Annie Proulx - Barkskins

“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.”

It 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.”