THE WEST WIND.

It was now the middle of March, and the lower part of the house was finished.

“Ben,” said Uncle Isaac, “we want to go off now. Charlie can finish these chambers as well as I can.”

“I have not seasoned stuff to finish but one of them now, and hardly that. It’s too rough to go off in your canoe; stay till Saturday afternoon, and part off some bedrooms up stairs with a rough board partition, and make some rough doors, so that we can use them for sleeping-rooms, and then Charlie can finish them next winter, for he will have to go to making sugar soon. If you’ll do that I’ll set you off in the schooner.”

Uncle Isaac parted off the chambers, and they now had plenty of room. They put the best bed in one of the front rooms; the family bedroom was off the kitchen, and there were bedrooms above.

Charlie was now desirous to complete his boat, but his mother wanted the flax done out. He therefore concluded to put it off till John came on to help him make sugar.

When Uncle Isaac reached home, John’s school had been out a week; but the weather was so rough he could not reach the island; and when he did arrive, Ben and Charlie were just finishing up the flax. The boys now cleared out the camp, scoured the kettles, put fresh mortar on the arch, hauled wood, and prepared for sugar-making. They resolved to tap but few trees at first, in order to have more leisure to work on their boat. The greatest mechanical skill was required to shape the outside. This pertained entirely to Charlie; but the most laborious portion of the work was the digging out such an enormous stick, and removing such a quantity of wood at a disadvantage, as, after they had chopped out about a foot of the surface, it would be difficult to get at, and the work must be done with adze and chisel, and even bored out with an auger at the ends. They decided to remove a portion of it before shaping the outside, as the log would lie steadier. Charlie accordingly marked out the sheer, then put on plumb-spots, and hewed the sides and the upper surface fair and smooth.

He then lined out the shape and breadth of beam, and made an inside line to rough-cut by, and at leisure times they chopped out the inside with the axe, one bringing sap or tending the kettle, while the other worked on the boat.

“John,” said Charlie, stopping to wipe the perspiration from his face, “I’m going to find some easier way than this to make a boat; it’s too much like work.”

“There is no other way. I’ve seen hundreds of canoes made, and this is the way they always do.”

“Don’t you remember when we were clearing land, that we would set our nigger[1] to burning off logs, and when it came night, we would find that he had burned more logs in two than we had cut with the axe?”

“Yes.”

“Uncle Isaac told me one night, that the Indians burned out canoes, and I am going to try it.”

“I thought they always made them of bark.”

“He said they sometimes, especially the Canada Indians, made them of a log, in places where they had a regular camping-ground, and didn’t want to carry them.”

“You’ll burn it all up, and we can never get another such a log.”

“You see if I do.”

Charlie got a pail of water, and made a little mop with rags on the end of a stick, then got some wet clay, and put all around the sides of the log where he didn’t want the fire to come. He then built a fire of oak chips right in the middle, and the whole length. The fire burned very freely at first, for the old log was full of pitch, and soon began to dry the clay, and burn at the edge; but Charlie put it out with his mop, and forced it to burn in the middle.

When the chips had burned out, Charlie took the adze, and removed about three inches of coal, and made a new fire.

“Not much hard work about that,” said John, who looked on with great curiosity.

They now went about their sugar, once in a while stepping to the log to remove the coal, renew the fire, or apply water to prevent its burning in the wrong direction.

When he had taken as much wood from the inside as he thought it prudent to remove before shaping the outside, he began to prepare for that all-important operation; but as he was afraid the clear March sun and the north-west winds would cause her to crack, he built a brush roof over her before commencing.

Now came the most difficult portion of the work, as it must be done almost entirely by the eye, by looking at the model and then cutting; but as the faculties in any given direction strengthen by exercise, and we are unconsciously prepared by previous effort and application for that which follows, thus Charlie experienced less difficulty here than he had anticipated, and at length succeeded in making it resemble the model, in Ben’s opinion, as nearly as one thing could another. Now their efforts were directed to finish the inside; and, having used the fire as long as they thought prudent, they resorted to other tools, as they wished so to dig her out as to have the utmost room inside, and to make her as light as possible. The risk was in striking through by some inadvertent blow. Though it may seem strange to those not versed in such things, yet Charlie could give a very near guess at the thickness by pressing the points of his fingers on each side, and when he was in doubt, he bored a hole through with a gimlet, and then plugged it up. They at length left her a scant inch in thickness, except on the bottom and at the stern and bow. There she was so sharp that the wood for a long distance was cut directly across the grain.

