Barkskins (59 page)

“He says there is a side trail that will take us onto the Shiawassee. The Mackinac crosses the Shiawassee. But we do not go on the Mackinac but continue straight on a trail that follows the shore of Huron. He calls it Along-the-Shore Trail.” The Chippewa volunteered to show them the side trail that would take them to the Shiawassee and without waiting for more talk set off at a fast lope.

“I'll just go with them, mark the trail and return for you,” Breitsprecher said. Before they were out of sight the Indians stopped suddenly and spoke among themselves, then the youngest one looked back at James. “Bacco! Bacco now!” James plunged his hands into his pack and pulled out twelve Cuban cigars, two for each man. He was about to present them to the Chippewa with a bit of a flourish when Breitsprecher said, “They will want to stay and smoke with us, so give them to me and when they have pointed out the connecting trail I will give them the tobacco and return for you.” He explained this to the Indians and they set off again, Breitsprecher stretching his legs to keep up. Once again James and Lennart and the horses waited. And waited.

“Suppose they killed Armenius?” said James in the afternoon. “They could do so and take the cigars. It's a long time he's gone.”

“Backtracking can take time. Did not Armenius say about eight miles? I warrant it is at least eight miles. But I do not understand why we could not all have gone with them. There's less danger in numbers. And it would have saved time since we must go there anyway. I'll smoke one of your remaining cigars with you while we wait.”

“To be sure. Cigars are useful when hunting white pine, eh?”

•  •  •

Breitsprecher was back before dusk. Before he could say anything, Lennart, who had been coming to a slow boil, said, “We should all have gone with you. We would be on that trail now if we had. We lost time. From now on we do not sit and wait while you run ahead. Do you understand me, Herr Breitsprecher?”

“I do. Of course you are right, but I was afraid it might be a ruse and that the proximity of James's cigars would have incited them to bad actions. In fact they were very agreeable, very pleased with the Cuban tobacco. They sat down at once to smoke at the trail junction.”

“How far is it?” said James, stiff from the long wait.

“Not above nine miles, less than two hours horseback. Then they said maybe five, six days' walk, which I think we may do in three as we have horses. The connecting trail looked not so bad. A bit overgrown. We can go there now if you like or rest until morning. You decide,” he said to Lennart Vogel.

“Immediately. The wait was very tiring. I, for one, am anxious to find these pines.”

•  •  •

Breitsprecher's assessment of the trail was inadequate. The first mile was relatively open but then they were on low ground forcing their way through such choking rampant growth they had to dismount and lead their suffering animals. “Not so many Indians use this trail,” said Breitsprecher. “Nature is taking it back.”

When they finally stopped for the night and had rubbed grease on the horses' cut legs he said, “The Chippewa told me when they go up to those pines they go by water in canoes. That is good news for us as it means the forests are on a river or the lakeshore. Michigan is all lakes and rivers. It is country made for the lumber business.”

•  •  •

There was no mistaking the Shiawassee when they reached it, a fair trail well beaten by many travelers. Their path climbed ever higher, ever clearer into forest. And what forest. Big white pine were everywhere, thicker and thicker. As they curved northeast the Saginaw Trail came in on their right and they were in the most choice pine forest any of them had ever seen. A pure stand of huge trees four and five feet in diameter, the tiered branches resembling great green pagodas a hundred and fifty feet tall, two hundred feet and more of the prized fine-grained wood, easy to float downriver or hold in bays and pounds.

They made an early camp and Breitsprecher spent the daylight hours walking, looking, measuring, computing, marking, marking. He came back and sat on a log beside the fire. He was trembling a little and ate the last of the near-rancid venison.

“Well?” said Lennart. “What do you think?”

“I walked off ten acres square and did some computing.” He jerked his thumb at the trees. “This right where we are measures out to about twenty-five thousand board feet each acre.”

“That cannot be correct,” said James. “You must have made an error.”

