following original rum song,
illustrating the "spirit of the times," and of the log swamp muse.
"'Tis when we do go into the woods,
Drink round, brave boys! drink round, brave boys!
'Tis when we do go into the woods,
Jolly brave boys are we;
'Tis when we do go into the woods,
We look for timber, and that which is good,
Heigh Ho! drink round, brave boys,
And jolly brave boys are we.
Now when the choppers begin to chop,
Drink round, &c.,
When the choppers begin to chop,
Jolly brave boys, &c.;
And when the choppers begin to chop,
They take the sound and leave the rot,
Heigh ho! drink round, &c.,
And jolly brave boys, &c.
And when the swampers begin to clear,
Drink round, &c.,
And when the swampers begin to clear,
Jolly brave boys, &c.;
And when the swampers begin to clear,
They show the teamster where to steer,
Heigh ho! drink round, &c.,
And jolly brave boys, &c.
And when we get them on to the sled,
Drink round, &c.,
And when we get them on to the sled,
Jolly brave boys, &c.;
And when we get them on to the sled,
'Haw! back, Bright!' it goes ahead,
Heigh ho! drink round, &c.,
And jolly brave boys, &c.
Then, when we get them on to the stream,
Drink round, &c.,
Then, when we get them on to the stream,
Jolly brave boys, &c.;
So, when we get them on to the stream,
We'll knock out the fid and roll them in,
Heigh ho! drink round, &c.,
Jolly brave boys, &c.
And when we get them down to the boom,
Drink round, &c.,
And when we get them down to the boom,
Jolly brave boys, &c.;
And when we get them down to the boom,
We'll call at the tavern for brandy and rum,
Heigh ho! drink round, &c.,
Jolly brave boys, &c.
So when we get them down to the mill,
'Tis drink round, &c.,
So when we get them down to the mill,
Jolly brave boys, &c.;
And when we get them down to the mill,
We'll call for the liquor and drink our fill,
Heigh ho! drink, &c.,
Jolly brave boys, &c.
The _merchant_ he takes us by the hand,
Drink round, brave boys! drink round, brave boys!
The merchant he takes us by the hand,
And '_jolly brave boys are we_;'
The merchant he takes us by the hand,
Saying, 'Sirs, I have _goods_ at your command;'
But heigh ho! drink round, brave boys,
The _money_ will foot up a 'spree.'"
CHAPTER II.
RIVER-DRIVING.
Log-landing.--Laborious Exposure.--Damming Streams.--Exciting Scenes.
--Log-riding.--Fun.--Breaking a Dry-landing.--A sudden Death.--
Thrilling Scenes on the "Nesourdnehunk."--Lake-driving.--Steam
Tow-boat.--Remarks on Lake Navigation.--Driving the main River.--
Union of Crews.--Substantial Jokes.--Log Marks.--Dangers of
River-driving.--Sad Feelings over the Grave of a River-driver.--
Singular Substitute for a Coffin.--Burial of a River-driver.--A
Log Jam.--Great Excitement.--A Boat swamped.--A Man drowned.--
Narrow Escape.--Mode of Living on the River.--Wangun.--Antidote
for Asthma.--The Wangun swamped.--An awful Struggle.--The miraculous
Escape.--Driving among the Islands.--Amusing Exertions at identifying.
--Consummation of Driving.--The Claims of lumbering Business for
greater Prominence.--The Boom.
The business of _river-driving_ is not so agreeable as other
departments of labor in the lumbering operations, though equally
important, and also, in many respects, intensely interesting. The
hands left at the camps at the time the team breaks up, to make the
necessary instruments for _river-driving_, are soon joined with the
addition of such forces as are requisite for an expeditious drive. As
in most labor performed there is a directing and responsible head, so
is it in river-driving; here, too, we have our "boss."
As early as April, and sometimes the last of March, the high ascending
sun begins to melt the snow on the south of mountain and hill sides,
flowing intervales and lowlands, forming considerable rivers, where at
other seasons of the year the insignificant little brook wound its
stealthy course among the alders, hardly of a capacity to float the
staff of a traveler; but, at the period referred to, by a little
previous labor in cutting away the bushes and removing some of the
stones in its channel, it is made capable of floating large logs, with
the occasional assistance of a dam to flow shoal places.
In brook-driving it is necessary to begin early, in order to get the
logs into the more ample current of the main river while the freshet
is yet up. In some cases, therefore, as a necessary step, the ice in
the channel of the brook is cut out, opening a passage of sufficient
width to allow three or four logs to float side by side. In forming a
landing on the margin of such streams, the trees and bushes are cut
and cleared out of the way for several rods back, and a considerable
distance up and down, according to the number of logs to be hauled
into it. To facilitate the sawing of the logs into suitable lengths
for driving, as well as more especially to form bed-pieces upon which
to roll them into the brook in the spring, a great many skids are cut
and laid parallel with each other, running at right angles to the
margin of the stream. On these landings, in the spring, the water is
from one to two feet deep, the cause of which is sometimes accounted
for from the fact that in the autumn the water is quite low, and the
ice, in forming, is attached to the grass and bushes, which prevent it
from rising; the result is, that the whole is overflowed in the
spring. Into the channel thus cut the logs are rolled, as fast as it
can be cleared, by shoving those already in down stream, until the
brook, for a mile or more, is filled with new and beautiful logs.
No part of the driving business is so trying to the constitution,
perhaps, as clearing such a landing. It often occupies a week, during
which all hands are in the water, in depth from the ankle to the hips,
exerting themselves to the utmost, lifting with heavy pries,
hand-spikes, and cant-dogs, to roll these massive sticks into the
brook channel. The water at this season is extremely chilly, so much
so that a few moments' exposure deprives the feet and legs of nearly
all feeling, and the individual of power to move them, so that it
often becomes necessary to assist each other to climb upon a log,
where a process of thumping, rubbing, and stamping restores the
circulation and natural power of motion. This effected, they jump in
and at it again.
When the water is too shallow on any part of a stream to float the
logs, dams are constructed to flow the water back, with gates which
can be opened and shut at pleasure, and either through the apertures
of the gates or sluice-ways made for the purpose, the logs are run.
This dam answers the same purpose in raising the water to float the
logs below as above, on the brook. Shutting the gates, a large pond of
water is soon accumulated; then hoisting them, out leaps the hissing
element, foaming and dashing onward like a tiger leaping upon his
prey. Away the logs scamper, reminding one of a flock of frightened
sheep fleeing before the wolf. Some logs are so cumbersome that they
remain unmoved, even with this artificial accumulation of water. In
such cases, embracing the moment when the water is at its highest
pitch, in we leap, and, thrusting our hand-spikes beneath them, bow
our shoulders to the instrument, often stooping so low as to kiss the
curling ripples as they dance by. In this way, sometimes by a few
inches at a time, and sometimes by the rod, we urge them over
difficult places; while, in connection with the annoyance of very cold
water, broken fragments of ice mingle in the melee, imposing sundry
thumps and bruises upon the benumbed limbs of the enduring
river-driver.
In some places, on low, swampy land, a body of water accumulates
several rods wide, and from three to ten feet deep. Here the logs, as
if to play "hide and seek," run in among the bushes, giving infinitely
more trouble than amusement. Under such circumstances, it becomes
necessary for the men to keep on the logs most of the time; and as
logs roll very easily in the water, and are often extremely slippery,
it requires the balancing skill of a wire-dancer to keep on them; and
often some luckless wight, whether he will or no, plunges over head
and ears into the flood as he is whirled from the back of some
ticklish log; and, however unwelcome to himself, no sooner is his head
above water than he hears the wild woods echo the jeering laugh of his
more fortunate comrades.
In other places, where banks are too abrupt to allow the team to pass
on to the river, the logs are unloaded and rolled down in one general
mass; the first few fall upon the ice, others rolling against them;
the main body fall back and accumulate in great numbers. To break or
clear such a landing is often very dangerous. While at work prying on
the foremost, large masses start suddenly, and often the only way of
escape is to spring in advance of the rushing pile and plunge the
river. "I saw one poor fellow," said a logger, "hurled into eternity
very suddenly while at work on one of those jams. Co-operating with
others in an attempt to roll a stick from the pile, the main lever
gave way, and the stick slipped back. This person used a single
hand-spike, holding up the upper end and sallying back. When the log
rolled back it caused the hand-spike to spring forward, and, before he
had time to relinquish his grasp, it flung him headlong forward, like
an arrow from the hunter's bow, down the embankment into the water;
when recovered, he was dead. It was supposed that some internal injury
was inflicted by the sudden ejectment, which caused him to suffocate
more readily in the water. Rarely could the man be found his equal in
physical energy; but strength opposes no barrier to death."
