LOG RAFTING ON THE SUSQUEHANNA. 



EDWIN BARTHOLD. 



As he floated past Lewisburg, the pilot 

 had shouted to us that he would snub 

 his raft for the night at Blue Hill, a point 

 8 miles distant, where the North and West 

 branches of the Susquehanna unite to form 

 the big river. There we were to join him 

 for our annual trip. 



Late in the evening we packed our kits 

 and caught the owl train. Dropping off at 

 Blue Hill, where we slowed for a switch, 

 we set out to find Bill and his raft. Ap- 

 parently this was an easy thing. There lay 

 the fleets, side by side, just at the bridge. 

 Blundering aboard in the darkness, we 

 yelled for Bill and were informed that 

 nightfall had caught him still a mile and 

 a half behind the others and we would find 

 him at the Seven Kitchens. 



We headed upstream, never doubting we 

 should find him. How we pushed our way 

 through weeds and briars, how we scram- 

 bled over ditches and waded, for 2 long 

 hours, in a foot of mud and water, and 

 how the moon set and left us fairly bogged, 

 are pleasant memories of unpleasant reali- 

 ties. We never found Bill, but sullenly 

 paced our way back to the others and, un- 

 invited, turned in at 4 in the morning. 



Even that night had an end, and when 

 Bill came sweeping along about 6.30 we 

 were careful not to miss him. A flying 

 leap to his frosty craft, a handshake all 

 around, and we were fairly embarked. 



With the passage of the chute at Sham- 

 okin dam came our first taste of excite- 

 ment. We stood well aft and I can feel, 

 even now, that first sense of exhilaration 

 as we watched the big logs dive under the 

 breakers, felt the raft heave up and down 

 under our feet and heard the groaning of 

 the tough hickory withes. All the while 

 we were flying down the chute like a bird; 

 then we shot out into the broad river again 

 and rowed the clumsy craft over where the 

 current was swiftest. 



All that day we floated through a land of 

 rugged beauty. Precipitous cliffs shut us 

 in on the left, while on the right sloping 

 hillsides gave way, at length, to mountains, 

 rich in a purple haze and dotted with coun- 

 try homes. Where the mountains came 

 down to the river their sides were jagged 

 and seamed, and down these furrows little 

 streams hastened in leaps and bounds. 

 Sometimes the mountains nearly came to- 

 gether, and there, where once had been solid 

 rock, the river plunged through the passage 

 it had worn for itself in the countless ages. 

 Garments of moss and forest trees softened 

 these harsh outlines and covered many an 

 aged scar. Above, below and on either 



hand, the river was studded with islands, 

 adding subtle and indescribable charm. In 

 deep souled content we floated through this 

 panorama. At times we listened with keen 

 interest to the yarns of the crew, for to 

 them every rock and mountain was a page 

 whereon they read wonderful tales of all 

 that had gone before. At other times we 

 lay in the warm sunshine, wrapped in our 

 blankets, or watched hungrily while the 

 cook worked just inside the tent door. 

 Though the sun was still high we stopped 

 at McKees, and after a hearty supper and 

 a ramble along the old canal, turned in, to 

 dreamless slumber. 



The next morning we found ourselves in 

 a fairy world. The light filtered coldly 

 through heavy clouds that enveloped us. 

 With the coming of the wind, these began 

 to shift, rising and falling, gathering and 

 dispersing with weird effects. Mountains 

 loomed up suddenly with no base, forests 

 of trees with no trunks, or trunks with no 

 branches ; islands appeared and disappeared 

 mysteriously and the scene was constantly 

 changing and shifting. To us it was beau- 

 tiful, wonderful ; to the raftsmen ominous. 

 It kept the pilot uneasy, and the men stood 

 close to their oars. 



Toward noon the fog lifted and again we 

 settled down in dreamy eyed content ; but 

 suddenly danger threatened. We were in 

 midstream at Girty's Notch, already begin- 

 ning to hear the roar of Green's dam, not 

 far below us. To pass it we must cross to 

 the South side and go through the chute. 

 A storm had sprung up off that shore and 

 down went the tent. We sprang to the 

 sweeps, and there we toiled until the cords 

 stood out on our necks and the sweat 

 poured off our faces, but we could not force 

 the raft ashore. The roaring grew louder ; 

 the wind fiercer. We ran with the sweeps 

 and dipping them swiftly, sprang against 

 them with all our force. Foot by foot we 

 were gaining; but the raft was sweeping 

 down stream like a racer. Almost at our 

 feet the falls were thundering when, with 

 a leap and a splash, Al was ashore ! In 

 an instant we threw him the line. He 

 passed it around a birch. Snap, crack, rip 

 — the tree was giving way. Again he made 

 fast. 



Then slowly the raft was snubbed ; but 

 rest was not yet for our tired bodies. Wood 

 and water were fetched and the tent was 

 set up, just as the rain caught us. Inside 

 our tent we defied the storm, and when we 

 had eaten our evening meal we slept peace- 

 fully through the stormy night. 



Early the next day we cast loose and 



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