Around the Camp-fire

CHAPTER VIII.

THE TOLEDI AND TEMISCOUATA

None of us awoke next morning till the sun was high and the dew all gone in the open places about the camp. The air was sweet with wild perfumes, and alive with birds and butterflies. It was near noon by the time we found ourselves afloat on the Toledi River. This is a larger stream than the Squatook, and much more violent. The “Toledi Falls” are less than half a mile from the lake, and most travellers “portage” around them rather than risk the difficult passage. Indeed, the mighty, plunging swells, the succession of leaps, the roar and tumult between those rocky walls, render the passage by no means enticing when looked at in cold blood. But we knew the channels, and were resolved to “run it.” It is no use attempting to tell just how we did it. I only know we all yelled with fierce delight as we darted into the gorge, and I imagine our eyes stuck out. Our muscles were like steel, and we tingled to the finger-tips. Then came a few wild moments when every man did his level best without knowing exactly how; for the white surges clashed deafeningly about us, and with cheers we swept into the big eddy below the falls – drenched, but safe. What cared we for a wetting in that clear sunshine? The passion of travel was on us, and we could not stay to fish. All the rest of the run down to Temiscouata is like a dream to me. Few rocks, few shoals, a straight channel, and always that tearing current. At four in the afternoon a last mad rapid hurled us out into the wide expanse of Temiscouata. There was a sharp wind on the lake, which is thirty miles long, and at this point about three miles wide. In the heavy seas, with our deep-laden canoes, we had a rough and really perilous passage; and it was not far from six o’clock when we reached the other shore. There, near the outskirts of the little village of Détour du Lac, we pitched tent for the night.

After supper we took a run through the village, and had a chat with some of the habitans. We procured, moreover, some native Madawaska tobacco – which we smoked once, and never smoked again.

Around the fire that night we felt a sense of depression because our trip was drawing to an end. At last Magnus cried, —

“Shake off this gloom, boys. A story, Stranion!”

“All right; here’s something light and bright,” answered Stranion promptly. “Let us call it —

“There is nothing that so cheers the heart of the lumberman as to play a practical joke on one whom he calls a ‘greenhorn,’ or, in other words, any one unused to the strange ways and flavor of the lumber-camps. As may be imagined, the practical jokes in vogue in such rough company are not remarkable for gentleness. One of the harshest and most dangerous, as well as most admired, is that known as ‘chopping him down.’

“This means, in a word, that the unsophisticated stranger in the camp is invited to climb a tall tree to take observations or enjoy a remarkable view. No sooner has he reached the top, than a couple of vigorous axemen attack the tree at its base, while the terrified stranger makes fierce haste to descend from his too lofty situation. Long before he can reach the ground the tree begins to topple. The men shout to him to get on the upper side, which he does with appalled alacrity; and with a mighty swish and crash down comes the tree. As a general rule, the heavy branches so break the shock that the victim, to his intense astonishment, finds himself uninjured; though frequently he is frightened out of a year’s growth. There are cases on record, however, where men have been crippled for life in this outrageous play; and in some cases the ‘boss’ of the camp forbids it.

“But it is not only the greenhorn who is subject to this discipline of chopping down. Even veterans sometimes like to climb a tree and take a view beyond the forest; and sometimes, on a holiday or a Sunday, some contemplative woodsman will take refuge in a tree-top to think of his sweetheart, or else to eat a sheet of stolen gingerbread. If his retreat be discovered by his comrades, he is promptly chopped down with inextinguishable jeers.

