Annie Proulx - Barkskins

“I find it strange that we have not seen any Indians,” said Breitsprecher. “If we meet Indians we can ask them where to find the white pine. I think we must go back to the main trail and wait until a party of Indians comes by.”

They camped and waited, and after two days a hunting party of six Chippewa stopped and asked in English for “bacco” when they saw James smoking his morning cigar. “Give bacco,” said the youngest Chippewa, a boy of about ten. The others repeated the magic phrase, and Breitsprecher, speaking to them in some all-purpose linguistic mix, said James would give them tobacco if they showed the correct trail to many big white pines. He pointed to a handy example fifty feet off the trail, a large tree with exposed roots spread out like monstrous fingers. They all spoke at once and pointed in the same direction — back toward Detroit. An older man in the party broke a twig and drew a map in the soft soil. “Him d’Étroit,” he said. He drew five trails coming out of Detroit. “Sauk,” he said, pointing at a southwest way. “San Joe,” he said, pointing to the trail they were on. Breitsprecher’s choice of the right-hand trail at the intersection had taken them off the Sauk, which was wrong in any case. “Saginaw,” he said, pointing at a line that ran northwest. “Shiawassee,” he said prodding another. “Mackinac.” The Shiawassee and the Saginaw connected to the Mackinac and two other important trails. They should have taken the Shiawassee or the Saginaw trail from Detroit, not the Sauk.

“Do we have to go back to Detroit?” said Lennart. Armenius put the question and the Chippewa talked excitedly.

“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.