THE LUMBER CAMP
"The LeBlancs again!" exploded Garry. "I thought that we had seen the
last of that outfit. It seems that we are destined to run afoul of them.
Fortunately this Baptiste does not know about us, unless he has run
across his brother lately. That does not seem likely, for Jean is safely
beyond the border still. There are few places where he is safe, for he
is wanted in several different parts of the state. Still we must not
take anything for granted. We probably were seen by Baptiste when we
were instrumental in saving Howells from a bad beating or worse the
other night."
"How are we going to find out where the rendezvous is tonight?" asked
Dick.
"It seems to me that the best thing to do is to keep watch of the red
headed cookee; that is, you two chaps do that, while I will watch for
the man that told him of the appointment. You boys haven't seen him, so
you cannot keep on his trail. You can take turns keeping in the vicinity
of the cookee. If possible you might try and make acquaintance with him,
although I doubt if you will go very far, since he seems to be a surly
sort of a chap. Still, there's no harm in trying. When it comes time for
the meeting, I should say that it would be best only for me to follow
them. I can understand what they are saying, and one of us could follow
unobserved, where three would be spotted in a minute. You chaps can
plead to being tired after your hike and the work of building the shack,
and that will give us a chance to get to the new shanty early, and so be
unobserved."
At that moment they heard the sound of a tin pan being vigorously beaten
with a stick, and immediately Dick set up a shout:
"There's the dinner signal, or my ears and stomach fail me."
"For once I am ready to eat a good big meal. You are not the only one
with an appetite today, Dick," said Garry, and the three raced for the
cookhouse.
As they neared the cook tent, they saw the lumberjacks piling towards
the place to eat. They were a sizable group of men, brawny of arm and
large of frame.
Most of them gave the boys a curious glance as they flocked into the
shanty. The boys thought that they were to eat in the common dining
room, but found that they were to eat in a separate room that had been
partitioned off from the large room. Here ate the manager, the
timekeeper and cashier, and when he was present, the timber scaler.
The food that was served them was the same as that given the men.
Barrows explained this by saying that it kept the men in a better humor
if they knew that the bosses were getting the same fare as they.
"Lumberjacks are just like so many children," Barrows said. "They are
always on the lookout for something to quarrel about, and are almost as
temperamental as grand opera stars. Just now work is scarce, so they
keep better behaved; but in the winter time, when all the camps are
going full blast, you have to be careful and treat them properly, else
they will simply depart for some city where there is a woods agency and
be sent off to another camp. That is one of the evils of lumbering, the
agencies. They often try to breed trouble in the camps so that the men
will quit. Then they pack them off to another logging tract and collect
a commission from the camp owner for furnishing him with men. If this
was winter I would think that was what was the trouble here."
Garry looked up in surprise. He had no idea that Barrows would admit
that everything was not as it should be at the camp.
He knew that the eyes of the manager were on him, nevertheless he felt
that an answer was expected of him, or rather a question.
"Why, is there anything the trouble at this camp? From what I've seen I
should say that everyone was working busily and everything was lovely."
At this the manager brightened up considerably. It seemed to be that
this was the kind of a remark that he was looking for, and he made haste
to answer:
"Oh, there is nothing radically wrong here, I only meant that
occasionally there seemed to be a sort of dissatisfied air on the part
of the men, but it may only be worry on my part."
Garry was certain that the entire conversation was brought about in a
manner to delve into the feelings of the boys, and see how they regarded
everything. Garry did not believe that their mission was penetrated, but
thought that the guilty conscience of the manager would make him see an
enemy in every person he did not know.
The dinner was plain but good. It consisted of pea soup, potatoes, some
roasted beef, and coffee. The fare at a lumber camp is anything but
varied. The aforementioned articles, roast pork, stew and beans, with
either white bread baked at the camp, or great slabs of johnny cake with
molasses in lieu of syrup was the general thing. Coffee was served at
every meal.
"For breakfast we have bacon and toast and coffee in our dining room,
because the men have all eaten and started for work by the time we are
ready for breakfast," said Barrows. "Now we will go into the other room,
and I will give you boys a general introduction to the men. That will
save you any annoyance when you go about the camp."
