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The lumberjack lent picturesqueness to the landscape and the vocabulary and circulated ready money, but his industry did little directly to advance permanent settlement or the wise use of Canadian resources. The self-contained life of each community and each farm pointed to the lack of good means of transport.
He was walloping around the mill, as usual, singing a crazy old lumberjack song about 'six brave Cana-jen byes, who broke a lumber jam. Martin was always whooping away at that dirge, I think I can hear him yet. I'm not up in musical terms, but I think the tune was a kind of Gregorian chant, and as mournful as a dog howling at night.
"You will be called a lumberjack a social pariah. Your associates will be big men some good and some bad bad as they make them and all rough. Good and bad, they would rather fight than eat, and they would rather watch others fight than fight.
"There's been foul play of some sort down in that old shack that's used in the wintertime for a lumberjack boarding house. These three boys were there at the time the man died and don't seem to be able to give a satisfactory account of themselves. They have been put under arrest," answered the officer sulkily.
"Heavin' like sawlogs shootin' a rapid," as Private Corbin, a lumberjack from the Eau Claire, was later heard to remark. "What is he like now?" inquired the colonel, after listening to the sergeant major's report of the Homeric combat. "He is in a compartment in the hold, sir, and raging like one demented.
Shirley knew that half- trained baritone, for she had heard it the night before when Bryce Cardigan, faking his own accompaniment at the piano, had sung for her a number of carefully expurgated lumberjack ballads, the lunatic humour of which had delighted her exceedingly.
That part of it is settled; and weak, anemic, tenderly nurtured little Bryce Cardigan must put his turkey on his back and go into the woods looking for a job as lumberjack ... Busted, eh? Did I or did I not hear the six o'clock whistle blow at the mill? Bet you a dollar I did." "Oh, I have title to everything yet." "How I do have to dig for good news!
"Want a guide, Mister?" questioned a young man dressed as a lumberjack, lounging up to Lieutenant Wingate. "I kin take ye anywheres." "We have one," replied Hippy briefly. "I don't see none. Who be he?" "Name's Hindenburg," said Hippy, pointing to the bull pup. "Greatest little guide west of the Atlantic Ocean. I paid a thousand dollars for his bark alone.
Over across the bay some one was playing an accordeon, and to its strains a stout-lunged lumberjack was roaring out a song, with all his fellows joining strong in the chorus: "Oh, the Saginaw Kid was a cook in a camp, way up on the Ocon-to-o-o. And the cook in a camp in them old days had a damn hard row to hoe-i-oh! Had a damn hard row to hoe." There was a fine, rollicking air to it.
The man of title, the Bachelor of Arts, the bootblack, the lumberjack and the millionaire's son meet on common ground. We wear the same uniform, we think the same thoughts, we do not remember what we were, we only know what we are soldiers fighting in the same great cause. Some days in the trenches are dreariness itself.
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