"Blasphemious Swearin'"

by Kate Douglas Wiggin

　　"Steve Waterman's an awful nice feller," exclaimed Ivory Dunn justthen. Stephen had been looking intently across the river,watching the Shapleys' side door, from which Rose might issue atany moment; and at this point in the discussion he had loungedaway from the group, and, moving toward the bridge, began tothrow pebbles idly into the water.

　　"He's an awful smart driver for one that don't foiler drivin' theyear round," continued Ivory; "and he's the awfullestclean-spoken, soft-spoken feller I ever see."

　　"There's be'n two black sheep in his family a'ready, an' Stevekind o' feels as if he'd ought to be extry white," remarked JedTowle. "You fellers that belonged to the old drive rememberPretty Quick Waterman well enough? Steve's mother brought himup."

　　Yes; most of them remembered the Waterman twins, Stephen'scousins, now both dead,--Slow Waterman, so moderate in hissteps and actions that you had to fix a landmark somewhere nearhim to see if he moved; and Pretty Quick, who shone by comparisonwith his twin.

　　"I'd kind o' forgot that Pretty Quick Waterman was cousin toSteve," said the under boss; "he never worked with me much, buthe wa'n't cut off the same piece o' goods as the other Watermans.Great hemlock! but he kep' a cussin' dictionary, Pretty Quickdid! Whenever he heard any new words he must 'a' writ 'em down,an' then studied 'em all up in the winter-time, to use in thespring drive."

　　"Swearin''s a habit that hed ought to be practiced with turriblecaution," observed old Mr. Wiley, when the drivers had finishedluncheon and taken out their pipes. "There's three kinds o'swearin',--plain swearin', profane swearin', an' blasphemiousswearin'. Logs air jest like mules: there's times when a mancan't seem to rip up a jam in good style 'thout a few wordsthat's too strong for the infant classes in Sunday-schools; but aman hedn't ought to tempt Providence. When he's ridin' a lognear the falls at high water, or cuttin' the key-log in a jam, heain't in no place for blasphemious swearin'; jest a little easy,perlite'damn' is 'bout all he can resk, if he don't want to gitdrownded an' hev his ghost walkin' the river-banks till kingdomcome.

　　"You an' I, Long, was the only ones that seen Pretty Quick go,wa'n't we?" continued Old Kennebec, glancing at Long AbeDennett (cousin to Short Abe), who lay on his back in the grass,the smoke-wreaths rising from his pipe, and the steel spikes inhis heavy, calked-sole boots shining in the sun.

　　"There was folks on the bridge," Long answered, "but we was theonly ones near enough to see an' hear. It was so onexpected, an'so soon over, that them as was watchin' upstream, where the menwas to work on the falls, wouldn't 'a' hed time to see him godown. But I did, an' nobody ain't heard me swear sence, thoughit's ten years ago. I allers said it was rum an' bravadder thatkilled Pretty Quick Waterman that day. The boys hedn't give hima 'dare' that he hedn't took up. He seemed like he waspossessed, an' the logs was the same way; they was fairly wild,leapin' around in the maddest kind o' water you ever see. Theriver was b'ilin' high that spring; it was an awful stubborn jam,an' Pretty Quick, he'd be'n workin' on it sence dinner."

　　"He clumb up the bank more'n once to have a pull at the bottlethat was hid in the bushes," interpolated Mr. Wiley.

