WHERE THERE’S A WILL THERE’S A WAY.

When Charlie had put his garden in order, and accomplished other necessary things, he began again to work at his boat.

If he had flattered himself that his difficulties were over when the boat was timbered out, he now found they had but commenced. It was now time to put on the binding streak. He measured up from the keel at the stem and stern for his sheer, and marked it on the timbers; then marked the depth of the old boat on the midship timbers, and measured down from these marks for the width of his top streak. He then worked a ribband along these marks from stem to stern. Those marks, which formed the guide for the lower edge of his top streak, also answered for the top of his binding streak. He had made the top streak of one uniform width, but he now perceived that the distance was so much greater from the keel to the gunwale of the boat, over the middle than at the ends, that he should get up at the ends before he was more than two thirds up at the middle. He also saw that, by reason of the greater fulness aft, the planks must be wider at the ends aft than forward. He therefore divided them into proportionate widths to fill up; but as he thought he had noticed that the upper streak on boats was of a uniform width, he resolved to let that remain. He now measured down from the ribband for his binding streak, got it out by the marks, and put it on; but to his mortification it stuck up in the air at both ends. He could scarcely believe his eyes. He went over his marks again. They were all right, and yet the ends stuck up far above the marks. Had these marks been made on a flat surface, the plank would have gone on fair. It was the twist of the boat that threw them up. He now saw, to his cost, that planking a boat was quite a different thing from boarding a barn. The upper edge of the plank came all right along the marks, but the lower edge stood away off, and the moment he crowded that down to its place, up came the upper edge.

“Guess I’ve got a job before me now,” said Charlie. Foreseeing that he should spoil many plank, and that they would be too stiff to bend and work with as patterns, with Ben’s aid he sawed out some oak pieces very thin, and as these were green, they would bend easily.

“Father, how do carpenters put plank on a vessel?”

“I don’t know. I never noticed.”

“Didn’t you put the wales and garboards on the Ark?”

“No; Joe Griffin and Uncle Isaac put them on, while you and I were towing rafts to the mill.”

But Charlie had not the least idea of relinquishing effort, or yielding to difficulties, however great.

There was one essential thing in Charlie’s favor. Timber was then worth very little, and it didn’t matter much how many patterns he spoiled. It was only the loss of labor in sawing the oak.

He now went resolutely to work.

“It must be done, and I can and will do it,” was Charlie’s motto.

After a great many trials, which produced no satisfactory results, he at length hit upon a plan. Noticing that his plank ran up when he brought it to, he took a board wide enough when brought to the timbers to cover the mark for the lower edge of the streak, notwithstanding its running up. He made his marks on the sides of the timbers where he could see them from the inside, and then getting into the boat, marked the distance on both edges at every timber, then struck a line from mark to mark, leaving some wood “to come and go upon,” as the carpenter’s phrase is. In this way, by great care, cutting and paring, he brought his pattern to an exact fit, and got out his streaks by it, the same pattern answering for both streaks, both sides being alike.

It was an everlasting sight of work, but Charlie possessed that indispensable attribute to success, patient perseverance. Ships and boats, in their present state of perfection, are the results of the efforts of hand and brain for ages, each century adding its mite.

In boat-building, as in all mechanical employments, there are certain rules which are taught by masters to their apprentices, having themselves received them from others, by which hundreds of men work, who could never have discovered them themselves. It was no marvel, then, that this boy, though a natural mechanic, did not know how to work plank, since, without instruction, he must begin at the bottom and work it out himself. He put on his top streak the same way as the others.

The two planks of a boat next the keel are called the garboards, and are the most difficult to put on, as the workman there has to contend with the peculiar twist which the planks of a boat receive at the stem and stern, and also to fit the plank to the circular rabbet at the ends. However, he was equal to the task. Taking a very wide, thin oak board, he steamed it a long time, till it was as limber as a rag; then he put the lower edge against the keel, and setting shores against it, jammed it into the timber the whole length. He then removed one of the end shores, so that he could take the plank off a little to see where to mark, and began to scratch and cut.

When he had fitted the wood ends and the lower edge, he got inside, and scribed along the timbers for the width of the plank. It was slow work, but encouraged by feeling that ultimate success was only a question of time, he persevered till his pattern fitted to a shaving. By this he got out his two streaks, and put them on, only nailing sufficiently to keep them in shape, as he thought he might possibly wish to make some alteration in the width. When he had driven in the last nail, he flung his hammer the whole length of the barn floor, and stretched himself on the hay, completely tired.

“I don’t see what makes me feel so tired! I feel as tired as though I had been lifting rocks all day, and yet I’ve only been tinkering about this boat.”

Charlie had in reality been sweating his brain, and experienced the fatigue which results from mental labor. Indeed, he was so wearied that Sally, after blowing the horn in vain for him to come to supper, went to look for him, and found him sound asleep on the hay. He now resolved to do no more on his boat till haying was over.

Perhaps some of our young readers, who have not Charlie’s mechanical turn, may be a little weary of these details. We shall therefore tell them, in confidence, why we have been so minute, and also why we intend to deal a little more—that is, after haying—in these technicalities.