Logs are now driven down streams whose navigation for such purposes
was formerly regarded as impracticable--some from their diminutive
size, and others from their wild, craggy channel. There is a stream of
the latter description, called "_Nesourdnehunk_," which disembogues
into the Penobscot on the southwest side of Mount Ktaadn, whose
foaming waters leap from crag to crag, or roll in one plunging sheet
down perpendicular ledges between two mountains. On one section of
this stream, said to be about half a mile in length, there is a fall
of three hundred feet. In some places it falls twenty-five feet
perpendicularly. Down this wild pass logs are run, rolling, dashing,
and plunging, end over end, making the astonished forest echo with
their rebounding concussion.
It would be a match for "Dame Nature" to locate a handsome Pine-tree
beyond the grasp of the logmen. Where the Eastern hunter pursues the
mountain goat, the logger would pursue the stately Pine. We have seen
them in the deep ravine, on the abrupt hill-top, and far up the rugged
mountain side, or peering down from some lofty cliff upon the
insignificant animal at its base who is contemplating its sacrifice; a
few minutes, and the crash of its giddy plunge is heard, "and swells
along the echoing crag," causing the earth to tremble under the stroke
of its massive trunk; and if it does not break in pieces, as is
sometimes the case, in falling, it will in time find its way to the
slip of the saw-mill. The resolution, daring, skill, and physical
force of the men engaged in this business can find no rival, to say
the least, in any body or class of men whatever.
In many cases logs are hauled on to the ice of the lakes, streams, and
rivers, instead of being left upon the banks or landing-places. When
hauled on to the lakes, they are laid together as compactly as
possible, and inclosed in a "boom," which is made by fastening the
ends of the trunks of long trees, so as to prevent them from
scattering over the lake on the breaking up of the ice. A strong
bulk-head or raft is constructed of the logs, with a capstan or
windlass for the purpose of warping the whole forward in a calm, or
when the wind is ahead. In this operation, two or three men take an
anchor into the boat, to which, of course, the warp is attached, when
they row out to the extent of the rope, let go the anchor, and haul up
by working the windlass. Sometimes a tempest breaks up the boom, and
the logs are scattered, which gives much trouble, and not unfrequently
causes a delay of one year before they reach the mills.
On Moose-head Lake, at the head of the Kennebeck, a steam tow-boat has
recently been built, which has proved very serviceable to lumbermen in
towing rafts to the outlet. Probably the time will come when the
business of other large lakes in Maine will require the services of
similar boats. Had the same degree of knowledge and interest existed
twenty years ago in regard to the application of steam to the various
purposes of life that is now manifested, the crystal waters of the
beautiful Grand Lake, at the head of the St. Croix, would have been
plowed by the prow of some little steamer long ago. But now one great
leading motive for such an undertaking is irrecoverably past; the White
Pines have been mowed by the woodmen's ax; they have disappeared
forever, at least in any considerable quantity. Still, other interests
may arise and create a demand sufficiently promising, in a remunerative
point of view, to induce an individual, or joint investment, for the
construction of such a boat as may be needed. The Grand Lake is some
twenty-five miles in length from north to south, and from six to eight
miles wide at its greatest breadth. An imaginary line, passing
lengthwise, constitutes the boundary between Maine and New Brunswick,
the eastern shore being within the limits of her majesty's dominions.
Settlements to a large extent have already been made on the American
side; and when, in the course of time, the other side shall spring into
importance, some little commerce may be opened between the two ports, a
custom-house be established, &c., so that the places here sketched may
constitute a miniature likeness of the two countries, with the broad
Atlantic between them. However, in reference to the realization of what
is here said of steamboats and commerce, we will say with the Dutchman,
when he spoke prospectively of other matters, "_Vell, vell, ve shall
see vat ve shall see!_"
From lakes and tributary streams, the various parcels of logs cut and
drove by different companies issue forth, and form one grand drive on
the main river, where the separate crews unite, and make common cause
in the driving operation. In other instances one drive may precede
another, making the river for miles one general scene of logs and
river-drivers. Sometimes the foremost logs of one drive, unobstructed,
pass on and mingle with what is called the "tail end" of the preceding
drive. Under such circumstances, if there be any grudge to gratify by
the foremost crew, or a substantial joke to be put, such truant logs
are run aground, into creeks, in meadow land, among the bushes, and on
the shore. A crew of thirty or forty men will take a log belonging to
another crew and run it up high and dry on to the land, stand it on
end, prop it up, and leave it in that position. The rear crew, on
coming up, stimulated by the prank, knock away the props, and throw it
down; a score of pikes pierce its sides, when they shove it upon the
run perhaps twenty rods to the river again, amid the most vociferous
hurrahs and whooping, enough to give one quite an idea of the Indian
war-whoop. Some, perhaps, who may trace these lines may be curious to
know how the logs of one party can be distinguished from those of
another. The answer is, precisely as one farmer distinguishes his
sheep from those of his neighbor by the particular mark they bear,
each differing in some particular from every other. A representation
of these marks, which are cut in the side of the log, would remind one
of the letters or characters of the Chinese.
No employment that I am aware of threatens the life and health more
than river-driving. Many a poor fellow finds his last resting-place on
the bank of some wild stream, in whose stifling depths his last
struggle for life was spent; where the wild wood skirts its
margin--where, too, the lonely owl hoots his midnight requiem. I have
visited many spots that were, from facts called up by retrospection,
lonely and painfully silent, but have never been so spell-bound, so
extremely oppressed with a feeling of sadness, as while standing over
the little mound which marked the resting-place of a river-driver on
the banks of a lonely stream, far away from the hearth of his
childhood and the permanent abodes of civilization. The silent ripple
of the now quiet stream (for the spring floods were past), the sighing
of the winds among the branches of trees which waved in silence over
the unconscious sleeper, rendered the position too painful for one
predisposed to melancholy. When in those wild regions we have the
misfortune to lose one of our number, after the body is recovered, we
place it in a coffin composed of two empty flour barrels. One is
passed over the head and shoulders, the other receives the lower
extremities, when the two are brought together and fastened, his
grave-clothes generally being some of his common wearing apparel.
Seldom, if ever, does the voice of prayer rise over their bier under
these circumstances; in silence the corpse is committed to its rude
burial, while now and then a half-suppressed sigh is heard, and the
unbidden tears steal down the sunburned cheeks of his manly
associates. Events of this kind generally come suddenly, though, when
in dangerous circumstances, are often anticipated. After such an
occurrence, an air of sobriety pervades the company; jokes are
dispensed with, the voice of song is hushed, and for several days the
deportment of the men is characterized with a degree of cautiousness
unusual, except when reminded by some such impressive example of the
frailty and uncertainty of human life. But with most the impression
soon wears off, and their accustomed cheerfulness is regained; their
exertions marked with the same daring as before the accident, or as
though a life had never been lost in the business. Lower down the
river, in the vicinity of new settlements, the usual ceremonies on
funeral occasions are practiced when an itinerant clergyman chances to
pass that way. The following notice of such an occurrence was cut from
the Bangor Courier: "Passing into the town of Passadumkeag late one
evening during the past summer, a crowd had gathered in the street. It
proved to be the funeral of a river-driver. His body had been taken
from the water and shrouded in the open air. Many of the sympathetic
villagers were there; and a pious elder, who chanced that way,
breathed a prayer over his remains before they were borne to their
final place of rest."
BURIAL OF A RIVER-DRIVER.
"They drew him from his watery bed,
And shrouded him with kindly care;
At ev'n his humble bier was spread,
And o'er it rose the voice of pray'r;
His only pall night's sable damp,
The stars of heav'n his funeral lamp.
They bore away that youthful form,
And laid it in the humid grave,
That yestermorn with life was warm,
And launch'd upon the dancing wave
With jocund voice, and hopes as bright
As stirr'd beneath that morning's light.
His oar with nervous arm he plied,
Nor shrank from dangers gath'ring fast,
Struggling against that treacherous tide,
His stout heart braves it to the last;
Till, spent his strength, and dim his eye,
His oar and skiff float idly by.
Far distant lies the home he left,
And side by side an aged pair,
Unconscious of their hopes bereft,
Breathe now his cherish'd name in pray'r;
Their eyes with watchfulness grow dim:
Oh! vainly will they wait for him!
A fair young maid, with pensive face,
Looks forth upon the silent night,
Her heart sweet memories doth trace,
Till future years glow in their light.
Alas! for life's all changeful scene,
How soon must perish that fond dream
For him on whom her thoughts doth pore;
His hopes and schemes of earth are o'er!"
