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Forest Life and Forest Trees: comprising winter camp-life among the loggers, and wild-wood adventure.

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Title: Forest Life and Forest Trees: comprising winter camp-life among the loggers, and wild-wood adventure.

Author: John S. Springer


        
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[Illustration: A MOOSE.]



FOREST LIFE

AND

FOREST TREES:

COMPRISING

WINTER CAMP-LIFE AMONG THE
LOGGERS, AND WILD-WOOD
ADVENTURE.

WITH

DESCRIPTIONS OF LUMBERING OPERATIONS ON
THE VARIOUS RIVERS OF MAINE AND
NEW BRUNSWICK.



BY JOHN S. SPRINGER.



NEW YORK:
HARPER & BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS,
82 CLIFF STREET.

1851.

Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year one thousand
eight hundred and fifty-one, by

HARPER & BROTHERS,

in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the Southern District
of New York.




PREFACE.


The writer of the following pages was reared among the Pine forests of
Maine, and has spent several of the most pleasant years of his life in
active participation in many of the scenes here delineated.

The incidents he has related are real, and in no case is the truth
sacrificed to fancy or embellishment.

When the author commenced writing, his motive was to indulge somewhat
in pleasant reminiscences of the past, and to live over again that
portion of his life which, in general, was so pleasantly spent among
the wild mountains, forests, lakes, and rivers of Maine. It was during
this retrospective exercise with his pen that the idea of writing a
book, embracing his own experience and observations during the time in
which he participated in the lumberman's life, suggested itself.

Recollecting that, while the life, habits, and adventures of many
classes of men had engaged the attention of the reading community, and
that, among the multitude of narratives issued from the press, nothing
of interest or importance had been put forth exemplifying the life and
adventures of a very large class of persons known as lumbermen, he
naturally became possessed with a desire to entertain others with some
relation of what appeared to him to afford sufficient material for a
book of some interest, and chiefly because the matter it might embrace
had never been presented in a connected detail.

Suggesting the substance of what has already been said to several
intelligent lumbermen, an interest was at once awakened in their
feelings upon the subject, accompanied with an urgent request that the
plan should be prosecuted, and that a work should be prepared which
might make their pursuits, adventures, and hardships more generally
known. To many of these friends the author is also indebted for some
assistance in furnishing statistical matter.

In incorporating the somewhat lengthy notice of Forest Trees, forming
the first part of this volume, the author has ventured to make his own
taste and feelings the criterion by which he has been guided in his
selections and observations for the reader, and although they may not
hold a strict relation to the narrative, he hopes that they may not be
deemed inappropriate or uninteresting.

This volume makes no pretensions to literary merit; sooner would it,
indeed, claim kindred with the wild and uncultivated scenes of which
it is but a simple relation.

In justice to the gentlemen whom he has quoted in arranging the
statistical portion of this volume, as well as to himself, the author
would state that the material was procured some four years ago. The
statement of this fact may account for any discrepancy which may
appear from more recent accounts of the lumbering interests, should
they be found to vary from the representations here made.

THE AUTHOR.




  PART I.
  TREES OF AMERICA.

  PART II.
  THE PINE-TREE, OR FOREST LIFE.

  PART III.
  RIVER LIFE.




CONTENTS.


PART I.

TREES OF AMERICA.


CHAPTER I.

Trees, how regarded by Lumbermen.--Cedars of Lebanon.--Oldest Tree
on Record.--Napoleon's Regard for it.--Dimensions.--Durability of the
Cedar, how accounted for.--The Oak.--Religious Veneration in which
it was held by the Druids.--The Uses to which their Shade was
appropriated.--Curious Valuation of Oak Forests by the Ancient
Saxons.--The Number of Species.--Its Value.--Remarkable old Oak in
Brighton.--Charter Oak.--Button-wood Tree.--Remarkable Rapidity of
its Growth.--Remarkable Size of one measured by Washington.--by
Michaux.--Disease in 1842, '43, and '44.--The Oriental Plane-tree
--Great Favorite with the Ancients.--Cimon's Effort to gratify
the Athenians.--Pliny's Account of its Transportation.--The
Privilege of its Shade a Tax.--Used as an Ornament.--Nourished with
Wine.--Hortensius and Cicero.--Pliny's curious Account of one of
remarkable Size                                                    13

CHAPTER II.

The Elm.--English Elm.--Scotch Elm.--Slippery Elm.--American
Elm.--Superiority of latter.--Different Shapes, how accounted
for.--Great Elm on Boston Common.--Rapidity of Growth.--The Riding
Stick.--Remarkable Dimensions of noted Trees.--Boston Elm again.--
Its Age.--By whom set out.--Washington Elm, why so named.--"Trees
of Peace," a Tribute of Respect.--English Elm in England and
America.--Uses in France.--In Russia.--Birch Family.--Its Variety and
Uses.--The Maple Family.--Number of Species.--Red Maple.--Unrivaled
Beauty of American Forests.--Rock Maple.--Amount of Wood cut from one
in Blandford.--Curious method of distinguishing it from the River
Maple.--Amount and Value of the Sugar in Massachusetts.--Great
Product from one Tree.--Sugar Maple in the State of Maine.--Dr.
Jackson's Reports, &c.                                             19

CHAPTER III.

Beech-trees.--Purity, Size, Fruit.--Efforts of Bears after the
Nut.--The Uses to which its Leaves are appropriated.--Mr. Lauder's
Testimony, &c.--Use of Wood.--Singular Exemption.--The novel
Appearance of the Leaves of a Species in Germany.--Chestnut-tree
--Remarkable one on Mount AEtna.--Balm of Gilead.--Willow.--Ash.--
Basswood, or Tiel-tree.--The Poplar.--The Hemlock.--Beauties of
its Foliage.--Uses.--Hickory.--The Fir-tree.--Spruce-tree.--Its
conical Form.--Uses.--American Larch.--Success of the Dukes of
Athol in planting it on the Highlands of Scotland                  28


PART II.

THE PINE-TREE, OR FOREST LIFE.


CHAPTER I.

The Pines.--White Pines: rank claimed for this Variety.--Predilections.
--Comparison instituted.--Pitch and Norway Pines.--White Pine.--
Magnitude.--New York Pines.--Lambert's Pine on Northwest Coast.--
Varieties.--Its Rank.--Great variety of purposes to which it is
devoted.--Great Pine near Jackson Lake.--Capital Invested.--Hands
employed on the Penobscot                                          37

CHAPTER II.

The Pine twenty-five Years ago.--Its rapid
Disappearance.--Explorations.--Outfit.--Up-river Journeying.--Its
Distance.--Mode of Nightly Encampment.--Cooking.--Disturbed Slumbers.
--Ludicrous Fright.--Deer.--Encounter with Bears.--Mode of Exploring.
--Forest Observatory.--Climbing Trees.--The Emotions excited by
the View.--Necessity of Compass.--Nature's Compass.--The Return.--
Annoyances from mischievous Bears.--Stumpage.--Permits.--Outfit
and Return.--Crossing Carrying-places.--A Strong Man.--Skill of
Boatmen.--Item of personal Experience.--Blind Path.--A Family in
the Wilderness.--Things to be considered in locating Camps         44

CHAPTER III.

Method of constructing Camp and
Hovel.--Timber.--Covering.--Arrangement of Interior.--The Bed.--
Deacon Seat.--Ingenious Method of making a Seat.--Cooking: superior
Method of Baking.--The nightly Camp Fire.--Liabilities from taking
Fire.--A Camp consumed.--Men burned to Death.--Enjoyment.--The new
Camp: Dedication.--A Song.--A Story.--New Order in Architecture.--
Ox Hovel.--Substitute for Lime.--The Devotedness of the Teamster.
--Fat and lean Cattle.--Swamping Roads.--Clumps of Pine.--The points
of Interest in a Logging Road.--The Teamster's Path.--Regret.--The
peculiar Enjoyment of Men thus engaged                             65

CHAPTER IV.

Tokens of Winter.--The Anticipation.--Introduction of Team.--
Difficulties attending it.--Uncomfortable Boating.--The Contrast.
--Method of crossing Streams and Rivers.--The Docility of the Ox.
--Facilities of Turnpikes.--Stopping-places.--Arrival.--An
Adventure.--Ten Oxen in the Ice.--Method of taking them Out.--An
uncomfortable Night.--The midnight Excursion.--Oxen running at large
in the Wilderness.--Developments of Memory.--Logging.--Division of
Labor.--How to manage in the absence of a Cook.--"Uncle Nat."--
Anecdote.--Felling Pines.--Ingenuity of Choppers.--Preparatory
Arrangements.--The Bob-sled.--Method of Operation described.--
The Excitement.--Comparison.--Immediate Length of Pine-trees.
--Conclusion                                                       83

CHAPTER V.

The Skill and Enterprise of Lumbermen.--Method of taking Logs down
Hills and Mountains.--Dry Sluice.--Stern Anchor.--Giant Mountain
Steps.--Alpine Lumbering.--Warping a Team down Steeps.--Trial of
Skill and Strength.--The rival Load.--Danger and Inconvenience of
Hills in Logging Roads.--A distressing Accident.--Solemn Conclusion
of a Winter's Work.--Some of the Perils attendant upon Lumbering.--
A fearful Wound.--Narrow Escape.--The buried Cap.--The safest Way
of Retreat.--A Sabbath in the Logging Camp.--Sunday Morning
Naps.--Domestic Camp Duties.--Letter Writing.--Recreations.--Sable
Traps.--Deer and Moose.--Bear Meat.--A rare Joke.--Moose Hunt.--
Bewildered Hunters.--Extraordinary Encounter.--Conclusion of
Sabbath in the Woods                                              100

CHAPTER VI.

Camp Life.--Winter Evenings.--An Evening in Camp.--Characters.--
Card-playing.--A Song.--Collision with wild Beasts.--The unknown
Animal in a Dilemma.--"Indian Devil."--The Aborigines' Terror.--A
shocking Encounter.--The Discovery and Pursuit.--The Bear as an
Antagonist.--Their thieving Propensities.--A thrilling Scene in the
Night.--A desperate Encounter with three Bears                    129

CHAPTER VII.

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     142


PART III.

RIVER LIFE.


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                         149

CHAPTER II.

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                        155

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                                                          176

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                                                   186

CHAPTER V.

Length of Kennebeck.--Moose-head Lake.--Its peculiar Shape.--Its
Islands.--Burned Jacket.--Interesting Deposit.--Mount Kineo.--The
Prospect from its Summit.--Moose River.--Old Indian.--The Banks of
the Kennebeck.--Beauties of the Country, &c.--Lumber on Dead River.
--Falls at Waterville.--Skowhegan Falls.--Arnold's Encampment.--
Nau-lau-chu-wak.--Caritunk Falls.--Lumber.--Statistics.--Author's
Acknowledgments.--Androscoggin.--Course and other Peculiarities.
--A question of Rivalry.--Water Power.--Original Indications.--
Interesting Sketch of Rumford Falls.--Estimated Water Power.--
Lumber Statistics.--Droughts and Freshets.--Umbagog Lake.--The
serpentine Megalloway.--Granite Mountains.--Beautiful Foliage.--
Romantic Falls.--Character of Country.--Manner of Life in
Log-cutting, &c.--Statistics, &c.--Presumpscot River, great
Water-powers of.--Warmth of Water.--Statistical Remarks.--Saco
River                                                             227

CHAPTER VI.

NEW BRUNSWICK.

Object of the Chapter.--Description of St. John's River.--First
Falls.--Contiguous Country.--"Mars Hill."--Prospect.--Grand Falls.
--The Acadians, curious Facts respecting them.--The Mirimachi
River.--Immense amount of Timber shipped.--Riots.--State of
Morals.--The great Mirimachi Fire.--Hurricane.--Destruction of
Human Life.--Area of the Fire.--Vessels in Harbor.--Painfully
disgusting Sights.---Destruction among Fish.--Fire, rapidity of
Progress.--Curious instance of Escape.--Ristigouche River, its
Length.--Capacious Harbor.--Appearance of the Country.--High
Banks.--Groves of Pine.--A Statistical Table                      244




LIST OF ENGRAVINGS.


Frontispiece--Moose Deer.

Shooting Deer--Black Bear                                          49

Winter Quarters of Lumbermen                                       69

Log Hauling--Process of Loading Logs                               95

The Common Wolf                                                   113

Log Tavern in the Wilderness                                      146

River Drivers Breaking a Jam                                      165

A Coaster ascending the Penobscot for Lumber                      187

View of the Penobscot--Forests and Lakes northeast from Ktaadn    189

Northeast View of Mount Ktaadn, from the west Branch of the
Penobscot                                                         199

Godfrey's Falls, on the Seboois River                             208

Chase's Mountain, as seen from Sugar-loaf Mountain                211

Sugar-loaf Mountain, on the Seboois River                         225

View of Lily Bay, on Moose-head Lake                              228

Skowhegan Falls, on the Kennebeck                                 231

Rumford Falls, on the Androscoggin                                235

View of Umbagog Lake--Source of the Androscoggin                  237

Frye's Falls, on a Tributary of Ellis River                       238

Rumford Bridge, Androscoggin River                                239

Aroostook Falls                                                   250




FOREST LIFE AND FOREST TREES.




PART I.




CHAPTER I.

Trees, how regarded by Lumbermen.--Cedars of Lebanon.--Oldest Tree
on Record.--Napoleon's Regard for it.--Dimensions.--Durability of
the Cedar, how accounted for.--The Oak.--Religious Veneration in
which it was held by the Druids.--The Uses to which their Shade was
appropriated.--Curious Valuation of Oak Forests by the Ancient
Saxons.--The Number of Species.--Its Value.--Remarkable old Oak in
Brighton.--Charter Oak.--Button-wood Tree.--Remarkable Rapidity of
its Growth.--Remarkable Size of one measured by Washington.--by
Michaux.--Disease in 1842, '43, and '44.--The Oriental Plane-tree.
--Great Favorite with the Ancients.--Cimon's Effort to gratify the
Athenians.--Pliny's Account of its Transportation.--The Privilege
of its Shade a Tax.--Used as an Ornament.--Nourished with Wine.--
Hortensius and Cicero.--Pliny's curious Account of one of remarkable
Size.


Lumbermen are accustomed to classify and rate forest trees by the
lower, middle, and higher grades, just as animals are classified, from
the muscle, through the intermediate grades, up to man, the crowning
master-piece of the Creator's skill. But while man is universally
recognized as first in the scale of animated nature, there is less
uniformity of sentiment in respect to trees, as to which is entitled
to hold the first rank in the vegetable kingdom. In the days of King
David and Solomon, the noble Cedars of Lebanon held the pre-eminence,
and were celebrated in verse as emblems of beauty, grandeur, and
especially of durability; but "with the moderns the Cedar is
emblematical of sadness and mourning":

    "Dark tree! still sad when others' grief is fled--
    The only constant mourner of the dead."--BYRON.

"Perhaps the oldest tree on record is the Cypress of Somma, in
Lombardy. It is supposed to have been planted in the year of the birth
of Christ, and on that account is looked upon with reverence by the
inhabitants; but an ancient chronicle at Milan is said to prove that
it was a tree in the time of Julius Caesar, B.C. 42. It is one hundred
and twenty-three feet high, and twenty-three feet in circumference at
one foot from the ground. Napoleon, when laying down the plan for his
great road over the Simplon, diverged from a straight line to avoid
injuring this tree."[1]

        [1] Mass. Reports.

"The Cedar was styled the glory of Lebanon. The Temple of Solomon and
that of Diana at Ephesus were built of this wood. The number of these
trees is now greatly diminished. They were often of vast size,
sometimes girting thirty-six feet, perfectly sound, with a lofty
height, whose spreading branches extended one hundred and ten feet."
The durability of the Cedar is said to be attributable to two
qualities: "1st, the bitterness of the wood, which protects it from
the depredations of worms; and, 2dly, its resin, which preserves it
from the injuries of the weather."

To the _Oak_ some assign the first rank. It is celebrated in the East,
and by many of the ancients was regarded with _religious_ veneration.
In the West, and by moderns, it is employed more as an emblem of the
strength, compactness, and durability of the state.

"The religious veneration paid to this tree by the original natives of
Britain, in the time of the Druids, is well known to every reader of
British history." The patriarch Abraham resided under an Oak, or a
grove of Oaks; and it is believed that he planted a grove of this
tree. "In fact, since, in hot countries, nothing is more desirable
than shade--nothing more refreshing than the shade of a tree--we may
easily suppose the inhabitants would resort for such enjoyment to

    "Where'er the Oak's thick branches spread
        A deeper, darker shade."

Oaks, and groves of Oaks, were esteemed proper places for religious
services; so that while the Methodist denomination may not claim
originality in holding grove or camp-meetings, they may, at least,
plead the usages of antiquity in their defense. Altars were set up
under them; affairs of state were discussed and ratified under their
ample shade.

"Abimelech was made king under an Oak." "Absalom rode upon a mule
which went under the thick boughs of a great Oak, and his head caught
hold of the Oak, and he was taken up between the heaven and the
earth," and, while there suspended, was slain by Joab and his
armor-bearers.

"In England, whose Oak forests are now one of the sources of national
wealth and naval supremacy, the tree was once prized only for the
acorns, which were the chief support of those large herds of swine
whose flesh formed so considerable a part of the food of the Saxons.
Woods of old, says Burnett, were valued according to the number of
hogs they could fatten; and so rigidly were the forest lands surveyed,
that, in ancient records, such as the Doomsday-book, woods are
mentioned of a single hog. The right of feeding hogs in woods, called
pannage, formed, some centuries ago, one of the most valuable kinds of
property. With this right monasteries were endowed, and it often
constituted the dowry of the daughters of the Saxon kings."[2]

        [2] Mass. Reports, Trees, &c.

Of the Oak some naturalists have enumerated twenty-four species. The
wood of the White Oak is distinguished by three properties, which give
to it its great value: hardness, toughness, and durability. The great
variety of purposes to which it is appropriated shows it to be a tree
of great value. For ship and carriage building, and in the manufacture
of implements of husbandry, it is very valuable. This tree also holds
rank on account of its size. In the "Report on the Trees and Shrubs of
Massachusetts," notice is given of one still standing in Brighton. "In
October, 1845, it measured twenty-five feet and nine inches in
circumference at the surface. At three feet, it is twenty-two feet
four inches; at six feet, fifteen feet two inches. It tapers gradually
to the height of about twenty-five feet, where the stump of its
ancient top is visible, below which point four or five branches are
thrown out, which rise twenty or thirty feet higher. Below, the places
of many former limbs are covered over by immense gnarled and bossed
protuberances. The trunk is hollow at the base, with a large opening
on the southwest, through which boys and men may easily enter. It had
probably passed its prime centuries before the first English voice was
heard on the shores of Massachusetts Bay. It is still clad with
abundant foliage, and, if respected as its venerable age deserves, it
may stand an object of admiration for centuries to come."

The Charter Oak, in Hartford, Connecticut, is said to measure at the
ground thirty-six feet; and in the smallest place above it is eight
feet four inches in diameter.


THE BUTTON-WOOD TREE.

This tree is "remarkable for the rapidity of its growth, especially
when standing near water. Loudon mentions one which, standing near a
pond, had in twenty years attained the height of eighty feet, with a
trunk eight feet in circumference at three feet from the ground, and a
head of the diameter of forty-eight feet." "Nowhere is this tree more
vigorous than along the rivers of Pennsylvania and Virginia, and
especially on the Ohio and its tributaries." 'General Washington
measured a Button-wood growing on an island in the Ohio, and found its
girth, at five feet from the ground, about forty feet.' "In 1802, the
younger Michaux and his companions found a large tree of this kind on
the right bank of the Ohio, thirty-six miles from Marietta. Its base
was swollen in an extraordinary manner, but, at four feet from the
ground, its circumference was found to be forty-seven feet," or
fifteen feet and eight inches in diameter. It is said that "it may be
propagated with more ease than any tree of the forest." "It is
valuable stove fuel." S. W. Pomeroy, Esq., a writer in the New England
Farmer, expresses the opinion that, on land possessing the same
fertility, this tree will furnish fuel which will give the greatest
amount of caloric to the acre, except the locust on dry soil.

