The Game of Jackstraws

by Kate Douglas Wiggin

　　There was a roar of laughter at the old man's boast, but in amoment all was activity. The men ran hither and thither likeants, gathering their tools. There were some old-fashionedpickpoles, straight, heavy levers without any "dog," and therewere modern pickpoles and peaveys, for every river has itsfavorite equipment in these things. There was no dynamite inthose days to make the stubborn jams yield, and the dog-warp wasin general use. Horses or oxen, sometimes a line of men, stoodon the river-bank. A long rope was attached by means of a steelspike to one log after another, and it was dragged from thetangled mass. Sometimes, after unloading the top logs, those atthe bottom would rise and make the task easier; sometimes thework would go on for hours with no perceptible progress, and Mr.Wiley would have opportunity to tell the bystanders of a"turrible jam" on the Kennebec that had cost the Lumber Companyten thousand dollars to break.

　　There would be great arguments on shore, among the villagers aswell as among the experts, as to the particular log which mightbe a key to the position. The boss would study the problem fromvarious standpoints, and the drivers themselves would pass fromheated discussion into long consultations.

　　"They're paid by the day," Old Kennebec would philosophize to thedoctor; "an' when they're consultin' they don't hev to bedoggin', which is a turrible sight harder work."

　　Rose had created a small sensation, on one occasion, by pointingout to the under boss the key-log in a jam. She was pastmistress of the pretty game of jackstraws, much in vogue at thattime. The delicate little lengths of polished wood or bone wereshaken together and emptied on the table. Each jackstraw had oneof its ends fashioned in the shape of some sort of implement,--a rake, hoe, spade, fork, or mallet. All the pieces wereintertwined by the shaking process, and they lay as they fell, ina hopeless tangle. The task consisted in taking a tiny pickpole,scarcely bigger than a match, and with the bit of curved wire onthe end lifting off the jackstraws one by one without stirringthe pile or making it tremble. When this occurred, you gaveplace to your opponent, who relinquished his turn to you when illfortune descended upon him, the game, which was a kind ofriver-driving and jam-picking in miniature, being decided by thenumber of pieces captured and their value. No wonder that theunder boss asked Rose's advice as to the key-log. She had afairy's hand, and her cunning at deciding the pieces to be moved,and her skill at extricating and lifting them from the heap, werelooked upon in Edgewood as little less than supernatural. It wasa favorite pastime; and although a man's hand is ill adapted toit, being over-large and heavy; the game has obvious advantagesfor a lover in bringing his head very close to that of hisbeloved adversary. The jackstraws have to be watched with ahawk's eagerness, since the "trembling" can be discerned only bya keen eye; but there were moments when Stephen was willing torisk the loss of a battle if he could watch Rose's droopingeyelashes, the delicate down on her pink cheek, and the featherycurls that broke away from her hair.

　　He was looking at her now from a distance, for she and MiteShapley were assisting Jed Towle to pile up the tin plates andtie the tin dippers together. Next she peered into one of thebean-pots, and seemed pleased that there was still something inits depths; then she gathered the fragments neatly together in abasket, and, followed by her friend, clambered down the banks toa shady spot where the Boomshers, otherwise known as the Crambryfamily, were "lined up" expectantly.

　　It is not difficult to find a single fool in any community,however small; but a family of fools is fortunately somewhatrarer. Every county, however, can boast of one fool-family, andItork County is always in the fashion, with fools as witheverything else. The unique, much-quoted, and undesirableBoomshers could not be claimed as indigenous to the Saco valley,for this branch was an offshoot of a still larger tribeinhabiting a distant township. Its beginnings were shrouded inmystery. There was a French-Canadian ancestor somewhere, and aGipsy or Indian grandmother. They had always intermarried fromtime immemorial. When one of the selectmen of their native placehad been asked why the Boomshers always married cousins, and whythe habit was not discouraged, he replied that he really didn'tknow; he s'posed they felt it would be kind of odd to go rightout and marry a stranger.

　　Lest "Boomsher" seem an unusual surname, it must be explainedthat the actual name was French and could not be coped with byEdgewood or Pleasant River, being something quite as impossibleto spell as to pronounce. As the family had lived for the lastfew years somewhere near the Killick Cranberry Meadows, they werecalled--and completely described in the calling--the Crambryfool-family. A talented and much traveled gentleman who oncestayed over night at the Edgewood tavern, proclaimed it hisopinion that Boomsher had been gradually corrupted fromBeaumarchais. When he wrote the word on his visiting card andshowed it to Mr. Wiley, Old Kennebec had replied, that in thejudgment of a man who had lived in large places and seen aturrible lot o' life, such a name could never have been giveneither to a Christian or a heathen family,--that the way inwhich the letters was thrown together into it, and the way inwhich they was sounded when read out loud, was entirely ag'inreason. It was true, he said, that Beaumarchais, bein' such afool name, might 'a' be'n invented a-purpose for a fool family,but he wouldn't hold even with callin' 'em Boomsher; Crambry waswell enough for'em an' a sight easier to speak.

