Chapter 31
Modern Times
Flames in the fireplace licked high, crackling and snapping as the Loken brothers warmed their feet on the hearth. Turning to Olaf, Ingman declared, “What this timber company needs is a gol dang steam enyun!”
His brother gazed into the flickering fire, pulling his old walnut pipe from a shirt pocket. “A what?”
“A steam enyun. A steam enyun.”
Olaf opened his tobacco pouch, dipped the bowl into the soft, shredded tobacco, and tamped it with his thumb. He pulled the strings on the pouch, cinching it tightly before dropping it back into his pocket. “A steam engine?”
“Ya, Olaf, like I said, a steam enyun.”
“You got a matchstick?”
Ingman stepped onto the hearth and reached for the tin matchbox on the mantle. He struck a match on a stone and held it to Olaf’s pipe. Olaf drew hard, blowing smoke into the air as Ingman sat down. The brothers gazed into the flames again.
“A steam engine,” repeated Olaf.
“Ya.”
“Ingman, either you drank too much of Oscar’s home brew today, or you have completely lost your wits. Which is it?”
“Neither. I’ve been ponderin’ this for a good while, now. I know where I can get us a donkey enyun on the cheap. The Douglas outfit over on the St. Croix River is pullin’ up stakes. They are movin’ the whole camp down to Ghost Lake. Their woods boss, Andrew Price, tells me they have no use for a donkey enyun down there. We should make them an offer.”
Olaf drew in on his pipe, leaned back, and blew the smoke into the air. “We can get along fine without a steam engine. The men know their way around the hills. Not a pine in the woods we cannot haul by horse or oxen.”
“Ya, ya, Olaf, we can get along fine. But you are not lookin’ at both sides of the coin. I’m thinkin’ we can pick it up for three hundred dollars, maybe less. If we set it up on that ridge north of the creek, back where Mike Fremont’s crew is working, why those sleighs won’t have to cross the swamp. Won't be takin’ the long way around, neither. I ciphered this out. By February, half our crews can be making use of the donkey enyun. I am of the mind that, by usin’ a steam enyun, we can put up two million more feet come spring. Maybe three. That alone is reason enough to give it a try.”
“We have done fine without. This is folly. No need to change horses in the middle of the stream.”
“Confound it, brother, you cannot move forward by usin’ backwards ways. By gosh! This is eighteen eighty-three. Eighteen eighty-three! These ain’t the good old days anymore. No siree. These—are—modern—times!”
Olaf drew in on his pipe again. “Well, if we do buy this donkey contraption, and I’m not saying we should, who is going to run it? You?”
“No, not me. Best bet would be the fella who runs it now.”
“So … what you are sayin’ … is that I have to lay out three hundred dollars for this here contraption and then hire a man to run it, and feed him, and put him on the payroll. Are you sure you didn’t drink too much of Oscar’s beer?”
“There’s another reason we need to do this, Olaf.”
“And what might that be?”
“Come spring, it can to push our pine across the lake to the dam.”
“Across the lake? How do you figure?”
“We build a boat.”
“A boat? Pshaw!”
“Ya, Olaf, a boat.”
“Ingman, this is getting better and better. First you say you want a dang donkey engine. Now you want us to build a boat?”
“Ya, that is what I said. We build us a boat. While the donkey is pullin’ our pine up the hill for us in the wintertime, we will be buildin’ our own sternwheeler right here in camp. Come spring, we move the steam enyun onto the boat and use it to push the log booms across the lake to the dam.”
“We have the wind to do that.”
“Olaf, how much pine did we have on the ice last spring? Do you remember? Three and a half million board feet. This year we will have seven, maybe eight million with help from the donkey. Maybe more. We cannot count on the wind. I’m tellin’ you, I been ponderin’ this over and over and over.”
“You have, have you.”
“Ya, I have. First, we buy the donkey. We use it till March. Then, on the day the ice goes out, we use it again, this time to push our timber across the lake, down the narrows, and right over Muldoon’s dam. And nobody beats us to the punch, Olaf. Nobody. Not even Muldoon’s own camps will have the edge on us. What’s more, nobody’s logs get mixed in with ours and we are first to the mills. I tell ya, Olaf, I have been ponderin’ this. It will surely succeed.”
Olaf stared at the fire for a few moments. “Ingman, I must have had too much of Oscar’s home brew too, for I think I see a slight glimmer of logic in your plan. Ya, by golly,” he drew again on his pipe, “I believe I, too, have lost my wits. All right. You go ahead. Head on over to the St. Croix. Take a gander at this contraption. And, Ingman, you dang better do this quick before Oscar’s beer wears off and I come to my senses.”
