NO GIVE UP TO CHARLIE.

Charlie lost but very little time, after his arrival at the island, before he began to set out his trees, and, having completed this work, was ready to graft them. He wisely determined not to graft them all, fearing, as he was new in the business, they might not take.

Going to the brook, he procured some blue clay, made it soft with water, mixed the hair and manure of cattle with it, and after putting in his scions, covered the cleft with the composition (the use of wax was not known then); but the clay, after all, is better, though it takes three times as long to put it on, and is less agreeable to handle.

He then covered the clay with tow, and almost every day went to look at them, to see if they were going to take, and then grafted a large number of thorn bushes and wild cherry trees.

The crops were now in the ground, Fred set up in business again, and the baby in his new cradle. The swallows had completed their nests, and were twittering from the eaves of the barn. A pair of robins had established themselves at the fall of the brook, in the birch that flung its shadow over Sally’s tubs, and the spout which Charlie had made to carry the water into them; adjoining to which was a little green plat bordering the brook, and fringed with wild flowers that had come to Elm Island with the birds; here was where Sally washed and bleached her linen, singing meanwhile, as though washing was the most delightful occupation in the world.

Robins are a right sociable bird, and they didn’t seem to be the least mite disturbed by Sally’s operations, but, whenever she sang, replied to her with all their heart. Whenever she left the tub to sprinkle water on the linen spread out to whiten, they would light on the edge of it and sing. More tardy in their arrival than the others, but not less welcome, were four bobolinks. Many times in a day, Charlie would come racing down to the brook, and say,—

“Mother, do listen to that fellow, singing on the top of that fire-weed; don’t he go it as if it did him good? Come, mother, let’s you and I sing;” and they would strike up, “Johnny has gone to the Fair.”

When all these excitements were over, those natural impulses which can never be suppressed for any great length of time began to assert their claims, and Charlie’s thoughts to run in their wonted channel; his fingers itched to be once more handling tools. He began to talk with his father, while they were hoeing together, in respect to the best kinds of wood for boat-building, who told him that ships’ boats were generally built of oak, both plank and timbers, because they had to undergo a great deal of hard usage, and were often beached with heavy loads in them; but that he had seen a great many boats made of pine and spruce; that they were more buoyant, would carry more, were lighter to handle, and if kept afloat, and off the rocks, were just as good. We would observe here, that the covering of a boat is called plank, though it has only the thickness of a board.

Ben also told him that cedar was an excellent material to build boats of; that in Bermuda he had seen vessels of thirty tons built entirely of cedar; that it was strong enough, very durable, and would not soak water; that a boat built altogether of cedar would live forever in a sea, they were so buoyant, just like an egg-shell, top of everything; you couldn’t get any water into them; and that was the wood whale boats were built of.

The moment Charlie began to talk with his father on this subject, the smouldering fire began to burn. He remembered how gloriously the West Wind was streaking it just as she split in two; again he heard the music of the water at her bows, and felt it rushing along under her counter, and thought how gracefully she rose on a sea, as he put his helm down to shake out a flaw.

Long before night he had decided to build a boat that could not split in two, and also the material he would use. There were some large straight-grained sticks of cedar on the beach, which had been cut to put into the Ark, that would make excellent plank. As soon as he left off work at night, he hurried through his chores, then took his axe and went into the woods.

During his visits to Boston and Portland, he had spent most of his leisure time in the ship-yards and boat-builders’ shops. During his last visit he had seen three boats in different stages of progress. One of them had the stem and stern-post fastened to the keel, and a couple of floor timbers put on; another was completely timbered, and one streak of plank, the one next to the top, put on. He asked the builder why that one alone was put on. He said that was the binding streak, which kept the boat in shape, and confined all the timbers, and that now the boat might be laid by, and finished at any time, as she would not get out of shape; that the top streak was left off in order that the sheer (crook) of the boat might be taken out of that.