“I have mentioned stolen gingerbread. This bread is a favorite delicacy in the camps; and the cook who can make really good gingerbread is prized indeed. It is made in wide, thin, tough sheets; and while it is being served to the hands, some fellow occasionally succeeds in ‘hooking’ a whole sheet while the cook’s back is toward him. But in that same instant every man’s hand is turned against him. He darts into the woods, devouring huge mouthfuls as he runs. If he is very swift of foot he may escape, eat his spoils in retirement, and stroll back, an hour later, with a conscious air of triumph. More often he has to take to a tree. Instantly all hands rush to chop him down. He climbs no higher than is necessary, perches himself on a stout limb, and eats at his gingerbread for dear life. He knows just what position to take for safety; and often, ere the tree comes down, there is little gingerbread left to reward its captors. The meagre remnant is usually handed over with an admirable submissiveness, if it is not dropped in the fall, and annihilated in the snow and débris.

“At one time I knew a lumberman who succeeded in hiding his stolen gingerbread in his long boot-legs, and slept with the boots under his head for security. The camp was on the banks of a lake. The time of the capture of the gingerbread was a Saturday night in spring. Next morning the spoiler took possession of the one ‘bateau’ belonging to the camp, rowed out into the lake beyond the reach of stones and snowballs, and then calmly fished the gingerbread out of his boots. Sitting at ease in the bateau, he devoured his dainty with the utmost deliberation, while his chagrined comrades could only guy him from the shore.

“For myself, I was chopped down once, and once only. It happened in this way. In the midwinter of 1879 I had occasion to visit the chief camp on the Little Madawaska. Coming from the city, and to a camp where I was a stranger to all the men, I was not unnaturally regarded as a pronounced specimen of the greenhorn. I took no pains to tell any one what the boss already well knew; that is, that I had been a frequenter of the camps from my boyhood. Many and many a neat trap was laid for my apparently ‘tender’ feet, but I avoided them all as if by accident. As for climbing a tree, I always laughed at the idea when it was proposed to me. I always suggested that it might spoil my clothes. Before long the men, by putting little things together, came to the conclusion that I was an old stager; and, rather sheepishly, they gave over their attempts to entrap me. Then I graciously waved my hand, as it were, and was frankly received as a veteran, cleared from every suspicion of being green.

“At last the day came when I did wish to climb a tree. The camp was on a high plateau, and not far off towered a magnificent pine-tree, growing out of the summit of a knoll in such a way as to command all the surrounding country. Its branches were phenomenally thick; its girth of trunk was magnificent. And this tree I resolved one day to climb, in order to get a clear idea of the lay of the land. Of course I strolled off surreptitiously, and, as I thought, unwatched. But there I was much mistaken. No sooner was I two-thirds of the way up the tree than, with shouts of laughter, the lumbermen rushed out of the surrounding cover, and proceeded to chop me down. The chance was too good for them to lose.

“I concealed my annoyance, and made no attempt to descend. On the contrary, I thanked them for the little attention, and climbed a few feet farther up, to secure a position which I saw would be a safe one for me when the tree should fall. As I did so, I perceived, with a gasp and a tremor, that I was not alone in the tree.

“There, not ten feet above me, stretched at full length along a large branch, was a huge panther, glaring with rage and terror. From the men below his form was quite concealed. Glancing restlessly from me to my pursuers, the brute seemed uncertain just what to do. As I carefully refrained from climbing any farther up, and tried to assume an air of not having observed him, he apparently concluded that I was not his worst enemy. In fact, I dare say he understood what was going on, and realized that he and I were fellow-sufferers.

“I laughed softly to myself as I thought how my tormentors would be taken aback when that panther should come down among them. I decided that, considering their numbers, there would be at least no more danger for them than that to which they were exposing me in their reckless fooling. And, already influenced by that touch of nature which makes us so wondrous kind, I began to hope that the panther would succeed in escaping.

“The trunk of the pine was so thick that I might almost have reached the ground before the choppers could cut it through. At last it gave a mighty shudder and sagged to one side. I balanced myself nimbly on the upper side, steadying myself by a convenient branch. The great mass of foliage, presenting a wide surface to the air, made the fall a comparatively slow one; but the tremendous sweep of the draught upward, as the tree-top described its gigantic arc, gave me a sickening sensation. Then came the final dull and thunderous crash, and in an instant I found myself standing in my place, jarred but unhurt, with the snow threshed up all about me.

