Chapter 38
Camp vs. Camp
There was no need to wake the camp this April morning. Every lumberjack was out of his bunk and ready for the day long before the four o’clock breakfast.
“Eat hearty, river pigs!” cried out Sourdough. “I don’t want nobody complainin’ about not getting a good bellyful today.”
“We know better than to complain, Sourdough,” came a shout from the back of the long room. “Danged if any jack amongst us wants to find one of your pet mice in his mincemeat pie.”
The men laughed as they filled their plates with flapjacks and pork sausage, spread lard across their biscuits, and dipped huge molasses cookies into their steaming coffee.
“Boys, I’m sendin’ two wannigans out for your dinner today,” shouted the cook. “One will be two miles downriver from the dam. I’ll send another over to the river crossing south of Cable, under the railroad trestle. Those of you working upstream from Mosquito Brook can count on breakfast tomorrow at the Pac-wa-wong Indian camp.
“You drivers who make it farther downriver might need to look for a meal at some other camp or in Phipps, or go without. By tomorrow night, I’ll have a supper camp set up near A. J. Hayward’s mill. Any driver who makes it there before my cookees and me will have to find his own food till I get there. I’ll do my dangdest to keep you fed, boys, but only if you look me up. I ain’t no hotel waitress and I sure ain’t gonna come lookin’ for you.”
Ingman stood up on a table. “You that are drivers, listen good now. Blackie is your yam crew boss. You do as he says. I’ll be workin’ all up and down the line, too, if you need help. Other than that, yust keep them logs a-floatin’, boys. Keep ’em out of the backwaters and the brush, too. We didn’t cut that pine yust to have it rot in the weeds.”
Blackie took the floor. “Let’s talk more about jams, men. Any driver who sees logs startin’ to tangle up needs to get right in there and bust ’em up. And I mean right now—well before they jam up good. Now, if you should get a jam you can’t break, you get ahold of Ingman or me straight away. We’ll each be carryin’ dynamite to loosen her up for you. But don’t you go doin’ that on your own. It’s risky business and if it ain’t done just right, it wastes good pine.”
“Now, here’s the plan for this mornin’,” said Ingman. “Tor, Yunior and Gust will be on the Karina. They will bring the booms across the lake, around Bear Point, and clear down the narrows to the dam. The Karina can carry near to thirty men. The first thirty men to board will be dropped off on the shore up from the dam. Gust will split the boom, and the boat will send the pine down the narrows toward the dam, with help from the current. You first men yust bide your time until the second boatload of drivers comes along. Then you should follow the shoreline to the dam or yust ride down on the pine. When you reach the dam, you should go ahead and send our pine over the top and down the river. I will be comin’ by way of the south road with the rest of the men.
“Men, I am still figurin’ Muldoon could have his East Lake boys there. If they get in the way, you will have to move ’em, but, like I said before, if it’s a fight they want, let them make the first move. When they do, you show ’em what for. Our pine is goin’ downstream today, come hell or high water.
“We have the law on our side,” Ingman continued. “Olaf and I will be there. So will Bill Burns and the Pinkertons. They will make it clear to anyone who gets in our way that we are acting within our lawful rights. So, like I said, our pine is gettin’ drove today, come hell or high water.”
“Ingman,” shouted Blackie, “I reckon it’s bound to be some of each. Today ol’ Phineas Muldoon is gonna see both hell and high water!”
“Fine with us, Blackie,” came a voice from the back. “We’re ready to play to whatever cards is dealt.”
“Men,” shouted Ingman again, “you take care out there. Watch out for yourselves and watch out for each other. I want every man to show up in one piece to claim his pay. You fellas make this a gol damn good lumber camp. Olaf, Tor, and I are proud to work with such a good crew. Come fall, each and every one of you have a yob waitin’ for you at the Namakagon Timber Company. Well, I guess that’s it. Good luck!”
Junior jumped up on the table and cried out, “And those of you who owes me money on various bets here and there, well, don’t forget me cause I ain’t gonna forget you!”
“Junior,” shouted Sourdough, “I don’t know if you’d make a better tax collector or a preacher. Neither one leaves you with much in your pocket.” Laughter rolled across the room.
“Any last questions?” shouted Olaf.
The room was silent.
“Then it’s hell and high water, men. Let’s have at ’er!”
Cheers filled the room as a hundred lumberjacks rose from the tables and rushed out to get their pike poles and peaveys.
A faint, peach-colored glow was beginning to show in the eastern sky. In the dim, morning twilight the men made their way to the shore.
Gust Finstead pulled the chain on the steam engine’s whistle and a loud screeet split the air. Junior counted as thirty-four men boarded.
Within minutes, the Namakagon Timber Company’s Empress Karina made her maiden voyage, pushing a large boom of logs across the open lake, wind at their backs. The engine ran smoothly, the paddlewheel slowly moving the boat and the great mass of pine slowly forward.
