Jim was well into his twenties when
he left home, as had two of his brothers before him. Angus stayed, for he
would inherit the farm, and he ran it now with little help from Rory.
Careful, conservative, hard working, and honest, Angus McGregor was now a
broad, stocky man, his hair already greying and receding at the temples.
"You'd best, go, James. There's work
in the lumber camps, or, mayhap Andrew Murdoch would take you on at the
framing.. You're a good man at the railings. None better, lad. We ken ye
dinna agree with Father nor he with you. Go, before there are words
between you that nothing can mend."
Jim had known the time to leave was
fast approaching, and his hesitation had not been entirely for himself.
"You'll watch out for Mother then,
Angus. I don't like to see her so worn. She's almost an old woman now, and
her life spent for all of us."
Angus ran his hand through his
thinning hair. "Aye, her time is coming, and a better mother never was
known and with no help from him we will not name. They tell us God directs
these things. I hope that is right, else the world is a topsy-turvy place
with no meaning. I talked to Mr. McLean about it, but the man's mind is of
nothing but bits of scripture. He worships the Bible, not God. A man has
to make up his own mind. But look to it, Jamie boy. Heed what Mother has
taught you and you willna gang far astray."
So Jim found work with Andrew
Murdoch's crew of six. They were all young except Ben McAdam, the foreman.
Jim himself stood well over six feet then, but that was nothing unusual
among the Hielan'men, as they were called by the Lowland Scots. His hair
was coal black, and he was already proud of a black moustache. There was
no ounce of spare fat on his lean body, and black, bushy eyebrows almost
joined together over his nose to give him a rather fierce appearance. His
nose was slightly hooked, and the mouth was set in hard lines. To soften
this harsh, craggy visage there were his warm blue eyes that laughed when
the rest of his face was still. He was sometimes called Black Jim because
there were other Jim McGregors: Curly Jim for instance, and Jim's Jim, as
well as Groundhog Jim and Cloudy Jim. This last was the absent-minded one.
Names were often acquired in childhood for the most trivial of reasons,
and they stuck for life, for the early settlers did not care much about a
man's hurt pride. Although no one would be called an uncomplimentary
nickname to his face, when he was not present the name would always be
used. Black Jim was lucky: he could easily have been called Monkey Jim,
because of his climbing ability.
Jim had no trouble fitting in with
the gang. He was a good man for the top work at the railings, well able to
run along the plates and beams and scramble up the rafters in his bare
feet. And there was plenty of work for the gang, for the log barns had
outlived their usefulness. All across the country these log barns were
being demoted to sheep pens and implement sheds, while timber barns went
up, often with the help of Andrew Murdoch's crew of six.
The new barns had a skeleton
framework of beams hewn from pine or rock elm, though sometimes beech or
maple was used for short spans. For the rafters, occasionally cedar or
tamarack poles could be found slim and straight enough for the purpose,
but most of the rafters were sawn out of spruce or hemlock. The barn walls
were of inch boards, often hemlock.
Farm woodlots, or rather the remains
of the original forest, provided cheap and plentiful lumber. Sawmills were
located on streams big enough to provide water power. Planing mills, to
dress the rough lumber, came next, and they were followed by small
furniture factories and woollen mills, again using water power. Where the
water was unreliable, steam was used to power the factories, for there was
always plenty of wood for fuel. Iron foundries began to locate in the
It was about this time, during Jim's
early manhood, that the whole area of Western Ontario between the lakes
became self supporting and semi-independent, viewing the Yankees to the
south and the French to the east with some distrust. But for the swift
advance of the railroads this might have become an independent state, so
sure were the inhabitants of their worth and of the superiority of their
ideals over those of the rest of North America. A heavy influx of American
settlers coming in before 1850 had been absorbed, and it was generally
felt that they had come to know their place. For although it was well
known that the Yankees were full of ingenious ideas and were often better
equipped to deal with the wilderness, it was understood that on no account
must this be admitted. The Yanks were already too sure of
themselves; though good enough people at heart, they refused to take
seriously all the values held by the British-born stock. One should make
allowances, but only up to a point.
Although the life of the framing
gang was hard, not one of the crew recognized the fact. The wine of life
ran free in their veins; the joy of physical fitness and the spice of
danger in their work and the constantly changing scenes ruled out boredom.
Whiskey was taboo through the week. Andrew Murdoch was grimly consistent
about that. Even though the supply was plentiful at all the barn raisings,
he was adamant that none of his crew must indulge. No workman of his was
going to fall drunk off high places. On Saturday night, however, the lid
came off. All that day the tension would build up, until evening, when the
crew would head for the nearest tavern.
Only Ben McAdam stayed sober. A
small, wry, and exceedingly tough man, who had been born fifty years
before in Glasgow; he had seen enough of liquor and what liquor could do.
He was a teetotaller now, but went with the gang anyway. He drank
sarsaparilla, ginger beer, and even lemonade whenever he could get them,
and although bartenders frowned on such fussy ideas, they made no comment.
Ben was very handy with his fists and not above using his feet as
auxiliaries. He had been a sailor in his younger days.
The framing gang worked its way into
Huron County. Andrew Murdoch scouted ahead, driving the newest and most
fashionable buggy. His outfit was impeccable, as was the man himself.
He wore a good broadcloth suit, kept his
There was little trouble keeping
work lined up ahead for the gang. They would arrive at the farm which was
next in turn and find a number of logs waiting for them. In the earlier
years these were hewn square, with broadaxes-short-handled, heavy-bladed
tools of which only one side was sharpened, leaving an edge like a chisel.
The work done with these was amazing; the beams would be almost as smooth
as if sawed, hardly a blade mark showing. As most of the logs were
hardwood, a good deal of muscle was involved here. The logs were mortised
at the joins and held together by wooden pegs. The framework was made in
sections, each section called a bent. The bents for a barn, being four or
more, were laid in a row, one partly overlapping the other in domino
fashion. Beams called wall plates were hewn in readiness to join bents
together when they were erected. On the day of the "raising", fifty to one
hundred men would gather neighbours from far and near and even townspeople
out looking for free whiskey and a bit of excitement, for a raising was a
The timber gang walked about
checking to see that all was in readiness. They were treated with unusual
respect on this particular day and while they tried to be offhand, joking
with the crowd, it was with some tenseness that they divided the men into
groups, each with a certain purpose. A mistake of only an inch or so in
measurement could ruin a reputation. Andrew Murdoch was present, urbanely
affable and betraying no apprehension, but he took no part in the
operation. He left the command to Ben McAdam.
A group began to gather around the top beam of the
first bent lying on its brothers. The men ranged in age from fifteen to
seventy, with varying intelligence and skills. At a signal they stooped
and grasped the beam. At Ben's "Yo-o heave!" they lifted it waist high at
the top beam only. At the next call it went shoulder high. Then the
pike-pole men set their pikes, and at the next "Yo heave!" the top beam
went out of reach of the men without poles. They turned to the sides still
lifting on the upright beams. Each successive "Yo heave!" found the burden
lighter and most of the lifters dispersed to get out of the way of a
possible slip. The pike poles lifted and pike poles on the other side kept
the bent from going too far until it was temporarily braced. There was
danger in this primitive operation, which was not much different from what