LIFE IN THE LUMBER CAMP.
For a moment there was absolute silence in the shanty, the sudden and
effectual intervention of the big foreman in Frank Kingston's behalf
filling the onlookers with astonishment. But then, as they recovered
themselves, there came a burst of laughter that made the rafters ring, in
the midst of which Damase, gathering himself together, slunk scowling to
his berth with a face that was dark with hate.
Not deigning to take any further notice of him, Johnston turned to go
back to his corner, touching Frank on his shoulder as he did so, and
saying to him in a low tone,--
"Come with me, my lad; I want a word with you."
Still trembling from the excitement of the scene through which he had
just passed, Frank followed the foreman into his little sanctum, the
inside of which he had never seen before, for it was kept jealously
locked whenever its occupant was absent. Johnston threw himself clown on
his bunk, and motioned Frank to take a seat upon the chest. For a few
moments he regarded him in silence, and so intently that, although his
expression was full of kindness, and it seemed of admiration, too, the
boy felt his face flushing under his steady scrutiny. At last the foreman
spoke.
"You're a plucky lad, Frank. Just like your father-God bless him' He was
a good friend to me when I needed a friend sorely. I heard all that went
on to-night, though I didn't see it, and had some hint of it before,
though I didn't let on, for I wanted to see what stuff you were made of.
But you played the man, my boy, and your father would have been proud to
see you. Now just you go right ahead, Frank; and if any of those French
rascals or anybody else tries to hinder you, out of this shanty he'll go,
neck and crop, and stay out, as sure as my name is Dan Johnston."
"You're very kind, Mr. Johnston," said Frank, his eyes glistening
somewhat suspiciously, for, to tell the truth, this warm praise coming
after the recent strain upon his nerves was a little too much for his
self-control. "I felt sometimes like telling you when the men tormented
me so; but I didn't want to be a tale-bearer, and I was hoping they'd get
tired of it and give up of their own accord."
"It's best as it is, lad," replied Johnston. "If the men found out you
told me, they'd be like to think hard of you. But there's no fear of that
now. And look here, Frank. After this, when you want to read your Bible
in peace, and say your prayers, just come in here. No one'll bother you
here, and you can sit down on the chest there and have a quiet time to
yourself."
Frank's face fairly beamed with delight at this unexpected invitation,
and he stood up on his feet to thank his kind friend.
"Oh, Mr. Johnston, I'm so glad! I've never been able to read my Bible or
say my prayers right since I came to the shanty-there's always such a
noise going on. But I won't mind that in here. It's so good of you to let
me come in."
The foreman smiled in his deep, serious way, and then as he relapsed into
silence, and took up again the book he had laid down to spring to Frank's
assistance, Frank thought it time to withdraw; and with a respectful
"Good-night, sir," which Johnston acknowledged by a nod, returned to the
larger room.
The shantymen were evidently awaiting his reappearance with much
curiosity; but he went quietly back to his bunk, picked up his Bible,
finished the passage in the midst of which he had been interrupted, and,
having said his prayers, lay down to sleep without a word to any one; for
no one questioned him, and he felt no disposition to start a discussion
by questioning any of the others.
From this time forth he could see clearly that two very different
opinions concerning himself prevailed in the shanty. By all the English
members of the gang, and some of the. French, headed by honest Baptiste,
he was looked upon, with hearty liking and admiration, as a plucky chap
that knew how to take care of himself; by the remainder of the French
contingent, with Damase as the ruling spirit, he was regarded as a
stuck-up youngster that wanted taking down badly, and who was trying to
make himself a special favourite with the foreman just to advance his
own selfish ends. Gladly would Frank have been on friendly terms with
all; but this being now impossible, through no fault of his own, he made
up his mind to go on his way as quietly as possible, being constantly
careful to give no cause of offence to those who, as he well knew, were
only too eager to take it.
There were some slight flurries of snow, fragile and short-lived heralds
of winter's coming, during the latter part of November, and then December
was ushered in by a grand storm that lasted a whole day, and made glad
the hearts of the lumbermen by filling the forest aisles with a deep,
soft, spotless carpet, that asked only to be packed smooth and hard in
order to make perfect roads over which to transport the noble logs that
had been accumulating upon the "roll-ways" during the past weeks.