Although he did not even then think seriously of trying to build a boat, or do anything more than fasten the West Wind together and secure her with knees, yet his mechanical turn led him to measure the depth, length, and breadth of beam of this boat, the distance apart of the timbers, and the size of them, and to notice the manner in which they steamed the plank to bend them. He also perceived that the transom of a boat (square end of the stern), instead of being made of timber, and covered like that of a vessel, was made either of one or two pieces of plank, and fastened to the stern-post.

Thus he knew what material he wanted. Finding an oak, the body of which would afford material for stern, keel, transom, and thwarts, and the limbs make knees and breast-hooks, he cut it down, and hauled it to the beach, intending to lash the cedar to it, and towing them both to the mill, have them sawed to answer his purpose.

“I wouldn’t go to all that trouble,” said Ben. “The first rainy day that comes, we will take them into the barn, and saw them with the whip-saw.” (During the winter Charlie had learned to saw with it.) He decided to build her in the barn, where were a large workshop and bench, and he could work there rainy days.

He built an arch, with stones and clay mortar, near the barn, set the small sap kettle in it, and made a steam box to steam his planks, in order to bend them. His next operation was to haul the two halves of the West Wind to the barn, and fasten them together. With pieces of thin board he took the exact shape of her side in different places—in the middle, a little forward of that, then nearly to the stem forward, and nearly to the stern aft. These moulds reversed would answer equally well for the other side.

The first rainy day, Ben helped him saw out his oak and cedar; he stuck the cedar up to season. The next two days being too wet to hoe, he made the keel, stem, and stern-post by that of the old boat, and put in the deadwood.

The extreme ends of a boat or vessel, being too thin to admit of timbering, are filled up by putting in knees and timber, which afford support to both the stem and stern-post, and a place to fasten the upright timbers that form the extremity of the bow and stern. This is firmly bolted to the keel, and called the deadwood.

Taking the shape of the stern, he by this cut out his transom from a whole piece of plank, and secured it to the stern-post. There is quite a difference between the timbering of a vessel and a boat. The timbers, which form what is called a frame in ship-building, reaching from the keel to the top, are numerous, and are named floor timbers, futtocks, top timbers, and naval timbers, or ground futtocks. The floor timbers are placed at right angles with the keel, forming the flat bottom or floor of a vessel, which gives her buoyancy and stability to carry sail, and the other timbers are fastened to these, the futtocks first, forming the curvature of the side, and the top timbers last. But a boat has only two timbers in a frame. The boat-builder puts his floor timbers on the keel, and fastens them there, then makes all the rest of the frame in one piece, which he calls a naval timber, which laps by the floor timber to the keel, is fastened to it, and forms the side. Builders now make their timbers out of plank, which they steam and bend to suit them. They pursued this course in England, and some other parts of Europe, even at that period; but in this country they used the natural crooks, branches, and roots of trees, and even to this day, in Maine, boats are built in this way, though not by professional builders. They use natural crooks for breast hooks, knees, and floor timbers, and sometimes for sharp risers, and the V-shaped timbers that form the ends, but bend all the rest. Some of them bend knees and breast hooks by slitting the timber to let one part crowd by the other; thus they can make the angle to suit them. And latterly, at East Boston, a ship has been built in which all those great timbers that make the frame and knees of a vessel were steamed and bent.

You must remember, young readers, that Charlie was compelled to dig everything out as he went along. He was very differently situated from an apprentice, who has the instructions of his master, and learns all the rules of his art step by step. He was alone on Elm Island, thrown entirely on his own resources, and with only such information as he had derived from transient visits to a boat-builder’s shop.

He now wanted a mould for his floor timbers. As he had taken the whole measure of the side to the keel, this gave him the rise (crook) of the floor timbers, but he was at loss how long to make them. However, he had now become so full of boat that nothing would stop him.

The Perseverance lay at anchor in the harbor, having come in for bait. He cut out the ceiling in two places to look at her floor timbers, and made his, as he thought, of a proportionate length.