　　Stephen knew a good deal about the Crambrys, for he passed theirso-called habitation in going to one of his wood-lots. It wasonly a month before that he had found them all sitting outsidetheir broken-down fence, surrounded by decrepit chairs, sofas,tables, bedsteads, bits of carpet, and stoves.

　　"What's the matter?" he called out from his wagon.

　　"There ain't nothin' the matter," said Alcestis Crambry."Father's dead, an we're dividin' up the furnerchure."

　　Alcestis was the pride of the Crambrys, and the list of hisattainments used often to be on his proud father's lips. It washe who was the largest, "for his size," in the family; he whocould tell his brothers Paul and Arcadus "by their looks;" he whoknew a sour apple from a sweet one the minute he bit it; he who,at the early age of ten, was bright enough to point to thecupboard and say, "Puddin', dad!"

　　Alcestis had enjoyed, in consequence of his unusual intellectualpowers, some educational privileges, and the Killickschoolmistress well remembered his first day at the village seatof learning. Reports of what took place in this classic templefrom day to day may have been wafted to the dull ears of the boy,who was not thought ready for school until he had attained theripe age of twelve. It may even have been that specific rumorsof the signs, symbols, and hieroglyphics used in educationalinstitutions had reached him in the obscurity of his cranberrymeadows. At all events, when confronted by the alphabet chart,whose huge black capitals were intended to capture the wanderingeyes of the infant class, Alcestis exhibited unusual, almostunnatural, excitement.

　　"That is 'A,' my boy," said the teacher genially, as she pointedto the first character on the chart.

　　"Good God, is that 'A'! " exclaimed Alcestis, sitting downheavily on the nearest bench. And neither teacher nor scholarscould discover whether he was agreeably surprised or disappointedin the letter,--whether he had expected, if he ever encounteredit, to find it writhing in coils on the floor of a cage, orwhether it simply bore no resemblance to the ideal alreadyestablished in his mind.

　　Mrs. Wiley had once tried to make something of Mercy, the oldestdaughter of the family, but at the end of six weeks she announcedthat a girl who couldn't tell whether the clock was going"forrards or backwards," and who rubbed a pocket handkerchief aslong as she did a sheet, would be no help in her household.

　　The Crambrys had daily walked the five or six miles from theirhome to the Edgewood bridge during the progress of the drive, notonly for the social and intellectual advantages to be gained fromthe company present, but for the more solid compensation of agood meal. They all adored Rose, partly because she gave themfood, and partly because she was sparkling and pretty and worepink dresses that caught their dull eyes.

　　The afternoon proved a lively one. In the first place, one ofthe younger men slipped into the water between two logs, part ofa lot chained together waiting to be let out of the boom. Theweight of the mass higher up and the force of the current wedgedhim in rather tightly, and when he had been "pried" out hedeclared that he felt like an apple after it had been squeezed inthe cider-mill, so he drove home, and Rufus Waterman took hisplace.

　　Two hours' hard work followed this incident, and at the end ofthat time the "bung" that reached from the shore to Waterman'sLedge (the rock where Pretty Quick met his fate) was broken up,and the logs that composed it were started down river. Thereremained now only the great side-jam at Gray Rock. This had beenallowed to grow, gathering logs as they drifted past, thus makinghigher water and a stronger current on the other side of therock, and allowing an easier passage for the logs at that point.

　　All was excitement now, for, this particular piece of workaccomplished, the boom above the falls would be "turned out," andthe river would once more be clear and clean at the Edgewoodbridge.

　　Small boys, perching on the rocks with their heels hanging, handsand mouths full of red Astrakhan apples, cheered their favoritesto the echo, while the drivers shouted to one another and watchedthe signs and signals of the boss, who could communicate withthem only in that way, so great was the roar of the water.

　　The jam refused to yield to ordinary measures. It was adifficult problem, for the rocky river-bed held many a snare andpitfall. There was a certain ledge under the water, so artfullyplaced that every log striking under its projecting edges wouldwedge itself firmly there, attracting others by its evil example.

