TIMBER! CLAYHILL#4
When he was eleven years of age, Melvin, the younger of the two Clayhill brothers, got signed-on to become a member of a logging crew working in the Appalachian Mountains to the east of what is now Craigsville, Virginia. in Augusta county.
His uncle Caleb lived near Madrid,Virginia - pronounced MAD-rid - and he, through acquaintances in the lumber business he had an the offer did not include Timothy, Melvin's older brother. The job opening called for a “runt” and Melvin met that criterion perfectly.
Telling about the experience, Melvin constantly referred to his brother. It was a the first time the two had ever been separated. His looks which said, better than words, how much he missed being away from Timothy. It was really only time they were ever apart.
The Clayhill brothers were a team, as a rule. They had always worked together and been on terms of being constant friendly-enemies, arguing with each other without end and loving every minute of it.
Melvin left for logging camp by himself. He took a train from Staunton to Craigsville, and, following instructions, walked up the mountain trail to the north side of the train tracks just beyond the station at the village. It was a lonely walk, but exciting in many ways, and Melvin was unaware of he dangers lurking in the forest about him. He had no trouble finding the trail and was soon walking with a man , a logger, who was headed to the same destination -.Kopler's Log Camp.
“Damn it, Sonny you got rough time ahead of you!” the new companion stated bluntly. You're too little fer loggin'. “Melvin explained his job as his uncle had outlined it.
“I'm to be Cooky's helper,” he explained “I'm to cut farwood, git things cook needs, cleanup after each mess o' eatin' and such like! Ain't no real log cuttin' fer me ....just help with the feeding of the crew. I kin do that!”
The tall companion was impressed with Melvin's straight - forward reply. “Aw-right! Sure as my name's Jeb Carson, I do believe you can do it,” He laughed., “But it ain't gonna be easy! You your're right in a rough bunch of men at any loggin'' camp.” He seemed to be impressed with the direct reply he got from his young fellow traveler. He turned serious for a moment and added: “I know. I'm 'bout the worst of 'em.”
He took a bottle of whiskey from his pack and sipped a bit.. “I been out fer supplies.” he confided” and halfway offered the flat bottle to Melvin, then quickly withdrew the offer. “You're still awful young fer the job,” He put the bottle in his pack with care, and they resumed their walk.
Within the hour, they arrived at the camp.
Carson indicated to Melvin. You best go t' the end of that long buildin'' - that shed at th' end where th' smoke is comin'' up. That's Cookie's area. His name is Swartz. He a fat German. You'll know him right off. Good luck, Sonny. I think you might just need all you can git, too!” They parted, but Carson turned around and said. “Be careful, too, Sonny. You got a friend in old Carson, here, if'n you kin find him sober - any time. Maybe best you 'tend not to know me, till later on...maybe” And, he was gone.
Melvin Clayhill turned to face his own future.
Sure enough, as Carson had said, he recognized the man who had to be Cookie as soon as he saw him. He worn a miss-matched coat and dark pants, heavy yellow leather shoes of ancient vintage, a not-at-all clean denim cloth apron around his generous belly and a funny little hat perched on his on his gray head.
“You must be the new boy?” His voice was thick and guttural. “Bout time, too. Lemme show you where you bunk “ and he led the way through a wide arch without a door. Just inside the room he turned and pointed to a crude box built against the wall. “Your stuff goes in the box. Don't leave it underfoot like the last boy did..” He pointed to a sapling shelf above the door ....long enough, maybe six feet across the top of the doorway to the mess hall and three-feet wide. A ladder of six rungs went up the log wall beside the storage box. “They's blankets in the box fer you. Stow your stuff now. We need to git some food ready fer the hogs. They come in when the light a'gins to fade.”
Gruff though he was, Melvin told me , “I, knowed I was a a-goin'' t' like Cookie when he first spoke “at” me, but a day or two later day he was talkin'' “to” and “with” me.
(Next “When the Hawgs Come In”
A.L.M. July 6, 2003 [c899wds]
