The few remaining hours of that 31st of March were well occupied by the
men of the 100th. Larger and better camps were pitched to last for many
nights, instead of one, until real barracks could be built. The Indian
wigwams, of which several were standing along the shore, proved to be
useless, but a couple of trapper-forsaken shanties for the time did duty
as officers' quarters. Fortunately, in each was a rough fireplace, and
big fires soon dried the dampness and made them passably habitable. So
with the women on the _Bumble Bee_, and officers and men in their camps,
the first night passed away.
On the following morning the men strengthened their stakes, while Sir
George and Captain Payne had an earnest consultation over plans for the
future.
"Of course," said Sir George, "a fort and barracks will have to be built
at once, whatever we do afterwards; the question is, which shall be
first and where shall we put them?"
"Both important questions," returned the Captain. "There is another
serious one, too. In three or four weeks, perhaps half that time,
winter will break up. The spring thaw and cold rains will come, and
better shelter for our people will then be imperative."
"True," said the Colonel. "You already have your plans."
For some moments there was a pause while they scanned the outlook.
"Yes," said the engineer at last, "beside the men's camp, near the
margin of the hill, will be a good place for the garrison. It commands
the whole length of the bay to its mouth and Beausoliel Island beyond.
You couldn't have a better place for a fort. In it you might have
officers' rooms as well, and later on build your shipyard at the foot of
the hill down by the bay."
"What about the men's quarters?"
"Build them right behind the fort."
"You notice that little narrow island to the south of Latimer's boat?"
"Yes; it commands the mouth of the harbor direct, and would be a fine
place to build a magazine with a battery of guns."
"A good idea, Captain. When summer comes perhaps we can manage it with
our light cannon. It is lucky they were no bigger. If they had been it
would have been impossible to portage them so far through the woods."
"To put up the buildings every man will have to work," said Payne.
"There need be no reserve on that score," returned George. "How are you
off for tools?"
"Starting at London and ending at Montreal, we secured a full
complement, including axes, broad-axes, shingle knives, cross-cut saws,
etc. Then all the drivers are skilled woodsmen, and can show our men how
to use them."
"When will you be ready to start?"
"Immediately after mess."
"Another thing, Captain, we must not forget that Mrs. Manning is here to
stay. One of our first buildings must be for herself and her husband."
"I thought of that. How would it do to put up a house at once big enough
to hold them and the officers, too?"
"You might throw up a little cottage for them and a larger one for
ourselves. That would be better than the double combination. Then we
could wait a bit. For that matter, we might build the new fort of
stone."
In another hour a score of axes were at work. Busy hands swung them from
morning until evening for many successive days. Saws were used to cut
the logs into necessary lengths, while the little Frenchmen with their
teams snaked the logs out of the woods into the clearing where the
houses were to be built.
Some of the men cleared the ground of underwood and dug cellars with
bevelled edges for the coming dwellings; others, discovering a spring,
hollowed out the surface, put in a cedar block curb and turned it into
a flowing well; while another gang felled clear stuff white pines, sawed
them into short lengths and split them into shingles.
And so, under control of Captain Payne, this complex host of industry
busied itself day after day, from early dawn until the darkening. The
weather was in every way propitious, and though it thawed in day time,
it always froze at night. The sun, in a clear sky, daily reached a
loftier altitude and shed a warmer ray, melting the snow until the water
ran in ripples to the lake. But the tightening each night saved the
situation. Every body knew that warm weather was coming, and with so
much impending, not a moment was lost. So the time passed until one
afternoon a man was squaring the butt-end of a log when Captain Payne
joined him.
"Can you have all ready for the raising by Monday morning?" he asked.
"For the first cottage, yes," the man answered, resting for a moment
upon his broad-axe. "It's the little one for the lady. Bateese and
Bouchere are both good hewers, and they will have the logs for the other
by the time we have the first up."
"That's satisfactory. I'm glad you are prompt. We are going to have
rain."
"Bateese says it will come inside of two days," replied the man,
glancing at the hazy mist which was gradually darkening the sky.
"Oui, monsieur, rain sure," cried Bateese from the end of a log he was
hewing. "Dem leetle clouds lak sheep-wool all de sam, wid haze where she
touch de ice sure sign, sure as shooting, sure as de diable."
"How can you tell? You were never here before, Bateese."
"Sure all de same. Place make no difference. Jess as it was in Kebec."
"You had better push things anyway, Blake," said the Captain. "He is
probably right. Come what will, we must have both houses shingled before
the storm breaks."
"And so we shall, if the good Lord will only keep it off a bit longer.
But there's a pile of work to do yet. The shingles are ready, but the
roof slabs have to be split. We'll need more men, sir."
"You can have twenty more for the barrack gang," said Payne.
"That's all we've room for, but they'll be needed. Let us have 'em soon,
sir."
"All right, my man."
At this moment there was a wild yell in the woods, following a crash
among the trees, and from different directions men rushed to the spot
from which the sound came; while at the same time a messenger hurried
in.
"What's the matter?" cried Sir George.
"Teddy Barnes is killed. He is dead sure! Oh! where is the Doctor?"
But Beaumont had heard, and with long strides was hastening to the spot.
Though unconscious, the man was not dead. A big shingle tree in falling
had brought down a slanting spruce, pinning Teddy down in the snow
without killing him outright. When the Doctor arrived the men were
trying clumsily to extricate him.
"Sacre," screamed the Doctor. "Stop, I say! There's only one chance to
save him. The log must be cut. Bateese, you are the man. Swing your axe
for your life. Now, all take hold and lift the tree bodily till he cuts
it loose."
The shrill words of Beaumont calmed the excitement and brought order out
of chaos. Every one sprang to his post and the mighty effort of the men
in direct line preceptibly raised the upper end of the heavy tree. On
examination, the Doctor was convinced that the deep snow in the hollow
in which he lay had saved the man from instant death.
With prodigious energy Bateese swung his axe. Every blow sank deep in
the soft, green wood. Quickly the bevelled notch in the one side was
cut, followed in similar fashion on the other. In a few minutes the work
was done, the axe penetrating from side to side through the upper half.
"Now, reedy--leeft, garcons, leeft!" cried Bateese. "Steddy."
With a bound the Frenchman was at the Doctor's side, and while the men
lifted till the timber snapped, the two gently drew out the body of the
boy; but an ominous sound jarred upon their ears. The bones grated upon
each other. Then on a stretcher covered with blankets they gently laid
the lad and bore him back to the camp.
"Will he live?" Sir George asked in deep concern.
"No," said the Doctor. "The poor fellow's pelvis is smashed. He may not
even become conscious again, for his skull is fractured as well."
"Pray God he may not, then," said Sir George, fervently. "Better to die
than live in hopeless agony."
By the time they reached the men's quarters every one in camp knew. They
gathered together in groups and discussed the sad event, the first
calamity since their arrival in Penetang. A more careful examination
corroborated the Doctor's opinion. Consciousness never returned, and by
sundown he was dead.
"What about the lad's burial?" Chaplain Evans asked of Sir George before
retiring for the night.
"To-morrow is Sunday, let us have it then," was the sorrowful answer.
"Reveille at eight, breakfast at nine, full parade at ten, funeral at
eleven. Preach the Sunday sermon, Chaplain, and let the boys have a good
one. They deserve it. Then we'll give poor Barnes a full rifle salute
and taps as well."
"You are right, Colonel," returned the Chaplain; there was moisture
between his eyelids; "but it is too bad to have a death in our ranks so
soon."