By the time they rounded Bear Point and moved into the narrows above the dam, the sun was breaking over the eastern horizon. A pair of loons flew overhead, their calls masked by the noise of the powerful engine.
As the log boom neared the dam, Gust split a link on the boom, setting the logs free. Junior backed off on the throttle, letting the timber drift toward the dam in the current. He turned the boat and nosed onto shore.
“Take your leave, fellas,” shouted Tor. “We’ll join you soon. Good luck to every last one of you.”
Thirty-four Loken men jumped onto shore, each carrying either a peavey or a pike pole.
Junior brought the Karina about. Eager to fetch the next boom of logs, he opened the throttle wide. Smoke billowed from the sternwheeler’s stack and water flew into the air behind as she crossed into the rising sun. Gust looked back to see the Loken timber drifting down the narrows with the current. “There goes our pine, boys! Tor, looks like your Uncle’s plan just might work.”
As loons called and sunlight filtered through the trees, two Loken wagons rounded the south end of the lake. Ingman and Olaf were in the lead rig, along with four security men, Blackie Jackson, and five more lumberjacks. Ten men rode in the next wagon. Others walked behind.
The roads were soft, but passable, and the horses sure-footed. Olaf knew they would have no trouble getting to the dam. “The trouble,” he said to his brother, “will come after we get there.”
As they passed the southwest corner of the lake, the Lokens looked far across the lake to see the Empress Karina, laden with lumberjacks and pushing the second boom out of the bay.
“They are makin’ good time, Olaf,” said Ingman. “Now let us hope Muldoon don’t bring out an army of men. I am concerned about what Dearborne said.”
“Dearborne?”
“About Muldoon’s withdrawal.”
“What of it?”
“Dearborne said it was all in five dollar bills. Two hundred of ’em.” Makes me wonder.”
“Two hundred?”
“Ya, Olaf. Two hundred.”
“No reason to ponder it now, Ingman. The die is cast. Our boys will do fine. They are strong, smart, and determined. Our timber will get to the mills.”
The Loken wagons soon tied up south of the dam. Ingman and Olaf watched as the men moved quietly through the woods toward their fellow workers. They emerged, finding a hundred men from King Muldoon’s East Lake camp guarding the north side of the dam. Another hundred from Round Lake guarded the south. Muldoon’s men carried peaveys, and ax handles.
Fa
rther beyond, some walking along the shore and others riding the pine, came sixty-four of Olaf Loken’s men. As they neared the dam, a shout was heard as King Muldoon’s men attacked from the shoreline above. They jumped down onto Olaf’s workers, shouting, and swinging their weapons.
In spite of being outnumbered, the Loken men fought back. They retreated onto the floating pine logs where their calked boots gave them a great advantage over the shoe-pacs worn by many of their opponents.
Within minutes, a dozen of Muldoon’s men were neck-deep in the icy water, trying to dodge the great pine logs. The Loken men coaxed more of their opponents onto the timber as the battle between the camps raged on.
Ingman helped Olaf down from the wagon and into his wheel chair. He pushed his brother up to the door of the dam tender’s office. From there they could see the men fighting all along the waterfront and out on the logs in the bay. They also heard Earl Morrison, the Pinkerton Chief, give the order for the rest of the Loken men to attack, shouting, “Lay into ’em, boys!”
Thirty-six Namakagon Timber Company lumberjacks rushed out of the woods, running to rescue their fellow workers. Attacking from behind, their peaveys and pike poles quickly laid low many of the Muldoon fighters, but they remained far-outnumbered. The Loken lumberjacks fought all the harder.
The sound of the pitched battle echoed off the trees that lined the shore. Peaveys struck cant hooks. Ax handles and pike poles flashed in the April sunlight. Men splashed into the ice-cold river while others held their positions atop bouncing, turning logs. The Loken men fought hard but could not overcome the overwhelming number of their opponents. They were losing the fight—until …
A blast from both barrels of a shotgun shattered the morning air.
“Olaf, look!” Ingman pointed to the opposite shore.
There, on the north side of the dam, was Chief Namakagon. Behind him stood more than a hundred Ojibwe men brandishing bows, clubs, shotguns and rifles. Namakagon gave a wave of his hand and three rifles were fired skyward. The fighting stopped. All attention shifted to the Ojibwes. Another wave from Chief Namakagon and three shotguns discharged, their smoke shooting straight up into the air.
The Muldoon men lowered their weapons and began working their way from log to log, back to shore where they stood in silent submission. Not one Muldoon worker was willing to fight on. The battle was over.
Chief Namakagon raised his walking staff high in the air, knowing the Loken camp had prevailed. King Muldoon’s attempt to stop the Namakagon Timber Company from driving their pine downstream had failed. Ogimaa Mikwam-migwan gave a loud victory cry, quickly answered by his men, then followed by a roar of cheers from the Loken lumberjacks.
The conflict over, eyes turned to the windows of the dam tender’s office and King Muldoon staring down on them all.