Democratic Northwest. [volume] (Napoleon, Ohio) 1869-1894, 1893-09-28
THE BOOMHOUSEMAN.

What appeals to me as my most inter-
esting experience as writer occurred
winter or two ago in little lumber
hamlet of the hill region of Kentucky.
For a moment at least it was quite
thrilling-rather too thrilling indeed to
be useful as material to me with my
straight and simple art standards. I
have groveling fondness for reproduc-
ing only the usual features Of life, and
this little episode, though it was pitiful-
ly commonplace in its setting, had about
it something that was not only unusual,
but nearly sublime.
Ihad gone down to the village in ques-
ton with the ambitious design of seeing
slide" In the river. Tides are peculiar
to wintry months. They are useful to
lumbermen and incidentally to writers,
but they have their unpleasant features.
My little hill hamlet, having doffed its
green livery. was cowled In dark mud.
Rain sheeted the air. The inn seemed to
be saturated, and the roar of the river on
the skirts Of the town corroborated the
innkeeper's assurance concerning the
magnitude Of the special "tide" which
was in progress.
"She's booming for all that's in her" !"
declared the innkeeper, an elderly man,
who had enjoyed during the previous
summer the happy privilege of being
useful to me in many ways. "They look
for the boom to bust tonight. Thou
sands of dollars afoat. You see that
man by the stove? He's one of the big
timber fellers from up north. Just come
down. He'll lose heavy If she busts.
Say, miss, take a look at that feller!
You remember me telling you about the
boomhouse mans daughter? Well, that
feller-he was the mamie was Idy's
beau"
remembered the story. On certain
day in the previous June was standing
at the head of mill chute looking down
at the sunken river. Suddenly dug
out shot round the bend. The man in
the rude thing seemed only half human.
He was bent and shrunken, with clay
colored skin, matted red hair and such
woebegone vacuity of face as startled
one. The innkeeper had related that
this poor creature lived alone in the
boomhouse, a shed on the river cliff, and
that his duty was to cook for the log
gers in time of tides.
Hes seen trouble" said the innkeep-
er. "Used to own nice little farm up
yonder and live we'll. He had an only
daughter. Pretty as peach, Idly was
Slim wasted, with kinky red hair and
big eyes. He sat store by Idy. Moth
ing was too good for her. And one sum-
mer a son Of one of the mill owners was
down here settling up the mill books,
and he took a fancy to Idy, and folks
said it'd be match. The boonhouse
man was proud as peafowl. And aft
er the young feller went north again,
why, Idy's paw he narrated around that
the wedding was to come off on Christ
mas day and how't Idy was going up
north to live in great style. But the
young feller never came back. He never
came back" repeated the innkeeper,
with a graphic sort of pause. "And Idly
well, always said If she'd of had a
mother things would have been differ
ent. always said she took the best
way out of it. For bout the time tongues
was beginning to wag Idly was missing
one day, and they found her tangled up
in the river drift yonder where the sand.
bar reaches across the shadows"
"And what did her father dol"
"Do? Oh, he acted like he'd got it be-
tween the eyes. Kind Of daft. Ain't
been just right ever since"
This tragic narrative, which the inn
keeper related with the equanimity Of
an epic poet, recurred to me wildly as
observed the man by the stove.
He was middle aged. The story lay II
years behind him, but he had CHR
which made me believe the innkeeper ar
honest chronicler.
He was stolid and well fed. Apparent
ly life had laid no heavy penalty upor
him.
He seemed too vulgar and heavy {
type Of humanity to invite exceptions
treatment of fate, yet I saw him tina;
night in rather notable situation.
Just after dark the inkeeper and hi
daughter and l set out across the cliff
path to see the river in active operation
We walked in the winds teeth, with ,
splitting rain in our faces. It was COLI
and bleak. Then in an instant the rive
flashed in sight. Its whole freshe
swollen current famed with red from
countless fro baskets and lanterns. Lon,
shafts of vermilion stabbed the packet
timber in the boom, struck across tn
climbing banks and made fiery lances O
the pike poles in the loggers's hands.
Men were leaping about on the logs
In fare of crimson / saw on th
| wedged in float the man who had beel
Ida's lover. He was working sturdil,
as any logman about, handling tn
heavy cables and shouting directions.
It was worth seeing, that mountain
stream as it mouthed at the strainin
timber in the boom. 1t was worth seeing
but the air was cold and wet, and in tn
second hour of our watching the inn
keepers daughter, being upheld b
neither hospitality nor ambition, be
sought me to accompany her to tn
boomhouse for the purpose Of gettin
"thored out"
The boomhouse showed its little re
window just below us on the rocks.
The two tiny rooms of the plac
looked warm and bright as we opene
the door.
Half dozen men were drinking COTE
from tin cups at table. The boon
house man, apathetic as ever, with b
resinous looking hair In his pale eye
was frying bacon in great skillet.
The innkeeper joined the throng
the board. bis daughter and ] sat }
the stove in the inner room.
N shall never forget that room. AZ