A CHAPTER ON CHOPPING.
Imagine yourself, gentle reader, who have perhaps passed most of your
days between the wearisome confinement of an office or counting-house,
and a rare holiday visit of a few days or weeks at your cousin's or
grandfather's pleasant farm in the country--imagine yourself, I say,
transplanted to a "home" like ours. No road approaches within ten miles;
no footpath nearer than half that distance; the surveyor's blaze is the
sole distinctive mark between the adjoining lots and your own; there
are trees innumerable--splendid trees--beech, maple, elm, ash,
cherry--above and around you, which, while you are wondering what on
earth to do with them, as you see no chance of conveying them to market
for sale, you are horrified to hear, must be consumed by fire--yea,
burnt ruthlessly to ashes, and scattered over the surface of the earth
as "good manure"; unless indeed--a desperately forlorn hope--you may
"some day" have an opportunity of selling them in the shape of potash,
"when there is a road out" to some navigable lake or river.
Well, say you, let us set to work and chop down some of these trees.
Softly, good sir. In the first place, you must underbrush. With an axe
or a strong, long handled bill-hook, made to be used with both hands,
you cut away for some distance round--a quarter or half an acre
perhaps--all the small saplings and underwood which would otherwise
impede your operations upon the larger trees. In "a good hard-wood
bush," that is, where the principal timber is maple, white oak, elm,
white ash, hickory, and other of the harder species of timber--the
"underbrush" is very trifling indeed; and in an hour or two may be
cleared off sufficiently to give the forest an agreeable park-like
appearance--so much so that, as has been said of English Acts of
Parliament, any skilful hand might drive a coach and six through.
When you have finished "under-brushing," you stand with whetted axe,
ready and willing to attack the fathers of the forest--but stay--you
don't know how to chop? It is rather doubtful, as you have travelled
hither in a great hurry, whether you have ever seen an axeman at work.
Your man, Carroll, who has been in the country five or six years, and is
quite _au fait_, will readily instruct you. Observe--you strike your
axe, by a dexterous swing backwards and round over your shoulder,--take
care there are no twigs near you, or you may perhaps hurt yourself
seriously--you strike your axe into the tree with a downward slant, at
about thirty inches from the ground; then, by an upward stroke you meet
the former incision and release a chip, which flies out briskly. Thus
you proceed, by alternate downward and upward or horizontal strokes on
that side of the tree which leans over, or towards which you wish to
compel it to fall, until you have made a clear gap rather more than half
way through, when you attack it in rear.
Now for the reward of your perspiring exertions--a few well-aimed blows
on the reverse side of the tree, rather higher than in front, and the
vast mass "totters to its fall,"--another for the
_coup-de-grace_--crack! crack! cra-a-ack!--aha!--away with you behind
yon beech--the noble tree bows gently its leafy honours with graceful
sweep towards the earth--for a moment slowly and leisurely, presently
with giddy velocity, until it strikes the ground, amidst a whirlwind of
leaves, with a loud _thud_, and a concussion both of air and earth, that
may be _felt_ at a considerable distance. You feel yourself a second
David, who has overthrown a mightier Goliath.
Now do you step exultingly upon the prostrate trunk, which you forthwith
proceed to cut up into about fourteen-foot lengths, chopping all the
branches close off, and throwing the smaller on to your brush piles. It
is a common mistake of new immigrants, who are naturally enough pleased
with the novel spectacle of falling trees, to cut down so many before
they begin to chop them into lengths, that the ground is wholly
encumbered, and becomes a perfect chaos of confused and heaped-up trunks
and branches, which nothing but the joint operation of decay and fire
will clear off, unless at an immense waste of time and trouble. To an
experienced axeman, these first attempts at chopping afford a ready text
for all kinds of ironical comments upon the unworkmanlike appearance of
the stumps and "cuts," which are generally--like those gnawn off by
beavers in making their dams--haggled all round the tree, instead of
presenting two clear smooth surfaces, in front and rear, as if sliced
off with a knife. Your genuine axeman is not a little jealous of his
reputation as a "clean cutter"--his axe is always bright as burnished
silver, guiltless of rust or flaw, and fitted with a handle which, with
its graceful curve and slender proportions, is a tolerable approach to
Hogarth's "line of beauty;" he would as soon think of deserting his
beloved "bush" and settling in a town! as trust his keen weapon in the
hands of inexperience or even mediocrity. With him every blow tells--he
never leaves the slightest chip in the "cut," nor makes a false stroke,
so that in passing your hand over the surface thus left, you are almost
unable to detect roughness or inequality.
