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CHAPTER IV WHITE MONKEY WEEK CUTTING
and drawing the year's
supply of firewood to the door occupied us for a week; and following
this we
boys had planned to take matters easy awhile, for the old Squire was to
be away
from home. Asa Doane had left us, too, for a visit to his folks. As it
chanced,
however, a strenuous emergency arose. A year
previously the old Squire had
made an agreement with a New York factory, to furnish dowels and strips
of
clear white birch wood, for piano keys and passementerie.
At that
time passementerie was
coming into use for
ladies' dresses. The fine white-birch dowels were first turned round on
small
lathes and afterwards into little bugle and bottle-shaped ornaments,
then dyed
a glistening black and strung on linen threads. On our own
forest lots we had no
birch which quite met the requirements. But another lumberman, an
acquaintance
of the old Squire's, named John Lurvey (a brother of old Zachary
Lurvey), who
owned lots north of ours, had just what we needed to fill the order. Lumbermen
are often
"neighborly" with each other in such matters, and with John Lurvey
the old Squire made a kind of running contract for three hundred cords
of
white-birch "bolts" from a lakeside lot. Each one made a memorandum
of the agreement in his pocket note-book; and as each trusted the
other,
nothing more exact or formal was thought necessary. The white
birch was known to be
valuable lumber. We were to pay two thousand dollars for it on the
stump, — one
thousand down, — and have two "winters" in which to get it off and
pay the balance of the money. And here it may be said that in the Maine
woods a
winter is supposed to mean the snowy season from November till April. Meanwhile
other ventures were
pressing. In company with a Canadian partner, the old Squire was then
getting
spruce lumber down the St. Maurice River at Three Rivers, in the
Province of
Quebec. This New York birch contract was deferred a year, the plan
being
finally to get off the birch in March of the second winter, when the
crews and
teams from two other lumber-camps could conveniently be sent to the
lake, and
make a quick job of it. But in
December of that second
winter John Lurvey died suddenly of pneumonia. His property passed into
the
hands of his wife, who was by no means easygoing. She overhauled this
note-book
agreement, took legal advice of a sharp lawyer, and on February 21st
sent us
legal notification that the agreement would expire on February 28th,
the last
day of winter, according to the calendar. The notification also
demanded
payment of the second thousand dollars. Her scheme, of course, was to
get the
money in full and cut us off, in default, from removing the birch
lumber from
the lot. The old Squire himself had gone to Canada. The
notification came by letter, and
as usual when the old Squire was away, grandmother Ruth opened his mail
to see
what demanded our attention. We were all in the sitting-room, except
Halstead,
who was away that evening. "What can
this mean?"
grandmother suddenly exclaimed, and handed the letter to Addison. He
saw
through it instantly, and jumped up in excitement. "We're
trapped!" he cried.
"If we don't get that birch off next week we shall lose two thousand
dollars!" Grandmother
was dismayed. "Oh,
that wicked woman!" she cried. "Why, winter always means through
sledding!" . "I'm
afraid not, in law,"
said Addison, looking puzzled. "Winter ends either the first or the
twenty-first of March. I think a good argument could be made in court
for the
twenty-first. But she may be right, and it's too late to take chances.
The only
thing to do is to get that lumber off right away." Addison
and I went out to the stable
to talk the matter over; we did not want to excite grandmother any
further. At
best, she had a good deal to worry her that winter. "Now what
can we do?"
Addison exclaimed. Five or six days would be required to get the old
Squire
home from Canada. "And what
could he do after he
got here?" Addison asked. "The teams and the choppers are all off at
the lumber-camps." "Let's
take our axes and go up
there and cut what birch we can next week," said I, in desperation. "Oh, we
boys couldn't do much
alone in so short a time," replied Addison. Still, we
could think of nothing
else; and with the loss of two thousand dollars staring us in the face,
we
began planning desperately how much of that birch we could save in a
week's
time. In fact, we scarcely slept at all that night, and early the next
morning
started out to rally what help we could. Willis
Murch and Thomas Edwards
volunteered to work for us, and take each a yoke of oxen. After much
persuasion
our neighbor Sylvester promised to go with a team, and to take his son
Rufus,
Jr. Going on to the post-office at the Corners, we succeeded in hiring
two
other young men. But even
with the help of these men
we could account for scarcely a seventh part of the contract, since one
chopper
could cut not more than a cord and a half of birch bolts in a day; and
moreover, the bolts had to be removed from the lot. But as we
rushed round that
forenoon, it occurred to Addison to hire a horse-power and circular saw
that
was owned by a man named Morefield, who lived near the wood-sheds of
the
railway-station, six miles from the old Squire's. It was a rig used for
sawing
wood for the locomotives. Hurrying
home, we hitched up, drove
to the station, and succeeded in engaging Morefield and his saw, with
two spans
of heavy horses. But other
cares had now loomed up,
not the least among them being the problem of feeding our hastily
collected
crew of helpers and their teams sixteen miles off in the woods. Just
across the
lake from the lot where the birch grew there was a lumber-camp where we
could
set up a stove and do our cooking; and during the afternoon we packed
up
supplies of pork, beans and corned beef, while in the house grandmother
