Rose o' the River
Page 4
"BLASPHEMIOUS SWEARIN'"
"Steve Waterman's an awful nice feller," exclaimed Ivory Dunn just then.Stephen had been looking intently across the river, watching theShapleys' side door, from which Rose might issue at any moment; and atthis point in the discussion he had lounged away from the group, and,moving toward the bridge, began to throw pebbles idly into the water.
"He's an awful smart driver for one that don't foiler drivin' the yearround," continued Ivory; "and he's the awfullest clean-spoken,soft-spoken feller I ever see."
"There's be'n two black sheep in his family a'ready, an' Steve kind o'feels as if he'd ought to be extry white," remarked Jed Towle. "Youfellers that belonged to the old drive remember Pretty Quick Watermanwell enough? Steve's mother brought him up."
Yes; most of them remembered the Waterman twins, Stephen's cousins, nowboth dead,--Slow Waterman, so moderate in his steps and actions that youhad to fix a landmark somewhere near him to see if he moved; and PrettyQuick, who shone by comparison with his twin.
"I'd kind o' forgot that Pretty Quick Waterman was cousin to Steve,"said the under boss; "he never worked with me much, but he wa'n't cutoff the same piece o' goods as the other Watermans. Great hemlock! buthe kep' a cussin' dictionary, Pretty Quick did! Whenever he heard anynew words he must 'a' writ 'em down, an' then studied 'em all up in thewinter-time, to use in the spring drive."
"Swearin' 's a habit that hed ought to be practiced with turriblecaution," observed old Mr. Wiley, when the drivers had finishedluncheon and taken out their pipes. "There's three kinds o'swearin',--plain swearin', profane swearin', an' blasphemious swearin'.Logs air jest like mules: there's times when a man can't seem to rip upa jam in good style 'thout a few words that's too strong for the infantclasses in Sunday-schools; but a man hedn't ought to tempt Providence.When he's ridin' a log near the falls at high water, or cuttin' thekey-log in a jam, he ain't in no place for blasphemious swearin'; jest alittle easy, perlite 'damn' is 'bout all he can resk, if he don't want togit drownded an' hev his ghost walkin' the river-banks till kingdomcome.
"You an' I, Long, was the only ones that seen Pretty Quick go, wa'n'twe?" continued Old Kennebec, glancing at Long Abe Dennett (cousin toShort Abe), who lay on his back in the grass, the smoke-wreaths risingfrom his pipe, and the steel spikes in his heavy, calked-sole bootsshining in the sun.
"There was folks on the bridge," Long answered, "but we was the onlyones near enough to see an' hear. It was so onexpected, an' so soonover, that them as was watchin' upstream, where the men was to work onthe falls, wouldn't 'a' hed time to see him go down. But I did, an'nobody ain't heard me swear sence, though it's ten years ago. I allerssaid it was rum an' bravadder that killed Pretty Quick Waterman thatday. The boys hedn't give him a 'dare' that he hedn't took up. He seemedlike he was possessed, an' the logs was the same way; they was fairlywild, leapin' around in the maddest kind o' water you ever see. Theriver was b'ilin' high that spring; it was an awful stubborn jam, an'Pretty Quick, he'd be'n workin' on it sence dinner."
"He clumb up the bank more'n once to have a pull at the bottle that washid in the bushes," interpolated Mr. Wiley.
