Every department of labor among the loggers, and in fact, to extend the observation, every department of life, is characterized more or less by adventure and peril. Our men get badly cut sometimes, and then, in the absence of a surgeon, are put upon their own resources to stanch blood and dress wounds.
I recollect an instance in which a man in one of the neighboring crews, while at work, received the whole bit of an ax into the muscular portion of his thigh, by an accidental blow from an associate. It was indeed a gaping wound. A wound of such an alarming character, in the absence of suitable medical aid, is deemed a serious matter, and not without just cause. In this instance use was made of handkerchiefs to swathe up the wound, so as to stanch the flowing blood, while they bore him to the camp upon a litter. He was laid upon the deacon seat, and the wound was sewed up by one of the crew with a common sewing-needle. It did well, and in the course of a few weeks he was able to resume his labors.
Life is constantly endangered in felling the Pine-trees. The tops of other trees seldom oppose any barrier to the giddy plunge of the towering Pine, breaking, splitting, and crushing all coming within its range. The broken limbs which are torn from its own trunk, and the wrenched branches of other trees, rendered brittle by the intense frosts, fly in every direction, like the scattered fragments of an exploding ship, always more or less endangering life. Often those wrenched limbs are suspended directly over the place where our work requires our presence, and on the slightest motion, or from a sudden gust of wind, they slip down with the stealthiness of a hawk and the velocity of an arrow. I feel an involuntary shudder, as if now in the presence of danger, while I remember some of the narrow escapes I have had from death by the falling of such missiles. I recollect one in particular, which was wrenched from a large Pine-tree I had just felled. It lodged in the top of a towering Birch, directly over where it was necessary for me to stand while severing the top from the trunk. Viewing its position with some anxiety, I ventured to stand and work under it, forgetting in the excitement my danger. While thus engaged, the limb stealthily slipped from its position, and, falling directly before me end foremost, penetrated the frozen earth. It was about four inches through, and ten feet long. It just grazed my cap; a little variation, and it would have dashed my head in pieces. But my time had not come. Attracted, on one occasion, while swamping a road, by the appearance of a large limb which stuck fast in the ground, curiosity induced me to extricate it, for the purpose of seeing how far it had penetrated. After considerable exertion, I succeeded in drawing it out, when I was perfectly amazed to find a thick cloth cap on the end of it. It had penetrated the earth to a considerable depth. Subsequently I learned that it belonged to a man who was killed instantly by its fall, striking him on the head, and carrying his cap into the ground with it.
It is never safe to run from a falling tree in a line directly opposite from the course in which it falls, as it sometimes strikes other trees in such a way as to throw the butt from the stump. I have sometimes seen them shoot back in this way with the velocity of lightning half their length. Running from a falling tree in the way above alluded to, I knew a man killed in an instant. Another reason which should induce choppers or spectators to avoid this manner of retreat is, that the broken limbs frequently rebound, and are thrown back in a direction opposite that in which the tree falls. It reminds one of a routed enemy hurling their missiles, as they retreat, back upon the pursuing foe. I have sometimes seen the air in the region of the tree-tops literally darkened with the flying fragments, small and great, torn from trees in the thundering passage of one of those massive columns to the ground. Sometimes they come down like a shower of arrows, as if from the departed spirits of aërial warriors. To retreat safely, one should run in a direction so as to make nearly a right angle with the falling tree. A man by the name of Hale, a master chopper, cut a Pine which, in its passage down, struck in the crutch of another tree and broke the trunk of the falling one, the top of which pitched back and instantly killed him.
If lumbermen do not love the return of the seventh day for its moral purposes, they welcome it for the rest it brings, and the opportunity it affords for various little matters of personal comfort which demand attention. On visiting our winter quarters, one of the first things which might arrest attention, indicating a Sabbath in the logging-swamp, would be a long morning nap. Dismissing care, they court the gentle spell, until, wearied with the lengthened night, they rise, not, as on other mornings, when their hurrying feet brush the early frosts as they pass to their work, while the lingering night casts back its wasting shadows upon their path. On the Sabbath morning they recline upon their boughy couches until the sun has traveled a long way upon his daily circuit.