But we must return to our work, and take care in so doing to avoid the
mishap which befel a settler in our neighbourhood. He was busy chopping
away manfully at one of those numerous trees which, yielding to the
force of some sudden gust of wind, have fallen so gently among their
compeers, that the greater portion of their roots still retains a
powerful hold upon the soil, and the branches put forth their annual
verdure as regularly as when erect. Standing on the recumbent trunk, at
a height of five or six feet from the ground, the man toiled away, in
happy ignorance of his danger, until having chopped nearly to the centre
on both sides of the tree, instead of leaping off and completing the cut
in safety on terra firma, he dealt a mighty stroke which severed at once
the slight portion that remained uncut--in an instant, as if from a
mortar, the poor fellow was launched sixteen feet into the air, by the
powerful elasticity of the roots, which, relieved from the immense
weight of the trunk and branches, reverted violently to their natural
position, and flung their innocent releaser to the winds. The astonished
chopper, falling on his back, lay stunned for many minutes, and when he
was at length able to rise, crawled to his shanty sorely bruised and
bewildered. He was able, however, to return to his work in a few days,
but not without vowing earnestly never again to trust himself next the
root.
There are other precautions to be observed, such as whether the branches
interlock with other trees, in which case they will probably break off,
and must be carefully watched, lest they fall or are flung back upon
oneself--what space you have to escape at the last moment--whether the
tree is likely to be caught and twisted aside in its fall, or held
upright, a very dangerous position, as then you must cut down others to
release it, and can hardly calculate which way it will tend: these and
many other circumstances are to be noted and watched with a cool
judgment and steady eye, to avoid the numerous accidents to which the
inexperienced and rash are constantly exposed. One of these mischances
befel an Amazonian chopper of our neighbourhood, whose history, as we
can both chop and talk, I shall relate.
Mary ---- was the second of several daughters of an emigrant from the
county of Galway, whose family, having suffered from continual hardship
and privation in their native land, had found no difficulty in adapting
themselves to the habits and exigencies of the wilderness.
Hardworking they were all and thrifty. Mary and her elder sister,
neither of them older than eighteen, would start before day-break to the
nearest store, seventeen miles off, and return the same evening laden
each with a full sack flung across the shoulder, containing about a
bushel and a half, or 90lbs. weight of potatoes, destined to supply food
for the family, as well as seed for their first crop. Being much out of
doors, and accustomed to work about the clearing, Mary became in time a
"first-rate" chopper, and would yield to none of the new settlers in the
dexterity with which she would fell, brush and cut up maple or beech;
and preferring such active exercise to the dull routine of household
work, took her place at chopping, logging or burning, as regularly and
with at least as much spirit as her brothers. Indeed, chopping is quite
an accomplishment among young women in the more remote parts of the
woods, where schools are unknown, and fashions from New York or
Philadelphia have not yet penetrated. A belle of this class will employ
her leisure hours in learning to play--not the piano-forte--but the
dinner-horn, a bright tin tube sometimes nearly four feet in length,
requiring the lungs of that almost forgotten individual, an English
mail-coach-guard; and an intriguing mamma of those parts will bid her
daughter exhibit the strength of her throat and the delicacy of her
musical ear, by a series of flourishes and "mots" upon her graceful
"tooting-weapon." I do not mean, however, that Mary possessed this
fashionable acquirement, as the neighbourhood had not then arrived at
such an advanced era of musical taste, but she made up in hard work for
all other deficiencies; and being a good-looking, sunny-faced,
dark-eyed, joyous-hearted girl, was not a little admired among the young
axe-men of the township. But she preferred remaining under her parents'
roof-tree, where her stout-arm and resolute disposition rendered her
absolute mistress of the household, to the indignity of promising to
"obey" any man, who could wield no better axe than her own. At length it
was whispered that Mary's heart, long hard as rock-elm, had become soft
as basswood, under the combined influence of the stalwart figure,
handsome face and good axe of Johnny, a lad of eighteen recently arrived
in the neighbourhood, who was born in one of the early Scotch
settlements in the Newcastle District--settlements which have turned out
a race of choppers, accustomed from their infancy to handle the axe, and
unsurpassed in the cleanness of their cut, the keenness of their weapon,
or the amount of cordwood they can chop, split and pile in a day.
Many a fair denizen of the abodes of fashion might have envied Mary the
bright smiles and gay greetings which passed between her and young
Johnny, when they met in her father's clearing at sunrise to commence
the day's work. It is common for axemen to exchange labour, as they
prefer working in couples, and Johnny was under a treaty of this kind
with Patsy, Mary's brother. But Patsy vacated his place for Mary, who
was emulous of beating the young Scotch lad at his own weapon; and she
had tucked up her sleeves and taken in the slack, as a sailor would say,
of her dress--Johnny meanwhile laying aside his coat, waistcoat and
neckcloth, baring his brawny arms, and drawing tight the bright scarlet
sash round his waist--thus equipped for their favourite occupation, they
chopped away in merry rivalry, at maple, elm, ash, birch and
basswood--Johnny sometimes gallantly fetching water from the
deliciously-cold natural spring that oozed out of the mossy hill-side,
to quench Mary's thirst, and stealing now and then a kiss by way of
guerdon--for which he never failed to get a vehement box on the ear, a
penalty which, although it would certainly have annihilated any lover of
less robust frame, he seemed nowise unwilling to incur again and again.
