River Passports: Log Marks of the 19Th Century Michigan Forest Industry

River Passports: Log Marks of the 19th Century Michigan Forest Industry

Industry in the last half of the 19th century in the United States was dominated by logging.

And it was Michigan, from its granting of statehood in 1837, that led the nation in timber cut and sawed for the beginning of this era. From roughly 1840, through the early 1890’s, the logging industry saw tremendous growth. Accompanying this growth existed a need to constantly improve and refine the process, specifically the transportation of materials; from the felling of a great White Pine all the way to its final run through a river mill’s saw, and finally, into the marketplace. While axes were all but replaced by more efficient two-person band saws, entire rivers were coaxed into accommodating millions of floating logs, and the blades at sawmills grew ever larger and more adept at cutting down logs into usable lumber, maybe no other innovation was as integral to the growth of the industry, or representative of the scale and complexity shanty boys, river hogs, saw mill operators, or lumber company owners faced moving these logs around, than that of the Log Mark. Much like the branding of cattle in the

Western United States, log marks were born of organizational necessity, but would eventually come to represent laws that governed the industry, fiscal and investment considerations, while also reflecting the unique and colorful culture of the loggers themselves.

Though log marks became widely adopted in Michigan around 1840 as logging increased statewide in scale, the idea is an old one. Queen Anne’s Surveyor General, in early colonial times, “attempted to reserve for the Royal Navy the finest pines of New England.”1 This was not popular with the colonists. While log marks would become essential to the industry, they were not always widely used. During early times in Michigan logging, logs were simply dragged to the mills by oxen. But as areas within dragging distance were slowly cleared of trees, the mill owners turned to floating their logs down rivers and streams to the mills.2 Theodore Karamanski, author of “Deep Woods Frontier”, writes about distinct eras in Michigan’s Upper

Peninsula logging industry. While this paper will focus primarily on the Lower Peninsula, where log marks were more prevalent, Karamanski makes an important distinction regarding stages of the industry’s growth that can be observed throughout the Great Lakes region. The first stage, also the focus of this paper, was what he calls the, “Water-Pine Era”, which lasted from 1835 to about 1900.3 True of the Lower Peninsula as well, the Water-Pine era gets its name from the coveted White Pines that loggers concentrated on, and the practice of floating them down rivers to saw mills.

The White Pine once covered huge swaths of land in the Lower Peninsula, and because they grew straight, tall, and were “workable” softwood, they were highly coveted by loggers and mill owners. Early on, when logs were dragged to a mill by oxen, identifying ownership was not as important as it would later become as loggers had oversight of their logs pretty much from their felling to the mill. But as distances increased between the standing pines and the mills themselves, loggers turned to floating their logs on rivers and streams. Soon, these rivers were swelling with different company’s logs, confusion as to who owned what became common 4and it became clear that an organizational system was in need.

It was in 1842 that the relatively newly formed Michigan Legislature addressed this need for a more organization in floating logs by requiring marks stamped on their ends to be registered in the county where they were to be manufactured.5 As the amount of logs in the rivers quickly increased, further organization became necessary. In 1852, a loosely governed body of

Muskegon lumbermen, calling themselves the Log and Mill Owner’s Association, consolidated their river driving into one cooperative effort. One important decision they made, “required each log owner to cut hack or side marks into the logs with an axe; each owner had his own hack mark. These marks established ownership.”6 And so by 1842, log marks, representative of a company, had gained legal status as a claim to ownership. While this mutually agreed upon association of lumbermen succeeded in increasing the efficiency of the river drive itself, sorting logs once they reached the various mills was still highly unorganized and would require more standardization. Log marks would play a crucial role in this process as well.

As the rivers continued to swell with trees, and companies formed, merged, and dissolved, further oversight of the driving and sorting of logs was needed. In response, the state legislature in 1855 passed a law “which permitted the incorporation of booming companies.”7

These booming companies would become one of the most pivotal additions to the forest industry in mid 19th century Michigan, and for all practical purposes, their currency were log marks.

Responsible for the logs once they hit the river, the booming companies would drive them down stream, sort them by utilizing what were known as “sorting gaps”, and deliver these logs to the mill owners. It was at the sorting gaps that log marks were utterly indispensable to the process.

