Afar in the Forest

by William Henry Giles Kingston

Sometimes we joined what was called a “logging bee,” which I may explain thus:—When a new hut was to be erected, we and others united to drag the logs out of the forest, and to hew them into proper lengths to form the walls of the hut. These are placed, not upright, but horizontally, one above another. The length of the outside walls is first determined; whereupon the lowest log is let a little way into the earth, and a groove is cut on the upper side with a deep notch at each end. The next log is placed on the top of it, each end being so cut as to dovetail into the others at right angles; thus one log is placed upon another until the destined height of the wall is reached. Doors and windows are afterwards sawed out; and the rafters are fixed on in the usual fashion. The roof is formed of rough slabs of wood called shingles; the interstices being filled up with clay. A big iron stove, the flues running from one end to the other, keeps the hut thoroughly warm in winter; while the thickness of the walls causes it to be cool in summer.

Many of the settlers had large houses of this description; but stores, and buildings where warmth was not of so much consequence, had their walls merely of planks nailed on to the framework. Uncle Stephen’s house was built of logs raised on a platform above the ground, with steps leading to it, and a broad verandah in front. It contained a sitting-room, several bedrooms, and a kitchen; the verandah being painted a bright green, with stripes of pink, while the window-frames and doors were yellow. I used to think it a beautiful mansion, but perhaps that was on account of those who lived within. The abode of Lily was of necessity, to my mind, charming.

The autumn of that year was now approaching its close. There is in North America, at that period of the year, what is called the “Indian summer.” The air is balmy, but fresh, and mere existence to those in health is delightful; a light gauze-like mist pervades the atmosphere, preventing the rays of the sun, beaming forth from an unclouded sky, from proving over-oppressive. Already the forest has assumed its particoloured tints. The maple has put on a dress of every hue,—of yellow, red, pink, and green. The leaves of the beeches become of a golden tinge, and those of the oak appear as if turned into bronze, while numerous creepers present the richest reds.

We settlers, however, had but little time in which to admire the beauties of Nature, for we knew that every day was rapidly bringing us to the period when all agricultural labour must cease, and the ground would be covered with a sheet of snow. Not that we were then doomed to idleness, however, for we had abundance of out-of-door work during the winter, in felling trees; and, as soon as the snow had hardened, dragging them over it,—either to form huge heaps, where they could be burned, or to be placed in the spots where they were required for putting up buildings or fences.

Uncle Stephen having engaged some new hands,—who, being fresh from the “old country,” were unwilling, as they were unfit, to go further into the forest,—allowed Mike and Quambo to come to us. We therefore put up a room for them next to our own, and which could be heated in winter by the same stove. We were thus able to get on much more rapidly with our task of clearing the ground. Mike, indeed, was a great acquisition to our party; for, besides singing a good Irish song, he had learned to play the fiddle,—and, of course, he had brought his “Cremona,” of which he was justly proud, along with him. He beguiled the long winter evenings with many a merry tune, and not unfrequently set old Quambo dancing. Sometimes we would look in; and we found it great fun to see Quambo, in the confined space of the cabin, coming the “double shuffle”—bounding up and down, and whirling round and round, snapping his fingers and stamping his feet, until the perspiration streamed down his sooty cheeks. Mike would continue bobbing his head, meanwhile, and applauding with voice and gesture, though keeping his countenance, and looking as grave as a judge while listening to the counsel for a prisoner.

We had now made an opening which enabled us to see the river from our hut; and Mike declared that we were getting quite civilised, and were beginning to look like being in the midst of a great city, barring the houses, and streets, and people.

“Sure, they’ll be afther coming one of these days,” he added.

“When that happens, it will be time for us to think of moving further westward,” observed Uncle Mark.

A violent storm, which sent the boughs and leaves flying about our heads, brought the “Indian summer” to a conclusion, and the frost set in soon afterwards.

One evening, after the day’s work was over, and supper had been finished, we were sitting in our hut employed in various occupations before turning in for the night, when a low howl reached our ears.