The Drama of the Forests | Page 2

for, as Emerson says: "In the woods we return to
reason and faith. Then I feel that nothing can befall me in life--no
disgrace, no calamity (leaving me my eyes)--which Nature cannot
repair. Standing on the bare ground--my head bathed by the blithe air
and uplifted into infinite space--all mean egoism vanishes. . . . I am the
lover of uncontained and immortal beauty."
So, to make my life-dream come true, to contemplate in all its thrilling
action and undying splendour the drama of the forests, I travelled
twenty-three times through various parts of the vast northern woods,
between Maine and Alaska, and covered thousands upon thousands of
miles by canoe, pack-train, snowshoes, bateau, dog-train, buck-board,
timber-raft, prairie-schooner, lumber-wagon, and "alligator." No one
trip ever satisfied me, or afforded me the knowledge or the experience I
sought, for traversing a single section of the forest was not unlike
making one's way along a single street of a metropolis and then trying
to persuade oneself that one knew all about the city's life. So back again
I went at all seasons of the year to encamp in that great timber-land that
sweeps from the Atlantic to the Pacific. Thus it has taken me
thirty-three years to gather the information this volume contains, and
my only hope in writing it is that perhaps others may have had the same
day-dream, and that in this book they may find a reliable and
satisfactory answer to all their wonderings. But making my dream
come true--what delight it gave me! What sport and travel it afforded
me! What toil and sweat it caused me! What food and rest it brought
me! What charming places it led me through! What interesting people
it ranged beside me! What romance it unfolded before me! and into
what thrilling adventures it plunged me!

But before we paddle down the winding wilderness aisle toward the
great stage upon which Diana and all her attendant huntsmen and forest
creatures may appear, I wish to explain that in compliance with the
wishes of the leading actors--who actually lived their parts of this
story--fictitious names have been given to the principal characters and
to the principal trading posts, lakes, and rivers herein depicted.
Furthermore, in order to give the reader a more interesting, complete,
and faithful description of the daily and the yearly life of the forest
dwellers as I have observed it, I have taken the liberty of weaving
together the more interesting facts I have gathered--both first- and
second-hand--into one continuous narrative as though it all happened in
a single year. And in order to retain all the primitive local colour, the
unique costumes, and the fascinating romance of the fur-trade days as I
witnessed them in my twenties--though much of the life has already
passed away--the scene is set to represent a certain year in the early
nineties.
ARTHUR HEMING.

THE DRAMA OF THE FORESTS
I
ROMANCE AND ADVENTURE
HER FATHER THE FREE TRADER
It was September 9, 189-. From sunrise to sunset through mist,
sunshine, shower, and shadow we travelled, and the nearer we drew to
our first destination, the wilder the country became, the more
water-fowl we saw, and the more the river banks were marked with
traces of big game. Here signs told us that three caribou had crossed the
stream, there muddy water was still trickling into the hoofprint of a
moose, and yonder a bear had been fishing. Finally, the day of our
arrival dawned, and as I paddled, I spent much of the time dreaming of
the adventure before me. As our beautiful birchen craft still sped on her

way, the handsome bow parted the shimmering waters, and a passing
breeze sent little running waves gurgling along her sides, while the
splendour of the autumn sun was reflected on a far-reaching row of
dazzling ripples that danced upon the water, making our voyageurs
lower their eyes and the trader doze again. There was no other sign of
life except an eagle soaring in and out among the fleecy clouds slowly
passing overhead. All around was a panorama of enchanting forest.
My travelling companion was a "Free Trader," whose name was
Spear--a tall, stoop-shouldered man with heavy eyebrows and shaggy,
drooping moustache. The way we met was amusing. It happened in a
certain frontier town. His first question was as to whether I was single.
His second, as to whether my time was my own. Then he slowly looked
me over from head to foot. He seemed to be measuring my stature and
strength and to be noting the colour of my eyes and hair.
Narrowing his vision, he scrutinized me more carefully than before, for
now he seemed to be reading my character--if not my soul. Then,
smiling, he blurted out:
"Come, be my guest