TOWING
By the time the boys had recovered from their first shock of horror,
the space between the two halves of the ice floe had widened to
several feet, and with powerful strokes they sent the canoe toward
the lane of water.
“It was about here,” Bob shouted, as he stopped paddling and swung
the canoe around.
At that moment the man’s head popped above the surface of the water
only a few feet away. A few powerful strokes brought him quickly to
the side of the canoe.
“Jacques,” cried both boys, as the man seized the side of the canoe
with his hand.
“You come der right time, oui,” he said, his teeth chattering so
that he could hardly speak.
“Get in as quick as you can,” Bob ordered.
Jacques Lamont was a large man and the canoe was small, barely large
enough to carry three full-sized men. Under less skillful handling
it would surely have upset, but the Frenchman knew just how to go
about it, and the boys were but slightly less adept, and in almost
no time he was in.
“You let me tak’ paddle,” he said to Jack. “Need work keep warm,
oui.” Carefully the two changed places and in another moment the
canoe was speeding back. Rapidly the lake was clearing of ice and
only occasionally did they have to swerve from a straight course to
avoid a floe, and soon they reached the wharf.
“Hurry up to the office now,” Bob ordered, as he sprang from the
canoe.
Fortunately they found a good fire roaring in the office stove. Tom
Bean, the camp foreman, was at the desk doing something with a big
account book as they pushed open the door.
“Bejabbers, and it looks like ye’d been in the drink, so it does,”
he declared, as he got up from his chair and greeted the big
Frenchman with a hearty hand shake.
“Oui, dat water he ver’ wet,” Jacques grinned, as he stretched out
his hands to the grateful heat of the stove.
“Got anything he can put on, Tom?” Bob asked. “He must get into
something dry right away.”
“Sure and it’s meself thot’ll find something,” the Irishman assured
him, as he disappeared into the little bedroom which opened out of
the office.
Jacques Lamont was an old friend of the Golden boys. He had worked
for their father many years, but this winter he had spent in
trapping away up over the Canadian line. About fifty years old, his
out-of-door life and clean living had caused the passing years to
deal very lightly with him and he would readily have passed for
fifteen years younger.
Tom was back in a few minutes with an armful of clothes.
“Thar, I gess thot’ll fix ye,” he declared, as he threw them on a
chair. “They may be a bit small but they’re the biggest I’ve got.”
Jacques quickly stripped and, after a brisk rub with a coarse towel,
proceeded to don the clothing which Tom had supplied.
“You haven’t told us how you came to be on the ice,” Jack said.
By this time Jacques was nearly dressed and told them how he had
been down to Greenville, a small town about twenty miles down the
lake, to sell his furs. He had come up to the Kineo House, a large
summer hotel on the other side of the lake, the day before, to see a
man on a matter of business. But the man was not there, and learning
that he would not be there until the next day, he had started across
the lake early that morning to see his friends at the camp.
“I tink der ice no go out so soon,” he explained. “But she bust up
ver’ queek and I geet caught, oui. You boys save my life. I, Jacques
Lamont, never forgeet heem.”
“That’s all right, old man,” Bob assured him, with a hearty slap on
the back. “Just forget it.”
“Non, no forgeet,” the Frenchman insisted. “Some time I do sumtin
for you, oui.”
“As if you hadn’t fifty times over,” Jack broke in. “But come on.
There goes the dinner horn and I’m hungry enough to eat all the cook
has got, so if you folks want anything, you’d better get a hustle
on.”
“How about those trout?” Bob asked, as he started for the door.
“Guess they’ll have to wait for supper,” Jack called back. “I
noticed that they were still down there in the box,” he added, as
Bob caught up with him.
“Well, we’ll dress them after dinner and they’ll go pretty good
tonight I reckon, even if I did have my mouth all made up for them
for dinner.”
Dinner over, they, together with Jacques, cleaned the fish and took
them to the kitchen where the cook promised to give them a big feast
that night.