Brook-drives are, as has before been remarked, usually distinct
parcels of logs belonging to an individual or company. These various
parcels are often thrown together in one mass on the ample current of
the main river, to the number of twelve or thirteen thousand pieces;
in which case the different crews unite and make common cause. As the
water rises suddenly, and falls as rapidly on the river, by which, in
the first instance, many logs run upon intervale and meadow land, or
upon high rocks and ledges, and, in the other case, from the rapid
decline of water, there is necessarily much activity called for to
clear such logs from the position in which they are placed, else they
must be left behind, or require great physical exertion to disengage
and bring them on with the rest. A steady current or pitch of water is
preferable to one either rising or diminishing, as, when rising
rapidly, the water at the middle of the river is considerably higher
than at the shores--so much so as to be distinctly perceived by the
eye of a spectator on the banks, presenting an appearance like a
turnpike road. The lumber, therefore, is always sure to incline from
the center of the channel toward either shore. On the falls, and the
more difficult portions of the river, sometimes immense jams form. In
the commencement, some unlucky log swings across the narrow chasm,
striking some protruding portions of the ledge, and stops fast; others
come on, and, meeting this obstruction, stick fast also, until
thousands upon thousands form one dense breast-work, against and
through which a boiling, leaping river rushes with terrible force. Who
that is unaccustomed to such scenes, on viewing that pile of massive
logs, now densely packed, cross-piled, and interwoven in every
conceivable position in a deep chasm with overhanging cliffs, with a
mighty column of rushing water, which, like the heavy pressure upon an
arch, confines the whole more closely, would decide otherwise than that
the mass must lay in its present position, either to decay or be moved
by some extraordinary convulsion. Tens of thousands of dollars' worth
lay in this wild and unpromising position. The property involved,
together with the exploits of daring and feats of skill to be performed
in breaking that "jam," invest the whole with a degree of interest not
common to the ordinary pursuits of life, and but little realized by
many who are even familiar with the terms _lumber_ and _river-driving_.
In some cases many obstructing logs are to be removed singly. Days and
weeks sometimes are thus expended before the channel is cleared. In
other cases a single point only is to be touched, and the whole jam is
in motion. To hit upon the most vulnerable point is the first object;
the best means of effecting it next claims attention; then the
consummation brings into requisition all the physical force, activity,
and courage of the men, more especially those engaged at the dangerous
points.
[Illustration: RIVER DRIVERS BREAKING A JAM.]
From the neighboring precipice, overhanging the scene of operation, a
man is suspended by a rope round his body, and lowered near to the
spot where a breach is to be made, which is always selected at the
lower edge of the jam. The point may be treacherous, and yield to a
feeble touch, or it may require much strength to move it. In the
latter case, the operator fastens a long rope to a log, the end of
which is taken down stream by a portion of the crew, who are to give a
long pull and strong pull when all is ready. He then commences prying
while they are pulling. If the jam starts, or any part of it, or if
there be even an indication of its starting, he is drawn suddenly up
by those stationed above; and, in their excitement and apprehensions
for his safety, this is frequently done with such haste as to subject
him to bruises and scratches upon the sharp-pointed ledges or bushes
in the way. It may be thought best to cut off the key-log, or that
which appears to be, the principal barrier. Accordingly, he is let
down on to the jam, and as the place to be operated upon may in some
cases be a little removed from the shore, he either walks to the place
with the rope attached to his body, or, untying it, leaves it where he
can readily grasp it in time to be drawn from his perilous position.
Often, where the pressure is direct, a few blows only are given with
the ax, when the log snaps in an instant with a loud report, followed
suddenly by the violent motion of the "jam;" and, ere our bold
river-driver is jerked half way to the top of the cliff, scores of
logs, in wildest confusion, rush beneath his feet while he yet dangles
in air, above the rushing, tumbling mass. If that rope, on which life
and hope hang thus suspended, should part, worn by the sharp point of
some jutting rock, death, certain and quick, would be inevitable.
The deafening noise when such a jam breaks, produced by the concussion
of moving logs whirled about like mere straws, the crash and breaking
of some of the largest, which part apparently as easily as a reed is
severed, together with the roar of waters, may be heard for miles; and
nothing can exceed the enthusiasm of the river-drivers on such
occasions, jumping, hurraing, and yelling with joyous excitement.
Such places and scenes as are thus sketched may be found and witnessed
on most rivers where lumber is driven. Referring to an item of
experience on a drive down the Mattawamkeag, says a logger, "Our drive
consisted of about thirteen thousand pieces, with a crew of thirty-two
men, all vigorous and in the prime of life. Out of such a number,
exposed as we were to the perils attendant upon the business, it was a
question which we sometimes inwardly pondered, Who of our party may
conclude the scenes of mortal life on this drive?
"We commenced about the 25th of March to drive, while snow, and ice,
and cold weather were yet in the ascendant. The logs were cleared from
the lake and stream of Baskahegan in fifty days, which brought us into
the Mattawamkeag. Twelve miles down this river, below the junction of
Baskahegan, we came to Slugundy Falls. There the water passes through
a gorge about fifty feet wide, with a ledge on either side, making a
tremendous plunge, and in immediate proximity a very large rock stands
a little detached from its ledgy banks. There the whole body of our
logs formed an immense jam, and such a mass of confusion as then
presented itself beggars description. Logs of every size were
interwoven and tangled together like heaps of straw in 'winnow,' while
the water rushed through and over them with a power which seemed equal
to the upturning of the very ledges which bound it. We paused to
survey the work before us, calculating the chances of success, of life
and death. We knew the dangers attending the operation; that life had
on former occasions been sacrificed there, and that the graves of the
brave men who had fallen were not far distant; and we remembered that
we too might make with them our final resting-place. The work was,
however, commenced; and after five days incessant application,
mutually sharing the dangers incurred, we made a clean sweep of this
immense jam without accident. A short distance below are Gordon Falls,
at which place there is a contraction of the channel, with high ledges
on either hand, a straight but rapid run, with a very rough bottom, at
once difficult and dangerous to navigate or drive. Here logs to a
greater or less extent always jam, the number varying according to the
height of the freshet. This place we soon passed successfully. Logs,
'wangun' and all, were soon over, excepting one empty boat, which two
brothers, our best men, in attempting to run, 'swamped' and capsized;
in a moment they both mounted upon her bottom, and were swiftly
passing along the dashing river, when the boat struck a hidden rock,
and the foremost one plunged headlong into the boiling waves. Being an
active man, and an expert swimmer, we expected to see him rise and
struggle with the tide which bore them onward; but, to our amazement
and sorrow, we saw no more of him until four days after, when his
corpse was discovered some distance below the place of this sad
accident. At the foot of the falls a small jam of logs made out into
the channel; several of the men ran out upon this to rescue the other,
who had also lost his footing on the boat. He passed close to the jam
under water, when one of the crew suddenly thrust his arm down and
seized him by the hair of his head, and drew him to land. On
recovering from the shock which he had sustained in his perilous
passage, and learning that his brother was drowned, he blamed the crew
for not permitting him to share the same fate, and attempted to plunge
again into the river, but was restrained by force till reason once
more resumed her sway. The body of the other received the humble
attentions usual upon such interments, as soon as a coffin could be
procured. Not two hours previous to this accident, this individual,
taking one of the crew with him, visited the grave of a fellow-laborer
near by; left the spot, launched his frail boat, and lay down the next
hour in a river-driver's grave."
Fourteen days from this time we drove our logs to the boom, having
passed a distance of only one hundred and thirty miles in ninety days.
The mode of living on these driving excursions is altogether
"itinerant," and really comfortless, for the most part. A temporary
shelter where night overtakes them is a luxury not always enjoyed.
Often nothing is above them but the forest's canopy, and beneath them
the cold earth, it may be snow, with a slight bed of coarse boughs,
over which a blanket is spread, and generally a large fire is kept
burning through the night. Days and nights, without intermission, are
often passed without a dry shred to the back. This is being "packed;"
and, if not a "water cure," it is being water-soaked in earnest.
It would not be surprising if rheumatism were entailed upon the
river-driver as a consequence of such exposure; yet I have known men
to enjoy better health under these circumstances than under almost any
other. As an instance, I have seen a man passing sleepless nights with
asthma at home, now on the bed, then on the floor or reclining on a
chair, struggling for a free respiration until his very eyes would
start from their sockets. I have known such a man exchange his
position for the exposures peculiar to log-driving, and never for once
suffer from this distressing complaint during the whole campaign, but,
on returning to the comforts of home, experience an immediate relapse.
