DIFFICULTIES WHET THE EDGE OF RESOLUTION.
While Charlie and his men were hewing the timber, John Rhines and his
apprentice were getting ready to do the iron-work.
They built a blacksmith’s shop of logs,--the floor was of earth,--made
a bench, and shove-windows. Leaving the rest to complete in rainy days,
they began to prepare coal. Very little coal, except charcoal, was then
used by blacksmiths, small quantities being imported from England into
the seaports, but none at all used in the country shops.
The boys could not afford to buy it. John and Henry went into the
woods, and cut birch and maple into proper lengths for their purpose.
Then, on a flat piece of ground they built up a little cobwork of small
sticks of dry wood, forming a little chimney about six feet high.
They then set green sticks of cord-wood up around this chimney in a
slanting direction, filling the interval between with short sticks.
When a sufficient quantity of wood was set up, they rounded the top
with shorter sticks. They dug green, strong turf, and covered the pile
all over with it, grass-side down, except the top of the chimney, and
some air-holes at the bottom, to make draught enough to keep the fire
steadily burning. Then they threw earth all over it, and stopped the
cracks where the pieces of turf came together, filled the chimney
full of shavings and dry stuff, and kindled it at top. When it had
burned down into the body of the kiln, and the whole mass of wood was
hot and fairly on fire, they put turf on top, and made all tight, the
air-holes at the bottom affording just draught enough to make the wood
coal, without burning to ashes, as it would in an open fire. By these
air-holes they could regulate the draught. If the wind blew hard, and
the draught was too great, stop them up on the windward side; if too
weak, open them.
Boys will have fun out of anything. One wouldn’t think there was a
great deal of fun in watching a coal-kiln night and day, so as to be
ready to fling on earth, or put on turf, if the fire should burst out
anywhere; but they had lots of fun out of it, and the best times
imaginable. They built a camp, made it rain-proof by putting a board
roof on it, built a chimney of stones, where they could cook in rainy
weather, though in fair weather they always built their fire before the
door of the camp, hunter fashion. They loved to see the stars, the fire
flashing through the trees; and somehow things tasted sweeter when the
kettle hung by the crotch out of doors. The care of the coal-kiln did
not occupy much of their time; but one of them was always obliged to
be there, in the event of the fire breaking out. Thus, while one kiln
was burning, they cut the wood for another. Rare times they had of it
in the evening! They roasted coons, that could always be found round
the edge of the corn, clams, and ears of corn, baked potatoes, and had
all the maple sugar they wanted, roasted eggs, and sometimes a chicken.
Neither did they lack for company. Charlie, Uncle Isaac, and Joe were
pretty sure to be there every night. Sometimes Sally would take her
knitting-work and come up; and it was by no means rare for all on the
island, except the baby and whoever had the care of him, to come; and
there was not a happier visitor at the camp than Tige Rhines, who
insisted on coming to the island with John, and could not be persuaded
to return without him, although Captain Rhines, who was a frequent
visitor to the island, used all the arts of persuasion he was master of
to engage him to return with him.
It is no marvel the coal-kiln was a popular resort. The captain never
failed, when he came on, to bring apples, pears, plums, and a jug of
new cider to John. He was by no means chary of his treasures; and it
was quite agreeable to tired men to sit around a blazing fire, eat
apples and pears, perhaps a piece of baked coon, with a roast potato,
drink a mug of sweet cider, and tell, or listen to, a good story.
Upon such occasions Joe Griffin generally kept the company in good
humor. Ricker, who had now become a universal favorite, contributed a
song. The change in this man was most remarkable. From being a bully
and a brag, he had become a most agreeable, pleasant companion. He had
also manifested a great capacity for handling tools; since latterly,
the four men having sawed out all the plank that was needed for present
use, Charlie had taken him and Thorndike from the saw-pit, and set them
at work on the vessel.
“The best thing that ever happened to me,” said he to Uncle Isaac,
“was when I fell into the hands of Lion Ben. Before that, I thought
there was nobody could handle me, and the idea came near ruining me. I
left off work, thought of nothing but wrestling; was running to every
launching, raising, hauling, muster, and log-rolling I could hear of,
and was straining myself all to pieces.”
“I,” replied Uncle Isaac, “used to wrestle a good deal in my young
days, and I know that in some of those scrapes I have injured and worn
myself out more than I have in a year’s work; yes, more than in two.”