A shantyman is never so completely in his element as when the snow lies
two feet deep upon the earth's brown breast. An open winter is his bane,
Jack Frost his best friend; and there was a perceptible rise in the
spirits of the occupants of Camp Kippewa as the mercury sank lower and
lower in the tube of the foreman's thermometer. Plenty of snow meant not
only easy hauling all winter long, but a full river and "high water" in
the spring-time, and no difficulty in getting the drive of logs that
would represent their winter's work down the Kippewa to the Grand River
beyond. Frank did not entirely share their exultation. The colder it got
the more wood had to be chopped, the more food had to be cooked--for the
men's appetites showed a marked increase--and, furthermore, the task of
keeping the water-barrels filled became one of serious magnitude. But
bracing himself to meet his growing burdens, he toiled away cheerfully,
resisting every temptation to grumble, his clear tuneful whistling of the
sacred airs in vogue at Calumet making Baptiste, who had a quick ear for
music, so familiar with "Rock of Ages," "Abide with Me," "Nearer, my God,
to Thee," and other melodies, which have surely strayed down to us from
heaven, that unconsciously he took to whistling them himself, much to
Frank's amusement and approval.
The days were very much alike. At early dawn, before it was yet light
enough to see clearly, Johnston would emerge from his corner, and, in
stentorian tones whose meaning was not to be mistaken, shout to the
sleeping men scattered along the rows of sloping bunks.
"Up with ye, men! up with ye!" And with many a growl and grunt they
would, one by one, unroll from their blankets. As their only preparation
for bed had been to lay aside their coats and boots or moccasins, the
morning toilet did not consume much time. A dash of cold water as an
eye-opener, a tugging on of boots or lacing up of moccasins, a scrambling
into coats, and that was the sum of it. The only brush and comb in the
camp belonged to Frank, and he felt half ashamed to use them, because no
one else thought such articles necessary.
Breakfast hurriedly disposed of, all but Baptiste and Frank sallied forth
into the snow, to be seen no more until mid-day. There were just fifty
persons, all told, in the camp, each man having his definite work to do
the carpenter, whose business it was to keep the sleighs in repair; the
teamsters, who directed the hauling of the logs; the "sled-tenders," who
saw that the loads were well put on; the "head chopper" and his
assistants, whose was the laborious yet fascinating task of felling the
forest monarchs; the "sawyers," who cut their prostrate forms into
convenient lengths; the "scorers," who stripped off the branches and slab
sides from tree trunks set apart for square timber; and finally, the
"hewer," who with his huge, broad axe made square the "stick," as the
great piece of timber is called.
All these men had to be fed three times a day, and almost insatiable were
their appetites, as poor Frank had no chance to forget. Happily they did
not demand the same variety in their bill of fare as do the guests at a
metropolitan hotel. Pork and beans, bread and tea, these were the staple
items. Anything else was regarded as an "extra." A rather monotonous
diet, undoubtedly; but it would not be easy to prescribe a better one for
men working twelve hours a day, in the open air, through the still,
steady cold of a Canadian winter in the backwoods.
At noon the hungry toilers trooped back for dinner, which they devoured
in ravenous haste that there might be as much as possible left of the
hour for a lounge upon the bunk, with pipe in mouth, in luxurious
idleness. Then as the dusk gathered they appeared once more, this time
for the night, and disposed to eat their supper with much more decorous
slowness. Supper over, the snow-soaked mittens and stockings hung about
the fire to dry, and pipes put in full blast, they were ready for song,
story, or dance, until bed time.
Thus day followed day, until Frank, whose work kept him closely confined
to the camp, grew so weary of it that he was on the verge of heartily
repenting that he had ever consented to be a chore-boy, ever thought that
was the only condition upon which he could gratify his longing for a
lumberman's life, when another mischance became his good fortune, and he
was unexpectedly relieved of a large part of his tiresome duties. This
was how it came about.