In 1864, the state legislature passed a law replacing, “voluntary assessment-type association with

[booming] companies having full powers to make contracts,”8 and the booming companies were allowed almost monopolistic control of a specific river. Any increase in cost for floating logs down a river were covered by an increase in efficiency and a decrease in actual logs lost to theft or sinking.

Log booms – roped or chained together logs – were extended out into the river, sometimes as far as miles to “fence the river off with.”9 Inside these booms, individual

“pockets” or “pens” were set up to start sorting the various company’s logs as they entered.

“Men stood at the opening of these pens with poles, and each was responsible for poling logs with a particular hack mark into a pen. Logs that passed through the entire channel without being sorted were gathered in rafts, towed back to the head of the channel and re-inserted into the flow of logs”10 The sheer number of logs that entered these booms is staggering, and each one had to be identified by its log mark to know where to send it. Between 1856 and 1864, “an estimated 1,700,000,000 feet of logs came down the Titabawassee River”11 This amounts to roughly 8,000,000 logs a year that needed sorting. Any logs that were either missing a log mark, or could not be readily identified, became the property of the booming company and were sold to cover operating costs. While the need for these marks in identifying logs as they were float and sorted can be clearly demonstrated, it does not reveal the complexity behind their legal creation and identification, cultural significance, or enduring value of ownership above and beyond the river drive or sorting.

As mentioned, after 1842, companies were required to register their log marks with the county in which they were going to be manufactured (milled) in. In the Saginaw Valley, between the 1840’s and early 1900’s, while many county records that contained the registered log marks of companies have been lost, it is safe to assume unique registered marks were in the thousands.12 Richard Henry Harm’s dissertation offers a detailed account of Charles Henry

Hockley’s life, and his long-time successful partnership with Thomas Hume, in which he estimates “over 60 separate marks were registered to the firm during its history.”13 While an uncommonly large and productive firm, it serves to demonstrate how many log marks would have been registered during these busy logging years with companies active throughout the state.

Not to mention, within a company, each specific logging camp had their own design and would change them yearly.14

With boom companies sorting more than 8 million logs a year, it was imperative that company’s log marks were recognizable and unique. It is said one booming company “had standing offer of $50 to anyone who could design a mark of three letters in any arrangement that had not been used before.”15 Whether a factual account or not, the legend alone shows the interplay between how many marks were being created and used during these years, and their need to be immediately recognizable. As mentioned, few boom company registration of company log marks records remain, but three sheets from the Tittabawassee Boom Company endured and correlate “sixty of the more than 1500 log marks used on the Tittabawassee River”16 to their respective parent company. Many are simply words, others symbols, but all necessarily unique. Records were kept of registered marks at the county level, keeping boom companies informed of what marks they should anticipate coming through their sorting operations. Sorters working for the boom companies held an impressive amount of these log marks in their head, and what they could not remember, kept in a small notebook to be referenced while sorting.

Though very often the initials of a company’s owner, or a word, the “shanty boys” and the “river hogs” who dealt with these marks day in and day out, for the most part, were not well educated. The symbols became stories, easily remembered not for what they said, but what they looked like. And other times, the marks themselves were the creation of vivid and creative minds, “One mill operator expressed his friendship for the man who supplied him with by tobacco by choosing as his log mark the form of a pipe on which his friends initials were super- imposed.”17 With companies merging, their logging camps moving to follow the trees, the marks were also anything but static. It was customary, in at least the Muskegon region, to “register only the main mark of a company or individual, then vary the mark in use by adding details.”18

Companies would also cleverly exploit the sorting of logs the boom companies undertook. Upon felling trees, an evaluation of the lumber grade would be made on the spot and the log would receive an appropriate mark. For example, Hackley and Hume would employ, “commonly used four marks the for top grade lumber, for second grade, for third grade

and for shingle logs.”19 Once these logs reached the boom companies sorting gaps, they would be separated by their marks. Though all property of Hackley and Hume, their lumber was now conveniently sorted, by grade, at no effort to them beyond two solid whacks of a log mark hammer on their trees.

