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The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Young Woodsman, by J. Macdonald Oxley
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or
re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.net
Title: The Young Woodsman
Life in the Forests of Canada
Author: J. Macdonald Oxley
Posting Date: November 12, 2011 [EBook #9968]
Release Date: February, 2006
First Posted: November 5, 2003
Language: English
Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE YOUNG WOODSMAN ***
Produced by Imran Ghory, Stan Goodman, Mary Meehan and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team
THE YOUNG WOODSMAN
OR
Life in the Forests of Canada
BY J. MACDONALD OXLEY
Author of "Diamond Rock; or, On the Right Track," &c. &c.
1895
CONTENTS.
I. THE CALL TO WORK
II. THE CHOICE OF AN OCCUPATION
III. OFF TO THE WOODS
IV. THE BUILDING OF THE SHANTY
V. STANDING FIRE
VI. LIFE IN THE LUMBER CAMP
VII. A THRILLING EXPERIENCE
VIII. IN THE NICK OF TIME
IX. OUT OF CLOUDS, SUNSHINE
X. A HUNTING-TRIP
XI. THE GREAT SPRING DRIVE
XII. HOME AGAIN
THE YOUNG WOODSMAN.
CHAPTER I.
THE CALL TO WORK.
"I'm afraid there'll be no more school for you now, Frank darling. Will
you mind having to go to work?"
"Mind it! Why, no, mother; not the least bit. I'm quite old enough, ain't
I?"
"I suppose you are, dear; though I would like to have you stay at your
lessons for one more year anyway. What kind of work would you like best?"
"That's not a hard question to answer, mother. I want to be what father
was."
The mother's face grew pale at this reply, and for some few moments she
made no response.
* * * * *
The march of civilization on a great continent means loss as well as
gain. The opening up of the country for settlement, the increase and
spread of population, the making of the wilderness to blossom as the
rose, compel the gradual retreat and disappearance of interesting
features that can never be replaced. The buffalo, the beaver, and the elk
have gone; the bear, the Indian, and the forest in which they are both
most at home, are fast following.
Along the northern border of settlement in Canada there are flourishing
villages and thriving hamlets to-day where but a few years ago the
verdurous billows of the primeval forest rolled in unbroken grandeur. The
history of any one of these villages is the history of all. An open space
beside the bank of a stream or the margin of a lake presented itself to
the keen eye of the woodranger traversing the trackless waste of forest
as a fine site for a lumber camp. In course of time the lumber camp grew
into a depot from which other camps, set still farther back in the depths
of the "limits," are supplied. Then the depot develops into a settlement
surrounded by farms; the settlement gathers itself into a village with
shops, schools, churches, and hotels; and so the process of growth goes
on, the forest ever retreating as the dwellings of men multiply.
It was in a village with just such a history, and bearing the name of
Calumet, occupying a commanding situation on a vigorous tributary of the
Ottawa River--the Grand River, as the dwellers beside its banks are fond
of calling it--that Frank Kingston first made the discovery of his own
existence and of the world around him. He at once proceeded to make
himself master of the situation, and so long as he confined his efforts
to the limits of his own home he met with an encouraging degree of
success; for he was an only child, and, his father's occupation requiring
him to be away from home a large part of the year, his mother could
hardly be severely blamed if she permitted her boy to have a good deal of
his own way.
In the result, however, he was not spoiled. He came of sturdy, sensible
stock, and had inherited some of the best qualities from both sides of
the house. To his mother he owed his fair curly hair, his deep blue,
honest eyes, his impulsive and tender heart; to his father, his strong
symmetrical figure, his quick brain, and his eager ambition. He was a
good-looking, if not strikingly handsome, boy, and carried himself in an
alert, active way that made a good impression on one at the start. He had
a quick temper that would flash out hotly if he were provoked, and at
such times he would do and say things for which he was heartily sorry
afterwards. But from those hateful qualities that we call malice,
rancour, and sullenness he was absolutely free. To "have it out" and then
shake hands and forget all about it--that was his way of dealing with a
disagreement. Boys built on these lines are always popular among their
comrades, and Frank was no exception. In fact, if one of those amicable
contests as to the most popular personage, now so much in vogue at fairs
and bazaars, were to have been held in Calumet school, the probabilities
were all in favour of Frank coming out at the head of the poll.
But better, because more enduring than all these good qualities of body,
head, and heart that formed Frank's sole fortune in the world, was the
thorough religious training upon which they were based. His mother had
left a Christian household to help her husband to found a new home in the
great Canadian timberland; and this new home had ever been a sweet,
serene centre of light and love. While Calumet was little more than a
straggling collection of unlovely frame cottages, and too small to have a
church and pastor of its own, the hard-working Christian minister who
managed to make his way thither once a month or so, to hold service in
the little schoolroom, was always sure of the heartiest kind of a
welcome, and the daintiest dinner possible in that out-of-the-way place,
at Mrs. Kingston's cozy cottage. And thus Frank had been brought into
friendly relations with the "men in black" from the start, with the good
result of causing him to love and respect these zealous home
missionaries, instead of shrinking from them in vague repugnance, as did
many of his companions who had not his opportunities.
When he grew old enough to be trusted, it was his proud privilege to take
the minister's tired horse to water and to fill the rack with sweet hay
for his refreshment before they all went off to the service together; and
very frequently when the minister was leaving he would take Frank up
beside him for a drive as far as the cross-roads, not losing the chance
to say a kindly and encouraging word or two that might help the little
fellow heavenward.
