CHAPTER III.
OFF TO THE WOODS.
September, the finest of all the months in the Canadian calendar, was athand, as the sumac and the maple took evident delight in telling by theirlovely tints of red and gold, and the hot, enervating breath of summerhad yielded to the inspiring coolness of early autumn. The village ofCalumet fairly bubbled over with business and bustle. Preparations forthe winter's work were being made on all sides. During the course of thenext two weeks or so a large number of men would be leaving their homesfor the lumber camps, and the chief subject of conversation in allcircles was the fascinating and romantic occupation in which they wereengaged.
No one was more busy than Mrs. Kingston. Even if her son was to be only achore-boy, his equipment should be as comfortable and complete as thoughhe were going to be a foreman. She knew very well that Jack Frost has nocompunctions about sending the thermometer away down thirty or fortydegrees below zero in those far-away forest depths; and whatever otherhardships Frank might be called upon to endure, it was very well settledin her mind that he should not suffer for lack of warm clothing.Accordingly, the knitting-needles and sewing-needles had been pliedindustriously from the day his going into the woods was decided upon; andnow that the time for departure drew near, the result was to be seen in achest filled with such thick warm stockings, shirts, mittens, andcomforters, besides a good outfit of other clothing, that Frank, lookingthem over with a keen appreciation of their merits and of the lovingskill they evidenced, turned to his mother, saying, with a gratefulsmile,--
"Why, mother, you've fitted me out as though I were going to the NorthPole."
"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 ofhow the cruel cold had taken from her the father of the bright, hopefulboy before her. "Your father never thought I provided too many warmthings for him."
Frank was in great spirits. He had resigned his clerkship at SquireEagleson's, much to that worthy merchant's regret. The squire looked uponhim as a very foolish fellow to give up a position in his shop, where hehad such good opportunities of learning business ways, in order to go"galivanting off to the woods," where his good writing and correctfiguring would be of no account.
Frank said nothing about his decided objections to the squire's ideas ofbusiness ways and methods, but contented himself with statingrespectfully his strong preference for out-door life, and his intentionto 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 movinghim, "have your own way. I reckon you'll be glad enough to come back tome 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, thisis not the place I'll come to for it; you can depend upon that, SquireEagleson. Many thanks to you, all the same."
Mr. Stewart was going up to the depot the first week in September, toget 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 himalong if he could be ready in time. Thanks to Mrs. Kingston's being ofthe fore-handed kind, nothing was lacking in her son's preparations, andthe day of departure was anticipated with great eagerness by him, andwith much sinking of heart by her.
The evening previous mother and son had a long talk together, in thecourse of which she impressed upon him the absolute importance of hismaking 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 atfirst, 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 aChristian, and rough and wicked as they may be, never fear but they'llrespect you for it."
Mrs. Kingston spoke with an earnestness and emphasis that went straightto Frank's heart. He had perfect faith in his mother. In his eyes she waswithout fault or failing, and he knew very well that she was askingnothing of him that she was not altogether ready to do herself, were sheto be put in his place. Not only so. His own shrewd sense confirmed thewisdom of her words. There could be no half-way position for him at thelumber camp; no half-hearted serving of God would be of any use there. Hemust take Caleb for his pattern, and follow the Lord wholly. His voicewas 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 fairand let the others know just where I stand, and they may say or do whatthey like."
Mrs. Kingston needed no further assurance to make her mind quite easyupon this point; and she took no small comfort from the thought that,faithful and consistent as she felt so confident Frank would be, despitethe many trials and temptations inseparable from his new sphere of life,he could hardly fail to exercise some good influence upon those abouthim, and perhaps prove a very decided power for good among the rough menof the lumber camp.