It will be remembered that in 1842, '43, and '44, this tree appeared
to be under the influence of a general blight throughout the Eastern
States. Various opinions were entertained respecting the cause of the
malady which occasioned so much regret. "By most persons it was
considered the effect of frost, supposing the tree not to have matured
its wood, viz., the new shoots, during the previous summer, so that it
was incapable of resisting the effect of frost." Others ascribed it to
the action of some insect or worm, and others believed it to be some
unaccountable disease, while others regarded the phenomenon as a
providential token of the approach of some important event unknown and
unanticipated. The tree has now pretty generally recovered from its
malady.

"The Oriental Plane-tree holds the same place on the Eastern continent
which our Button-wood does on this." "It was the greatest favorite
among the ancients." "Cimon sought to gratify the Athenians by
planting a public walk with them." "It was considered the finest shade
tree in Europe." "Pliny tells the story of its having been brought
across the Ionian Sea, to shade the tomb of Diomedes, in the island of
the hero. From thence it was taken to Sicily, then to Italy; from
Italy to Spain, and even into the most remote parts of the then
barbarous France, where the natives were made to pay for the privilege
of sitting under its shade.

"No tree was ever so great a favorite with the Romans. They ornamented
their villas with it, valuing it above all other trees for the depth
of its salutary shade, &c. They nourished it with pure wine; and
Hortensius is related to have begged of his rival, Cicero, to exchange
turns with him in a cause in which they were engaged, that he might
himself do this office for a tree he had planted in his Tusculanum."

"Pliny describes some of the most remarkable planes. In the walks of
the Academy at Athens were trees whose trunks were about forty-eight
feet from the ground to the branches. In his own time there was one in
Lycia, near a cool fountain by the road side, with a cavity of
eighty-one feet circuit within its trunk, and a forest-like head, and
arms like trees overshadowing broad fields. Within this apartment,
made by moss-covered stones, to resemble a grotto, Licinius Mucianus
thought it a fact worthy of history, that he dined with nineteen
companions, and slept there too, not regretting splendid marbles,
pictures, and golden-fretted roofs, and missing only the sound of rain
drops pattering on the leaves."[3]

        [3] Emerson's Reports.




CHAPTER II.

The Elm.--English Elm.--Scotch Elm.--Slippery Elm.--American Elm.
--Superiority of latter.--Different Shapes, how accounted for.--
Great Elm on Boston Common.--Rapidity of Growth.--The Riding
Stick.--Remarkable Dimensions of noted Trees.--Boston Elm again.--
Its Age.--By whom set out.--Washington Elm, why so named.--"Trees
of Peace," a Tribute of Respect.--English Elm in England and
America.--Uses in France.--In Russia.--Birch Family.--Its Variety
and Uses.--The Maple Family.--Number of Species.--Red Maple.--Unrivaled
Beauty of American Forests.--Rock Maple.--Amount of Wood cut from
one in Blandford.--Curious method of distinguishing it from the River
Maple.--Amount and Value of the Sugar in Massachusetts.--Great Product
from one Tree.--Sugar Maple in the State of Maine.--Dr. Jackson's
Reports, &c.


THE ELM-TREE.

Of this family there are several varieties. The American, the English,
the Scotch, and Slippery Elm. Of this enumeration, the American Elm
stands first in point of ornament, while the timber of the English Elm
is esteemed more highly on account of the toughness of the wood.

It has been well said that the Elm is a tree deservedly esteemed for
its ornament and shade. "The American Elm assumes many different
shapes, and all of them beautiful. Of these, three are most striking
and distinct. The tall Etruscan vase is formed by four or five limbs
separating at twenty or thirty feet from the ground, going up with a
gradual divergency to sixty or seventy, and then bending rapidly
outward, forming a flat top with a pendent border." "Transplanting the
Elm, it is said, often produces in it a character akin to that of the
Oak. It is then a broad, round-headed tree." "Of this kind is the
'Great Elm' on Boston Common."

Few trees of other species are to be found standing near the abodes of
civilized life which have attained the vast dimensions of the Elm.
Whatever may have been the peculiar properties of other trees, they
have disappeared. Upturned by the passing hurricane, or leveled by the
woodman's ax, they have passed away, while the Elm stands at our doors
associated with the history and memory of the different generations
which, like its autumnal sheddings, have long time ago mingled with
the dust.

The Elm grows with great rapidity, which, in addition to its beauty as
an ornament, secures for it the favor of man. "I once heard," says the
author of Massachusetts Reports, &c., an old man, standing under the
shade of a tree nearly two feet in diameter, which towered above all
around it, say, "This tree, after I had been many years successful in
business, and in a change of fortune had retired to this farm, with a
little that remained, I stuck into the ground after I had used it as a
stick in a ride of eight miles from P."

"From its having been so long a favorite, it has been more frequently
spared, and oftener transplanted than any other tree. There are, in
all parts of the state, many fine old trees standing." "In
Springfield, in a field a few rods north of the hotel, is an Elm which
was twenty-five feet and nine inches in circumference at three feet
from the ground." The great Elm on Boston Common measures, at the same
distance from the ground, seventeen feet eleven inches in
circumference. "It is said to have been planted about the year 1670,
by Captain Daniel Henchman, an ancestor of Governor Hancock. It is,
therefore, more than one hundred and seventy-five years old." "There
is an Elm in Hatfield, near the town-house, which measures at the
ground forty-one feet; at three and one half feet from the ground it
measures twenty-seven feet in circumference. The smallest place in the
trunk is seven feet four inches in diameter. The top spreads over an
area of one hundred and eight feet in diameter, making a circle of
three hundred and twenty-four feet, covering a surface of over seven
thousand five hundred square feet." "The Washington Elm, in
Cambridge--so called because beneath its shade, or near it, General
Washington is said to have first drawn his sword on taking the command
of the American army--measured, in 1842, fifteen feet two inches at
one foot, thirteen feet two at three feet from the ground. The
celebrated Whitfield preached under the shade of this tree in 1744."
"Two Elms were set out by the Indians in front of the house of the
Rev. Oliver Peabody, who succeeded, in 1722, to the venerable Eliot,
the Indian apostle, in the same truly Christian ministry, in Natick,"
Massachusetts. "This voluntary offering of the grateful savages they
called Trees of Peace."

There is an Elm standing in front of Mr. J. Chickering's house,
Westford, Massachusetts, which I recently measured eighteen inches
from the ground. Its circumference was twenty feet, and its _spurs_
were not prominent, as will be inferred from the fact that at four
feet from the ground it measured eighteen feet in circumference. Seven
and a half feet from the ground it divides into two branches, each of
itself a very large trunk, the largest of which would measure three
feet and a half in diameter. Seven or eight feet from the first
division, at short intervals, the main branch, which grew on the west
side next the house, divides into eight more branches, all nearly
equal in size, and averaging a circumference of four and a half feet.
About forty feet from the base of the tree these eight branches
subdivide into twenty-one other branches, and so on indefinitely to
the terminating twigs. The east main branch was divided into four
principals, equal in size to the corresponding ones on the other side,
and were subdivided also in the same manner as the one described.

In height it is about seventy feet, vase-topped, with a pendent
border. The extent of the spreading branches, northwest and southeast,
was one hundred and five feet; those corresponding with the exact
opposite points of the compass extended ninety-five feet, giving an
area of three hundred feet in circumference. Some of the pendent
branches, which drooped within a few feet of the ground, I judged to
be forty feet in length. These, stretched to a horizontal position,
would give a breadth of one hundred and eighty feet to the top.
Various opinions obtain respecting the number of solid feet it
contains, ranging from nine to eleven hundred.

An old gentleman residing in the immediate vicinity, now eighty years
old, told us that he could very well remember it when but a small
tree, from which we infer its age to be about one hundred years. It
appears to be perfectly sound, and now thrives as vigorously as a
young sapling. It is a magnificent specimen of the vegetable kingdom,
majestically imposing, awakening in the spectator a feeling of
veneration in spite of himself. So ample is its wide-spreading
Etruscan-shaped top, that at fifty rods' distance (were the trunk hid)
one might mistake it for a group of twenty good-sized trees.

"The Slippery Elm has a strong resemblance to the common Elm. It has
less of the drooping appearance, and is commonly a much smaller tree."
"The inner bark of this Elm contains a great quantity of mucilage.
Flour prepared from the bark, by drying perfectly and grinding, and
mixed with milk, like arrowroot, is a wholesome and nutritious food
for infants and invalids." "Dr. Darlington says that, in the last war
with Great Britain, the soldiers on the Canada frontier found this, in
times of scarcity of forage, a grateful and nutritious food for their
horses."

'The English Elm is said to have been introduced by importation, and
planted by a wheel-wright for his own use in making hubs for wheels,
for which purpose they are probably superior to any other wood known.'
In its appearance it is said to have 'less grace than the American
Elm, but more stateliness and grandeur.' 'It is distinguished from the
American Elm, also, by the rough, broken character of its bark, which
is darker, and also by having one principal stem, which soars upward
to a great height, and the boldness and abruptness with which it
throws out its branches. The leaves are of a darker color, smaller,
and closer.'

'The largest dimensions given of the English Elm on the Continent is
sixty feet high, and twenty feet in circumference at the ground,
containing two hundred and sixty-eight feet of timber.' "The Crawley
Elm stands in the village of Crawley, on the high road from London to
Brighton. Its trunk measures sixty-one feet in circumference at the
ground, and thirty-five feet round the _inside_ at two feet from the
base. This tree is not so large as would seem from this account, as it
diminishes very rapidly upward."

"The noblest and most beautiful English Elms in this country are found
in Roxbury, the largest of which measures fifteen feet five inches
five feet from the ground; it holds its size fully to the height of
twenty or twenty-five feet, where it divides into three large
branches, the main central one of which rises upward to a height much
above one hundred feet." "As among the ancient Romans, so in France at
the present day, the leaves and shoots are used to feed cattle. In
Russia, the leaves of a species of the Elm are used as a substitute
for tea. The inner bark is in some places made into mats, and in
Norway they kiln-dry it, and grind it with corn as an ingredient in
bread."


THE BIRCH.

Of the Birch family there are several varieties, called the Black,
Yellow, Red, Canoe, the Gray, and the Dwarf. Of these the Yellow and
Canoe Birches are the most interesting and useful. The general
outlines of the Yellow Birch often resemble the Elm, the root-spurs
rise high up the trunk, protruding much beyond the regular circle of
its shaft. It is very firmly rooted, capable of withstanding a violent
blast. It attains to the height of seventy or eighty feet, and often
measures from nine to ten feet in circumference three and four feet
from the ground. Its wood is very useful for cabinet purposes, and is
excellent for fuel.

The White or Canoe Birch is most remarkable for the beautiful thin
sheets of bark which it affords, from which the Indian canoe is
constructed. It also makes excellent covering for a tent. In some
parts of the northern regions it is said to attain a diameter of six
or seven feet.

The White Birch possesses "in an eminent degree the lightness and
airiness of the Birch family, spreading out its glistening leaves on
the ends of a very slender and often pencil spray, with an
indescribable softness. So that Coleridge might have called it as he
did the corresponding European species,

                    "Most beautiful
    Of forest trees--the lady of the woods."


THE MAPLE-TREE.

This family is very numerous. "Nearly forty species are known, of
which ten belong to the United States." 'The climate of New England is
peculiarly favorable to their growth, as is shown by the perfection to
which several of the most valuable species attain.' The Red Maple is
most remarkable for the varying color of its leaves, which greatly
beautify forest scenery. The leaves begin to turn in the latter part
of summer and during the earlier part of autumn, from green to a deep
crimson or scarlet. The forests of no other country present so
beautiful a variety of coloring as our own; 'even corresponding
climates with the same families bear no comparison.' The difference is
said to depend "on the greater transparency of our atmosphere, and
consequently greater intensity of the light; for the same cause which
renders a much larger number of stars visible by night, and which
clothes our flowering plants with more numerous flowers, and those of
deeper, richer tints, gives somewhat of tropical splendor to our
really colder parallels of latitude."

Of the Maple family we may briefly notice only one more, the Rock
Maple, "which in all respects is the most remarkable tree of the
family." While young, it is justly admired for its ornamental beauties
as a shrub. When in a state of maturity, "for the purposes of art, no
native wood possesses more beauty or a greater variety of appearance."

"In the forest the Rock Maple often attains great height, and produces
a large quantity of timber. A tree in Blandford, which was four feet
through at base and one hundred and eight feet high, yielded seven
cords and a half of wood." It is said that the wood of this tree may
be easily distinguished from the Red, or the River Maple, by pouring a
few drops of sulphate of iron upon it. This wood turns greenish; that
of the two former turns to a deep blue.

"In Massachusetts, between five and six hundred thousand pounds of
sugar are annually made from the juice of the Rock Maple, valued at
about eight cents a pound," yielding a revenue of about forty-four to
fifty thousand dollars per annum. Of the sap, "the average quantity to
a tree is from twelve to twenty-four gallons each season. In some
instances it is much greater. A tree in Bernardstown, about six feet
in diameter, favorably situated, produced in one instance a barrel of
sap in twenty-four hours." "Dr. Rush cites an instance of twenty
pounds and one ounce of sugar having been made within nine days, in
1789, from a single tree in Montgomery county, New York." In another
instance, thirty-three pounds are said to have been produced from one
tree in one season. A gentleman from Leverett informs me that in one
season he obtained from one tree one hundred and seventy-five gallons
of sap, which, if of average strength, would have made forty-three
pounds of sugar.

The following remarks upon the Sugar Maple of Maine, from the "Third
Annual Report" of Dr. Jackson's geological surveys in this state, will
be read with interest, suggesting profitable hints to some. "The Acer
Saccharinum, or Sugar Maple, is one of the most luxuriant and
beautiful native forest trees in Maine, and abounds wherever the soil
is of good quality. Its ascending sap is very rich in sugar, which is
very readily obtained by means of a tap, bored with an augur half an
inch in diameter, into the sap-wood of the tree, the sap being
collected in the spring of the year, when it first begins to ascend,
and before the foliage puts forth. It is customary to heap snow around
the roots or stumps of the trees, to prevent their putting forth their
leaves so soon as they otherwise would, for the juices of the tree
begin to be elaborated as soon as the foliage is developed, and will
not run.

"After obtaining a quantity of Maple sap, it is poured into large iron
or tinned copper kettles, and boiled down to a thick sirup; and after
ascertaining that it is sufficiently concentrated to crystallize or
grain, it is thrown into casks or vats, and when the sugar has formed,
the molasses is drained off through a plug-hole slightly obstructed by
tow. But little art is used in clarifying the sirup, and the chemist
would regard the operations as very rude and clumsy; yet a very
pleasant sugar, with a slightly acid taste, is made, and the molasses
is of excellent flavor, and is largely used during the summer for
making sweetened water, which is a wholesome and delicious beverage.

"The sugar frequently contains oxide of iron, which it dissolves from
the rusty potash kettles in which it is commonly boiled down, and
hence it turns tea black. A neat manufacturer will always take care to
scour out his kettles with vinegar and sand, so that the sugar may be
white. He will also take care not to burn the sirup by urging the fire
toward the end of the operation. If his sirup is acid, a little clear
lime-water will saturate it, and the lime will principally separate
with the molasses or with the scum. The sirup should be skimmed
carefully during the operation. It is not worth while, perhaps, to
describe the process of refining sugar; but it is perfectly easy to
make Maple sugar as white as the best double-refined loaf-sugar of
commerce. It would, however, lose its peculiar acid flavor, which now
distinguishes it from ordinary cane sugar.

"Were it generally known how productive are the groves of Sugar
Maples, we should, I doubt not, be more careful, and not exterminate
them from the forest, as is now too frequently done. It is, however,
difficult to spare any forest trees in clearing a farm by fire; but
groves in which they abound might be spared from the unrelenting ax of
the woodman. Maple-trees may also be cultivated, and will become
productive in twenty or thirty years; and it would certainly be one of
our most beautiful pledges of regard for posterity to plant groups of
Maples in convenient situations upon our lands, and to line the road
sides with them. I am sure that such a plan, if carried into effect,
would please public _taste_ in more ways than one, and we might be in
part disfranchised from dependence on the cane plantations of the West
Indies.

"The following statistics will serve as an example of the products of
the Sugar Maple in Maine; and it will also be noted that the whole
work of making Maple sugar is completed in three or four weeks from
the commencement of operations.

                                                     Lbs. sugar.

  At the Forks of the Kennebeck, twelve persons made    3,650

  On No. 1, 2d Range, one man and a boy made            1,000

  In Farmington, Mr. Titcomb made                       1,500

  In Moscow, thirty families made                      10,500

  In Bingham, twenty families made                      9,000

  In Concord, thirty families made                     11,000
                                                     ________
                                                       36,650

"This, at twelve and a half cents a pound, would be worth $4,581.

"It must be also remarked, that the manufacture of Maple sugar is
carried on at a season of the year when there is little else to be
done; and if properly-shaped evaporating vessels were used, a much
larger quantity of sugar could be made in the season."




CHAPTER III.

Beech-trees.--Purity, Size, Fruit.--Efforts of Bears after the
Nut.--The Uses to which its Leaves are appropriated.--Mr. Lauder's
Testimony, &c.--Use of Wood.--Singular Exemption.--The novel
Appearance of the Leaves of a Species in Germany.--Chestnut-tree.
--Remarkable one on Mount AEtna.--Balm of Gilead.--Willow.--Ash.
--Basswood, or Tiel-tree.--The Poplar.--The Hemlock.--Beauties
of its Foliage.--Uses.--Hickory.--The Fir-tree.--Spruce-tree.--
Its conical Form.--Uses.--American Larch.--Success of the Dukes
of Athol in planting it on the Highlands of Scotland.

The Beech is a tree of no ordinary interest; first, as being more free
from impurities than any tree with which we are acquainted. The bark
is very clean and smooth, of a light lead color, sprinkled with fine
dots of black, so that it has a grayish appearance. It attains the
height of sixty to eighty feet. The lower branches are thrown out in a
horizontal attitude, while the upper ones assume somewhat of an erect
position. The leaves are of graceful proportions, and profuse, forming
a dense shade. Some seasons this tree produces an abundance of nuts,
which grow in round, prickly burrs, very similar to chestnuts. The
nuts are triangular in shape, and supply the pigeon, partridge,
squirrels, bears, and other animals with food. The squirrel will hoard
up in his little burrow many quarts of these nuts, where he eats them
at his leisure during the seasons of winter and spring. It is quite
amusing to see the little fellows repeat their visits to their
underground habitations, or leap from branch to branch, with their
cheeks stuffed nearly to bursting with the precious Beech-nut. The
Beech does not dispense its fruit until after severe frosts occur,
when the burr either opens or drops from the limb where it grew; in
the former case, after a smart frost at night, the early morning
breeze shakes them from their elevated position, when they come
rattling down upon the dry leaves like showers of hail. Impelled by
hunger, bears often climb and gather the nut before it is ripe. I have
frequently seen, during my backwoods excursions, the topmost limbs
broken off and pulled in toward the trunk of the tree, some of them
three inches in diameter, until the whole of the top branches were
furled in, forming a tufted circle fifty feet in air.

Burned and cracked, the Beech-nut makes a very good substitute for
coffee. "The leaves were formerly used in Britain, and are to this day
in some parts of Europe, for filling beds." Evelyn says that "its very
leaves, which form a natural and most agreeable canopy all the summer,
being gathered about the fall, and somewhat before they are much
frost-bitten, afford the best and the easiest mattresses in the world
to lay under our quilts instead of straw; because, besides their
tenderness and loose lying together, they continue sweet for seven or
eight years long; before which time straw becomes musty and hard. They
are used by divers persons of quality in Dauphine, and in Switzerland
I have sometimes lain on them to my very great refreshment. So as of
this tree it may properly be said,

    "'The woods a house, the leaves a bed.'"

"We can," says Sir Thomas Dick Lauder, "from our own experience, bear
testimony to the truth of what Evelyn says here as to the excellence
of Beech leaves for mattresses. We used always to think that the most
luxurious and refreshing bed was that which prevails universally in
Italy, and which consists of an absolute pile of mattresses filled
with the elastic spathe of the Indian corn--which beds have the
advantage of being soft as well as elastic--and we have always found
the sleep enjoyed on them to be peculiarly sound and restorative. But
the beds made of Beech leaves are really not a whit behind them in
these qualities, while the fragrant smell of green tea which the
leaves retain is most gratifying."

"The wood of the Beech is preferred to all other wood for plane
stocks, saw handles, and cylinders used in polishing glass.

"Botanists are unable to find more than one kind of Beech, believing
that the distinctions of '_white_' and '_red_' Beech in common use
among the people describes but one species.

