LEARNING A TRADE.

The question, What shall I do in life? is, to an industrious, ambitious boy, desirous to make the most of himself, quite a trying one.

Thoughts of that nature were busy at the heart of John Rhines; he now had leisure to indulge them, as, upon his return from Elm Island, he found that the harvesting was all secured, and the winter school not yet commenced. The whole summer had been one continued scene of hard work and pleasurable excitement. Missing his companions, being somewhat lonesome and at a loss what to do with himself, he would take his gun, wander off in the woods, and sitting down on a log, turn the matter over in his mind. At one time he thought of going into the forest and cutting out a farm, as Ben had done; he had often talked the matter over with Charlie, who cherished similar ideas. Sometimes he thought of learning a trade, but could not settle upon one that suited him, for which, he conceived, he had a capacity. Again, he thought of being a sailor; but he knew that both father and mother would be utterly opposed to it. While thus debating with himself, that Providence, which we believe has much to do with human occupations, determined the whole matter in the easiest and most natural manner imaginable. John Rhines, though a noble boy to work, had never manifested any mechanical ability or inclination whatever. If he wanted anything made, he would go over to Uncle Isaac and do some farming work for him, while he made it for him.

It so happened, while he was thus at leisure, that his father sent him down to the shop of Peter Brock with a crowbar, to have it forged over. (The readers of the previous volume well know that Ben, when at home, had tools made on purpose for him, which nobody else could handle.) This was Ben’s bar. Captain Rhines had determined to make two of it, and sent it to the shop with orders to cut it in two parts, draw them down, and steel-point them. John, having flung down the bar and delivered the message, was going home again, when Peter said,—

“Won’t you strike for me to draw this down? It’s a big piece of iron. My apprentice, Sam Rounds, has gone home sick; besides, when I weld the steel on, I must have somebody to take it out of the fire and hold it for me, while I weld it.”

“I had rather do it than not, Peter. I want something to do, for I feel kind of lonesome.”

Stripping off his jacket, he caught up the big sledge, and soon rendered his friend efficient aid.

“There’s not another boy in town could swing that sledge,” said Peter. “Do you ever expect to be as stout as Ben?”

“I don’t know; I should like to be.”

“Are you done on the island?”

“Yes.”

“They say you three boys did a great summer’s work.”

“We did the best we could.”

“I know that most of the people thought it wasn’t a very good calculation in your brother Ben to go off and leave three boys to plan for themselves, and that there wouldn’t be much done—at any rate that’s the way I heard them talk while they were having their horses shod.”

“That was just what made us work. If a man hires me, and then goes hiding behind the fences, and smelling round, to see whether I am at work or not, I don’t think much of him; but if he trusts me, puts confidence in me, won’t I work for that man! Yes, harder than I would for myself. But what did they say when they came home from husking?”

“O, the boot was on the other leg then; there never was such crops of corn and potatoes raised in this town before on the same ground. Has your father got his harvest in?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I’ve got a lot of axes to make for the logging swamp; my apprentice has got a fever; I must have some one to strike; I tried for Joe Griffin, but he’s going into the woods, and Henry too; why can’t you help me?”

“I don’t know how.”

“All I want of you is to blow and strike; you will soon learn to strike fair; you are certainly strong enough.”

“Reckon I am. I can lift your load, and you on top of it.”

“Well, then, why can’t you help me? I’m sure I don’t know what I shall do.”

“If father is willing, I’ll help you till school begins.”

The result was, that John, in a short time, evinced, not only a great fondness, but also a remarkable capacity for the work, made flounder and eel-spears, clam-forks, and mended all his father’s broken hay-forks and other tools.

John worked with Peter till school began. The day before going to school, he went to see Charlie, as passing to and from the island in winter was so difficult they seldom met.

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.