“I wish,” said Charlie, “I had shaped the outside before digging her out at all.”

“Why so?” said John.

“Because, in that case, I could have left more thickness at the bow; but I couldn’t leave it outside and follow the model.”

In order to avoid taking the keel out of the log, and to have all the depth possible, they put on a false keel of oak; as the edge was too thin to put on row-locks, they fastened cleats on the inside, and put flat thole-pins in between them and the side, which looked neat, and were strong enough for so light, easy-going a craft, that was intended for sailing rather than carrying; they also put on a cut-water, with a billet-head scroll-shaped, and with mouldings on the edges.

As it was evident she would require a good deal of ballast, to enable her to bear sail, they laid a platform forward and aft, raised but a very little from the bottom, merely enough to make a level to step or stand on; but amidships they left it higher, to give room for ballast.

Their intention was, at some future time, to put in head and stern-boards, or, in other words, a little deck forward and aft, with room beneath to put lines, luncheon, and powder, when they went on fishing or sailing excursions; but they were too anxious to see her afloat to stop for that now. They therefore primed her over with lead color, to keep her from cracking, and the very moment she was dry, put her in the water.

Never were boys in a state of greater excitement than they, when, upon launching her into the water, with a hearty shove and hurrah, she went clear across the harbor, and landed on the Great Bull. They got into the Twilight, and brought her back, and found she sat as light as a cork upon the water, on an even keel, and was much stiffer than they expected to find her. She was eighteen feet long, and four feet in width, eighteen inches deep.

Having persuaded Sally to get in and sit down on the bottom,—for as yet they had no seats,—they rowed her around the harbor.

“Now we can go to Indian camp ground, or where we are a mind to,” said Charlie.

“Yes,” replied John, “we can go to Boston; and if we want to go anywhere, and the wind is ahead, we can beat: how I do want to get sail on her!”

There was still much to be done—a rudder and tiller, bowsprit, thwarts for the masts, and masts’ sprits, a boom and sails to make. They did not, however, neglect their work; but now that they had succeeded in their purpose, and the agony was over, though still very anxious to finish and get her under sail, they tapped more trees, and only worked on her in such intervals as their work afforded. In these intervals Charlie made the rudder, and tiller, and thwarts for the masts.

We are sorry to say that he now manifested something like conceit, which, being a development so strange in him, and so different from the natural modesty of his disposition, can only be accounted for by supposing that uniform success had somewhat turned his head, and produced temporary hallucination.

From the time he made his own axe handle, when he first came on the island, till now, he had always succeeded in whatever he undertook, and been praised and petted; and even his well-balanced faculties and native modesty were not entirely unaffected by such powerful influences.

Ben advised him to secure the mast thwarts with knees, as is always done in boats, to put a breast-hook in the bow, and two knees in the stern, to strengthen her, as she was dug out so thin, and the wood forward and aft cut so much across the grain; but, flushed with success, Charlie thought he knew as much about boat-building as anybody, and, for the first time in his life, neglected his father’s counsel. He thought knees would look clumsy, and that he could fasten the thwarts with cleats of oak, and make them look neater; and thus he did. They were now brought to a stand for lack of material, cloth for sails, rudder-irons, and spars.

Elm Island, although it could furnish masts in abundance for ships of the line, produced none of those straight, slim, spruce poles, that are suitable for boat spars. It was very much to the credit of the boys, that, although aching to see the boat under sail, and well aware that Ben would not hesitate a moment, if requested, to let them leave their work and go after the necessary articles, they determined to postpone the completion of her till the sugar season was over. Meanwhile, they painted her, and, after the paint was dry, rowed off in the bay: they also put the Twilight’s sail in her; and, though it was not half large enough, and they were obliged to steer with an oar, they could see that she would come up to the wind, and was an entirely different affair from the Twilight, promising great things.

