FITTING AWAY.
It was now the month of September, and time to think of getting ready
for sea. Captain Rhines came on to the island, and with him John
Strout, who had closed up his fishing, and was to be first mate; Seth
Warren, who was second mate; and Joe Griffin and Robert Yelf, who were
to go before the mast. The first thing they did was to take the anchor
the pirates left on the beach, carry it out and drop it astern, to hold
her when she should float, though it must be confessed she did not have
much more the appearance of floating than a basket. They then built a
breastwork of logs on the beach, and above the tide, reaching to the
bow of their craft, to run the boards on. They next hewed out some
sticks long enough to go across the vessel, and bolt to the frames,
both to hold her together and bind the cargo. As they were cutting
these they came across a very large pine.
“Halloo, Ben!” cried Joe; “thought you had taken an oath that you
would never live another spring without a gunning float.”
“So I have.”
“Well, here’s the tree to make a bunkum one, I tell you; shall I cut it
for you?”
“Yes.”
At first, they could only work at low water, as the tide ebbed and
flowed in their craft. Captain Rhines and Ben stowed the boards, while
the others ran them in. They arranged them with great care, that
the joints might not all come in one place; and frequently put in a
stick of cedar to increase the buoyancy, as cedar, in addition to its
lightness, soaks water very slowly.
The tide now began to make. As they did not wish their timber to float
in the vessel, and get out of place, they put shores under the deck
beams to keep it from rising, and piled rocks on it: in a short time it
was all out of sight, under water. They employed the rest of the day in
piling boards on the breastwork, that they might be near at hand.
The next day they were able to go to work much sooner, and, the timber
being near, made much more rapid progress; the next day more still;
and, as they rose above the tide, put in more cedar to increase the
buoyancy. They now put in their cross-ties, and bolted them to the
timbers, and when the tide made she floated, so that the boards were
several feet above water and the top all dry.
The next morning Joe Griffin, after scratching his head a while,
suddenly exclaimed, “Look here, neighbors: I don’t pretend to be any
great of a sailor man, but I reckon I know how to handle timber, and
put it where I want it--I do. I can plank this stage over, run it a
little farther aft, and take the oxen and twitch more lumber into this
vessel in an hour than you can put in in this way in half a day. They
might split a board or two, but I don’t ’spose that would kill anybody.”
“Good on your head, Joe,” said Captain Rhines; “let’s see you do it.”
The bow of the craft, a few feet aft of the fore-mast, was close
timbered, as in ordinary boats; but from that to the mainmast was
a hole large enough to drive in three yoke of oxen abreast. They
lengthened their breastwork a little, hauled the craft alongside of
it, and made a stage of plank. The others laid the boards in twitches,
and were all ready to hook the chain when Joe came for his boards; and
he hauled them into the vessel at a great rate, and dropped them just
where Captain Rhines and Ben wanted them.
“Every man to his business,” said Ben; “I never heard of that way of
loading boards before.”
She was now half full. Captain Rhines then put into her a number of
tight and strong empty hogs heads and barrels, and stowed the boards on
top of them. The effect of this was very quickly visible; she began to
act like a vessel,--to rise and fall with the swell of the sea, and to
be quite lively.
“That tells the story,” said the captain; “we’ll give her a few more;
there’s nothing like an empty cask; I’ll find a use for them when we
get out there.”
“I wouldn’t have believed it,” said Joe; “why didn’t you put them way
down in the bottom of her, and fill her floor? she would have floated
as light as a feather.”
“If I had,” replied the captain, “she would have done like the boy who
went in swimming with the bladders.”
“How was that?”
“A boy had heard tell that bladders would float a person, and thought
he would walk on the water with them; so he went down to the pond, tied
the bladders on to his feet, and waded into the water: they found him,
a few hours afterwards, feet up and head down, as dead as a herring;
and that would have been the way with our craft.”
“What an ass I am!” said Joe; “ain’t I?”