In due time the settlement so prospered and expanded that a little church
was established there, and great was the delight of Mrs. Kingston when
Calumet had its minister, to whom she continued to be a most effective
helper. This love for the church and its workers, which was more manifest
in her than in her husband--for, although he thought and felt alike with
her, he was a reserved, undemonstrative man--Mrs. Kingston sought by
every wise means to instill into her only son; and she had much success.
Religion had no terrors for him. He had never thought of it as a gloomy,
joy-dispelling influence that would make him a long-faced "softy." Not a
bit of it. His father was religious; and who was stronger, braver, or
more manly than his father? His mother was a pious woman; and who could
laugh more cheerily or romp more merrily than his mother? The ministers
who came to the house were men of God; and yet they were full of life and
spirits, and dinner never seemed more delightful than when they sat at
the table. No, indeed! You would have had a hard job to persuade Frank
Kingston that you lost anything by being religious. He knew far better
than that; and while of course he was too thorough a boy, with all a
boy's hasty, hearty, impulsive ways, to do everything "decently and in
order," and would kick over the traces, so to speak, sometimes, and give
rather startling exhibitions of temper, still in the main and at heart he
was a sturdy little Christian, who, when the storm was over, felt more
sorry and remembered it longer than did anybody else.
Out of the way as Calumet might seem to city folk, yet the boys of the
place managed to have a very good time. There were nearly a hundred of
them, ranging in age from seven years to seventeen, attending the school
which stood in the centre of a big lot at the western end of the village,
and with swimming, boating, lacrosse, and baseball in summer, and
skating, snow-shoeing, and tobogganing in winter, they never lacked for
fun. Frank was expert in all these sports. Some of the boys might excel
him at one or another of them, but not one of his companions could beat
him in an all-round contest. This was due in part to the strength and
symmetry of his frame, and in part to that spirit of thoroughness which
characterized all he undertook. There was nothing half-way about him. He
put his whole soul into everything that interested him, and, so far as
play was concerned, at fifteen years of age he could swim, run, handle a
lacrosse, hit a base-ball, skim over the ice on skates, or over snow on
snow-shoes, with a dexterity that gave himself a vast amount of pleasure
and his parents a good deal of pride in him.
Nor was he behindhand as regarded the training of his mind. Mr. Warren,
the head teacher of the Calumet school, regarded him favourably as one of
his best and brightest pupils, and it was not often that the "roll of
honour" failed to contain the name of Frank Kingston. At the midsummer
closing of the school it was Mr. Warren's practice to award a number of
simple prizes to the pupils whose record throughout the half-year had
been highest in the different subjects, and year after year Frank had won
a goodly share of these trophies, which were always books, so that now
there was a shelf in his room upon which stood in attractive array
Livingstone's "Travels," Ballantyne's "Hudson Bay," Kingsley's "Westward
Ho!" side by side with "Robinson Crusoe," "Pilgrim's Progress," and "Tom
Brown at Rugby." Frank knew these books almost by heart, yet never
wearied of turning to them again and again. He drew inspiration from
them. They helped to mould his character, although of this he was hardly
conscious, and they filled his soul with a longing for adventure and
enterprise that no ordinary everyday career could satisfy. He looked
forward eagerly to the time when he would take a man's part in life and
attempt and achieve notable deeds. With Amyas Leigh he traversed the
tropical wilderness of Southern America, or with the "Young Fur Traders"
the hard-frozen wastes of the boundless North, and he burned to
emulate their brave doings. He little knew, as he indulged in these
boyish imaginations, that the time was not far off when the call would
come to him to begin life in dead earnest on his own account, and with as
many obstacles to be overcome in his way as had any of his favourite
heroes in theirs.
Mr. Kingston was at home only during the summer season. The long cold
winter months were spent by him at the "depot," many miles off in the
heart of the forest, or at the "shanties" that were connected with it. At
rare intervals during the winter he might manage to get home for a
Sunday, but that was all his wife and son saw of him until the spring
time. When the "drive" of the logs that represented the winter's work was
over, he returned to them, to remain until the falling of the leaves
recalled him to the forest. Frank loved and admired his father to the
utmost of his ability; and when in his coolest, calmest moods he realized
that there was small possibility of his ever sailing the Spanish main
like Amyas Leigh, or exploring the interior of Africa like Livingstone,
he felt quite settled in his own mind that, following in his father's
footsteps, he would adopt lumbering as his business. 'Tis true, his
father was only an agent or foreman, and might never be anything more;
but even that was not to be despised, and then, with a little extra good
fortune, he might in time become an owner of "limits" and mills himself.
Why not? Many another boy had thus risen into wealth and importance. He
had at least the right to try.
Fifteen in October, and in the highest class, this was to be Frank's last
winter at school; and before leaving for the woods his father had
enjoined upon him to make the best of it, as after the summer holidays
were over he would have to "cease learning, and begin earning." Frank was
rather glad to hear this. He was beginning to think he had grown too big
for school, and ought to be doing something more directly remunerative.
Poor boy! Could he have guessed that those were the last words he would
hear from his dear father's lips, how differently would they have
affected him! Calumet never saw Mr. Kingston again. In returning alone to
the depot from a distant shanty, he was caught in a fierce and sudden
snowstorm. The little-travelled road through the forest was soon
obliterated. Blinded and bewildered by the pitiless storm beating in
their faces, both man and beast lost their way, and, wandering about
until all strength was spent, lay down to die in the drifts that quickly
hid their bodies from sight. It was many days before they were found,
lying together, close wrapped in their winding-sheet of snow.