　　"That galoot-boss ought to hev shoved his crew down to that jamthis mornin'," grumbled Old Kennebec to Alcestis Crambry, who wasalways his most loyal and attentive listener. "But he wouldn'ttake no advice, not if Pharaoh nor Boat nor Herod nor Nicodemuscome right out o' the Bible an' give it to him. The logs aircontrary to-day. Sometimes they'll go along as easy as an oldshoe, an' other times they'll do nothin' but bung, bung, bung!There's a log nestlin' down in the middle o' that jam that I'vebe'n watchin' for a week. It's a cur'ous one, to begin with; an'then it has a mark on it that you can reco'nize it by. Did yeever hear tell o' George the Third, King of England, Alcestis, orain't he known over to the crambry medders? Well, once upon atime men used to go through the forests over here an' slash amark on the trunks o' the biggest trees. That was the royalsign, as you might say, an' meant that the tree was to be takenover to England to make masts an' yard-arms for the King's ships.What made me think of it now is that the King's mark was anarrer, an' it's an arrer that's on that there log I'm showin' ye.Well, sir, I seen it fust at Milliken's Mills a Monday. It wasin trouble then, an'it's be'n in trouble ever sence. That'sallers the way; there'll be one pesky, crooked, contrary,consarn'ed log that can't go anywheres without gittin' intodifficulties. You can yank it out an' set it afloat, an' beforeyou hardly git your doggin' iron off of it, it'll be snarled upagin in some new place. From the time it's chopped down to theday it gets to Saco, it costs the Comp'ny 'bout ten times itspesky valler as lumber. Now they've sent over to Benson's for ateam of horses, an' I bate ye they can't git'em. I wish I wasthe boss on this river, Alcestis."

　　"I wish I was," echoed the boy.

　　"Well, your head-fillin' ain't the right kind for a boss,Alcestis, an' you'd better stick to dry land. You set right downhere while I go back a piece an' git the pipe out o' my coatpocket. I guess nothin' ain't goin' to happen for a fewminutes."

　　The surmise about the horses, unlike most of Old Kennebec's,proved to be true. Benson's pair had gone to Portland with aload of hay; accordingly the tackle was brought, the rope wasadjusted to a log, and five of the drivers, standing on theriverbank, attempted to drag it from its intrenched position. Itrefused to yield the fraction of an inch. Rufus and Stephenjoined the five men, and the augmented crew of seven were puttingall their strength on the rope when a cry went up from thewatchers on the bridge. The "dog" had loosened suddenly, and themen were flung violently to the ground. For a second they werestunned both by the surprise and by the shock of the blow, but inthe same moment the cry of the crowd swelled louder.

　　Alcestis Crambry had stolen, all unoticed, to the rope and hadattempted to use his feeble powers for the common good. Whenthen blow came he fell backward, and, making no effort to controlthe situation, slid over the bank and into the water.

　　The other Crambrys, not realizing the danger, laughed, audibly,but there was no jeering from the bridge.

　　Stephan had seen Alcestis slip, and in the fraction of a momenthad taken off his boots and was coasting down the slippery rocksbehind him in a twinkling he was in the water, almost as soon asthe boy himself.

　　"Doggoned idjut!" exclaimed Old Kennebec, tearfully. "Wuth thehull fool family! If I hedn't 'a' be'n so old, I'd 'a' jumpedin myself, for you can't drownd a Wiley, not without you tienail-kegs to their head an' feet an' drop 'em in the falls."

　　Alcestis, who had neither brains, courage, nor experience, had,better still, the luck that follows the witless. He was carriedswiftly down the current; but, only fifty feet away, a long,slender, log, wedged between two low rocks on the shore, juttedout over the water, almost touching its surface. The boy'sclothes were admirably adapted to the situation, being full ofenormous rents. In some way the end of the log caught in therags of Alcestis's coat and held him just seconds enough toenable Stephen to swim to him, to seize him by the nape of theneck, to lift him on the log, and thence to the shore. It was aparticularly bad place for a landing, and there was nothing to dobut to lower ropes and drag the drenched men to the high groundabove.

　　Alcestis came to his senses in ten or fifteen minutes, and seemedas bright as usual: with a kind of added swagger at being thecentral figure in a dramatic situation.

　　"I wonder you hedn't stove your brains out, when you landed soturrible suddent on that rock at the foot of the bank," said Mr.Wiley to him. "I should, but I took good care to light on myhead," responded Alcestis; a cryptic remark which so puzzled OldKennebec that he mused over it for some hours.