CHAPTER V.
STANDING FIRE.
The shanty finished, a huge mass of wood cut into convenient lengths andpiled near the door, a smooth road made down to the river-bank, thestore-house filled with barrels of pork and flour and beans and chests oftea, the stable for the score of horses, put up after much the samearchitectural design as the shanty, and then the lumber camp wascomplete, and the men were free to address themselves to the businessthat had brought them so far.
As Frank looked around him at the magnificent forests into whose heartthey had penetrated, and tried with his eyes to measure the height of thesplendid trees that towered above his head on every side, he foundhimself touched with a feeling of sympathy for them--as if it seemed ashame to humble the pride of those silvan monarchs by bringing themcrashing to the earth. And then this feeling gave way to another; and ashe watched the expert choppers swinging their bright axes in steadyrhythm, and adding wound to wound in the gaping trunk so skilfully thatthe defenceless monster fell just where they wished, his heart thrilledwith pride at man's easy victory over nature, and he longed to seize anaxe himself and attack the forest on his own account.
He had plenty of axe work as it was, but of a much more prosaic kind.An important part of his duty consisted in keeping up the great firethat roared and crackled unceasingly in the caboose. The appetite of thisfire seemed unappeasable, and many a time did his arms and legs growweary in ministering to its wants. Sometimes, when all his other work wasdone, he would go out to the wood-pile, and selecting the thickest andtoughest-looking logs, arrange them upon the hearth so that they mighttake as long as possible to burn; and then, congratulating himself thathe had secured some respite from toil, get out his rifle for a littlepractice at a mark, or would open one of the few books he had broughtwith him. But it seemed to him he would hardly have more than one shot atthe mark, or get through half-a-dozen pages, before Baptiste's thickvoice would be heard calling out,--
"Francois, Francois! Ver is yer? Some more wood, k'vick!" And with agroan poor Frank would have to put away the rifle or book and returnto the wood-pile.
"I suppose I'm what the Bible calls a hewer of wood and a drawer ofwater," he would say to himself; for hardly less onerous than the taskof keeping the fire in fuel was that of keeping well filled the twowater-barrels that stood on either side of the door--one for the thirstyshantymen, the other for Baptiste's culinary needs.
The season's work once well started, it went forward with commendablesteadiness and vigour under Foreman Johnston's strict and energeticmanagement. He was admirably suited for his difficult position. Hisgrave, reserved manner rendered impossible that familiarity which is soapt to breed contempt, while his thorough mastery of all the secrets ofwoodcraft, his great physical strength, and his absolute fearlessnessin the face of any peril, combined to make him a fit master for thestrangely-assorted half-hundred of men now under his sole control. Frankheld him in profound respect, and would have endured almost anythingrather than seem unmanly or unheedful in his eyes. To win a word ofcommendation from those firm-set lips that said so little was the desireof his heart, and, feeling sure that it would come time enough, he stuckto his work bravely, quite winning good-natured Baptiste's heart by hisprompt obedience to orders.
"You are a _bon garcon,_ Francois," he would say, patting his shoulderwith his plump palm. "Too good to be chore-boy; but not for long--eh,Francois? You be chopper _bientot_, and then"--with an expressive wave ofhis hand to indicate the rapid flight of time--"you'll be foreman, likeM'sieur Johnston, while Baptiste"--and the broad shoulders would risein that meaning shrug which only Frenchmen can achieve--"poor Baptistewill be cook still."
Beginning with Johnston and Baptiste, Frank was rapidly making friendsamong his companions, and as he was soon to learn, much to his surpriseand sorrow, some enemies too--or, rather, to be more correct, he wasmaking the friends, but the enemies were making themselves; for he was toblame in small part, if at all, for their rising against him. There wereall sorts and conditions of men, so far at least as character anddisposition went, among the gang, and the evil element was fitlyrepresented by a small group of inhabitants who recognized one DamaseDeschenaux as their leader. This Damase made rather a striking figure.Although he scorned the suggestion as hotly as would a Southern planterthe charge that negro blood darkened his veins, there was no doubt thatsome generations back the dusky wife of a _courier du bois_ had mingledthe Indian nature with the French. Unhappily for Damase, the result ofhis ancestral error was manifest in him; for, while bearing but littleoutward resemblance to his savage progenitor, he was at heart a veritableIndian.
Greedy, selfish, jealous, treacherous, quick to take offence and slow toforgive or forget, his presence in the Johnston gang was explained by hiswonderful knowledge of the forest, his sure judgment in selecting goodbunches of timber to be cut, and his intimate acquaintance with thecourse of the stream down which the logs would be floated in the spring.
Johnston had no liking for Damase, but found him too valuable to dispensewith. This year, by chance, or possibly by his own management, Damase hadamong the gang a number of companions much after his own pattern, and itwas clearly his intention to take the lead in the shanty so far as hedared venture. When first he saw Frank, and learned that he was to bewith Johnston also, he tried after his own fashion to make friends withhim. But as might be expected, neither the man himself nor his overturesof friendship impressed Frank favourably. He wanted neither a pull fromhis pocket flask nor a chew from his plug of "navy," nor to handle hisgreasy cards; and although he declined the offer of all these uncongenialthings as politely as possible, the veritable suspicious, sensitive,French-Indian nature took offence, which deepened day after day, as hecould not help seeing that Frank was careful to give himself andcompanions as wide a berth as he could without being pointedly rude oroffensive.