“The next instant there was another roar, or rather a sort of screaming yell, overwhelming the riotous laughter of the woodsmen; and out of the confusion of pine-boughs shot the tawny form of the panther in a whirlwind of fury. One of the choppers was in his path, and was bowled over like a clumsy ninepin. The next bound brought the beast onto the backs of a yoke of oxen, and his cruel claws severely scratched their necks. As the poor animals bellowed and fell on their knees, the panther paused, with some idea, apparently, of fighting the whole assembled party. But as the men, recovered from their first amazement, rushed with their axes to the rescue of the oxen, the panther saw that the odds were all against him. He turned half round, and greeted his enemies with one terrific and strident snarl, then bounded off into the forest at a pace which made it idle to pursue him. The owner of the oxen hurled an axe after him, but the missile flew wide of its mark.

As the excitement subsided, and I saw that the chopper who had been knocked over was none the worse for his tumble, I chaffed my tormentors unmercifully. For their part they had no answer ready. They seemed almost to think that I had conjured up the panther for the occasion. I thanked them most fervently for coming to my rescue with such whole-hearted good-will, and promised them that if ever again I got into a tree with a panther I would send for them at once. Then I set myself to doctoring the unfortunate oxen, whose lacerated necks and shoulders we soon mended up with impromptu plasters. And the owner of the oxen gratefully vowed to me, ‘If ever I see any of the chaps a-laying for ye agin, an’ any of my critters is around, I’ll tip ye the wink, shore!’”

“Here goes for another lumberman’s yarn,” began Sam, when Stranion ceased. “It’s brief, so bear with it.

“In the fir-woods of the Upper Bartibogue the snow was softening rapidly. The spring thaws had come on several weeks earlier than they were expected, consequently a great quantity of logs lay in the woods waiting to be hauled to the landing. The hands at Bober’s Camp were working with feverish energy, in the effort to get all their logs out before the snow roads should go utterly to pieces. Old Paul Bober, the boss of the camp, had sent out to all the surrounding settlements for extra teams.

“The first result of his efforts was a team of wild young steers, which seemed hardly more than half-broken to the yoke. They were as long and gaunt as their driver, long Jim Baizley; but they looked equal to any amount of hard work.

“‘Them critters of yourn ain’t much to look at, Jim,’ remarked the boss, as Baizley came ‘geeing’ and ‘hawing’ them into camp toward sundown.

“The steers swung their hindquarters far apart, and sagged restively on the yoke, as they came to a halt. The teamster rolled a loving eye upon them, and replied, —

“‘Jest wait till they git yankin’ onto the logs, an’ then see what you think of ’em!’

“Jim Baizley was a smart teamster; and on the following morning, with his heart set on showing off his team to the best advantage, he was the first to get to work hauling. The snow was getting softer and softer, a warm wind having blown all night so that there had been no chance for it to stiffen up. This heightened the general anxiety; and there was no time lost in following Baizley to ‘the Ridge,’ a patch of sloping forest where a lot of fine timber lay waiting to be hauled out.

“From the Ridge to the Landing it was necessary to take a new road, which had been already roughly chopped out. As Baizley with his lean cattle started out for the Landing with a couple of huge timbers chained together behind them, one of the hands shouted to remind him that he was the first to go over the new road.

“‘Look out for slumps, Jim!’ cried the chopper. ‘This here snow hain’t got no kind of a bottom to it now!’

“Baizley rolled his eyes over the stretch of track before him, which his load was soon to plough into picturesque disorder. With a thoughtful gesture, and very deliberately, he spit a huge quantity of tobacco-juice over the dull-white, soggy surface just in front of the oxen, and then said, —

“‘I’ll look out. Gimme a peevy!’

“Grasping the long white pole, shod with a steel spike at the larger end, he started his team toward the Landing. Instead of walking beside his cattle, in the teamster’s customary place, he travelled a few feet in front of their noses; and from time to time he thrust the pike-pole sharply into the snow.

