A Michigan Man

by Elia W. Peattie

　　

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A PINE forest is nature's expression ofsolemnity and solitude. Sunlight,rivers, cascades, people, music, laughter, ordancing could not make it gay. With itsunceasing reverberations and its eternalshadows, it is as awful and as holy as acathedral.Thirty good fellows working together byday and drinking together by night can keepup but a moody imitation of jollity. Spendtwenty-five of your forty years, as LutherDallas did, in this perennial gloom, andyour soul -- that which enjoys, aspires,competes -- will be drugged as deep as ifyou had quaffed the cup of oblivion.Luther Dallas was counted one of the mostexperienced axe-men in the northern camps.He could fell a tree with the swift surety ofan executioner, and in revenge for his manyarboral murders the woodland had takencaptive his mind, captured and chained itas Prospero did Ariel. The resoundingfootsteps of Progress driven on so mercilessly in this mad age could not reach hisfastness. It did not concern him that menwere thinking, investigating, inventing.His senses responded only to the sonorousmusic of the woods; a steadfast wind ringing metallic melody from the pine-tops contented him as the sound of the sea does thesailor; and dear as the odors of the ocean tothe mariner were the resinous scents of theforest to him. Like a sailor, too, he hadhis superstitions. He had a presentimentthat he was to die by one of these trees, --that some day, in chopping, the tree wouldfall upon and crush him as it did his fatherthe day they brought him back to the campon a litter of pine boughs.One day the gang-boss noticed a tree thatDallas had left standing in a most unwoodmanlike manner in the section which wasallotted to him."What in thunder is that standing therefor?" he asked.Dallas raised his eyes to the pine, towering in stern dignity a hundred feet abovethem."Well," he said feebly, "I noticed it, butkind-a left it t' the last.""Cut it down to-morrow," was theresponse.The wind was rising, and the tree muttered savagely. Luther thought it soundedlike a menace, and turned pale. No trouble has yet been found that will keep a manawake in the keen air of the pineries afterhe has been swinging his axe all day, butthe sleep of the chopper was so broken withdisturbing dreams that night that the beadsgathered on his brow, and twice he criedaloud. He ate his coarse flap-jacks in themorning and escaped from the smoky shantyas soon as he could."It'll bring bad luck, I'm afraid," hemuttered as he went to get his axe from therack. He was as fond of his axe as a soldierof his musket, but to-day he shouldered itwith reluctance. He felt like a man withhis destiny before him. The tree stoodlike a sentinel. He raised his axe, once,twice, a dozen times, but could not bringhimself to make a cut in the bark. Hewalked backwards a few steps and looked up.The funereal green seemed to grow darkerand darker till it became black. It was theembodiment of sorrow. Was it not shakinggiant arms at him? Did it not cry out inangry challenge? Luther did not try tolaugh at his fears; he had never seen anyhumor in life. A gust of wind had someway crept through the dense barricade offoliage that flanked the clearing, and struckhim with an icy chill. He looked at thesky; the day was advancing rapidly. Hewent at his work with an energy as determined as despair. The axe in his practisedhand made clean straight cuts in the trunk,now on this side, now on that. His taskwas not an easy one, but he finished it withwonderful expedition. After the choppingwas finished, the tree stood firm a moment;then, as the tensely-strained fibres began aweird moaning, he sprang aside, and stoodwaiting. In the distance he saw two menhewing a log. The axe-man sent them ashout and threw up his arms for them tolook. The tree stood out clear and beautiful against the gray sky; the men ceasedtheir work and watched it. The vibrationsbecame more violent, and the sounds theyproduced grew louder and louder till theyreached a shrill wild cry. There came apause, then a deep shuddering groan. Thetopmost branches began to move slowly, thewhole stately bulk swayed, and then shottowards the ground. The gigantic trunkbounded from the stump, recoiled like acannon, crashed down, and lay conquered,with a roar as of an earthquake, in a cloudof flying twigs and chips.When the dust had cleared away, the menat the log on the outside of the clearingcould not see Luther. They ran to thespot, and found him lying on the groundwith his chest crushed in. His fearful eyeshad not rightly calculated the distance fromthe stump to the top of the pine, nor rightlyweighed the power of the massed branches,and so, standing spell-bound, watching thedescending trunk as one might watch hisNemesis, the rebound came and left himlying worse than dead.Three months later, when the logs,lopped of their branches, drifted down thestreams, the woodman, a human