They stared at the flames in silence for a moment. Olaf slapped his pipe against the palm of his hand, sending tobacco ashes onto the hearth. “A boat,” he muttered, “a gol dang, steam-powered, stern-wheeled boat.”
“Not just any boat,” said Ingman. “It will be the Loken’s gol dang, steam-powered, stern-wheeled boat.”
Olaf dropped his pipe back into his shirt pocket. “Well, ain’t that something. Just how big is this contraption, anyway?”
“I figure half a ton.”
“Half a ton? Gonna take a good-sized boat just to bear the weight.”
“We can have Louie Thorp start work on it. Louie’s as good a carpenter as you’ll find. And I remember Max Wiley sayin’ he did some steam fittin’ in St. Paul. Maybe he can help out some.”
“Put young Kavanaugh to work on it, too. Ask around the camp. See how many of the men have experience with boats, sailing, and such. Who knows? Maybe there’s a ship’s captain in that bunch.”
The lodge door swung open. Chief Namakagon walked into the room with his two dogs at heel. Leaning his walking stick against the wall, he peeled his bearskin robe from his shoulders and spread it on the floor. A snap of his fingers had both Waabishki and Makade lying in the center of the bearskin. The tall, buckskin-clad woodsman crossed the room and joined the Loken brothers before the fireplace.
“Namakagon,” said Olaf, “what would you say if I told you that, come spring, we may have us a gol dang, steam-powered, stern-wheeled boat?”
The chief grinned. “I was wondering how long it would take you.”
“We are building it right here in camp,” said Ingman. “I’m heading over to the St. Croix River tomorrow to look at an enyun.”
“Enyun? Oh, yes—enyun. I will go with you.”
Olaf pulled his pipe from his shirt pocket again, raised it high, and exclaimed, “Well here’s to the Namakagon Timber Company’s gol dang, stern-wheeled steamboat.”
“Tim-berrrr,” yelled Tor at the top of his lungs. The ninety-foot white pine started its fall. He and Leroy stepped back quickly and turned to watch the three hundred-year-old forest giant crash to the ground.
No sooner had the snow settled than the young men were bucking it into sixteen-foot logs. Mike Fremont positioned the team of Percherons and wrapped the chain around the butt end of the first log. “Giddup,” he said softly. Mike and the handsome steeds dragged the thousand-pound log through the snow on down to the ice road.
Charlie Martin and Sven Olson used another horse team to cross-haul the huge pine logs up the ramp and onto the sleigh. This first load of the morning was more than twenty feet high. They hoisted the last log on before Charlie, standing on top, threw down the chains. Sven secured the chains and tightened the binders. Charlie jumped to the ground below. He hooked the horse team to the sleigh and gave a sharp whistle, smacking the rump of the horse nearest to him with his hand. The horses strained to move the sleigh fo
rward but the load would not move. Charlie pulled a peavey from its place on the side of the sleigh and gave the steel-clad oak runner nearest him a solid rap. With a slight jerk, the sleigh began to move forward down the ice road winding toward the lake. Sven and Sonny Vinskoog each guided one of the two workhorses down the trail a few yards, then Sven came back. The next sleigh was pulled into place, and Sven, the chainman on this job, and Charlie, the sky-hooker, continued their work.
For the next several days, Tor worked with Leroy each morning, returning to camp with Junior at midday. On Wednesday, when Junior and Tor stepped into the cook shanty for their dinner, they found the new company blacksmith, Gust Finstead, and Chief Namakagon sitting at a table with Tor’s Uncle Ingman. Olaf’s wheelchair was pulled up to the end of the table.
Junior and Tor heaped their plates with venison and baked beans, grabbed a cup of Sourdough’s strong tea, a fork and a spoon, and sat down at the next table as the men reported to the head push.
“I tell ya, Olaf,” said Ingman, “this machine is yust what we need. We saw it on the yob. They had a sleigh loaded high with timber, sittin’ at the bottom of this rise. I tell ya, brother, a dozen oxen couldn’t have pulled that load up that grade. Well, this here fella runs a long chain down to the sleigh. He hooks it up and gives a wave. This other fella up by the donkey enyun, he throws the chain around the windlass and locks her in. Next, he throws a lever and we watch as the chain slowly tightens up and pretty soon the whole gol dang load is yust a-slidin’ up the hill like nobody’s business. By and by that sleigh is standin’ right there in front of us at the top of the rise! I tell ya, this donkey enyun is gonna double the pine we can bring out of the north forties.”
