The Young Woodsman; Or, Life in the Forests of Canada

by J. Macdonald Oxley

  Produced by Imran Ghory, Stan Goodman, Mary Meehan and theOnline 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. Willyou mind having to go to work?"

  "Mind it! Why, no, mother; not the least bit. I'm quite old enough, ain'tI?"

  "I suppose you are, dear; though I would like to have you stay at yourlessons 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 fatherwas."

  The mother's face grew pale at this reply, and for some few moments shemade no response.

  * * * * *

  The march of civilization on a great continent means loss as well asgain. The opening up of the country for settlement, the increase andspread of population, the making of the wilderness to blossom as therose, compel the gradual retreat and disappearance of interestingfeatures that can never be replaced. The buffalo, the beaver, and the elkhave gone; the bear, the Indian, and the forest in which they are bothmost at home, are fast following.

  Along the northern border of settlement in Canada there are flourishingvillages and thriving hamlets to-day where but a few years ago theverdurous billows of the primeval forest rolled in unbroken grandeur. Thehistory of any one of these villages is the history of all. An open spacebeside the bank of a stream or the margin of a lake presented itself tothe keen eye of the woodranger traversing the trackless waste of forestas a fine site for a lumber camp. In course of time the lumber camp grewinto a depot from which other camps, set still farther back in the depthsof the "limits," are supplied. Then the depot develops into a settlementsurrounded by farms; the settlement gathers itself into a village withshops, schools, churches, and hotels; and so the process of growth goeson, the forest ever retreating as the dwellings of men multiply.

  It was in a village with just such a history, and bearing the name ofCalumet, occupying a commanding situation on a vigorous tributary of theOttawa River--the Grand River, as the dwellers beside its banks are fondof calling it--that Frank Kingston first made the discovery of his ownexistence and of the world around him. He at once proceeded to makehimself master of the situation, and so long as he confined his effortsto the limits of his own home he met with an encouraging degree ofsuccess; for he was an only child, and, his father's occupation requiringhim to be away from home a large part of the year, his mother couldhardly be severely blamed if she permitted her boy to have a good deal ofhis own way.

  In the result, however, he was not spoiled. He came of sturdy, sensiblestock, and had inherited some of the best qualities from both sides ofthe house. To his mother he owed his fair curly hair, his deep blue,honest eyes, his impulsive and tender heart; to his father, his strongsymmetrical figure, his quick brain, and his eager ambition. He was agood-looking, if not strikingly handsome, boy, and carried himself in analert, active way that made a good impression on one at the start. He hada quick temper that would flash out hotly if he were provoked, and atsuch times he would do and say things for which he was heartily sorryafterwards. But from those hateful qualities that we call malice,rancour, and sullenness he was absolutely free. To "have it out" and thenshake hands and forget all about it--that was his way of dealing with adisagreement. Boys built on these lines are always popular among theircomrades, and Frank was no exception. In fact, if one of those amicablecontests as to the most popular personage, now so much in vogue at fairsand bazaars, were to have been held in Calumet school, the probabilitieswere 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 thethorough religious training upon which they were based. His mother hadleft a Christian household to help her husband to found a new home in thegreat Canadian timberland; and this new home had ever been a sweet,serene centre of light and love. While Calumet was little more than astraggling collection of unlovely frame cottages, and too small to have achurch and pastor of its own, the hard-working Christian minister whomanaged to make his way thither once a month or so, to hold service inthe little schoolroom, was always sure of the heartiest kind of awelcome, and the daintiest dinner possible in that out-of-the-way place,at Mrs. Kingston's cozy cottage. And thus Frank had been brought intofriendly relations with the "men in black" from the start, with the goodresult of causing him to love and respect these zealous homemissionaries, instead of shrinking from them in vague repugnance, as didmany of his companions who had not his opportunities.

  When he grew old enough to be trusted, it was his proud privilege to takethe minister's tired horse to water and to fill the rack with sweet hayfor his refreshment before they all went off to the service together; andvery frequently when the minister was leaving he would take Frank upbeside him for a drive as far as the cross-roads, not losing the chanceto say a kindly and encouraging word or two that might help the littlefellow heavenward.

  In due time the settlement so prospered and expanded that a little churchwas established there, and great was the delight of Mrs. Kingston whenCalumet had its minister, to whom she continued to be a most effectivehelper. This love for the church and its workers, which was more manifestin her than in her husband--for, although he thought and felt alike withher, he was a reserved, undemonstrative man--Mrs. Kingston sought byevery 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 abit of it. His father was religious; and who was stronger, braver, ormore manly than his father? His mother was a pious woman; and who couldlaugh more cheerily or romp more merrily than his mother? The ministerswho came to the house were men of God; and yet they were full of life andspirits, and dinner never seemed more delightful than when they sat atthe table. No, indeed! You would have had a hard job to persuade FrankKingston that you lost anything by being religious. He knew far betterthan that; and while of course he was too thorough a boy, with all aboy's hasty, hearty, impulsive ways, to do everything "decently and inorder," and would kick over the traces, so to speak, sometimes, and giverather startling exhibitions of temper, still in the main and at heart hewas a sturdy little Christian, who, when the storm was over, felt moresorry and remembered it longer than did anybody else.