When one is seeking to gratify evil feelings toward another with whom hehas daily contact, the opportunity is apt to be not long in coming, andDamase conceived that he had his chance of venting his spite on Frank byseizing upon the habit of Bible reading and prayer which the lad had asscrupulously observed in the shanty as if he had been at home. As mightbe imagined, he was altogether alone in this good custom, and at firstthe very novelty of it had secured him immunity from pointed notice orcomment. But when Damase, thinking he saw in his daily devotions anopening for his malicious purposes, drew attention to them by jeeringremarks and taunting insinuations, the others, yielding to that naturaltendency to be incensed with any one who seems to assert superiorgoodness, were inclined to side with him, or at all events to make noattempt to interfere.
At first Damase confined himself to making as much noise as possiblewhile Frank was reading his Bible or saying his prayers, keeping up aconstant fire of remarks that were aimed directly at the much-tried boy,and which were sometimes clever or impertinent enough to call forth ahearty laugh from his comrades. But finding that Frank was not to beovercome by this, he resorted to more active measures. Pretending to bedancing carelessly about the room he would, as if by accident, bump upagainst the object of his enmity, sending the precious book flying on thefloor, or, if Frank was kneeling by his bunk, tripping and tumblingroughly over his outstretched feet. Another time he knocked the Bible outof his hands with a well-aimed missile, and, again, covered him with aheavy blanket as he knelt at prayer.
All this Frank bore in patient silence, hoping in that way to securepeace in time. But Damase's persecutions showing no signs of ceasing, thepoor lad's self-control began to desert him, and at last the crisis cameone night when, while he was kneeling as usual at the foot of his bunk,Damase crept up softly behind him, and springing upon his shoulders,brought him sprawling to the floor. In an instant Frank was on his feet,and when the others saw his flashing and indignant countenance andnoticed his tight-clinched fists, the roar of laughter that greeted hisdownfall was checked half way, and a sudden silence fell upon them. Theyall expected him to fly at his tormentor like a young
tiger, and Damaseevidently expected it too, for he stepped back a little, and his grinningface sobered as he assumed a defensive attitude.
But Frank had no thought of striking. That was not his way of defendinghis religion, much as he was willing to endure rather than be unfaithful.Drawing himself up to his full height, and looking a splendid type ofrighteous indignation, he commanded the attention of all as in clear,strong tones, holding his sturdy fists close to his sides as though hedared not trust them elsewhere, and looking straight into Damase's eyes,lie exclaimed,--
"Aren't you ashamed to do such an unmanly thing--you, who are twice mysize and age? I have done nothing to you. Why should you torment me? Andjust when I want most to be quiet, too!"
Then, turning to the other men with a gesture of appeal that wasirresistible, he cried,--
"Do you think it's fair, fellows, for that man to plague me so when I'vedone him no harm? Why don't you stop him? You can do it easy enough. He'snothing but a big coward."
Frank's anger had risen as he spoke, and this last sentence slipped outbefore he had time to stop it. No sooner was it uttered than he regrettedit; but the bolt had been shot, and it went straight to its mark. WhileFrank had been speaking, Damase was too keen of sight and sense not tonotice that the manly speech and fine self-control of the boy werecausing a quick revulsion of feeling in his hearers, and that unlessdiverted they would soon be altogether on his side, and the taunt he hadjust flung out awoke a deep murmur of applause which was all that wasneeded to inflame his passion to the highest pitch. The Frenchman lookedthe very incarnation of fury as, springing towards Frank with upliftedfist, he hissed, rather cried, through his gleaming teeth,--
"Coward! I teach you call me coward."
Stepping back a little, Frank threw up his arms in a posture of defence;for he was not without knowledge of what is so oddly termed "the nobleart."
But before the blow fell an unlooked-for intervention relieved him fromthe danger that threatened.
The foreman, when the shanty was being built, had the farther right-handcorner partitioned off so as to form a sort of cabin just big enoughto contain his bunk, his chest, and a small rude table on which laythe books in which he kept his accounts and made memoranda, and somehalf-dozen volumes that constituted his library. In this nook, shut offfrom the observation and society of the others, yet able to overhear and,if he chose to open the door, to oversee also all that went on in thelarger room, Johnston spent, his evenings poring over his books by thelight of a tallow candle, the only other light in the room being thatgiven forth by the ever-blazing fire.
Owing to this separation from the others, Johnston had been unaware ofthe manner in which Frank had been tormented, as it was borne souncomplainingly. But this time Frank's indignant speech, followed sofast by Damase's angry retort, told him plainly that there was need ofhis interference. He emerged from his corner just at the moment whenDamase was ready to strike. One glance at the state of affairs wasenough. Damase's back was turned toward him. With a swift spring, thatstartled the others as if he had fallen through the roof, he dartedforward, and ere the French-Canadian's fist could reach its mark aresistless grasp was laid upon his collar, and, swung clear off his feet,he was flung staggering across the room as though he had been a merechild.
"You Indian dog!" growled Johnston, in his fiercest tones, "what are youabout? Don't let me catch you tormenting that boy again!"
The Young Woodsman; Or, Life in the Forests of Canada Page 5