They hugged themselves while witnessing and admiring her performance, saying to each other,—

“Won’t she go through the water when she gets her own sails, spars, and a rudder!”

It must be confessed, Charlie was not at all sorry to see the flow of sap diminished; and no sooner was the last kettle full boiled, than off they started for the main land.

Immediately on landing, Charlie bent his steps towards Uncle Isaac’s, on whose land was a second growth of spruce, amongst which were straight poles in abundance.

John, after bolting a hasty meal, hurried to Peter Brock’s shop; there, with some assistance from Peter, he made the rudder-irons, a goose-neck for the main-boom, another for the heel of the bowsprit, which was made to unship, a clasp to confine it to the stem, and the necessary staples.

When Charlie returned the next night with his spars, they procured the cloth for the sails, and went back to the island.

Ben cut and made the sails; and, in order that everything might be in keeping, pointed and grafted the ends of the fore, main, and jib-sheets, and also made a very neat fisherman’s anchor; but he persisted in making the sails much smaller than suited their notions.

They had some large, flat pieces of iron that came from the wreck that drove ashore on the island the year before; these they put in the bottom for ballast, and upon them, in order to make her as stiff as possible, some heavy flint stones, worn smooth by the surf, which they had picked up on the Great Bull.

Until this moment they had been unable to decide upon a name, but now concluded to call her the “West Wind.”

They put the finishing touch to their work about three o’clock in the afternoon, and, with a moderate south-west wind, made sail, and stood out to sea, close-hauled.

All their hopes were now more than realized; loud and repeated were their expressions of delight as they saw how near she would lie to the wind, and how well she worked. The moment the helm was put down, she came rapidly up to the wind, the foresail gave one slat, and she was about; then they tried her under foresail alone, and found she went about easily, requiring no help.

“Isn’t she splendid?” asked John; “and ain’t you glad we built her?”

“Reckon I am: what will Fred say when he sees her? and won’t we three have some nice times in her?”

“It was a good thing for us, Charlie, that we had Ben to cut the sails and tell us where to put the masts.”

They avoided the main land, as they did not wish to attract notice till they were thoroughly used to handling her, and knew her trim; and, after sailing a while, hauled down the jib, kept away, and went back “wing and wing.”

“Some time,” said Charlie, “we’ll go down among the canoes on the fishing-ground, and when the fishermen are tugging away at their oars with a head wind, go spanking by them, the spray flying right in the wind’s eye.”

At length, feeling that they knew how to sail, they determined to go over to the mill and exhibit her.

Notwithstanding their efforts to keep it secret, the report of their proceedings had gone round among the young folks. Some boy saw John at work upon the rudder-irons in Peter’s shop, though he plunged his work into the forge trough the moment he saw that he was observed.

Little Bob Smullen also saw Charlie hauling down the spars with Isaac’s oxen, and when he asked Charlie what they were for, he told him, “To make little boys ask questions.”

The wind came fresh off the land, which suited their purpose, as they wished to sail along shore on a wind, and desired to display the perfections of their boat to the greatest advantage, and above all show her superiority to the canoes, which could only go before the wind, or a little quartering. The wind was not only fresh, but blew in flaws; and as they could not think, upon such an occasion, of carrying anything less than whole sail, they put in additional ballast, and took a barrel of sap sugar, which Fred was to sell for them, and five bushels of corn, to be ground at the mill.

They were to spend the night at Captain Rhines’s, intending in the morning to go down to Uncle Isaac’s point and invite him to take a sail with them. Charlie considered that the best part of the affair.

They beat over in fine style, fetching far to the windward of the mill, in order to have opportunity to keep away a little and run the shore down, intending to run by the wharf, and then tack and beat back in sight of whoever might be there. When about half a mile from the shore, they were espied by little Tom Pratt, who was fishing from the wharf. He had heard the talk among the big boys, and, rushing into the mill, he bawled out, “It’s coming! it’s coming! I seed it! that thing from Elm Island.”

Out ran Fred, Henry Griffin, Sam Hadlock, and Joe Merrithew. In a few moments another company came from the store and the blacksmith’s shop, among whom were Captain Rhines, Yelf, and Flour.

