He needs it, Ike Billings commented tersely.
Some men seem to lose their wits when theyre workin on logs, observed Mr. Wiley, who had deeply resented Long Dennetts telling of a story which he knew fully as well and could have told much better. Now, natrally, Ive seen things on the Kennebec
Three cheers for the Saco! Hats off, boys! shouted Jed Towle, and his directions were followed with a will.
As I was sayin, continued the old man, peacefully, Ive seen things on the Kennebec that would nt happen on a small river, an Ive ben in turrible places an taken turrible resks resks that would a turned a Saco River mans hair white; but them is the times when my wits work the quickest. I remember once I was smokin my pipe when a jam broke under me. T was a small jam, or what we call a small jam on the Kennebec,only about three hundred thousand pine logs. The first thing I knowed, I was shootin back an forth in the bilin foam, hangin on t the end of a log like a spider. My hands was clasped round the log, and I never lost control o my pipe. They said I smoked right along, jest as cool an placid as a pond-lily.
Why d you quit drivin? inquired Ivory.
My strength want ekal to it, Mr. Wiley responded sadly. I was all skin, bones, an nerve. The Compny would nt part with me altogether, so they give me a place in the office down on the wharves.
That want so bad, said Jed Towle; why did nt you hang on to it, sos to keep in sight o the Kennebec?
I found I could nt be confined under cover. My liver give all out, my appetite failed me, an I want wuth a days wages. Id learned engineerin when I was a boy, an I thought Id try runnin on the road a spell, but it did nt suit my constitution. My kidneys aint turrible strong, an the doctors said Id have Brights disease if I did nt git some kind o work where there want no vibrations.
Hard to find, Mr. Wiley; hard to find! said Jed Towle.
Youre right, responded the old man feelingly. Ive tried all kinds o labor. Some of em dont suit my liver, some disagrees with my stomach, and the rest of em has vibrations; so here I set, high an dry on the banks of life, you might say, like a stranded log.
As this well-known simile fell upon the ear, there was a general stir in the group, for Turrible Wiley, when rhetorical, sometimes grew tearful, and this was a mood not to be encouraged.
All right, boss, called Ike Billings, winking to the boys; well be there in a jiffy! for the luncheon hour had flown, and the work of the afternoon was waiting for them. You make a chalk-mark where you left off, Mr. Wiley, an well hear the rest tomorrer; only dont you forgit nothin! Remember t was the Kennebec you was talkin about.
I will, indeed, responded the old man. As I was sayin when interrupted, I may be a stranded log, but Im proud that the mark o the Gardner Lumber Compny is on me, so t when I git to my journeys end theyll know where I belong and send me back to the Kennebec. Before Im sawed up Id like to forgit this triflin brook in the sight of a good-sized river, an rest my eyes on some full-grown logs, stead o these little damn pipestems you boys are playin with!
V. The Game of Jackstraws
There was a roar of laughter at the old mans boast, but in a moment all was activity. The men ran hither and thither like ants, gathering their tools. There were some old-fashioned pick-poles, straight, heavy levers without any dog, and there were modern pick-poles and peaveys, for every river has its favorite equipment in these things. There was no dynamite in those days to make the stubborn jams yield, and the dog-warp was in general use. Horses or oxen, sometimes a line of men, stood on the river-bank. A long rope was attached by means of a steel spike to one log after another, and it was dragged from the tangled mass. Sometimes, after unloading the top logs, those at the bottom would rise and make the task easier; sometimes the work would go on for hours with no perceptible progress, and Mr. Wiley would have opportunity to tell the bystanders of a turrible jam on the Kennebec that had cost the Lumber Company ten thousand dollars to break.
There would be great arguments on shore, among the villagers as well as among the experts, as to the particular log which might be a key to the position. The boss would study the problem from various standpoints, and the drivers themselves would pass from heated discussion into long consultations.
Theyre paid by the day, Old Kennebec would philosophize to the doctor; an when theyre consultin they dont hev to be doggin, which is a turrible sight harder work.