From the foregoing account, which is really believed to come short of
the reality, the reader will be enabled to form some estimate of the
dangers, hardships, and deaths encountered by thousands in the
lumbering operations--a business which is hardly supposed to possess
any peculiarities of incident or adventure above the most common
pursuits of life. How little are the generality of mankind disposed to
consider as they should, that for much which contributes to their
comfort and ease, many a hardship has been endured and multitudes of
individuals have been sacrificed.
The camping utensils for river-driving, with provisions, are moved
along day by day, according to the progress made by the drive, so that
for the most part each night presents a new location, with the usual
preparations. The boats appropriated for the removal of the whole
company, apparatus, and provisions, when loaded, are called
"_wanguns_," an Indian word signifying bait, and, when thus
appropriated, means bait or provision boats.
Among the dangers to be incurred, where both life and property are
hazarded, is that of "running the wangun"--a phrase perfectly
understood on the river, but which the uninitiated will better
understand when I say that it means the act of taking these loaded
bateaux down river from station to station, particularly down quick
water. This is a business generally committed to experienced watermen,
especially when a dangerous place is to be passed, as to "swamp the
wangun" is often attended with not only the loss of provisions and
utensils, but also life. From this fact, the circumstance is always
regarded with interest by all hands, who watch the navigators in their
perilous passage with no ordinary or unnecessary solicitude.
On one occasion two active young men put off from the shore with the
"wangun," to make the passage of some quick water just at the head of
a fearful fall, where, as was customary, the whole party were to be
carried by. In passing a rock, where the water formed a large
whirlpool, the boat, on striking it, instantly capsized. One of the
men, being an expert swimmer, told his comrade to take hold of the
back of his vest, and he could swim with him to the shore; but the
current carried them so swiftly toward the falls that it became
necessary for the swimmer to disengage himself from his companion, who
clung to him with a death-grasp. His efforts to effect a separation
were unsuccessful, and every moment they were carried nearer to the
fatal falls. Suddenly sinking in the water, the swimmer contrived to
turn round and face his drowning friend. Drawing up his legs, and
bracing his feet against his companion, he gave a sudden and powerful
kick, which disengaged him. Then rising to the surface, after this
most painful act, to which he was impelled from dire necessity, he
struck for the shore, and barely reached it in time to save himself
from the sad fate that awaited his unfortunate associate, who, poor
fellow, still clinging with a death-grasp to the shred of garment
which was rent from his companion in the struggle, was carried over
the falls, and then, passing under a jam of logs, floated down the
river several miles, where his body was found, and interred on the
banks of the Penobscot.
I have often passed the spot where he sleeps. The green grass waves in
silence over his grave, and now the plow of the husbandman turns the
greensward at his side, where once the forest trees majestically waved
over his rude bier.
The following instance of the remarkable escape of a river-driver was
related by one who witnessed the affair. I think it happened on the
Androscoggin. Among the crew there and then engaged was a young man
who prided himself upon his fearlessness of danger; and, to maintain
the character he thus arrogated to himself, would unnecessarily
encounter perils which the prudent would shun. His frequent boastings
rendered his society not a little unpleasant, at times, to the less
pretending; and although this dislike was not so great as to lead them
to rejoice in seeing him suffer, yet an event which might be likely to
cool his courage would not have been unwelcome to the crew. On one
occasion he ventured upon a jam of logs just above a rolling dam, over
which the spring freshets poured one vast sheet of water, plunging
several feet perpendicularly into a boiling cauldron. The jam started
so suddenly that he was precipitated with the logs over this fearful
place, where not only the fall and under-tow threatened instant death,
but the peril was imminent of being crushed by the tumbling logs. No
one really expected to see him come out alive, but, to our surprise,
he came up like a porpoise, and swam for the shore; but the swift
current swept him down, and carried him under a jam of logs which
formed below the dam. From previous exertion and exhaustion, we
thought this must finish the poor fellow, and we really began to
forget his faults, and call to remembrance whatever of virtue he had
manifested. Soon a dark object was seen to rise to the surface
immediately below the jam. It was our hero, who, elevating his head
and striking forward with his arms, swam with a buoyant stroke to a
small island just below, where he landed in safety, having sustained
no injury, and without having experienced any abatement of his former
daring. Seemingly there was not one chance in a thousand for the life
of a man making such a fearful voyage. This circumstance brings to
mind a poetical sentiment I have somewhere read on the ways of
Providence in the disposal of human life:
"An earthquake may be bid to spare
The man that's strangled by a hair."
Men often lose their lives where we have least reason to expect it,
and are as often spared, perhaps, where we see no grounds of hope for
them. Thus physicians may sometimes be censured as unskillful when
they lose a patient, while in fact God has fixed the bounds of mortal
life; or be praised for skill when their success is but apparent,
while to the Creator's purposes alone are we to look and give credit
for such deliverances.
River-drivers usually eat four times a day--at least this practice
obtains on the Penobscot--viz.: at five and ten o'clock A.M., and at
two and eight P.M. After the two o'clock meal, when the drive on the
main river is under successful headway, the camp-ground is forsaken,
the tent struck, and the wangun is run as far down river as it is
thought the drive will reach by night, where arrangements are made, as
usual, for the crew, by the cook and "cookee," as his assistant is
called. It may happen that the drive does not progress according to
the calculations of the cook, and a short row down river is necessary
to reach the wangun.
Between the mouth of the Piscataquis and Oldtown, a distance of twenty
or twenty-five miles, are numerous beautiful islands, some of them
large, and generally covered with a heavy growth of hard-wood, among
which the Elm abounds. When the logs arrive at this point, many of the
encampments are fixed upon these islands. As the sun sinks behind the
western hills, the lengthened shadows of the beautiful island forests
shoot across the mirrored river, casting a deep shade, which soon
disappears amid the denser curtain of an advanced evening, with which
they blend. The roar of rushing waters is over, and the current glides
smoothly on. No sound is heard but the echo of the merry boatmen's
laugh, and of voices here and there on the river, with now and then
the shred of a song, and the creaking and plashing of oars. While
thus passing down, as the boats turn a sudden bend in the river, a
dozen lights gleam from the islands, throwing their lengthened
scintillations over the water. Now the question goes round, "Which is
our light?" "There's one on the east side!" "Yes, and there's another
on Sugar Island!" "And there's one on Hemlock!" says a third. "Why the
d--l hadn't they gone to Bangor, and done with it?" "Wangun No. 1,
ahoy!" shouts the helmsman, a little exasperated with fatigue and
hunger. Now, while all the rest of the cooks remain silent, No. 1 cook
responds in turn. Another calls out the name of their particular
log-mark: "Blaze Belt, ahoy!" "Where in thunder are you?" "Blaze Belt,
this way, this way!" comes echoing from Hemlock Island, and away the
Blaze Belt bateau rows with its merry-making crew. Thus each crew, in
turn, is finally conducted to its respective camp-fire.
The prospect of a release from the arduous labors on the drive at this
point of progress raises the thermometer of feeling, which imparts a
right merry interest to every thing. Like sailors "homeward bound,"
after a three or nine months' cruise, and within one day's sail of
port, relaxation and pastimes only are thought and talked of.
The mine of song and story is opened, and the rarest specimens of
match songs and "stretched" stories are coined and made current by the
members of the different crews. The "smartest team," "chopper,"
"barker," "the largest tree," "the biggest log," "the greatest day's
work," bear or moose story, the _merits_ of crews, teamsters,
"bosses," cooks, and swampers, falls and rapids, streams and rivers,
all, all come up as themes of converse, song, and story. There is less
hurrying in the morning now than in the former part of the driving;
let the water rise or fall, it is all the same thing at this point,
for the driver has reached the ample channel of the river, where
neither falls or rapids occur. A day, and the work is consummated--'tis
done! The crews are disbanded: they disperse, some to their homes and
farms; some to idleness and recreation; some to hire in the mills to
saw the logs thus run; others to take rafts of boards to the head of
tide navigation, where hundreds of vessels are in waiting to distribute
the precious results of the lumberman's toil to the thousand ports of
the Atlantic and Pacific coasts, where the sound of saws, planes, and
hammers of a million house-wrights, cabinet-makers, carpenters,
coopers, and jobbers make the air vocal with the music of cheerful
labor, giving bread to the millions, wealth to thousands, and comfort
and convenience to all.
For this branch of human industry we set up a claim, in point of
_rank_, not yet awarded to it by the world. We claim for it greater
prominence as a source of wealth--greater respect on the ground of the
talent and skill concentrated by the prime operators--greater deference
for it as a business--for the endurance, energy, and courage of the
thousands of hardy freemen who engage in it, and greater interest from
the amount of substantial romance and adventure in the "Life among the
Loggers."
