My Strange Rescue — A Lumber Camp

The wrecks continue at Anticosti.

Not long ago the shattered skeletons of four fine ocean steamers might have been seen upon its fatal shores, but with Gamache the reign of the wreckers ended, never to return.

*A LUMBER CAMP.

* There is no summer in a Canadian lumber camp; that is to say, there is nobody in the camp in summer, which amounts to the same thing.

The season of activity in the camps, or the "shanties" as they are generally called, extends from late September to early April, and all summer long they are left to the care of birds that chirp and squirrels that chatter on the roof.

In the month of September the Canadian lumberman joins the gang of sturdy, active men who are bound for the "shanties," where a winter of hard work awaits them.

For him the forests exist only to be remorselessly cut down; but though he may never stop to think about it, his is a very romantic and fascinating occupation.

September is one of the loveliest months in the Canadian calendar.

The days are still long and sunny.

The heat of summer has passed away, and the chill of autumn not yet come.

One cloudless day follows another, and nature seems to be doing her best to make existence a delight.

This is the time when the shantymen gather into gangs, and by rail or steamer journey northward until they pass the limits of settlement.

Then taking to "shanks' mare" they make their way into the depths of the forest.

Let us follow a gang that is going upon a "limit" still untouched by the axe, far up the Black River, a tributary of the Ottawa, a hundred miles or more from the nearest village.

This gang consists of about forty men, including the foremen, clerk, carpenter, cook, and chore-boy, all active, sturdy, and good-natured fellows.

Most of them are French-Canadians--_habitans_, as the local term is--but English, Scotch, and Irish are found among them too, and quite often swarthy, wild-eyed men whose features tell plainly of Indian blood.

Scouts have previously selected the best site for the camp.

It is usually in the midst of the "bunch" of timber to be cut, so that little time may be lost in going and coming.

On arriving, the first thing done by the gang is to build the shanty, which is to be its home during the long, cold winter.

This edifice makes no pretence to architectural beauty, but nothing could be better adapted to its purpose.

It is an illustration of simplicity and strength combined.

With all hands helping heartily, a shanty forty feet long by twenty-eight feet wide can be put up in five days.

Meantime the builders live in tents.

This is the way they go about it:--First of all, a number of trees are cut down.

The trunks, cleared of all their branches, are sawed into proper lengths, and then laid one upon another until an enclosure with walls eight feet high is obtained.

Upon the top of these walls strong girders are stretched, which are supported in the centre by four great pillars called "scoop-bearers."

Then comes the roof.

A Canadian shanty roof is neither tiled nor shingled, but "scooped."

What is a "scoop"?

It is a piece of timber something like a very long railway tie, one side of which is hollowed out, trough-wise, clear to the ends.

Place two of these side by side, with the concave sides upward, and then lay another on top of them, concave side down, so that the edges overlap and fall into the troughs, and you have a roof that will defy the heaviest rains or wildest snow-storms that Canada can produce.

A floor of roughly-flattened timbers having been laid and a door cut, it only remains to construct the "camboose," or fireplace, and the bunks, and the shanty is complete; provided, of course, every cranny in the walls has been chinked with moss and mud, and a bank of earth thrown up all around the outside to make sure that no draughts can sneak in when the mercury is far below zero.

The "camboose" is quite an important affair, and occupies the place of honour in the centre of the room between the four massive scoop-bearers.

Its construction is as rude and simple as that of the rest of the shanty.

A bank of sand about two feet deep and six feet square makes the hearth.

Over it hang two wooden cranes that hold the capacious kettles, which are always full of the pea-soup or fat salt pork that constitute the chief items in the shantymen's bill of fare.

A mighty fire roars and crackles unceasingly upon the hearth, its smoke escaping through a square hole in the roof--a hole so big that one may lie in the bunks and study the stars.

This rude chimney secures the best of ventilation to the shantymen.

The bunks, which are simply sloping platforms about seven feet in length, running around three sides of the room, offer the sweet allurement of the soft side of a plank to the tired toilers at the close of the day.

Such is a shanty of the good old-fashioned sort.

In later days such refinements of civilization as windows, stoves, and tables have been added by progressive lumbermen, but there are still scores of shanties to which the above description applies.

The shantymen are now ready to begin operations against the great trees that have been standing all about, silent, unconscious spectators of the undertaking.

The forty men are divided according to the nature of their work.

The clerk, cook, and chore-boy are the "home-guard."

The others, according to their various abilities, are choppers, road-cutters, teamsters, sawyers, and chainers.

The only duty requiring explanation is that of chore-boy.

It is usually performed by the youngest member of the gang, although sometimes it falls to the lot of a man well up in years.

The chore-boy is the cook's assistant and general utility worker of the shanty.

He has to chop the firewood, draw the water, wash the dishes, and perform a multitude of such odd jobs, in return for which he is apt to get little thanks and much abuse.

The choppers have the most important and interesting part of the work.

They always work in pairs, and go out against the trees armed with a keen axe apiece and a crosscut-saw between them.

Having selected their victim--say a splendid pine, towering more than a hundred feet in the air--they take up their position at each side.

Soon the strokes of the axes ring out in quick succession.

For some time the yellow chips fly fast, and presently a shiver runs through the tree's mighty frame.

One of the choppers cries warningly to the other, who hastens to get out of the way.

A few more strokes are given with nice skill.

Then comes a rending crack, whose meaning cannot be mistaken; and the stately tree, after quivering a moment as though uncertain which way to fall, crashes headlong to the ground, making a wide swath through the smaller trees standing near.

A good chopper can lay his tree almost exactly where he likes, and yet somehow accidents are of frequent occurrence.

Every winter additions are made to the long list of men whom the trees have succeeded in involving in their own ruin.