Mrs. Kingston bore the dreadful trial with the fortitude and submissive
grace that only a serene and unmurmuring faith can give. Frank was more
demonstrative in his grief, and disposed to rebel against so cruel a
calamity. But his mother calmed and inspired him, and when the first
numbing force of the blow had passed away, they took counsel together as
to the future. This was dark and uncertain enough. All that was left to
them was the little cottage in which they lived. Mr. Kingston's salary
had not been large, and only by careful management had the house been
secured. Of kind and sympathizing friends there was no lack, but they
were mostly people in moderate circumstances, like themselves, from whom
nothing more than sympathy could be expected.
There was no alternative but that Frank should begin at once to earn his
own living, and thus the conversation came about with which this chapter
began, and which brought forth the reply from Frank that evidently gave
his mother deep concern.
CHAPTER II.
THE CHOICE OF AN OCCUPATION.
The fact was that Mrs. Kingston felt a strong repugnance to her son's
following in his father's footsteps, so far as his occupation was
concerned. She dreaded the danger that was inseparable from it, and
shrank from the idea of giving up the boy, whose company was now the
chief delight of her life, for all the long winter months that would be
so dreary without him.
Frank had some inkling of his mother's feelings, but, boy like, thought
of them as only the natural nervousness of womankind; and his heart being
set upon going to the woods, he was not very open to argument.
"Why don't you want me to go lumbering, mother?" he inquired in a tone
that had a touch of petulance in it. "I've got to do something for
myself, and I detest shopkeeping. It's not in my line at all. Fellows
like Tom Clemon and Jack Stoner may find it suits them, but I can't bear
the idea of being shut up in a shop or office all day. I want to be out
of doors. That's the kind of life for me."
Mrs. Kingston gave a sigh that was a presage of defeat as she regarded
her son standing before her, his handsome face flushed with eagerness and
his eyes flashing with determination.
"But, Frank dear," said she gently, "have you thought how dreadfully
lonely it will be for me living all alone here during the long
winter--your father gone from me, and you away off in the woods, where I
can never get to you or you to me?"
The flush on Frank's face deepened and extended until it covered forehead
and neck with its crimson glow. He had not taken this view of the case
into consideration before, and his tender heart reproached him for so
forgetting his mother while laying out his own plans. He sprang forward,
and kneeling down beside the lounge, threw his arms about his mother's
neck and clasped her fondly, finding it hard to keep the tears back as he
said,--
"You dear, darling mother! I have been selfish. I should have thought how
lonely it would be for you in the winter time."
Mrs. Kingston returned the embrace with no less fervour, and as usually
happens where the other side seems to be giving way, began to weaken
somewhat herself, and to feel a little doubtful as to whether, after all,
it would be right to oppose her son's wishes when his inclinations toward
the occupation he had chosen were evidently so very decided.
"Well, Frank dear," she said after a pause, while Frank looked at her
expectantly, "I don't want to be selfish either. If it were not for the
way we lost your father, perhaps I should not have such a dread of the
woods for you; and no doubt even then it is foolish for me to give way to
it. We won't decide the matter now. If you do go to the woods, it won't
be until the autumn, and perhaps during the summer something will turn up
that will please us better. We will leave the matter in God's hands. He
will bring it to pass in the way that will be best for us both, I am
confident."
So with that understanding the matter rested, although of course it was
continually being referred to as the weeks slipped by and the summer
waxed and waned. Although Frank felt quite convinced in his own mind that
he was not cut out for a position behind a desk or counter, he determined
to make the experiment, and accordingly applied to Squire Eagleson, who
kept the principal shop and was the "big man" of the village, for a place
in his establishment. Summer being the squire's busy season, and Frank
being well known to him, he was glad enough to add to his small staff of
clerks so promising a recruit, especially as, taking advantage of the
boy's ignorance of business affairs, he was able to engage him at wages
much below his actual worth to him. This the worthy squire regarded as
quite a fine stroke of business, and told it to his wife with great
gusto, rubbing his fat hands complacently together as he chuckled over
his shrewdness.
"Bright boy that Frank Kingston! Writes a good fist, and can run up a row
of figures like smoke. Mighty civil, too, and sharp. And all for seven
shillings a week! Ha, ha, ha! Wish I could make as good a bargain as that
every day." And the squire looked the picture of virtuous content as he
leaned back in his big chair to enjoy the situation.
Mrs. Eagleson did not often venture to intermeddle in her husband's
business affairs, although frequently she became aware of things which
she could not reconcile with her conscience. But this time she was moved
to speak by an impulse she could not control. She knew the Kingstons, and
had always thought well of them. Mrs. Kingston seemed to her in many
respects a model woman, who deserved well of everybody; and that her
husband, who was so well-to-do, should take any advantage of these worthy
people who had so little, touched her to the quick. There was a bright
spot on the centre of her pale cheeks and an unaccustomed ring in her
voice as she exclaimed, with a sharpness that made her husband give quite
a start of surprise,--
"Do you mean to tell me, Daniel, that you've been mean enough to take
advantage of that boy who has to support his widowed mother, and to hire
him for half the wages he's worth, just because he didn't know any
better? And then you come home here and boast of it! Have you no
conscience?"