While it is the professed object of this volume faithfully to portray
all the points alluded to, I am nevertheless impressed with the idea
that no point which I have treated comes so far short of the reality
as the attempt to picture the romance of the business.
The boom, which constitutes the general receptacle of all logs, is
worthy a few lines of observation.
On the Penobscot it stretches up the side of the river in the vicinity
of numerous islands, whose location is peculiarly favorable; the
boom-sticks run from one island to another, and, where the distance is
too great, a pier is sunk--a square frame of stout timber filled with
stones. These piers sometimes span the whole river, united by the
boom-sticks. This is true of the main boom on the St. Croix. On the
Penobscot it stretches up the river about two miles; at the upper end
there being a shear boom, which swings out to intercept and turn the
logs floating down the river into its ample embrace.
The Boom Corporation, on the Penobscot, is regulated by legislative
enactments, and all logs running into it, or within the limits of its
charter, are subject to its laws and regulations. Its bounds embrace a
section of the river six miles in length, and to the care of all logs
coming within its limits the agent is obligated to give his attention,
and the company responsible. It is the duty of the boom-master, with
the men under him, to raft the logs of each individual in parcels by
themselves previous to their delivery for the mills, guided in his
selection by the particular marks cut on the logs, for which service
and safe-keeping the owner or owners of the boom receive thirty-three
cents per M. feet, board measure, which makes the property of the boom
very valuable. In addition to this, every log found in the boom
without a mark is a "prize log."
Among other duties devolving on the boom agent is to inspect,
personally, every raft of logs, setting down the number and mark in a
memorandum kept for the purpose. This course of management protects
each log-owner's property from plunder, as, in case any and all
persons were indiscriminately allowed to raft out logs, the temptation
might prove too strong, in some cases, to regard with due honesty logs
bearing marks of a different character. Besides these main booms,
there are many lesser ones, up and down the river, subject to no
special legislation or law except the will of the owner.
These observations relate chiefly to the Penobscot and St. Croix
Rivers. Of the rules and regulations of similar corporations on other
rivers I am uninformed, but it is to be presumed that they are much
the same, in general.
CHAPTER III.
Observations on the St. Croix River.--Boundary Line.--Pine Timber.
--Agriculture in the Interior.--Youthful Associations with Grand
Lake.--Traditionary Name of Grand Lake.--Lake Che-pet-na-cook.--
Rise of Eastern Branch St. Croix.--Lumbering Prospects.--Hemlock.
--Reciprocal Relations of the Lumber Trade between Americans and
Provincials.--The Machias Rivers.--Origin of Name.--Character of
Soil.--Lumber Resources and Statistics.--West Machias.--Narraguagues
River, curious Definition of.--Capacity of Stream.--Statistics.--
Union River.--Observations on its Lumbering Interests.--Mills in
Franklin.
Having in the foregoing pages given brief sketches of some of the most
interesting _trees_ known to us, devoting considerable attention to the
White Pine, and the life and adventures of lumbermen, the concluding
pages of this book will consist of brief sketches of the rivers of
Maine and New Brunswick, and such statistics as to the extent of the
lumbering operations on each river as may interest the curious in such
matters.
The Mschoodiac, more generally known as the St. Croix, constitutes the
first link in the boundary between Maine and the province of New
Brunswick.
The name by which this river is more generally known is St. Croix,
which is probably of French origin. The original and Indian name is
Mschoodiac. An intelligent Indian, belonging to the Penobscot tribe,
to whom I am indebted for the signification of the original names
which our rivers bear, informed me that the signification of
Mschoodiac was, "Burned land river," "Open space," or "Wide prospect
river," thus deriving its name from some peculiarity in the country
along its borders.
Probably, at some period anterior to the white man's knowledge of our
Western World, a section of forest adjacent to some part of the river
was destroyed by fire, originating perhaps in the torch of some
invading tribe as they laid waste the wigwams of their discomfited
enemies, or from the embers of the little fire kindled by the hungry
hunter to cook his hurried meal. In process of time, the principal
part of a forest, withered and destroyed by such a devastating
scourge, would fall to the ground, opening wide prospects where
densely-compacted forest trees once completely circumscribed the view.
But the river may have derived its name from a circumstance of still
earlier date, viz., the existence of immense fields of _meadow_ land,
which abound more or less in the whole region lying about the St.
Croix, often affording the voyager an unobstructed view for miles up
and down the stream. In former years vast quantities of this wild
grass were cut by lumbermen for the subsistence of oxen and horses
during their winter operations.
The St. Croix has two branches, the east and west; the latter, at
its source, is contiguous to the head waters of the Machias River in
the west, while the former, being of more importance and greater
magnitude, stretches far to the north to the lakes, whence is its
source. Of these bodies of water mention may be made of Grand Lake in
particular, which is about twenty-five miles long by eight wide at its
greatest extent, romantically diversified in the northern part with
beautiful islands, deep coves, and far-reaching points of land,
covered with dense and rather undersized trees. The shores, east and
west, are composed for the most part of immense granite rocks, rising
very abruptly on the southwest to a considerable elevation, covered
with a heavy growth of majestic Pine, Hemlock, and Spruce-trees.
Beautiful white sand beaches, which run outward with a very gradual
descent for many rods into the lake, afford a most luxurious
bathing-ground, where probably the young savages of former generations
gamboled and indulged in aquatic sports.
Not many years since, an unbroken forest stretched abroad over a vast
area of country, of which this lake formed a central point. The
pervading silence, which rested like night over this vast wilderness,
was only broken by the voice of the savage, and the discordant
howlings of wild beasts. But within a few years the ax of the pioneer
has leveled large tracts of forest, and thus opened the virgin soil to
the sun's germinating rays, so that now may be seen skirting the
shores of the lake, north and northwest, cultivated fields, relieving
the solitude which once reigned there. The gray-haired red man of past
generations knew this lake by the name Madongamook, which signified
"Great grandsires," and owes its origin to the following circumstance:
From time immemorial it is said that some of the aborigines made
the immediate vicinity of this lake's outlet a permanent annual
"setting-down place," or head-quarters. Here their ancestors gathered
around the council-fire for uncounted generations. Hence this sheet of
water was called Great-great-grandsire's Lake, of which Grand Lake is
an abridgment.
The author entertains many pleasant reminiscences of former visits to
this lake. To use the language of the red man, he has spent many
pleasant "moons" on the shores of Madongamook, paddled with the Indian
hunter in his tiny birch over its silver waters, chased wild game
through its forest confines, and flung from its transparent depths the
delicious trout. Indians affirm that there is in these waters a great
fish, "all one big as canoe," a sort of fresh-water whale.
But it is time to proceed on our down-river trip. So, leaving the
outlet of Grand Lake, and passing south about two miles across a
"carrying-place," we strike the head of another lake, called
_Che-pet-na-cook_, into which the surplus waters of the former lake
pass. The name by which this lake is designated is said to signify
_hilly pond_ or _lake_. In form it is long and narrow, resembling a
deep, massive river. That peculiarity from which its name is derived is
strikingly prominent. A range of abrupt and elevated ridges rises
suddenly from its western shore, covered with a close, heavy growth of
trees, principally Spruce. One peak of the ridge rises several hundred
feet from the surface of the lake, which is called "_Spruce Mountain_."
After mid-day, a section of this mountain ridge, so dense and frowning
as to resemble a thunder-cloud, casts a cavernous shade, like a misty
pall, over the surface of its waters, which seem to lay with prostrate
fear at its base, imparting an oppressive solemnity over the scenery.
At the foot of this lake, which is between twenty and thirty miles
long, the east branch of the St. Croix takes its rise. From this point
it passes through a rocky channel for the most part, occasionally
flowing through a section of meadow or intervale land until it reaches
Baring, a distance of some fifty miles, where for the first time it
meets with a formidable barrier to its hitherto wild and unrestrained
progress in the character of a "_dam_." Passing this through its
various avenues, it flows on to Milltown, which occupies both sides
of the river, and includes both the English and American villages.
Between this place and the head of ship navigation, some two miles
distant, the channel is _dammed_ several times on a succession of
falls, where are numerous saw-mills; and, finally, after having leaped
a thousand rocky precipices above, and struggled through as many gates
and sluice-ways below, it quietly flows on to the Passamaquoddy Bay,
where its restless waters find repose in the bosom of the Atlantic
Ocean.
