The Hard-Scrabble had a good run off the coast, holding the wind to the edge of the Gulf Stream; proved herself an excellent sea boat, and, although so deep loaded, a good sailer. It was evident that, light, she was faster than ordinary.

France and England were then at war. Napoleon’s star was just rising above the horizon, and our young captain found he had arrived at the rich Island of Martinique in a most favorable time. But few American vessels were there, barracks were building for troops, boards were wanted, and there was a great demand for small spars, as masts for drogers, booms for French men-of-war that came in there to refit after the conflicts that were constantly occurring between the hostile fleets.

Isaac sold his boards for forty dollars per thousand, and obtained a hogshead of molasses for a small spar which cost little more than the expense of cutting.

“I wish I had loaded her with spars,” said Isaac to his mate.

“You’ll make money enough,” said Joe, “as it is: you ought to be satisfied. But I wish I’d brought spars for a venture.”

Isaac now bought iron, and thoroughly bolted his knees, and, heaving the vessel out, butt-bolted the plank, and painted her upper works. The fastening was put in by him and his mate; for Isaac was possessed of all the native ingenuity of his uncle for handling tools.

“Now, Mr. Griffin,” said he, “we need not fear to put the molasses in her, and we’ll see if we can’t bring her scuppers to the water.”

Just as they were ready to take in molasses, a French man-of-war came in, that had been disabled in an action with an English frigate. As she lay in the offing, the commander sent his lieutenant aboard the Hard-Scrabble, to see if she had brought any spars that would make him a main-yard. The lieutenant informed Isaac that they had broken the spar nearly off in trying to escape from the enemy, but that they had fished, and made it answer a temporary purpose; that they must have a spar, if it could be procured, no matter what the price.

“Where is it injured?” asked Isaac; “in the slings?”

“No; well out on the quarter: it was a poor stick; there were some large knots in it, and it broke square, without splintering; that is, it cracked, though it didn’t come in two.”

Isaac replied that he would come on board in the course of an hour, and see the captain.

“What is the use to go aboard?” said Joe; “you haven’t got a thing but a spar you’ve saved for a derrick, and haven’t brought anything that would make him even a royal mast.”

“I ain’t so sure of that. Come down below, Joe.” When they were by themselves, he said, “Joe, suppose I should offer him the mainmast; could you and I get her home?”

After reflecting a moment, he replied, “Go ahead, captain: it will be summer time; we shall have southerly winds, and we’ve got provisions enough.”

“But what will the crew say? We’ve no right to disable the vessel, and run the risk of losing her, and their lives, without their consent.”

“If you’ll give me authority to offer them a hogshead of molasses apiece, I’ll make ’em willing, and more than willing.”

Joe went forward, got the men together, and broached the matter. They not only made no objection, but received the proposition with cheers.

“We’ll put it all into Fred’s store, boys,” said Henry Griffin, “and let him sell it for us on commission—sweeten him well.”

Isaac lowered the boat Charlie had made,—whose rowing and sailing qualities attracted the attention of all in the harbor,—put four oars in her, and went on board the man-of-war in good shape.

There was a very kindly feeling existing at that time between us and the French, who had aided us in the struggle for independence.

The French commander received Isaac with all the politeness of his nation. Isaac went aloft, and looked at the spar. It was just as the lieutenant had stated. When he came down, he said,—

“Captain, I haven’t any spars; didn’t bring any but small ones; but I’ll sell you my mainmast.”

“But if you sell your mast,” cried the Frenchman, in astonishment, “how are you to get home?”

“That is my own lookout.”

“What strange people you Americans are! But is it large enough?”

“It’s eighty feet long and twenty-eight inches through.”

“That is long enough,” said the Frenchman. “It is a very little shorter than the old yard, but will answer, as the sail does not haul out. It is more than large enough.”

“It is a very good stick—worth two of your old one.”

“But to take your mast out of your vessel you will ask a great price.”

“If you will take it out,—for I have no purchase sufficient,—give me your old spar and a thousand dollars, you may have it.”

“A thousand dollars!” interrupted the lieutenant. “That is more than your whole craft is worth.”

“Perhaps so to you, but not so to me. Besides, I risk my life, and that of my men, and my cargo, by disabling my vessel.”

“I must have the spar, and I’ll give you the money,” said the captain.

He invited Isaac to take wine with him, which he declined.

“I’ve seen strange things to-day,” said the Frenchman. “A captain that would sell the mast out of his vessel, and wouldn’t drink a glass of wine.”

In the intercourse which grew out of this trade, the Frenchman noticed Isaac’s boat,—his own had been riddled with shot,—and he wanted to buy her.

“There’s not a boat in this harbor,” said Isaac, “that can pull or sail with her. I’ll sell her. I’ll sell anything but my country and my principles. If you want her enough to give me one hundred dollars for her, take her.”

The Frenchman took her. The boatswain’s crew of the man-of-war brought the yard alongside, and took out the mast.

Isaac and Joe got the spar on board, sawed it off square where it was cracked, then took a whip-saw and split it into halves the whole length, turned the halves end for end, and put it together again, thus bringing the joint in another place, and making the spar just as long as it was before, and then treenailed it together.

A yard is differently shaped from a mast, being biggest in the middle. By their turning the halves, although the length was the same, there was a slag in the place of the joint, and a bunch at the ends. They filled up the slag with plank, the bunch at the bottom helped out the step of the mast, and that at the top to form the masthead. They then put on the hounds and the old trestle-trees. Joe, who was no mean blacksmith, hooped the whole with iron, above and below the wake of the mainsail. They now put in the mast, and set up the rigging.