“It must be borne in mind that the snow in these north shore woods lies anywhere from two to five feet deep. Under such a covering may lie concealed, not only the firm forest floor, but dangerous bog-holes, or steep little dry gullies. Hence the wise precaution which Baizley took of feeling the way for his oxen. The lack of such precaution has cost many a careless lumberman his team.

“In the present case, however, – so perverse a witch is chance, – Baizley’s very prudence was the well-spring of disaster. His experience was such as might almost have led him to forswear precautions for the rest of his natural life – as a teamster.

“Close behind Baizley’s team came another, driven by Tamin Landry, a little Frenchman from down the river. Tamang, as the Frenchman was called by his comrades, had great confidence in Baizley’s skill as a guide. He felt it safe to take his team wherever Baizley should take his.

“Presently Baizley’s pike-pole sank deeply into the snow with sudden and suspicious ease.

“‘Whoa-oa-o!’ he yelled, rolling his eyes back upon the steers.

“The team surged forward till they were almost upon him, and he rapped them sharply across the muzzles. Then they stopped, with their heads far down.

“‘W’at ze matter?’ inquired Tamang, skipping forward.

“‘Big hole here!’ responded Baizley. He was prodding the snow near the trunk of a mighty tree.

“‘Solid ground furder this way, likely!’ he continued; and he gave a vicious prod some two feet farther out from the tree.

“The result was something to startle even a backwoodsman. The snowy surface rose up suddenly, with a spluttering, grunting noise, as if an infant volcano were about breaking into eruption.

“Almost thrown off his feet, Baizley sprang to one side, while the excitable Tamang jumped into the air with a yell of astonishment. The yoke of steers swerved wildly to one side, and would have run away but for their heavy load. Then there emerged from the snow the hugest and hollowest of black bears, his long fur thickly blotched with lumps of his white covering.

“Thus painfully and unceremoniously aroused from his winter sleep, the bear was in a thoroughly justifiable rage. Perhaps also the pangs of unrealized hunger added to his fury. He glanced with small red eyes from side to side, then flung himself clumsily but swiftly upon the nearest ox.

“With mad bellowing the team plunged in among the trees; and in their terror so great was their strength, that the great timbers they were hauling danced after them like jackstraws. But this was not for long. Ere they had gone ten yards from the road, the ox which the bear had struck, blind with panic, caught his long horns in a sapling, and fell forward on his knees. For a moment his yoke-fellow held him up, then he collapsed in a limp red-and-white heap, with his neck broken. And the bear began tearing at him savagely.

“Paralyzed and helpless, the other steer sank in the snow. By this time, however, Baizley and the Frenchman had recovered their scattered wits and seized their axes. Baizley’s eyes rolled wildly, with pity for his team and wrath against the bear. With the full sweep of his long, wiry arms, he swung his heavy axe and brought it down upon the animal’s head.

“At least, that was Baizley’s amiable intention; but any one who has tried to hit a bear over the head with an axe knows how difficult a feat it is to accomplish, unless the bear is asleep. This bear was very wide-awake indeed; Baizley’s pike-pole had seen to that!

“Though apparently engrossed with the dead steer, he had been watching his assailants out of the corner of his eye. Just as the great axe began its deadly descent, the beast half rose, and like a flash threw up his mighty forearm. On this the axe-handle struck and glanced, and the weapon flew violently off among the trees.

“With a desperate exclamation Baizley attempted to jump away; and at the same moment the bear brought down his other paw with a stroke that all Baizley’s tried skill as a boxer would not have availed to parry. But fortunately for the tall lumberman, his footing gave way. He fell headlong in the snow, and the stroke of that armed paw passed harmlessly over him.

“The bear dropped forward upon him, but was at once distracted by a fierce blow on the shoulder from Landry’s axe. With a snort he turned about, and gave chase to the nimble little Frenchman.