Rose had created a small sensation, on one occasion, by pointing out to the under boss the key-log in a jam. She was past mistress of the pretty game of jackstraws, much in vogue at that time. The delicate little lengths of polished wood or bone were shaken together and emptied on the table. Each jackstraw had one of its ends fashioned in the shape of some sort of implement,a rake, hoe, spade, fork, or mallet. All the pieces were intertwined by the shaking process, and they lay as they fell, in a hopeless tangle. The task consisted in taking a tiny pick-pole, scarcely bigger than a match, and with the bit of curved wire on the end lifting off the jackstraws one by one without stirring the pile or making it tremble. When this occurred, you gave place to your opponent, who relinquished his turn to you when ill fortune descended upon him, the game, which was a kind of river-driving and jam-picking in miniature, being decided by the number of pieces captured and their value. No wonder that the under boss asked Roses advice as to the key-log. She had a fairys hand, and her cunning at deciding the pieces to be moved, and her skill at extricating and lifting them from the heap, were looked upon in Edgewood as little less than supernatural. It was a favorite pastime; and although a mans hand is ill adapted to it, being over-large and heavy, the game has obvious advantages for a lover in bringing his head very close to that of his beloved adversary. The jackstraws have to be watched with a hawks eagerness, since the trembling can be discerned only by a keen eye; but there were moments when Stephen was willing to risk the loss of a battle if he could watch Roses drooping eyelashes, the delicate down on her pink cheek, and the feathery curls that broke away from her hair.
He was looking at her now from a distance, for she and Mite Shapley were assisting Jed Towle to pile up the tin plates and tie the tin dippers together. Next she peered into one of the bean-pots, and seemed pleased that there was still something in its depths; then she gathered the fragments neatly together in a basket, and, followed by her friend, clambered down the banks to a shady spot where the Boomshers, otherwise known as the Crambry family, were lined up expectantly.
It is not difficult to find a single fool in any community, however small; but a family of fools is fortunately somewhat rarer. Every county, however, can boast of one fool-family, and York County is always in the fashion, with fools as with everything else. The unique, much-quoted, and undesirable Boomshers could not be claimed as indigenous to the Saco valley, for this branch was an offshoot of a still larger tribe inhabiting a distant township. Its beginnings were shrouded in mystery. There was a French-Canadian ancestor somewhere, and a Gypsy or Indian grandmother. They had always intermarried from time immemorial. When one of the selectmen of their native place had been asked why the Boomshers always married cousins, and why the habit was not discouraged, he replied that he really did nt know; he sposed they felt it would be kind of odd to go right out and marry a stranger.
It is not difficult to find a single fool in any community, however small; but a family of fools is fortunately somewhat rarer. Every county, however, can boast of one fool-family, and York County is always in the fashion, with fools as with everything else. The unique, much-quoted, and undesirable Boomshers could not be claimed as indigenous to the Saco valley, for this branch was an offshoot of a still larger tribe inhabiting a distant township. Its beginnings were shrouded in mystery. There was a French-Canadian ancestor somewhere, and a Gypsy or Indian grandmother. They had always intermarried from time immemorial. When one of the selectmen of their native place had been asked why the Boomshers always married cousins, and why the habit was not discouraged, he replied that he really did nt know; he sposed they felt it would be kind of odd to go right out and marry a stranger.
Lest Boomsher seem an unusual surname, it must be explained that the actual name was French and could not be coped with by Edgewood or Pleasant River, being something as impossible to spell as to pronounce. As the family had lived for the last few years somewhere near the Killick Cranberry Meadows, they were calledand completely described in the callingthe Crambry fool-family. A talented and much traveled gentleman who once stayed over night at the Edgewood tavern, proclaimed it his opinion that Boomsher had been gradually corrupted from Beaumarchais. When he wrote the word on his visiting card and showed it to Mr. Wiley, Old Kennebec had replied, that in the judgment of a man who had lived in large places and seen a turrible lot o life, such a name could never have been given either to a Christian or a heathen family, that the way in which the letters was thrown together into it, and the way in which they was sounded when read out loud, was entirely agin reason. It was true, he said, that Beaumarchais, bein such a fool-name, might a ben invented a-purpose for a fool-family, but he would nt hold even with callin em Boomsher; Crambry was well enough for em an a sight easier to speak.
Stephen knew a good deal about the Crambrys, for he passed their so-called habitation in going to one of his wood-lots. It was only a month before that he had found them all sitting outside their broken-down fence, surrounded by decrepit chairs, sofas, tables, bedsteads, bits of carpet, and stoves.
Whats the matter? he called out from his wagon.
There aint nothin the matter, said Alcestis Crambry. Fathers dead, an were dividin up the furnerchure.
Alcestis was the pride of the Crambrys, and the list of his attainments used often to be on his proud fathers lips. It was he who was the largest, for his size, in the family; he who could tell his brothers Paul and Arcadus by their looks; he who knew a sour apple from a sweet one the minute he bit it; he who, at the early age of ten, was bright enough to point to the cupboard and say, Puddin, dad!
