“I should like to go to either of the places, first-rate,” said Clinton, “but I don’t know as I have any choice about them. I’ll leave it with you to say which shall be the trip.”
“No,” resumed his father, “you think the matter over to-day, and perhaps you will find that you have some preference.”
Clinton did so, and after weighing in his mind the attractions of the several places, he came to the conclusion that he had rather visit a logging camp, of which he had heard so much, than to go to either Portland or Bangor. He had already once visited the former city, and the other had no special interest for him, beyond any other large place. So he informed his father of his decision, and the logging camp was determined upon as the object of their journey.
The rest of the week was spent in preparing for and talking about their approaching excursion. Clinton watched the weather very closely, and was constantly on the look out for a storm; but no storm came, though there were at times indications of foul weather, which somewhat dampened his ardor. His mother cooked a large amount of dough-nuts, ginger cakes, fried apple pies, and other eatables convenient for a journey; for they were going through a section of the country which was little settled, and might have to depend upon themselves, in part at least, for their provisions. The sleigh was cleaned, and even Fanny received extra care, and an extra allowance of fodder, in consideration of the long jaunt before her.
Monday morning, at length, came. The weather was just what they desired. The sun shone pleasantly, the air was mild, and the sleighing,—which had not been interrupted for a day, since the first considerable fall of snow in December,—was smooth and easy. Mrs. Davenport stowed away in the sleigh-box, under the seat, an ample supply of provisions for the journey; and, also, a quantity of extra clothing, to be used in case they should need a change. Nor did Mr. Davenport forget to provide something for Fanny’s comfort on the way. He lashed a bag of grain between the dasher and the front of the sleigh, and inside he put as much hay as he could conveniently carry, tied up in wisps of a convenient size for bating the horse. Some friction matches, an umbrella, a rifle, a hatchet, and two good buffalo skins, completed their outfit.
The sun was hardly half an hour up, when Clinton and his father bade good-bye to Mrs. Davenport and Annie, and started on their journey. The logging business is carried on most extensively around the head waters of the great rivers in the northern part of Maine. These, however, were too far distant, and the roads to them too little travelled, to be visited with much pleasure or even safety, at this season of the year. The camp which Mr. Davenport intended to visit was situated on one of the tributaries of the Kennebec river, about forty miles from Brookdale. Here they could obtain quite as correct an idea of the loggers’ life as they could by going farther north, though the business was carried on upon a smaller scale at this place.
Fanny trotted off at a brisk pace, and soon the travellers found themselves upon a road where no houses nor cultivated land could be seen,—but tall forest trees rose on each side, and spread away in the distance as far as the eye could see.
“What lots of woods,” said Clinton; “I don’t see why they go so far after logs, when they are so plenty around here.”
“I suppose one reason is,” said his father, “that these forests are not very convenient to a stream, so that the logs could not be easily floated down to the saw-mills. Perhaps, too, the land belongs to somebody who thinks the lumber will be more valuable by and by than it is now. There are many large tracts of wood scattered over the State, even in parts which have been settled for years.”
“I should think it would take a great many ages to use up all the wood there is in this State,” continued Clinton.