HOW THE CAPTAIN CLEARED HIS BUSH.
The next great event in our settlers' history was their first logging-bee,
preparatory to the planting of fall wheat. The ladies had been quite
apprehensive of the scene, for Robert and Arthur could give no pleasant
accounts of the roysterings and revelry which generally distinguished
these gatherings. But they hoped, by limiting the amount of liquor
furnished to sufficient for refreshment, though not sufficient for
intoxication, that they could in a measure control the evil, as at their
raising-bee four months previously.
The mass of food cooked for the important day required so much extra
labour, as sorely to discompose the Irish damsel who acted under Linda's
directions. Miss Biddy Murphy had already begun to take airs on herself,
and to value her own services extravagantly. Life in the bush was not
her ideal in coming to America, but rather high wages, and perchance a
well-to-do husband; and, knowing that it would be difficult to replace
her, she thought she might be indolent and insolent with impunity.
Linda's mother never knew of all the hard household work which her
frail fragile girl went through in these days of preparation, nor what
good reason the roses had for deserting her cheeks. Mamma should not be
vexed by hearing of Biddy's defection; and there was an invaluable and
indignant coadjutor in Andy.
Everybody was at the bee. Zack Bunting and his team, Davidson and his
team, and his tall sons; Captain Armytage and Mr. Reginald; Jacques
Dubois and another French Canadian; a couple of squatters from the other
side of the lake; altogether two dozen men were assembled, with a fair
proportion of oxen.
It was a burning summer day: perhaps a hundred degrees in the sun at
noon. What a contrast to the season which had witnessed the fall of the
great trees now logging into heaps. Robert could hardly believe his
memory, that for three months since the year began, the temperature of
this very place had been below the freezing-point.
Mr. Reginald Armytage volunteered to be grog-bos, an office which suited
his 'loafing' propensities, since his duties consisted in carrying about
a pail of water and a bottle of whisky to the knots of workmen. His
worthy father's position was almost as ornamental, for after one or
two feeble efforts with a handspike, he went to talk with Mr. Wynn the
elder--chiefly of a notable plan which he had for clearing a belt of
wood lying between his farmhouse and the lake, and which quite shut out
all view.
'You see that Scotch fellow had no taste about his place, eh? He just
thought of the vulgar utilitarian facts of the farm as it were; but for
the cultivation of the eye, the glorious influence of landscape, he had
no thought. Daisy Burn might as well be in the bottom of a pit; all one
can see is the sky and the walls of forest outside the clearing. Now
my plan is--Reginald, my boy,' as the grog-bos passed within hearing
distance, 'give me the cup. The day is sultry to an extreme, eh?' Having
refreshed his throat, he proceeded: 'My plan is, to set on fire that
strip of forest, eh? I never could abide the slow work of the axe. With
proper precautions, such as engineers use along the new rail-lines, the
burning might be kept within bounds, eh?'
Mr. Wynn, who knew nothing at all about the matter, courteously
assented.
'Just look at my father, the glorious old gentleman, how he stands like
a general overseeing a lot of pioneers,' said Robert to Arthur, as they
passed one another. 'Wonder what he and that drone are conversing about
so long.'
'I heard Armytage saying he would clear the belt of his forest on the
lake with fire,' was the reply. 'In which case we may look out.'
'Whew!' Robert whistled a long note. But his gang of teamsters wanted
him and his handspike, so he went on. Each yoke of oxen had four men
attached to it, for the purpose of rolling the logs on top of each
other, and picking the ground clear after them; which last means
gathering all chips and sticks into the pile likewise. An acre to each
team is considered a fair day's work. Robert was so busy as quite to
forget the captain and his alarming method of clearing, thenceforth.
By evening something had been done towards disentangling Cedar Creek.
The trees, which had lain about at every conceivable angle, in the
wildest disorder, were rolled into masses ready for burning, through six
acres of the clearing. The men had worthily earned their supper. In the
old shanty it was laid out, on boards and tressels from end to end. The
dignified Mr. Wynn of Dunore took the chair; Captain Armytage was vice,
or croupier. As to attendance, the Irish damsel struck work at the most
critical juncture, and refused to minister to them in the article of
tea. The ever-ready Andy, just in with blackened hands from his long
day's field-work, washed them hurriedly, and became waiter for the
nonce, having first energetically declared that if he was Biddy Murphy,
he'd be 'shamed to ate the bread he didn't airn; and that she might go
home to her mother as soon as she liked, for an iligant young lady as
she was. Zack Bunting overheard the strife, and the same night, on his
return home, dropped a hint to the girl Libby--short for Liberia--his
wife's orphan and penniless niece, who dwelt with them as a servant,
and whose support they were anxious to get off their hands; and so, to
her own prodigious astonishment, the recalcitrant Biddy found herself
superseded, and the American help hired a day or two afterwards.
'The whole affair of the bee was not so formidable as you thought,' said
Robert to his sister subsequently. They were together in a canoe upon
the pond, enjoying a tranquil afternoon, and ostensibly fishing.
'Oh no, not so bad. You know I saw very little of your hive, except
indeed the storekeeper's son, who was dressed so fantastically, and who
would come offering his help in my cookery.'
'I saw you talking to Jackey Dubois. Could you make anything of his
French?'
'Well, I tried, and of course could understand him; but the accent is
very queer. He calls Canada always Conodo; in fact, he puts "o" for "a"
and "i" constantly. The article "la" turns into "lo," "voir" becomes
"voar." That puzzles one--and the nasal twang besides. I wonder why
_that_ is so universal. Even your nice friend Mr. Holt is affected by
it, though slightly.'
'He told me once that it is a national peculiarity; and no matter
what pains a man takes to preserve himself or his children from it,
insensibly it grows in the pronunciation. He believes that something
in the climate affects the nasal organs; he predicts it for me, and I
suppose for all of us.'
'I hope not. Robert, I think the foliage on the shores is changing
colour already.'
'I daresay; the maple blushes scarlet very early. Ah, wait till you see
the Indian summer, with its gorgeous tinting and soft pink mists.'
And here Robert jerked into the boat a fine speckled trout caught by the
bait of a garden worm. He had captured half-a-dozen in half-an-hour.
'One would think the mists were come already,' said Linda, still gazing
at the waved outline of the shore. 'There seems to be fog away yonder.'
'The captain burning his fallow, I presume,' said Robert, raising his
eyes from his hook. But the smoke was larger than that would account
for.
'We will paddle a little nearer and investigate,' said he, laying down
his tackle. A dread of suspicion stole into his mind, which whitened his
very lips.
They approached and coasted; the smell of burning wood becoming
stronger--the smoke hanging over those headlands denser.
It was as he feared--the forest was on fire.