The squire was so taken aback by this unexpected attack that at first he
hardly knew how to meet it. Should he lecture his wife for her
presumption in meddling in his affairs, which were quite beyond her
comprehension as a woman, or should he make light of the matter and laugh
it off? After a moment's reflection he decided on the latter course.
"Hoity, toity, Mrs. Eagleson! but what's set you so suddenly on fire?
Business is business, you know, and if Frank Kingston did not know enough
to ask for more wades, it wasn't my concern to enlighten him."
Mrs. Eagleson rose from her chair and came over and stood in front of her
husband, pointing her long, thin forefinger at him as, with a trembling
yet scornful voice, she addressed him thus,--
"Daniel, how you can kneel down and ask the blessing of God upon such
doings is beyond me, or how your head can lie easy on your pillow when
you know that you are taking the bread out of that poor lone widow's
mouth it is not for me to say. But this I will say, whether you like it
or not: if you are not ashamed of yourself, I am for you." And before the
now much-disturbed squire had time to say another word in his defence the
speaker had swept indignantly out of his presence and hastened to her own
room, there to throw herself down upon the bed and burst into a passion
of tears, for she was at best but a weak-nerved woman.
Left to himself, the squire shifted about uneasily in his chair, and then
rose and stumped angrily to the window.
"What does she know about business?" he muttered. "If she were to have
her own way at the store, she'd ruin me in a twelvemonth."
Yet Mrs. Eagleson's brave outburst was not in vain. Somehow or other
after it the squire never felt comfortable in his mind until, much to
Frank's surprise and delight, he one day called him to him, and, with an
air of great generosity and patronage, said,--
"See here, my lad. You seem to be doing your work real well, so I am
going to give you half-a-crown a week more just to encourage you, and
then if a little extra work comes along"--for autumn was approaching--"ye
won't mind tackling it with a goodwill; eh?"
Frank thanked his employer very heartily, and this unexpected increase of
earnings and his mother's joy over it for a time almost reconciled him to
the work at the shop, which he liked less and less the longer he was at
it.
The fact of the matter was, a place behind the counter was uncongenial to
him in many ways. There was too much in-doors about it, to begin with.
From early morning until late evening he had to be at his post, with
brief intervals for meals; and the colour was leaving his cheeks, and his
muscles were growing slack and soft, owing to the constant confinement.
But this was the least of his troubles. A still more serious matter
was that his conscience did not suffer him to take kindly to the "tricks
of the trade," in which his employer was a "passed master" and his
fellow-clerks very promising pupils. He could not find it in his heart to
depreciate the quality of Widow Perkins's butter, or to cajole unwary Sam
Struthers, from the backlands, into taking a shop-worn remnant for the
new dress his wife had so carefully commissioned him to buy. His idea of
trade was that you should deal with others as fairly as you would have
them deal with you; and while, of course, according to the squire's
philosophy, you could never make a full purse that way, still you could
at least have a clear conscience, which surely was the more desirable
after all.
The squire had noticed Frank's "pernickety nonsense," as he was pleased
to call it, and at first gave him several broad hints as to the better
mode of doing business; but finding that the lad was firm, and would no
doubt give up his place rather than learn these "business ways," he had
the good sense to let him alone, finding in his quickness, fidelity, and
attention to his work sufficient compensation for this deficiency in
bargaining acumen.
"You'll be content to stay at the shop now, won't you, Frank?" said his
mother as they talked over the welcome and much-needed rise of salary.
"It does seem to make it easier to stay, mother," answered Frank.
"But--" And he gave a big sigh, and stopped.
"But what, dear?" asked Mrs. Kingston, tenderly.
Frank was slow in answering. He evidently felt reluctant to bring up the
matter again, and yet his mind was full of it.
"But what, Frank?" repeated his mother, taking his hands in hers and
looking earnestly into his face.
"Well, mother, it's no use pretending. I'm not cut out for keeping shop,
and I'll never be much good at it. I don't like being in-doors all day.
And then, if you want to get on, you've got to do all sorts of things
that are nothing else but downright mean; and I don't like that either."
And then Frank went on to tell of some of the tricks and stratagems the
squire or the other clerks would resort to in order to make a good
bargain.
Mrs. Kingston listened with profound attention. More than once of late,
as she noticed her son's growing pallor and loss of spirits, she had
asked herself whether she were not doing wrong in seeking to turn him
aside from the life for which he longed; and now that he was finding
fresh and fatal objections to the occupation he had chosen in deference
to her wishes, she began to relent of her insistence, and to feel more
disposed to discuss the question again. But before doing so she wished to
ask the advice of a friend in whom she placed much confidence, and so for
the present she contented herself with applauding Frank for his
conscientiousness, and assuring him that she would a thousand times
rather have him always poor than grow rich after the same fashion as
Squire Eagleson.
The friend whose advice Mrs. Kingston wished to take was her husband's
successor as foreman at the depot for the lumber camps--a sensible,
steady, reliable young man, who had risen to his present position
by process of promotion from the bottom, and who was therefore well
qualified to give her just the counsel she desired. At the first
opportunity, therefore, she went over to Mr. Stewart's cottage, and,
finding him at home, opened her heart fully to him. Mr. Stewart, or Alec
Stewart, as he was generally called, listened with ready sympathy to what
Mrs. Kingston had to say, and showed much interest in the matter, for he
had held a high opinion of his former chief, and knew Frank well enough
to admire his spirit and character.
