Ande Trembath: A Tale of Old Cornwall England

by Matthew Stanley Kemp

The tavern keeper went off into another cackle of laughter, and the schoolmaster feebly joined in.

The rafting crew now returned from the supper-room and gathered around the flaming open fireplace. Rafting stories followed each other in rapid succession, Hugh Lark seeming to have the greatest fund. Clay and corncob pipes were brought out from various pockets and soon wreaths of smoke began to dim the atmosphere.

"Hear of old Jim Handy's trip?" asked one after Hugh had told a rather exciting story.

"No," said Hugh.

"Let's hear it," said the others.

"Jim had ne'er been on the water and thought it would be a nice thing for him to go on a trial trip. He had allers said that the land war good enough fer him, and that he would ne'er trust himself to nawthing but solid land. Some of the boys up on the Big Lycamahoning, that were cutting timber fer him, up and began talking of the funny times they had down at the mouth, the dancing and the parties. And then they begun to talk of the ride down, just as easy as riding a good hoss. The old man had a powerful set of rafts to run, and he saw one after another go down the stream and the fellows cherry and 'parently enjying the ride. They got him so worked up over the ride, and the good times they had, that he decided to go, too, on the last raft. They told him that all he would have to do would be to stand in the centre and perhaps they could make a chair fer him to set on. The old man war tickled with the idea. On the river they told him they could put up a regular shanty on the raft and it would be like travelling in a coach, and then he would have a chance to see Pittsburgh. The old man had never seen Pittsburgh and it war the capping argument. Then some fool fellow told him of the dams and the going under the water five or six feet when the raft would plunge over the shoots. The fellows told him that they could fix that all right. They would make a high wooden horse fer him to sit on when they would take the shoots. That fixed him. Last week the raft war ready to make the trip. They had a slanting pole fixed in the centre, and a seat up at the top where the old man could sit in the dry when the raft would plunge under. It went all right till they come to the big dam. Then as they war making fer the shoot and were fairly in it, all the fellows at the front oar dropped it and run up the pole after the old man. The old man hollered to them that they would break it down, but they didn't keer. Up they went, and just as they were plunging under, the pole broke, and down tumbled the old man with all the others. The raft war oak and sunk dead, like lead. It went to the very bottom and then rose again. The old man hung on and so did the others, but he was mad, a-cussing and swearing and spitting water like a water dog. It war a sight to see."

The fellow burst into a laugh that was echoed by the others.

"If he had been a-riding that sixty-foot stick that you rode, Hugh, he would been scared worse, eh," said one of the rafters.

"Tell us the story, Hugh," said others.

"It were not much," said Hugh. "A sixty-foot stringer war torn off by one of the rocks in the Rough Water. I thought we ought not to lose it, and so gave the rear oar into the hands of my assistant and jumped for it. I landed clear in the centre of the stick as it slipped behind me. The raft was going faster than the stick. How do ye account for that, Bill?" asked Hugh, pausing in his narrative.