“You have not told me what it might cost us, Ingman. Is there a reason?”
“Two hundred, less the chain. Gust, here, figured he could make up the chain cheaper than what they wanted for it.”
“That’s it? Two hundred?”
“Yust be patient, now. You see, I didn’t figure in the spare parts their blacksmith had set aside.”
Olaf took a sip of coffee, putting his tin cup down on the oilcloth. “Spare parts cannot be too costly, right?”
“Three hundred.”
“Three hundred. Three hundred dollars? Ingman, that is more than two mans’ winter wages! That’s … that’s …”
“That’s what they had to have. That’s what I offered.”
“How the hell can parts cost more than the whole dang steam engine?”
“Now, don’t go off half-cocked. The bargain we made includes an extra boiler and more than enough spare parts to build a second enyun. That way, if one machine goes to pot, we have a spare salted away. Think about that. Next spring, when we’re counting on this steam enyun to move our log booms across the lake and down to the dam, we don’t have to worry about her brakin’ down.”
“Gust, can you put all these parts together to make a second engine?”
“You betcha. I can do that in a week and still have a pile of parts left over. I worked on the same machines in Minnesota last winter. It’s a mighty good bargain, Boss.”
“And we didn’t have to hire a man to run it, Olaf,” said Ingman. “Gust here says he can train one of our boys to do that. Could save us plenty.”
“All right then, we’ll buy it. When can you pick up this contraption?”
The men were silent. Tor and Junior looked on, wondering who was going to speak first.
“Olaf,” said Chief Namakagon, “you will see your apparatus sooner than you expect.”
“In fact,” added Ingman, “it’s in the horse barn.”
“In the barn?”
“Ya, Olaf, in the barn. I knew you’d be excited to hear that.”
Olaf shook his head in disbelief. “Gust, you dang well see to it this here donkey contraption is pullin’ those timber sleighs up the hill by this time next week. You’ll need a man to work with. Maybe Mason Fitch, if he is up to it with that bum leg of his.
“Ingman, get some plans going’ for that boat. No point waiting around till the loons come back. If I’m goin’ to the poorhouse, might as well be sooner rather than later. Now I would like to go have a look at this gol dang donkey.”
In the coming days, Gust Finstead devoted most of his time to the project. Tor, having more free time than the others, assisted Gust each afternoon, as did Mason. Junior spent as much time as he could with them, between barn chores and hauling the midday meal. Three days later the donkey engine was ready. Ingman decided to wait until Saturday to take it out to the cuttings.
Meanwhile, Tor and Junior helped the blacksmith assemble the second engine. Like the other machine, it had a single, large cylinder and piston and a three-inch drive shaft that drove a one-hundred-fifty pound flywheel. A belt from this flywheel could easily propel a paddlewheel. They would need only bearings and seals. Gust could build the rest. The system was simple. The boiler could be fired by coal or wood, either able to produce a flame hot enough to make plenty of steam. The coal would burn hotter and last longer, but would have to be hauled in from the port at Ashland. Firewood was plentiful and free for the taking but would burn faster. They chose wood.
The whole camp took interest in the machinery. Many of the men dropped in to watch or help during the evening hours. Kerosene lamps were hung to give them extra time with the machines.
With the help of Max Wiley, a swamper with experience as a steamfitter, and Buster Seeley, a teamster who had worked in the Milwaukee shipyards, a design was drawn up for the boat. After lengthy discussions and many changes, Louie Thorpe, camp carpenter, showed the plan for the boat to Ingman. Two days later, the oak needed for the hull was being milled. Work would begin on the day of its delivery.
Saturday morning, as the crews left for the cuttings, the donkey engine, too, was on its way into the woods. Gust and Tor mounted it on two old sleigh runners. A single workhorse was sufficient to pull it along the tote road. They set up the engine on the crest of a ridge between two swamps. Gust double-chained it to a pine stump so the heavily sleighs would not pull the engine down the hill.
Junior joined them after he finished his morning chores. He helped clear the new sleigh trail leading up to the engine and down the other side of the ridge toward the lake. A pile of dry oak, ironwood, and maple was stacked near the boiler, along with some pine knots for kindling. In the late afternoon, with the donkey engine ready, Junior, Tor, and Gust returned to camp.
CLANG, CLANG, CLANG, CLANG, CLANG, rang out from Junior’s stewpot as he rapped it with a wooden spoon. Ingman stepped up onto the table.