"Well, you see, Mrs. Kingston, it's just this way," said he, when his
visitor had stated the case upon which she wanted his opinion: "if
Frank's got his heart so set upon going into the woods, I don't know as
there's any use trying to cross him. He won't take kindly to anything
else while he's thinking of that; and he'd a big sight better be a good
lumberman than a poor clerk, don't you think?"
Mrs. Kingston felt the force of this reasoning, yet could hardly make up
her mind to yield to it at once.
"But, Mr. Stewart," she urged, "it may only be a boyish notion of
Frank's. He thinks, perhaps, he'd like it because that's what his father
was before him, and then he may find his mistake."
"Well, Mrs. Kingston," replied Mr. Stewart, "if you think there's any
chance of that being the case, we can settle the question right enough in
this way:--Let Frank come to the woods with me this winter. I will give
him a berth as chore-boy in one of the camps; and if that doesn't sicken
him of the business, then all I can say is you'd better let the lad have
his will."
Mrs. Kingston sighed.
"I suppose you're right. I don't quite like the idea of his being
chore-boy; but if he's really in earnest, there's no better way of
proving him."
Now Frank knew well enough how humble was the position of "chore-boy" in
a lumber camp. It meant that he would be the boy-of-all-work; that he
would have to be up long before dawn, and be one of the last in the camp
to get into his bunk; that he would have to help the cook, take messages
for the foreman, be obliging to the men, and altogether do his best to be
generally useful. Yet he did not shrink from the prospect. The idea of
release from the uncongenial routine of shopkeeping filled him with
happiness, and his mother was almost reconciled to letting him go from
her, so marked was the change in his spirits.
CHAPTER III.
OFF TO THE WOODS.
September, the finest of all the months in the Canadian calendar, was at
hand, as the sumac and the maple took evident delight in telling by their
lovely tints of red and gold, and the hot, enervating breath of summer
had yielded to the inspiring coolness of early autumn. The village of
Calumet fairly bubbled over with business and bustle. Preparations for
the winter's work were being made on all sides. During the course of the
next two weeks or so a large number of men would be leaving their homes
for the lumber camps, and the chief subject of conversation in all
circles was the fascinating and romantic occupation in which they were
engaged.
No one was more busy than Mrs. Kingston. Even if her son was to be only a
chore-boy, his equipment should be as comfortable and complete as though
he were going to be a foreman. She knew very well that Jack Frost has no
compunctions about sending the thermometer away down thirty or forty
degrees below zero in those far-away forest depths; and whatever other
hardships Frank might be called upon to endure, it was very well settled
in her mind that he should not suffer for lack of warm clothing.
Accordingly, the knitting-needles and sewing-needles had been plied
industriously from the day his going into the woods was decided upon; and
now that the time for departure drew near, the result was to be seen in a
chest filled with such thick warm stockings, shirts, mittens, and
comforters, besides a good outfit of other clothing, that Frank, looking
them over with a keen appreciation of their merits and of the loving
skill they evidenced, turned to his mother, saying, with a grateful
smile,--
"Why, mother, you've fitted me out as though I were going to the North
Pole."
"You'll need them all, my dear, before the winter's over," said Mrs.
Kingston, the tears rising in her eyes, as involuntarily she thought of
how the cruel cold had taken from her the father of the bright, hopeful
boy before her. "Your father never thought I provided too many warm
things for him."
Frank was in great spirits. He had resigned his clerkship at Squire
Eagleson's, much to that worthy merchant's regret. The squire looked upon
him as a very foolish fellow to give up a position in his shop, where he
had such good opportunities of learning business ways, in order to go
"galivanting off to the woods," where his good writing and correct
figuring would be of no account.
Frank said nothing about his decided objections to the squire's ideas of
business ways and methods, but contented himself with stating
respectfully his strong preference for out-door life, and his intention
to make lumbering his occupation, as it had been his father's before him.
"Well, well, my lad," said the squire, when he saw there was no moving
him, "have your own way. I reckon you'll be glad enough to come back to
me in the spring. One winter in the camps will be all you'll want."
Frank left the squire, saying to himself as he went out from the shop:--
"If I do get sick of the camp and want a situation in the spring, this
is not the place I'll come to for it; you can depend upon that, Squire
Eagleson. Many thanks to you, all the same."
Mr. Stewart was going up to the depot the first week in September, to
get matters in readiness for the men who would follow him a week later,
and much to Frank's satisfaction he announced that he would take him
along if he could be ready in time. Thanks to Mrs. Kingston's being of
the fore-handed kind, nothing was lacking in her son's preparations, and
the day of departure was anticipated with great eagerness by him, and
with much sinking of heart by her.
The evening previous mother and son had a long talk together, in the
course of which she impressed upon him the absolute importance of his
making no disguise of his religious principles.
"You'll be the youngest in the camp, perhaps, Frank darling, and it will,
no doubt, be very hard for you to read your Bible and say your prayers,
as you've always done here at home. But the braver you are about it at
first, the easier it'll be in the end. Take your stand at the very start.
Let the shanty men see that you're not afraid to confess yourself a
Christian, and rough and wicked as they may be, never fear but they'll
respect you for it."
