CHAPTER XI.
BEAVER WORKS.
About noon on the following day they were obliged to bid farewell to LinHathaway, his wagon and horses, as the logging-road went no farther. Theyoung settler turned homeward rather regretfully. It might be manymonths again before he got a chance of talking to anybody beyond hisfather and mother, and the boys had brought a dash of outside life intohis woodland solitude.
The travellers proceeded on foot through a dense forest, which, luckilyfor Dol, had little undergrowth and mostly a soft carpet of moss or drypine needles. Still they had plenty of climbing over windfalls, withmany rough pokes and jibes from forward boughs and rotten limbs, to robthe way of sameness. Through this labyrinth they were safely piloted byUncle Eb and Joe, the latter with his compass in his hand, and theformer simply studying the "Indian's compass," which is observing howthe moss grows upon the tree-trunks, there being always a greaterquantity on the side which faces north.
Before nightfall they reached another log cabin, tenanted by a man whohad just settled down for the purpose of clearing up a farm. Here theywere lodged for the night, without trouble of making camp.
The third day of their journey was marked by two sensations. They haltedfor a short rest at a point where there was an extensive break in theforest. Scarcely had they emerged from the gloom of a dense growth ofcedars, when Dol exclaimed.--
"Good gracious! That looks as if people had been building a jolly highrailroad out here."
On the right rose a bare, steep ridge of sand and gravel, nearly ninetyfeet in height, and closely resembling a railway embankment.
"Well, boy," laughed Dr. Phil, "if that's a railroad, Nature built it,and by a mighty curious process too. The sand, rocks, and gravel ofwhich it is mostly formed must have been swept here by a great rush ofwaters that once prevailed over this land. We call the ridge a'Horseback.' If you like, we'll climb to the top of it, after we've hadour snack [lunch], and you can get a peep at the surrounding country."
So they did. The top was level, and wide enough for two carriages todrive abreast; and the view from it was one which could never beforgotten. Around them were millions of acres of forest land, beautifulwith the contrasts of October; here dipping into a cedar valley, in themidst of which they saw the silver smile of a woodland lake, thererising into a hill crowned with towering pines, some of them over ahundred feet in height.
But, most thrilling sight of all, they beheld, only half a dozen milesaway, rising in sublime grandeur against the sky, the mountain ofmountains in Maine,--great Katahdin. They had caught glimpses of itscurved line of peaks before. Now they saw its forests, and the ruggedslides where avalanches of bowlders and earth from the top had ploughedheavily downward, sweeping away all growth.
Cyrus lifted his hat, and waved it at the distant mass.
"Hurrah!" he cried. "There's the home of storms! There's old Katahdin!The Indians named it Ktaadn 'the biggest mountain.'"
"Want to hear the Indian legend about it, lads?" asked Dr. Phil.
A general chirp of assent was his reply, and the doctor began:--
"Well, when the redskins owned these forests, they believed that thesummit of Katahdin was the home of their evil spirit, or, as they callhim, 'The Big Devil.' He was named Pamolah. And he was a mightyunpleasant sort of neighbor. Once, so tradition says, he ran away with abeautiful Indian maiden, and carried her up to his lonely lair amongthose peaks. When her tribe tried to rescue her, he let loose greatstorms upon them, his artillery being thunder, lightning, hail, andrain, before which they were forced to flee helter-skelter. An old redchief long ago told me the story, and added gravely that 'it was sartintrue, for han'some squaw always catch 'em debil.'
"The foundation of the legend lies in the fact that there really is avery curious granite basin among Katahdin's peaks, and it is thebirthplace of most storms which sweep over our State. I myself haveseen clouds forming in it, when I made an ascent of the mountain in myyounger days, and whirling out in all directions. The roar of its windsmay sometimes be heard miles away. There are several ponds in the basin;one of them, a tiny, clear lake, without any visible outlet, isPamolah's fishing-ground. That's the yarn about the mountain as I heardit."
IN THE SHADOW OF THE KATAHDIN.]
"Ain't it a'most time for us to be gittin' down from this Horseback,Doc?" asked Joe, who had been listening with the others. "I thought we'dreach the farm you're heading for to-night, but we're half a dozen milesoff it yet; and we can't do more'n another mile or two afore it'll betime to halt and make camp. There's some pretty bad travelling and aplaguy bit of swamp ahead."
"I guess you're about right, Joe," said Doc, rising with alacrity fromthe stone where he had seated himself while telling his yarn.
Joe's bad travelling meant a great deal of tripping and flounderingthrough soft mud and mire, with slippery moss-stones sandwiched in, anddwarfed bushes which ran along the ground, and twisted themselves in analmost impassable tangle. These had a knack of catching a fellow's feet,and causing him to sprawl forward on his face and hands, whereupon hisknapsack would hit him an astounding thwack on the back.
After three-quarters of an hour of this fun, very muddy, clammy withperspiration, and thoroughly winded, the party reached firmer ground,and the guides called a halt.
"Guess we'd better rest a bit," said Joe, "afore we go farther. There'snothing in forest travelling that'll take the breath out of a man likecrossing a swamp," eying compassionately the city folk; for he himselfwas as "fit" as when he started. "Then we'd better follow that streamtill we strike a good place for a camping-ground. What say, Doc?"
Dr. Phil, as captain, signified his assent. After a shortbreathing-spell he again gave the command, "Forward!" And his companypushed on into the woods, following the course of a dark stream whichhad gurgled through the swamp.
"There used to be an old beaver-dam somewheres about here," broke forthJoe presently, when they had made about a quarter of a mile, the youngerguide taking the lead, for he was evidently more at home in this part ofthe forest land than his senior, Uncle Eb. "Hullo, now! there it is.Look, gentlemen!"