“No doubt you have. I wrestled once, at North Yarmouth, till the blood
spun from my nose a stream, and I was as sore the next day as though I
had been pounded with an ox-goad. Then I was always treating and being
treated, and got so I couldn’t settle myself to work; and liquor was
fast getting the upper hands of me; but after I went home from here, I
thought of Mr. Rhines’s advice, and determined to follow it. I never
was among such people as the folks are here. They don’t drink as they
do up our way,--at least those that I’ve seen and worked with,--and are
just like brothers.”
“There’s plenty of drinking here, but you have been among those who
have seen the evil of it, and left it off. There’s not a man you work
with, myself included, but, three years ago, drank spirit. Now we think
we’ve found a better way, one that is more pleasant, better for the
pocket, the health, and the conscience.”
“It _is_ a better way, and I’m going to join you, and do as you do.”
“You are a young man, Mr. Ricker. Have you any parents depending on
you?”
“No, sir. My parents both died when I was a child. My father was killed
by a falling tree. My mother took sick and died, and my uncle brought
me up.”
“Well, then, just stay here amongst us. There is plenty of work to do
round here--chopping, logging, and river-driving. There will be more
vessels built here, too. I don’t know whether Charlie will work much
longer or not; but if he don’t, I will give you and Thorndike work all
winter, logging and making shingles; and when you are not at work,
you’re welcome to make my house your home.”
“I’m very much obliged to you, Mr. Murch, and shall be right glad, if
Master Bell don’t work, to take up with your offer.”
“There’s plenty of land here, that can be bought cheap--good land,
too; and there’s plenty of nice young women, that know how to spin and
weave, and would make a striving man a good wife, take care of whatever
he brings into the house; and, though I say it myself, there’s not a
more industrious, neighborly set of people in the United States of
America than live in this town; and you travel the country through,
and you won’t find a better principled, more enterprising set of young
men; and I mean to do what little I can to encourage them, and there’s
others feel just as I do.”
“I mean to be governed by your counsel, Uncle Isaac. But, to tell the
truth, there’s a young woman up our way that I’ve had some dealings
with, and we were engaged once; but she didn’t like my drinking,
wrestling, and carousing about, and neglecting my work, and her folks
set in, and that made a coldness between us. I love her as the apple of
my eye, and I drank more to drown trouble.”
“You ought to think the more of her for not approving of your drinking
and idleness.”
“So I do.”
“Well, then, all you have to do is, just to go on as you are now
doing, stay here out of the way of temptation, and build up a good
reputation. The news won’t be long getting back to your place.
They’ll miss you at musters and raisings, and begin to inquire,
‘Where’s Ricker? We want him to take hold of this man that’s throwing
everybody.’ The answer will come back, ‘Ricker’s given up drinking and
wrestling, and is at work on Elm Island, having the best of wages.
People there think everything of him, and won’t let him go. He’s going
to buy a farm, and live among them.’ Take my word for it, the young
woman will be the first one to hear of it; and in time matters will
right themselves.”
The first kiln that John and Henry burned contained forty bushels; the
next, eighty. They burned one more, drew the kilns, and put the coals
in a pen in one corner of the shop.
Captain Rhines came over to see how matters progressed, and spent the
night. In the evening Charlie and John held a consultation in respect
to iron, which would soon be wanted, and fixtures for the blacksmith’s
shop.
“We can get along,” said John, “with an anvil, bellows, two pairs of
tongs, hand hammers, sledges, and cold chisels.”
“Won’t you need a vice?” asked Charlie.
“It would be handy; but there won’t be any screws to cut. I can get
along without it.”
“What do these things cost?”
“An anvil will cost about fifteen dollars, a pair of bellows about
thirteen, and a good vice about twenty-five.”
“That’s a good deal of money, just for tools, when we’ve got so little.
We must pinch all we can on the hull, in order to be able to obtain the
sails and rigging. That will be a heavy bill, and must be all cash.”
“Yes; but I can do without a vice, make the hammers, tongs, and other
tools, and I think I can make the bellows; so there will be only the
anvil, the steel, and iron to buy.”
Captain Rhines sat and listened, as they were talking in low tones in a
corner, till he could bear it no longer; and taking Ben and Uncle Isaac
aside, he told them what he had overheard.
“It’s too bad, Ben, to let such boys as these struggle along so!
I’ll take the Perseverance, go to Portland or Boston, and buy them a
complete set of blacksmith’s tools. If we build vessels, we shall want
them.”
“Don’t you do it, Benjamin,” said Uncle Isaac; “for the life of you,
don’t you do it! You’ll do them more hurt than good. Hardship don’t
hurt boys. It didn’t you and I. They are doing first rate--making grand
calculations! It’s drawing out what’s in ’em. If James Welch had been
put to it as they are, it would have been better for him, and saved his
parents much misery.”
