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."