“I did not believe it myself, so I surveyed twice. That is a modest estimate. I have never seen a forest like this in my life, did not know such a thing existed. This must be the greatest stand of white pine in the world. Now we must try and grasp the extent. It may be just a few hundred acres of these extraordinary trees. It may be more.”

It was more. Mile after dense mile after mile of the largest and straightest pines. “God,” said Lennart looking up at the clouds, “we thank Thee for this glorious treasure.”

None of them could sleep that night and Breitsprecher was up before first light, making a fire, boiling coffee, dropping things. They drank the scalding black stuff, packed up and set out as soon as there was light enough to see. Day after day they walked and rode through the magic forest. They reached a great bay on Huron's shore, but of the pines there was no end.

“This is so far beyond anything we expected,” said Lennart. “Here is what we must do. First, we must get to the land office and start buying up as much of this forest as we possibly can. We must establish a headquarters, whether Detroit or where I do not know. We must rush back to Boston and explain to the Board what we have found. Armenius must continue looking, continue surveying and grading. There are centuries of timberwork here. But we have so many things that must be done we will not be able to start cutting for at least a year, perhaps two, while we lay the groundwork. We shall have to hire you some assistants,” he said to Breitsprecher. “And someone must deal with the land office. Cyrus has to help. We must contact our markets. Albany may well be a good shipping point as it has the canal terminus. This is our future for generations, right here,” he said, and he stamped his boot on the pine duff. “This is the making of Duke and Sons. There can never be anything better than what we have found.” He was babbling.

“Great gods,” said James. “A thousand men could not cut all this in a thousand years. We'll get them. We'll get a thousand men.”

Armenius Breitsprecher gazed into the fire and said nothing. Not for the first time he saw the acquisitive hunger of Duke & Sons was so great they intended to clear the continent. And he was helping them. He hated the American clear-cut despoliation, the insane wastage of sound valuable wood, the destruction of the soil, the gullying and erosion, the ruin of the forest world with no thought for the future—the choppers considered the supply to be endless—there was always another forest. Rapine had been a force in the affairs of Duke & Sons since its beginnings, but with this find it would likely become the company's engine.

He himself did not stand to become wealthy from his percentage of the glorious treasure. In the years he had worked for the Dukes he had only received a little pinch of the forestland he cruised—twenty acres here, a section there, two acres on a mountaintop, fifty acres of tamarack swamp. Small pieces too widely separated that were difficult to sell, a meager return for his work. If he wanted any of the big Michigan pine he would have to connive to get it. The thought troubled him.

•  •  •

As they always did James Duke and Lennart Vogel smoked a cigar before they unrolled their blankets, and as he always did Armenius gathered an armful of wood, called Hans Carl von Carlowitz to him, ruffled his ears and lay down beside the fire. It was his task to keep it stoked through the night.

Lennart spoke in a near whisper. “James, I wish to ask you a delicate question. I would value your frank answer.”

“Yes. What is it?”

“Do you—please answer frankly—do you—do you entirely trust Armenius?” James considered for a long time. Despite the excitement of the day and the gravity of the question Lennart was nearly asleep when James said, “I have no reason to distrust Armenius.”

“Nor I,” said Lennart. “It is just that this vast richness of pine breeds suspicion and worry. It is so great it can hardly be encompassed by my mind.”

I
t was a clear October dawn when they reached Boston, the autumn leaves in their fiery coats. James went straight to his house. On his way out again in clean linen, and a butternut-brown frock coat, he looked in at Posey and said, “My dear, I am returned.”

“Well, James. Did you find what you hoped for?”

“We certainly found good timber. The difficulty will be in getting it out.”

“Isn't that always the same problem? Well do I remember the stratagems of log extraction in New Brunswick and Maine.”

“This is a somewhat different proposition. How does Lavinia do? When does she leave for England?” Lavinia had been sent to a school for girls in London the past year.

