A MICHIGAN MAN By Elia W. Peattie Copyright, 1891, by J. B. Lippincott & Co A pine forest is nature's expression of solemnity and solitude. Sunlight, rivers, cascades, people, music, laughter, or dancing couldnot make it gay. With its unceasing reverberations and its eternalshadows, it is as awful and as holy as a cathedral. Thirty good fellows working together by day and drinking together bynight can keep up but a moody imitation of jollity. Spend twenty-fiveof your forty years, as Luther Dallas did, in this perennial gloom, andyour soul--that which enjoys, aspires, competes--will be drugged as deepas if you had quaffed the cup of oblivion. Luther Dallas was counted oneof the most experienced axe-men in the northern camps. He could fella tree with the swift surety of an executioner, and in revenge for hismany arborai murders the woodland had taken captive his mind, capturedand chained it as Prospero did Ariel. The resounding footsteps ofProgress driven on so mercilessly in this mad age could not reach hisfastness. It did not concern him that men were thinking, investigating, inventing. His senses responded only to the sonorous music of the woods;a steadfast wind ringing metallic melody from the pine-tops contentedhim as the sound of the sea does the sailor; and dear as the odors ofthe ocean to the mariner were the resinous scents of the forest to him. Like a sailor, too, he had his superstitions. He had a presentiment thathe was to die by one of these trees--that some day, in chopping, thetree would fall upon and crush him as it did his father the day theybrought him back to the camp on a litter of pine boughs. One day the gang boss noticed a tree that Dallas had left standing in amost unwoodman-like manner in the section which was alloted to him. "What in thunder is that standing there for?" he asked. Dallas raised his eyes to the pine, towering in stern dignity a hundredfeet above them. "Well, " he said, feebly, "I noticed it, but kind-a left it t' the last. " "Cut it down to-morrow, " was the response. The wind was rising, and the tree muttered savagely. Luther thought itsounded like a menace, and turned pale. No trouble has yet been foundthat will keep a man awake in the keen air of the pineries after hehas been swinging his axe all day, but the sleep of the chopper was sobroken with disturbing dreams that night that the beads gathered onhis brow, and twice he cried aloud. He ate his coarse flap-jacks in themorning and escaped from the smoky shanty as soon as he could. "It'll bring bad luck, I'm afraid, " he muttered as he went to get hisaxe from the rack. He was as fond of his axe as a soldier of his musket, but to-day he shouldered it with reluctance. He felt like a man with hisdestiny before him. The tree stood like a sentinel. He raised his axe, once, twice, a dozen times, but could not bring himself to make a cutin the bark. He walked backward a few steps and looked up. The funerealgreen seemed to grow darker and darker till it became black. It was theembodiment of sorrow. Was it not shaking giant arms at him? Did it notcry out in angry challenge? Luther did not try to laugh at his fears;he had never seen any humor in life. A gust of wind had someway creptthrough the dense barricade of foliage that flanked the clearing, and struck him with an icy chill. He looked at the sky: the day wasadvancing rapidly. He went at his work with an energy as determined asdespair. The axe in his practiced hand made clean straight cuts in thetrunk, now on this side, now on that. His task was not an easy one, but he finished it with wonderful expedition. After the chopping wasfinished, the tree stood firm a moment; then, as the tensely strainedfibres began a weird moaning, he sprang aside, and stood waiting. In thedistance he saw two men hewing a log. The axe-man sent them a shout andthrew up his arms for them to look. The tree stood out clear and beautiful against the gray sky; the menceased their work and watched it. The vibrations became more violent, and the sounds they produced grew louder and louder till they reached ashrill wild cry. There came a pause; then a deep shuddering groan. Thetopmost branches began to move slowly, the whole stately bulk swayed, and then shot toward the ground. The gigantic trunk bounded from thestump, recoiled like a cannon, crashed down, and lay conquered, with aroar as of an earthquake, in a cloud of flying twigs and chips. When the dust had cleared away, the men at the log on the outside of theclearing could not see Luther. They ran to the spot, and found himlying on the ground with his chest crushed in. His fearful eyes had notrightly calculated the distance from the stump to the top of the pine, nor rightly weighed the power of the massed branches, and so, standingspell-bound, watching the descending trunk as one might watch hisNemesis, the rebound came and left him lying worse than dead. Three months later, when the logs, lopped of their