About four o’clock the three friends went down to the wharf for a
look at the lake. Not a single bit of ice was to be seen.
“Isn’t it wonderful?” Jack asked, as he looked out over the heaving
water. “Where do you suppose it all goes to so soon?”
“I’m sure I don’t know,” Bob replied, and then asked: “How about it,
Jacques? Where does the ice go?”
“Non, I not know. Eet jest goes, I tink.”
Both boys laughed at the Frenchman’s explanation, and just then Tom
joined them.
“Thar, begorra, the last of the cut is hauled and termorrow we’ll
begin rollin’ in and buildin’ the fust raft. The Comet’ll be up
’bout noon and I want ter have things ready so’s she kin begin
towin’ as soon’s she gits here.”
The supper that night was all that the cook had promised. The big
trout, baked with slices of bacon, were delicious; and the hot
biscuits, so light that Jack declared they looked more like cream
puffs, seemed to almost melt in the mouth. The crew were in high
spirits and many was the joke thrown across the big table as the
food disappeared.
“You’ve got to hump yourself, Bob, to beat these biscuits,” Jack
declared, as he reached for his sixth.
“Yes, I’ll have to yield the palm to Joe,” Bob laughed. “He’s got me
beaten six ways of Sundays.”
“Don’t you believe it,” Jack returned loyally. “You can make just as
good ones, but I don’t think these can be beat.”
“Thanks for the flattery,” Bob smiled. “Pass the spuds down this way
and we’ll let it go at that.”
As usual, breakfast the next morning was eaten by lamplight, and
dawn was just breaking in the east when the crew started work by the
side of the lake.
Some of the logs, enough to make the first raft, were already in the
water, having been piled on the ice and fastened together here and
there by ropes so that they would not float away.
“Now then, we’ll get at thot boom fust thing and swing her round
these logs,” Tom shouted, as the boys joined him at the water’s
edge.
About a dozen of the men had been told off for this work, while the
rest of the crew started, with their peaveys, rolling the big spruce
logs from the huge piles into the water.
A large spike was driven into the end of a log, and to this a short
piece of strong rope was tied. The other end was then secured to
another spike driven into the end of another log, leaving enough
leeway between the ends for flexibility. This was continued until a
boom was completed long enough to reach entirely around the raft.
These rafts contain about 30,000 logs and will yield approximately
2,000,000 feet of lumber.
The boys, together with all the rest of the crew, had discarded
their moccasins and were wearing heavy shoes, the soles of which
were thickly studded with short but sharp brads, which prevented any
possibility of slipping on the logs.
By a little past ten the boom was completed and fastened around the
huge raft, which was then ready to be towed across the lake to the
East Outlet, where the waters of the lake emptied into the Kennebec
River.
“Hurrah! There she comes,” Jack shouted, a few minutes later, as his
sharp eyes spied a thin stream of smoke far down the lake.
“Begorra, and ye kin depend on Cap’n Seth to git here in time for
dinner,” Tom Bean laughed, as he picked up his sledge and started
for the office.
The boys, from the little wharf, watched the approaching steamer,
the Comet, one of the fleet of The Coburn Steamboat Company.
“There’s the Twilight, I’ll bet a nickle,” Bob declared, pointing to
a second stream of smoke some distance behind the Comet. “I suppose
she is going to tow Big Ben’s first raft across.”
“Probably,” Jack agreed. “I only hope that we can get across first
and get our logs started ahead of his. He’ll, of course, do all he
can to hold us up on the way down the river, and if he gets started
ahead of us he can give us a lot of trouble.”
Big Ben Donohue, a man of Irish descent and a local political boss,
owned a big lumber camp a few miles down the lake. Having been
under-bid, in a large contract with The Great Northern Star Paper
Company by Mr. Golden the summer previous, he had tried in many ways
during the winter to delay their work, but thanks to the two boys,
he had failed to accomplish his purpose.
“There’s Cap’n Seth,” Jack shouted, as a large middle-aged man swung
his cap to them from the deck of the small steamer as she steamed up
to the wharf.