Ben siding with Uncle Isaac, the captain relinquished his purpose.
Perhaps most of our young readers have seen a pair of house
bellows,--some have not,--stoves and coal fires having consigned them,
for the most part, to oblivion; but they were a great institution
once--from the homely kitchen to the highly-ornamented and gilded
parlor ones.
Those boys who have not seen them can ask their grandmothers, which
will save us some detail; and, as we have so many “last things” to say
to you in this volume, it is quite an object.
A blacksmith’s bellows is double. The wood is six feet long, three
feet four inches wide. Instead of having merely top and bottom of
wood, they consist of three pieces of plank, and are double, having
two clappers. The upper piece is solid; the middle piece has a hole
and a clapper; the bottom, another hole with a clapper. The top and
bottom covers rise and fall by means of hinges at the end. The middle
piece is permanent, and the bellows are hung in a frame by iron gimbals
driven into the edge of the middle piece. They are worked by a long
lever attached to the handle of the bottom board, the space between
the boards being leather, which is distended by bows to prevent its
collapsing too much when empty. The smith puts weights on the top plank
to press it down, and force the air into the fire, and hangs another
on the handle of the lower one to bring it down, and open the bellows
to admit air. He lifts the lever, the bellows fill through the bottom.
The moment he brings it down, the air is forced into the fire, and
the upper portion of the bellows, where it is retained by the upper
clapper. When the lever is raised again to refill, the weights on the
upper cover are still pressing the air into the fire. Thus it is a
draught all the time.
They made their covers, middle piece, and clappers, hung them with
leather hinges, made the bows of ash, and in default of leather,
covered them with new canvas, that was left from the sails of the
Ark, closing the seams with pitch,--which they procured from the
woods,--mixed with charcoal dust.
They found an old bolt, cut it in two on the edge of an old axe, made
a fire heat, and pointed the ends on a stone for an anvil, and made
gimbals to drive into the middle piece to hang their machine.
“What under heavens shall we make a nose of?” said John. “That beats
me! If I had iron, I could make it; but there’s not a scrap more on the
island.”
The nose of a blacksmith’s bellows is tunnel-shaped, and at the
extremity enters an iron tube, called a tewel, which goes into the
forge, and lies just under the fire.
“We could make the tewel out of a gun barrel. I’ve got an old Queen’s
arm, at home, that’s spoilt.”
“Yes; but what shall we make the nose of? That must be broad-mouthed,
and twice as big.”
“Make it of clay, and burn it in the fire.”
“It would be breaking. The heat would crack it; and I don’t know how we
could fay it to the wood to make it tight.”
“Then make it of a piece of wood that has been soaking in salt water.
It will be some way from the fire. We can keep watch of it, and wet it
with a mop.”
“I don’t believe but we shall have to.”
“Why don’t you ask your brother Ben, or Uncle Isaac?”
“Let us make the frame to hang it on. Perhaps we shall think of
something.”
Before they had finished the frame, John exclaimed, “I’ve got it, Hen!
Just the thing! I’ve seen an old blunderbuss barrel, without any stock
to it, kicking round Uncle Isaac’s shop. It will make nose and tewel,
both in one. I know he’ll give it to me. ‘The lame and the lazy are
always provided for.’”
“What is a blunderbuss?”
“A short gun, bell-muzzled, and with an everlasting great bore, made to
fire a whole handful of slugs and balls. They don’t use them now.”
“Go ask Uncle Isaac. Then take the boat, and go after it. As you come
along, stop into Peter Brock’s shop, ask him to put it into his vice,
and start the breech-pin for me.”
When they had obtained the old gun barrel, they completed their
bellows, made a forge and forge-trough. They had no chimney--the gas
went out through a hole in the roof.
John put some coal on the forge, kindled the fire, and started the
bellows. They worked capitally.
“Hen,” said John, in high spirits, “that is what I call ‘raising
the wind’ in more ways than one. We were only two days making these
bellows, and one of them was a rainy day. That’s pretty good wages--six
dollars and fifty cents per day!”
John and Henry now took the Perseverance, and went to Portland. John
went directly to Mr. Starrett, who received him most cordially. He
told him all the circumstances from beginning to end, upon which Mr.
Starrett lent him an anvil that was rather small for his heavy work,
and told him that Captain Pote had just got home from the West Indies,
and brought a lot of old iron that he had bought there for little or
nothing, and would sell for one fourth the price he would have to give
at the warehouse. Probably he could pick out a great deal that would
answer his purpose; that it lay on the wharf just as it was thrown out
of the vessel.