"The Beech is said never to be struck by lightning. In traveling
through a forest country, many trees of a different species, such as
the Oak, and, more commonly than any tree within my observation, the
Hemlock, may be seen riven by lightning, but never the Beech.

"A most remarkable species of the Beech is said to have been
discovered by accident in Germany. In early spring, when the leaves of
the purple Beech are agitated by the wind, during bright sunshine,
their clear red gives the tree the appearance of being on fire: an
effect, Bosc observes, so truly magical, that it is scarcely credible
by those who have not seen it."--_Loudon._


THE CHESTNUT-TREE.

This tree is distinguished by the rapidity of its growth and the
excellence of its wood for posts and rails--the latter lasting half a
century--the good quality of the nut it bears, and the age and size to
which it attains.

"Some of the most remarkable trees of Europe are Chestnut-trees. On
Mount AEtna is the famous _Castagno di cento cavalli_, so called from
its having sheltered a hundred mounted cavaliers. Brydon found this,
in 1770, two hundred and four feet in circumference, and it had the
appearance of five distinct trees. A century before, when seen by
Kircher, they were united, so that probably it had been one tree. The
Forworth Chestnut, in England, was fifty-two feet in girth in 1820,
when measured by Strutt. Near Sanserre, in France, is a tree of more
than ten feet in diameter at six feet from the ground. It is supposed
to be a thousand years old."

The largest measurements given of the Chestnut in this country are of
one in Bolton, with an erect, undivided trunk forty or fifty feet;
three feet from the ground it measured seventeen feet in
circumference.

"Southeast of Monument Mountain, near the road leading to Sheffield,
in a pasture, an old Chestnut measured, in September, 1844, 'at the
ground, thirty feet two inches in circumference; at four feet,
twenty-one feet in circumference: the branches extended sixty feet.'"

The Balm of Gilead, the Willow, of which there are twenty-one species,
the Ash and Basswood, the Poplar and Hemlock, all afford specimens of
great magnitude, as well as possess properties of much value; to which
list we may add the Hickory, chiefly for the great variety of valuable
purposes to which the wood is appropriated. "Few trees contribute so
much to the beauty of woods in autumn; the colors of all at that
season are rich, and each species has its own. The fruit of some of
the species in its wild state vies with the best of foreign nuts."


THE FIR-TREE.

"In its native forests the Fir-tree varies from two to ten feet in
diameter, and from one hundred to one hundred and eighty feet in
height. A stump is mentioned as still found on the Columbia River,
which measures forty-eight feet in circumference at three feet from
the ground, exclusive of its very thick bark."


THE SPRUCE-TREE.

This tree presents a tapering trunk, with a top of mathematical
exactness, a regular cone. They attain to the height of seventy or
one hundred feet, measuring at the base--the largest I have ever
seen--about eight feet in circumference. Lightness, strength, and
elasticity are the distinguishing qualities of this wood; and, owing
to this, it is extensively used in ship-building, and the frame-work
of houses.

The Hemlock is a large tree, often measuring fifteen feet in
circumference at the base; the column rises to an elevation of from
seventy to one hundred feet; it holds its size remarkably until it
reaches the principal limbs, two thirds its height, when it tapers
rapidly to the extremity. Its foliage is beautiful for its softness,
and forms the principal ingredient in the bed of lumbermen. The use of
the boughs for brooms is known to the good country people throughout
New England. By persons of classical taste, it is considered the most
beautiful of the evergreens.

The author of Massachusetts Reports on Trees, &c., to whom I am much
indebted for many of the preceding observations, remarks of the young
Hemlock, "that in the beginning of summer each twig is terminated with
a tuft of yellowish-green, recent leaves, surmounting the darker green
of the former year; the effect, as an object of beauty, is equaled by
very few flowering shrubs, and far surpasses that produced by any
other tree." The bark is valuable in tanning leather, and makes
excellent fuel. This tree grows in immense quantities in the northeast
part of Maine, often occupying acres of ground, to the exclusion of
nearly all other trees. Its wood is more valued for boards than
formerly; its close grain and hardness fit it peculiarly for flooring.
"It is much used in the large Atlantic cities as a substitute for
stone in the pavement of streets, for which purpose it is sawn into
hexagonal (six-sided) blocks of eight inches in thickness, and eight,
ten, or eighteen inches in breadth."

"The American _Larch_, known very generally in New England by the
aboriginal name of Hackmatack, is sometimes known to attain an
elevation of seventy feet, but does not usually exceed forty or fifty
feet." It has crowded tufts of leaves, not unlike those of the Spruce
or Pine, much shorter than those of the latter, and more slender and
graceful than those of the former, and of lighter green, so disposed
on the ends of the branches as to make the foliage of the tree the
lightest of all the forest trees, especially when compared with the
great strength of the tree itself. "Late in autumn they turn to a
soft, leather-yellow color, and in the first days of November fall."
"It has a straight, erect, rapidly-tapering trunk, clothed with a
bluish-gray bark, rather rough, with small roundish scales." The
branches are numerous, and most firmly attached to the stem, shooting
out at apparently measured distances from each other, generally in a
horizontal position, which makes its ascent quite as convenient as a
ladder; and, as it grows mostly on open or meadow land, it is often
climbed by timber-hunters, affording a good prospect of the forest on
the opposite side of the meadow or intervales.

The wood of the Hackmatack is distinguished by the following
qualities: "Close-grained, compact, of reddish color, remarkable for
its great weight, strength, and durability," the latter even being
greater than the Oak. "On these accounts it is preferred before all
other woods for knees, beams, and top timbers in ship-building."

The Larch is extensively cultivated in Europe, particularly in
Scotland. Though in America it is most generally found in low
meadow land, where is depth of soil and plenty of moisture, it has
nevertheless "the property of flourishing on surfaces almost without
soil, thickly strewn with fragments of rocks, on the high, bleak sides
and tops of hills, where vegetation scarcely exists."

The following account of the experiments made by the Dukes of
Athol, on the Highlands of Scotland, is so encouraging and deeply
interesting, that, although long, I insert it, hoping the example may
be followed in appropriate positions in this country:

"The estates of the Dukes of Athol are in the north of Scotland, in
the latitude of nearly 50 deg. north. Between 1740 and 1750, James, duke
of Athol, planted more than twelve hundred Larch-trees in various
situations and elevations, for the purpose of trying a species of tree
then new in Scotland. In 1759 he planted seven hundred Larches over a
space of twenty-nine Scotch acres, intermixed with other kinds of
forest trees, with the view of trying the value of the Larch as a
timber tree. This plantation extended up the face of a hill from two
hundred to four hundred feet above the level of the sea. The rocky
ground of which it was composed was covered with loose and crumbling
masses of mica slate, and was not worth above L3 a year altogether.
Before he died, in 1764, he was satisfied of the superiority of the
Larch as a timber over other firs, even in trees only eighteen or
nineteen years old. His successor, John, duke of Athol, first
conceived the idea of planting Larch by itself as a forest tree, and
of planting the sides of the hills about Dunkeld. He planted three
acres with Larches alone, at an elevation of five or six hundred feet
above the level of the sea, on a soil not worth a shilling an acre. He
also planted over four hundred acres on the sides of hills before his
death, in 1774. His son, Duke John, continuing the execution of his
father's plans, had planted in 1783 279,000 trees. Observing the rapid
growth and hardy nature of the Larch, he determined to cover with it
the steep acclivities of mountains of greater altitude than any that
had yet been tried. He therefore inclosed a space of twenty-nine acres
on the rigid summit of Craig-y-barns, and planted a strip entirely
with Larches among the crevices and hollows of the rocks, where the
least soil could be found. At this elevation none of the larger kinds
of natural plants grew, so that the grounds required no previous
preparation of clearing. This plantation was formed in 1785 and 1786.
Between that year and 1791 he planted six hundred and eighty acres
with 500,000 Larches, the greater part only sprinkled over the
surface, on account of the difficulty of procuring a sufficient number
of plants. Besides a plantation of seventy acres for the purpose of
embellishment, he had, in 1799, extended his plantations of Larches
over an additional space of eight hundred acres, six hundred of which
were planted entirely, though thinly, with Larch. These took 800,000
plants.

"Observing, with satisfaction and admiration, the luxuriant growth
of the Larch in all situations, and its hardihood even in the most
exposed regions, the duke resolved on pushing entire Larch plantations
still further to the summit of the highest hills.

"He therefore determined to cover with Larch sixteen hundred Scotch
acres, situated from nine hundred to twelve hundred feet above the
level of the sea. Its soil, presenting the most barren aspect, was
strewed over thickly with fragments of rock, and vegetation of any
kind scarcely existed upon it. 'To endeavor to grow ship-timber,"
writes the duke, "among rocks and shivered fragments of schist, such
as I have described, would have appeared to a stranger extreme folly,
and money thrown away; but, in the year 1800, I had for more than
twenty-five years so watched and admired the hardihood and the strong
vegetative powers of the Larch, in many situations as barren and as
rugged as any part of this range, though not so elevated, as quite
satisfied me that I ought, having so fair an opportunity, to seize
it.'

"Having now no doubt whatever of the successful growth of the Larch in
very elevated situations, the duke still further pursued his object of
covering _all_ his mountainous regions with that valuable wood.
Accordingly, a space to the northward of the one last described,
containing two thousand nine hundred and fifty-nine Scotch acres, was
immediately inclosed, and planted entirely with Larch.

"This tract, lying generally above the region of broom, furze,
juniper, and long heath, required no artificial clearing. An improved
mode of planting was employed here, that of using young plants only,
two or three years' seedlings, put into the ground by means of an
instrument invented by the duke instead of the common spade.

"In 1824, the growth of the Larch in this last tract, called _Loch
Ordie Forest_, having greatly exceeded the sanguine hopes and
expectations of the duke, he determined on adding to it an extensive
adjoining tract, consisting of two thousand two hundred and thirty-one
Scotch acres, denominated Loch Hoishnie. The preparations of fencing,
clearing (where that was necessary), making roads, and procuring
plants from different nurserymen, occupied the time till October,
1825, when the planting commenced, and was carried on in such good
earnest that the whole was finished by December, 1826.

"The planting of this forest appears to have terminated the labors of
the duke in planting. He and his predecessors had planted more than
fourteen millions of Larch plants, occupying over ten thousand English
acres. It has been estimated that the whole forest on mountain ground,
planted entirely with Larch, about six thousand five hundred Scotch
acres, will, in seventy-two years from the time of planting, be a
forest of timber fit for building the largest ships. Before being cut
down for this purpose, it will have been thinned to about four hundred
trees to an acre. Supposing each tree to yield fifty cubic feet of
timber, its value, at a shilling a foot (one half the present value),
will give L1,000 an acre, or, in all, a sum of L6,500,000 sterling."[4]

        [4] Reports on Trees and Shrubs of Massachusetts.




THE PINE-TREE, OR FOREST LIFE.




PART II.




CHAPTER I.

The Pines.--White Pines: rank claimed for this Variety.--
Predilections.--Comparison instituted.--Pitch and Norway Pines.
--White Pine.--Magnitude.--New York Pines.--Lambert's Pine on
Northwest Coast.--Varieties.--Its Rank.--Great variety of purposes
to which it is devoted.--Great Pine near Jackson Lake.--Capital
Invested.--Hands employed on the Penobscot.


After the foregoing brief notice of some of the most interesting
trees, we come at length to consider that species which constitutes
the theme of the following pages.

The PINE has been appropriately called the Monarch of the Forest.
Taken all in all, it is the crowning master-piece of all woody plants.
This avowal is made in full view of what has been said respecting
other specimens of the vegetable kingdom. From early education, we are
accustomed to regard some things as before others in point of merit,
whether truth in the case would support our notions or not.

For trees we have our preferences. There is much of interest in every
development of nature--much to admire, especially in the grandeur, the
picturesque beauty, and sublimity of large forest trees. These things
are so clearly defined in the mind of the botanist--so many
excellencies does he discover in each genus, and every species of the
respective families, that each succeeding description seems to place
the last before every preceding one.

Mankind, pretty generally, are disposed to place the Oak at the head
of the vegetable kingdom, and it is crowned monarch of the forest.

I was reared among the noble Pines of Maine, nestled in my cradle
beneath their giant forms, and often has the sighing wind made music
that has calmed me to repose as it gently played through their
tasseled boughs. Often have I been filled with awe as I gazed upon
their massive trunks and raised my eye to their cloud-swept tops.

When a child, even, I could never read the following eulogy on the Oak
without a fit of jealousy:

    "The Oak for grandeur, strength, and noble size
    Excels all trees which in the forest grow."

Of the truth of this sentiment I could never feel persuaded; in fact,
in only one particular is this true. In strength the Oak excels, but
in towering grandeur and massive diameter the Pine far exceeds the
Oak, and indeed all other North American trees. Properly there are but
three species of the Pine. 1. The White Pine. 2. Pitch Pine. 3. The
Norway, or Red Pine, as it is sometimes called.[5] The Red Pine is
remarkable for its tall trunk; it sometimes rises eighty feet before
it puts out a limb. I recollect cutting one on the Mattawamkeag River,
which disembogues into the Penobscot, eighty-two feet before reaching
a limb. They are sometimes found one hundred feet in height and four
feet in diameter.

        [5] "With very few exceptions, the Pines are monoecious
        (having the male and female flowers on the same tree). The
        yellow pollen, which is very abundant, often falls in such
        quantities upon the branches and leaves below, and upon the
        neighboring plants, as to cover them; and being as light and
        fine as dust, it has been sometimes carried by the wind from
        a forest of Pines and spread upon the ground at a great
        distance. This affords a probable explanation of the stories
        which have been told, and which have been regarded with
        superstition or incredulity, of showers of sulphur."

        Lambert, describing the common Scotch Fir, says, "The pollen
        is sometimes in spring carried away by the wind in such
        quantities as to alarm the ignorant with the notion of its
        raining brimstone."

The Pitch Pine is inferior to the red in size. The largest
measurements I have ever seen give to one a diameter of two and a half
feet, and ninety feet height; to another a girth of seven feet at the
ground, and eighty feet height. This Pine is chiefly valued for the
excellence of its fuel; and for generating steam in working engines it
is preferable to any other wood.[6] Formerly, in some parts of the
country, it was found much larger than it now is. "Men are living in
Massachusetts and Maine who remember that it was not uncommon to find
them of more than a hundred feet in height and four or five feet in
diameter."

        [6] The amount of this wood annually consumed on the
        rail-roads in Massachusetts is valued at $200,000.

At present the White Pine is altogether the most important of the
species. In New England, particularly in the northern part, it is
often found to measure one hundred and fifty feet in height.

It is said that not many years since pines were found in the eastern
part of New York which measured two hundred and forty feet in height.
"Lambert's Pine, on the Northwest Coast, is found growing to the
height of two hundred and thirty feet, and Douglas's Pine, in the same
region, the loftiest tree known, has been said to exceed three hundred
feet." The traveler quoted above describes one of the following
dimensions: "One specimen, which had been blown down by the wind--and
this was certainly not the largest which I saw--was of the following
dimensions: its entire length was two hundred and fifteen feet; its
circumference, three feet from the ground, was fifty-seven feet nine
inches (nineteen feet three inches in diameter); and at one hundred
and thirty-four feet from the ground it was seventeen feet five
inches" in circumference, or about six feet in diameter.[7]

        [7] Since writing the above, the following account has come to
        hand: "The Bald Cypress of Oaxana (_Taxodium distichum_) and
        the famous Chestnut of AEtna have been often cited as the
        giants of the vegetable kingdom. But these sovereigns are
        dethroned, and put into the second rank by those lately
        discovered in Tasmania, which leave far behind them those
        antique monuments of nature. Last week I went to see the two
        largest trees existing in the world. Both of them are on the
        border of a small stream tributary to the river of Northwest
        Bay, in the rear of Mount Wellington. They are of the species
        named there Swamp Gum; I and my companions (five of us)
        measured them. One of them had fallen; we therefore easily
        obtained its dimensions. We found its body two hundred and
        twenty feet from the ground to the first branch. The top had
        broken off and partly decayed, but we ascertained the entire
        height of the tree to have been certainly three hundred feet.
        We found the diameter of the base of it to be thirty feet, and
        at the first branch twelve feet. Its weight we estimated to be
        four hundred and forty tons. The other tree, now growing
        without the least sign of decay, resembles an immense tower
        rising among the humble Sassafras-trees, although very large
        in fact. The Gum-tree at three feet above the ground measured
        one hundred and two feet in circumference. In the space of a
        square mile, I think there were not less than one hundred of
        these trees, none less than forty feet in circumference. It
        must require several thousand years to produce the largest
        one."--_Revue Horticole._

In Doctor Dwight's Travels we have an account of a tree in Lancaster,
New Hampshire, which measured two hundred and sixty-four feet in
length. "Fifty years ago, several trees growing on rather dry land in
Blandford, measured, after they were felled, more than thirteen rods
and a half, or two hundred and twenty-three feet in length."

I have worked in the forests among this timber several years, have cut
many hundreds of trees, and seen many thousands, but have never found
one larger than the one I felled on a little stream which emptied into
Jackson Lake, near the head of Baskahegan stream, in the eastern part
of Maine. This was a "Pumpkin" Pine; its trunk was as straight and
handsomely grown as a molded candle, and measured six feet in diameter
four feet from the ground, without the aid of spur roots. It was
about nine rods in length, or one hundred and forty-four feet, about
sixty-five feet of which was free of limbs, and retained its diameter
remarkably well. I was employed about one hour and a quarter in
felling it. The afternoon was beautiful; every thing was calm, and to
me the circumstances were deeply interesting. After chopping an hour
or so, the mighty giant, the growth of centuries, which had withstood
the hurricane, and raised itself in peerless majesty above all around,
began to tremble under the strokes of a mere insect, as I might appear
in comparison with it. My heart palpitated as I occasionally raised my
eye to its pinnacle to catch the first indications of its fall. It
came down at length with a crash which seemed to shake a hundred
acres, while the loud echo rang through the forest, dying away among
the distant hills. It had a hollow in the butt about the size of a
barrel, and the surface of the stump was sufficiently capacious to
allow a yoke of oxen to stand upon it. It made five logs, and loaded a
six-ox team three times. The butt log was so large that the stream did
not float it in the spring, and when the drive was taken down we were
obliged to leave it behind, much to our regret and loss. At the boom
that log would have been worth fifty dollars.

Of the White Pine there are varieties, which by some are attributed to
peculiar characteristics of the various locations in which they grow.
That variety called sapling Pine, bull sapling, &c., usually grows on
high, hard-wood land, or a mixture of evergreens and deciduous trees;
particularly on the boundaries which mark damp, low forests and the
lower border of ridges. The pumpkin Pine is generally found on flat
land and in ravines; also on abrupt ridges, called horsebacks, where
the forest is dense.

The sap or outside of the sapling Pine is much thicker than that of
the pumpkin Pine. I have seen it more than six inches thick on the
former, and less than half an inch on the latter. This difference is
accounted for by the rapidity with which the sapling grows, and the
tardiness with which the swamp Pine matures, which, as before
intimated, is to be attributed to the difference in their location.

Of course, we must yield to the opinions of learned botanists; but
while they maintain that these two are simply varieties of the same
species, the proof seems insufficient to convince many whose daily
occupation renders them most familiar with forest trees. If the
difference is only attributable to soil and position, then we may
reply that we have found the sapling in all possible locations.
Besides, there are marked distinctions. The general contour differs
much. The size, number, and position of the branches, the shape of the
trunk, the toughness of the wood in the sapling, and the softness of
that of the pumpkin Pine, all indicate a specific and essential
difference. We have seen whole groves of saplings on low, swampy land.
The same number of saplings are generally much sounder than an equal
number of soft Pine.

The soft Pine-tree holds its diameter to a much greater length than
the sapling. I have seen a log of the former twenty feet long,
differing not more than an inch and a half in diameter at either end.
In a sapling log of the same length there would be a difference of
several inches.

There is one circumstance in the habits of this Pine worthy of note.
As a general thing, they grow in clusters or communities. Indeed, this
is a common characteristic of the Hemlock, the Cedar, and the
Hackmatack.

But there is, however, a sort of nationality in the local attitude of
the latter. While the Pines, growing in clusters, seem to constitute
the aristocracy--families of nobility--the rest of the forest seems to
make up the populace; and I may add, that backwoodsmen are accustomed
to pay them the same deferential regard above other gentlemen
foresters which is awarded to superiors in human society. Indeed, the
Pine has claims upon our regard, not only on account of its unequaled
dimensions, but "from the importance of its products in naval, and
especially in civil and domestic architecture, in many of the arts,
and in some instances in medicine."