  Out of the way as Calumet might seem to city folk, yet the boys of theplace managed to have a very good time. There were nearly a hundred ofthem, ranging in age from seven years to seventeen, attending the schoolwhich stood in the centre of a big lot at the western end of the village,and with swimming, boating, lacrosse, and baseball in summer, andskating, snow-shoeing, and tobogganing in winter, they never lacked forfun. Frank was expert
in all these sports. Some of the boys might excelhim at one or another of them, but not one of his companions could beathim in an all-round contest. This was due in part to the strength andsymmetry of his frame, and in part to that spirit of thoroughness whichcharacterized all he undertook. There was nothing half-way about him. Heput his whole soul into everything that interested him, and, so far asplay was concerned, at fifteen years of age he could swim, run, handle alacrosse, hit a base-ball, skim over the ice on skates, or over snow onsnow-shoes, with a dexterity that gave himself a vast amount of pleasureand 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 ofhis best and brightest pupils, and it was not often that the "roll ofhonour" failed to contain the name of Frank Kingston. At the midsummerclosing of the school it was Mr. Warren's practice to award a number ofsimple prizes to the pupils whose record throughout the half-year hadbeen highest in the different subjects, and year after year Frank had wona goodly share of these trophies, which were always books, so that nowthere was a shelf in his room upon which stood in attractive arrayLivingstone's "Travels," Ballantyne's "Hudson Bay," Kingsley's "WestwardHo!" side by side with "Robinson Crusoe," "Pilgrim's Progress," and "TomBrown at Rugby." Frank knew these books almost by heart, yet neverwearied of turning to them again and again. He drew inspiration fromthem. They helped to mould his character, although of this he was hardlyconscious, and they filled his soul with a longing for adventure andenterprise that no ordinary everyday career could satisfy. He lookedforward eagerly to the time when he would take a man's part in life andattempt and achieve notable deeds. With Amyas Leigh he traversed thetropical wilderness of Southern America, or with the "Young Fur Traders"the hard-frozen wastes of the boundless North, and he burned toemulate their brave doings. He little knew, as he indulged in theseboyish imaginations, that the time was not far off when the call wouldcome to him to begin life in dead earnest on his own account, and with asmany obstacles to be overcome in his way as had any of his favouriteheroes in theirs.

  Mr. Kingston was at home only during the summer season. The long coldwinter months were spent by him at the "depot," many miles off in theheart of the forest, or at the "shanties" that were connected with it. Atrare intervals during the winter he might manage to get home for aSunday, but that was all his wife and son saw of him until the springtime. When the "drive" of the logs that represented the winter's work wasover, he returned to them, to remain until the falling of the leavesrecalled him to the forest. Frank loved and admired his father to theutmost of his ability; and when in his coolest, calmest moods he realizedthat there was small possibility of his ever sailing the Spanish mainlike Amyas Leigh, or exploring the interior of Africa like Livingstone,he felt quite settled in his own mind that, following in his father'sfootsteps, he would adopt lumbering as his business. 'Tis true, hisfather 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 goodfortune, he might in time become an owner of "limits" and mills himself.Why not? Many another boy had thus risen into wealth and importance. Hehad at least the right to try.

  Fifteen in October, and in the highest class, this was to be Frank's lastwinter at school; and before leaving for the woods his father hadenjoined upon him to make the best of it, as after the summer holidayswere over he would have to "cease learning, and begin earning." Frank wasrather glad to hear this. He was beginning to think he had grown too bigfor school, and ought to be doing something more directly remunerative.Poor boy! Could he have guessed that those were the last words he wouldhear from his dear father's lips, how differently would they haveaffected him! Calumet never saw Mr. Kingston again. In returning alone tothe depot from a distant shanty, he was caught in a fierce and suddensnowstorm. The little-travelled road through the forest was soonobliterated. Blinded and bewildered by the pitiless storm beating intheir faces, both man and beast lost their way, and, wandering aboutuntil all strength was spent, lay down to die in the drifts that quicklyhid 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 submissivegrace that only a serene and unmurmuring faith can give. Frank was moredemonstrative in his grief, and disposed to rebel against so cruel acalamity. But his mother calmed and inspired him, and when the firstnumbing force of the blow had passed away, they took counsel together asto the future. This was dark and uncertain enough. All that was left tothem was the little cottage in which they lived. Mr. Kingston's salaryhad not been large, and only by careful management had the house beensecured. Of kind and sympathizing friends there was no lack, but theywere mostly people in moderate circumstances, like themselves, from whomnothing more than sympathy could be expected.

  There was no alternative but that Frank should begin at once to earn hisown living, and thus the conversation came about with which this chapterbegan, and which brought forth the reply from Frank that evidently gavehis mother deep concern.