THE GAME OF JACKSTRAWS
There was a roar of laughter at the old man's boast, but in a moment allwas activity. The men ran hither and thither like ants, gathering theirtools. There were some old-fashioned pick-poles, straight, heavy leverswithout any "dog," and there were modern pick-poles and peaveys, forevery river has its favorite equipment in these things. There was nodynamite in those days to make the stubborn jams yield, and the dog-warpwas in general use. Horses or oxen, sometimes a line of men, stood onthe river-bank. A long rope was attached by means of a steel spike toone log after another, and it was dragged from the tangled mass.Sometimes, after unloading the top logs, those at the bottom would riseand make the task easier; sometimes the work would go on for hours withno perceptible progress, and Mr. Wiley would have opportunity to tellthe bystanders of a "turrible jam" on the Kennebec that had cost theLumber Company ten thousand dollars to break.
There would be great arguments on shore, among the villagers as well asamong the experts, as to the particular log which might be a key to theposition. The boss would study the problem from various standpoints, andthe drivers themselves would pass from heated discussion into longconsultations.
"They're paid by the day," Old Kennebec would philosophize to thedoctor; "an' when they're consultin' they don't hev to be doggin', whichis a turrible sight harder work."
Rose had created a small sensation, on one occasion, by pointing out tothe under boss the key-log in a jam. She was past mistress of thepretty game of jackstraws, much in vogue at that time. The delicatelittle lengths of polished wood or bone were shaken together and emptiedon the table. Each jackstraw had one of its ends fashioned in the shapeof some sort of implement,--a rake, hoe, spade, fork, or mallet. All thepieces were intertwined by the shaking process, and they lay as theyfell, in a hopeless tangle. The task consisted in taking a tinypick-pole, scarcely bigger than a match, and with the bit of curved wireon the end lifting off the jackstraws one by one without stirring thepile or making it tremble. When this occurred, you gave place to youropponent, who relinquished his turn to you when ill fortune descendedupon him, the game, which was a kind of river-driving and jam-picking inminiature, being decided by the number of pieces captured and theirvalue. No wonder that the under boss asked Rose's advice as to thekey-log. She had a fairy's hand, and her cunning at deciding the piecesto be moved, and her skill at extricating and lifting them from theheap, were looked upon in Edgewood as little less than supernatural. Itwas a favorite pastime; and although a man's hand is ill adapted to it,being over-large and heavy; the game has obvious advantages for a loverin bringing his head very close to that of his beloved adversary. Thejackstraws have to be watched with a hawk's eagerness, since the"trembling" can be discerned only by a keen eye; but there were momentswhen Stephen was willing to risk the loss of a battle if he could watchRose's drooping eyelashes, the delicate down on her pink cheek, and thefeathery curls that broke away from her hair.
He was looking at her now from a distance, for she and Mite Shapley wereassisting Jed Towle to pile up the tin plates and tie the tin dipperstogether. Next she peered into one of the bean-pots, and seemed pleasedthat there was still something in its depths; then she gathered thefragments neatly together in a basket, and, followed by her friend,clambered down the banks to a shady spot where the Boomshers, otherwiseknown as the Crambry family, were "lined up" expectantly.
It is not difficult to find a single fool in any community, howeversmall; but a family of fools is fortunately somewhat rarer. Everycounty, however, can boast of one fool-family, and York County isalways in the fashion, with fools as with everything else. The unique,much-quoted, and undesirable Boomshers could not be claimed asindigenous to the Saco valley, for this branch was an offshoot of astill larger tribe inhabiting a distant township. Its beginnings wereshrouded in mystery. There was a French-Canadian ancestor somewhere, anda Gipsy or Indian grandmother. They had always intermarried from timeimmemorial. When one of the selectmen of their native place had beenasked why the Boomshers always married cousins, and why the habit wasnot discouraged, he replied that he really didn't know; he s'posed theyfelt it would be kind of odd to go right out and marry a stranger.
Lest "Boomsher" seem an unusual surname, it must be explained that theactual name was French and could not be coped with by Edgewood orPleasant River, being something quite as impossible to spell as topronounce. As the family had lived for the last few years somewhere nearthe Killick Cranberry Meadows, they were called--and completelydescribed in the calling--the Crambry fool-family. A talented and muchtraveled gentleman who once stayed over night at the Edgewood tavern,proclaimed it his opinion that Boomsher had been gradually corruptedfrom Beaumarchais. When he wrote the word on his visiting card andshowed it to Mr. Wiley, Old Kennebec had replied, that in the judgmentof a man who had lived in large places and seen a turrible lot o' life,such a name could never have been given either to a Christian or aheathen family,--that the way in which the letters was thrown togetherinto it, and the way in which they was sounded when read out loud, wasentirely ag'in reason. It was true, he said, that Beaumarchais, bein'such a fool name, might 'a' be'n invented a-purpose for a fool family,but he wouldn't hold even with callin' 'em Boomsher; Crambry was wellenough for'em an' a sight easier to speak.