"As it affords timber and boards of a greater size than any other
soft-wooded tree, and is lighter and more free from knots, it is used
in preference for the masts of ships, for the large beams, posts, and
covering of wooden buildings, and for the frame-work of houses and
bridges, as well as for clap-boards and shingles. The clearness,
softness, and beauty of this wood recommend it for the panels and
frames of doors, for wainscotings, for the frames of windows, for
cornices and moldings, and for all the uses of the joiner. As it
receives paint perfectly, it is employed for floors which are to be
painted. Varnished without paint, it gradually takes a yellowish or
light reddish color, and has considerable beauty. It is excellent for
the carver in wood, and is used for the figure-heads of vessels; and
as it takes gilding well, it is preferred for the frames of
looking-glasses and pictures."

Its importance may be estimated, also, from the vast amount of
employment it furnishes and the revenue it produces. Its history is
full of interest from the hour it leaves the stump in the forest,
through the various processes it passes until taken from the hold of
the ship and piled away upon our market piers. The amount of
employment it furnishes to lumbermen, mill-men, rafters, coasters,
truckmen, merchants, and mechanics, exceeds that furnished by any
other single product in Maine or the province of New Brunswick. On the
Penobscot alone there are said to be ten thousand men engaged in
lumbering.




CHAPTER II.

The Pine twenty-five Years ago.--Its rapid Disappearance.--Explorations.
--Outfit.--Up-river Journeying.--Its Distance.--Mode of Nightly
Encampment.--Cooking.--Disturbed Slumbers.--Ludicrous Fright.--Deer.
--Encounter with Bears.--Mode of Exploring.--Forest Observatory.--
Climbing Trees.--The Emotions excited by the View.--Necessity of
Compass.--Nature's Compass.--The Return.--Annoyances from mischievous
Bears.--Stumpage.--Permits.--Outfit and Return.--Crossing
Carrying-places.--A Strong Man.--Skill of Boatmen.--Item of personal
Experience.--Blind Path.--A Family in the Wilderness.--Things to be
considered in locating Camps.


Allusion has been made to the peculiarity of the Pine-tree in
associating together in clusters or families. It is now a rare thing
to find a sufficient quantity of timber in one of those clusters to
meet the demands of a team during the usual period of hauling, which
is about three months.

Twenty-five or thirty years ago, large tracts of country were covered
principally with Pine-trees. Those tracks seemed purposely located in
the vicinity of lakes, large streams, and rivers; a winter's work
could then be made contiguous to improved portions of the country,
which rendered little previous exploration necessary. But the
woodman's ax, together with the destructive fires which have swept
over large districts from time to time, have, so to speak, driven this
tree far back into the interior wilderness. In fact, the Pine seems
doomed, by the avarice and enterprise of the white man, gradually to
disappear from the borders of civilization, as have the Aborigines of
this country before the onward march of the Saxon race.

The diminished size and number of these Pine communities, near the
borders of civil and agricultural abodes, added to the fact that this
tree has been pursued to wild and unknown forest regions, renders
exploring expeditions previous to the commencement of a winter's
campaign absolutely indispensable, at least to insure success. This
labor is performed, more or less, at all periods of the year; but,
perhaps, the more general and appropriate time is found to be during
the earlier part of autumn. The work of exploring is often performed
during the winter, while the crews are on the ground, in camp. The
difficulty of traveling through deep snows is overcome by the use of
the snow-shoe, which enables the wearer to walk upon the surface of
the untrodden snow. This shoe is about three feet long by sixteen
inches wide, oval before and tapering to a point behind. It is simply
a flat net-work, made from thongs of green hide, surrounded by a
slender frame or bow of wood. This net-work is fastened, near the
middle, to the bottom of the boot, and the woodman, throwing himself
along, one side at a time, with a lengthened pace-like stride, passes
over the ground at a rapid rate.

When the business of timber-hunting is deferred until autumn, the
following method is practiced: Two or three men accustomed to the
business take the necessary provisions, which usually consists of
ship-bread, salt pork, tea, sugar, or molasses; for cooking utensils,
a coffee-pot or light tea-kettle, a tin dipper, sometimes a
frying-pan, a woolen blanket or two for bed-clothes, and an ax, with
gun and ammunition; all of which are put on board a _skiff_, if the
exploration is to be on the St. Croix, or on a _bateau_ if on the
Penobscot River, with two sets of propellers, setting-poles for
rapids, and paddles to be used on dead water.

With these slight preparations, away we start; now making our way up
the main river, then shooting along up the less capacious branches;
sometimes performing a journey of two hundred miles far into the
interior, in those solitudes which never before, perhaps, echoed with
the tones of the white man's voice. The location for our nightly
encampments are selected in time to make the necessary arrangements
for refreshment and repose, before the darkness shuts down over the
dense wilderness that surrounds us. Selecting a proper site near some
gushing spring, or where a murmuring streamlet plays along its
romantic little channel, we pitch our tent, which formerly consisted
of a slender frame of little poles, slightly covered on the top and at
each end with long boughs, the front entirely open, before which burns
the watch-fire, by whose light the deep darkness of a forest night is
rendered more solemn and palpable.

In some instances a large blanket is spread over the frame; and when
there are good reasons to expect rain, we haul our boat up, turn it
bottom side up, and crawl beneath it, this proving a sure protection
from the falling rain or dew. Of late, small portable tent-coverings
are used, which prove very convenient.

Next the evening meal is prepared. Here the tea is thoroughly boiled,
in the coffee-pot or tea-kettle, over the little fire. A thin slice of
salt pork is cut, and, running a sharp stick through it, it is held
over the fire and roasted, being withdrawn occasionally to catch the
drippings on a cake of pilot or ship bread. This is a good substitute
for buttered toast, the roasted pork making an excellent rasher.
Sometimes we ate the pork raw, dipping it in molasses, which some
relish; and though the recital may cause, in delicate and pampered
stomachs, some qualms, yet we can assure the uninitiated that, from
these gross simples, the hungry woodsman makes many a delicious meal.
After _pipe_ devotions (for little else ascends from forest altars,
though we have sometimes heard the voice of prayer even in the logging
swamps), we throw our weary limbs upon our boughy couches to seek
repose in the slumbers of night.

Sometimes our slumbers are disturbed by the shrill whooping of the
owl, whose residence is chosen in those lonely solitudes of dense
woodlands, where this ghostly watchman of the night makes the wild
wood reverberate with the echo of his whoo-ho-ho-whah-whoo! which is
enough, as one has observed, to frighten a garrison of soldiers. Few
sounds, I am certain, so really harmless in themselves, awaken such a
thrill of terror, as it breaks suddenly upon the ear during the
stillness and loneliness of the midnight hour.

As I lay one night encamped upon the banks of a small stream which
contributed its mite to the accumulating waters of the Penobscot
River, an opportunity presented itself of testing the strength of my
nerves. It was during the midnight hour, when even the trees seemed to
sleep profoundly. Not a zephyr moved a twig, and the silence which
reigned was painful. Rendered somewhat restless from the combined
circumstances of the previous day's labor and a hard bed, I lay musing
upon an account which I had formerly read of a midnight attack upon a
company of militia, during the sanguinary struggles of the Revolution,
by a party of savages. In the midst of my revery, I fancied that I
could almost hear the stealthy footsteps of the wily Indian, when a
sudden scream from a tree-top, nearly over the spot where I lay,
brought me upon my feet at a bound. Seizing my gun, I looked aloft to
see if I could discover the author of my sudden fright. By the light
of the fire which still burned in the front of the tent, I discovered
a pair of large eyes, resembling those of a cat. In an instant the
woods echoed with the sharp report of my gun, when down came his
owlship with a summerset to the ground. I have often listened to the
quaint old figure, "I was not brought up in the woods to be scared by
an owl," yet I think few can listen to the whooping of this solitary
bird in the solemnity and stillness of midnight without being
conscious of their susceptibility to emotions of fear, even though the
judgment is assured of the absence of all that could harm.

Sometimes the tramping of timid deer, attracted by the waning light of
our watch-fire, or some roving beast of prey, attracted by the savory
vapors of our evening meal, startle us from our slumbers. "Once, while
on a timber-hunting excursion," said a mess-mate, "on the east branch
of the Penobscot, the night being very mild, and feeling too much
fatigued to make the usual preparations for security, we built our
fire near the trunk of a large prostrate tree. When we laid down our
heads were near the fallen tree, which protected us somewhat from the
current of air, but we were without covering, except the spreading
branches of the trees. We had not lain long before we heard a heavy
tramping some little way off. It approached nearer and nearer, until
the animal seemed directly upon us.

"As I lay upon my back, I turned my eyes upward, when they met the
full gaze of a large bear, which stood with its fore paws on the log
directly over my head. In an instant I sprang upon my feet, and,
seizing a brand from the fire, I hurled it after him, at the same
instant making the woods tremble with the echo of my voice.

"Alarmed at my sudden motions, and more than all at the fiery
messenger, which emitted thousands of sparks as it whizzed along after
him, glancing from tree to tree in its course, at each concussion
emitting new volleys of fiery particles, without stopping to apologize
for his intrusion upon our sleeping apartment, he plunged into the
forest at full speed. By the rustling of dry leaves and the cracking
of fallen limbs, we could hear him a long way off, with unabated
energy fleeing from the object of his terror. Next morning we came
across an old she-bear and her cubs. We had a spirited little dog with
us, who instantly encountered the bear; but one blow from her paw
completely disabled him, and his injuries proved so serious that we
were obliged to kill the little fellow, much to our regret, for, of
all places in the world, the companionship of a good dog is most
valued in the woods. One of our men caught a cub; it struggled and
whined, which soon attracted the attention of the old one. She at once
rushed after him, and he was soon glad to drop his prize, but not
until the old dam had nearly torn his clothes from his back.

[Illustration: SHOOTING DEER.]

[Illustration: BLACK BEAR.]

"Arriving at length upon or near the territory to be explored, we haul
our bateau safely on shore, and turn it bottom upward. Then, dividing
our luggage into parcels, and making use of our blankets for
knapsacks, we begin to traverse the wild forests, unfrequented except
by the stately moose, the timid deer, the roaming black bear, and
other wild animals of less note, whom we frequently disturb in their
solitary haunts.

"The uneven surface of the country, together with the density of the
forest, circumscribe the range of vision. To overcome this impediment,
we ascend into the top of some lofty tree. Sometimes extensive views
of the surrounding forest are obtained from the side of abrupt ridges,
and from the top of a _Horseback_. This latter is an "extremely
curious ridge, and consists of sand and gravel, built up exactly like
the embankments for rail-roads, the slope on either side being about
30 deg., while it rises above the surrounding low lands" from thirty to
ninety feet. Dr. Jackson speaks of one in particular, between Weston
and Houlton, in the northeastern part of Maine, "the top of which is
perfectly level, and wide enough for two carriages to pass abreast."

"Its surface was originally covered with Maple, Birch, and hard
Pine-trees, while the low lands on either side are covered with a
dense growth of Cedars. I could not help thinking, as I looked upon
this natural embankment, that it would be easy for an antiquarian to
mistake this ridge for a work of art, and to suppose that some of the
aboriginal inhabitants of our country knew how to annihilate distance
by rail-roads. My first impression respecting the geological origin of
this embankment was that it was alluvial, and formed the bank on
intervening shores of two lakes which existed in the low tracts, now
covered with Cedars; but, on examining the nature of the materials of
which it is composed, I became satisfied that it belonged to the
formation of transported clay, sand, gravel, and bowlders, which is
called diluvium, consisting of the loose fragments of rocks that were
transported by a mighty current of water the last time the waters
prevailed over the land. The occurrence of similar embankments at
Houlton served to confirm this opinion, for there they had the same
north and south direction, a coincidence so remarkable that it could
not be the result of chance. The Horsebacks of New Limerick and
Houlton are much more elevated" (as indeed they are on the banks or a
little removed from the shores of the Mattawamkeag River), "and some
of them are said to rise to the height of ninety feet." "I can not
stop to speculate on the causes of this transportation of loose
materials, but I may say that there are abundant proofs, on the whole
face of this continent, that there has been a mighty rush of waters
over its surface from the north and northwest, and that such a current
has swept over the highest mountains of Massachusetts."

When it is necessary to obtain views from low lands, the obstructions
are overcome by ascending the highest trees. When an ascent is to be
made, the Spruce-tree is generally selected, principally for the
superior facilities which its numerous limbs afford the climber. To
gain the first limbs of this tree, which are from twenty to forty feet
from the ground, a smaller tree is undercut and lodged against it,
clambering up which the top of the Spruce is reached. In some cases,
when a very elevated position is desired, the Spruce-tree is lodged
against the trunk of some lofty Pine, up which we ascend to a height
twice that of the surrounding forest.

From such a tree-top, like a mariner at the mast-head upon the
"look-out" for whales (for indeed the Pine is the whale of the
forest), large "clumps" and "veins" of Pine are discovered, whose
towering tops may be seen for miles around. Such views fill the bosom
of timber-hunters with an _intense interest_. They are the object of
his search, his treasure, his _El Dorado_, and they are beheld with
peculiar and thrilling emotions. To detail the process more minutely,
we should observe that the man in the tree-top points out the
direction in which the Pines are seen; or, if hid from the view of
those below by the surrounding foliage, he breaks a small limb, and
throws it in the direction in which they appear, while a man at the
base marks the direction indicated by the falling limb by a compass
which he holds in his hand, the compass being quite as necessary in
the wilderness as on the pathless ocean.

In fair weather the sun serves as an important guide; and in cloudy
weather the close observation of an experienced woodsman will enable
him to steer a tolerably correct course by the moss which grows on the
trunks of most hard-wood trees, the north side of which are covered
with a much larger share than the other portions of the trunk. This
Indian compass, however, is not very convenient nor safe, particularly
in passing through swampy lands, which are of frequent occurrence.

After spending several days in scouring the wilderness in search of
the Pines, minutely examining their quality (for an experienced
lumberman can determine this with surprising certainty), calculating
the distance the logs may have to be hauled, and noting the surface of
the land through which the logging roads are to be cut, &c., we
retrace our steps to the landing, where the bateau has been left. Once
more our frail bark floats upon the dancing current of the stream,
gliding onward as if stimulated with the very joyousness of the
"homeward bound" voyagers. After several days' exploration on foot,
the boat ride is particularly welcome. In the realization of this,
however, we are sometimes sadly, even provokingly disappointed.

It is known to those versed in the habits of the black bear, that late
in the fall of the year they manifest an uncommon fondness for pitch
or resinous substances. In the course of my travels through the
forest, I have often seen Fir-trees which contained large quantities
of balsam, with their bark entirely stripped from the trunk by these
craving depredators. Under the impulses of this peculiar appetite,
they sometimes tear even our bateau to pieces for the tar with which
it is besmeared. If injured beyond the means of repair, we are
compelled to pursue our journey down on foot. Perchance we may
fortunately meet some Indian trapper with his frail canoe, which we
charter for a portion of the journey, until another boat, or means of
conveyance, can be secured. Were any of my readers ever on board the
Indian's bark canoe? Some, doubtless, have been, and such will bear me
out in the declaration that the voyager experiences emotions
peculiarly agreeable. As a conveyance, it seems to occupy a space
between riding and flying; not in respect to its speed, although this
is considerable when the paddle is vigorously applied, but its
fairy-like buoyancy quite dissipates the idea of one's gravity.

Having determined, during the exploration, upon the territory from
which we wish to cut and haul our logs, we proceed to obtain permits
from the state or proprietors, which secure the exclusive right to cut
timber within the bounds of the grant for a stipulated price; so much
per thousand feet, board-measure, which varies from one to eight
dollars _per M._, according to the quality of the timber and its
convenient location to the lake, river, or stream upon which it is to
be floated to market. Among other preliminaries which anticipate the
winter operations of lumbermen is the "putting up" of large quantities
of meadow hay.

Skirting the stagnant sections of rivers and streams, extensive strips
of meadow land spread back to the border of "uplands," whose outlines
are distinctly defined by immense forests which hem in these large
areas, sometimes embracing many thousands of acres. This intervale is
covered with a heavy growth of meadow grass. By this remarkable
arrangement, Nature has anticipated, as it would appear, the wants of
lumbermen in locating, and in preserving from the encroachments of the
forest, a plentiful supply of subsistence for the teams employed in
procuring lumber in its immediate vicinity, and far from the haunts of
civilized man.

To these wild and solemn retreats, where the dismal hooting of the
night-owl breaks upon the ear, and the sighing winds, as they pass
through the tall, waving grass, waft the distant howl of the wolf,
large crews of men resort, with the usual haying implements,
provisions, &c., for making and stacking the hay to be used during the
ensuing winter.

In the latter part of autumn these meadows are covered with water,
which finally freezes. It is therefore necessary to erect temporary
scaffolds, called more generally "staddles," upon which the hay is to
be piled in large stacks. These staddles are made of poles laid upon
cross-stakes or crutches, sufficiently high to protect the hay from
the water beneath. From these the hay is removed, sometimes in boats
before the waters freeze, and afterward upon sleds on the ice. When
the former method of transportation is adopted, two bateaus or skiffs
are placed side by side, small poles being thrown across them; the hay
is then loaded on this platform, and carried to the most convenient
landing, where it is reloaded and hauled on ox-sleds to the camp. If
the hay is removed upon the ice, the stacks are hauled away whole. The
mode of loading is simple; the central part of the scaffolding is cut
away, the sled shoved underneath, when the remaining props are cut
away, and the whole stack settles on to the sled, and is thus moved
off to the place of destination. This expeditious method of loading is
particularly convenient and desirable, as may be imagined when one
takes into consideration the biting winter winds which sweep across
these wide meadow fields.

Since agricultural interests have invited men far into the interior in
the vicinity of lumber berths, where large tracts of land have been
cleared up, less value is attached to, and less use made of meadow hay
than formerly, as English grass becomes more plenty, is more
available, and is much better in its quality.

A distinguishing characteristic of this kind of business is the
unceasing encounter by our lumbermen with the blood-thirsty millions
of flies who swarm and triumph over these sanguinary fields. In the
use of fire-arms these unvanquishable hosts are not skilled, to be
sure, but in a charge they are invincible. No amount of slaughter will
intimidate them. Though the sweeping hand of destruction annihilates
them by thousands, still, with full ranks, the contest is carried on
with unabated vigor, a respite only being afforded in rainy weather,
or when high winds prevail; then they retire from the field.

At night the musquito lancers take up the action--the Indian tribes of
the insect species--and all night they keep up their ceaseless
war-whoop, as they repeat their sallies upon the weary, disturbed
sleeper. No coat of mail is proof against the attacks of one species
of fly commonly called the midget, which is so small as to be almost
imperceptible to the naked eye. The black fly and the musquito can
only reach the exposed parts of the body, but to the midget every
portion is accessible. He insinuates himself under the collar, the
wristband, and through the texture of the garments, and the whole
region between the shirt and the skin is a field for his operations.

In one process of the haying operations, in particular, they are very
annoying. The hay, when cut, is carried in small cocks upon two poles
by two men to the scaffolding, for the purpose of being stacked. While
thus employed, with both hands engaged, millions of these little
invisibles insinuate themselves under the garments, and, whatever
interest or ambition may fail to do, by way of producing energetic
motion, the irritating smart of their bite abundantly makes up.
_Nolens volens_, the men thus employed dance to the tune of "_Midget's
meadow-hay jig_;" and when no longer able to resist the earnest
invitation to rub and scratch, which their irritating bite holds out,
down drop the poles, hay and all! Ah! let him who has experienced the
irritation, and the relief of furious friction, _think_--I'm sure he
may not pen it.