As the mast was so much smaller than the other, they did not dare to send up the top and top-gallant masts; but they gave additional strength to the masts by putting the topmast backstays and also the headstays on to the head of the lower mast, thus leaving the stays of the two masts on one, to compensate for the smaller size of the spar. They were not afraid now to carry a whole mainsail and fore-staysail. They also sent up the fore-yard, and bent the topsail on it for a square-sail.

In order that she might not look stunt, Joe made a light spar to take the place of a topmast, to set colors on. They put the top-gallant rigging and backstays on it, and the flying-jib for a gaff-topsail. Thus they had nearly as much sail as before, and all the large sails, without cutting a foot of rigging or a yard of canvas.

“It takes us ‘Hard-Scrabble boys’ to do things,” said Joe, when the whole was completed. “Hurrah for the Hard-Scrabble!” and jumping on to the windlass-bitts at one bound, and slapping his hands against his sides, he crowed most lustily.

Mails were now established by Congress, and communication was more easy. The boys were impatiently awaiting news from Isaac. They did not manifest the patient endurance of Ben while the Ark was gone, but were running to the office every mail day.

At length word came from John that Captain Crabtree had arrived, bringing news that Isaac had sold his lumber for forty dollars per thousand, got a hogshead of molasses for a spar, sold Charlie’s boat for one hundred dollars, and Sally’s venture for ninety-six, and had agreed to sell his mast to the captain of a French frigate for a mainmast for a thousand dollars, and was coming home under jury-masts, and that Crabtree came away then.

When Mr. Welch heard of it, he declared he should have a ship when he got back if he had to buy one for him.

“You can’t have him,” said Captain Rhines. “You ought to have held on to him when you had him. He belongs to the boys.”

“But the boys can’t build him an Indiaman.”

“Can’t they? I’d like to know what they can’t do! Besides, they’ll have good backers. I’ve been in both kinds of business, and it’s my opinion there’s more to be made in West India than there is in East India business, at any rate while this war lasts, though it may not have so large a sound and be quite so genteel, which goes a great ways with some people.”

“Especially if you can raise your own cargoes, build your own ships, make your own rigging, and weave your own sails,” added Mr. Welch, laughing.

In a few days they had a letter from Isaac, telling the particulars, saying that they were ready to take in cargo; and he wanted Charlie to have a mast all made and ready to go in when he got home, and a load of spars for men-of-war, lower masts, yards, and smaller spars; that he would take a few large ones on deck, and go to Cadiz,—for the Spaniards were in the war, and spars were high there,—and would load back with salt. He said all hands were well, the vessel tight, sailed and worked first rate; and he had got a bag of coffee for old Mrs. Yelf.

“I can get the mast fast enough on Elm Island,” said Charlie, “roll it into the water, and tow it over; but how does he think I’m going to haul those heavy spars on bare ground, enough to load that sloop?”

“I’ll tell you how,” said Ricker. “You know that place where the brook goes right through a gap in the ledge?”

“Yes.”

“Well, make a pair of gates to open and shut in that gap, dam the water, and flow it back, till the brook is deep enough to float the timber, then twitch and roll it into the pond, float it down to the gates, open them, and down it will go into the cove, right alongside your vessel. I know all about that work. I never did much else.”

“That will be just the thing,” said Charlie, “for some of the largest trees grow within half a gunshot of the pond.”

“You’ll have to stir yourselves,” said Captain Rhines. “The way he’s rigged that vessel, according to his letter, he won’t be much longer than common on the passage.”

“I wish Joe Griffin was here,” said Charlie.

“I guess he’s done you more good where he is.”

Charlie obtained men, got his gates made, his mast cut and made, and part of the spars cut, when the sloop arrived in Boston.

When she was again ready for sea, she presented quite a different appearance. They finished her cabin, put a billet-head on her, painted her hull and spars, put studding-sail booms on her yards. The decks were worn smooth, and the sails bleached white. She had a square-sail, and looked like another vessel.

Pluck and principle win the day. The cargo which they carried out in this rough craft, built of white pine, and half fastened, amounted to eleven thousand seventy-five dollars, bought their homeward cargo, and left them three hundred dollars in cash. The mast Isaac sold to the Frenchman paid all the expenses of the voyage within fifty dollars, and, after selling their molasses, left them cash and sales twenty-six thousand six hundred and five dollars, six thousand six hundred fifty-one dollars and twenty-five cents apiece, Charlie having one hundred dollars more, the price of the boat, half of which he gave to Joe, Captain Rhines, and Ben, put glass windows in the meeting-house, and clapboarded it. Uncle Isaac and others built a steeple. The boys gave a bell, and Isaac brought a bag of coffee and a barrel of sugar for Parson Goodhue.

During the fall and winter Charlie cut spars enough to freight the sloop again, and built a few boats.

The Hard-Scrabble returned, having made a profitable voyage; and, as the spring opened, Charlie had leisure to attend to farming. He planted among the trees, whose naked branches flung no shadow, and whose dead limbs and seasoned trunks, continually dropping, afforded an inexhaustible supply of dry fuel.

At leisure intervals he hewed out timber for a house and barn frame; and, as he now had money, hired Ricker, and, after the harvest was gathered in the fall, cut down and burned up all the dry trunks of the trees, when the ground was wet, and there was no risk of the fires running.

He now had a large belt of cleared land between the grove—behind which he had resolved to place his permanent buildings—and the great elm and forest, also many beautiful trees scattered here and there over the slope trending to the shore.

“It has made some work,” said he, “to save these trees; but they are a life-long source of beauty and happiness.”

As the next spring opened, he was about to attack the forest in earnest, when his plans were entirely changed by a communication from Captain Rhines and Uncle Isaac.