“Hello, Cap’n Seth,” both boys shouted, as they heard the bell on
the boat ring for “back water.”
Cap’n Seth was an old timer on Moosehead Lake. He had worked on the
lake as boy and man as far back as he could remember, and no one
knew the lake better than he.
“How’s the byes?” he greeted them, as he sprang to the wharf and
threw a half hitch of the rope which he held in his hand about a
stout post at the end of the wharf.
“Fine and dandy, and how’s yourself?” Bob asked, as he shook hands.
“If I felt any better I’d be scared,” Cap’n Seth declared, biting
off a large hunk of “sailor’s delight.”
“Is the Twilight going to tow for Ben?” Bob asked, as they started
toward the office.
“Ah huh, but I know what you’re a thinkin’ and ye needn’t worry.
We’ll beat her across easy. He hasn’t got his boom mor’n half done
and won’t get started ’fore ’bout three o’clock, an’ we ought ter be
half way across by that time,” the captain assured them.
“We’re all ready fer ye to start, Cap’n,” Tom Bean said, as they
entered the office where the foreman was busy putting some papers
away. “’Spose ye’ve had yer dinner,” he added, with a wink at the
boys.
“Wall neuw,” Cap’n Seth began scratching his head. “I kinder
cal’lated to git a little snack ’fore we started. If this wind
freshens up much more it’ll be a long trip an’ we’ll be hungry afore
we get back.”
“Oh, quit your teasing, Tom,” Jack laughed, as he saw the wistful
look in the captain’s face. “Don’t you mind him, Cap’n Seth.
Dinner’ll be ready in about five minutes now, and we’re not going to
start till we get filled up.”
Cap’n Seth, much relieved in his mind with the assurance that he
would get his dinner, shook his fist in mock anger at the foreman.
“I reckon ye think yer mighty smart scarin’ a feller outter a year’s
growth with yer tomfoolery. Do ye ever read the Bible?” he asked
suddenly, changing the conversation.
“Do I iver rade the Bible is it?” Tom almost shouted, for it was his
proud boast that he was a great Bible scholar. “Sure and it’s meself
thot fergits more about the Bible ivery night than ye iver knowed.”
“Is that so?” Cap’n Seth replied, a most serious look on his face.
“Then mebby ye kin settle a pint fer me that’s bin givin’ me a lot
o’ trouble.”
“Mebby I kin,” Tom assured him, sticking out his huge chest. “If
it’s in the Bible ye’ve come ter the right man and don’t ye fergit
it. What is it?”
“Wall,” Cap’n Seth began slowly, scratching his head. “It’s like
this. I’ve wanted fer a long time ter know why Moses didn’t take iny
giraffes inter the ark.”
The big foreman slowly and thoughtfully scratched his head. He felt
that his reputation as a Bible scholar was at stake and did not want
to make a mistake. He thought for a moment without speaking, then, a
look of relief coming to his face, he asked:
“And how do yer know thot he didn’t?”
“Tom, I’m surprised at yer. I thought ye knew sumpin about the
Scriptures and yer don’t even know that Moses didn’t take any
giraffes inter the ark. Wall, wall, kin ye beat it?”
Tom, feeling more than ever uncertain of his ground, hastily
endeavored to regain his lost prestige by saying:
“Ter be sure I knowed it, but I jest wanted ter be sure as how ye
knowed it.”
“That’s a leetle too thin, Tom, but we’ll let it go if ye kin give
me the rason,” Cap’n Seth declared, with a sly wink at the boys.
“Sure and that’s aisy,” he declared, after a moment’s deep thought.
“It was because the blamed critters were too tall fer the ark, of
course.”
“Too tall yer eye,” the captain snorted. “Ye got ter do better’n
that or go ter the foot o’ the class.”
Tom, seeing that his answer had failed to satisfy and none too sure
of his ground in his own mind, scratched his head for several
moments in deep thought. Finally he said:
“It’s meself thot’ll bet a good five cent cigar thot thot ere
question ain’t answered at all in the Bible.”