Every one feels free to sleep, to lounge, or to do whatever he may choose, with a moderate abatement in behalf of the teamster and cook, whose duties require some seasonable attention on all mornings. Breakfast over, each individual disposes of himself as best accords with inclination or interest. There are a few general duties which come round every Sabbath, which some, by turns, feel the responsibility of performing. For instance, every Sabbath it is customary to replenish the bed with a fresh coat of boughs from the neighboring evergreens. Of the healthful and invigorating influence of this practice there is no doubt. Then follow the various little duties of a personal character. Our red flannel shirts are to be washed and mended, pants to be patched, mittens and socks to be repaired, boots to be tapped and greased, &c. Our clumsy fingers, especially if unused to the needle, make most ludicrous and unwoman-like business of patching up our torn garments. Letter-writing receives attention on this day, if at all, with no other than the deacon seat, perhaps, for a writing-desk, a sheet of soiled paper, ink dried and thick, or pale from freezing, and a pen made with a jack-knife; letters are dedicated to a wife, it may be, or to a mother by some dutiful son, or to his lady-love by some young swamper. There are some recreations to relieve the monotony of a Sabbath in the wilderness. Sometimes a short excursion in search of spruce gum; for many a young urchin at home has had the promise of a good supply of this article, to be furnished on the return of the campers. Others go in pursuit of timber for ax-helves. As neither the White Oak nor Walnut grow in the latitude of Pine forests in the eastern section of Maine, the White Ash, Rock Maple, Beech and Elm, and sometimes the Hornbeam, are in general use. Others spend, it may be, a portion of the day in short timber-hunting excursions. Where the contiguity of encampments allow it, visits are exchanged among the denizens of the camps.
Formerly, when sable were more plenty, some one or more proprietors of a line of sable traps would take the opportunity on the Sabbath to visit them, as time from the weekly employment could not be spared for this purpose. Such traps are very simple in their construction. Some thin, flat pieces of wood, cleft from the Spruce or Fir-tree, are driven into the ground, forming the outline of a small circle some nine inches in diameter, and about the same in height, with an opening of three or four inches on one side, over which is placed the trunk of a small tree some three inches through, running cross-wise, and raised at one end about four inches, supported by a standard spindle, to which a small piece of meat is fastened for bait. The top of the whole is covered with light fir or spruce boughs, to prevent the sable from taking the bait from the top. Access to the bait is then had only by passing the head and shoulders into the little door or opening under the pole, when the slightest nibbling at the spindle will bring down the dead-fall and entrap them. These traps occur every few rods, and thus a line or circuit is formed for several miles.
Wild cats sometimes take the business of tending these sable traps, in which case they tear them to pieces and devour the bait. One such animal will occasionally break up an entire line, and blast the hopes of the hunter till captured himself.
Although, when circumstances favor it, some portion of Saturday is devoted to hauling up camp wood, yet the practice of devoting a few hours of the concluding part of the Sabbath is not unfrequent. Upon the whole, we conclude that, notwithstanding the necessity of rest and recreation, and the necessary attentions to personal conveniences which the seventh day affords, the season usually wears away rather heavily than otherwise, and Monday morning, with its cheerful employments, brings not an unwelcome change. The pleasures of a forest life are, with lumbermen, found rather in the labor performed than the recreations enjoyed. Suspension from labor, without the pleasant relief which home privileges afford, leaves a vacancy of feeling not altogether free from ennui. The little domestic duties claiming attention—unpleasant, as indeed they are unnatural to the coarser sex—remind them strongly of the absence of woman, without whose amiable presence, society, and services man can not enjoy his quota of earthly bliss.
A tramp after deer and moose is sometimes taken. We often disturb them in penetrating the deep forests for timber. In such cases they always remove to some more sequestered place, and post themselves for winter quarters again, where we sometimes follow and take them when the condition of the snow renders their flight tardy and difficult. In the summer they roam at large through the forests and on the meadows, where they may often be seen feeding as we pass up the rivers; but in winter they confine themselves to much smaller limits, where they remain during the greater portion of the season. The flesh of the deer forms an agreeable change from our salt provisions. Venison is often quite plenty. From the hare and partridge our cook serves a delicious pot-pie. The flesh of the moose and bear are very good. Were it not for the unprepossessing appearance of the latter, his flesh would be esteemed before most wild meat. The flesh of a young black bear a year old, if fat, is not easily distinguished, when cooked, from a good pork spare rib. I recollect a ludicrous instance of imposition practiced upon an individual by furnishing him with bear meat for his dinner, while he supposed that he was feasting upon fresh pork. He was known to be exceedingly averse to eating bear meat, and often expressed his disrelish, and even disgust, at the idea. "Eat bear's meat? No! I would as soon eat a dog." A bear had been taken by a crew near by; it was fine meat, and it so happened that our anti-bear-eater was at their camp one day, when the cook served up in his best manner some of the flesh. Of course he was invited to dine, as lumbermen are always hospitable. On this occasion the invitation was especially urgent, as they "had a nice bit of fresh pork, which had been sent them by the provision-team."