But, notwithstanding the labor and annoyances of meadow life, there
are pastimes and adventures to be met with. A shot now and then at
some stray deer who may chance to stroll upon the meadow to graze; the
hooking of beautiful trout, pickerel, and other delicious pan-fish,
afford agreeable relief from _ennui_; while the spoils of the forest
and the brook afford most agreeable changes of diet. Here, also, very
frequently are skirmishes had with the common black bear. If Bruin is
not intentionally pugnacious, he is really meddlesome; nay, more, a
downright trespasser--a regular thief--an out-and-out "no-government"
animal, who, though neither profane nor yet immoral, still, without
apostolical piety, would have "all things common." These peculiar
traits of character secure to him the especial attention of mankind,
and ever make him the object of attack. Though formidable as an enemy,
it is hard to allow him to pass, even if he be civilly inclined,
without direct assault. On one occasion, while two men were crossing a
small lake in a skiff, on their return from the meadows, where they
had been putting up hay, they discovered a bear swimming from a point
of land for the opposite shore. As usual in such cases, temptation
silenced prudential remonstrance; so, changing their course, they gave
chase. The craft being light, they gained fast upon the bear, who
exerted himself to the utmost to gain the shore. But, finding himself
an unequal match in the race, he turned upon his pursuers and swam to
meet them. One of the men, a short, thick-set, dare-devil sort of a
fellow, seized an ax, and the moment the bear came up, inflicted a
blow upon his head which seemed to make but a slight impression.
Before a second could be repeated, the bear clambered into the boat;
he instantly grappled the man who struck him, firmly setting his teeth
in the man's thigh; then settling back upon his haunches, he raised
his victim in the air, and shook him as a dog would a wood-chuck. The
man at the helm stood for a moment in amazement, without knowing how
to act, and fearing that the bear might spring overboard and drown his
companion; but, recollecting the effect of a blow upon the end of a
bear's snout, he struck him with a short setting-pole. The bear
dropped his victim into the bottom of the boat, sallied and fell
overboard, and swam again for the shore. The man bled freely from the
bite, and as the wound proved too serious to allow a renewal of the
encounter, they made for the shore. Medical aid was procured as soon
as possible, and in the course of six weeks the man recovered from the
effects of the bite. But one thing saved them from being upset; the
water proved sufficiently shoal to admit of the bear's getting bottom,
from which he sprang into the boat. Had the water been deep, the boat
must inevitably have been upset, in which case the consequences might
have been more serious.

It was on one of these haying occasions that a more startling but
harmless encounter with the elements was experienced. One afternoon,
about two o'clock, while several men were making their way up a small
stream on a branch of the Penobscot, their attention was suddenly
arrested by a sound which resembled distant thunder. Each moment the
noise grew more distinct, accompanied with a tremulous motion of the
earth. Still nearer and yet nearer it approached, with a rushing
sound, intermingled with loud reports. Between our boatmen and the
forest at the southwest spread an area of meadow land. Looking in this
direction, a dense column, rising high in the heavens, was seen
whirling in the distance, and approaching with incredible velocity.
They barely effected a landing when it came upon them. In an instant
their boat was hurled into the tops of the trees over their heads,
while they were able to retain their position by holding on to the
small undergrowth, and escaped unhurt. The hurricane, in its passage
across the meadow, seemed to lose its force, so that by the time it
reached the opposite side of the meadow its power was broken, and its
career of destruction ended. In its passage it laid a strip of forest
level some seventy rods wide and thirty miles long. No tree within
this limit withstood its fury. The toughest and stateliest mingled in
wildest confusion with blanched trunks, yielding sapling, and slender
undergrowth.

At the proper time, which varies in different localities, but
generally during the early part of fall, a more extensive outfit is
made for another up-river expedition, for the purpose of erecting
winter camps, clearing the main roads, and attending to such other
preliminaries as may be deemed necessary.

Several years ago the whole distance from our homes to the interior
was traveled by water, on which occasions heavy-laden boats were taken
up these rivers and streams, and across the lakes, an operation which
was both hazardous and laborious, particularly where the swift current
of rapids was to be overcome, and when it became necessary to carry
the boat and cargo around impassable falls--a frequent occurrence, the
river in some places being nothing but one continuous succession of
rapids for miles. In some places, to save the labor of "carrying by,"
attempts are made to shove the boats up fearful rapids, where a single
mistake or false maneuver would swamp them. A lively little incident
of this kind is quoted below, from Doctor Jackson's account of an
excursion up the Penobscot on the business of a geological survey of
the state.

"While we were engaged in exploring the rocks (at Grindstones Falls),
our men tried to shove the boat up the falls, but the violence of the
current prevented their effecting their object, the boat being
instantly filled and sunk in the attempt, while all our baggage and
provisions that remained on board were swept off and carried down the
stream. A scene of unwonted activity now ensued in our endeavors to
save our articles, as they were rapidly borne down the foaming waters.
The boat, fortunately, was not much injured, and we succeeded in
hauling it upon a rock, and bailed out the water, after which we gave
chase to our lost articles, and succeeded in saving those that were
most essential to our safety. The bread-barrel, although scuttled, was
but half full of bread, and floated down stream with its opening
uppermost, so that but little of it was injured. Our bucket of rice
burst open and was lost. The tea-kettle and other cooking apparatus
sank in the river, and were fished up by a hook and line. The tent was
found about a mile down the river, stretched across a rock. The maps
and charts were soaked with water, so that it required as much labor
and patience to unroll them as the papyri of Herculaneum. Our spare
boots and shoes were irrecoverably lost. Having rescued the most
important articles from the water, we carried by the falls, camped,
and dried our papers and provision, being thankful that no worse an
accident had befallen us. Fortunately, we had taken the precaution to
remove our surveying instruments and the blankets from the boat before
the falls were attempted.

"Having kindled a camp-fire and dried ourselves, a storm of rain began
to pour around us; but our great fire was not easily damped, and we
passed a comfortable night beneath the shelter of a water-proof tent.

"The Penobscot boatmen are well skilled in the art of camping in a
comfortable manner, and soon prepare their fire for the night, make a
bed of boughs, and pitch the tent in such a manner as to afford a
complete shelter. Having partaken of our meal, we reposed upon the
boughs spread upon the earth, our feet being turned toward the fire.
This being our first encampment for the season, the novelty of the
scene prevented sleep; the night was very pleasant, and the broad
moon, slowly descending in the west, added her effulgence to beautify
the scene, her image being reflected by the rippling waters, while
various contrasts of light and shade from the dense foliage, and the
pale moonbeam and glaring red camp-fire, gave an effect full of
beauty, and worthy the attention of an artist.

"Amid pleasant scenes, we are, however, subject to contrasts of a less
agreeable kind; and here our Indian, while cutting wood, suffered a
severe accident; his hatchet, accidentally slipping, was driven deeply
into his leg between two bones, so as to expose the anterior tibial
artery. I was then called upon in my surgical capacity, and, having my
instruments with me, dressed his wound in the usual manner, and early
next morning we took him to Maltanawcook Island, where we made
arrangements with another Indian, Louis Neptune, to supply his place
while he was recovering from his wound."

These difficulties of transportation have been somewhat abated by the
construction of roads, which penetrate much nearer to lumber berths
than formerly, and enable us to convey our provisions, implements, and
even boats, with horse-teams, a considerable portion of the distance
once laboriously performed by water. I am not familiar with any kind
of labor which tests a man's physical abilities and powers of
endurance more than boating supplies up river. The labor of carrying
by falls, and portages from lake to lake, imposes a heavy tax upon the
body. Barrels of pork, flour, and other provisions, too heavy for one
man to carry alone, are slung to a pole by the aid of ropes, one man
being at either end, and thus we clamber, under our heavy burdens,
over rocks, the trunks of fallen trees, slippery roots, and through
mud-sloughs, sometimes without any path, through the thickets and
groves of trees. The boat is turned bottom upward, the gunwales
resting upon the shoulders of three men, two abreast near the bows,
and one at the stern. In this position we pass over the same route
through which the provisions have been carried to the next landing,
where the goods are again reshipped, and we proceed by water on lake
or stream, with the alternate routine of paddling, poling, and
lugging, until the place of destination is reached.

Persons wholly unacquainted with river navigation can have but an
imperfect idea of the skill as well as nerve brought into requisition
in taking a heavy-laden bateau, skiff, or canoe up over rapids. Let
such a person stand upon the banks of the river, and survey some
places over which these frail boats, loaded to the gunwale, pass, and
he would not only regard the thing as exceedingly difficult and
hazardous, but as altogether impossible; with the inexperienced it
would, indeed, be both, but our skillful watermen will perform it with
the greatest dexterity. Should any traveler chance to take an up-river
trip with those boatmen, I am quite sure his observations would
confirm my statement respecting them. I am happy to add here the
testimony of Dr. Jackson, who had an opportunity to witness their
skill: "Those who have never been on such a journey would be surprised
at the dexterity of the Penobscot boatmen as they drive their frail
bateau through the rapids and among dangerous rocks. The slightest
failure on their part, on passing the numerous water-falls, would
place the lives of those on board in imminent peril, and the traveler
has good reason to be thankful if the boat by their care is saved from
being overturned or sunk in the river.

"When the waters rush down a rapid slope of smooth and round rocks,
forming what are called gravel-beds, the most strenuous exertions of
the boatmen are required to stem the current, and not unfrequently
their 'setting' poles are caught between the rocks, so as to be jerked
from their grasp. Bateaux are navigated up stream by means of slender
poles of spruce, about twelve or fifteen feet in length, armed with an
iron point, confined by a ferule or iron band around its extremity.
One boatman stands in the bow and braces his foot against the stern as
he labors; the other stands in the stern, and they both pole on the
same side as they proceed up the margin of the stream. Descending the
river, they make use of paddles." However, the depth to which these
frail boats are loaded, in which condition they pass through rough
waters and wide lakes, where the wind is liable in a few minutes to
raise high waves, can not be regarded as prudent, with all their
matchless skill in navigating.

When I call to mind the intemperate habits to which most lumbermen in
times past were addicted, I am surprised that no more accidents have
occurred while navigating our rivers.

I shall not soon forget the perilous circumstances in which I was once
placed, in company with others, while taking a deeply laden skiff up
to the head waters of the St. Croix.

Having safely passed the rapids of the river, we embarked upon the
Lake Che-pet-na-cook, up which we paddled about twenty miles to the
portage, over which we had to carry our effects to Grand Lake, distant
some two miles. By the time we had accomplished these moves the
shadows of a September evening began to gather around us, giving a
peculiar tint to the large sheet of water before us, which spread to
the north some twenty-five miles, with an expanse east and west of
about six miles, washing a portion of the shores of Maine on the west,
and the province of New Brunswick on the east.

The point of destination lay about half way up the lake on the
American side. Our boat was deeply laden with men and provisions; of
the former there were seven in number. A light wind from the east
caused a gentle ripple upon the surface of the waters, which induced
us to hug the easterly shore pretty closely. We proceeded slowly, and
when it became necessary to change our course in order to cross the
lake, night had nearly settled down upon the waters, leaving only
sufficient light to reveal the opposite shore, which stretched along
the verge of the horizon, presenting the appearance of a long, dark
cloud settling upon the borders of the lake.

We had plenty of new rum on board, which was used at stated intervals,
as, according to the faith of nearly every man in those days, it gave
to the arm more vigor in the necessary labor of plying the paddle. It
soon became evident that one of our number had imbibed too freely, to
the imminent hazard of our lives. The reader may easily imagine our
perilous condition under such circumstances. Our frail skiff was about
eighteen feet long, and four feet across the top of the gunwale
amid-ships, tapering to a point at either end, constructed of thin
slips of pine boards nailed to some half dozen pair of slender knees
about two inches in diameter. On board were some fifteen hundred
pounds of provisions, with seven men, which pressed her into the water
nearly to the gunwale; three inches from the position of a level, and
she would fill with water.

As men usually are quite insensible to danger when in liquor, so was
it with "_Dan_" in this instance. Too comfortable in his feelings to
keep still, as indeed was indispensable to the most steady among us,
he kept constantly lurching about, and periling us with a capsizing
repeatedly. He was admonished in the most pressing and peremptory
manner to keep quiet; but in his drunken idiocy he became a terror,
and it was manifest that something must be done to insure our safety.

Our paddles hung powerless over the sides of the frail thing which
buoyed us upon the surface of the deep water; to advance seemed too
uncertain and dreadful, while the darkness rested down deeper upon the
lake. A hasty consultation was held upon the propriety of putting back
to the shore, when the drunken wretch gave a sudden lurch, which
settled the gunwale under water! "My God! we are gone!" shouted some
half dozen voices at the instant. However, by a counter-motion we
raised the submerged gunwale from sinking further. In an instant our
helmsman was upon his feet, and, raising his paddle in a most menacing
attitude over the head of the intoxicated man, "D--n you!" said he,
"if you move again I'll split your skull open!" The threat was
terrible, and he would have cleft his head open in an instant. I
expected he would strike, for our lives depended upon quieting him in
some way; but the fellow seemed to awake to our perilous condition,
and slunk down into the bottom of the boat. We put about instantly for
the shore, and in a few moments touched the beach. With a willing step
I placed my feet on terra firma once more.

It was then determined that part of the crew should remain, while the
others should cross the lake, unload the provisions, and return for
those left behind. Four men were accordingly left, and I was glad to
make one of the number, though left upon a wild and unfrequented spot,
without food or shelter, with the prospect of spending the greater
portion of the night there, even should the rest of the crew make a
successful trip; and, in the event of their being swamped, a thing by
no means impossible, for sometimes the wind suddenly rises, and in a
very short time lashes the lake into foaming waves, in which case the
skiff could not live, then the circuit of the lake must be performed,
and days must elapse before relief could be obtained; but still, with
these certainties and probable contingencies before us, we were glad
to feel mother earth under the soles of our feet. By the time these
matters had been fixed, the darkness had shut out the western shore
entirely from view; our comrades, therefore, only shaped their course
by the fire which we had kindled upon the shore, and which we kept
burning by a constant supply of brush and the most inflammable wood
that could be procured.

Not having had much experience in the wilderness at this time, and
never under such peculiar circumstances, I felt somewhat timid and
apprehensive, as we were far from relief and the abodes of
civilization, and in a region where bears, wolves, and a dangerous
specimen of the feline species, known by woodsmen as the "Indian
devil," had prowled from time immemorial. From the manner in which my
exiled companions piled the brush on the fire, I suspected, also, that
they had some confidence in its protective power. The night was cold,
but by our exertions to keep up a brilliant fire, and copious draughts
of black pepper tea, which we made in a little kettle, we kept quite
comfortable. This process lasted until two o'clock in the morning,
when the boat returned for us, having twice crossed the lake, in all
twelve miles. We stepped on board, and at four o'clock her third trip
across during the night was finished. One half mile from the shore,
surrounded by an almost unbroken wilderness, stood a log cabin,
tenanted by a man with his family, who had settled down for the
purpose of clearing up a farm. At the time we landed the sky was
overcast with dense clouds, and the darkness was so intense that I
could not see an inch before my nose; I felt the force of that trite
old proverb, "It's always darkest just before day." To the above-named
cabin we were piloted through a dense forest, which was interlaced
with a thick growth of underbrush. We made our way along as entirely
unassisted by vision as though there were no such thing. By the aid of
a constant hallooing, which was kept up at the log cabin, we made a
direct course; and, after an untold number of stumbles over old
wind-falls, and jibes from the limbs, knots, and protruding boughs of
trees, we reached the object of our solicitude hungry and much
fatigued. Here, however, the hospitable inmates had anticipated our
wants; a good meal of bread, baked beans, and pork, with coffee, was
in waiting; and after heartily participating of the same, we threw
ourselves upon a coarse bed, and were soon lost in a profound and
undisturbed sleep. When we awoke the shades of night had entirely
disappeared, the sun shone beautifully, and our ears were saluted with
the wild notes of a thousand feathered songsters, whose sweet
warblings lent a peculiar enchantment to the woodland scenery which
skirted the shores of the lake, so strikingly in contrast with our
dismal introduction the night previous, that we almost fancied
ourselves awaking up in some fairy land.




CHAPTER III.

Method of constructing Camp and
Hovel.--Timber.--Covering.--Arrangement of Interior.--The Bed.--Deacon
Seat.--Ingenious Method of making a Seat.--Cooking: superior Method of
Baking.--The nightly Camp Fire.--Liabilities from taking Fire.--A Camp
consumed.--Men burned to Death.--Enjoyment.--The new Camp: Dedication.
--A Song.--A Story.--New Order in Architecture.--Ox Hovel.--Substitute
for Lime.--The Devotedness of the Teamster.--Fat and lean Cattle.--
Swamping Roads.--Clumps of Pine.--The points of Interest in a Logging
Road.--The Teamster's Path.--Regret.--The peculiar Enjoyment of Men
thus engaged.


The re-outfit alluded to in the preceding pages having arrived upon
the territory previously explored, arrangements are at once made to
locate and build our winter camps. To determine upon the best point is
by no means an easy task, it being very difficult to fix upon the
location in a strange and imperfectly-explored forest. Wood and water
privileges are to be taken into the account; a central position in
respect to the timber; the landing, the locating of the main roads,
&c., are to be attended to. To combine all these qualities, where we
can see only a few rods in advance on account of the trees and
thickets, and our work must necessarily cover hundreds of acres of
wild land, it must be confessed is no ordinary task. I have seldom
taxed my judgment as severely on any subject as in judiciously
locating a logging establishment.

These preliminaries being settled, we commence "right merrily" our
camp. The top strata of leaves and turf are removed from the spot upon
which the structure is to be erected; this is necessary, as we should
otherwise be in great danger of fire from the dry turf. While this
process is going forward, others are engaged in felling the trees on
the spot, and cutting them the length determined upon for our edifice.
The work commences by throwing the larger logs into a square, notching
the ends together. Thus one tier after another is laid up until the
walls attain the proper height, the smallest logs being used to finish
out the upper tiers. In form they resemble a tin baker, rising some
eight feet in front, while the roof pitches down within two or three
feet of the ground in the rear. A double camp is constructed by
putting two such squares face to face, with the fire in the middle.
The Spruce-tree is generally selected for camp building, it being
light, straight, and quite free from sap. The roof is covered with
shingles from three to four feet in length. These are split from trees
of straight and easy rift, such as the Pine, Spruce, and Cedar. The
shingles are not nailed on, but secured in their place by laying a
long heavy pole across each tier or course. The roof is finally
covered with the boughs of the Fir, Spruce, and Hemlock, so that when
the snow falls upon the whole, the warmth of the camp is preserved in
the coldest weather. The crevices between the logs constituting the
walls are tightly calked with moss gathered from surrounding trees.

[Illustration: WINTER-QUARTERS OF LUMBERMEN.]

The interior arrangement is very simple. One section of the area of
the camp is used for the dining-room, another for the sleeping
apartment, and a third is appropriated to the kitchen. These
apartments are not denoted by partitioned walls, but simply by small
poles some six inches in diameter, laid upon the floor of the camp
(which is the pure loam), running in various directions, and thus
forming square areas of different dimensions, and appropriated as
above suggested. The head-board to our bed consists of one or more
logs, which form also the back wall of the camp. The foot-board is a
small pole, some four or six feet from the fire. Our bedstead is
mother earth, upon whose cool but maternal bosom we strew a thick
coating of hemlock, cedar, and fir boughs. The width of this bed is
determined by the number of occupants, varying from ten to twenty
feet. Bed-clothes are suited to the width of the bed by sewing quilts
and blankets together. The occupants, as a general thing, throw off
their outer garments only when they "turn in" for the night. These
hardy sons of the forest envy not those who roll on beds of down;
their sleep is sound and invigorating; they need not court the gentle
spell, turning from side to side, but, quietly submitting, sink into
its profound depths.

Directly over the foot-pole, running parallel with it, and in front of
the fire, is the "_deacon seat_." I think it would puzzle the greatest
lexicographer of the age to define the word, or give its etymology as
applied to a seat, which indeed it is, and nothing more nor less than
a seat; but, so far as I can discover from those most deeply learned
in the antiquarianism of the logging swamp, it has nothing more to do
with deacons, or deacons with it, than with the pope. The seat itself,
though the name be involved in a mystery, is nothing less nor more
than a plank hewn from the trunk of a Spruce-tree some four inches
thick by twelve inches wide, the length generally corresponding with
the width of the bed, raised some eighteen inches above the foot-pole,
and made stationary. This seat constitutes our sofa or settee, to
which we add a few stools, which make up the principal part of our
camp furniture. Should any of my readers ever be situated beyond the
reach of cabinet-makers, but in the vicinity of the forest, I may
introduce them into the secret of chair-making without the necessity
of any tools except an ax. Split the top part of the trunk of a Spruce
or Fir-tree in halves, cut a stick of the right length upon which
three or four stout limbs grow; trim off the limbs of a sufficient
length to suit your fancy; smooth the piece of timber to which they
adhere by hewing, and your seat is completed. I can assure the reader
that the instances are rare in which it becomes necessary to send them
to the cabinetmaker for repairs, especially to have the legs glued in.