He now drew two lines on the barn floor as long as the keel, and as far apart as it was thick; then, placing his naval timber moulds against this line, he marked out the shape and length of the floor timbers, and made moulds for them, cut the rabbet on the keel, and at the stem and stern, to receive the plank. He then took his moulds, and, going to the woods, cut limbs and dug out roots to correspond to the shape of them, and with broadaxe, saw, and draw-shave, brought them to the right shape and dimensions, which was ten times the work it would have been to get them out of plank sawed at the mill to the right thickness, and bend them.

Fastening his timbers to the keel, and measuring the width of the West Wind, he brought them by cross-pawls to the same width. He next took some long, narrow strips of boards, called ribbands, and fastening one of them to the stem, he brought it along the heads of the floor timbers, and nailed it to the stern-post and floor timbers. He put another along the tops of the naval timbers, and one between; then made moulds for all the other timbers by shoving them out against these ribbands, and shaping them by his eye. After the timbers were all in, he carefully adjusted the tops by crossbands and shores on the outside, till a plumb-line, dropped from the centre of one stretched from stem to stern, struck the centre of the keel; then, by measuring from each side to this line, he knew she was just as full on one side as the other. He also ascertained that he could get the bevel of the timber by the ribbands by taking off the wood wherever they bore on the edges of the timbers.

As the boat sharpens, the timbers straighten, and take the form of the letter V. As they no longer require bending, the boat-builders saw them from straight plank, and crow-foot (notch) them to the keel, and at the stem and stern-post, and scarf them to the deadwood; but Charlie procured crotches, as there were plenty of them in the woods, where the branches of trees forked, presenting the most acute angles.

Working a narrow plank all around the inside for the thwarts to rest on, called a “rising,” he put them in, planing and putting a bead on the edges, and rubbing them smooth with dog-fish skin, Charlie’s substitute for sand-paper, although he could not knee them till the boat was farther advanced. He now found that she was not widest amidships, but that her greatest breadth was forward of the middle timber. Thus, in taking a fish for his guide he had obtained what is now ascertained to be the best proportion for speed.

He felt pretty nice when he had accomplished all, as he had done it by rising as soon as it was light, working at night as long as he could see, and on rainy days. He thought he had done the thing, and won the victory.

Looking all around to see if anybody saw him, he began to dance around the boat, and sing, “I’ve done it! I’ve done it! I’ve got something that won’t split in two now! What will Fred, John, and Uncle Isaac say to this? Won’t I be proud showing her to Uncle Isaac and Joe Griffin! I must finish her up nice, for their eyes are sharper than needles. There’s Sam Chase, who laughed when the West Wind split in two, and said he was glad of it—mean, spiteful creature! I guess he’ll laugh t’other side of his mouth this time. Now, I should like to wrestle with somebody, or do something or other. Guess I’ll go look at the apple trees, and see if the scions have taken. There’s the horn for supper. Well, I’ll go after supper. It was well for me it rained this forenoon, or I should not have accomplished all this.”

After supper, as Charlie sat playing with the baby, and telling his father of his success with the boat, in came Ben, Jr., in high feathers, with both hands full of scions, and covered with tow, and flung them into his mother’s lap, laughing and crowing as though he had done some great and good thing.

“O, you little torment!” cried Charlie; “if you haven’t pulled out all the scions Mr. Welch gave me!”

It was even so. Ben, attracted by the bunches of clay covered with tow, and the scions sticking up through them, had made a clean sweep, and pulled out or broken off every one.

“Only see, mother!” said Charlie; “they’ve nearly all started! There’s one got two leaves, and there’s two more with the buds opening!”

“I’ve a good mind,” said his mother,” to give him a good whipping.”

Ben, who loved Charlie with all his heart, seeing he was angry with him, began to cry as if his heart would break.

“Don’t cry,” said Charlie, mollified in an instant. “I wouldn’t whip him, mother. He didn’t know any better. I’m glad I didn’t graft all of them.”

To change his thoughts, he took his gun and Sailor, and, getting into the Twilight, pulled over to Griffin’s Island.