The day of departure dawned clear and bright. The air was cool andbracing, the ground glistened with the heavy autumn dew that the sun hadnot yet had time to drink up, and the village was not fairly astir forthe day when Mr. Stewart drove up to Mrs. Kingston's door for his youngpassenger. He was not kept long waiting, for Frank had been ready fullyhalf-an-hour beforehand, and all that remained to be done was to bid hismother "good-bye," until he should return with the spring floods.Overflowing with joy as he was at the realization of his desire, yet hewas too fond a son not to feel keenly the parting with his mother, andhe bustled about very vigorously, stowing away his things in the back ofthe 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 hischest packed tight with warm clothing; then another box heavy with cake,preserves, pickles, and other home-made dainties, wherewith to vary themonotony of shanty fare; then a big bundle containing a wool mattress, apillow, two pairs of heavy blankets, and a thick comforter to insure hissleep being undisturbed by saucy Jack Frost; and finally, a narrow boxmade by his own father to carry the light rifle that always accompaniedhim, together with a plentiful supply of ammunition. In this box Frankwas particularly interested, for he had learned to handle this riflepretty well during the summer, and looked forward to accomplishing greatthings 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 fellowswish they had a mother to fit them out. It's a fortunate thing mywaggon's roomy, or we'd have to leave some of your stuff to come up byone 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 comfortableas not. He'll have plenty of roughing it, anyway. And now we've got itall on board, we must be starting."
The moment Mrs. Kingston dreaded had now come. Throwing her arms aroundFrank'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 shedared not trust herself any longer. Gulping down the big lump that roseinto his throat, Frank sprang up beside Mr. Stewart, and the next momentthey were off. But before they turned the corner Frank, looking back,caught sight of his mother standing in the doorway, and taking off hiscap 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; forthere was not a finer pair of horses in Calumet than those that were nowtrotting along before him, as if the well-filled waggon to which theywere attached was no impediment whatever. His work required him to bemuch upon the road in all seasons, and he considered it well wo
rth hiswhile to make the business of driving about as pleasant as possible. Thehorses were iron-grays, beautifully matched in size, shape, and speed;the harness sparkled with bright brass mountings; and the waggon, a kindof express, with specially strong springs and comfortable seat, hadabundant 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; foreverybody knew Frank's destination, and there were none that did not wishhim well, whatever might be their opinion of the wisdom of his action. Inresponding to these expressions of good-will, Frank found timely relieffor the feelings stirred by the parting with his mother, and before theimpatient grays had breasted the hill which began where the village endedhe had quite regained his customary good spirits, and was ready to replybrightly enough to Mr. Stewart's remarks.
"Well, Frank, you've put your hand to the plough now, as the Scripturesays, and you mustn't turn back on any account, or all the village willbe laughing at you," he said, scanning his companion closely.
"Not much fear of that, Mr. Stewart," answered Frank firmly. "Calumetwon't see me again until next spring. Whether I like the lumbering ornot, 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 youdo 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, andthe other men will all be strangers at first; but just you do what youknow and feel to be right without minding the others, and they won'tbother you long, but will respect you for having a conscience and thepluck to obey it. As for your work, it'll seem pretty heavy and hard atthe start; but you've got lots of grit, and it won't take you long to getused to it."
Frank listened attentively to Mr. Stewart's kindly, sensible advice, andhad many questions to ask him as the speedy horses bore them further andfurther away from Calumet. The farms, which at first had followed oneanother in close succession, grew more widely apart, and finally endedaltogether before many miles of the dusty road had been covered, andthenceforward their way ran through unbroken woods, not the stately"forest primeval" but the scrubby "second growth," from which those whohave never been into the heart of the leafy wilderness can form but apoor conception of the grandeur to which trees can attain.
About mid-day they halted at a lonely log-house which served as a sort ofinn or resting-place, the proprietor finding compensation for thedreariness of his situation in the large profit derived from an illegalbut thriving traffic in liquor. A more unkempt, unattractiveestablishment could hardly be imagined, and if rumour was to be reliedupon, 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. "Iwouldn't think of stopping here for a moment but for the horses. But wemay 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 themdrunk with his vile whisky to preparing them any pretence for a dinner.But they firmly declined his liquor, so muttering unintelligibly tohimself he shambled off to obey their behests. After some delay theysucceeded in getting a miserable meal of some kind; and then, the horsesbeing sufficiently rested, they set off once more at a good pace, nothalting 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 oftrees, and forming a centre from which some half-dozen shanties, orlumber camps, placed at different distances in the depths of theforest that stretched away interminably north, south, east, and west,were supplied with all that was necessary for their maintenance. Besidesthe ordinary farm buildings, there was another which served as a sort ofa shop or warehouse, being filled with a stock of axes, saws, blankets,boots, beef, pork, tea, sugar, molasses, flour, and so forth, for the useof the lumbermen. This was Mr. Stewart's headquarters, and as the tiredhorses 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."
The Young Woodsman; Or, Life in the Forests of Canada Page 3