In regard to the lumbering resources on this river, I believe it is
generally admitted that the supply of Pine is comparatively small, the
principal part having already been brought to market; and although the
territory belonging to this river is large, still its resources are
curtailed by the proximity of the head waters of the St. John,
Penobscot, and Machias Rivers.
The comparative scarcity of Pine timber has induced the manufacture of
a much larger proportion of Spruce than formerly; still it is presumed
that the same amount of Pine lumber now annually cut may continue to be
for years to come. Should Hemlock come into more general use, the
resources of the lumbermen will be greatly augmented, as timber of this
kind abounds on the St. Croix. And why may not this be the case? For
many purposes Hemlock lumber is preferred to Pine. A gentleman in
Bangor informed the writer that he had, from choice, made use of
Hemlock boards for nice floors to a residence recently built for
himself, esteeming it richer in color, less liable to indentation, and
of greater durability. With the exception of _Pine_, the resources for
lumber on this river are still very considerable, and must continue to
be for many years, unless sweeping fires shall blacken and wither the
beautiful forests which now adorn the interior. Vast tracts of timber
land have already been destroyed by fire on the territory belonging to
this river, as the blanched trunks of standing trees, and barren hill
country surrounding Baileyville, Baring, Calais, and St. Stephen's,
most painfully indicate, greatly marring the beautiful scenery which
once adorned the valley through which the river flows.
Lumber manufactured on this river may be considered as both English
and American products; still, by common concurrence, and not strictly
in accordance with revenue regulations, it is shipped indiscriminately.
The manufacture of the English side of the river is received on board
American vessels and shipped to the States, and the lumber manufactured
on the American side shipped on board English vessels and taken to
the English markets duty free.
For the most part, the firms who conduct the lumbering business on the
St. Croix are of great respectability; several of them are very
wealthy.
The following table[12] of estimates has been gathered from the most
reliable sources; and, although mathematical exactness is not
pretended, still it is believed that the calculations here presented
approach the truth sufficiently near to give the reader a very
satisfactory view of the _extent_ of the lumbering operations on the
boundary river:
+------------------------------+------------------+-------------+
| |English.|American.| Average |
|No. of Saw-mills | 42 | 33=75 | price |
|No. of Lath Machines | 60. | per M. |
|------------------------------|------------------|-------------|
|Amount of Long Lumber | 65,000,000.| $ 7.50. |
|Amount of Laths | 90,000,000.| 1.00. |
|Amount of Shingles | 21,000,000.| 2.50. |
|Amount of Pickets | 2,165,000.| 3.50. |
|Amount of Clap-boards | 200,000.| 18.00. |
|No. of Juniper Knees | 8,300.| 1.40 each.|
|No. of Men employed, directly | | |
| and indirectly | 1,200 to 1,500.| |
|No. of Oxen and Horses, do | 1,000.| |
+------------------------------+------------------+-------------+
[12] To the following gentlemen, viz., Messrs. Todd & Darling,
J. M'Alister, Esq., of St. Stephen's, and to W. Pike, Esq.,
port surveyor; L. L. Lowell, Esq., and other gentlemen of
Calais, I am under lasting obligations for the courteous and
intelligent manner in which they responded to the various
questions proposed in preparing the statistics for the above
table.
Leaving the St. Croix, and traveling westward about forty miles, we
come to East Machias River, to the west of which, six miles distant,
is another river called West Machias. The name Machias originated in
some obstruction in the way of the Indian traveler, either in the
river itself or upon its banks, whether natural or accidental I am not
aware.
The eastern stream is about fifty miles long, including the small
lake, which constitutes its chief source, and is navigable only about
six miles for large vessels, at which point the village, bearing the
same name as the river, is located, and also the mills. As the lake
which feeds the river is fed principally by springs, it affords a good
supply of water the year round. The land in the immediate vicinity of
the stream is quite good for agricultural purposes; but, as we recede
from the river, the soil appears poor, presenting a desolate and
forbidding aspect. Once a flourishing forest covered it, but now
blackened, decayed, and decaying trunks of trees, scorched by fire,
some prostrate, others still standing, limbless, naked, and desolate,
intermingle with a small, dwarfish, and sparse second growth, and
mantel the sterile plain and rocky hill side. Indeed, this is but too
true a portrait of immense tracts of land all along the coast of
Maine, from the St. Croix to the Penobscot, and still further
westward. It is wonderful that these desert regions, whose sterility
scarcely gives existence to the wild grass and stinted shrubs which
grow there, once supported a dense and majestic forest.
At East Machias village there are seventeen saws in operation, and
eleven lath machines; the latter, for the most part, are situated in
the base of the saw-mills, and manufacture laths from the slabs made in
the mill. At this place the saws cut, on an average, about six hundred
thousand feet, board measure, to a saw, one half of this lumber being
sawed from Pine, and the other from Spruce logs. The same quality of
lumber brings fifty cents more per thousand here than on the St. Croix.
In answer to the question, _Why is this so?_ the reply was, "We saw
nearly all our lumber to _order_, and of prescribed dimensions."
The resources for lumber are still quite abundant. The West Machias
stream is about the same size as the East, both being quite small; it
has more numerous water privileges, and is more liable to be affected
by droughts. Here the lumbering operations are carried on more
vigorously than on the other river, cutting some two hundred thousand
more to a saw. The greatest distance that lumber has been cut from the
village is about sixty miles. Opinions the most reliable encourage the
belief of the existence of sufficient timber to meet the demands of
this market for years to come. This stream is also navigable for
vessels up to the mills, being carried at flood-tide quite near the
mill slips, where they receive their cargoes. Both rivers empty into
Machias Bay at points quite approximate, through which float the
cargoes of industrial wealth to the broad Atlantic and to the various
ports of destination.
Annexed is a table showing at a glance the state of the lumber trade
per annum on each river:[13]
+-----------------------------------------------------------------+
| EAST MACHIAS |
+---------------------------+--------------+-----------+----------+
| | | Average | Total. |
| | | price | |
| per M. |----------|
|-----------|----------|
|No. of Saw-mills | 17. | | |
|No. of Lath Machines | 11. | | |
|Amount of Long Lumber | 10,200,000. | $8.00. | $81,600.|
|No. of Laths | 13,200,000. | 1.00. | 13,200.|
| | | | ------ |
| | | | $94,800.|
|No. of Men Employed | 450. | | |
|No. of Oxen and Horses, do.| 380. | | |
+---------------------------+--------------+-----------+----------+
| WEST MACHIAS |
+-----------------------------------------------------------------+
| | | Average | Total. |
| | | price | |
| per M. |----------|
|-----------|----------|
|No. of Saw-mills | 20. | | |
|No. of Lath Machines | 14. | | |
|Amount of Long Lumber | 18,000,000. | $8.00. | $144,000.|
|No. of Laths | 16,800,000. | 1.00. | 16,800.|
| | | | ------- |
| | | | $160,800.|
|No. of Men Employed | 475. | | |
|No. of Oxen and Horses, do.| 400. | | |
+---------------------------+--------------+-----------+----------+
[13] For the most important facts involved in the annexed
statement I am chiefly indebted to the kindness of Deacon
Talbot, of East Machias, and to other gentlemen engaged in the
business residing at West Machias.
The next river worthy of note, for the lumber it produces, is the
Narraguagues, whose waters disembogue into a small bay bearing the
same name, thirty miles beyond the West Machias, its course being
nearly parallel with the latter.
The true Indian orthography is said to be Na-la-gua-gwees, and
signifies palate, stream, or river. To use the precise language of my
Indian interpreter, opening his mouth wide and thrusting his finger
down his throat, "It means all one, jes if I open my mouth and river
run down my throat into mine belly." Whether there is any peculiarity
about the river, or the form of the bay into which it falls, to
originate such a name, I am unaware.
This stream, for water power, is about equal in its capacity to
either of the Machias rivers. The mills are principally located at
Cherryfield, where are fifteen saw and eight lath mills, three
shingle and one clap-board machine. The saw-mills are said to produce
about nine millions of long lumber per annum, worth eight dollars per
_M._ on an average. The lath mills produce six million four hundred
thousand pieces, worth one dollar per _M._ Nine hundred thousand
shingles are annually turned out, at two dollars and fifty cents per
_M._ The clap-board machine may be credited with one hundred thousand
pieces during the sawing season; of their quality I am not informed.
In general they range from fifteen to thirty dollars per _M._
Computing the value of the foregoing products, we have presented the
annual product:
Long Lumber $72,000
Laths 6,400
Shingles 2,250
Clap-boards 2,000
------
Total $82,650
Sixty teams are said to be employed on this river during the hauling
season, and about three hundred men. The resources for lumber were
reported by the most intelligent operators as equal to those of any
lumber district in the state of equal size.