branches, drifteddown the streams, the woodman, a human log lopped of his strength, drifted to a great city. A change, the doctor said, might prolonghis life. The lumbermen made up a purse, and he started out, not verydefinitely knowing his destination. He had a sister, much younger thanhimself, who at the age of sixteen had married and gone, he believed, toChicago. That was years ago, but he had an idea that he might find her. He was not troubled by his lack of resources: he did not believe thatany man would want for a meal unless he were "shiftless. " He had alwaysbeen able to turn his hand to something. He felt too ill from the jostling of the cars to notice much of anythingon the journey. The dizzy scenes whirling past made him faint, and hewas glad to lie with closed eyes. He imagined that his little sister inher pink calico frock and bare feet (as he remembered her) would beat the station to meet him. "Oh, Lu!" she would call from somehiding-place, and he would go and find her. The conductor stopped by Luther's seat and said that they were in thecity at last; but it seemed to the sick man as if they went miles afterthat, with a multitude of twinkling lights on one side and a blankdarkness that they told him was the lake on the other. The conductoragain stopped by his seat. "Well, my man, " said he, "how are you feel-ing?" Luther, the possessor of the toughest muscles in the gang, felt a sickman's irritation at the tone of pity. "Oh, I'm all right!" he said, gruffly, and shook off the assistance theconductor tried to offer with his overcoat. "I'm going to my sister's, "he explained, in answer to the inquiry as to where he was going. Theman, somewhat piqued at the spirit in which his overtures were met, lefthim, and Luther stepped on to the platform. There was a long vista ofsemi-light, down which crowds of people walked and baggagemen rushed. The building, if it deserved the name, seemed a ruin, and through thearched doors Luther could see men--hackmen--dancing and howling likedervishes. Trains were coming and going, and the whistles and bellskept up a ceaseless clangor. Luther, with his small satchel and uncouthdress, slouched by the crowd unnoticed, and reached the street. Hewalked amid such an illumination as he had never dreamed of, and pausedhalf blinded in the glare of a broad sheet of electric light that filleda pillared entrance into which many people passed. He looked about him. Above on every side rose great, many-windowed buildings; on the streetthe cars and carriages thronged, and jostling crowds dashed headlongamong the vehicles. After a time he turned down a street that seemed tohim a pandemonium filled with madmen. It went to his head like wine, andhardly left him the presence of mind to sustain a quiet exterior. Thewind was laden with a penetrating moisture that chilled him as the dryicy breezes from Huron never had done, and the pain in his lungs madehim faint and dizzy. He wondered if his red-cheeked little sister couldlive in one of those vast, impregnable buildings. He thought of stoppingsome of those serious-looking men and asking them if they knew her, but he could not muster up the courage. The distressing experience thatcomes to almost every one some time in life, of losing all identity inthe universal humanity, was becoming his. The tears began to roll downhis wasted face from loneliness and exhaustion. He grew hungry withlonging for the dirty but familiar cabins of the camp, and staggeredalong with eyes half closed, conjuring visions of the warm interiors, the leaping fires, the groups of laughing men seen dimly through cloudsof tobacco smoke. A delicious scent of coffee met his hungry sense and made him reallythink he was taking the savory black draught from his familiar tin cup;but the muddy streets, the blinding lights, the cruel, rushing people, were still there. The buildings, however, now became different. Theywere lower and meaner, with dirty windows. Women laughing loudly crowdedabout the doors, and the establishments seemed to be equally dividedbetween saloon-keepers, pawnbrokers, and dealers in second-hand clothes. Luther wondered where they all drew their support from. Upon onesignboard he read, "Lodgings 10 cents to 50 cents. A Square Meal for 15cents, " and, thankful for some haven, entered. Here he spent his firstnight and other nights, while his purse dwindled and his strength waned. At last he got a man in a drug store to search the directory forhis sister's residence. They found a name he took to be hisbrother-in-law's. It was two days later when he found the address--agreat many-storied mansion on one of the southern boulevards--and foundalso that his search had been in vain. Sore and faint, he staggered backto his miserable shelter, only to arise feverish and ill in the morning. He frequented the great shop doors, thronged with brilliantly dressedladies, and watched to see if his little sister might not dash up inone of those satin-lined