The luxury of a temporary table is now pretty generally enjoyed, with
plates, knives and forks, tin dippers for tea and coffee, and
sometimes cups and saucers. Formerly the deacon seat was used instead
of a table, and a large frying-pan served for a platter for the whole
crew. Around this the men would gather, each putting in his bread or
potatoe, and salt fish, to sop in the pork fat; and never did king or
courtier enjoy the luxuries of a palace more exquisitely than do our
loggers this homely fare. On the St. Croix River, lumbermen generally
adhere, from choice, to the original custom of eating from the
frying-pan. Bread and beans are baked in a large "Duch oven," which is
placed in a hole dug in the earth by the side of the fire, and
entirely covered with hot coals and embers. In this position it is
allowed to remain until the contents are done, when the ashes and
cover are removed. I need not presume to inform the skillful cook that
this mode of baking is unequaled. Our camp-fire is made on the ground
next to the front wall, which is sometimes protected by a tier of
large stones, but in other instances we simply set up two short
stakes, against which enormous back-logs rest. After supper, each
night unfailingly a very large fire is built to sleep by. Some of the
wood used is so large that it often burns twenty-four hours before
being entirely consumed. The amount of fuel made use of in building
one camp-fire would supply an ordinary fire a week.

It is not an unfrequent occurrence, of course, for camps to take fire
in this exposed situation, but some one generally discovers it in
season to extinguish it by the timely application of snow or water.
Instances have occurred, however, in which crews have been consumed
with the camp. I recollect an instance in which a camp, on one of the
tributaries of the Penobscot, took fire during the night while the
inmates were asleep, and three out of four men were burned to death.
In view of this liability, the roof of our camps are not so strongly
fastened down but that, in the event of a retreat being cut off from
the door, the united efforts of the inmates can burst it up, and thus
make their escape. These things, however serious in some instances,
are but little thought of or cared for.

Around this good camp-fire,

    "With mirth to lighten duty,"

gather the crew after the toils of the day, to enjoy, as best they
may, our long winter evenings; and around no fireside where there are
equal responsibilities, intelligence, and many more luxuries, can be
found more real contentment, or a greater degree of enjoyment.

Here rises the voice of song upon the wings of the winter night storm
as it rolls past with the sublimity of an Alpine tempest. Here, also,
are rehearsals of wild adventure, listened to with all the interest
which isolated circumstances usually lend even to little matters.

The first night we lodged in one of our newly-erected camps, its
dedication was proposed. It was moved and carried by acclamation that
Hobbs should sing us a song, and that "Nick" should give us one of his
yarns.

Hobbs, who, by-the-way, was a short, thick-set little fellow, with a
chubby red face, and, withal, rather musical in his turn, gave vent to
the following beautiful song, dedicated to the "Lumbermen" by the poet
Whittier.

    "Comrades! round our woodland quarters
      Sad-voiced autumn grieves;
    Thickly down these swelling waters
      Float his fallen leaves.
    Through the tall and naked timber,
      Column-like and old,
    Gleam the sunsets of November
      With their skies of gold.

    O'er us, to the South-land heading,
      Screams the gray wild goose;
    On the night-frost sounds the treading
      Of the stately moose.
    Fast the streams with ice are closing,
      Colder grows the sky,
    Soon, on lake and river frozen,
      Shall our log-piles lie.

    When, with sounds of smother'd thunder,
      On some night of rain,
    Lake and river break asunder
      Winter's weaken'd chain,
    Down the wild March-flood shall bear them
      To the saw-mill's wheel,
    Or, where Steam, the slave, shall tear them
      With his teeth of steel.

    Be it starlight, be it moonlight
      In these vales below,
    When the earliest beams of sunlight
      Streaks the mountain's snow,
    Crisps the hoar-frost keen and early
      To our hurrying feet,
    And the forest echoes clearly
      All our blows repeat.

    When the crystal Ambijejis
      Stretches broad and clear,
    And Millnoket's pine-black ridges
      Hide the browsing deer;
    Where, through lakes and wide morasses,
      Or through rocky walls,
    Swift and strong Penobscot passes,
      White with foamy falls.

    Where, through clouds, are glimpses given
      Of Katahdin's sides--
    Rock and forest piled to heaven,
      Torn and plowed by slides!
    Far below the Indian trapping
      In the sunshine warm,
    Far above the snow-cloud wrapping
      Half the peak in storm!

    Where are mossy carpets better
      Than the Persian weaves,
    And, than Eastern perfumes, sweeter
      Seem the fading leaves;
    And a music wild and solemn
      From the Pine-tree's height,
    Rolls its vast and sea-like volume
      On the wind of night.

    Make we here our camp of winter,
      And through sleet and snow
    Pitch knot and beechen splinter
      On our hearth shall glow;
    Here, with mirth to lighten duty,
      We shall lack alone
    Woman, with her smile of beauty,
      And her gentle tone.

    But her hearth is brighter burning
      For our work to-day,
    And her welcome at returning
      Shall our loss repay.
    Strike, then, comrades! Trade is waiting
      On our rugged toil,
    Far ships waiting for the freighting
      Of our woodland spoil!

    Ships, whose traffic links these highlands
      Bleak and cold of ours
    With the citron-planted islands
      Of a clime of flowers;
    To our frosts the tribute bringing
      Of eternal heats.
    In our lap of winter flinging
      Tropic fruits and sweets.

    Cheerly on the ax of labor
      Let the sunbeam dance,
    Better than the flash of saber
      Or the gleam of lance!
    Strike! With every blow is given
      Freer sun and sky,
    And the long-hid earth to heaven
      Looks with wond'ring eye.

    Loud behind us grow the murmurs
      Of the age to come--
    Clang of smiths, and tread of farmers
      Bearing harvest home!
    Here her virgin lap with treasures
      Shall the green earth fill--
    Waving wheat and golden maize-ears
      Crown each beechen hill.

    Keep who will the city's alleys,
      Take the smooth-shorn plain,
    Give to us the cedarn valleys,
      Rocks and hills of Maine!
    In our North-land, wild and woody,
      Let us still have part--
    Rugged nurse and mother sturdy,
      Hold us to thy heart!

    Oh, our free hearts beat the warmer
      For thy breath of snow,
    And our tread is all the firmer
      For thy rocks below.
    Freedom, hand in hand with labor,
      Walketh strong and brave;
    On the forehead of his neighbor
      No man writeth Slave!

    Brother looks on equal brother,
      Manhood looks on men--
    Be thy future, oh our mother,
      As thy past hath been--
    Heavenward, like thy mountain-guardians,
      With their star-crowns deck'd,
    And thy watchword, like Katahdin's
      Cloud-swept pine, 'ERECT!'"

Then followed the "yarn." Now "Nick," as we familiarly
called him, was a tall, sinewy man, the exact counterpart of
Hobbs in physical proportions, full of fire, and fond of adventure.
He had spent much of his life in the woods, and in different parts
of the country, somewhat apt in his observations, and off-hand
in his style of conversation.

Looking thoughtfully into the fire a moment, as if to call an
item from his experience, he proceeded as follows:

"In the month of September, 18--, having business to transact
with a man engaged in timber-making on Bartholomew's River,
New Brunswick, I set out on horseback, late in the afternoon, for
his encampment, distant some ten miles. Part of the distance I
had to pass through a dense wilderness, where a path had been
made by cutting away the underbrush and small trees; the rest
of the journey could only be prosecuted by riding in the bed of
the stream, which at the time was quite dry.

"In answer to the inquiries made at the tavern where I hired my horse,
I was told that the camp was on the bank of the stream, and could be
easily seen from the channel through which I was to pass. The sun was
about one hour high when I entered the woods; but I had not proceeded
half way through when the heavens suddenly became overcast, which
admonished me that I was about to experience one of those terrible
thunder-tempests which sometimes occur at the close of a sultry
September day, and are remarkable for the copious torrents of rain
which fall in the vicinity of lakes and rivers, surrounded by the
wilderness. I felt some solicitude to reach the river before it became
dark, but the roughness of the road prevented me from going faster
than a walking pace, and, ere I had accomplished the journey through
the forest, the rain poured down in torrents. The thunder of heaven's
artillery was tremendous, and the shooting chains of fire hissed
through the tops of the trees like darting fiery serpents, here and
there spending their force upon the lofty spire of some gigantic Pine,
splitting and shivering its trunk into thousands of pieces, and
strewing them far away upon the ground. Night, hastened by the
gathering tempest, wrapped the whole scene in profound darkness; thus,
amid the deafening peals of thunder, the darting forks of lightning
which shot around me in every direction, and torrents of rain, my
horse groped his way silently along, bearing me upon his back. At
length, through much danger, I reached the channel of the river, to
encounter new dangers and difficulties.

"When I entered the channel, the rain had not materially affected the
amount of water then flowing; but I had not proceeded far when the
swollen and foaming current, which had accumulated from hill sides and
numerous brooks, rushed by me, rendering riding imminently hazardous.
To be prepared for the worst, I divested myself of my boots and the
horse of his saddle. In vain did I strain my eyes to gain a glimpse of
the camp each time the lightning dispelled the darkness, which gave me
a momentary glimpse of all around. Concluding at length that I had
gone too far down the river, I turned my horse and breasted the
foaming current, resolving to renew my exertions in an up-river
course. But the water by this time was so high, and the channel so
treacherous, that I concluded to gain the shore of the stream, and
make my way, if possible, along its banks, though densely studded with
trees and bushes growing in the wildest confusion. Owing to the
precipitousness of the banks, I was unable to gain my object, and was
therefore compelled to remain in the stream. Again and again I essayed
to escape to the shore, but from the same causes failed of its
accomplishment. My situation was becoming more critical every moment.
Sometimes my horse was making his way over large rocks; then, suddenly
coming to deeper portions of the channel, would lose his footing
entirely, and swim with me upon his back. All this time the darkness
was intense, the tempest raged with unabated fury, while the already
swollen current continued to increase. The solemnity of the midnight
hour, rendered terrible by the tempest overhead and threatening waters
beneath, filled my mind with painful apprehensions. The awful grandeur
of God seemed to pass before me, proclaimed in the voice of his
thunder. Death, the judgment, and my sins stood before me; and I felt
constrained to implore His protecting mercy. At length the lightning
revealed a camp just upon the bank. Here I was able to leave the
channel of the river, whose banks had so long held me a prisoner.

"Supposing that I had found the object of my hazardous search, I
dismounted, and, flinging the bridle from my horse's head, left him to
shift for himself, and hastened to enter; but, to my amazement, it
proved an old, deserted, and solitary camp. Here, however, I resolved
to worry out the remainder of the night. The wind chopping round to
the northwest, it ceased raining and grew very cold, so that before
daylight the rain drops froze upon the bushes; and, beginning to be
very chilly, I found that exercise was necessary to keep me warm. The
darkness was yet so great that I could see nothing; and, for fear of
thrusting my head against the roof, I threw myself down and crawled
about on my hands and knees, until, wearied with my exertions, I felt
the need of repose. I then dug a hole down in the old boughs, which
had been used by the former occupants as a bed, crawled into it, and
covered myself entirely under the rubbish, except my face. For a few
moments I thought I should be able to sleep, but my hopes were
speedily dissipated. I had not lain long before I was covered with
myriads of fleas. Springing from my restless couch, I shook and
brushed them from my clothes; and as all hopes of rest were dismissed,
I continued to exercise myself as well as I could until the grizzly
rays of early morning dispelled the darkness which had so long held me
a prisoner. As soon as it became sufficiently light, I set out, in my
stockings, in pursuit of the camp, which I had failed to find the
night previous. Proceeding up river about two miles, I came at once
upon the camp. It was Sabbath morning; the inmates were indulging
themselves in a late nap, and, notwithstanding my urgent
circumstances, I resolved to wait a little, and give them a gentle
surprise. You may be assured that my wretched appearance fully
qualified me for the occasion. My feet were still partially covered
with the ragged remnants of my stockings; my clothes were considerably
torn and thoroughly wet, and the shives of the old bough bed were
sticking into them nearly as thickly as a fleece of porcupine quills;
my hat, rendered soft by the thorough drenching it had received,
settled down over my head and ears; the black dye from the hat had run
down in little lines all over my face, leaving their dry channels
distinctly defined; my long and tangled hair, together with my
haggard, care-worn countenance, rendered me altogether an object
which, under any circumstances, was calculated to inspire terror.
Stepping up to the camp, I gave a sudden, loud rap, without any
further demonstration, which awoke the crew. As they naturally
supposed themselves far away from any human beings, a knock at their
door thus early, and on a Sabbath morning, the more surprised them,
and awakened their curiosity. 'Who or what the d--l can that be?' I
overheard some one within say. Presently a man, who, by-the-way, knew
me perfectly well, came to the door, and, with some caution, opened
it. I met him with a fixed and vacant stare, without uttering a word.
He returned my gaze with an expression of inquisitive astonishment.

"'You don't seem to know me,' I observed. The tones of my _voice_
increased his astonishment, for they seemed familiar, but the
strangeness of my _appearance_ confounded him, and I could not refrain
from laughing outright. Finally, half suspecting whom I _might_ be, he
exclaimed, with much energy, '_Nick! in the name of G--d, is it you?_'
I soon satisfied them on this point, while I briefly related my
night's adventure. Their astonishment was great at seeing me in such
an extraordinary plight, but not greater than was my satisfaction to
meet them and to obtain the succor which I needed. After breakfast,
some of the men went in pursuit of my horse, saddle, and boots. The
last two they found on a little island in the stream, where, for fear
of losing them by the flood, I had lashed them to a stump the night
before."

Having thus finished his story and replenished his pipe, the old man
leaned back against the camp walls and enveloped himself in a cloud of
smoke, while he listened, in turn, to the various incidents in the
experience of others, of which his own had been suggestive.

Finally, after some little discussion as to the precise location which
each should occupy on the new bed, all hands "turned in," to live over
again the fortunes of the day in the fantastic dreams of night.

Having completed our own cabin, we proceed next to construct a hovel
for the oxen, which are yet behind. In erecting this, the same order
in architecture is observed as in that of the camp, the timber of
which it is composed, however, being much larger than that with which
our own habitation is constructed. With the trunks of trees the walls
are carried up nearly equal in height, leaving one side, however,
enough lower than the other to give a moderate pitch to the roof,
which is covered with the same kind of material as that of the camp.
In the camp for the workmen there is no floor but the earth; the ox
hovel, however, has a flooring made of small poles laid closely
together, and hewed down with some degree of smoothness with the adz,
and in the final finish the crevices in the walls are plastered with
clay or ox manure. A temporary shed is thrown up in front, which
serves as a depot for hay and provender.

No little pains are bestowed upon the conveniences designed for the
team. With the exception of sporting horses, never have I witnessed
more untiring devotion to any creature than is bestowed upon the ox
when under the care of a good teamster. The last thing before "turning
in," he lights his lantern and repairs to the ox hovel. In the
morning, by the peep of day, and often before, his faithful visits are
repeated to hay, and provender, and card, and yoke up. No man's berth
is so hard, among all the hands, as the teamster's. Every shoe and
nail, every hoof and claw, and neck, yokes, chains, and sled, claim
constant attention. While the rest of the hands are sitting or
lounging around the liberal fire, shifting for their comfort, after
exposure to the winter frosts through the day, he must repeatedly go
out to look after the comfort of the sturdy, faithful ox. And then,
for an hour or two in the morning again, while all, save the cook, are
closing up the sweet and unbroken slumbers of the night, so welcome
and necessary to the laborer, he is out amid the early frost with, I
had almost said, the care of a mother, to see if "old Turk" is not
loose, whether "Bright" favors the near fore-foot (which felt a little
hot the day before), as he stands upon the hard floor, and then to
inspect "Swan's" provender-trough, to see if he has eaten his meal,
for it was carefully noted that at the "watering-place" last night he
drank but little; while at the further end of the "tie-up" he thinks
he hears a little clattering noise, and presently "little Star" is
having his shins gently rapped, as a token of his master's wish to
raise his foot to see if some nail has not given way in the loosened
shoe; and this not for once, but every day, with numberless other
cares connected with his charge.

A competent hand in this profession generally calculates to do a good
winter's hauling, and bring his team out in the spring in quite as
good flesh as when they commenced in the early part of the season. But
as in all other matters, so in this, there are exceptions to the
general rule. Some teamsters spoil their cattle, and bring them out in
the spring miserably poor, and nearly strained to death. Such a
practice, however, can not be regarded as either merciful or
economical. So far as true policy is concerned, it is much better to
keep a team well. What may be gained by hard pushing during the former
part of the season will be more than made up during the latter, when
the teams are moderately urged and well kept, and then you have a good
team still for future labor.

Having completed our winter residences, next in order comes the
business of looking out and cutting the "main," and some of the
principal "branch roads." These roads, like the veins in the human
body, ramify the wilderness to all the principal "clumps" and "groves
of pine" embraced in the permit.

We have here no "turnpikes" nor rail-ways, but what is often more
interesting. No pencilings can excel the graceful curves found in a
main road as it winds along through the forest, uniform in width of
track, hard-beaten and glassy in its surface, polished by the sled and
logs which are so frequently drawn over it. Each fall of snow, when
well trodden, not unlike repeated coats of paint on a rough surface,
serves to cover up the unevenness of the bottom, which in time becomes
very smooth and even. And besides, no street in all our cities is so
beautifully studded with trees, whose spreading branches
affectionately interlace, forming graceful archways above. Along this
road side, on the way to the landing, runs a serpentine pathway for
the "knight of the goad," whose deviations are marked now outside this
tree, then behind that "windfall," now again intercepting the main
road, skipping along like a dog at one's side. To pass along this road
in mid-winter, one would hardly suspect the deformities which the
dissolving snows reveal in the spring--the stumps and knolls, skids
and roots, with a full share of mud-sloughs, impassable to all except
man, or animals untrammeled with the harness.

In the process of making these roads, the first thing in order is to
look out the best location for them. This is done by an experienced
hand, who "spots" the trees where he wishes the road to be "swamped."
We usually begin at the landing, and cut back toward the principal
part of the timber to be hauled.

In constructing this road, first all the underbrush is cut and thrown
on one side; all trees standing in its range are cut close to the
ground, and the trunks of prostrated trees cut off and thrown out,
leaving a space from ten to twelve feet wide. The tops of the highest
knolls are scraped off, and small poles, called skids, are laid across
the road in the hollows between. Where a brook or slough occurs, a
pole-bridge is thrown across it.

These preparatory arrangements are entered upon and prosecuted with a
degree of interest and pleasure by lumbermen scarcely credible to
those unacquainted with such a mode of life and with such business.
Though not altogether unacquainted with other occupations and other
sources of enjoyment, still, to such scenes my thoughts run back for
the happier portions of life and experience.

I have attended to various kinds of labor, but never have I entered
upon any half so pleasing as that usually performed in the "logging
swamp." Although greatly jeoparding my reputation for taste, I will
utter it. Positively, it is delightful. I have since had some years'
experience in one of the professions, in the enjoyment of some of the
refinements of life, yet, if it could be done consistently, I would
now with eagerness exchange my house for the logging camp, my books
for the ax, and the city full for those wilderness solitudes whose
delightful valleys and swelling ridges give me Nature uncontaminated--I
had almost said, uncursed, fresh from the hand of the Creator. To write
of those things makes the bustling city seem dull and irksome. Fain
would I hie away once more to those pleasant pastime labors.

Happily, all tastes are not alike. Yet there are few who, on entering
a beautiful native forest, would not experience delight; the
varieties of trees set out by the hand of Nature, their graceful
forms and spreading branches interlocked with neighborly affection
and recognition; the _harmonious confusion_ of undergrowth; the
beautiful mosses, the ever-varying surface--old age, manhood and
youth, childhood and infancy--massive trunks and little sprouts; the
towering Pine and creeping Winter-green, intermingled by the artless
genii of these wild retreats, all combined, serve to explain the
_attachment_ of the Aborigines to their forest abodes, and give to
savage life the power of enchantment.




CHAPTER IV.

Tokens of Winter.--The Anticipation.--Introduction of Team.--
Difficulties attending it.--Uncomfortable Boating.--The
Contrast.--Method of crossing Streams and Rivers.--The Docility
of the Ox.--Facilities of Turnpikes.--Stopping-places.--Arrival.
--An Adventure.--Ten Oxen in the Ice.--Method of taking them Out.
--An uncomfortable Night.--The midnight Excursion.--Oxen running
at large in the Wilderness.--Developments of Memory.--Logging.--
Division of Labor.--How to manage in the absence of a Cook.--
"Uncle Nat."--Anecdote.--Felling Pines.--Ingenuity of Choppers.
--Preparatory Arrangements.--The Bob-sled.--Method of Operation
described.--The Excitement.--Comparison.--Immediate Length of
Pine-trees.--Conclusion.