In the adjoining town of Franklin five saw-mills were reported,
situated on small streams, doing a large business. These mills are
said to manufacture about three million feet, worth eight dollars per
_M._, giving twenty-four thousand dollars.
About half way between the Narraguagues and the Penobscot Rivers, and
upon an almost exact parallel with the latter, runs Union River, which
disembogues into an arm of Frenchman's Bay. On the banks of this
river, near its mouth, stands the village of Ellsworth, which is
decidedly one of the most beautiful places in Maine, and in the
immediate vicinity of which the mills are principally located; in all,
about twenty-five.
The annual amount of long lumber manufactured here is about sixteen
million feet, worth some hundred and twelve thousand dollars; the
aggregate amount of the various kinds of short lumber annually
produced is worth some sixteen thousand dollars more.
From four to five hundred men, and about the same number of oxen and
horses, are employed in the lumbering business. Logs are driven from
two to forty miles. The territory through which this stream flows is
well timbered, and affords an abundant supply of logs.
CHAPTER IV.
Penobscot River.--Its various Names.--Character of the Country
through which it flows.--Its Length.--The vast Extent of Territory
which it drains.--Its Multitude of Lakes.--Mount Ktaadn.--Indian
Legend.--Elevation of the Mountain.--Overwhelming Prospect.--A Sabbath
in the Wilderness.--Moose in the Lake.--An uncomfortable Night.--Dr.
Jackson's Narrative.--New Lumber Resources.--The interesting Origin
of this new Resource.--John Bull outwitted.--Freshets on the Penobscot.
--Freshet of 1846, cause of it.--Sudden Rise of Water.--Bangor
submerged.--Bowlders of Ice.--Destruction of Property.--Narrow
Escape of Ferry-boat.--Peril of Boys.--Editorial Observations.
--Lumber Statistics.--Where the Lumber finds a Market.--
Speculations on future Prospects of Lumbering Interests.--
Anticipations of the Future.--Bangor.
Passing westward in a direct line about twenty miles, we come to the
noble and interesting Penobscot. Although Penobscot is now the name of
the entire river, it was originally the name of only a section of the
main channel, from the head of tide-water to a short distance above
Oldtown. Penobscot is the Indian name, and signifies stony or rocky
river, as it certainly is within the above limits, being nothing less
than a continuous fall before the dams were built.
From the head of tide-water, at the city of Bangor, to the mouth of
the river, a distance of about thirty miles, it was known to the
Indians by the name of Baam-tu-guai-took, which means broad river,
sheet of water, or, more literally, all waters united. Another section
of the river is called Gim-sit-i-cook, signifying smooth or dead
water.
Unlike the Kennebeck, and similar to the St. Croix, the Penobscot
flows chiefly through a wilderness country. The time is yet distant
when its banks shall exhibit the same advances in agricultural
industry and wealth which now beautify, enrich, and enliven the banks
of the Kennebeck.
[Illustration: A COASTER ASCENDING THE PENOBSCOT FOR LUMBER.]
This river, on many accounts, is the most important in Maine, and at
present, from its vast lumbering resources and operations, the most
noted. It is three hundred and fifty miles long, with numerous,
and, in some instances, copious branches, which drain an immense
uncultivated territory, embracing a region of country from east to
west about one hundred and fifty miles in breadth, spanning the whole
of the northern portion of the state, running round and cutting off
the head waters of the St. Croix on the east, and of the Kennebeck on
the west, interlacing its numerous branches with those of the St.
John's River in the north, which brings within its embrace about one
third the entire wilderness territory of Maine.
The scenery in some sections of this territory, about the head waters,
is grand and picturesque. Its numerous water-falls, some of which are
fearful to contemplate, much more for the _river-driver_ to work
upon; its swelling hills, and, in some instances, towering mountains,
from whose tops may be counted an almost endless number of lakes, and
the vast groves of towering pines here and there scattered over
millions of acres of forest land, make it altogether one of the
wildest and most romantic portions of country.
One of the most attractive features in the interior is Mount "Ktaadn,"
which, from its isolated position, height, and sublime grandeur as the
"birth-place of storms," surrounded with a beautiful, rich, and
luxuriant forest, with streams and lakes, is worthy of special
attention.
The following sketch of a visit to this mountain by a party of
gentlemen may be esteemed worthy of a perusal:
Our travelers, after having made the ascent of the river to the proper
point, and made the necessary arrangements for their journey up the
mountain, "entered the slide at eight o'clock" A.M., in the early part
of September, and found its ascent quite steep, "though not difficult
or dangerous at all, when one takes time."
On almost all sides of the mountain there is a short, tangled growth
of alders and white birch coming up between the rocks. These, being
kept down by the winds, grow into an almost impassable bramble. At a
distance it has a beautiful, smooth appearance, like a green, grassy
hill, or what one of the company called a 'piece of oats.' The slide
serves as a path up through all this tangle, reaching to the top of
the southeastern ridge of the mountain, which is above all timber
growth, making about one third of the whole perpendicular height of
Ktaadn, to which the ascent of the brook below would add another
third.
[Illustration: VIEW OF THE PENOBSCOT--FORESTS AND LAKES N.E. FROM
KTAADN.]
"Although it was hard climbing, we ascended pretty fast, and the clear
morning air gave an indescribable beauty to the prospect below. The
most pleasing was the constant change and variety caused by our rapid
ascent. It was known that the mountain, at this season of the year, is
frequented by bears in pursuit of cranberries, but we did not see any,
though our gunner had enjoined silence in hopes of obtaining a shot. I
remained with the rear, to see all up safe. The most zealous 'went
ahead,' and were soon out of sight, until, near the head of the slide,
we heard them from the distant topmost peaks calling out, 'Come on, ye
brave!' At this distance they looked very small in stature. From the
head of the slide we turned to the left, and ascended northwest to the
first and most eastern peak; by this time our comrades had reached the
most western. We here paused to view our position. It is perhaps the
most favorable spot for surveying the whole structure. From thence the
principal peaks are in a curved line, going southwest, then west and
northwest. The second peak, called by us the 'Chimney,' is near the
first, but separated by a sharp cut one hundred and fifty or two
hundred feet deep, and nearly square in its form. We had seen one of
our comrades upon its summit, else we might not have attempted the
ascent. His zeal seemed to blind him to danger, for, when questioned
on our return, he could neither tell _when_ or _how_ he ascended. Our
first plan was to pass around the base without going over the top; but
this we found impossible, and were about to give up, when one pointed
out a diagonal course, where, by taking a few pretty long steps, he
thought we could ascend. I tried first, and succeeded, and all
followed but two. From the 'Chimney' we went from one hammock to
another, making, on the whole, a gradual ascent, till we reached the
middle of the principal peaks, a distance of nearly half a mile. There
we met our comrades on their return from the western peak, and all sat
down to rest. Here we found a monument that had been erected by some
former visitor, but was overgrown with moss, appearing lonely, as if
it had seen no relations for years. On the first and most eastern
peak, all the monuments which I had made the year previous looked new
and fresh. It is not easy to decide which of the two (the western and
middle peaks) is highest. Judgment was given in favor of the middle
one.
"While sitting on the south side of the monument at twelve o'clock, we
put the thermometer in a favorable place, and it went up to 84 deg. At
the same time, on the north side, and six feet from us, water was
freezing, and the snow dry and crusty. Near by the monument a rock
stood in its natural position, having a sharp peak in the top. This
was the highest one of the kind. Of this about four inches were broken
off, and one of the company carried it home with the conviction that
we had lowered the height of Ktaadn to that amount. About two P.M. we
returned to the eastern peak. It may be well to pause here and take a
re-survey of the scene thus far presented, and as much more as can be
viewed from this point.
"From this eastern peak a spur makes out eastward one mile. Half a
mile down, however, it divides, and a branch runs to the northeast the
same distance. On the southwest, across the cut, is the 'Chimney.'
From this the line of peaks and hammocks curves to the west till it
reaches the middle and highest peak. From one hammock to the other
there are, in all, thirty rods of narrow passes. Some of them are so
narrow that a man could drop a stone from either hand, and it would go
to unknown depths below. In some places the only possible way is over
the top, and only one foot wide. For a great part of the time the wind
blows across these passes so violently that the stones themselves have
to be firmly fixed to keep their places. It seemed remarkable, as if
for our convenience, that the day of our visit was still and quiet.