“Men,” he shouted, “we’re gonna fire up our new donkey enyun tomorrow. If you want to see her do the work of a dozen horses, well, here’s your chance. I figure if we don’t let you get a look-see at her tomorrow, you’ll be sneakin’ off the yob all week.
“Blackie Yackson will have a sleigh ready to haul you up to the cuttings at one o’clock sharp. Be in the yard then or plan on hoofin’ your way up the ridge.” He stepped down and then back up. “And I want to thank all of you who have helped with this proyect and are helpin’ with the boat. Olaf, Tor, and I appreciate it. We think this will be good for all of us come spring when we expect to drive maybe eight million board feet down the river.”
The entire company of men cheered, knowing this was three times what they sent to the mills a year before.
The next day, the Loken crew wolfed down Sourdough’s Sunday dinner. When the sleigh left the yard it was jam-packed with lumberjacks. Another twenty walked ahead. More walked behind. Three miles up the trail they climbed the long grade to the top of the hill where the steam engine stood.
A sleigh stacked high with pine logs stood at the bottom of the hill. Blackie tended the sleigh’s team. Junior watched from the crest of the hill as Blackie unhitched the horses, leading them a safe distance from the trail.
The Loken lumberjacks all gathered around the donkey engine, studying, analyzing, and inspecting both the mach
ine before them and the heavy sleigh at the bottom of the rise. Ingman and Olaf pulled up in the camp’s one-horse cutter. Ingman jumped down. Junior and Gust filled the boiler with water. Tor struck a match and threw it into the firebox, slammed the door, and soon a plume of white smoke was coming from the stack. Gust watched the pressure gauge slowly rise as the smoke turned black and billowed out.
It took ten minutes to build a head of steam. Junior stepped back as the blacksmith cranked open a valve and gave the flywheel a spin. Chug————chug——chug—chug, chug, chug came from the engine, bringing cheers.
Now the flywheel turned rapidly, smoke and steam rising skyward in the frigid winter air. Junior reached up, and with a grin even wider than usual, pulled a small chain connected to a large brass whistle atop the engine. “Shoooooo, shoo, shoo,” screamed the machine, bringing more cheers.
Ingman cupped his hands around his mouth. “Blackie Yackson, are—you—ready?” he called from the hilltop.
“Ready, Boss.”
Tor moved back through the mass of men and climbed up into the cutter with his father. There, they had a good view of Blackie, below, and the hot boiler before them, now spewing smoke, and the pulsing engine. Tor stood and steadied himself by placing a hand on his father’s shoulder.
“Gust Finstead,” shouted Ingman, “let ’er go!”
Flywheel spinning now, the blacksmith threw the chain around the windlass and slowly pulled back on the large, oak lever. The belt tightened, slipped at first, but slowly began to grab, turning the windlass.
With the steam engine laboring under the load, the chain pulled taut and straightened out. Onlookers, seeing the tremendous tension on the chain, backed away, sensing that if a single link broke, the chain could shoot through the air like a hundred pound bullwhip. Far below, the sleigh began to inch up the trail. The men cheered again. Minutes later, the huge sleigh load of logs crested the hill, and Gust eased off on the oak lever.
The job was done. A fourth round of cheers went into the cold air, along with half-a-hundred hats. A two-horse team, taking the long way around, would have taken more than an hour. The donkey engine accomplished the task in just six minutes.
“Gust,” cried out one of the sawyers, “can you hitch that contraption up to my crosscut so as I can doze off in the woods now and then?” Another yelled “Gust, how ’bout hookin’ one end to the Merrill Hotel and draggin’ it out here so we can have cold beer and warm women in camp tonight?” The lumberjacks howled with laughter. Junior blew the engine’s whistle again and again.
As the men began filing back down the trail to the camp, Gust pulled the fire from the firebox with a scoop shovel, throwing the embers into the snow. Blackie disconnected the chain from the sleigh. Men stepped off the trail as the horse team slowly moved the heavy load of logs down the ice road toward the lake. A dozen men climbed atop the big load. Gust pulled a brass handle on the donkey engine, blowing off the rest of the steam. He opened a petcock and a stream of hot water shot from the bottom of the boiler, melting the snow where it fell. A cloud of steam rose into the sky. Gust, still grinning, turned the flywheel by hand to clear any water in the engine that could freeze during the night.
Tor, Ingman, and Olaf took the long way home, not noticing the single set of snowshoe tracks they crossed on the trail. The Lokens’ horse-drawn cutter glided silently through the snow-covered pines in the late afternoon sun.