log loppedof his strength, drifted to a great city. Achange, the doctor said, might prolong hislife. The lumbermen made up a purse, andhe started out, not very definitely knowinghis destination. He had a sister, muchyounger than himself, who at the age of sixteen had married and gone, he believed, toChicago. That was years ago, but he hadan idea that he might find her. He wasnot troubled by his lack of resources; hedid not believe that any man would wantfor a meal unless he were "shiftless."He had always been able to turn his handto something.He felt too ill from the jostling of thecars to notice much of anything on the journey. The dizzy scenes whirling past madehim faint, and he was glad to lie withclosed eyes. He imagined that his littlesister in her pink calico frock and bare feet(as he remembered her) would be at the station to meet him. "Oh, Lu!" she wouldcall from some hiding-place, and he wouldgo and find her.The conductor stopped by Luther's seatand said that they were in the city at last;but it seemed to the sick man as if theywent miles after that, with a multitude oftwinkling lights on one side and a blankdarkness, that they told him was the lake,on the other. The conductor again stoppedby his seat."Well, my man," said he, "how are youfeeling?"Luther, the possessor of the toughestmuscles in. the gang, felt a sick man's irritation at the tone of pity."Oh, I'm all right!" he said, gruffly, andshook off the assistance the conductor triedto offer with his overcoat. "I'm going tomy sister's," he explained, in answer to theinquiry as to where he was going. Theman, somewhat piqued at the spirit inwhich his overtures were met, left him, andLuther stepped on to the platform. Therewas a long vista of semi-light, down whichcrowds of people walked and baggage-menrushed. The building, if it deserved thename, seemed a ruin, and through the archeddoors Luther could see men -- hackmen --dancing and howling like dervishes. Trainswere coming and going, and the whistlesand bells kept up a ceaseless clangor.Luther, with his small satchel and uncouthdress, slouched by the crowd unnoticed, andreached the street. He walked amid suchan illumination as he had never dreamedof, and paused half blinded in the glare ofa broad sheet of electric light that filled apillared entrance into which many peoplepassed. He looked about him. Above onevery side rose great, many-windowed buildings; on the street the cars and carriagesthronged, and jostling crowds dashed headlong among the vehicles. After a time heturned down a street that seemed to him apandemonium filled with madmen. It wentto his head like wine, and hardly left himthe presence of mind to sustain a quietexterior. The wind was laden with a penetrating moisture that chilled him as the dryicy breezes from Huron never had done, andthe pain in his lungs made him faint anddizzy. He wondered if his red-cheekedlittle sister could live in one of those vast,impregnable buildings. He thought ofstopping some of those serious-looking menand asking them if they knew her; but hecould not muster up the courage. Thedistressing experience that comes to almostevery one some time in life, of losing allidentity in the universal humanity, wasbecoming his. The tears began to rolldown his wasted face from loneliness andexhaustion. He grew hungry with longingfor the dirty but familiar cabins of thecamp, and staggered along with eyes halfclosed, conjuring visions of the warm interiors, the leaping fires, the groups oflaughing men seen dimly through clouds oftobacco-smoke.A delicious scent of coffee met his hungry sense and made him really think he wastaking the savory black draught from hisfamiliar tin cup; but the muddy streets,the blinding lights, the cruel, rushing people, were still there. The buildings, however, now became different. They werelower and meaner, with dirty windows.Women laughing loudly crowded about thedoors, and the establishments seemed tobe equally divided between saloon-keepers,pawnbrokers, and dealers in second-handclothes. Luther wondered where they alldrew their support from. Upon one signboard he read, "Lodgings 10 cents to 50cents. A Square Meal for 15 cents," and,thankful for some haven, entered. Here hespent his first night and other nights, whilehis purse dwindled and his strength waned.At last he got a man in a drug-store tosearch the directory for his sister's residence. They found a name he took to behis brother-in-law's. It was two days laterwhen he found the address, -- a great, many-storied mansion on one of the southernboulevards, -- and found also that his searchhad been in vain. Sore and faint, he staggered back to his miserable shelter, only toarise feverish and ill in the morning. Hefrequented the great shop doors, throngedwith brilliantly-dressed ladies, and watchedto see if his little sister might not dash upin one of those satin-lined coaches and takehim where he would be warm and safe andwould sleep undisturbed by drunken, ribaldsongs