Forests of Maine

"Was it really as hard as iron?" asked Marco.

"Oh, no," said Forester,—"but it was much harder than any wood which he could get. He thought it was a very curious wood. He had never seen any like it before."

"I should like some ebony," said Marco.

"Ebony would be an excellent wood to make a top of," said Forester, "it is so hard and heavy."

"I should like to have a top hard," said Marco, "but I don't think it would be any better for being heavy."

"Yes," said Forester; "the top would spin longer. The heavier a top is, the longer it will spin."

"Then I should like a top made of lead," said Marco.

"It would spin very long," said Forester, "if it was well made, though it would require more strength to set it a-going well. But lead would be soft, and thus would easily get bruised and indented. Besides, black would be a prettier color for a top than lead color. A jet black top, well polished, would be very handsome."

"Is black a color?" asked Marco. "I read in a book once that black and white were not colors."

"There are two meanings to the word color," said Forester. "In one sense, black is a color, and in another sense, it is not. For instance, if a lady were to go into a shop, and ask for some morocco shoes for a little child, and they were to show her some black ones, she might say she did not want black ones; she wanted colored ones. In that sense, black would not be a color.

"On the other hand," continued Forester, "she might ask for silk stockings, and if the shopkeeper were to ask her what color she wanted, she might say black. In that sense, black would be a color."

"Which is the right sense?" asked Marco.

"Both are right," said Forester. "When a word is commonly used in two senses, both are correct. The philosophers generally consider black not to be a color; that is, they generally use the word in the first sense."

"Why?" asked Marco.

"For this reason," replied Forester. He was going on to explain the reason, when suddenly Marco's attention was attracted by the sight of a long raft of logs, which was coming down the river. They had been riding at some distance from the river, and out of sight of it, but now it came suddenly into view, just as this raft was passing by. There were two men on the raft.

"See those men on the raft," said Marco. "They are paddling."

"No," replied Forester; "they are sculling."

"Sculling?" repeated Marco.

"Yes," replied Forester. "They always scull a raft. It is a different motion from paddling."

Marco watched the men attentively, examining the motion which they made in sculling, and considering whether he might not have sculled his raft to the shore in the same manner.

"What straight logs!" said Marco.

"Yes," replied Forester; "the pine tree grows up tall and straight, and without branches, to a great height. This is the source of some of its most valuable properties. It makes the wood straight-grained. That is, the fibres run smooth and regularly, from one end of the stem to the other."

Just at this time, Forester saw a large pine tree growing alone, by the side of the road they were travelling. This solitary tree had a great many branches growing out from the stem, in every part, from the top to the bottom.

"That is because the tree grows by itself," said Forester, "in the open field. Those that grow in the forest do not throw out branches from the stem, but they ran up to a great height, with only a little tuft of branches on the top."

"I don't see why they don't have branches in the woods," said Marco.

"Because," replied Forester, "where trees grow close together, the light and the air is excluded from the lower parts of the stems, and so branches cannot grow there. Nothing can grow without light and air."

"I've seen monstrous long potato sprouts grow in a dark cellar," said Marco.

"Yes," said Forester; "so have I. I did not think of that. But they don't grow very well."

"They grow pretty long, sometimes," replied Marco.

"At any rate," said Forester, "the branches of trees will not grow from the stems of the trees near the ground, in the woods; and this is of great importance, for, whenever a branch grows out, it makes a knot, extending in to the very centre of the tree. This would injure a pine log very much, as the knot would show in all the boards, and a knot is a great injury to a pine board, though it is of great benefit to a mahogany one."

"Why?" asked Marco.

"Because it gives the wood a beautiful variegated appearance when they get it smoothed. So that the more knotted and gnarled a log of mahogany is, the better. It makes the more beautiful wood. But in pine, it is not beauty, but facility of working, which is the great object. So they always want to get pine as smooth and straight-grained as possible. So that one of these trees that grow detached, in the fields, would not be of much value for lumber. It has so many branches, that the boards made from it would be full of knots."

