Chapter XI - Beaver Works

About noon on the following day they were obliged to bid farewell to Lin Hathaway, his wagon and horses, as the logging-road went no farther. The young settler turned homeward rather regretfully. It might be many months again before he got a chance of talking to anybody beyond his father and mother, and the boys had brought a dash of outside life into his woodland solitude.

The travellers proceeded on foot through a dense forest, which, luckily for Dol, had little undergrowth and mostly a soft carpet of moss or dry pine needles. Still they had plenty of climbing over windfalls, with many rough pokes and jibes from forward boughs and rotten limbs, to rob the way of sameness. Through this labyrinth they were safely piloted by Uncle Eb and Joe, the latter with his compass in his hand, and the former simply studying the "Indian's compass," which is observing how the moss grows upon the tree-trunks, there being always a greater quantity on the side which faces north.

Before nightfall they reached another log cabin, tenanted by a man who had just settled down for the purpose of clearing up a farm. Here they were lodged for the night, without trouble of making camp.

The third day of their journey was marked by two sensations. They halted for a short rest at a point where there was an extensive break in the forest. Scarcely had they emerged from the gloom of a dense growth of cedars, when Dol exclaimed.—

"Good gracious! That looks as if people had been building a jolly high railroad out here."

On the right rose a bare, steep ridge of sand and gravel, nearly ninety feet 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 of which it is mostly formed must have been swept here by a great rush of waters 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 had our 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 to drive abreast; and the view from it was one which could never be forgotten. Around them were millions of acres of forest land, beautiful with the contrasts of October; here dipping into a cedar valley, in the midst of which they saw the silver smile of a woodland lake, there rising into a hill crowned with towering pines, some of them over a hundred feet in height.

But, most thrilling sight of all, they beheld, only half a dozen miles away, rising in sublime grandeur against the sky, the mountain of mountains in Maine,—great Katahdin. They had caught glimpses of its curved line of peaks before. Now they saw its forests, and the rugged slides where avalanches of bowlders and earth from the top had ploughed heavily 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 the summit of Katahdin was the home of their evil spirit, or, as they call him, 'The Big Devil.' He was named Pamolah. And he was a mighty unpleasant sort of neighbor. Once, so tradition says, he ran away with a beautiful Indian maiden, and carried her up to his lonely lair among those peaks. When her tribe tried to rescue her, he let loose great storms upon them, his artillery being thunder, lightning, hail, and rain, before which they were forced to flee helter-skelter. An old red chief long ago told me the story, and added gravely that 'it was sartin true, for han'some squaw always catch 'em debil.'

"The foundation of the legend lies in the fact that there really is a very curious granite basin among Katahdin's peaks, and it is the birthplace of most storms which sweep over our State. I myself have seen clouds forming in it, when I made an ascent of the mountain in my younger days, and whirling out in all directions. The roar of its winds may sometimes be heard miles away. There are several ponds in the basin; one of them, a tiny, clear lake, without any visible outlet, is Pamolah's fishing-ground. That's the yarn about the mountain as I heard it."

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'd reach the farm you're heading for to-night, but we're half a dozen miles off it yet; and we can't do more'n another mile or two afore it'll be time to halt and make camp. There's some pretty bad travelling and a plaguy bit of swamp ahead."

"I guess you're about right, Joe," said Doc, rising with alacrity from the stone where he had seated himself while telling his yarn.

Joe's bad travelling meant a great deal of tripping and floundering through soft mud and mire, with slippery moss-stones sandwiched in, and dwarfed bushes which ran along the ground, and twisted themselves in an almost impassable tangle. These had a knack of catching a fellow's feet, and causing him to sprawl forward on his face and hands, whereupon his knapsack would hit him an astounding thwack on the back.

After three-quarters of an hour of this fun, very muddy, clammy with perspiration, 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's nothing in forest travelling that'll take the breath out of a man like crossing a swamp," eying compassionately the city folk; for he himself was as "fit" as when he started. "Then we'd better follow that stream till we strike a good place for a camping-ground. What say, Doc?"

Dr. Phil, as captain, signified his assent. After a short breathing-spell he again gave the command, "Forward!" And his company pushed on into the woods, following the course of a dark stream which had gurgled through the swamp.