and loathsome surroundings. Therewere days when he almost forgot his name,and, striving to remember, would lose hissenses for a moment and drift back to theharmonious solitudes of the North andbreathe the resin-scented frosty atmosphere.He grew terrified at the blood he coughedfrom his lacerated lungs, and wondered bitterly why the boys did not come to takehim home.One day, as he painfully dragged himselfdown a residence street, he tried to collecthis thoughts and form some plan for thefuture. He had no trade, understood nohandiwork; he could fell trees. He lookedat the gaunt, scrawny, transplanted specimens that met his eye, and gave himself upto the homesickness that filled his soul.He slept that night in the shelter of a stable, and spent his last money in the morning for a biscuit.He travelled many miles that afternoonlooking for something to which he mightturn his hand. Once he got permission tocarry a hod for half an hour. At the end ofthat time he fainted. When he recovered,the foreman paid him twenty-five cents."For God's sake, man, go home," he said.Luther stared at him with a white face andwent on.There came days when he so forgot hisnative dignity as to beg. He seldomreceived anything; he was referred to various charitable institutions the existence ofwhich he had never heard.One morning, when a pall of smoke enveloped the city and the odors of coal-gasrefused to lift their nauseating poisonthrough the heavy air, Luther, chilled withdew and famished, awoke to a happier life.The loneliness at his heart was gone. Thefeeling of hopeless imprisonment that themiles and miles of streets had terrified himwith gave place to one of freedom and exaltation. Above him he heard the rasping ofpine boughs; his feet trod on a reboundingmat of decay; the sky was as coldly blue asthe bosom of Huron. He walked as if onether, singing a senseless jargon the woodmen had aroused the echoes with, --"Hi yi halloo!The owl sees you!Look what you do!Hi yi halloo!"Swung over his shoulder was a stick hehad used to assist his limping gait, but nowtransformed into the beloved axe. Hewould reach the clearing soon, he thought,and strode on like a giant, while people hurried from his path. Suddenly a smoothtrunk, stripped of its bark and bleached byweather, arose before him."Hi yi halloo!" High went the wastedarm -- crash! -- a broken staff, a jingle ofwires, a maddened, shouting man the centreof a group of amused spectators! A fewmoments later, four broad-shouldered menin blue had him in their grasp, pinioned andguarded, clattering over the noisy streetsbehind two spirited horses. They drewafter them a troop of noisy, jeering boys,who danced about the wagon like a swirlof autumn leaves. Then came a halt, andLuther was dragged up the steps of a squarebrick building with a belfry on the top.They entered a large bare room withbenches ranged about the walls, and broughthim before a man at a desk."What is your name?" asked the man atthe desk."Hi yi halloo!" said Luther."He's drunk, sergeant," said one of themen in blue, and the axe-man was led intothe basement. He was conscious of aninvoluntary resistance, a short struggle, anda final shock of pain, -- then oblivion.The chopper awoke to the realization ofthree stone walls and an iron grating infront. Through this he looked out upona stone flooring across which was a row ofsimilar apartments. He neither knew norcared where he was. The feeling of imprisonment was no greater than he had felton the endless, cheerless streets. He laidhimself on the bench that ran along a sidewall, and, closing his eyes, listened to thebabble of the clear stream and the thunderof the "drive" on its journey. How thelogs hurried and jostled! crushing, whirling,ducking, with the merry lads leaping aboutthem with shouts and laughter. Suddenlyhe was recalled by a voice. Some onehanded a narrow tin cup full of coffee anda thick slice of bread through the grating.Across the way he dimly saw a man eatinga similar slice of bread. Men in other compartments were swearing and singing. Heknew these now for the voices he had heardin his dreams. He tried to force some ofthe bread down his parched and swollenthroat, but failed; the coffee strangled him,and he threw himself upon the bench.The forest again, the night-wind, thewhistle of the axe through the air. Oncewhen he opened his eyes he found it dark.It would soon be time to go to work. Hefancied there would be hoar-frost on thetrees in the morning. How close the cabinseemed! Ha! -- here came his little sister.Her voice sounded like the wind on aspring morning. How loud it swelled now!"Lu! Lu!" she cried.The next morning the lock-up keeperopened the cell door. Luther lay with hishead in a pool of blood. His soul hadescaped from the thrall of the forest."Well, well!" said the little fat police-justice, when he was told of it. "We oughtto have a doctor around to look after suchcases."

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