By the time these arrangements are made, serious indications of winter
appear in cold, freezing nights and light falls of snow. It is now
about time to look for the arrival of the team and extra hands.

This event we anticipate with as much interest as voyagers are wont
to feel when they meet upon the ocean after several months at sea.
Letters and newspapers are expected, and, when received, perused with
avidity. New acquaintances are to be made, new tools to be examined,
and every thing foreign, however insignificant, is an object of
interest.

The introduction of the team to winter quarters is always attended
with more or less trouble: much less, however, of late than in former
years. Then, all the chains and other implements connected with the
business, together with provisions for the crew and provender for the
oxen, enough to last until the swamps, rivers, and lakes were frozen,
so as to allow teams to pass over them, were boated in the manner
described in a former chapter, which required many trips, and were
continued until a late period in the fall.

To the latest trips an additional and most uncomfortable inconvenience
is added to the many hardships of boating provisions. This is when the
ice makes on our poles while in the act of passing up over rapids.
Often our hands become so cold and stiff as to render it very
difficult to hold on to the icy instrument. The mariner may stop a
moment, even in a gale, while at the yard-arm, to blow his freezing
fingers; but not so with the lumberman with a loaded boat in a rapid
current: every finger is needed every moment, as life and property
would be endangered by paying even slight attention to cold fingers.

Where the nature of the route will allow it, and an early start is
desired, our teams are attached to a long sled, lightly loaded, which
is dragged over miry, rough roads. In crossing large streams, we
unyoke the oxen and swim them over. If we have no boat, a raft is
constructed, upon which our effects are transported, when we re-yoke
and pursue our route as before. Our oxen are often very reluctant to
enter the water while the anchor ice runs, and the cold has already
begun to congeal its surface. But an ox hardly knows how to refuse
compliance with his master's wishes, so submissive is he in his
disposition.

Of late, since roads have been cut, and even "turnpikes" made a
considerable portion of the distance up the main rivers, such as the
"Calais and Houlton Road" on the St. Croix, and the "Military Road" on
the Penobscot, which connect with other less perfect thoroughfares,
and finally terminate in common swamp roads, our conveyances are much
easier, and the business of taking the team on to the ground is, and
may be safely, deferred until frosts and snows admit of a more
agreeable mode of travel.

What is called a team is variously composed of from four to six, and
even eight oxen. During the months of November and December, after
the ground and swamps are frozen, and early snows fall, our team
is attached to a "long sled," loaded with provisions, tools, &c.,
accompanied with a new recruit of hands. Leaving home and the scenes
of civilization, slowly we move forward to join those who had preceded
us to make preparations for our reception. After several days'
journeyings, putting up at night at places erected and supplied for
the convenience of such travelers, and at suitable distances on the
route, we finally reach our new home. Our arrival is no less agreeable
to ourselves than welcome to our comrades. But there are incidents
scattered all the way along, and seldom do we perform such a journey
without experiencing something worth relating.

On one occasion, late in the fall, we started for our winter quarters
up river. We had traveled about one hundred miles, passing along up
the military road, then south upon the Calais road to Baskahegan Lake,
which we were to cross, our camps being on the opposite side. We
reached the borders of the lake late in the afternoon. The ice was not
so thickly frozen as was anticipated, so that the practicability of
crossing seemed exceedingly problematical. Having been long on the
way, we were anxious, if possible, to arrive in camp that night. The
shores of the lake were so swampy that it was deemed impracticable to
perform the route around it, and it was finally determined to make an
effort to cross upon the ice. We had twelve oxen, which were disposed
of in the following order: the lightest yoke of oxen was selected and
driven in yoke before to test the strength of the ice, and, in case
the loaded teams should break through, to be used to pull them out.
These were our reserve. The next in the line of march was a pair of
oxen attached to a sled, with hay, &c. Next in order was a four-ox
team; these were also attached to a sled, loaded with hay and
provisions; and, finally, to bring up the rear, still another four-ox
team, with a loaded sled--all of which were strung out at suitable
distances, to prevent too much weight coming upon any one point, thus
rendering our passage more safe. The word was given, when we all moved
forward, intending first to gain a point which ran out into the lake,
covered with a thick small growth. The ice cracked and buckled beneath
our feet at every step. Proceeding in this way, we gained the point in
safety. It had by this time become late, and the last rays of the
setting sun gilded the tops of the towering pines, which peered far up
in the air above the surrounding forest.

The night was very cold, and the wind swept up the lake with a
penetrating chill, which made us button up our garments closely to
prevent its too ready access to our bodies. Having gained the point in
safety, we were emboldened to set forward again upon the main body of
the lake, which was yet to be crossed. Here the ice seemed less
capable of sustaining our weight than in the cove, which, from its
protected position, had probably congealed sooner than the main lake,
which was more exposed to the action of winds.

Here the ice gave more alarming indications of its incapacity to hold
us. We had not proceeded more than three fourths of a mile when the
hindermost team broke through, sled and all, which was very naturally
accounted for, as the teams which preceded cracked and weakened the
ice. The alarm was given along the line, when the other teams stopped;
and while we were preparing to extricate those already in, the next
team of four oxen dropped in also; and finally they were all in at
once, except the reserve pair. Had they kept in motion, probably the
foremost teams might have escaped; but, upon stopping, the ice
gradually settled, when in they went. There we were on that bleak
spot, with the shades of night fast settling down upon us, and ten
oxen struggling in the benumbing waters: business enough, thought we.

Standing upon the edge of the ice, a man was placed by the side of
each ox to keep his head out of the water. We unyoked one at a time,
and, throwing a rope round the roots of his horns, the warp was
carried forward and attached to the little oxen, whose services on
this occasion were very necessary. A strong man was placed on the ice
at the edge, so that, lifting the ox by his horns, he was able to
press the ice down and raise his shoulder up on the edge, when the
warp-oxen would pull them out. For half an hour we had a lively time
of it, and in an almost incredible short time we had them all safely
out, and drove them back upon the point nearly a mile. It was now very
dark. We left our sleds in the water with the hay, pulling out a few
armsful, which we carried to the shore to rub the oxen down with.
Poor fellows! they seemed nearly chilled to death, while they shook as
if they would fall to pieces.

We built up a large fire, and, leaving the principal part of the crew
behind to take care of the oxen, I, with several of the hands, started
to find, if possible, the camps, where were waiting those who had been
previously engaged in making arrangements for the winter. This was
esteemed by some rather risky, as it was getting very dark, and we did
not know exactly which way to shape our course. But the prospect
seemed gloomy and uninviting to remain upon that bleak point all
night, and, besides, we wished the assistance of the camp's crew in
taking our teams over next day. Delay was not to be thought of. We
therefore started. A squall of snow came up when we were midway
across, which completely bewildered us, and we became divided in
opinion as to the proper course to steer. Tenacious of my own views, I
resolved to pursue the course which appeared to me right, when the
others consented to follow. Finally, after several hours of hard
travel, we gained the shore, not far from the road which led back to
the camp, about half a mile distant in the woods. We were here, again,
puzzled to know whether the camp lay at the right or left. Settling
that matter by guess, as Yankees often do other things, we traveled
along by the shore about one fourth of a mile, when, to our great
relief, we came to the road, up which we passed, and reached the camp
a little after midnight, hungry and fatigued. We found our comrades
snugly quartered and soundly sleeping. Refreshing ourselves with hot
tea, bread, and beef, we turned in and slept until daylight, when,
after breakfast, all hands started to rejoin those left behind. We
were with them in a few hours. Poor fellows! they had had a pretty
uncomfortable season, not one moment's sleep during the night, and
scantily provided with food, while the oxen fared harder still. We
succeeded in getting out of the ice all but one load of hay, which we
left behind. Not venturing to cross directly, we now followed round
the lake, close in shore, and finally reached our winter quarters in
safety, and without further accident.

The task of taking oxen on to the ground every fall is very
considerable, especially when we go far into the interior, as we
frequently do nearly two hundred miles. This labor and expense is
sometimes obviated by leaving them in the spring to shift for
themselves in the wilderness and on the meadows, where they remain
until autumn, when they are hunted up. During their wilderness exile
they thrive finely, and, when found, appear very wild; yet wondering,
they seem to look at us as though they had some lingering recollection
of having seen us before. It is often very difficult to catch and yoke
them; but, with all their wildness, they evidently show signs of
pleasure in the recognition. When turned out in this way, however,
instances have occurred when they have never again been seen or heard
from. In some cases they probably get mired or cast, and die; in
others, they doubtless stray away, and fall a prey to bears and
wolves. Bears as well as wolves have been known to attack oxen. An
individual who owned a very fine "six-ox team" turned them into the
woods to browse, in a new region of country. Late in the evening, his
attention was arrested by the bellowing of one of them. It continued
for an hour or two, then ceased altogether. The night was very dark,
and, as the ox was supposed to be more than a mile distant, it was
thought not advisable to venture in search of him until morning. As
soon as daylight appeared, he started, in company with another man, to
investigate the cause of the uproar. Passing on about a mile, he found
one of his best oxen laying prostrate, and, on examination, there was
found a hole eaten into the thickest part of his hind quarter nearly
as large as a hat; not less than six or eight pounds of flesh were
gone. He had bled profusely. The ground was torn up for rods around
where the encounter occurred; the tracks indicated the assailant to be
a very large bear, who had probably worried the ox out, and then
satiated his ravenous appetite, feasting upon him while yet alive. A
road was bushed out to the spot where the poor creature lay, and he
was got upon a sled and hauled home by a yoke of his companions, where
the wound was dressed. It never, however, entirely healed, though it
was so far improved as to allow of his being fattened, after which he
was slaughtered for food.

After a few days' respite, and as soon as a sufficient quantity of
snow has fallen, we commence hauling the logs. As there are several
departments of labor, each man is assigned to some one of them. In
most cases, indeed, every hand is hired with the distinct
understanding that he is to perform a particular part of the labor,
and the wages differ accordingly, being regulated, also, by the
ability with which they can severally fill those stations.

First, then, comes the "boss," or the principal in charge. Then the
choppers, meaning those who select, fell, and cut the logs, one of
whom is master chopper. Next the swampers, who cut and clear the roads
through the forest to the fallen trees, one of whom is master swamper.
Then comes the barker and loader, the man who hews off the bark from
that part of the log which is to drag on the snow, and assists the
teamster in loading. Then we have the captain of the goead, or
teamster, whom we have already alluded to; and finally the cook, whose
duty is too generally known to require any particular description.
Every crew is not supplied with the last important character; this
deficiency, I believe, is much more common on the St. Croix than on
the Penobscot, where the mode of camp life and fare is much better
attended to. When we have no person specially set apart to this work,
the crew generally take turns, to do which there is an obligation
imposed by usage and common consent on some rivers, and each man,
therefore, must comply, or furnish a substitute by employing some one
to act for him. In those instances where no cook is provided, we take
turns, a week at a time, or each man consents to perform some
particular duty in cookery; for instance, one makes all the bread,
another the tea and coffee, and so on through the routine of camp
domesticism. A slight degree of rebellion sometimes manifests itself
touching this business, especially before matters receive their
regular winter mold. One refuses to cook, another says he "was hired
to do something else," while another says, "I'm d--d if I cook any
how." I recollect a pleasant occurrence of this kind, at least one
rendered so by the clever management of an old man connected with the
crew. They had returned to camp from the labors of the day, the fire
was nearly out, and nothing prepared for supper. Alike fatigued and
hungry, each refused, in turn, to discharge the duties of cook, and
the gloomy prospect presented itself of a supperless night. "Uncle
Nat," as we familiarly called him, was a "jolly old soul," the very
personification of good nature, corpulency, and quietude, possessing,
withal, a good share of ingenious wit; and, from his corpulency and
asthmatical tendencies, reminding one of a small locomotive by the
puffing and blowing consequent on physical exertion. Now how to settle
this matter, and have even any number of volunteer cooks, at once
occurred to "Uncle Nat." "Dear me" (his favorite expression), "what a
time about cooking. Why, it is the easiest thing in nature to get
supper. Now, boys, if you will all wait upon me, I'll be cook."
"Agreed! agreed!" was the ready response on all hands. This matter
being settled, "Uncle Nat" very deliberately deposited himself on the
"deacon seat," and commenced drilling the volunteer assistants. "Now,
Richard, get a little wood and kindle up the fire." "Isaac, step down
to the brook and fetch a pail of water;" "and you, Mac, while the fire
is getting under way, wash a few potatoes, and get them ready to put
on when the pot boils." "Now, Jake, cut a few slices of pork,"
continued our chief cook, with much sang froid, "and put it over the
fire to fry." "But you were to get supper, Uncle Nat." "Yes, I was to
get supper, but you were to wait upon me," says he, casting a
significant glance toward Tom, at the same time ordering him to make
the dishes ready. Remonstrance was vain: they had agreed to wait upon
him, if he would be cook. Every thing was arranged, supper ready, and
there still sat the old gentleman--hadn't stirred an inch. "Dear me"
(deep breathing), "dear me," said Uncle Nat, "I have got supper, and
'twas one of the easiest things in the world." The "boys" are
caught--it was a "good 'un;" and to the enjoyment of a relishable
supper was added a hearty laugh. Uncle Nat's proposition passed into a
by-word, and all, ever after, were ready to do any thing, provided
they could be "waited upon."

In the process of taking logs to the landing from the swamp, the first
thing in order is to select the tree. The direction in which it is
judged likely to fall is determined by circumstances. First, the
inclination of the tree as it stands; and, second, the direction and
power of the wind. Sometimes this matter may be governed, where the
tree stands very erect, by under-cutting one side more than the other;
to which an expedient is added, when necessary, by falling one tree
against another. Choppers can, if skillful, lay a tree, in falling,
with sufficient accuracy to hit and drive a stake into the ground.
When, however, a tree stands upon an abrupt hill-side, we are apt to
get deceived. It is thrilling business to bring those giant Pines
down. The ground trembles under the stroke, while the reverberating
echo of its fall, as it rings through mountains and valleys, may, on a
still morning, be heard six or eight miles. Before felling the Pine,
small trees are cut for bed-pieces, the Pine-tree falling across them
transversely, to prevent it from becoming too deeply imbedded in the
snow. This also facilitates the barking and loading operation. The
proper place being selected, the trunk of the tree is cut off while
the "swampers" have been directing their road to the spot. The
"barkers"--like whalemen leaping upon the back of their prize with
their cutting spades--are at once at work with their axes, hewing the
bark from that portion of the log which is to be drawn along on the
snow, while the other end is to rest upon the sled. The "teams" next
approach the scene of action, drawing after them a short sled, called
a "bob-sled;" probably so named from the bobbing motion it has while
drawn over the rough ground. It would be an insult to every New
Englander's intelligence to attempt a description of this sled; I
therefore pass it, remarking, by-the-way, that, considering the
service for which it is designed, it is made very strong, as it is
required to sustain one end, or more than half the weight of the
largest trees upon a single bar: in some cases several tuns burden
rest upon a single point. While this bar alone sustains one half the
entire log, it is also the only part of the sled to which the heavy
trunks of those massive trees are bound; it therefore draws as well as
sustains the load, challenging the powers of six and even eight of the
stoutest oxen.

[Illustration: LOG HAULING--PROCESS OF LOADING LOGS.]

In the process of loading, the bob-sled is placed several feet from
the side of that end of the log which is to be placed upon it. Then a
large skid, from four to eight inches in diameter and several feet in
length, is placed near the large bar running under the log. A chain is
next attached to the bar, passing now under, then over the log, back
to the sled, crossing it. It is then attached by other chains to one
or two yoke of oxen, whose united strength is requisite to roll one
end of it upon this big bar, to which it is bound with strong, heavy
chains. Of late, the tackle and fall has been introduced in loading,
which very much facilitates the operation.

The six oxen are now attached to the sled, one pair of them to the
tongue; the others are attached by chains in advance as leaders. The
teamster now arranges every ox in the most advantageous position,
passing through several evolutions with his goad-stick; then giving
the word of command, they settle to it. Slowly it moves forward, while
the vociferations of the animated teamster, the squatting-like posture
of the hard-drawn team, indicate the importance and interest of the
occasion; and the bob-sled, as though it were a thing of life,
actually screams out at every joint as if in keenest agony beneath its
ponderous load.

The reader has perhaps been present at a "launching;" the nervous
emotions experienced in the process described, including the felling
of the gigantic Pines, the skidding and hauling, quite equal those
awakened at the launching of a vessel. This process is gone through
with several times each day during the winter (Sundays excepted);
really it is like going to launching every day, and the pleasurable
excitement of the labor renders it extremely delightful to most who
are engaged in it.

The general custom is to take the whole trunk of the tree to the
landing at one load, when its size will allow, where it is sawed into
short logs from fourteen to thirty feet in length, to facilitate the
driving down river. I have cut one tree into five logs, the shortest
of which was not less than fourteen feet. I have seen them hauled
eighty-two feet in length, resembling, in their passage to the
landing, immense serpents crawling from their lurking-places. Thus we
continue to fell, clear, and haul until the "clump" is exhausted, and
our attention is again directed to another school of these forest
whales, and so on until our winter's work is completed.

Formerly, Pine-trees grew in abundance on the banks of rivers and
streams, and the margins of those wild lakes found in the interior.
Thousands were cut and rolled into the water, or on the ice, and
perhaps a much larger number were so near the landing as to require
merely to be dragged out, thus avoiding the labor of loading, in which
case, from the massive size of the trees, it was necessary to cut them
into short logs. Such opportunities, however, for lumber have gone by,
and the greater portion has now to be hauled from a considerable
distance. A greater scarcity is too evidently at hand, though, were
every Pine-tree sound and good, no end to the quantity might yet be
thought of; for, notwithstanding the immense quantities cut, and the
devastating fires by which hundreds of millions have been destroyed,
on some rivers it still abounds, but a large portion of Pine is found
in a rotten and decayed state at heart. Having long since come to
maturity, that peculiar process which makes its impress upon all
earthly objects, _decay_, is nowhere more general in its depredations
than among the noble Pines in the north and east. There is a cancerous
disease peculiar to the Pine-tree, to which lumbermen give the
original name of "_Conk_" or "_Konkus_." The manifestation
of this disease on the outside of the tree, usually several feet from
the butt-end, is a small spot of a brown color, sometimes resembling
gingerbread in appearance and texture, protruding as a general thing
only to the surface, and varying in size from a ninepence to the crown
of a hat. In some clumps of Pine, all that indicates the presence of
this disease is a little yellow pitch starting out through the bark
and trickling down the outside.

The uninitiated would be led to suspect but little, if indeed any,
harm from an appearance so slight and unnoticeable as that presented
by the konkus. It exerts no influence either upon the size or
beautiful proportions of the tree, as those most seriously affected,
in outward appearances, are as handsomely grown as the most perfect,
which leads to the conclusion that the disease does not much affect
them until quite mature.

On cutting one of these trees, the infection is found to spread
itself, more or less, throughout the trunk, turning the wood to a
reddish color, making it spongy in texture; and while the fibrous
portions of the wood retain their thread-like straightness, the
marrowy portion or flesh-like membranes, and intermediate layers
between the fibers, appear dry and of a milky whiteness. Sometimes the
rot shoots upward, in imitation of the streaming light of the Aurora
Borealis; in others downward, and even both ways, preserving the same
appearance.

Large families, and even communities of the Pine, are thus infected,
so that in a group of thirty trees perhaps not more than half a dozen
short logs can be obtained.

Frauds are sometimes practiced upon those who purchase logs, by
driving a knot or piece of a limb of the same tree into the konkus and
hewing it off smoothly, so that it has the appearance of a natural
knot, but the dissecting process at the saw-mill exposes the
imposition.

Much of this timber is hollow at the butt, affording in some instances
fine winter retreats for bears, where they den. We have a high time of
it when we chance to make such a discovery. "A few rods from the main
logging road, where I worked one winter," said Mr. Johnson, "there
stood a very large Pine-tree. We had nearly completed our winter's
work, and it still stood unmolested, because from appearances it was
supposed to be worthless. While passing it one day, not quite
satisfied with the decision that had been made upon its quality, I
resolved to satisfy my own mind touching its value; so, wallowing to
it through the snow, which was nearly up to my middle, I struck it
several blows with the head of my ax, an experiment to test whether a
tree be hollow or not. When I desisted, my attention was arrested by a
slight scratching and whining.

