A Lumber Camp of To-day 



troubl of clearing away other obstructions. It must lie, if 

 possible, with its butt toward a skid road. Young trees, espe- 

 cially pines, are saved as far as possible. But I saw a cucumber 

 tree fifty feet high shattered to kindling wood by a falling pine. 



The axe of the head faller chips the thick bark off in a circle 

 around the tree, joining the ends of the wedge. This bark is 

 full of dirt that would dull the saw much more than the hard wood. 

 Now the sawyers come and kneel to their task. Men with horses 

 and massive log chains come to get the fresh logs. 



The long cross-cut saw has ragged teeth and a handle on 

 each end. Its blade was sprayed well with kerosene before work 

 began, for the resin of the bleeding tree has to be "cut" with oil, or 

 it binds the saw and stops the work. The saw began on the side 

 opposite the notch, and fared steadily toward it. The rhythm 

 of its song and the perfect co-operation of the two men were 

 good to hear and see. Once or twice they stopped, took off one 

 handle, drew the saw out and oiled it on both sides. When half 

 way through they drove in a wedge, that gave the saw more 

 room. 



There was no anxiety on the part of the crouching men, no 

 least tremour of the tree, until the trunk was almost severed. 

 Then the sawing suddenly doubled its speed. When within a 

 few inches of the notch it ceased, the men sprang away, the tree 

 trembled, swayed, and fell, its top sweeping through the air 

 with a mighty sigh. The lips of the notch closed with crushing 

 impact as the shaft shook the earth that shuddered under the 

 blow. 



The men stood aside, oiling their saw, and set it into the 

 fallen trunk as the marker indicated the place. The absence 

 of conversation was oppressive — the understanding of each 

 sawyer with the other made talk unnecessary. Were they 

 overcome by the presence of visitors? "No," the head faller 

 told us, "they are always quiet." The work among the pines 

 has this strange effect upon the men. They do not raise their 

 voices when they speak, even to their horses. The hemlock 

 peelers are a noisy, quarrelsome crew, given to profanity and 

 coarse joking; but the fallers in the upper camp are thoughtful and 

 pensive, while at their work. In that cathedral woods we felt 

 the presence of something that discouraged speech. We did not 

 understand it — any more than the labourers did. Three days we 



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