Mrs. Kingston spoke with an earnestness and emphasis that went straight
to Frank's heart. He had perfect faith in his mother. In his eyes she was
without fault or failing, and he knew very well that she was asking
nothing of him that she was not altogether ready to do herself, were she
to be put in his place. Not only so. His own shrewd sense confirmed the
wisdom of her words. There could be no half-way position for him at the
lumber camp; no half-hearted serving of God would be of any use there. He
must take Caleb for his pattern, and follow the Lord wholly. His voice
was low, but full of quiet determination, as he answered,--
"I know it, mother. It won't be easy, but I'm not afraid. I'll begin fair
and let the others know just where I stand, and they may say or do what
they like."
Mrs. Kingston needed no further assurance to make her mind quite easy
upon this point; and she took no small comfort from the thought that,
faithful and consistent as she felt so confident Frank would be, despite
the many trials and temptations inseparable from his new sphere of life,
he could hardly fail to exercise some good influence upon those about
him, and perhaps prove a very decided power for good among the rough men
of the lumber camp.
The day of departure dawned clear and bright. The air was cool and
bracing, the ground glistened with the heavy autumn dew that the sun had
not yet had time to drink up, and the village was not fairly astir for
the day when Mr. Stewart drove up to Mrs. Kingston's door for his young
passenger. He was not kept long waiting, for Frank had been ready fully
half-an-hour beforehand, and all that remained to be done was to bid his
mother "good-bye," until he should return with the spring floods.
Overflowing with joy as he was at the realization of his desire, yet he
was too fond a son not to feel keenly the parting with his mother, and
he bustled about very vigorously, stowing away his things in the back of
the waggon, as the best way of keeping himself under control.
He had a good deal of luggage for a boy. First, of all, there was his
chest packed tight with warm clothing; then another box heavy with cake,
preserves, pickles, and other home-made dainties, wherewith to vary the
monotony of shanty fare; then a big bundle containing a wool mattress, a
pillow, two pairs of heavy blankets, and a thick comforter to insure his
sleep being undisturbed by saucy Jack Frost; and finally, a narrow box
made by his own father to carry the light rifle that always accompanied
him, together with a plentiful supply of ammunition. In this box Frank
was particularly interested, for he had learned to handle this rifle
pretty well during the summer, and looked forward to accomplishing great
things with it when he got into the woods.
Mr. Stewart laughed when he saw all that Frank was taking with him.
"I guess you'll be the swell of the camp, and make all the other fellows
wish they had a mother to fit them out. It's a fortunate thing my
waggon's roomy, or we'd have to leave some of your stuff to come up by
one of the teams," said he.
Mrs. Kingston was about to make apologies for the size of Frank's outfit,
but Mr. Stewart stopped her.
"It's all right, Mrs. Kingston. The lad might just as well be comfortable
as not. He'll have plenty of roughing it, anyway. And now we've got it
all on board, we must be starting."
The moment Mrs. Kingston dreaded had now come. Throwing her arms around
Frank's neck, she clasped him passionately to her heart again and again,
and then, tearing herself away from him, rushed up the steps as if she
dared not trust herself any longer. Gulping down the big lump that rose
into his throat, Frank sprang up beside Mr. Stewart, and the next moment
they were off. But before they turned the corner Frank, looking back,
caught sight of his mother standing in the doorway, and taking off his
cap he gave her a farewell salute, calling out rather huskily his last
"good-bye" as the swiftly-moving waggon bore him away.
Mr. Stewart took much pride in his turn-out, and with good reason; for
there was not a finer pair of horses in Calumet than those that were now
trotting along before him, as if the well-filled waggon to which they
were attached was no impediment whatever. His work required him to be
much upon the road in all seasons, and he considered it well worth his
while to make the business of driving about as pleasant as possible. The
horses were iron-grays, beautifully matched in size, shape, and speed;
the harness sparkled with bright brass mountings; and the waggon, a kind
of express, with specially strong springs and comfortable seat, had
abundant room for passengers and luggage.
As they rattled along the village street there were many shouts of
"Good-bye, Frank," and "Good luck to you," from shop and sidewalk; for
everybody knew Frank's destination, and there were none that did not wish
him well, whatever might be their opinion of the wisdom of his action. In
responding to these expressions of good-will, Frank found timely relief
for the feelings stirred by the parting with his mother, and before the
impatient grays had breasted the hill which began where the village ended
he had quite regained his customary good spirits, and was ready to reply
brightly enough to Mr. Stewart's remarks.
"Well, Frank, you've put your hand to the plough now, as the Scripture
says, and you mustn't turn back on any account, or all the village will
be laughing at you," he said, scanning his companion closely.
"Not much fear of that, Mr. Stewart," answered Frank firmly. "Calumet
won't see me again until next spring. Whether I like the lumbering or
not, I'm going to stick out the winter, anyway; you see if I don't."
"I haven't much fear of you, my boy," returned Mr. Stewart, "even if you
do find shanty life a good deal rougher than you may have imagined.
You'll have to fight your own way, you know. I shan't be around much, and
the other men will all be strangers at first; but just you do what you
know and feel to be right without minding the others, and they won't
bother you long, but will respect you for having a conscience and the
pluck to obey it. As for your work, it'll seem pretty heavy and hard at
the start; but you've got lots of grit, and it won't take you long to get
used to it."