He led the way into the larger room, and stepping on a bench announced:
"Men, these three boys are going to camp here for awhile. This one,"
pointing to Garry, "is the son of the owner. The other two are his
friends. I wanted you to meet them so that you may do all you can to
make their visit here a good one."
Garry thought to himself, "Yes, you are also showing us to those in your
crew so they will watch their step while we are around." A good many of
the men just sized the boys up, a few hollered good-natured remarks at
them, while several pressed forward and shook the hands of the boys,
remarking they had worked many years for Mr. Boone and were glad to meet
his son and his friends.
The three chums took especial care to fix these men in their minds, for
the same thought came to them all,--that if trouble arose, it was likely
that these men would prove loyal friends in need. Barrows detailed some
of the men to bring back the necessary lumber for the shanty, and then
the men went back to their work for the afternoon.
Soon they heard a chugging sound and presently a tractor hove into
sight, dragging a broad-wheeled cart on which was the lumber. The
manager came up, leading a couple of men with some heavy rolls of tarred
paper, and all was ready to build the shanty.
Sandy, the big Airedale, was gravely watching the boys when the men with
the tar paper arrived, and one of them seeing the dog, remarked:
"How would you chaps like to go coon hunting tonight, that is if your
pup will trail a coon?"
This was just what the boys did not want to do that night, so Garry
hastily made the excuse that they were tired from their march and the
work of throwing up the shanty, but said they would be glad to go the
following night.
This seemed all right to the men, who proceeded to make friends with
Sandy, that is as much as that sedate dog would let them, for an
Airedale makes few friends outside of his own family circle.
The work of putting up the shanty was done in a short time since there
were so many workers, and the addition of two bunks made it complete.
Barrows volunteered the information that there was a spare table in the
office, and a bench and a couple of chairs that could be taken from the
dining room.
"Then all we have to do is to cut some balsam boughs for our bunks and
we will be as snug as bugs in a rug," announced Phil.
Phil and Dick were dispatched to get the boughs, while Garry talked of
inconsequential matters with Barrows until their return.
The rest of the afternoon was spent in wandering about the cutting. It
was a revelation to the boys, the sight of the great timber falling in
the exact direction that it was wanted. The boys noted that the cut was
made just as Howells had told them, and they wondered whether or not any
spikes would be encountered.
The felling of a tree is an interesting process. The swing begins on the
side where the cutters do not want the tree to fall. Then when the saw
is better than two-thirds of the way through the trees, the swampers or
axemen take their stand at either side of the tree, and make a cut a
trifle under the line where the saw is coming through. This is done to
cause the tree to fall on that side. The axemen work like clockwork,
using a double bitted axe,--that is one that has two blades,--and make
the chips positively fly, one drawing his axe away just in time to let
the other man make a blow. Just as the moment comes for the tree to
fall, the cry of "tim-ber-r-r-r" is raised by one of the axemen and this
is the signal for all to be out of the way as the great tree falls with
a crash that shakes the ground for many feet around.
Following the falling of the timber, the trimmers begin their work.
Starting at the base end of the tree, one on each side, they walk up the
sides of the fallen monarch of the forest, and trim the branches off as
far as they are able. Many of the branches on the under side of the tree
are broken in the fall, others are only splintered and many of them are
just bent. A dozen men then seize their peavy sticks, as they are called
in Maine, or cant dogs in some other places where lumbering is done, and
roll the tree over. A peavy stick is a heavy pole about six feet long,
with a sharp iron point at the end. About a foot from this point is
attached a loose curved iron arm very much like one side of an ice-man's
tongs. This swings back and forth from the handle. The men prod the iron
point into the trunk of the tree, and then catch the swinging end of the
hook into the trunk. This gives them almost a handle to the tree, and
the long pole furnishes them the necessary leverage. At a word from the
man on the end, all give a mighty heave, and the tree is rolled over,
when the remaining branches are lopped off.