He pointed to a curved bank of brushwood, mostly alder branches, piledtogether in curious topsyturvy fashion, which formed a dam across thestream. It bristled with sticks, poking out and up in every direction;for the bushy ends of the boughs had been heavily plastered with mud andstones, to keep them down.
"That a beaver-dam!" gasped Neal in amazement. "Why, I always had anidea that beavers were half human in intelligence, and wove theirbranches in and out in a sort of neat basketwork when making dams.That's a funny rough-and-tumble looking old pile."
"It's a good water-tight dam, for all that," answered Cyrus. "And don'tyou begin to underrate Mr. Beaver's intelligence until you see more ofhis works. I've torn the bottom out of a dam like this on a cold, rainynight,--beavers like rainy nights for work,--and then hidden myself insome bushes to watch the result. It was a trial of strength andpatience, I assure you, to remain there for six mortal hours,--though Ihad rubber overalls on,--with wet twigs and leaves slapping my face. Butthe sight I saw was more wonderful than anything I could have imagined.There was a cloudy, watery moon; and shortly after it rose, five beaversappeared upon the dam, scrambling up and down, and examining the greathole through which the water was fast leaking out of their pond. Then,following a big fellow, who was evidently the boss beaver, they swam tothe bank. He stationed himself near a tree about twenty inches incircumference, and his four boys at once started to fell it. I tell youthey worked like hustlers, each one sawing on it in turn with his sharpteeth, and sometimes two of them together on different parts of thetrunk.
"At last the tree--it was an ash--fell, toppling into the water justwhere the beavers wanted it. They pushed and tugged it down-stream forabout ten yards, to the dam, and propped it against the opening which Ihad made. I couldn't see the rest of the operations clearly; but Icaught glimpses of them, marching about on their hind-legs, carrying mudsnug up to their chins
like this," here Cyrus folded his arms across hischest. "And before daybreak that dam was perfectly repaired, with nevera leak in it.
"You know they build the dams in very shallow water, only a few inchesdeep; and they generally roll in a couple of long logs for a solidfoundation. It was one of these which I had torn out. Now, Neal, what doyou say about the beaver's intelligence?"
"If I didn't know you, Cyrus, I'd say you were making up as you wentalong," answered Neal. "It seems one of those things which a fellow canscarcely believe in. Hulloa! What's that?"
A loud report, like the bang of a gun, made all the boys, who had beenstanding very quietly, gazing at the dam, suddenly jump.
"It's only a beaver striking the water with his tail," laughed Cyrus."He has been swimming about somewhere up-stream, and has scented us, anddived. I have heard one do that a dozen times in the night, if hedetected the presence of man; but it's very unusual in the daytime, forthey rarely venture out in broad light. In diving, if suddenly alarmed,they strike the surface of the water a tremendous whack with theirtails, as a signal of alarm, making this report, which in still weatherresounds for a great distance.
"I'm very glad you heard it, boys; for your chances of seeing the masterbeaver or any of his colony are mighty slim. But we'll probably come ontheir lodge a little higher up."
Above the shallow water where the dam was built, the stream widened intoa broad, deep pool. About fifty yards ahead, in the centre of this, wasa tiny island. On its extreme edge Joe pointed out the beaver lodge. Itwas shaped something like a huge beehive, being about a dozen feet indiameter and five feet high. The outside seemed to be entirely coveredwith mud and fibrous roots, through which the sticks which formed itsframework poked out here and there.
"The doors are all underwater," said Cyrus, "and so far down thatthey'll be beneath the ice when the stream freezes in winter. Otherwisethe beavers could not reach their pile of food-wood, which they keep atthe bottom, and would starve to death. They are clerks of the weather,if you like. They seem to know when the first hard frost is coming, andsink their stores a day or two before. Man has not yet discovered theirmysterious knack of sinking wood, and keeping it stationary through manymonths.
"They feed on the inner bark of poplar, white birch, and willow trees.In autumn they fell these along the banks, generally so that they willfall into the water, tug and push them down-stream, and float them nearto their lodges. If the trees are too big to be easily handled, they sawthem into convenient lengths."
"I call it tough luck, not being able to get a sight of the animals,after seeing so much of their works," grumbled Royal.
"Ye might wait here till midnight, and not have any better," said Joe."That fellow's tail was like a fire-alarm to them. They ain't to homenow, you bet! They've dusted out of their house as if it was on fire;and they've either dived to the bottom, or hidden themselves in holesalong the bank. Guess we'd better be moving on. It's a'most time tothink about making camp."
"The beavers have been working here!" exclaimed the guide a few minuteslater, as he strode ahead. "These white birches were felled by 'em; anda dandy job they did too."
He pointed to two slim birches which lay prone with their tops in thewater, and to a third, the trunk of which was partly sawn through inmore than one place. The ground was strewn with little clippings oftimber, bearing the saw-marks of the beavers' teeth. The boys gatheredthem up as curiosities.
"Oh, the skilful little animals can beat this work by long odds!"exclaimed Doc. "These trunks only measure from eight to twelve inches incircumference. I've seen a tree fully two feet round which was felled bythem. Say, Joe! don't you think we'd better camp to-night somewhere onthe _brulee?_"
"Just what I'm planning, Doc," answered Joe. "We must be pretty near itnow."
A few minutes afterwards the party filed out of the dense woods, passedthrough a grove of young spruces, forded a brook which emptied itselfinto the stream they were following, and came upon a scene blasted,barren, and unutterably dreary.
The band of boys, who, in spite of swamps and jungles, had learned tolove the forest dearly, for its many beauties, and for the wildoffspring with which it teemed, sorrowfully gasped, as if they saw theskeleton of a friend.
Camp and Trail: A Story of the Maine Woods Page 12