"That is the reason, I suppose," said Marco, "why they don't cut them down, and make them into boards."

"Perhaps it is," replied Forester.

"Has pine any other very good qualities?" asked Marco.

"I believe it is quite a durable wood," said Forester. "At any rate, the stumps last a very long time in the ground. I have heard it said that there are some stumps in the state of Maine with the old mark of G. R. upon them."

"What does G. R. mean?" asked Marco.

"Georgius Rex," replied Forester,—"that is, George, the king. If there are any such, the mark on them means that they belonged to the king of England, before this country was separated from England. In those days, the king's workmen went into the forests to select and mark the trees which were to be cut down for the king's use, and these marks were left upon the stumps."

"And how long ago was that?" asked Marco.

"O, it must have been sixty or seventy years ago. But I can hardly believe that the stumps would last as long as that."

"I mean to ask some of the men, when I get up in the woods, how long the stumps do last," said Marco.

"They last very long, I know," said Forester. "The people, after getting tired of waiting to have them rot out, tear them up with machines, and make fences of them."

"I don't see how they can make fences of stumps," said Marco.

"They put them in a row, with the roots in the air," replied Forester. "They make a funny-looking fence."

Just at this time Marco perceived a large town coming into view before them, which, Forester told him, was Bath. There were several ships building along the shore of the river.

CHAPTER VII.

THE BEAR IN THE MILL

Marco and Forester found a small steamboat at Bath, going up the river, and they took passage in it to Hallowell. At Hallowell, they took the stage, and travelled along the banks of the river, sometimes on one side and sometimes on the other. They crossed the river by means of bridges, which were erected in nearly all the principal towns. They passed a number of waterfalls, where saw-mills had been built for sawing the logs. Marco was astonished at the number of these mills, the quantity of logs which lay in the booms, and the vast piles of boards which had accumulated in some of the sawing villages.

At one of these villages, where he and Forester stopped to spend the night, they went out in the evening to see the mills. The mills were lighted by little fires of pitch-pine knots, which made a bright flame and gave a fine light. These little fires were built upon slabs, which Marco thought was very dangerous. The slabs, however, though they looked dry, were really very wet, being thoroughly soaked with water within, having been sawed from logs which had been for a long time floating in the river.

The beam, to which the saw was attached in each mill, as it ascended and descended with the saw, passed across these lights with a rapid motion, which made the lights appear and disappear, in regular succession, in a very beautiful manner.

Forester and Marco clambered into one of these mills. They had to make their way over slabs, boards and heaps of rubbish of various kinds, and the floor of the mill seemed to be made of boards and planks, laid loosely and with many open places, in which, when Marco looked down, he saw dark and frightful abysses, where he could hear the water dashing, and, now and then, could get a glimpse of the foam.

Of course, both Forester and Marco advanced very carefully. When they had entered, they found but one man tending the mill. He was seated on a square block of wood, near the fire, eating some bread and cheese. As Forester and Marco advanced towards him, he looked up and bade them good evening.

"Will you allow us to come in and see the mill?" said Forester.

"By all means," said the millman.

The millman here looked around at the log which he was then sawing, and he observed that it was time for him to attend to it. So he put down his bread and cheese upon the block, and went towards the saw. Forester and Marco both turned to see what he was going to do.

The log was lying upon a long frame, which frame seemed to be mounted upon some sort of trucks, for it advanced slowly, by a steady motion, against the saw. As the saw was constantly moving up and down with great force, the log was sawed as it advanced. It had now advanced so far that the log had been sawed nearly through, from end to end. When it had gone a little farther, the millman pulled a handle, and stopped the motion of the carriage and the log, and, in a moment afterwards, the log began to go back again; the saw, all the time, ascending and descending as before, but without doing any work. When the log had got back so far that the saw came out of the cleft which it had made, the man stopped it, and then, with an iron bar, he shifted the position of the log in such a manner that when the carriage should be put in motion, the saw would cut the log in a new place, at a little distance from the other,—a distance just equal to the thickness of the board which they wished to make.