“No; but you didn’t happen to think of that.”
“Joe,” said Ben, one night after work, “can you make a float?”
“No.”
“Then I’m all ashore. I’ve been thinking that, after you came back, you
and I could make one before the kitchen fire this winter.”
“I tell you, though it seems to be a very simple thing, there’s a great
knack in making a float. I can make a hog’s trough, and christen it a
float, but to make one that will be stiff and light, and scull steady
and true, there’s only one man round here can do it.”
“Who’s that?”
“Uncle Sam Elwell.”
“Uncle Sam!” replied Ben, in amazement; “I didn’t know he could work in
anything but rocks.”
“It’s my opinion that he can work in anything he has a mind to; but he
won’t touch anything but rocks, except it is a float or a gun-stock.
He will make as neat a gun-stock as ever a man put to his face, or a
snow-shoe; but if he wanted a door made to a pig-sty or a hen house, he
would go and build wall for Uncle Isaac, while he made them for him;
or if his wife wanted a chopping-tray or a bread-trough, she might want
it till she could get Uncle Isaac to make it for her. Whatever he wants
for hunting or fishing, he’ll find a way to make, fast enough; it’s my
solid belief he’d make a gun-barrel if he couldn’t get one in any other
way.”
“Do you think he would come over here in the winter, and make a float?”
“To be sure he would; he is doing nothing in the winter but taking
care of his cattle; and there’s not a calm day but he and Uncle Isaac
are out in their float after game. Why, I’ve known them old critters,
when they wanted to be in a certain place at half tide to shoot harvest
ducks, to lie down on the beach in the night and go to sleep, till the
water flowed up around their knees and woke them up.”
“We’ll hew it out, at any rate; that’ll save him some work.”
“I wouldn’t; he’s a particular old toad, and would rather have it just
as it grew; but if you touch it, he’ll think you’ve taken off some
where you ought not to, and spilte it; he’ll no more thank you for
saving him labor on a float-piece, than a feller would thank you for
courting a girl for him; he’d rather do it himself.”
Ben sent word to Uncle Sam, who replied that same day, that when he and
Isaac were out gunning they would come and look at it.
“Didn’t I tell you so?” said Joe. “I wager my head that they’ll both
of them come over here and make it: what a good time they will have
puttering over it, and passing their compliments upon each other! It’s
my opinion, that when them old men die they won’t be buried with their
wives, but alongside of each other. Uncle Isaac thinks so highly of the
Indians, I expect he believes as they do, and thinks that he and Sam
will go hunting in the other world.”
They now made sail, and ran her over into Captain Rhines’s cove, and
came to anchor. They found upon trial, that although she was clumsy in
working, she minded her helm, and sailed beyond their most sanguine
expectations.
“I declare, Ben!” said Captain Rhines; “who would have thought she
would go through the water so; we’ve got her sparred just right, if we
did do it by guess. She’s like old Aunt Molly Bradish--better than she
looks.”
They now took on board some spare spars, and Captain Rhines took a
large barrel of oil.
“Heavens!” said Joe Griffin; “the old man calculates on a long voyage,
if he expects to burn all that.”
The Ark, as they called her, was most appropriately named, both in
respect to her proportions and her cargo. Captain Rhines had resorted
to a custom common in those days. He gave his crew merely nominal
wages,--four dollars a month,--and the mates in proportion; but, in
addition to this, he gave them a “privilege,” as it was called; that
is, a certain space to carry whatever they liked, to sell in the West
Indies. Produce was not carried there from all parts of the world in
those days, as at present; and a barrel or two of onions or beets would
bring twenty-five or thirty dollars. Live stock also brought a great
price, although they were very apt to be lost on the passage. Captain
Rhines carried candles for his “venture,” as it was called; John
Strout, horses; Charlie sent hens, baskets, and turnips as freight.
In the morning, when they were all fed, there was such a cackling of
hens, bleating of sheep, and all kinds of noises, as was really quite
wonderful.