One morning he was surprised by seeing one of the sleighs returning a
good while before the dinner hour, and was somewhat alarmed when he
noticed that it bore the form of a man, who had evidently been the victim
of an accident. Happily, however, it proved to be not a very serious
case. An immense pine in falling headlong had borne with it a number of
smaller trees that stood near by, and one of these had fallen upon an
unwary "scorer," hurling him to the ground, and badly bruising his right
leg, besides causing some internal injury. He was insensible when picked
up, but came to himself soon after reaching the shanty, where Frank made
him as comfortable as he could, even putting him upon his own mattress
that he might lie as easy as possible.
The injured man proved to be one of Damase Deschenaux's allies; but Frank
did not let that prevent his showing him every kindness while he was
recovering from his injuries, with the result of completely winning the
poor ignorant fellow's heart, much to Damase's disgust. Damase, indeed,
did his best to persuade Laberge that Frank's attentions were prompted
by some secret motive, and that it was not to be trusted. But deeds are
far stronger arguments than words, and the sufferer was not to be
convinced. By the end of a week he was able to limp about the shanty, but
it was very evident that he would not be fit to take up his work again
that season. This state of affairs caused the foreman some concern, for
he felt loath to send the unfortunate fellow home, and yet he could not
keep him in idleness. Then it appeared that what is one man's extremity
may be another's opportunity. Johnston knew very well that however
bravely he might go about it, Frank's work could not help being
distasteful to him, and a bright plan flashed into his mind. Calling
Frank into his corner one evening, he said,--
"How would you like, my lad, to have some of the out-door work for a
change?"
The mere expression of Frank's face was answer enough. It fairly shone
with gladness, as he replied,--
"I would like it above all things, sir, for I am a little tired of being
nothing but a chore-boy."
"Well, I think we might manage it, Frank," said the foreman. "You see,
Laberge can't do his work again this winter, and it goes against my heart
to send him home, for he's nobody but himself to depend upon. So I've hit
upon this plan: Laberge can't chop the wood or haul the water, but he can
help Baptiste in cooking and cleaning up. Suppose, then, you were to get
the wood ready and see about the water in the morning, and then come out
into the woods with us after dinner, leaving Laberge to do the rest of
the work. How would that suit you?"
"It would suit me just splendidly, sir," exclaimed Frank, delightedly. "I
can see about the wood and water all right before dinner, and I'll be so
glad to go to the woods with you. I'll just do the best I can to fill
Laberge's place."
"I'm right sure you will, Frank," replied Johnston. "So you may consider
it settled for the present, at any rate."
Frank felt like dancing a jig on the way back to his bunk, and not even
the scowling face of Damase, who had been listening to the conversation
in the foreman's room with keen Indian ears, and had caught enough of it
to learn of the arrangement made, could cast any damper upon his spirits.
In this case half a loaf was decidedly better than no bread at all.
Freedom from the restraints and irksome duties of chore-boy's lot for
even half the day was a precious boon, and the happy boy lay down to rest
that night feeling like quite a different person from what he had been
of late, when there seemed no way of escape from the monotonous,
wearisome task he had taken upon himself, except to give it all up and
return to Calumet, which was almost the last thing that he could imagine
himself doing; for Frank Kingston had plenty of pride as well as pluck,
and his love for lumbering had not suffered any eclipse because of his
experiences.
But what is one man's meat is another man's poison, according to the
homely adage, and in this case what made Frank so happy made--Damase
miserable. The jealous, revengeful fellow saw in it only another proof
of the foreman's favouritism, and was also pleased to regard the
relegating of Laberge to the dish-washing and so forth as the degradation
of a compatriot, which it behoved him to resent, since Laberge seemed
lacking in the spirit to do it himself. Had he imagined that he would
meet with the support of the majority, he would have sought to organize a
rebellion in the camp. But he knew well enough that such a thing was
utterly out of the question, so he was forced to content himself with
fresh determinations to "get even" with the foreman and his favourite in
some way before the winter passed; and, as will be seen, he came
perilously near attaining his object.