Marco watched all these movements with great interest. Forester, who had often seen them before, went back to the fire, and held his hands out to it, for, as it was a cold evening, the feeling of the warmth was pleasant. He could see that Marco remained talking with the millman; but the noise of the machinery was so great that he could not hear what they said.

The flashes of light from the fire illuminated Marco's face, however, and Forester could see that he was much interested in what the millman was telling him. The millman sat down upon the log, and made gestures as if he was eating something. Then he took hold of Marco, and put him down upon the log in his place, and he took a seat himself beyond him—that is, between Marco and the saw. All this time, the log, riding upon the great frame, was slowly advancing against the saw, carrying Marco and the millman along with it. When it had carried them so far that the millman was getting to be very near the saw, he turned suddenly round, and made a gesture as if he was going to clasp the saw in his arms,—laughing as he did it,—and, immediately afterwards, he got up from the log, and Marco got up, too,—beginning to laugh himself, also, though his countenance had expressed surprise and anxiety before.

A short time after this, when Marco came back to the place where Forester was, Forester asked him what the millman had been saying to him.

"He was telling me a story of a bear," said Marco.

"Of a bear?" said Forester.

"Yes," said Marco, "of a bear in a saw-mill."

"I don't see what a bear had to do in a saw-mill," replied Forester.

"It was a great many years ago, when there were bears in the woods about here. There was a man sawing in a mill, and he was sitting on the end of the log that he was sawing, eating his bread and cheese. The bread and cheese were lying on the log, next to where the man was sitting.

"While the man was sitting there in this manner, eating his bread and cheese, a bear came walking into the mill,—a great black bear. He came up to the log, and when he saw that the man was eating bread and cheese, he thought he should like some too. So he sat down on the log."

"On which side of the man?" asked Forester,—"towards the saw or from it?"

"Towards the saw," said Marco. "The man was on the end of the log farthest from the saw. The bear sat a little beyond him, nearer to the saw, and the bread and cheese was between them. The bear began to eat the bread and cheese."

"How?" asked Forester.

"Why, he took it up in his paws, I suppose," said Marco,—"though I don't know certainly about that. At any rate, he began to eat the bread and cheese,—sitting with his back towards the saw, and his face towards the man.

"And all this time, you must understand," said Marco, "that the carriage was carrying the log, man, bear, and all, towards the saw, and the man saw that if the bear would only keep still, in his place, until he was carried to the saw, he would get sawed in two, and so killed. At first, he thought it would be best for him to get hold of the iron bar, if he could, and beat the old bear's brains out. But he was afraid that he should not succeed in doing that, and so he concluded to wait and see what would happen.

"Now, bears have a way," continued Marco, "whenever they are angry with anything, of grasping it in their arms and hugging it tight. The man did not think of this; he only hoped that the saw would saw the bear in two. The log moved on nearer and nearer, and at last brought the bear along so far that the next stroke cut right down his back. He immediately turned around and seized the saw, and hugged it with all his strength, and it tore him all to pieces."

"Indeed," said Forester. "That is quite a story."

Forester did not seem so much astonished at this account as Marco had expected, but farther conversation on the subject was prevented by the occurring of a new object of attention. The millman began to make arrangements for drawing up more logs from the water of the river, by means of a long chain passing around a revolving axis, in the manner which has been already explained.

Marco watched the first log, as it came slowly up, and then he wanted to go down the inclined plane to the water below. The moon was just rising, which gave them sufficient light, and so Forester and Marco went down. Marco wanted to ride up on the next log, but Forester thought that that would be a very dangerous experiment. There was, however, a boat lying there, which, Forester said, perhaps they might get into, and take a little excursion upon the water, by moonlight. Marco thought that he should like that very well, and so he went up into the mill again, to ask permission to take the boat. The millman said that they might have the boat all night, if they wanted it.