Stephen knew a good deal about the Crambrys, for he passed theirso-called habitation in going to one of his wood-lots. It was only amonth before that he had found them all sitting outside theirbroken-down fence, surrounded by decrepit chairs, sofas, tables,bedsteads, bits of carpet, and stoves.
"What's the matter?" he called out from his wagon. "There ain't nothin'the matter," said Alcestis Crambry. "Father's dead, an we're dividin' upthe furnerchure."
Alcestis was the pride of the Crambrys, and the list of his attainmentsused often to be on his proud father's lips. It was he who was thelargest, "for his size," in the family; he who could tell his brothersPaul and Arcadus "by their looks;" he who knew a sour apple from a sweetone the minute he bit it; he who, at the early age of ten, was brightenough to point to the cupboard and say, "Puddin', dad!"
Alcestis had enjoyed, in consequence of his unusual intellectual powers,some educational privileges, and the Killick schoolmistress wellremembered his first day at the village seat of learning. Reports ofwhat took place in this classic temple from day to day may have beenwafted to the dull ears of the boy, who was not thought ready for schooluntil he had attained the ripe age of twelve. It may even have beenthat specific rumors of the signs, symbols, and hieroglyphics used ineducational institutions had reached him in the obscurity of hiscranberry meadows. At all events, when confronted by the alphabet chart,whose huge black capitals were intended to capture the wandering eyes ofthe infant class, Alcestis exhibited unusual, almost unnatural,excitement.
"That is 'A,' my boy," said the teacher genially, as she pointed to thefirst character on the chart.
"Good God, is that 'A'!" exclaimed Alcestis, sitting down heavily onthe nearest bench. And neither teacher nor scholars could discoverwhether he was agreeably surprised or disappointed in theletter,--whether he had expected, if he ever encountered it, to find itwrithing in coils on the floor of a cage, or whether it simply bore noresemblance to the ideal already established in his mind.
Mrs. Wiley had once tried to make something of Mercy, the oldestdaughter of the family, but at the end of six weeks she announced that agirl who couldn't tell whether the clock was going "forrards orbackwards," and who rubbed a pocket handkerchief as long as she did asheet, would be no help in her household.
The Crambrys had daily walked the five or six miles from their home tothe Edgewood bridge during the progress of the drive, not only for thesocial and intellectual advantages to be gained from the companypresent, but for the more solid compensation of a good meal. They alladored Rose, partly because she gave them food, and partly because shewas sparkling and pretty and wore pink dresses that caught their dulleyes.
The afternoon proved a lively one. In the first place,
one of theyounger men slipped into the water between two logs, part of a lotchained together waiting to be let out of the boom. The weight of themass higher up and the force of the current wedged him in rathertightly, and when he had been "pried" out he declared that he felt likean apple after it had been squeezed in the cider-mill, so he drove home,and Rufus Waterman took his place.
Two hours' hard work followed this incident, and at the end of that timethe "bung" that reached from the shore to Waterman's Ledge (the rockwhere Pretty Quick met his fate) was broken up, and the logs thatcomposed it were started down river. There remained now only the greatside-jam at Gray Rock. This had been allowed to grow, gathering logs asthey drifted past, thus making higher water and a stronger current onthe other side of the rock, and allowing an easier passage for the logsat that point.
All was excitement now, for, this particular piece of work accomplished,the boom above the falls would be "turned out," and the river wouldonce more be clear and clean at the Edgewood bridge.
Small boys, perching on the rocks with their heels hanging, hands andmouths full of red Astrakhan apples, cheered their favorites to theecho, while the drivers shouted to one another and watched the signs andsignals of the boss, who could communicate with them only in that way,so great was the roar of the water.
The jam refused to yield to ordinary measures. It was a difficultproblem, for the rocky river-bed held many a snare and pitfall. Therewas a certain ledge under the water, so artfully placed that every logstriking under its projecting edges would wedge itself firmly there,attracting others by its evil example.