A great many people came from all parts to look at her, and many and
various were the criticisms. Some thought she would never get there;
more thought she would; but all agreed in this--that if anybody in the
world could get her there, it was Captain Ben Rhines. Uncle Isaac’s
judgment was greatly respected by all.
“Mr. Murch,” said Isaac Pettigrew, “you don’t seem to be at all
consarned, though your nephew is going in her. What makes you so easy?”
“Because,” replied he, “a lucky man is master.”
One night, as the captain and his family were at the supper-table,
there came in a negro, very black, and of truly vast proportions, whom
Captain Rhines addressed by the singular appellation of Flour. This
nickname he obtained in this manner. He was a man of great strength,
and a thorough seaman, but he often shipped as cook, because he had
higher wages; and a most excellent cook he was: he was also perfectly
honest, and, like most very powerful men, of an excellent disposition;
but he would get drunk whenever the opportunity offered, insomuch that
they often put him in jail, and locked him up till the vessel was ready
for sea. Sometimes he would stay ashore for a year or two, and then
get tired and start off. He was always in demand, notwithstanding this
failing,--the economical captains never hesitating to go one hand short
when they had Flour (alias James Peterson) for cook, as he was always
ready to lend a hand, and was worth three common men in bad weather.
Some roguish boys, one day when he had been drinking, got him into a
store, and putting molasses on his wool, covered it with flour, putting
a layer of flour and molasses till his head was as big as a half
bushel. After this he went by the name of Flour, and answered to it as
readily as to his own name, that dropping out of use entirely.
He was a slave, while slaves were held in New England, and had been
many voyages with Captain Rhines, who used to hire him of Peterson, his
master, to whom he was so much attached that he would never leave him,
although he had every opportunity to run away when at sea; and not even
the love of liquor could prevent him from bringing home a present for
his master.
“Massa cap’n,” said the black, “dey tells me you’s gwine to sail the
salt seas again. Massa, if you is goin’, this nigger would like to go
wid you.”
“Well, we’ve been a good many cruises together. Wife, give Flour some
supper, and then we’ll talk it over. I suppose,” said the captain,
after supper, “you’ve got dry, and want some of that augerdent[A] the
Spanish make. It’s fiery stuff, and will burn your coppers all up; you
had better drink old West India. Wife, give him a glass of that Santa
Cruz.”
[A] Aguardiente.
“Thank you, massa cap’n.”
“But I ain’t going to give much of any wages; they are going to have a
‘privilege’--mates and all. I tell you, we are like old Noah; we’ve got
cattle, and feathered fowl, beasts clean and unclean.”
“Massa, me have privilege, too.”
“What have you got to carry?”
“Me got an onion patch, massa,--my ole woman raise him; got some
bayberry taller,--Spaniards buy him quick to put in de candle; make him
hard so he no melt. Me talk Spanish all same as one Spaniard; me tell
’em all about it.”
“But how will you get back? I am going to sell the craft.”
“O, massa, you know I good sailor man; you give me what you call
recommend, I get a chance in some ship to go somewhere--don’t care
where; my ole woman so debilish ugly me no want to come back. Last
Monday mornin’ she break de skillet; she kill my dog; she put thistle
under my horse’s tail when I goes to de store, so he fling me over his
head--most break my neck.”
“Perhaps she thought you went to the store too often. And what did you
do to her?”
“I beat her with the well-pole. When we were slaves to ole massa she
well enough; but since freedom came I no live with her--she no mind me
at all.”
“Well, Flour, I give the men four dollars a month, and their privilege.
I’ll give you six, and your grog, and all the privilege you want; but I
shall expect you to lend us a hand in bad weather, and perhaps take the
helm, for there’s not a man in the vessel can steer in bad weather as
you.”
“O, massa, you know this darky; he no be de last man when de watch is
called.”
They were now all ready for sea, only waiting for a fair wind, and
enough of it.