"Suspecting the cause, but not quite satisfied, I thumped the tree
again, listening more attentively, and heard the same noise as before:
it was a bear's den. Examining the tree more closely, I discovered a
small hole in the trunk, near the roots, with a rim of ice on the edge
of the orifice, made by the freezing of the breath and vapor from the
inmates.

"Satisfied now of the character of the prisoners, I communicated my
discovery at once to the rest of the crew, who immediately left their
work and ran like a pack of hounds, jumping and leaping through the
deep snow. We kicked the snow away from the roots to learn the place
of entree, which we plugged up with bits of wood, after removing the
frozen dirt and turf with which it was closed. We next cut a hole into
the tree, about four feet from the ground, some eight or ten inches in
diameter; into this a pole was thrust, to 'stir them up' and prepare
them to thrust their heads out below when the hole should be opened
again.

"Having annoyed them sufficiently to induce them to attempt an egress
from the passage below, the obstacles were removed, after stationing
two men, one on either side, with their axes to dispatch them--when
the old bear thrust out her head. A severe wound was inflicted, which
sent her back growling and gnashing her teeth. Again thrusting the
pole through the upper aperture, we punched and jibed her for some
minutes before she could be induced to make a second effort to escape;
when she did, she was met as before, receiving a second and more
deadly wound, which was succeeded with less furious demonstrations of
rage than before. A third effort was made to drive them out, but there
was no response save the piteous crying of small cubs. We then cut a
small hard-wood tree, trimmed off the branches, leaving one prong
about six inches long, sharpened out, forming a hook. Enlarging the
aperture below, we thrust in the wooden hook, which grappled a heavy
but resistless carcass. With much exertion we drew it forth: she was
dead. The cubs, four in number--a thing unusual by one half--we took
alive, and carried them to the camp, kept them a while, and finally
sold them. They were quite small and harmless, of a most beautiful
lustrous black, and fat as porpoises. The old dam was uncommonly
large; we judged she might weigh about three hundred pounds. Her hide,
when stretched out and nailed on to the end of the camp, appeared
quite equal to a cow's hide in dimensions."


Here in our wild winter quarters, where we delight to dwell during a
period of from three to four months, we find much to interest and
amuse--much to do, for an equal amount of labor is rarely performed
within the same time under any other circumstances, and I may add,
too, with less fatigue or disrelish. With incident, romance, story,
song, and adventure, time passes rapidly away.




CHAPTER V.

The Skill and Enterprise of Lumbermen.--Method of taking Logs down
Hills and Mountains.--Dry Sluice.--Stern Anchor.--Giant Mountain
Steps.--Alpine Lumbering.--Warping a Team down Steeps.--Trial of Skill
and Strength.--The rival Load.--Danger and Inconvenience of Hills in
Logging Roads.--A distressing Accident.--Solemn Conclusion of a
Winter's Work.--Some of the Perils attendant upon Lumbering.--A
fearful Wound.--Narrow Escape.--The buried Cap.--The safest Way of
Retreat.--A Sabbath in the Logging Camp.--Sunday Morning Naps.--
Domestic Camp Duties.--Letter Writing.--Recreations.--Sable
Traps.--Deer and Moose.--Bear Meat.--A rare Joke.--Moose Hunt.
--Bewildered Hunters.--Extraordinary Encounter.--Conclusion of
Sabbath in the Woods.


Lumbermen not only cut and haul from clumps and communities, but
reconnoiter the forest, hill, vale, and mountain side for scattering
trees; and when they are deemed _worth_ an _effort_, no location in
which they may be found, however wild or daring, can oppose the skill
and enterprise of our men.

For taking logs down mountain sides, we adopt various methods,
according to the circumstances. Sometimes we construct what are termed
dry sluice-ways, which reach from the upper edge of a precipice down
to the base of the hill. This is made by laying large poles or trunks
of straight trees together the whole distance, which is so constructed
as to keep the log from running off at the sides. Logs are rolled into
the upper end, the descent or dip often being very steep; the log
passes on with lightning-like velocity, quite burying itself in the
snow and leaves below. From the roughness of the surfaces, the
friction is very great, causing the bark and smoke to fly plentifully.

At other times, when the descent is more gradual and not too steep,
and when there is not a sufficient quantity to pay the expense of a
sluice-way, we fell a large tree, sometimes the Hemlock, trim out the
top, and cut the largest limbs off a foot, more or less, from the
trunk. This is attached to the end of the log by strong chains, and as
the oxen draw the load, this drag thrusts its stumpy limbs into the
snow and frozen earth, and thus prevents the load from forcing the
team forward too rapidly. Should the chain give way which attaches the
hold-back to the load, nothing could save the team from sudden
destruction.

There is a mountain on the "west branch" of the Penobscot where
Pine-trees of excellent quality stand far up its sides, whose tops
appear to sweep the very clouds. The side which furnishes timber rises
in terraces of gigantic proportions, forming a succession of abrupt
precipices and shelving table-land. There are three of these giant
mountain steps, each of which produces lumber which challenges the
admiration and enterprise of the logmen. The ascent to these Alpine
groves is too abrupt to allow the team to ascend in harness; we
therefore unyoke and drive the oxen up winding pathways. The yokes and
chains are carried up by the workmen, and also the bob-sled in pieces,
after taking it apart. Ascending to the uppermost terrace, the oxen
are re-yoked and the sled adjusted. The logs being cut and prepared as
usual, are loaded, and hauled to the edge of the first precipice,
unloaded, and rolled off to the table of the second terrace, where
they are again loaded, hauled, and tumbled off as before, to the top
of the first rise, from which they are again pitched down to the base
of the mountain, where for the last time they are loaded, and hauled
to the landing.

To obtain logs in such romantic locations was really as hazardous as
it was laborious, varying sufficiently from the usual routine of labor
to invest the occasion with no ordinary interest. It was, indeed, an
exhibition well calculated to awaken thrilling emotions to witness the
descent of those massive logs, breaking and shivering whatever might
obstruct their giddy plunge down the steep mountain side, making the
valleys reverberate and ring merrily with the concussion.

In other instances loads are eased down hill sides by the use of
"tackle and fall," or by a strong "warp," taking a "bite" round a
tree, and hitching to one yoke of the oxen. In this manner the load is
"tailed down" steeps where it would be impossible for the "tongue
oxen" to resist the pressure of the load. Sometimes the warp parts
under the test to which it is thus subjected, when the whole load
plunges onward like an avalanche, subjecting the poor oxen to a
shocking death.

But the circumstance which calls forth the most interest and exertion
is the "rival load." When teams are located with sufficient proximity
to admit of convenient intercourse, a spirit of rivalry is often rife
between the different crews, on various points. The "largest tree,"
the "smartest chopper," the "best cook," the "greatest day's work,"
and a score of other superlatives, all invested with attractions, the
greater from the isolated circumstances of swamp life.

The "crack" load is preceded by all needful preliminaries. All
defective places in the road are repaired. New "skids" are nicely
pealed by hewing off the bark smoothly, and plentifully as well as
calculatingly laid along the road. All needful repairs are made on the
bob-sled, and the team put in contending plight. The trees intended
for the "big load" are carefully prepared, and hauled to some
convenient place on the main road singly, where they are reloaded,
putting on two and sometimes three large trees. All things in
readiness, the men follow up with hand-spikes and long levers. Then
comes the "tug of war;" rod by rod, or foot by foot, the whole is
moved forward, demanding every ounce of strength, both of men and oxen
united, to perform the feat of getting it to the landing. Were life
and fortune at stake, more could not be done under the circumstances.
The surveyor applies the rule, and the result gives either the one or
the other party "whereof to glory." If not "teetotalers," the
vanquished "pay the bitters" when they get down river. Men love and
will have excitement; with spirits never more buoyant, every thing,
however trifling, adds to the stock of "fun alive" in the woods. Every
crew has its "Jack," who, in the absence of other material, either
from his store of "mother-wit" or "greenness," contributes to the
merry shaking of sides, or allows himself to be the butt of
good-natured ridicule.

But while the greater part of swamp life is more or less merry, there
are occasional interruptions to the joyousness that abounds. Logging
roads are generally laid out with due regard to the conveniences of
level or gently descending ground. But in some instances the
unevenness of the country admits only of unfavorable alternatives.
Sometimes there are moderate rises to ascend or descend on the way to
the landing; the former are hard, the latter dangerous to the team. I
knew a teamster to lose his life in the following shocking manner: On
one section of the main road there was quite a "smart pitch" of
considerable length, on which the load invariably "drove" the team
along on a forced trot. Down this slope our teamster had often passed
without sustaining any injury to himself or oxen. One day, having, as
usual, taken his load from the stump, he proceeded toward the landing,
soon passing out of sight and hearing. Not making his appearance at
the expiration of the usual time, it was suspected that something more
than usual had detained him. Obeying the impulses of a proper
solicitude on his behalf, some of the hands started to render service
if it were needed. Coming to the head of the hill down which the road
ran, they saw the team at the foot of it, standing with the forward
oxen faced about up the road, but no teamster. On reaching the spot, a
most distressing spectacle presented itself; there lay the teamster on
the hard road, with one of the sled runners directly across his
bowels, which, under the weight of several tons of timber, were
pressed down to the thickness of a man's hand. He was still alive, and
when they called out to him, just before reaching the sled, he spoke
up as promptly as usual, "Here am I," as if nothing had been the
matter. These were the only and last words he ever uttered. A "pry"
was immediately set, which raised the dead-fall from his crushed body,
enabling them to extricate it from its dreadful position. Shortly
after, his consciousness left him, and never more returned. He could
give no explanation; but we inferred, from the position of the forward
oxen, that the load had forced the team into a run, by which the
tongue cattle, pressed by the leaders, turning them round, which
probably threw the teamster under the runner, and the whole load
stopped when about to poise over his body.

He was taken to the camp, where all was done that could be, under the
circumstances, to save him, but to no purpose. His work was finished.
He still lingered, in an apparently unconscious state, until midnight,
when his spirit, forsaking its bruised and crushed tenement, ascended
above the sighing pines, and entered the eternal state. The only words
he uttered were those in reply to the calling of his name. As near as
we could judge, he had laid two hours in the position in which he was
found. It was astonishing to see how he had gnawed the rave[8] of the
sled. It was between three and four inches through. In his agony, he
had bitten it nearly half off. To do this, he must have pulled himself
up with his hands, gnawed a while, then fallen back again through
exhaustion and in despair. He was taken out to the nearest settlement,
and buried.

        [8] "Rave," the railing of the sled.

At a later period, we lost our teamster by an accident not altogether
dissimilar. It was at the winding up of our winter's work in hauling.
Late in the afternoon we had felled and prepared our final tree, which
was to finish the last of the numerous loads which had been taken to
the well-stowed landing. Wearied with the frequency of his travels on
the same road for the same purpose, this last load was anticipated
with no ordinary interest; and when the tree was loaded, he seemed to
contemplate it with profound satisfaction. "This," said he, "is my
last load." For the last time the team was placed in order, to drag
from its bed the tree of a hundred summers. Onward it moved at the
signal given, and he was soon lost to view in the frequent windings of
the forest road. It was nearly sundown, and, had it not been for
closing up the winter's work that day, the hauling would have been
deferred until next morning.

The usual preparations for our evening camp-fire had been made, and
the thick shadows of evening had been gathering for an hour, and yet
he did not come. Again and again some one of the crew would step out
to listen if he could catch the jingling of the chains as they were
hauled along; but nothing broke upon the ear in the stillness of the
early night. Unwilling longer to resist the solicitude entertained for
his safety, several of us started with a lantern for the landing. We
continued to pass on, every moment expecting to hear or meet him,
until the landing was finally reached. There, quietly chewing the cud,
the oxen were standing, unconscious of the cause that detained them,
or that for the last time they had heard the well-known voice of their
devoted master. Hastening along, we found the load properly rolled off
the sled, but heavens! what a sight greeted our almost unbelieving
vision! There lay the poor fellow beneath that terrible pressure. A
log was resting across his crushed body. He was dead. From
appearances, we judged that, after having knocked out the "fid," which
united the chain that bound the load, the log rolled suddenly upon
him. Thus, without a moment's warning, he ceased in the same instant
to work and live. It proved, indeed, his "last load."

To contemplate the sameness of the labor in passing to and fro from
the swamp to the landing several times a day, on a solitary
wilderness-road, for a term of several months, with only those
respites afforded in stormy weather and on Sundays, one might think
himself capable of entering into the feelings of a teamster, and
sympathetically share with him the pleasurable emotions consequent
upon the conclusion of his winter's work. While it must be conceded
that, of things possessing every element capable of contributing
pleasure, we sometimes weary through excess, let it not be supposed
that our knight of the goad has more than usual occasion to tire, or
sigh for the conclusion of the hauling season. To be sure, "ta and
fra" the livelong winter, now with a load wending along a serpentine
road, as it winds through the forest, he repeats his visits to the
swamp, and then the landing; but he is relieved by the companionship
of his dumb but docile oxen, for whom he contracts an affection, and
over whom he exercises the watchful vigilance of a faithful guardian,
while he exacts their utmost service. He sees that each performs his
duty in urging forward the laboring sled. He watches every hoof, the
clatter of shoes, the step of each ox, to detect any lameness. He
observes every part and joint of the bob-sled while it screeches along
under the massive log bound to it. He examines the chains, lest they
should part, and, above all, the objects more watched than any others,
the "fid-hook" and the "dog-hook," the former that it does not work
out, the latter that it loose not its grappling hold upon the tree.
Sometimes his little journeys are spiced with the infinite trouble
which a long, sweeping stick will give him, by suddenly twirling and
oversetting the sled every time it poises over some abrupt swell in
the road. There is really too much to be looked after, thought of, and
cared for in his passage to the landing to allow much listlessness or
burdensome leisure. As well might a pilot indulge irresponsible
dormancy in taking a fine ship into port, as for a teamster to be
listless under his circumstances. No; the fact is, that, with the
excitement attendant upon each load as it moves to the landing, ten
times the number of tobacco quids are required than would abundantly
suffice him on his return.

Then look at the relaxation and comfort of the return. The jingling
chains, as they trail along on the hard-beaten way, discourse a
constant chorus. With his goad-stick under his arm or as a staff, he
leisurely walks along, musing as he goes, emitting from his mouth the
curling smoke of his unfailing pipe, like a walking chimney or a
locomotive; anon whistling, humming, or pouring forth with full-toned
voice some favorite air or merry-making ditty. He varies the whole
exercise by constant addresses to the oxen, individually and
collectively: "Haw, Bright!" "Ge, Duke!" "Whoap! whoap!" "What ye
'bout there, you lazy----" "If I come there, I'll tan your old hides
for you!" "Pchip, pschip, go along there!" Knowing him not half in
earnest, unless it happens to be a sharp day, the oxen keep on the
even tenor of their way, enjoying the only apparent comfort an ox can
enjoy while away from his crib--chewing the cud.

Recently, however, the wolves have volunteered their services, by
accompanying the teams, in some places, on their way to and from the
landing, contributing infinitely more to the fears than conscious
security of the teamsters.

Three teams, in the winter of 1844, all in the same neighborhood, were
beset with these ravenous animals. They were of unusually large size,
manifesting a most singular boldness, and even familiarity, without
the usual appearance of ferocity so characteristic of the animal.

Sometimes one, and in another instance three, in a most unwelcome
manner, volunteered their attendance, accompanying the teamster a long
distance on his way. They would even jump on the log and ride, and
approach very near the oxen. One of them actually jumped upon the
sled, and down between the bars, while the sled was in motion.

Some of the teamsters were much alarmed, keeping close to the oxen,
and driving on as fast as possible. Others, more courageous, would run
toward and strike at them with their goad-sticks; but the wolves
sprang out of the way in an instant. But, although they seemed to act
without a motive, there was something so cool and impudent in their
conduct that it was trying to the nerves--even more so than an active
encounter. For some time after this, fire-arms were a constant part of
the teamster's equipage. No further molestation, however, was had from
them that season.

One of my neighbors related, in substance, the following incidents: "A
short time since," said he, "while passing along the shores of the
Mattawamkeag River in the winter, my attention was suddenly attracted
by a distant howling and screaming--a noise which might remind one of
the screeching of forty pair of old cart-wheels (to use the figure of
an old hunter in describing the distant howling of a pack of wolves).
Presently there came dashing from the forest upon the ice, a short
distance from me, a timid deer, closely pursued by a hungry pack of
infuriated wolves. I stood and observed them. The order of pursuit was
in single file, until they came quite near their prey, when they
suddenly branched off to the right and left, forming two lines; the
foremost gradually closed in upon the poor deer, until he was
completely surrounded, when, springing upon their victim, they
instantly bore him to the ice, and in an incredibly short space of
time devoured him, leaving the bones only; after which they galloped
into the forest and disappeared." On the same river a pack of these
prowling marauders were seen just at night, trailing along down river
on the ice. A family living in a log house near by happened to have
some poison, with which they saturated some bits of meat, and then
threw them out upon the ice. Next morning early the meat was missing,
and, on making a short search in the vicinity, six wolves were found
"dead as hammers," all within sight of each other. Every one of them
had dug a hole down through the snow into the frozen earth, in which
they had thrust their noses, either for water to quench the burning
thirst produced by the poison, or to snuff some antidote to the fatal
drug. A bounty was obtained, on each, of ten dollars, besides their
hides, making a fair job of it, as well as ridding the neighborhood of
an annoying enemy. The following account of a wolf-chase will interest
the reader:

"During the winter of 1844, being engaged in the northern part of
Maine, I had much leisure to devote to the wild sports of a new
country. To none of these was I more passionately addicted than that
of skating. The deep and sequestered lakes of this northern state,
frozen by intense cold, present a wide field to the lovers of this
pastime. Often would I bind on my rusty skates, and glide away up the
glittering river, and wind each mazy streamlet that flowed on toward
the parent ocean, and feel my very pulse bound with joyous exercise.
It was during one of these excursions that I met with an adventure
which, even at this period of my life, I remember with wonder and
astonishment.

"I had left my friend's house one evening, just before dusk, with the
intention of skating a short distance up the noble Kennebeck, which
glided directly before the door. The evening was fine and clear. The
new moon peered from her lofty seat, and cast her rays on the frosty
pines that skirted the shore, until they seemed the realization of a
fairy scene. All Nature lay in a quiet which she sometimes chooses to
assume, while water, earth, and air seemed to have sunken into repose.

"I had gone up the river nearly two miles, when, coming to a little
stream which emptied into the larger, I turned in to explore its
course. Fir and hemlock of a century's growth met overhead, and formed
an evergreen archway, radiant with frost-work. All was dark within;
but I was young and fearless, and as I peered into the unbroken
forest, that reared itself to the borders of the stream, I laughed in
very joyousness. My wild hurra rang through the woods, and I stood
listening to the echo that reverberated again and again, until all was
hushed. Occasionally a night-bird would flap its wings from some tall
oak.

"The mighty lords of the forest stood as if naught but time could bow
them. I thought how oft the Indian hunter concealed himself behind
these very trees--how oft the arrow had pierced the deer by this very
stream, and how oft his wild halloo had rung for his victory. I
watched the owls as they fluttered by, until I almost fancied myself
one of them, and held my breath to listen to their distant hooting.

"All of a sudden a sound arose, it seemed from the very ice beneath my
feet. It was loud and tremendous at first, until it ended in one long
yell. I was appalled. Never before had such a noise met my ears. I
thought it more than mortal--so fierce, and amid such an unbroken
solitude, that it seemed a fiend from hell had blown a blast from an
infernal trumpet. Presently I heard the twigs on the shore snap as if
from the tread of some animal, and the blood rushed back to my
forehead with a bound that made my skin burn, and I felt relieved that
I had to contend with things of earthly and not spiritual mold, as I
first fancied. My energies returned, and I looked around me for some
means of defense. The moon shone through the opening by which I had
entered the forest, and considering this the best means of escape, I
darted toward it like an arrow. It was hardly a hundred yards distant,
and the swallow could scarcely excel my desperate flight; yet, as I
turned my eyes to the shore, I could see two dark objects dashing
through the underbrush at a pace nearly double that of my own. By
their great spee

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