CHARLIE ACHIEVES SUCCESS.
In the modern mode of building, the carpenter will stretch out his
keel, begin to timber out in the middle, perhaps timber out as far as
the forward and after frames, and even put in some ceiling, before
raising the stem and stern, because the vessel is all modelled, and
he can put every timber in her, and hold her together with ribbands
without putting on a single plank. But in the old mode, nothing could
be done without the stem and stern-post, as they were needed to shape
her by. We shall now see what use Charlie made of his scattering
frames, as he called them, since they are to play a very important part.
Although Charlie was not working by contract, and limited as to time,
yet he thought he should need ten men to handle the timber, which was
all green and of large size, especially as, being on an island, it was
not very easy to procure more. He already had six; Uncle Isaac, Joe,
and Yelf would make nine: four of these, however, would be employed in
sawing, and the whip-saw must be in steady use, in order that plank and
wales might be in readiness, since, in his method of working he must
plank up as he went along; it was also necessary that his deck plank
should be sawed out and stuck up to season. This would leave him but
five men to work on the frame and handle the timber. He therefore hired
four more. He could, upon occasion, call the men from the saw-pit, John
from the anvil, and, more than all, he could have the aid of Ben, in
case of a heavy lift. Ben’s house now very much resembled a bee-hive,
both as to the number of its inhabitants and their industry. There was
no ten-hour system then. It was, begin with the sun and work as long as
you can see to pick up your tools. But on the other hand, as the men
were not so particular as at the present day, to work just so long to
a minute, insomuch that, if the axe is uplifted, and the clock strikes
six, they won’t let it fall, so neither was the employer. The master
workman was not always on the watch to see if a man stopped to rest his
back or light his pipe; whether he ground his tools in his own time or
that of his employer: if a man had a first-rate story, not too long to
tell, he told it.
Sometimes, if a coon ran across the yard, or a squirrel got in among
the timbers of the vessel, the master workman would go for him with
the whole crew at his heels; and then, enlivened by a little fun, they
would work enough faster to make it up. Where all were neighbors, men
of principle, and calculated to earn their wages, and unwilling to be
outdone, there was no necessity for drawing lines, as with the kind of
labor often found in yards at the present day.
Henry Griffin, coming home from sea, resolved to give it up, and learn
the blacksmith’s trade, as he was, like all the Griffins, strong,
willing, and ingenious. John gladly received him as an apprentice. Thus
the family, including the children and Sally’s hired girl, numbered
twenty-two. Taking away the partition between the workshop and the
wood-shed, they threw it all into one room, which made a splendid
workshop in rainy weather, large enough to hew timber or joint deck
plank. The chamber overhead they filled with beds, while Charlie, John,
Henry, and Ben, Jr., slept in the sap camp. It was such a handy place,
after they had worked from sun to sun, to run out and shoot a coon
among the corn in the moonlight evenings!
The stem and stern-posts were bolted on to the keel, lying on the
ground; the whole was raised together and held in position with shores,
and the transom bolted on when it was half up. Charlie now took the
moulds and moulded his scattering frames, and fastened them, together
with the floor timbers, to the keel. These frames, extending from the
keel to the deck, and ranged along at intervals from stem to stern,
kept in position by spruce poles spiked to them and to the stern and
transom, and also to cross pawls at their tops, gave the outline of
the whole vessel. In the modern process of working, the timber, being
all accurately moulded from the draught, the timbering out is a very
rapid process--the planking, fastening, and finishing occupying a much
greater length of time.
But in respect to Charlie, the regulating of these scattering frames,
being accomplished entirely by the eye, was not only a good deal of
work, but it was a very anxious period, since upon this depended the
whole shape of his vessel.
It was no light matter for a boy, not quite twenty, with such men as
Uncle Isaac, Joe, and Yelf looking on, to model a vessel.
They offered no advice; Charlie asked none. He would set up a
scattering frame, squint at it, draw it in or let it out, cut it away,
shape it with the axe or adze to suit his eye, then put up another. He
proved his work by a plumb-line, as he was determined that one side
should not be fuller than the other.
This doing and undoing,--for some of the frames were cut half
off,--occupied a vast deal of time, as nothing could be prepared
beforehand. It was not so very slow work when they tumbled them in
any how, letting anything go that came within hail, not concerning
themselves whether she was fuller one side than the other; but it _was_
in Charlie’s way, who would have everything in proportion, however
rough it might be, no matter how much time it occupied.
The weather was cold, the ground hard-frozen. Charlie was anxious to
plank up before he left off. The custom was to plank up to the heads of
the floor timbers, then put in another set, plank up to them, and so on.
“Uncle Isaac,” said he, “the scattering frames are all in, and nearly
all the others. You can see the shape of her. How do you like her? I’ll
make any alterations that you or father think for the best.”
“Don’t disturb anything. Don’t start a cross-band or a ribband. She’ll
steer well, carry like blazes, sail well for a full vessel, or I’m much
mistaken. Joe and your father are of the same opinion.”
“She looks better than I expected,” said Charlie, drawing a long
breath, struggling to conceal his delight under an appearance of
indifference. “I wish we were able to finish her in good shape, smooth
her up, and paint her.”
“I can see the boat-model in her. You haven’t got that out of your
head, and I hope you never will.”
“I’ll tell you what I’ll do, Uncle Isaac. I’ll build a yawl for her,
that shall be as handsome as any of the boats Isaac will run afoul
of--you see if I don’t. Do you think it would do to plank with these
green plank? or would they shrink all up--make an open seam to eat up
oakum?”
“Shrink? No, indeed! They are froze as hard as a rock, and won’t shrink
one mite if you put them on frozen.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes, indeed. A piece of timber, hard-frozen, is as small as ever it
will be. I’ve laid a house-floor with boards green from the mill, in
the dead of winter, put them down froze, and the next July you couldn’t
put a pin in the joints.”
“Then I will plank her up, and knock off till spring. It is not
profitable to hire in these short, cold days. John and I will do what
we can this winter, which will make our money hold out.”
“What are you going to make your treenails of?”
“White oak, of course.”
“I wouldn’t.”
“What would you make them of?”
“Spruce limbs.”
“Spruce limbs? That’s a funny thing to make a treenail of!”
“They are better than white oak. They are hard, stiff, all heart, and
full of pitch. They’ll never rot.”