The Yale expositor., 1905-02-17

serves wei 10 the weird minor strains
OF the chanteys. These times, when the
men sang and the night wind rose and
died In the hemlock tops, were Thorpe's
worst moments. His soul, tired with
the days iron struggle. fell to brooding
He wanted something, he knew not
what.
The men were singing In a mighty
chorus, swaying their heads In unison
and bringing out with a roar the en-
phatic words Of the crude ditties writ.
ten by some genius from their own
ranks.
'Come all ye sons Of freedom throughout
old Michigan.
Come all We gallant lumbermen. list to a
shanty man.
On the banks of the Muskegon, where the
rapid waters flow.
oh. we'll range the wild woods DER while
a-lumbering We CO."
Here was the bold unabashed front
OF the pioneer, here was absolute GER
tainty In the superiority of his calling,
absolute scorn of all others. Thorpe
passed his hand across his brow. The
same spirit was once fully and freely
his.
1.-THE music Of our Furnished ak shall
make the woods resound.
And many a lofty ancient pine will tum-
BILE to the ground.
AT night around our shanty fire Wen sing
while rude winds blow.
Oh, Wen range the wild woods DER while
a-lumberin' we go!'
That was what he was here for.
rThincvc rio To -
pitiful to fail merely on account of this
idlotic lassitude, this unmanly weak
ness, this boyish Impotence and desire
for play. He woodsman! He fellow
with these big strong men!
A single voice, clear and high, struck
into quick measure:
81 am a jolly shanty boy,
AS you will soon discover;
To all the lodges L am fly,
A hustling pine wood rover.
A peavey hook II is my pride;
An ak 1 well can handle;
To fell a tree or punch bull
Get rafting Danny Randall"
And then, with rattle and crash, the
whole Fighting Forty shrieked out the
chorus:
"Bung yer eye! Bung yer eyer!
Active, alert, prepared for any emer-
gency that might arise; hearty, ready
for everything, from punching bulls to
Telling trees-that was something likei
Thorpe despised himself. The song
went on:
81 love girl in Saginaw;
She lives with her mother.
1 defy all Michigan
To find such another
She's tall and slim; her hair Is red:
Her face is plump and pretty.
She's my daisy Sunday best-day girl,
And her front name stands for Kitty"
And again, as before, the Fighting
Forty howled truculently:
'Bung yer eye! Bung yer eyer
The words were vulgar, the air a
mere minor chant. Yet Thorpe's mind
was stilled. His aroused subconscious-
ness had been engaged in reconstruct
ing these men entire as their songs
voiced rudeiy the inner characteristics
Of their beings. Now his spirit halted.
Their bravery, pride of caste, resource,
bravado, boastfulness-all these he had
checked Off approvingly. Here now
was the idea of the mate. Somewhere
for each of them was a kitty" n
"daisy Sunday best-day girl" At the
present or in the past these woods
roisterers, this Fighting Forty, had
known love. Thorpe rose abruptly and
turned at random into the forest. The
song pursued him as he went.
81 took her to a dance one night,
A mossback gave the bidding;
Silver Jack bossed the shebang,
And Big Dan played the fiddle.
We danced and drank the livelong night
With fights between the dancing,
Till Silver Jack cleaned out the ranch
And sent the mossbacks prancing."
And with the increasing war and
turmoil of the quick water the last
shout of the Fighting Forty mingled
bintly and was lost.
Dung yer eye! Bung yer eye!'
Thorpe found himself at the edge of
the woods facing a little glade into
which streamed the radiance Of full
moon.
There he stood and looked silently,
not understanding, not caring to in
quire. Across the way white-throat
was singing, clear, beautiful, like the
shadow of a dream. The girl stood
listening.
ITO BE CONTINUED