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.