Frank listened attentively to Mr. Stewart's kindly, sensible advice, and
had many questions to ask him as the speedy horses bore them further and
further away from Calumet. The farms, which at first had followed one
another in close succession, grew more widely apart, and finally ended
altogether before many miles of the dusty road had been covered, and
thenceforward their way ran through unbroken woods, not the stately
"forest primeval" but the scrubby "second growth," from which those who
have never been into the heart of the leafy wilderness can form but a
poor conception of the grandeur to which trees can attain.
About mid-day they halted at a lonely log-house which served as a sort of
inn or resting-place, the proprietor finding compensation for the
dreariness of his situation in the large profit derived from an illegal
but thriving traffic in liquor. A more unkempt, unattractive
establishment could hardly be imagined, and if rumour was to be relied
upon, it had good reason to be haunted by more than one untimely ghost.
"A wretched den!" said Mr. Stewart, as he drew up before the door. "I
wouldn't think of stopping here for a moment but for the horses. But we
may as well go in and see if old Pierre can get us a decent bite to eat."
The horses having been attended to, the travellers entered the house,
where they found Pierre, the proprietor, dozing on his bar; a bloated,
blear-eyed creature, who evidently would have much preferred making them
drunk with his vile whisky to preparing them any pretence for a dinner.
But they firmly declined his liquor, so muttering unintelligibly to
himself he shambled off to obey their behests. After some delay they
succeeded in getting a miserable meal of some kind; and then, the horses
being sufficiently rested, they set off once more at a good pace, not
halting again until, just before sundown, they arrived at the depot,
where the first stage of their journey ended.
This depot was simply a large farm set in the midst of a wilderness of
trees, and forming a centre from which some half-dozen shanties, or
lumber camps, placed at different distances in the depths of the
forest that stretched away interminably north, south, east, and west,
were supplied with all that was necessary for their maintenance. Besides
the ordinary farm buildings, there was another which served as a sort of
a shop or warehouse, being filled with a stock of axes, saws, blankets,
boots, beef, pork, tea, sugar, molasses, flour, and so forth, for the use
of the lumbermen. This was Mr. Stewart's headquarters, and as the tired
horses drew up before the door he tossed the reins over their backs,
saying,--
"Here we are, Frank. You'll stay here until your gang is made up.
To-morrow morning I'll introduce you to some of your mates."
CHAPTER IV.
THE BUILDING OF THE SHANTY.
Frank looked about him with quick curiosity, expecting to see some of the
men in whose society he was to spend the jointer. But there were only the
farm-hands lounging listlessly about, their days work being over, and
they had nothing to do except to smoke their pipes and wait for
nightfall, when they would lounge off to bed.
The shantymen had not yet arrived, Mr. Stewart always making a point of
being at the depot some days in advance of them, in order to have plenty
of time to prepare his plans for the winter campaign. Noting Frank's
inquiring look, he laughed, and said,--
"Oh, there are none of them here yet--we're the first on the field-but by
the end of the week there'll be more than a hundred men here."
A day or two later the first batch made their appearance, coming up by
the heavy teams that they would take with them into the woods; and each
day brought a fresh contingent, until by the time Mr. Stewart had
mentioned the farm fairly swarmed with them, and it became necessary for
this human hive to imitate the bees and send off its superfluous
inhabitants without delay.
They were a rough, noisy, strange-looking lot of men, and Frank, whose
acquaintance with the shantymen had been limited to seeing them in small
groups as they passed through Calumet in the autumn and spring, on their
way to and from the camps, meeting them now for the first time in such
large numbers, could not help some inward shrinking of soul as he noted
their uncouth ways and listened to their oath-besprinkled talk. They
were "all sorts and conditions of men"--habitants who could not speak a
word of English, and Irishmen who could not speak a word of French;
shrewd Scotchmen, chary of tongue and reserved of manner, and loquacious
half-breeds, ready for song, or story, or fight, according to the humour
of the moment. Here and there were dusky skins and prominent features
that betrayed a close connection with the aboriginal owners of this
continent. Almost all bad come from the big saw-mills away down the
river, or from some other equally arduous employment, and were glad of
the chance of a few days' respite from work while Mr. Stewart was
dividing them up and making the necessary arrangements for the winter's
work.
Frank mingled freely with them, scraping acquaintance with those who
seemed disposed to be friendly, and whenever he came across one with an
honest, pleasant, prepossessing face, hoping very much that he would be a
member of his gang. He was much impressed by the fact that he was
evidently the youngest member of the gathering, and did not fail to
notice the sometimes curious, sometimes contemptuous, looks with which he
was regarded by the fresh arrivals.
In the course of a few days matters were pretty well straightened out at
the depot, and the gangs of men began to leave for the different camps.
Mr. Stewart had promised Frank that he would take care to put him under a
foreman who would treat him well; and when one evening he was called into
the office and introduced to a tall, powerful, grave-looking man, with
heavy brown beard and deep voice, Mr. Stewart said,--
"Here is Frank Kingston, Dan; Jack's only son, you know. He's set his
heart on lumbering, and I'm going to let him try it for a winter."
Frank scrutinized the man called Dan very closely as. Mr. Stewart
continued,--
"I'm going to send him up to the Kippewa camp with you, Dan. There's
nobody'll look after him better than you will, for I know you thought a
big sight of his father, and for his sake as well as mine you'll see that
nothing happens to the lad."
Dan Johnston's face relaxed into a smile that showed there were rich
depths of good nature beneath his rather stern exterior, for he was
pleased at the compliment implied in the superintendent's words, and
stretching out a mighty hand to Frank, he laid it on his shoulder in a
kindly way, saying,--
"He seems a likely lad, Mr. Stewart, and a chip of the old block, if I'm
not mistaken. I'll be right glad to have him with me. But what kind of
work is he to go at? He seems rather light for chopping, doesn't he?"