“An’ I’ll take the bet,” Cap’n Seth quickly replied. “An’ we leave
it ter Bob ter say who wins.”
“Right ye are. Jest a minute and I’ll git me Bible,” Tom said,
starting toward the bedroom which opened out of the office.
“Port yer helm there,” the captain shouted. “We don’t need nary
Bible ter settle this bet.”
“And why not?” Tom asked, turning back.
“Because I kin give yer the answer,” the captain assured him.
“Oh, ye kin, eh? Wall, what is it?” Tom asked.
“Wall, ye see it’s like this, I reckon. Moses didn’t take any
giraffes inter the ark cause Moses wasn’t born till about a thousand
years after the ark had finished her voyage. Noah had charge o’ that
cruise, ye poor fish.”
For an instant a puzzled expression stole over the face of the
Irishman, and then, as the fact that he had been made the butt of a
joke worked its way into his mind, he burst out laughing, and the
boys joined in heartily. Great was the Irishman’s relief when he
realized that, after all, his reputation as a Bible scholar had not
suffered.
“I owe ye the cigar all right, all right,” he declared, as soon as
he could speak. “Sure and thot’s a good one, so it is. I’ll spring
thot on Father Maginnis the next time I see him, so I will.”
Just then the dinner horn sent its welcome blast through the vast
forest and the captain quickly leaped to his chair and, followed by
the others, started for the mess house. The meal was a hurried one,
as they were anxious to get the big raft started despite the
captain’s assurance that Big Ben would be far behind them. They all
knew the advantage of getting the first raft of logs over the big
dam at the outlet.
In addition to the captain, the Comet boasted of a crew of two. Tim
Sullivan, engineer and fireman combined, was a big Irishman with red
hair and was, of course, called Reds by all who knew him. The other
member of the crew was a half-breed by the name of Joe Gasson. Joe
was a small man, about thirty years old, but what he lacked in size
he more than made up for in strength and quickness.
“That Joe, he’s quicker nor a cat,” Cap’n Seth was wont to say.
Joe Gasson was deck hand and general utility man.
“Can’t say as how I jest like the looks o’ that weather,” Cap’n Seth
said to Bob, as he cast a weather eye toward the west.
“You think it’s going to storm?”
“Can’t say fer sartain this time o’ year, but I’m kinder afeard of
it.”
The Comet had just left the wharf and was backing up to the raft.
“Hold her thar now,” Tom shouted from his position on the raft,
where he stood holding the big three-inch hawser which was already
fastened to the key of the raft. The stern of the steamer was now
almost touching the log and Tom threw the rope to Joe who quickly
made it fast to the snubbing post.
“All right now. Let her go,” Tom shouted, as he turned and ran over
the logs toward the shore.
Slowly the steamer started forward, the hawser straightening out
until there was a space of about fifty feet between the boat and the
raft. Then it tightened and the steamer came to an abrupt stop. It
takes a vast amount of pulling to overcome the inertia of 30,000 big
logs and the water boiled and churned at the stern as the blades of
the propeller beat it into foam. The Comet, built on the lines of a
tug boat, was a powerful craft and soon began to move slowly through
the water again, while the raft gradually took on the shape of a
huge flatiron.
“Hurrah! She’s moving,” Jack shouted.
Bob and Jack, together with a half dozen of the men of the camp,
were to cross with the raft, and the two boys were standing in the
stern eagerly watching the starting of the logs. The big hawser,
tight as a steel cable, groaned with the tremendous strain.
Fortunately the wind, which had been blowing from the northwest, had
died down to a light breeze. One would hardly think that an opposing
wind would make much difference, as the logs lying so low in the
water offer but a small surface to it; but when the surface of each
log above the water line is multiplied by 30,000, the product is an
enormous area. As a matter of fact, it is impossible for a boat to
tow a raft against a very strong wind, and often, in spite of its
great pulling power, the steamer is dragged backward sometimes at a
rate of several miles an hour.