“Thank you for your interest, sir,” said Posey acidly. “Very much appreciated, I'm sure. In truth we are having a tussle over this. She does not wish to go back to that school—why I cannot say beyond her stubborn character. She finds no fault with the school except to denigrate the mathematics teacher, whom she calls ‘an ignoramus.' ”

“No doubt. She has always been very quick at figures and abstract notions.”

“At first I was opposed to these vapors, but this morning I have been considering if it may not be for the best to keep her here and hire private tutors.”

“I quite agree,” said James. “She is too impressionable for school in England.” He thought of his own unhappy childhood in that place.

“She is young but it is in her and our interests to see she meets young men of the best families. In England I worry that she might become the prey of impoverished fortune hunters.”

“Likely enough. The place swarms with old families who have nothing but their names and crumbling houses. A wealthy American girl is a plum to them. I saw it often. Really, it would be better to keep her here.”

“Good, we agree. Should I begin a search for a proper girls' school in Boston? Or a tutor?”

But James was already cantering down the stairs and into the New England morning.

“Always the selfish ruffian,” said Posey.

•  •  •

Lennart and James tried to set the Board afire with descriptions of the mighty pines of Michigan, the great rivers and streams all connected to Lakes Huron, Michigan or Superior, the strategic placement of Detroit on the narrows between Huron and Erie, road expansions, the Erie Canal connection to Albany and on to New York City. Edward and Freegrace sat stone-faced. Cyrus Hempstead was nodding yes, yes, yes.

Lennart said, “We all know that getting the logs out of the forests and to the mills is the key to timber profits.” James got up and opened a window, letting in the bright air.

“Ah,” said Edward sourly. “A very rosy picture. But where are the lumbermen to come from? You are speaking of an unpopulated region. Or do you intend to teach Indians how to use the ax?”

“Some of our best axmen began life in a wigwam. But that is beside the point. White men are coming into the southern part of Michigan like spring geese heading north. The population is in spate. Have you not heard the expression ‘Michigan Fever,' which denotes the rush? I am confident we can attract men to work in the woods. Many of the newcomers are Maine men—they smell the trees. We'll put out advertisements. Where there are trees such as we saw, men will come for them. But first we
must
procure the land and build our sawmills. James is returning to the Detroit land office immediately to buy up sections—if the Board agrees. The government cost is one hundred dollars for an eighty, eight hundred for a section.”

“You say ‘we' but James does not have authority to loose Duke and Sons' purse strings.”

James spoke up. “Because Lennart and I feel immediate action is vital I have agreed to use my own money to secure the lands. I will then sell them to the company for an additional twenty-five cents an acre.”

Edward, who as elder and Board president did hold the purse strings (Freegrace was nominally the treasurer), scribbled and said, “That is nine hundred sixty dollars a section. A tidy little profit for James.”

“I think it fair as I have the ready funds and, if I am not mistaken, Duke and Sons do not. Is it not true that we would have to liquidate some of the New York and New England holdings in order to make large purchases?”

“Of course, but I cannot see what the all-fired hurry is about,” snapped Edward.

When Freegrace made a disgreeable sound, Lennart, though he felt like shouting in the old men's faces, said in a calm pleasant voice, “Breitsprecher gave a conservative figure of twenty-five thousand board feet per acre. With lumber at four dollars a thousand the company would net one hundred dollars per acre or sixty-four thousand a section. Duke and Sons will take in sixty-four thousand dollars on each section, for which they will have paid only nine hundred and sixty dollars.”

“I have never heard of such a high per acre yield,” said Edward, drumming his fingers on the table. “It cannot be correct.” He glared at the open window as though he would shut out the azure day.

“Breitsprecher took his tally and measurements over and over to be sure. It is unprecedented. Yet the trees are there. We saw them, touched them, walked through them for two and a half weeks. You cannot envision the vast extent of this monstrous fine pinery.” Lennart spoke as though to dangerous idiots.

“The competition is no doubt rushing in.”

“They have not yet begun rushing. We are the first,” said Lennart, barely subduing the triumph in his voice. “It was a tiresome journey and not many would wish to undertake it.”