and the
girls were baking bread. I had also to go to the mill, to get corn
ground for
the teams. Theodora
and Ellen were eager to go
and do the cooking at the camp; but grandmother knew that an older
woman of
greater experience was needed in such an emergency, and had that
morning sent
urgent word to Olive Witham, — "Aunt Olive," as we called her, — who
was always our mainstay in times of trouble at the old farm. She was
about fifty-five years old,
tall, austere, not wholly attractive, but of upright character and
undaunted
courage. By nine
that evening everything was
ready for a start; and sunrise the next morning saw us on the way up to
the
birch lot, Aunt Olive riding in the "horse power," on a sled, which
bore also a firkin of butter, a cheese, a four-gallon can of milk, a
bag of
bread and a large basket of eggs. One team
did not get off so early,
neighbor Sylvester's. He was to start two hours later and draw up to
camp the
heaviest part of our supplies, consisting of half a barrel of pork, two
bushels
of potatoes, a peck of dry beans, a hundredweight of corned beef and
two
gallons of molasses. Twelve
miles of our way that morning
was by a trodden winter road, but the last four miles, after crossing
Lurvey's
Stream, had to be broken through three feet of snow in the woods,
giving us
four hours of tiresome tramping. We reached
the lot at one o'clock,
and during the afternoon set up the horse-power on the lake shore, at
the foot
of the slope where the white birch grew. We also contrived a log slide,
or
slip, down which the long birch trunks could be slid to the saw and cut
up into
four-foot bolts. For our plan now was to fell the trees and "twitch"
them down-hill with teams to the head of this slip. By rolling the
bolts, as
they fell from the saw, down an incline and out on the ice of the lake,
we
would remove them from Mrs. Lurvey's land, and thereby comply with the
letter
of the law, by aid of which she was endeavoring to rob us and escheat
our rights
to the birch. There were
ten of us. Each knew what
was at stake, and all worked with such good-will that by five o'clock
we had
the saw running. The white birches there were from a foot up to
twenty-two
inches in diameter, having long, straight trunks, clear of limbs from
thirty to
forty feet in length. These clear trunks only were used for bolts. Plying
their axes, Halstead,
Addison, Thomas and Willis felled upward of forty trees that night, and
these
were all sawn by dark. On an average, five trees were required for a
cord of
bolts, but with sharp axes such white-birch trees can be felled fast.
Morefield
tended the saw and drove the horses in the horse-power; the rest of us
were
kept busy sliding the birch trunks down the slip to the saw, and
rolling away
the bolts. By dark we
had made a beginning of
our hard week's task, and in the gathering dusk plodded across the lake
to the
old lumber-camp, expecting to find Aunt Olive smiling and supper ready.
But here
disappointment awaited us.
Sylvester, with the sled-load of supplies, had not come, did not
arrive, in
fact, till half an hour later, and then with his oxen only. Disaster
had
befallen him on the way. While crossing Lurvey's Stream, the team had
broken
through the ice where the current beneath was swift. He had saved the
oxen; but
the sled, with our beef, pork, beans and potatoes, had been drawn under
and
carried away, he knew not how far, under the ice. A stare of
dismay from the entire
hungry party followed this announcement. It looked like no supper — after a hard day's work! Worse still, to
Addison and myself it looked like the crippling of our whole program
for the
next five days; for a lumber crew is much like an army; it lives and
works only
by virtue of its commissariat. But now
Aunt Olive rose to the
emergency. "Don't you be discouraged, boys!" she exclaimed.
"Give me twenty minutes, and you shall have a supper fit for a king.
You
shall have white monkey on
toast!
Toast thirty or forty slices of this bread, boys," she added, laughing
cheerily. "Toast it good and brown, while I dress the monkey!" Addison,
Thomas and I began toasting
bread over the hot stove, but kept a curious eye out for that "white
monkey." Of course
it was figurative monkey.
Aunt Olive put six quarts of milk in a kettle on the stove, and as it
warmed,
thickened it slightly with about a pint of corn-meal. As it grew
hotter, she melted into
it a square of butter about half. the size of a brick, then chipped up
fine as
much as a pound of cheese, and added that slowly, so as to dissolve it.
Last, she
rapidly broke, beat and
added a dozen eggs, then finished off with salt and a tiny bit of
Cayenne
pepper, well stirred in. For five
minutes longer she allowed
the kettleful to simmer on the stove, while we buttered three huge
stacks of
toast. The monkey
was then ready. All hands
gathered round with their plates, and in turn had four slices of toast,
one
after another, each slice with a generous ladleful of white monkey
poured over
it. It was
delicious, very satisfying,
too, and gave one the sense of being well fed, since it contained all
the
ingredients of substantial food. As made by Aunt Olive, this white
monkey had
the consistency of moderately thick cream. It slightly resembled Welsh
rabbit,
but we found it was much more palatable and wholesome, having more milk
and egg
in it, and far less cheese. We liked
it so well that we all
wanted it for breakfast the next morning — and that was fortunate,
since we had
little else, and were exceedingly loath to lose a day's time sending
teams down
home, or elsewhere, for more meat, beans and potatoes. There were
several families of
French-Canadians living at clearings on Lurvey's Stream, three miles
below the
like; and since I was the youngest and least efficient axman of the
party, they
sent me down there every afternoon to buy milk and eggs, for more white
monkey.