coaches and take him where he would be warm andsafe and would sleep undisturbed by drunken, ribald songs and loathsomesurroundings. There were days when he almost forgot his name, and, striving to remember, would lose his senses for a moment and drift backto the harmonious solitudes of the North and breathe the resin-scentedfrosty atmosphere. He grew terrified at the blood he coughed from hislacerated lungs, and wondered bitterly why the boys did not come to takehim home. One day, as he painfully dragged himself down a residence street, hetried to collect his thoughts and form some plan for the future. He hadno trade, understood no handiwork: he could fell trees! He looked atthe gaunt, scrawny, transplanted specimens that met his eye, and gavehimself up to the homesickness that filled his soul. He slept that nightin the shelter of a stable, and spent his last money in the morning fora biscuit. He traveled many miles that afternoon looking for something to which hemight turn his hand. Once he got permission to carry a hod for half anhour. At the end of that time he fainted. When he recovered, the foremanpaid him twenty-five cents. "For God's sake, man, go home, " he said. Luther stared at him with a white face and went on. There came days when he so forgot his native dignity as to beg. He seldom received anything; he was referred to various charitableinstitutions whose existence he had never heard of. One morning, when a pall of smoke enveloped the city and the odors ofcoal-gas refused to lift their nauseating poison through the heavy air, Luther, chilled with dew and famished, awoke to a happier life. Theloneliness at his heart was gone. The feeling of hopeless imprisonmentthat the miles and miles of streets had terrified him with gave placeto one of freedom and exaltation. Above him he heard the rasping ofpine boughs; his feet trod on a rebounding mat of decay; the sky was ascoldly blue as the bosom of Huron. He walked as if on ether, singing asenseless 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 he had used to assist his limpinggait, but now transformed into the beloved axe. He would reach theclearing soon, he thought, and strode on like a giant, while peoplehurried from his path. Suddenly a smooth trunk, stripped of its bark andbleached by weather, arose before him. "Hi yi halloo!" High went the wasted arm--crash!--a broken staff, ajingle of wires, a maddened, shouting man the centre of a group ofamused spectators! 'A few moments later, four broad-shouldered men inblue had him in their grasp, pinioned and guarded, clattering over thenoisy streets behind two spirited horses. They drew after them a troopof noisy, jeering boys, who danced about the wagon like a swirl ofautumn leaves. Then came a halt, and Luther was dragged up the steps ofa square brick building with a belfry on the top. They entered a largebare room with benches ranged about the walls, and brought him before aman at a desk. "What is your name?" asked the man at the desk. "Hi yi halloo!" said Luther. "He's drunk, sergeant, " said one of the men in blue, and the axe-man wasled into the basement. He was conscious of an involuntary resistance, ashort struggle, and a final shock of pain--then oblivion. The chopper awoke to the realization of three stone walls and an irongrating in front. Through this he looked out upon a stone flooringacross which was a row of similar apartments. He neither knew nor caredwhere he was. The feeling of imprisonment was no greater than he hadfelt on the endless, cheerless streets. He laid himself on the benchthat ran along a side wall, and, closing his eyes, listened to thebabble of the clear stream and the thunder of the "drive" on itsjourney. How the logs hurried and jostled! crushing, whirling, ducking, with the merry lads leaping about them with shouts and laughter. Suddenly he was recalled by a voice. Some one handed a narrow tin cupfull of coffee and a thick slice of bread through the grating. Acrossthe way he dimly saw a man eating a similar slice of bread. Men in othercompartments were swearing and singing, He knew these now for the voiceshe had heard in his dreams. He tried to force some of the bread down hisparched and swollen throat, but failed; the coffee strangled him, and hethrew himself upon the bench. The forest again, the night-wind, the whistle of the axe through theair! Once when he opened his eyes he found it dark! It would soon betime to go to work. He fancied there would be hoarfrost on the treesin the morning. How close the cabin seemed! Ha!--here came his littlesister. Her voice sounded like the wind on a spring morning. How loud itswelled now! "Lu! Lu!" she cried. The next morning the lock-up keeper opened the cell door. Luther laywith his head in a pool of blood. His soul had escaped from the thrallof the forest. "Well, well!" said the little fat police justice, when he was told ofit. "We ought to have a doctor around to look after such cases. "