Marco accordingly returned down the inclined plane, telling Forester that they could have the boat. But Forester, who began to find the evening air too cold and chilly, said that he did not think it was worth while for them to set out on a voyage at so late an hour. But Marco's imagination was so much taken with the idea of a voyage in a boat by moonlight, that he was very urgent to have Forester go. So Forester consented, and they both got into the boat.

"Which way shall we steer?" asked Marco.

"We must go up the stream," said Forester.

"Why must we?" asked Marco.

"Because there is a dam and a waterfall below us," replied Forester.

There was a dam across the river, at the mill, and the inclined plane, which led from the floor of the mill down to the shore of the river, terminated at the edge of the water just above the dam. The water was so low that it did not fall over the dam near the shore, though Forester and Marco could hear the roaring of the water, which fell over the dam nearer the middle of the river.

"We must take care," said Marco, "or we shall get carried over the dam. I read of an Indian once, who was carried over the falls of Niagara."

"Yes," said Forester; "we must be careful."

Forester turned the head of the boat up the river, keeping near the shore, so as to avoid all possibility of being carried over the dam. The boat shot along swiftly through the water.

"The boat goes very well," said Marco.

"Yes," replied Forester; "and yet it is only a log canoe."

"A log canoe," said Marco. "Is this only a log canoe?"

"That is all," replied Forester. "It is made of a log, hollowed out. They use a great many such boats on this river. They go very easily with paddles."

Forester and Marco both had paddles. Marco sat about in the middle of the boat, but Forester sat in the stern, propelling the boat and steering it at the same time. When they got up a little way above the dam, they went out farther towards the middle of the river. Forester soon became warm by the exercise of paddling, and had no disposition to return. They both found it very romantic and delightful to glide smoothly over the glassy surface of the water, which was silvered by the moonbeams.

They soon came to a turn in the river, which carried them away from the sight of the mills and the dam, and brought them under high banks, which, in some places, presented rocky cliffs to the view, and, in others, were covered with forests. This scenery had a peculiarly sombre and solemn expression, seen thus, under the light of the moon. Marco gazed at it in silence, and with a feeling of awe.

They went on in this manner for half an hour, until they found themselves approaching a rocky island, crowned with forests. Marco wanted to land upon it.

"Very well," said Forester; "I have no objection; but would you not rather go back?"

"No," said Marco. "I want to explore this island."

"But are you not cold?" asked Forester.

"No," said Marco, "not at all."

"My hands and feet are a little cold," said Forester.

"Then we will go back pretty soon," said Marco, "but first just let us land a minute upon this island."

So Forester turned the head of the boat towards the shore, and Marco, as soon as it touched, scrambled out upon the rocks.

"Oh, Forester!" he exclaimed, at once, "here is plenty of drift-wood. Let us make a fire, and warm your hands and feet."

"Drift-wood?" rejoined Forester. "Will drift-wood make a fire?"

"Why not?" asked Marco.

"I should think it would be too wet," replied Forester.

Marco said no more, but, at that instant, Forester observed a little flash, and then a faint glimmer of light where Marco was. He had lighted a match by rubbing it against some drift-wood. He touched it to some dry bark, and soon had a pleasant little blaze upon the rocks, near the shore. He piled on pieces of drift-wood, such as branches of trees, old slabs, &c., which he found lying about there, and he soon had a very good fire. Forester sat down upon the rocks, and warmed his hands and feet.

"I wish I had a hatchet here," said Marco, "or an axe."

"Why?" asked Forester.

"Why, we could make a camp, and lie here all night," said Marco.

"O, no," said Forester.

"Yes," said Marco, "for the man said we might have his boat all night."

"No," replied Forester. "We will camp out when we get fairly into the forests on Dead river."

Accordingly, after a little time, when the fire had burnt down somewhat, they threw the brands into the river, and then, embarking in their boat, they returned to the mill.

CHAPTER VIII.