A gust of wind, the proximity of another tree, or some such influence may cause the falling trunk to swerve, and fall with fatal force upon the unwary chopper.

The tree felled, the next proceeding is to strip it of its branches, and saw it up into as many logs as can be got from it.

Two, three, four, or even as many as five logs may be obtained from a single tree--the length of each being thirteen and a half feet or sixteen and a half according to the quality.

The odd half-foot is allowed for the "brooming" of the ends as the logs make their rough journey down the streams to the mills.

[Illustration: LUMBERING.

_Page_ 266. ] Eighty logs felled, trimmed, and sawed is quite an ordinary day's work for one pair of choppers; and when the choppers have been "striving"--that is, each pair trying its best to outdo the others--six hundred logs have been turned in by a single pair as the splendid result of a week's work.

The logs are at first piled up on "roll-ways," which are simply two tree-trunks placed a little distance apart.

Later on, when the road-makers have done their part, the teamsters bear them off to the bank of the stream or out upon the ice of the lake, where they wait the coming of spring to begin their journey by water to the mills.

The shantyman leads a free, hearty, healthy life.

From dawn until dark he works in the open air, exercising lungs and muscles.

When the autumn rains are over, and the snow has come to stay, he breathes for four months the clear, cold, bracing air of the Canadian winter, fragrant with the scent of pine and cedar.

No matter how fond of drink he may be, not one drop of liquor can he have, although he may and does drink long and deep from the "cup that cheers."

His fare possesses at least two sterling merits.

It is substantial in quality and unlimited in quantity.

He enjoys it most when the day's work is over, and, no less weary than hungry, he trudges home to the shanty.

There he finds the warm welcome of a steaming supper awaiting him.

Drawn up about the blazing fire he sees a pot of excellent pea-soup, a boiler of strong tea, a big pan full of fat pork fried and floating in gravy, another pan containing slices of cold boiled pork, huge loaves of bread baked in great iron pots buried deep in the ashes of the "camboose"--and better than city baker ever made--and a pile of bright tin basins.

Picking up two of the basins, he fills one with soup and the other with tea.

Helping himself to a generous slice of the hot bread, he makes use of it as a plate for a slice of the pork.

Then he retires to the edge of his bunk, and with the aid of his clasp-knife discusses this solid if not varied repast.

There is not much change in the bill of fare all winter.

Occasionally, perhaps, if the roads permit, fresh beef "on foot" will be sent up from the depot, and the lumbermen may enjoy the luxury of steaks and roasts.

Quite often, too, a bit of game will fall in their way while they are working in the woods.

Great is the rejoicing when Francois or Alec succeeds in bringing down a fat deer.

Bear-steak, too, is not unknown.

The bear is trapped in a "dead fall," or small hut above the door of which a heavy log is hung in such a way that it drops with crushing force upon the bear pushing in to get at the bait.

Sometimes the shantymen do a little trapping on their own account.

One of them, who wished to obtain a fine bear-skin, paid dearly for his prize.

He had set his steel spring trap, and returning after an interval, found that it had disappeared.

The marks in the snow made tracking easy; and hurrying along, he presently reached a great log over which the trap had evidently been dragged.

His haste made him careless, and springing across the broad trunk without stopping to reconnoitre, he threw himself right into the arms of the bear.

The animal, weary of dragging the heavy trap, was resting on the other side.

The hunted creature was furious with pain.

The shanty-man's only weapon was his sheath-knife, which he drew and stabbed the bear again and again in the breast.

But stab as he might he could not loose the brute's fatal grasp.

Next day his comrades, anxiously following up his trail, found him dead, with the dead bear's paws still holding him fast.

The shantyman's recess comes when the evening meal has been despatched.

He has an hour or more before bed-time.

It is pipes all round, and song and joke and story win generous applause from the not over-critical audience.

The French-Canadians are especially fond of singing.

They have many songs, some of which, like "A la claire fontaine" and "En roulant ma boule," are full of spirit and beauty.

If Francois or Alec has remembered to bring his fiddle with him--and he seldom forgets it--the singing is sure to be followed by dancing as the evening goes on.

Bedtime comes early in the shanty.

By nine o'clock, at the latest, all have "turned in."

The process of going to bed consists simply in taking off one's coat and boots, and rolling up snugly in a couple of thick blankets.

Many a millionaire would gladly give one of his millions for the ability to sleep as soundly and restfully in his soft bed as does the shantyman upon his pine boards.

In the dusk of early morning the foreman's loud voice is heard calling to the men,-- "Turn out now, and get your breakfast!"

The lumberman has been asleep ten good hours, but he feels as if he had just lain down!

Sunday is the day the shantyman likes best.

No work is done upon that day.

He can spend the time as he pleases.

Generally he is content to lounge about smoking, and enjoying the luxury of doing nothing.

A

religious service is so rare a treat that when there is one all attend it without reference to their creed.

Thus the long winter slips by.

The logs accumulate upon the river bank or out upon the icy lake.

When the warm days of spring come the lumberman's labours are at an end, so far as the shanty is concerned.

The great spring drive begins.

The logs start upon their journey southward, and the shantyman becomes a river-driver.

Armed with pike-pole or camp-hook, he hurries his awkward squads of logs down stream as a shepherd drives his flock to market.

This is often a very exciting and dangerous occupation.

The Canadian rivers abound in falls and rapids, past which the flocks of tree-trunks have to be guided skilfully.

Many a time the river-driver's life is in peril as he wades through the turbulent, ice-cold water, or leaps from rock to rock, or from log to log, in his efforts to prevent his charges from stranding.

When the drive is finished the shantyman's labours are over, until the return of autumn recalls him to the forest.

[Illustration: Lacrosse headpiece]