Alcestis had enjoyed, in consequence of his unusual intellectual powers, some educational privileges, and the Killick school-mistress well remembered his first day at the village seat of learning. Reports of what took place in this classic temple from day to day may have been wafted to the dull ears of the boy, who was not thought ready for school until he had attained the ripe age of twelve. It may even have been that specific rumors of the signs, symbols, and hieroglyphics used in educational institutions had reached him in the obscurity of his cranberry meadows. At all events, when confronted by the alphabet chart, whose huge black capitals were intended to capture the wandering eyes of the infant class, Alcestis exhibited unusual, almost unnatural, excitement. That is A, my boy, said the teacher genially, as she pointed to the first character on the chart. Good God, is that A! cried Alcestis, sitting down heavily on the nearest bench. And neither teacher nor scholars could discover whether he was agreeably surprised or disappointed in the letter,whether he had expected, if he ever encountered it, to find it writhing in coils on the floor of a cage, or whether it simply bore no resemblance to the ideal already established in his mind.
Mrs. Wiley had once tried to make something of Mercy, the oldest daughter of the family, but at the end of six weeks she announced that a girl who could nt tell whether the clock was going forrards or backwards, and who rubbed a pocket-handkerchief as long as she did a sheet, would be no help in her household.
The Crambrys had daily walked the five or six miles from their home to the Edgewood bridge during the progress of the drive, not only for the social and intellectual advantages to be gained from the company present, but for the more solid compensation of a good meal. They all adored Rose, partly because she gave them food, and partly because she was sparkling and pretty and wore pink dresses that caught their dull eyes.
The afternoon proved a lively one. In the first place, one of the younger men slipped into the water between two logs, part of a lot chained together waiting to be let out of the boom. The weight of the mass higher up and the force of the current wedged him in rather tightly, and when he had been pried out he declared that he felt like an apple after it had been squeezed in the cider-mill, so he drove home, and Rufus Waterman took his place.
Two hours hard work followed this incident, and at the end of that time the bung that reached from the shore to Watermans Ledge (the rock where Pretty Quick met his fate) was broken up, and the logs that composed it were started down-river. There remained now only the great side jam at Gray Rock. This had been allowed to grow, gathering logs as they drifted past, thus making higher water and a stronger current on the other side of the rock, and allowing an easier passage for the logs at that point.
All was excitement now, for, this particular piece of work accomplished, the boom above the falls would be turned out, and the river would once more be clear and clean at the Edgewood bridge.
Small boys, perching on the rocks with their heels hanging, hands and mouths full of red Astrakhan apples, cheered their favorites to the echo, while the drivers shouted to one another and watched the signs and signals of the boss, who could communicate with them only in that way, so great was the roar of the water.
The jam refused to yield to ordinary measures. It was a difficult problem, for the rocky river-bed held many a snare and pitfall. There was a certain ledge under the water, so artfully placed that every log striking under its projecting edges would wedge itself firmly there, attracting others by its evil example.
That galoot-boss ought to hev shoved his crew down to that jam this mornin, grumbled Old Kennebec to Alcestis Crambry, who was always his most loyal and attentive listener. But he would nt take no advice, not if Pharaoh nor Boaz nor Herod nor Nicodemus come right out o the Bible an give it to him. The logs air contrary today. Sometimes theyll go along as easy as an old shoe, an other times theyll do nothin but bung, bung, bung! Theres a log nestlin down in the middle o that jam that Ive ben watchin for a week. Its a curous one, to begin with; an then it has a mark on it that you can reconize it by. Did ye ever hear tell o George the Third, King of England, Alcestis, or aint he known over to the crambry medders? Well, once upon a time men used to go through the forests over here an slash a mark on the trunks o the biggest trees. That was the royal sign, as you might say, an meant that the tree was to be taken over to England to make masts an yard-arms for the Kings ships. What made me think of it now is that the Kings mark was an arrer, an its an arrer thats on that there log Im showin ye. Well, sir, I seen it fust at Millikens Mills a Monday. It was in trouble then, an its ben in trouble ever sence. Thats allers the way; therell be one pesky, crooked, contrary, consarned log that cant go anywheres without gittin into difficulties. You can yank it out an set it afloat, an before you hardly git your doggin iron off of it, itll be snarled up agin in some new place. From the time its chopped down to the day it gets to Saco, it costs the Compny bout ten times its pesky valler as lumber. Now theyve sent over to Bensons for a team of horses, an I bate ye they cant git em. I wish i was the boss on this river, Alcestis.