The Young Ship Builders of Elm Island 2

The Young Ship Builders of Elm Island 2

To the great surprise of Charlie, Ben, and Sally, who never knew John

to be guilty of making anything, he presented Charlie with two iron

anchors for the Sea-foam, with iron stocks and rings complete, and Ben

with an eel-spear and clam-fork, very neatly made.

 

“What neat little things they are!” said Charlie, looking at the

anchors. “Where did you get them?”

 

“Made them,” replied John, “at Peter’s shop.”

 

“Why, John,” said Ben, “you’ve broken out in a bran-new place!”

 

John then told him that he had been at work in the blacksmith’s shop,

how well he liked it, and that, after school was out, he meant to ask

his father to let him learn the trade.

 

“John,” said Ben, “Uncle Isaac, Joe Griffin, and myself have been

talking this two years about going outside gunning. If I go, I want

to go before the menhaden are all gone; for we shall want bait, in

order that we may fish as well as gun. It is late now, and the first

north-easter will drive the menhaden all out of the bay.”

 

“I heard him and Joe talking about it the other day; they said they

calculated to go.”

 

“Well, tell them I’m ready at any time, and to come on, whenever they

think it is suitable.”

 

John and Charlie went to the shore to sail the Sea-foam,--a boat, three

feet long, rigged into a schooner,--and try the new anchors. While they

were looking at her, Charlie fell into a reverie.

 

“Didn’t she go across quick, that time, Charlie?”

 

No reply.

 

“Charlie, didn’t she steer herself well then?”

 

Still no answer.

 

“What are you thinking about, Charlie?”

 

“You see what a good wind she holds, John?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“And how well she works, just like any vessel?”

 

“Well, then, what is the reason we couldn’t dig out a boat big enough

to sail in, and model her just like that? These canoes are not much

better than hog’s troughs.”

 

“It would take an everlasting great log to have any room inside, except

right in the middle.”

 

“We could dig her out very thin, and make her long enough to make up

for the sharp ends.”

 

“It would be a great idea. I should like dearly to try it.”

 

The boys now went to bed and talked boat till they worked themselves

into a complete fever, and were fully determined to realize this

novel idea; for, as is generally the case in such matters, the more

they deliberated upon and took counsel about it, the more feasible it

seemed; then they considered and magnified the astonishment of Fred

and Captain Rhines when they should sail over in their new craft, and

finally settled down into the belief that, if they realized their idea,

it would not fall one whit short of the conception and construction of

the Ark herself.

 

But the main difficulty--and it was one that seemed to threaten failure

to the whole matter--was, where to obtain a log, as one of sufficient

size for that purpose would make a mast for a ship of the line, and

was too valuable, even in those days, to cut for a plaything, as it

was by no means certain that she would ever be anything more: there

were indeed trees enough, with short butts, large enough for their

purpose, had they wanted to make a common float, or a canoe, with round

ends, like a common tray; but, as they were to sharpen up the ends

vessel fashion, give her quite a sharp floor, and take so much from the

outside in order to shape her, it was necessary that the tree should be

long, as well as large, to be recompensed by length for the room thus

taken from the inside, and leave sufficient thickness of wood to hold

together.

 

While Charlie was debating in his own mind whether to ask his father

to permit him to cut such a tree, John, with a flash of recollection

that sent the words from his lips with the velocity of a shell from a

mortar, exclaimed, jumping up on end in bed,--

 

“I have it now! there’s a log been lying all summer in our cove, that

came there in the last freshet, with no mark on it, more than thirty

feet long, and I know it’s more’n five feet through: it’s a bouncer, I

tell you; but it’s hollow at the butt, and I suppose that’s what they

condemned it for; but I don’t believe the hollow runs in far. It’s

mine, for I picked it up and fastened it.”

 

“But you are going to school. You can’t help me make it; and we should

have such a good time. It is too bad!”

 

“Well, I can do this much towards it. I don’t care a great deal about

going to school the first day; they won’t do much. I’ll help you tow it

over, and haul it up; and if you don’t get it done before, when school

is done, I’ll come on, help you make sugar, and finish the boat.”

 

“Then I won’t do any more than to dig some of it out. I won’t make the

outside till you come.”

 

In the morning they went over to look at it, and found the hollow only

extended about four feet. It was afloat and fastened with a rope,

just as John had secured it in the spring. They towed it home without

attracting notice, as they considered it very important to keep the

matter secret till the craft was completed.

 

“Then,” said Charlie, “if we should spoil the log, and don’t make a

boat, there will be nobody to laugh at us.”

 

Putting down skids, they hauled it up on to the grass ground with the

oxen, and, with a cross-cut saw, made it the right length. As all above

the middle of the log had to be cut away, and was of no use to them,

it was evident, that if they could split it in halves, the other half

would make a canoe, clapboards, or shingles.

 

“This is a beautiful log,” said Charlie. “It is too bad to cut half of

it into chips. It is straight-grained and clear of knots; we will split

it.”

 

“Split it!” said John; “‘twould take a week!”

 

“No, it won’t. We can split it with powder.”

 

“I never thought of that.”

 

They bored holes in the log at intervals of three feet, filled them

part full of powder, and drove in a plug with a score cut in the side

of it. Into this they poured powder, to communicate with that in the

hole. They then laid a train, and touched them all at once, when the

log flew apart in an instant, splitting as straight as the two halves

of an acorn.

 

“I’ll take the half you don’t want, boys,” said Ben, who, unnoticed,

had watched their proceedings; “it will make splendid clapboards.”

 

During the winter, on half holidays, and at every leisure moment, John

Rhines was to be found at the blacksmith’s shop. At length he could

contain himself no longer, but went to his father and asked permission

to learn the blacksmith’s trade of Peter. John anticipated a hard

struggle in obtaining his father’s consent, if indeed he obtained it at

all, as there was a large farm to take care of, plenty to do at home,

and enough to do with. But Captain Rhines, who had always said, if a

boy would only work steadily, his own inclinations should be consulted

in choice of occupation, was so rejoiced to find he didn’t want to go

to sea, of which he had always been apprehensive, that he yielded the

point at once.

 

“It is a good trade, John,” said he, “and always will be; but I

wouldn’t think of learning a trade of Peter.”

 

“Why not, father?”

 

“Because he’s no workman; he’s just a botcher.”

 

“Who shall I learn of?”

 

“I’ll tell you, my son; go to Portland and learn to do ship-work;

there’s money in that; ship-building is going to be the great business

along shore for many a year to come. You’ll make more money forging

fishermen’s anchors, or doing the iron-work of a vessel, in one season,

than you would mending carts, shoeing old horses and oxen, making

axes, pitchforks, and chains in three years. My old friend, Captain

Starrett, has a brother who is a capital workman, a finished mechanic,

learned his trade in the old country--and his wife is a first-rate

woman; she went from this town. I’ll get you a chance there.”

 

Captain Rhines went to Portland in the course of the winter, and

secured an opportunity for John to begin to work the first of May.