The lumberjacks are experts in the use of the peavy stick, and it is a
pretty sight to see them load a great trunk onto a flat car to be drawn
away. The method is almost the same as that used in turning over a
trunk,--only just half of the men fix their sticks. They give it half a
turn and then hold it in position on the skids, while the other half get
a grip and start turning. In this way, turn and turn about, they roll
the log right up the skids and onto the car.
In this instance the trunks were not hauled to the mill on a car; a
chain was attached instead, and then one of the baby tractors was used
to drag it over the ground to the mill. There were a half a dozen of
these tractors at the camp. Three were constantly employed in dragging
the cut timber to the mill, while the other three were used to draw the
flat cars to the railroad tracks, a half a dozen miles from the camp.
After watching the felling of several trees, the boys essayed trimming,
and while they were by no means unskillful at it, caused many a laugh
among the men because of the time they took. Whereas they often took two
or three strokes to take off a branch, the skilled woodsmen with one
swift, clean cut, lopped off a good thick branch.
The boys took their chaffing good naturedly and thereby won a lot of
regard from the jacks, many of whom were ready to sneer at "city chaps."
From the timbering they went to the sawmill. Here they found a busy whir
of activity. Logs were rolled onto the carriage and sent down the plane,
while the great circular saw bit its way through the length of the tree
like a hot knife through a pat of butter.
The carriage then runs back to where it started, while a mechanical
device shoves the log sideways as many inches as is desired and the
carriage starts on its journey again. This is done until the log has
been "sliced into planks." These are then piled on one side, waiting for
the flat cars to be loaded and hauled away by the tractor.
This operation that has been described entails more labor than the
winter logging, for then the trees are simply cut and rolled to one side
of the river. This continues throughout the winter until the cutting has
been complete and then they wait for the ice to go out. As soon as the
ice breaks up, the logs are tumbled into the river and floated down the
stream. For days they float down the river to the mills below, which are
always located on the river banks, and here they are ground up and made
into pulp from which paper is later manufactured.
The logs are distinguished one from another when they reach their
journey's end by branding, much as the horses that roam the feeding
places in the West are known by their brand. Every lumberman has his
mark, and a gash is made at one end of the log, and on this is made the
mark.
For example, Garry's father had his mark AB, which stood for his
initials. In this instance it was not necessary to brand the lumber, for
it all came from the same cutting and was transported directly to the
same destination.
After supper that night, the men gathered outside their bunkhouses,
playing cards or simply leaning back against the wall and smoking. One
of the French Canadian lumberjacks produced a mouth organ, and another a
battered guitar, and those who spoke the French joined in an old
"chanson" or song.
Soon one of the Americans, seizing on a lull in the conversation and
singing, struck up an old-time lumberjack song, and in a moment the
whole camp had joined in. The lumberjack songs are mostly about camp
events, the fight for the river at the spring flood, some great battle
that took place between two rival lumber camps, for your true lumberjack
is as ready to fight as to eat.
Where these songs come from, no one knows. They are as old as the
lumbering industry in Maine, and generally are written with a chorus at
the end. One man sings the verse and then the camp joins in the chorus
in a thundering tone. There is generally more noise than melody, at
least in the choruses, for a man that has a fair voice always sings the
verse part. Some of these songs are of a seemingly endless duration, but
the lumberjacks never tire of singing them.
As the men sang the moon came up, and made a scene that was long to be
remembered by the boys. In spite of their enjoying the evening, they
kept a sharp eye on the movements of the red haired cookee, although he
made no move to disappear. The boys figured that he probably would not
until the camp was asleep. Soon the men began to yawn, and turn into the
bunkhouse, while the boys bade goodnight to the manager and repaired to
their own shack. They turned in, and as soon as all seemed quiet, Phil
started out, and walking in the shadows, made for the spot he had picked
that afternoon as being a safe place to watch the exit from the
bunkhouse.
Garry and Dick dropped off to sleep, and were only awakened some time
later by hearing Phil climb into his bunk. In a moment they were wide
awake.
"What news," whispered Garry.
"Go on to sleep," advised Phil in a disappointed tone. "The LeBlanc
never showed up, and I've lost three hours' sleep for nothing.
Goodnight!"