We had burned the wood all up on the ground, as there was no market for
it, it was worthless. We burned up out of our way enough timber to have
made five thousand cords of cordwood. Father's big ax, which he brought
from the State of New York, and mine, by striking innumerable blows, had
been worn out long before this strip was cleared. The heavy, resounding
blows of those axes had been heard, and before them many trees had
fallen. They stood before the blows and trembled and swayed to and fro
and at last fell with a thundering crash, to the earth, to rise no more.
Some of their bodies broken, their limbs broken off, wounded and
bruised, and stripped of their beautiful foliage. The noise of their fall
and the force with which they struck the earth made the ground tremble
and shake, and let the neighbors know that father and I were chopping,
and that we were slaying the timber.
The grand old forest was melting away. The sides of many a tree had
been cleft, and the chips bursted out, and they had disappeared all but
their stumps. The timber was tall, I cut one whitewood that was about a
foot through at the butt, and measured eighty-three feet to a limb.
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