　　"Like as not; that was his failin'. Well, most o' the boys wereon the other side o' the river, workin' above the bridge, an' theboss hed called Pretty Quick to come off an' leave the jam tillmornin', when they'd get horses an' dog-warp it off, log by log.But when the boss got out o' sight, Pretty Quick jest stood rightstill, swingin' his axe, an' blasphemin' so 't would freeze yourblood, vowin' he wouldn't move till the logs did, if he stayedthere till the crack o' doom. Jest then a great, ponderous logthat hed be'n churnin' up an' down in the falls for a week, gotfree an' come blunderin' an' thunderin' down-river. Land! itwas chockfull o' water, an' looked 'bout as big as a church! Itcome straight along, butt-end foremost, an' struck that jam, fullforce, so't every log in it shivered. There was a crack,--thecrack o' doom, sure enough, for Pretty Quick,--an' one o' thelogs le'p' right out an' struck him jest where he stood, with hisaxe in the air, blasphemin'. The jam kind o' melted an' crumbledup, an' in a second Pretty Quick was whirlin' in the white water.He never riz,--at least where we could see him,--an' wedidn't find him for a week. That's the whole story, an' I guessSteve takes it as a warnin'. Any way, he ain't no friend to rumnor swearin', Steve ain't. He knows Pretty Quick's waysshortened his mother's life, an' you notice what a sharp lookouthe keeps on Rufus."

　　"He needs it," Ike Billings commented tersely.

　　"Some men seem to lose their wits when they're workin' on logs,"observed Mr. Wiley, who had deeply resented Long Dennett'stelling of a story which he knew fully as well and could havetold much better. "Now, nat'rally, I've seen things on theKennebec "--

　　"Three cheers for the Saco! Hats off, boys!" shouted Jed Towle,and his directions were followed with a will.

　　"As I was sayin'," continued the old man, peacefully, "I've seenthings on the Kennebec that wouldn't happen on a small river,an' I've be'n in turrible places an' taken turrible resks--resks that would 'a' turned a Saco River man's hair white; butthem is the times when my wits work the quickest. I rememberonce I was smokin' my pipe when a jam broke under me. 'T was asmall jam, or what we call a small jam on the Kennebec,--onlyabout three hundred thousand pine logs. The first thing Iknowed, I was shootin' back an' forth in the b'ilin' foam,hangin' on t' the end of a log like a spider. My hands wasclasped round the log, and I never lost control o' my pipe. Theysaid I smoked right along, jest as cool an' placid as apond-lily."

　　"Why'd you quit drivin'?" inquired Ivory.

　　"My strength wa'n't ekal to it," Mr. Wiley responded sadly. "Iwas all skin, bones, an' nerve. The Comp'ny wouldn't part withme altogether, so they give me a place in the office down on thewharves."

　　"That wa'n't so bad," said Jed Towle; "why didn't you hang on toit, so's to keep in sight o' the Kennebec?"

　　"I found I couldn't be confined under cover. My liver give allout, my appetite failed me, an' I wa'n't wuth a day's wages. I'dlearned engineerin' when I was a boy, an' I thought I'd tryrunnin' on the road a spell, but it didn't suit my constitution.My kidneys ain't turrible strong, an' the doctors said I'd haveBright's disease if I didn't git some kind o' work where therewa'n't no vibrations."

　　"Hard to find, Mr. Wiley; hard to find!" said Jed Towle.

　　"You're right," responded the old man feelingly. "I've tried allkinds o' labor. Some of 'em don't suit my liver, some disagreeswith my stomach, and the rest of 'em has vibrations; so here Iset, high an' dry on the banks of life, you might say, like astranded log."

　　As this well-known simile fell upon the ear, there was a generalstir in the group, for Turrible Wiley, when rhetorical, sometimesgrew tearful, and this was a mood not to be encouraged.

　　"All right, boss," called Ike Billings, winking to the boys;"we'll be there in a jiffy!" for the luncheon hour had flown, andthe work of the afternoon was waiting for them. "You make achalk-mark where you left off, Mr. Wiley, an' we'll hear the restto-morrer; only don't you forgit nothin'! Remember't was theKennebec you was talkin' about."

　　"I will, indeed," responded the old man. "As I was sayin' wheninterrupted, I may be a stranded log, but I'm proud that the marko' the Gard'ner Lumber Comp'ny is on me, so't when I git to myjourney's end they'll know where I belong and send me back to theKennebec. Before I'm sawed up I'd like to forgit this triflin'brook in the sight of a good-sized river, an' rest my eyes onsome full-grown logs,'stead o' these little damn pipestems youboys are playin' with!"