"That galoot-boss ought to hev shoved his crew down to that jam thismornin'," grumbled Old Kennebec to Alcestis Crambry, who was always hismost loyal and attentive listener. "But he wouldn't take no advice, notif Pharaoh nor Boat nor Herod nor Nicodemus come right out o' the Biblean' give it to him. The logs air contrary to-day. Sometimes they'll goalong as easy as an old shoe, an' other times they'll do nothin' butbung, bung, bung! There's a log nestlin' down in the middle o' that jamthat I've be'n watchin' for a week. It's a cur'ous one, to begin with;an' then it has a mark on it that you can reco'nize it by. Did ye everhear tell o' George the Third, King of England, Alcestis, or ain't heknown over to the crambry medders? Well, once upon a time men used to gothrough the forests over here an' slash a mark on the trunks o' thebiggest trees. That was the royal sign, as you might say, an' meant thatthe tree was to be taken over to England to make masts an' yard-arms forthe King's ships. What made me think of it now is that the King's markwas an arrer, an' it's an arrer that's on that there log I'm showin' ye.Well, sir, I seen it fust at Milliken's Mills a Monday. It was introuble then, an'it's be'n in trouble ever sence. That's allers the way;there'll be one pesky, crooked, contrary, consarn'ed log that can't goanywheres without gittin' into difficulties. You can yank it out an' setit afloat, an' before you hardly git your doggin' iron off of it, it'llbe snarled up agin in some new place. From the time it's chopped down tothe day it gets to Saco, it costs the Comp'ny 'bout ten times its peskyvaller as lumber. Now they've sent over to Benson's for a team ofhorses, an' I bate ye they can't git 'em. I wish I was the boss on thisriver, Alcestis."
"I wish I was," echoed the boy.
"Well, your head-fillin' ain't the right kind for a boss, Alcestis, an'you'd better stick to dry land. You set right down here while I go backa piece an' git the pipe out o' my coat pocket. I guess nothin' ain'tgoin' to happen for a few minutes."
The surmise about the horses, unlike most of Old Kennebec's, proved tobe true. Benson's pair had gone to Portland with a load of hay;accordingly the tackle was brought, the rope was adjusted to a log, andfive of the drivers, standing on the river-bank, attempted to drag itfrom its intrenched position. It refused to yield the fraction of aninch. Rufus and Stephen joined the five men, and the augmented crew ofseven were putting all their strength on the rope when a cry went upfrom the watchers on the bridge. The "dog" had loosened suddenly, andthe men were flung violently to the ground. For a second they werestunned both by the surprise and by the shock of the blow, but in thesame moment the cry of the crowd swelled louder. Alcestis Crambry hadstolen, all unnoticed, to the rope and had attempted to use his feeblepowers for the common good. When then blow came he fell backward, and,making no effort to control the situation, slid over the bank and intothe water.
IN A TWINKLING HE WAS IN THE WATER]
The other Crambrys, not realizing the danger, laughed, audibly, butthere was no jeering from the bridge.
Stephen had seen Alcestis slip, and in the fraction of a moment hadtaken off his boots and was coasting down the slippery rocks behind himin a twinkling he was in the water, almost as soon as the boy himself.
"Doggoned idjut!" exclaimed Old Kennebec, tearfully. "Wuth the hull foolfamily! If I hedn't 'a' be'n so old, I'd 'a' jumped in myself, for youcan't drownd a Wiley, not without you tie nail-kegs to their head an'feet an' drop 'em in the falls."
Alcestis, who had neither brains, courage, nor experience, had, betterstill, the luck that follows the witless. He was carried swiftly downthe current; but, only fifty feet away, a long, slender, log, wedgedbetween two low rocks on the shore, jutted out over the water, almosttouching its surface. The boy's clothes were admirably adapted to thesituation, being full of enormous rents. In some way the end of the logcaught in the rags of Alcestis's coat and held him just seconds enoughto enable Stephen to swim to him, to seize him by the nape of the neck,to lift him on the log, and thence to the shore. It was a particularlybad place for a landing, and there was nothing to do but to lower ropesand drag the drenched men to the high ground above.
Alcestis came to his senses in ten or fifteen minutes, and seemed asbright as usual: with a kind of added swagger at being the centralfigure in a dramatic situation.
"I wonder you hedn't stove your brains out, when you landed so turriblesuddent on that rock at the foot of the bank," said Mr. Wiley to him.
"I should, but I took good care to light on my head," respondedAlcestis; a cryptic remark which so puzzled Old Kennebec that he musedover it for some hours.
Rose o' the River Page 5