Of cheese and butter we had a sufficient supply; and the yellow
corn-meal which
we had brought for the teams furnished sheetful after sheetful of
johnny-cake,
which Aunt Olive split, toasted, and buttered well, as a groundwork for
the
white monkey. And for
five days we ate it as we
toiled twelve hours to the day, chopping, hauling and sawing birch! We had a
slight change of diet on
the fourth day, when Aunt Olive cooked two old roosters and a chicken,
which I
had coaxed away from the reluctant French settlers down the stream. But it was
chiefly white monkey
every day; and the amount of work which we did on it was a tribute to
Aunt
Olive's resourcefulness. The older men of the party declared that they
had
never slept so well as after those evening meals of white monkey on
johnny-cake
toast. Beyond doubt, it was much better for us than heavier meals of
meat and
beans after days of hard labor. From half
an hour before sunrise
till an hour after sunset, during those entire five days, the tall
white
birches fell fast, the saw hummed, and the bolts went rolling out on
the
ice-clad lake. I never
saw a crew work with such
good-will or felt such enthusiasm myself as during those five days. We
had the
exhilarating sensation that we were beating a malicious enemy. Every
little
while a long, cheery whoop of exultation would be raised and go echoing
across
the lake; and that last day of February we worked by the light of
little bonfires
of birch bark till near midnight. Then we
stopped — to clear the law.
And I may state here, although it must sound like a large story, that
during
those five working days the ten of us felled, sawed and rolled out on
the ice
two hundred and eighty-six cords of white-birch bolts. Of course it was
the saw
and the two relieving spans of horses which did the greater part of the
work,
the four axmen doing little more than fell the tall birch-trees. The next
day, after a final
breakfast of white monkey, we went home triumphant, leaving the bolts
on the
ice for the time being. All were tired, but in high spirits, for
victory was
ours. Two days
later the old Squire came
home from Three Rivers, entirely unaware of what had occurred, having
it now in
mind to organize and begin what he supposed would be a month's work up
at the
birch lot for the choppers and teams from the
two logging-camps farther north. Neither
grandmother Ruth nor the
rest of us could resist having a little fun with him. After supper,
when we had
gathered in the sitting-room, grandmother quietly handed him Mrs.
Lurvey's
letter, with the notification about the birch. "This came
while you were away,
Joseph," she said to him, while the rest of us, sitting very still,
looked
on, keenly interested to see how he would take it. The old
Squire unfolded the letter
and began reading it, then started suddenly, and for some moments sat
very
still, pondering the notification. "This bids fair to be a serious
matter
for us," he said, at last. "We have lost that birch contract, I fear,
and the money that went into it. "And I
have only my own
carelessness to thank for it," he added, looking distressed. Theodora could not stand that another minute. She stole round behind the old Squire's chair, put her arms about his neck, and whispered something in his ear. "What!" he
exclaimed, incredulously. "Yes!" she
cried to him. "Impossible,
child!" said
he. "No, it
isn't!" shouted
Addison. "We've got that birch off, sir. It is all sawn up in bolts and
out on the lake!" "What, in
a week?"
exclaimed the old Squire. "All in five days, sir!" cried Addison and
I. The old
gentleman sat looking at us
in blank surprise. He was an experienced lumberman, and knew exactly
what such
a statement as ours implied. "Not three
hundred cords?"
said he, gravely. "Close on
to that, sir!"
cried Addison. Thereupon
we all began to tell him
about it at once. None of us could remain quiet. But it was not till we
had
related the whole story, and told him who had helped us, along with
Addison's
scheme of hiring the horse-power and saw, that he really believed it.
He sprang
up, walked twice across the sitting-room, then stopped short and looked
at us. "Boys, I'm
proud of you!"
he exclaimed. "Proud of you! I couldn't have done as well myself." "Yes,
Joseph, they're chips of
the old block!" grandmother chimed in. "And we've beaten that wicked
woman!" Mrs.
Lurvey, as I may add here, was
far from sharing in our exultation. She was a person of violent temper.
It was
said that she shook with rage when she heard what we boys had done. But
her
lawyer advised her to keep quiet. During the
next two weeks the birch
bolts were drawn to our mill, four miles down Lurvey's Stream, and sawn
into
thin strips and dowels, then shipped in bundles, by rail and schooner
from
Portland, to New York; and the contract netted the old Squire about
twenty-five
hundred dollars above the cost of the birch. But as I
look back on it, I am
inclined to think that Aunt Olive was the real heroine of that
strenuous week. ___________________ |