THE BIVOUACK

Marco and Forester had an opportunity to encamp for the night, in the woods, in a manner different from what they expected. It happened in this way. In the course of their rambles among the forests which are about the lakes and the upper branches of the Kennebec, they came, one night, to a farm-house, where they had to spend the night. The house was built of logs. It was in a small opening in the woods. This opening was occupied with fields, which were divided from each other by log fences. The fields were full of stumps. The whole opening was bordered on every side by a perpendicular wall of forest,—the tall stems forming a colonnade, which reminded Marco of the palisades on the North river, just above New York.

There was but one room in this log house, and, at first, Marco did not know where he and Forester were to sleep. There was a great blazing fire in the fire-place, which was made of rough stones. The hearth was made of great flat stones. These stones were tolerably smooth on the upper side; but, as they were not square, there were many spaces left between them, and at the corners, which were filled with earth. But, though the fire-place was rough, the great fire blazed merrily in it; and Marco thought that it was pleasanter than his father's marble fire-place, in New York, with a grate in it, filled with a hard coal fire, looking like red-hot stones.

"I wish we had such a fire-place as this in New York," said Marco.

"And wood to burn in it," replied Forester.

"O, we can get wood enough in New York," said Marco. "The carmen bring it along every morning. We might have such a fire-place down in the basement, or in that little room in the stable, and then I would go and build fires in it."

Just then, the farmer's wife came with a spider to the fire, to broil some chickens for their supper. She pulled out the coals with a long-handled iron shovel, which she called a slice. She cooked the young travellers a most excellent supper.

The farmer and his wife were both rather young. They had one child. He was asleep in the cradle. This cradle was only a box, made of boards, and mounted on rockers. Marco asked the farmer if he made the cradle himself, and he said he did.

There was a boy living in this house, named Isaiah. Isaiah was the farmer's brother. He worked hard all day on the farm, and at night he slept in a sort of garret, which they called the loft. The way to get up to the loft was by a ladder on one side of the room.

When bed-time came, Forester and Marco climbed up this ladder, and went to bed. They slept upon a straw bed, which was lying in a corner. They had two clean but very coarse sheets, and a good warm coverlid. Marco crept in well under the eaves of the house, but Forester slept on the outer side of the bed, where the roof was higher.

Marco was awaked in the night by a strange sound, which he heard, directly over his head. He lifted up his head and listened. It was the pattering of rain upon the roof. The roof was, however, very tight, and none of the rain came in. The roof was covered with shingles, which the farmer had made himself, in a little shop near his house.

Marco listened to the rain a few minutes, and then went to sleep again. He was glad to hear it rain, because he wanted to stay at this house the next day, and he thought Forester would not go away in the rain.

The next that he knew was that it was morning. He spoke to Forester, saying,

"It rains, cousin Forester."

"Does it?" said Forester. "Then I don't know what we shall do."

"We must stay here, to-day," said Marco. "Then I can see Isaiah make a shingle. Isaiah can make a shingle. Did you know it?"

"I don't hear it rain," said Forester.

"I mean to get up and see," said Marco.

There was no glass window in this garret, but the light shone through the chinks between the logs. There was a wooden window, as Marco called it; that is, there was an opening in the wall, with a wooden shutter to close it. Marco went to this window and opened it. He looked out upon the wild and solitary scene which was before him with great interest. At length he said,

"No, cousin Forester, it does not rain,—but I wish you would stay here to-day."

"Very well," said Forester. "I will stay here as long as you wish."

Marco was rejoiced to hear this; and he spent two hours, after breakfast, in rambling about the farmer's house and grounds. He went into the little shop, and amused himself for half an hour in seeing Isaiah make shingles. Isaiah let him try to make one himself, and he succeeded pretty well. He carried his shingle in to Forester to show it to him.

Forester said he thought it was a very good shingle.

"I should like to carry it home," said Marco; "but I suppose you would think that that would be a foolish plan."

"No," said Forester, "I do not think it would be foolish. The shingle is flat, and will lie down in the bottom of your trunk; and, after you get tired of it as a shingle, you can have a little box made of it, and keep it all your life, as a memorial of this expedition."