Thus matters proceeded, the maiden by no means acknowledging herself
beaten, and the young man too gallant to outstrip overmuch his fair
opponent--until the harsh sound of the breakfast or dinner horn would
summon both to the house, to partake of the rude but plentiful mess of
"colcannon" and milk, which was to supply strength for a long and severe
day's labour.
Alas! that I should have to relate the melancholy termination of poor
Mary's unsophisticated career. Whether Johnny's image occupied her
thoughts, to the exclusion of the huge yellow birch she was one day
chopping, or that the wicked genius who takes delight in thwarting the
course of true love had caught her guardian angel asleep on his post, I
know not; but certain it is, that in an evil hour she miscalculated the
cut, and was thoughtlessly continuing her work, when the birch,
overbalancing, split upwards, and the side nearest to Mary, springing
suddenly out, struck her a blow so severe as to destroy life
instantaneously. Her yet warm remains were carried hastily to the house,
and every expedient for her recovery that the slender knowledge of the
family could suggest, was resorted to, but in vain. I pass over the
silent agony of poor Johnny, and the heart-rending lamentations of the
mother and sisters. In a decent coffin, contrived after many
unsuccessful attempts by Johnny and Patsy, the unfortunate girl was
carried to her grave, in the same field which she had assisted to clear,
amid a concourse of simple-minded, coarsely-clad, but kindly
sympathising neighbours, from all parts of the surrounding district.
Many years have rolled away since I stood by Mary's fresh-made grave,
and it may be that Johnny has forgotten his first love; but I was told,
that no other had yet taken the place of her, whom he once hoped to make
his "bonny bride."
By this time you have cut down trees enough to enable you fairly to see
the sky! Yes, dear sir, it was entirely hidden before, and the sight is
not a little exhilarating to a new "bush-whacker." We must think of
preparing fire-wood for the night. It is highly amusing to see a party
of axemen, just returning from their work, set about this necessary
task. Four "hands" commence at once upon some luckless maple, whose
excellent burning qualities ensure it the preference. Two on each side,
they strike alternate blows--one with the right hand, his "mate" with
the left--in a rapid succession of strokes that seem perfectly
miraculous to the inexperienced beholder--the tree is felled in a
trice--a dozen men jump upon it, each intent on exhibiting his skill by
making his "cut" in the shortest possible time. The more modest select
the upper end of the tree--the bolder attack the butt--their bright
axes, flashing vividly in the sunbeams, are whirled around their heads
with such velocity as to elude the eye--huge chips a foot broad are
thrown off incessantly--they wheel round for the "back cut" at the same
instant, like a file of soldiers facing about upon some enemy in
rear--and in the space of two or three minutes, the once tall and
graceful trunk lies dissevered in as many fragments as there are
choppers.
It invariably astonishes new comers to observe with what dexterity and
ease an axeman will fell a tree in the precise spot which he wishes it
to occupy so as to suit his convenience in cutting it up, or in removing
it by oxen to the log-pile where it is destined to be consumed. If it
should happen to overhang a creek or "swale" (wet places where oxen
cannot readily operate), every contrivance is resorted to, to overcome
its apparently inevitable tendency. Choosing a time when not a breath of
air is stirring to defeat his operations, or better still, when the wind
is favourable, he cuts deeply into the huge victim on the side to which
he wishes to throw it, until it actually trembles on the slight
remaining support, cautiously regulating the direction of the "cut" so
that the tree may not overbalance itself--then he gently fells among its
branches on the reverse side all the smaller trees with which it may be
reached--and last and boldest expedient of all, he cuts several "spring
poles"--trimmed saplings from twenty to forty feet in length and four to
eight inches thick--which with great care and labour are set up against
the stem, and by the united strength and weight of several men used as
spring levers, after the manner in which ladders are employed by
fire-men to overthrow tottering stacks of chimneys; the squared end of
these poles holding firmly in the rough bark, they slowly but surely
compel the unwilling monster to obey the might of its hereditary ruler,
man. With such certainty is this feat accomplished, that I have seen a
solitary pine, nearly five feet thick and somewhere about a hundred and
seventy feet in height, forced by this latter means, aided by the
strength of two men only, against its decided natural bearing, to fall
down the side of a mound, at the bottom of which a saw-pit was already
prepared to convert it into lumber. The moment when the enormous mass is
about yielding to its fate, is one of breathless interest--it sways
alarmingly, as if it must inevitably fall backward, crushing poles and
perhaps axemen to atoms in its overwhelming descent--ha! there is a
slight cat's paw of air in our favour--cling to your pole--now! an inch
or two gained!--the stout stick trembles and bends at the revulsive sway
of the monstrous tree but still holds its own--drive your axe into the
back cut--that helps her--again, another axe! soh, the first is
loose--again!--she _must_ go--both axes are fixed in the cut as
immovably as her roots in the ground--another puff of wind--she sways
the wrong way--no, no! hold on--she cracks--strike in again the
slackened axes--bravo! one blow more--quick, catch your axe and clear
out!--see! what a sweep--what a rush of wind--what an enormous
top--down! down! how beautifully she falls--hurrah! _just in the right
place!_