"There used to be an old beaver-dam somewheres about here," broke forth Joe presently, when they had made about a quarter of a mile, the younger guide taking the lead, for he was evidently more at home in this part of the 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, piled together in curious topsyturvy fashion, which formed a dam across the stream. It bristled with sticks, poking out and up in every direction; for the bushy ends of the boughs had been heavily plastered with mud and stones, to keep them down.

"That a beaver-dam!" gasped Neal in amazement. "Why, I always had an idea that beavers were half human in intelligence, and wove their branches 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't you begin to underrate Mr. Beaver's intelligence until you see more of his works. I've torn the bottom out of a dam like this on a cold, rainy night,—beavers like rainy nights for work,—and then hidden myself in some bushes to watch the result. It was a trial of strength and patience, I assure you, to remain there for six mortal hours,—though I had rubber overalls on,—with wet twigs and leaves slapping my face. But the sight I saw was more wonderful than anything I could have imagined. There was a cloudy, watery moon; and shortly after it rose, five beavers appeared upon the dam, scrambling up and down, and examining the great hole through which the water was fast leaking out of their pond. Then, following a big fellow, who was evidently the boss beaver, they swam to the bank. He stationed himself near a tree about twenty inches in circumference, and his four boys at once started to fell it. I tell you they worked like hustlers, each one sawing on it in turn with his sharp teeth, and sometimes two of them together on different parts of the trunk.

"At last the tree—it was an ash—fell, toppling into the water just where the beavers wanted it. They pushed and tugged it down-stream for about ten yards, to the dam, and propped it against the opening which I had made. I couldn't see the rest of the operations clearly; but I caught glimpses of them, marching about on their hind-legs, carrying mud snug up to their chins like this," here Cyrus folded his arms across his chest. "And before daybreak that dam was perfectly repaired, with never a leak in it.

"You know they build the dams in very shallow water, only a few inches deep; and they generally roll in a couple of long logs for a solid foundation. It was one of these which I had torn out. Now, Neal, what do you say about the beaver's intelligence?"

"If I didn't know you, Cyrus, I'd say you were making up as you went along," answered Neal. "It seems one of those things which a fellow can scarcely believe in. Hulloa! What's that?"

A loud report, like the bang of a gun, made all the boys, who had been standing 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, and dived. I have heard one do that a dozen times in the night, if he detected the presence of man; but it's very unusual in the daytime, for they rarely venture out in broad light. In diving, if suddenly alarmed, they strike the surface of the water a tremendous whack with their tails, as a signal of alarm, making this report, which in still weather resounds for a great distance.

"I'm very glad you heard it, boys; for your chances of seeing the master beaver or any of his colony are mighty slim. But we'll probably come on their lodge a little higher up."

Above the shallow water where the dam was built, the stream widened into a broad, deep pool. About fifty yards ahead, in the centre of this, was a tiny island. On its extreme edge Joe pointed out the beaver lodge. It was shaped something like a huge beehive, being about a dozen feet in diameter and five feet high. The outside seemed to be entirely covered with mud and fibrous roots, through which the sticks which formed its framework poked out here and there.

"The doors are all underwater," said Cyrus, "and so far down that they'll be beneath the ice when the stream freezes in winter. Otherwise the beavers could not reach their pile of food-wood, which they keep at the 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, and sink their stores a day or two before. Man has not yet discovered their mysterious knack of sinking wood, and keeping it stationary through many months.

"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 will fall into the water, tug and push them down-stream, and float them near to their lodges. If the trees are too big to be easily handled, they saw them 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 home now, 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 holes along the bank. Guess we'd better be moving on. It's a'most time to think about making camp."

"The beavers have been working here!" exclaimed the guide a few minutes later, as he strode ahead. "These white birches were felled by 'em; and a dandy job they did too."

He pointed to two slim birches which lay prone with their tops in the water, and to a third, the trunk of which was partly sawn through in more than one place. The ground was strewn with little clippings of timber, bearing the saw-marks of the beavers' teeth. The boys gathered them 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 in circumference. I've seen a tree fully two feet round which was felled by them. Say, Joe! don't you think we'd better camp to-night somewhere on the brûlée? "

"Just what I'm planning, Doc," answered Joe. "We must be pretty near it now."

A few minutes afterwards the party filed out of the dense woods, passed through a grove of young spruces, forded a brook which emptied itself into 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 to love the forest dearly, for its many beauties, and for the wild offspring with which it teemed, sorrowfully gasped, as if they saw the skeleton of a friend.