In the modern mode of building, the carpenter will stretch out his keel, begin to timber out in the middle, perhaps timber out as far as the forward and after frames, and even put in some ceiling, before raising the stem and stern, because the vessel is all modelled, and he can put every timber in her, and hold her together with ribbands without putting on a single plank. But in the old mode, nothing could be done without the stem and stern-post, as they were needed to shape her by. We shall now see what use Charlie made of his scattering frames, as he called them, since they are to play a very important part.

Although Charlie was not working by contract, and limited as to time, yet he thought he should need ten men to handle the timber, which was all green and of large size, especially as, being on an island, it was not very easy to procure more. He already had six; Uncle Isaac, Joe, and Yelf would make nine: four of these, however, would be employed in sawing, and the whip-saw must be in steady use, in order that plank and wales might be in readiness, since, in his method of working he must plank up as he went along; it was also necessary that his deck plank should be sawed out and stuck up to season. This would leave him but five men to work on the frame and handle the timber. He therefore hired four more. He could, upon occasion, call the men from the saw-pit, John from the anvil, and, more than all, he could have the aid of Ben, in case of a heavy lift. Ben’s house now very much resembled a bee-hive, both as to the number of its inhabitants and their industry. There was no ten-hour system then. It was, begin with the sun and work as long as you can see to pick up your tools. But on the other hand, as the men were not so particular as at the present day, to work just so long to a minute, insomuch that, if the axe is uplifted, and the clock strikes six, they won’t let it fall, so neither was the employer. The master workman was not always on the watch to see if a man stopped to rest his back or light his pipe; whether he ground his tools in his own time or that of his employer: if a man had a first-rate story, not too long to tell, he told it.

Sometimes, if a coon ran across the yard, or a squirrel got in among the timbers of the vessel, the master workman would go for him with the whole crew at his heels; and then, enlivened by a little fun, they would work enough faster to make it up. Where all were neighbors, men of principle, and calculated to earn their wages, and unwilling to be outdone, there was no necessity for drawing lines, as with the kind of labor often found in yards at the present day.

Henry Griffin, coming home from sea, resolved to give it up, and learn the blacksmith’s trade, as he was, like all the Griffins, strong, willing, and ingenious. John gladly received him as an apprentice. Thus the family, including the children and Sally’s hired girl, numbered twenty-two. Taking away the partition between the workshop and the wood-shed, they threw it all into one room, which made a splendid workshop in rainy weather, large enough to hew timber or joint deck plank. The chamber overhead they filled with beds, while Charlie, John, Henry, and Ben, Jr., slept in the sap camp. It was such a handy place, after they had worked from sun to sun, to run out and shoot a coon among the corn in the moonlight evenings!

The stem and stern-posts were bolted on to the keel, lying on the ground; the whole was raised together and held in position with shores, and the transom bolted on when it was half up. Charlie now took the moulds and moulded his scattering frames, and fastened them, together with the floor timbers, to the keel. These frames, extending from the keel to the deck, and ranged along at intervals from stem to stern, kept in position by spruce poles spiked to them and to the stern and transom, and also to cross pawls at their tops, gave the outline of the whole vessel. In the modern process of working, the timber, being all accurately moulded from the draught, the timbering out is a very rapid process—the planking, fastening, and finishing occupying a much greater length of time.

But in respect to Charlie, the regulating of these scattering frames, being accomplished entirely by the eye, was not only a good deal of work, but it was a very anxious period, since upon this depended the whole shape of his vessel.

It was no light matter for a boy, not quite twenty, with such men as Uncle Isaac, Joe, and Yelf looking on, to model a vessel.

They offered no advice; Charlie asked none. He would set up a scattering frame, squint at it, draw it in or let it out, cut it away, shape it with the axe or adze to suit his eye, then put up another. He proved his work by a plumb-line, as he was determined that one side should not be fuller than the other.

This doing and undoing,—for some of the frames were cut half off,—occupied a vast deal of time, as nothing could be prepared beforehand. It was not so very slow work when they tumbled them in any how, letting anything go that came within hail, not concerning themselves whether she was fuller one side than the other; but it was in Charlie’s way, who would have everything in proportion, however rough it might be, no matter how much time it occupied.

The weather was cold, the ground hard-frozen. Charlie was anxious to plank up before he left off. The custom was to plank up to the heads of the floor timbers, then put in another set, plank up to them, and so on.

“Uncle Isaac,” said he, “the scattering frames are all in, and nearly all the others. You can see the shape of her. How do you like her? I’ll make any alterations that you or father think for the best.”

“Don’t disturb anything. Don’t start a cross-band or a ribband. She’ll steer well, carry like blazes, sail well for a full vessel, or I’m much mistaken. Joe and your father are of the same opinion.”

“She looks better than I expected,” said Charlie, drawing a long breath, struggling to conceal his delight under an appearance of indifference. “I wish we were able to finish her in good shape, smooth her up, and paint her.”

“I can see the boat-model in her. You haven’t got that out of your head, and I hope you never will.”

“I’ll tell you what I’ll do, Uncle Isaac. I’ll build a yawl for her, that shall be as handsome as any of the boats Isaac will run afoul of—you see if I don’t. Do you think it would do to plank with these green plank? or would they shrink all up—make an open seam to eat up oakum?”

“Shrink? No, indeed! They are froze as hard as a rock, and won’t shrink one mite if you put them on frozen.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes, indeed. A piece of timber, hard-frozen, is as small as ever it will be. I’ve laid a house-floor with boards green from the mill, in the dead of winter, put them down froze, and the next July you couldn’t put a pin in the joints.”

“Then I will plank her up, and knock off till spring. It is not profitable to hire in these short, cold days. John and I will do what we can this winter, which will make our money hold out.”

“What are you going to make your treenails of?”

“White oak, of course.”

“I wouldn’t.”

“What would you make them of?”

“Spruce limbs.”

“Spruce limbs? That’s a funny thing to make a treenail of!”

“They are better than white oak. They are hard, stiff, all heart, and full of pitch. They’ll never rot.”