From the middle peak the line curves to the northwest, to the further
monument. From this point a branch makes down to the southwest, having
on it some extensive table-lands, while the top ridge or curve turns
directly north with the '_sag_.' At the bottom of the '_sag_' we come
upon a wide flat, which runs north half a mile, and stretches out to a
considerable width. At the northern extremity of the flat the ridge
curves to the east, and rises to a peak about equal in height to the
eastern peak of the northern wing. This is probably the highest of the
northern peaks, from which a spur makes down, a little south of east,
to within one quarter of a mile from the one that comes from the
southern wing. All this nearly includes a deep basin, with walls
almost perpendicular, and in some places apparently two thousand feet
high.
"To survey the bottom of this basin I have since made a separate
journey. It contains perhaps two hundred acres, covered with large
square blocks of granite that seem to have come from the surrounding
walls. There are in all six lakes and ponds, varying in size from two
to ten acres. One of them I crossed on ice the 15th of October.
"From its outlet inward to the southwest is about a mile, where there
is a small lake of clear water which has no visible outlet. So far as I
can learn, I was the first human visitor to this fabled residence of
the Indians' Pamolah. It is not strange that a superstitious people
should have many traditions of his wonderful pranks, and be kept away
from close engagement with such a foe. When we reach the lake on our
way to Ktaadn, it is easy to see the origin of those fears which the
Indians are said to have respecting the mountain as the residence of
Pamolah or Big Devil. Clouds form in the basin, and are seen whirling
out in all directions. Tradition tells a 'long yarn' about a 'handsome
squaw' among the Penobscots, who once did a great business in _slaying_
her thousands among the young chiefs of her nation, but was finally
taken by Pamolah to Ktaadn, where he now protects himself and his prize
from approaching Indians with all his artillery of thunder and hail.
"The Indian says that it is 'sartin true, 'cause handsome squaw always
ketch em deble;' whether this be true or not, the basin is the
birth-place of storms, and I have myself heard the roar of its winds
for several miles. But on the 15th of October, when I entered it and
went to the upper lake, all was still as the house of nymphs, except
when we ourselves spoke, and then the thousand echoes were like the
response of fairies bidding us welcome. In this way the music of our
voices would find itself in the midst of a numerous choir singing a
'_round_.'
"The upper lake, which I visited and went around, has an inlet, a
white pearly brook, coming out nearly under the chimney, and running a
short distance through alders and meadow grass. It has no visible
outlet; but on the north side it seems to ooze out among the rocks. We
can trace this water-course curving to the east of north till it
reaches the lower and largest lake, from which flows a brook
sufficiently large for trout to run up. This brook curves to the
south, running into West Branch, and is called Roaring Brook. The
mountain around this basin is in the form of a horse-shoe, opening to
the northeast. From the peak on the northern wing there is another
deep gorge, partly encircled with a curving ridge, which some would
call another basin. On the north side of this gorge there is a peak
nearly equal in height to the one on the south of it, but considerably
further east, making this northern basin or gorge open to the
southeast. These two basins, from some points of view, seem to be one.
From the last-mentioned peak the mountain slopes off from one peak or
shoulder to another, perhaps three miles, before it reaches the timber
growth. Some of the branches of the Wassataquoik come from this
northern part, but some of them from the basin or southern part of
Ktaadn.
"Rough granite, moss-covered rocks are spread over its whole surface
from the short growth upward. Blueberries and cranberries grow far up
the sides. At the time of our visit considerable snow lay on its
summits and lined the walls of the great basin. The party, of course,
found plenty of drink. The Avalanche Brook, having its source about
the middle of the slide, furnished water pure as crystal. The ascent
was attended with some danger and fatigue. But what a view when the
utmost heights are gained! What a magnificent panorama of forests,
lakes, and distant mountains! The surface of the earth, with its
many-tinted verdure, resembled, in form and smoothness, the swelling
sea. In the course of the forenoon, light fogs from all the lakes
ascended, and, coming to Ktaadn, intertwined themselves most
fantastically above our heads, then settled down and dispersed. But
what can be fitly said about the vast expanse of the heavens, to be
seen from such an elevation, especially when the sun goes down, and
the glowing stars appear in silent majesty? All the gorgeous,
artificial brilliancy of man's invention is more than lost in the
comparison. Language has no power to describe a scene of this nature.
The height of Ktaadn above the level of the sea is five thousand three
hundred feet. Its position is isolated, and its structure an immense
curiosity. From its summit very few populous places are visible, so
extensive is the intervening wilderness. On its sides the growth of
wood is beautiful, presenting a regular variation in altitude and size
all the way up to the point where it ceases.
"The great basin described by Mr. Keep was to none of us an inferior
object of interest. Want of time and strength prevented our descent
into it. It is open to general inspection from all the heights around
it. The day being quiet, the view was divested of much of its terror;
but we could readily believe it the abode of all the furies in a
storm, and where the polar monarch has his chief residence in Maine.
We called to each other across the basin, and echo answered 'Where!'
in earnest. The air was exhilarating, as may be supposed, but the
effect not as sensible as we anticipated.
"The whole party returned to the head of the slide at three P.M., and
engaged in picking cranberries. These grow on all parts of the
mountain above the timber region, and no doubt annually yield many
thousand bushels. 'They grow on vines among the rocks, and are
commonly called the mountain or highland cranberry. They are smaller
than the meadow cranberry, but of a better flavor.'
"At four o'clock six of the party went down to the camp to prepare
fuel for the Sabbath. Our guide and the gunner remained at the head of
the slide all night, and kept a fire with old roots; yet it was
presumed that they had now and then a _little cold_ comfort. The
result of their stay is thus set forth by Mr. Keep:
"'On Sabbath morning the eastern horizon was clear of clouds, and we
looked anxiously for the sun. Just before it came up, a bright streak
appeared of silver whiteness, like the reflected light of the moon. We
could see the further outline of land quite plain, and for a short
distance beyond was this silvery streak. Soon a small arc of the sun
appeared above this bright line. I was hardly able to control my
emotions while the whole came in sight. On Saturday night, about
sundown, our view of the country around was more distinct and
enchanting--a boundless wilderness in all directions, much of the view
being south of the lakes. Of the latter, not far from two hundred are
to be seen dotting the landscape. In one of them we can count one
hundred islands. Soon after sunrise on Sabbath morning we went down to
the camp to spend the day with the company.'
"That holy morning found us refreshed, and somewhat prepared to
appreciate our peculiar circumstances. The weather was charming. The
air resounded with the pleasing murmur of the Avalanche Brook, as it
flowed down over its bed of rocks; nor was the song of birds denied
us. Gentle breezes stirred the beautiful foliage of the circling
woods. Impressive stillness reigned, and the whole scene was adapted
to awaken happy and exuberant emotions.
"Early we mounted some rocks on the bank of the stream toward the
rising sun, and overlooking a vast region of country, and there poured
forth sacred melody to our heart's content. The echo was glorious.
Verily we thought our 'feet were set in a large place;' and we could
readily imagine that the wide creation had found a tongue with which
our own exulted in unison.
"At the hour appointed we assembled in the camp, and engaged in the
exercises of a religious conference. It was good to be there. The
scene finds its portraiture in the words of Cowper:
"'The calm retreat, the silent shade,
With pray'r and praise agree,
And seem by thy sweet bounty made
For those who follow thee.
Then, if thy spirit touch the soul,
And grace her mean abode,
O! with what peace, and joy, and love
She there communes with God.'
"It is not too much to say that we enjoyed a measure of such
experience. The day--the place--the topics of remarks--the songs of
Zion--all encircled by a kind Providence, and made effective by the
presence of God, will ever be worthy of a grateful remembrance.
"In the afternoon, by request, Rev. Mr. Munsell addressed us from the
11th verse of the 145th Psalm, 'They shall speak of the glory of thy
kingdom, and talk of thy power.' Our position added deep interest to
the theme of discourse, and naturally furnished much ground for
illustration. Indeed, the entire services of the day were attended
with peculiar influences, being had under circumstances so widely
different from the ordinary life of the company.
"That Sabbath was our delight, even in the face of a possible
deficiency in food. But the course adopted imparted bodily rest and a
peaceful mind.
"We had traveled with burdens on our backs twenty-five miles--crossed
several streams--climbed rough hills--walked on rocky places--tumbled
over huge trunks of fallen trees--crowded through plenty of jungle--waded
the Avalanche Brook--and all this in forbidding weather; but, aside
from the glorious view on the summit of Ktaadn, our toil found its
recompense in the novelty and influence of a Sabbath observance on
such an elevation, and amid the wild scenes and solitudes of a
mountain forest.
"Scarcity of food, and the engagements of some of the party, made it
necessary on Monday morning to start for home. We left the camp about
half past nine, following down the brook to the point from whence we
ascended, and then direct to the lake.