"Like as not; that was his failin'. Well, most o' the boys were on theother side o' the river, workin' above the bridge, an' the boss hedcalled Pretty Quick to come off an' leave the jam till mornin', whenthey'd get horses an' dog-warp it off, log by log. But when the boss gotout o' sight, Pretty Quick jest stood right still, swingin' his axe, an'blasphemin' so 't would freeze your blood, vowin' he wouldn't move tillthe logs did, if he stayed there till the crack o' doom. Jest then agreat, ponderous log that hed be'n churnin' up an' down in the falls fora week, got free an' come blunderin' an' thunderin' down-river. Land! itwas chockfull o' water, an' looked 'bout as big as a church! It comestraight along, butt-end foremost, an' struck that jam, full force, so'tevery log in it shivered. There was a crack,--the crack o' doom, sureenough, for Pretty Quick,--an' one o' the logs le'p' right out an'struck him jest where he stood, with his axe in the air, blasphemin'.The jam kind o' melted an' crumbled up, an' in a second Pretty Quickwas whirlin' in the white water. He never riz,--at least where we couldsee him,--an' we didn't find him for a week. That's the whole story, an'I guess Steve takes it as a warnin'. Any way, he ain't no friend to rumnor swearin', Steve ain't. He knows Pretty Quick's ways shortened hismother's life, an' you notice what a sharp lookout he keeps on Rufus."
"He needs it," Ike Billings commented tersely.
"Some men seem to lose their wits when they're workin' on logs,"observed Mr. Wiley, who had deeply resented Long Dennett's telling of astory which he knew fully as well and could have told much better. "Now,nat'rally, I've seen things on the Kennebec "--
"Three cheers for the Saco! Hats off, boys!" shouted Jed Towle, and hisdirections were followed with a will.
"As I was sayin'," continued the old man, peacefully, "I've seen thingson the Kennebec that wouldn't happen on a small river, an' I've be'n inturrible places an' taken turrible resks--resks that would 'a' turned aSaco River man's hair white; but them is the times when my wits work thequickest. I remember once I was smokin' my pipe when a jam broke underme. 'T was a small jam, or what we call a small jam on theKennebec,--only about three hundred thousand pine logs. The first thingI knowed, I was shootin' back an' forth in the b'ilin' foam, hangin' ont' the end of a log like a spider. My hands was clasped round the log,and I never lost control o' my pipe. They said I smoked right along,jest as cool an' placid as a pond-lily."
"Why'd you quit drivin'?" inquired Ivory.
"My strength wa'n't ekal to it," Mr. Wiley responded sadly. "I was allskin, bones, an' nerve. The Comp'ny wouldn't part with me altogether,so they give me a place in the office down on the wharves."
"That wa'n't so bad," said Jed Towle; "why didn't you hang on to it,so's to keep in sight o' the Kennebec?"
"I found I couldn't be confined under cover. My liver give all out, myappetite failed me, an' I wa'n't wuth a day's wages. I'd learnedengineerin' when I was a boy, an' I thought I'd try runnin' on the roada spell, but it didn't suit my constitution. My kidneys ain't turriblestrong, an' the doctors said I'd have Bright's disease if I didn't gitsome kind o' work where there wa'n't no vibrations."
"Hard to find, Mr. Wiley; hard to find!" said Jed Towle.
"You're right," responded the old man feelingly. "I've tried all kindso' labor. Some of 'em don't suit my liver, some disagrees with mystomach, and the rest of 'em has vibrations; so here I set, high an'dry on the banks of life, you might say, like a stranded log."
As this well-known simile fell upon the ear, there was a general stir inthe group, for Turrible Wiley, when rhetorical, sometimes grew tearful,and this was a mood not to be encouraged.
"All right, boss," called Ike Billings, winking to the boys; "we'll bethere in a jiffy!" for the luncheon hour had flown, and the work of theafternoon was waiting for them. "You make a chalk-mark where you leftoff, Mr. Wiley, an' we'll hear the rest to-morrer; only don't you forgitnothin'! Remember't was the Kennebec you was talkin' about."
"I will, indeed," responded the old man. "As I was sayin' wheninterrupted, I may be a stranded log, but I'm proud that the mark o' theGard'ner Lumber Comp'ny is on me, so't when I git to my journey's endthey'll know where I belong and send me back to the Kennebec. Before I'msawed up I'd like to forgit this triflin' brook in the sight of agood-sized river, an' rest my eyes on some full-grown logs, 'stead o'these little damn pipestems you boys are playin' with!"