Log marks were created by companies, newly formed or already established, to identify their logs in the river driving process. While this was the primary function of the marks, they also fulfilled a dual legal role as proof of ownership; functioning much like currency. It was not unheard of for companies to create short-term log marks that would be used to brand logs to be used solely for securing loans.20 Twenty-thousand board feet of lumber sitting somewhere, each log clearly marked with a company’s unique mark, was almost as good as cash in the mid 19th century Michigan logging industry.

In addition to the short-term branding of logs for collateral purposes, the value of a log mark also had long-term value, even in sunken logs. It is estimated that 5-10 percent of logs were lost to this fate, commonly referred to as “deadheads”21. While a potential hazard in the river driving process, and often an irretrievable loss to a company, logs with marks still held value even underwater. With a relatively unknown amount of sunken logs at any given time, the buying and selling of log marks between companies was a common transaction for a variety of reasons.

Again exploiting the duties of the river booming companies, Hackley and Hume would buy the rights to company’s log marks who they believed had sunken logs in a river. As the booming companies were required to clear the river of these logs, hoisting them out and letting them dry out for next year’s run, Hackley and Hume would then profit that following year for all those recovered and part of that year’s run.22 While buying another company’s log mark for a particular season was a gamble as to how many logs would eventually be recovered, marks were bought and sold for more abstract reasons as well.

Harvey C. Saunders explains why a river improvement company he controlled bought the rights – via ownership of the log marks - to submerged logs within his five mile boom area. As a longtime lumberman, Saunders was aware a good portion of the logs sunk in his boom area were from the “Hall and Buhl days way before 1900.”23 These logs were “30 inches or better” and considered “perfect timber”. But the value of the logs themselves were only an agreeable consequence to a higher purpose. Saunders knew that scavengers of these “deadheads” would cut his booms in the dark recesses of night to get access to these prized logs. And so he bought the rights to them, “never figured so much on the making of a fortune from them; but... to keep the people from interfering with my booms.”

This buying and selling of log marks identifies an inherent flaw in their role as proof of ownership, and one that would give way to considerable piracy and theft. Saunders would eventually sell the right to these logs to a certain Leonard Shay when he had no further use of the boom area. This made Shay “the owner of the stranded and submerged logs that bear that string of marks.”24 A person’s claim to a log resided in a correlation between what is found on the log itself and what is registered with the county clerk, who also recorded the sale of log mark ownership. In this relatively gray area, Saunders points out that Shay can claim ownership of a log “no matter if somebody picked up the old [log mark] hammer and used it.”25 In the same way, as logs meandered down river, they were attended to by the “river hogs” who controlled the drive. Though on constant lookout for thieves, the temptation for theft was too high and “nefarious individuals would pull logs from the river, saw off the branded ends and rebrand them.” 26

Alternatively, while not always the result of theft, companies would occasionally receive less wood at the mill than they were expecting. If this were the case, it was not uncommon to send a representative of the company up-river to look into where their logs might be disappearing. As the only proof of ownership during the river driving phase, log marks were not only essential in recovering lost lumber, but also served as the only real legal evidence to fulfill or break contracts between companies. Saunders tells another story of the Manistique Lumber

Company who found themselves in the position of receiving less logs than they bargained for.

The North Shore and Thompson companies were pulling logs, what should have been only theirs, up river from Manistique; though it was the Chicago Lumber Company as the operating sorting company on the river who was ultimately responsible for the lumbers’ final delivery to

Manistique. The Manistique Lumber Company, upon investigation, found logs marked with their telltale “s” in a circle, not to be confused with a rival “s” inside an octagon, in the ponds of the North Shore and Thompson Companies. This gave the Manistique Lumber Company the right to break their contract with the Chicago Lumber Company, which they did. 28 And besides a broken contract, what was the result of all this? The Manistique Lumber

Company, at this particular time, had much of their timber up on Lake Superior. Nearby was a good natural harbor, which they opted to build a railroad to and move their lumber up there by rail. They named it Grand Marais, “and a new town was born.”29 While many forces were at work in this situation, old contracts, inefficient sorting companies, and shifting trends in log transportation, it came down to an “s” encircled and hammered into the bottom of some logs as evidence of both ownership, and a breach of contract, that gave birth a town in Michigan’s upper peninsula.