John and Henry went to the wharf, and spent the whole day picking over
the heap. They found cold chisels, punches, sledges, hand hammers,
spikes, and ship’s bolts; eye bolts, ring bolts, studding-sail boom
irons, straps for mast circles and caps.
John bought what he thought would answer his purpose, and threw it
into the schooner. Mr. Starrett bought the rest of his iron for him
cheaper than he could have bought it himself, because he knew just what
description and quantity of metal were wanted. When it was all on board
the vessel, Mr. Starrett came and looked it over.
“John,” said he, “you will make a great saving by buying that old
iron. With very little labor, you will get the larger part of your
fastening out of it, a good deal of iron-work for the spars, and all
your thimbles. My boy, you will have a hard job with so few tools, to
do what you’ve got before you; but you’ll win through it. If you have
to hang up, and go to work to raise money, come to me. I’ll find you
work.”
John thanked his friend, and they separated. He arrived home, got his
iron into the shop, his anvil on the block, his tongs made, handles in
the hammers and sledges two days before the carpenters put the keel
together and wanted to bolt it. He had no tool to head spikes; so he
just turned them over the anvil, making a head on one side, like a
railroad spike. They looked queer, but answered the purpose just as
well. Persons do not know what they can do till they are compelled to
exert their faculties to the utmost. It was this rude training in the
school of stern necessity that has made this nation what it is.
We are to-day reaping the benefits of their trials, and shall continue
thus to do, if we do not, by prosperity, become effeminate. The
Pilgrims suffered terribly the first winter, because they came fresh
from the homes of Old England, with the habits of that country, and
were comparatively helpless. But suppose their children, born and
reared in this country, had been placed in just the same circumstances,
or a band of western hoosiers, how soon would they have built up log
shanties, found clams and lobsters on the beach, fish under the ice,
coons and bears in their dens, and when the spring opened, planted corn
on a burn? The Pilgrims had been reared among conveniences, never been
drawn out by necessity in that direction, and most of them died in the
seasoning, being too old to learn.
But we see how Charlie conforms to the necessities of his position.
Once put on the track, and encouraged by Ben and Uncle Isaac, he seems
not one whit inferior to John Rhines in contrivance or resources to
meet exigencies as they come along.
Charlie finished planking up the last day of December, and discharged
all his men, except Ricker. Planking up a vessel was slow, hard work in
those days, as they had none of the modern appliances to bring their
plank to the timber, and nothing better to bore the innumerable holes
through the hard timber than an old-fashioned pod augur, which must be
started in a hole cut with a gouge. They bored from inside outward,
because, the augur being destitute of a screw, it was easier.
There was no blacksmith work of any amount to be done till the
carpenters began to work in the spring.
Henry Griffin went to work with Ricker in the barn, sawing out ceiling
plank and other stuff. Charlie and John burnt coal enough to finish
the iron-work, cut the small spars, and hauled them out. The mast and
main boom were so large that Charlie was afraid to fall them till the
snow was deeper, for fear of breaking or injuring them; however, as he
knew the size of the spars, he made the caps, and John ironed them,
after which he learned to saw with a whip-saw: this liberated Ricker,
who was a most excellent broadaxe-man, having been accustomed all his
life to hewing timber. Charlie set him at work upon the spars, while
he himself, having plenty of seasoned stuff, built a long-boat and
yawl-boat for the vessel. In this way he could employ the two men,
John, and himself profitably: the wages were less in the winter; the
weather did not interfere with the sawing, which was done under cover.
Ricker, indeed, worked under cover in the shop with Charlie, when
it was stormy or severely cold, and helped him on the boats and the
windlass.
Charlie built a beautiful yawl-boat, putting in gratings at the bow and
in the bottom, with a fancy yoke of mahogany, using up the last of his
West India wood in the operation, and in sheaves for the blocks. When
she was done, he painted her handsomely.
“There,” said he; “they may laugh at the sloop, but I reckon they won’t
at the boat. Isaac shall go ashore in as good shape as the best of
them.”
Uncle Isaac had a lathe, and Charlie engaged him to make the blocks and
turn the sheaves in the course of the winter.
They next made the rudder. Nowadays, when vessels are steered
with wheels, the tillers are a straight stick of timber; but an
old-fashioned one required a stick of very peculiar form, something the
shape of the letter S; and what made it more difficult to get them,
was the fact that a great strain came on them, and they must be of
tough wood. Joe Griffin had engaged to hunt up a stick in the woods,
rough-hew it, and bring it to the island.