It was all of a half hour before the raft was fairly in motion and
even then, as Jack declared, “you’d have to sight by a tree or
something to be sure that you were moving.”
“Well, we’re off at last, Cap’n Seth,” Bob said, as the captain
joined them in the stern.
“Yep, we’re on the move,” he replied, as he examined the hawser to
see if it was securely fastened.
“How about the weather?” Jack asked.
“Wall neuw,” and the captain took a hasty glance toward the west.
“I’m a thinkin’ we’ll have a bit o’ weather afore dark, but I’m
hopin’ as how we may git across afore it strikes us. It’s twelve
miles straight across to East Outlet an’ we kin make it in about
five hours if the pesky wind don’t blow any harder nor it is neuw,
but I don’t jest like the looks o’ that bank o’ clouds over thar,”
and he pointed toward the west where the boys could see a heavy
looking fringe of leaden colored clouds.
Very slowly the steamer gained speed until the captain assured them
that they were making almost three miles an hour, which is
considered very good unless the wind is in the right direction.
“That bank of clouds is getting higher all the time, Jack,” Bob
declared, as for the hundredth time he cast an anxious glance toward
them.
“And the wind is blowing harder than it was too,” Jack returned. “I
don’t believe we’re making more’n a couple miles an hour.”
“We’re not exactly exceeding the speed limit,” Bob grinned, as he
glanced down at the water.
They had been on the way for nearly two hours and were about a third
of the way across. Off to the left, about a half a mile distant, was
Sugar Island, the largest of the many islands which dot the lake.
Sugar Island has an area of some 5,000 acres.
“We’re not going to make it before dark, that’s certain,” Bob said
about an hour later. “We’re not making more’n a mile an hour I’ll
bet and the wind is getting stronger every minute.”
The sky, which during the day had been nearly free of clouds, was
now entirely overcast with dark rapidly moving banks of mist, and
the wind had increased from a light breeze to a strong blow which
came in fitful gusts.
“We’re jest barely holdin’ our own,” declared Cap’n Seth, who again
joined them. “If she gits any stronger we’ll begin to drift. Ought
ter had better sense than ter start out when my rheumatics kept
tellin’ me that a storm was a comin’. Them ere rheumatics are better
nor a barometer for ter tell when a storm’s a comin’. Never knew ’em
ter tell a lie yet,” and he slowly shook his head as he glanced up
at the sky.
Even as he spoke the first drop of the coming storm began to beat
against their faces, and in less than five minutes the rain was
coming down in earnest.
“Me for the engine room,” Bob shouted, as he left the stern and made
his way forward followed by Jack and the captain.
“Givin’ her all ye got, Reds?” the latter asked, as he reached the
open door of the engine room.
“Sure an’ I am thot,” Reds replied, glancing at the steam gage.
“Faith an’ she’s pullin’ fer all she’s worth.”
“Gee, listen to that wind,” Jack said a little later, from his perch
on the coal bin. “I’ll be a fig we’re not holding our own now,” he
added, as he jumped down. “Come on Bob, let’s put on these rubber
coats and go out and see what’s doing.”
Outside in the stern of the boat they found the captain and the rest
of the men watching the big raft as it heaved and groaned in the
heavy sea.
“We’ll hit Sugar Island in another ten minutes,” he shouted, as he
caught sight of the boys.
The rain was now falling in torrents and the wind was roaring in
furious blasts which shook the little steamer in all her timbers.
Darkness was falling rapidly, although it was still light enough for
them to see the island now only a few rods astern. Already the
captain was loosening the hawser preparatory to casting it off as
soon as the raft should strike.
“Will she break up, Cap’n?” Bob shouted.
“Dunno, she may hold together and she may not,” was the
unsatisfactory reply.
At that moment the farther end of the big raft struck the beach and
with a grinding crash the logs began to pile up as the wind drove
them forward. At the same instant the captain slipped the last coil
of the rope from the snubbling post and the boat, freed from its
drag, leaped forward.