John was steering, and every few moments a half bucket of salt water would strike in the side of his neck and run out at the knees of his breeches, while Charlie baled it out as fast as it came in.

“Only look, Charlie! see what a crowd there is on the wharf! I see father and Flour, and there’s old Uncle Jonathan Smullen, with his cane.”

“I see Fred and Hen Griffin,” said Charlie: “when we get a little nearer, I mean to hail ’em.”

“Slack the fore and jib sheets a little, Charlie. I’m going to keep her away and run down by the wharf.”

As they ran along seven or eight hundred yards from the wharf, Charlie, standing up to windward, waved his cap to Fred, and cheered. It was instantly returned by the whole crowd.

At that moment a hard flaw, striking over the high land, heeled her almost to upsetting; and as she rose again, she split in two, from stem to stern. Charlie, who was just waving his hat for a second cheer, went head foremost into the water. One half the boat, to which were attached the masts, bowsprit, and rudder, fell over to leeward; the cable, which was fastened into a thole-pin hole, running out, anchored that part, while the other half drifted off before the wind towards Elm Island.

John and Charlie clung to the half that was left, while the barrel of sugar, the corn, both their guns, powder and shot, went to the bottom.

It was but a few moments before Captain Rhines, with Flour and Fred Williams, came in a canoe, and took them off.

Every one felt sorry for the mishap, and Fred felt so bad that he cried.

It was the first boat that had ever been made or owned in the place, or even seen there, except once in a great while, when a whaleman or some large vessel came in for water, or lost their way; the inhabitants all using canoes, as did also the fishermen and coasters.

As the anchor held one half the boat, it furnished a mark to tell where the contents lay; and while Fred and Henry Griffin were towing back the other half, the rest grappled for and brought up the corn, guns, and sugar, not much of which was dissolved.

It was a bitter disappointment to Charlie and John, but they bore it manfully, and went up to Captain Rhines’s to put on dry clothes and spend the night, Fred walking along with them, striving to administer consolation.

“I wouldn’t feel so bad about it, Charlie,” said he; “we’ve got the other half; why couldn’t you fasten them together again?”

“So you could, Charlie,” said John, “and she would be as good as ever.”

“But what would she look like? No, I never want to touch her again; let her go; but I know one thing, that is, if I live long enough, I’ll build a boat that will sail as well as she did, and not split in two either.”

Uncle Isaac, hearing of the shipwreck, came in to Captain Rhines’s in the evening to see and comfort the boys.

“It’s not altogether the loss of the boat makes me feel so bad, Uncle Isaac,” said Charlie.

“I’m sure I don’t see what else you have to feel bad about.”

“It’s because father told me to fasten her together with knees, and put a hook in the eyes of her; but I thought I knew so much, I wouldn’t do it. I wanted her to look neat; and see how she looks now! I never was above taking advice before, and hope I never shall be again.”

Notwithstanding Charlie’s resolution never to touch the boat again, he changed his mind after sleeping upon it.

The two boys now reluctantly separated, as it was time for John to go to his trade. Fred and Henry set Charlie on to the island, putting the masts, sails, &c., in their canoe, and towing the two halves. Ben never said to Charlie, “I told you so,” but did all he could to cheer him up, and told him he had made a splendid boat; that he watched them till they were half way over, and that she sailed and worked as well as any Vineyard Sound boat (and they were called the fastest) he ever saw. The boys put the pieces of the boat and the spars in the sugar camp, and then Henry and Fred returned.

Charlie seemed very cheerful and happy while the boys were there; but when they were gone, he put his head in his mother’s lap, and fairly broke down. Sally was silent for some time: at length she said,—

“Charlie, I think your goose wants to set. I should have set her while you was gone, but the gander is so cross, I was afraid of him.”

Charlie started up in an instant. This was a tame goose, that had mated with a wild gander they had wounded and caught, and Charlie was exceedingly anxious to raise some goslings, and instantly put the eggs under the goose.

The wild ganders have horny excrescences on the joint of their wings, resembling a rooster’s spur, with which they strike a very severe blow, and are extremely bold and savage when the geese are sitting. They seize their antagonist with their bills, then strike them with both wings, and it is no child’s play to enter into a contest with them.