Over a hundred years after these log marks were created, Jean Hume Browning took it upon herself to write a supplement to the seminal “Michigan Log Marks” book.30 A descendant of Thomas Hume, she used the papers of Hackley and Hume, comparing their sketches of various log marks to those she found in the book, noting any complexities or inaccuracies. What about these relatively simple log marks inspires an undertaking like this over a century later, when in all probability most any legal or fiscal matters they may have once played a vital role in are by now settled? It is most assuredly for a variety of reasons; but this may speak to the essence of the marks themselves. That is, while nothing more than a stamp on the two ends of a log, originally designed to identify ownership of a log once it reached mills down river during these boom years of Michigan logging, they were so ubiquitous, so indispensable to the process, they speak volumes about overlapping facets of the industry: organizational methods in manufacturing, the laws and legal environment, fiscal considerations, and the personal whims of those who actually were bringing down these giant White Pines. 1 Stroebel, Ralph W., Michigan log marks - their function and use during the great Michigan pine harvest. ([East Lansing] Michigan Agricultural experiment station [1941]), Michigan State Archives: 8

2 Richard Henry Harms, “Life After Lumbering: Charles Henry Hackley and the Emergence of Muskegon, Michigan", PhD diss. 1984, Richard Henry Harms papers, UA 17.159, Michigan State Archives: 21

3 Theodore Karamanski, Deep Woods Frontier – A History of Logging in Northern Michigan, (Wayne State University Press, 1989): 16

4 Stroebel, Ralph W., Michigan log marks - their function and use during the great Michigan pine harvest. ([East Lansing] Michigan Agricultural experiment station [1941]) Michigan State Archives: 8

5 Ibid

7 Ibid., 22

8 Barbara E. Benson, Logs and Lumber: The Development of the Lumber Industry in Michigan’s Lower Peninsula, 1837-1870, (Central Michigan University, PhD diss. 1989): 150

9 Harvey C. Saunders, “I, Harvey Saunders”, 2

11 Barbara E. Benson, Logs and Lumber: The Development of the Lumber Industry in Michigan’s Lower Peninsula, 1837-1870, (Central Michigan University, PhD diss. 1989): 149

12 Irene M. Hargreaves, The story of logging the white pine in the Saginaw Valley, (Red King Press, 1964) Michigan State Archives: 39

13 Richard Henry Harms, “Life After Lumbering: Charles Henry Hackley and the Emergence of Muskegon, Michigan", PhD diss. 1984, Richard Henry Harms papers, UA 17.159, Michigan State Archives: 123 14 Irene M. Hargreaves, The story of logging the white pine in the Saginaw Valley, (Red King Press, 1964) Michigan State Archives: 39

16 Titabawassee Boom Co. Books, “Lumbering Firms and their Log Marks”, Ralph W. Stroebel Collection, c.00223, Box 1, Folder 1, Michigan State Archives.

17 Lewis Torrent, Muskegon County Log Marks, (Great Lakes Model Shipbuilders Guild, c1956), http://babel.hathitrust.org/cgi/pt?id=mdp.39015071226966: 3

20 Ibid.

21 Harvey C. Saunders, “I, Harvey C. Saunders...”, Harvey Saunders papers, c00313, Michigan State Archives: 2 22 Richard Henry Harms, “Life After Lumbering: Charles Henry Hackley and the Emergence of Muskegon, Michigan", PhD diss. 1984, Richard Henry Harms papers, UA 17.159, Michigan State Archives: 123

23 Harvey C. Saunders, “I, Harvey C. Saunders...”, Harvey Saunders papers, c00313, Michigan State Archives: 2

24 Ibid.

25 Ibid.

26 Lewis Torrent, Muskegon County Log Marks, (Great Lakes Model Shipbuilders Guild, c1956), http://babel.hathitrust.org/cgi/pt?id=mdp.39015071226966: 27

27 Irene M. Hargreaves, The story of logging the white pine in the Saginaw Valley, (Red King Press, 1964) Michigan State Archives: 37

28 Harvey C. Saunders, “How Grand Marais Became a Town”, Harvey Saunders papers, c00313, Michigan State Archives: 5

29 Ibid.

30 Jean Hume Browning, “Supplement to Michigan Log Marks”, Hackley and Hume papers, c00097, Michigan State Archives