Mr. Stewart gave a quizzical sort of glance at Frank as he replied,--
"Well, you see, Dan, I think myself he is too light for chopping, so I
told him he'd have to be chore-boy for this winter, anyway."
A look of surprise came over Johnston's face, and, more to himself than
the others, he muttered in a low tone,--
"Chore-boy, eh? Jack Kingston's son a chore-boy!" Then turning to Frank,
he said aloud, "All right, my boy. There's nothing like beginning at
the bottom if you want to learn the whole business. You must make up your
mind to put in a pretty hard time, but I'll see you have fair play,
anyway."
As Frank looked at the rugged, honest, determined face, and the stalwart
frame, he felt thoroughly satisfied that in Dan Johnston he had a friend
in whom he could place perfect confidence, and that Mr. Stewart's promise
had been fully kept. The foreman then became quite sociable, and asked
him many questions about his mother, and his life in Calumet, and his
plans for the future, so that before they parted for the night Frank felt
as if they were quite old friends instead of recent acquaintances.
The following morning Johnston was bestirring himself bright and early
getting his men and stores together, and before noon a start was made for
the Kippewa River, on whose southern bank a site had already been
selected for the lumber camp which would be the centre of his operations
for the winter. Johnston's gang numbered fifty men all told, himself
included, and they were in high spirits as they set out for their
destination. The stores and tools were, of course, transported by waggon;
but the men had to go on foot, and with fifteen miles of a rough forest
road to cover before sundown, they struck a brisk pace as, in twos and
threes and quartettes, they marched noisily along the dusty road.
"You stay by me, Frank," said the foreman, "and if your young legs happen
to go back on you, you can have a lift on one of the teams until you're
rested."
Frank felt in such fine trim that although he fully appreciated his big
friend's thoughtfulness, he was rash enough to think he would not require
to avail himself of it; but the next five miles showed him his mistake,
and at the end of them he was very glad to jump upon one of the teams
that happened to be passing, and in this way hastened over a good part of
the remainder of the tramp.
As the odd-looking gang pushed forward steadily, if not in exactly
martial order, Frank had a good opportunity of inspecting its members,
and making in his own mind an estimate of their probable good of bad
qualities as companions. In this he was much assisted by the foreman,
who, in reply to his questions, gave him helpful bits of information
about the different ones that attracted his attention. Fully one-half
of the gang were French Canadians, dark-complexioned, black-haired,
bright-eyed men, full of life and talk, their tongues going unceasingly
as they plodded along in sociable groups. Of the remainder, some were
Scotch, others Irish, the rest English. Upon the whole, they were quite a
promising-looking lot of men; indeed, Johnston took very good care to
have as little "poor stuff" as possible in his gang; for he had long held
the reputation of turning out more logs at his camp than were cut at any
other on the same "limits;" and this well-deserved fame he cherished very
dearly.
Darkness was coming on apace, when at last a glad shout from the foremost
group announced that the end of the journey was near; and in a few
minutes more the whole band of tired men were resting their wearied limbs
on the bank of the river near which the shanty was to be erected at once.
The teams had arrived some time before them, and two large tents had been
put up as temporary-shelter; while brightly-burning fires and the
appetizing fizzle of frying bacon joined with the wholesome aroma of hot
tea to make glad the hearts of the dusty, hungry pedestrians.
Frank enjoyed his open-air tea immensely. It was his first taste of real
lumberman's life, and was undoubtedly a pleasant introduction to it; for
the hard work would not begin until the morrow, and in the meantime
everybody was still a-holidaying. So refreshing was the evening meal
that, tired as all no doubt felt from their long tramp, they soon forgot
it sufficiently to spend an hour or more in song and chorus that made the
vast forest aisles re-echo with rough melody before they sank into the
silence of slumber for the night.
At daybreak next morning Dan Johnston's stentorian voice aroused the
sleepers, and Frank could hardly believe that he had taken more than
twice forty winks at the most before the stirring shout of "Turn out!
turn out! The work's waiting!" broke into his dreams and recalled him to
life's realities. The morning was gray and chilly, the men looked
sleepy and out of humour, and Johnston himself had it a stern distant
manner, or seemed to have, as after a wash at the river bank Frank
approached him and reported himself for duty.
"Will you please to tell me what is to be my work, Mr. Johnston?" said
he, in quite a timid tone; for somehow or other there seemed to be a
change in the atmosphere.
The foreman's face relaxed a little as he turned to answer him.
"You want to be set to work, eh? Well, that won't take long." And looking
around among the moving men until he found the one he wanted, he raised
his voice and called,--
"Hi, there, Baptiste! Come here a moment."
In response to the summons a short, stout, smooth-faced, and decidedly
good-natured looking Frenchman, who had been busy at one of the fires,
came over to the foreman.
"See here, Baptiste; this lad's to be your chore-boy this winter, and I
don't want you to be too hard on him--_savez?_ Let him have plenty of
work, but not more than his share."
Baptiste examined Frank's sturdy figure with much the same smile of
approval that he might bestow upon a fine capon that he was preparing for
the pot, and murmured out something like,--
"_Bien, m'sieur_. I sall be easy wid him if ee's a good boy."