CHAPTER XXIII.BREAKING CAMP.

“There are just two things,” said Uncle Isaac, “for us to make up our minds about. We’ve had great luck. We’ve got two silver-gray foxes, which is an uncommon thing. I lay it to the honey that I fried the bait in, the bloody neck of a moose that I dragged along the trail, and the earth I got from Joe Bradish’s fox-pen. We’ve taken a great many beavers, coons, minks, and otters, and the fur is all prime, for we didn’t begin till the fur was good. It will be good about three weeks longer, till May. If we go now, we can get out of the woods to the nearest road, and haul our furs on the sledges, by going twice over the road, or we can stay and trap as long as the fur is good, build canoes, and, by carrying round the falls, take the furs and all our truck right to our own doors.”

“I,” said Joe, “go in for staying till the very last minute, trapping the very last beaver, and then taking to the water.”

The boys were clamorous for going by water.

“It will be nothing,” said Uncle Isaac, “to carry our canoes and furs round the falls, to what it would to haul the sledges over the soft snow; and then, when we get out of the woods, we shall find the snow gone, have to leave them, and come after them with teams.”

Notwithstanding the excitement of this wild, fresh life in the woods, the boys had by no means lost sight of the great object of their efforts—the fitting away of the Hard-Scrabble.

“Uncle Isaac,” asked Charlie, “how much do you suppose these furs are worth?”

“Well, I never like to crow till I have got out of the woods; but it is remarkable, it is, our luck.”

“How much? Do tell us!”

“I don’t think you’ll have to make any wooden shrouds.”

“Shall we have enough to rig the vessel?”

“How much, Charlie, do you suppose these silver-gray fox-skins are worth?” asked Joe.

“I’m sure I don’t know.”

“Forty dollars apiece for the real silvers, and the silver-gray twenty-five.”

“O, my! and the beaver-skins?”

“About six dollars apiece.”

Beaver fur, notwithstanding it was plenty, was in far more request than at present, as it was then the only material for nice hats; but silk has since taken its place, beaver being too heavy a fur for wearing.

“And the coons?” asked John.

“One dollar apiece. The bears about forty shillings.”

“Why, the bears alone will come to about ten pounds!”

“The otter?”

“The otter six dollars, and the fisher six.”

“Mink and muskrats?”

“About two shillings for a mink; muskrat, seventy-five cents.”

“I reckon,” said Uncle Isaac, “we’ve made nearly a hundred dollars a month apiece, and shall be here a little short of five months. We shan’t get many more beaver, but we shall get more otter, may get another silver-gray fox, and lots of muskrats.”

“Then,” cried Charlie, jumping to his feet, “we’ve got enough.”

“Hurrah! yes,” said John; “and we’ve got all summer left to earn more in.”

“How much do you calculate it’s going to take to fit her for sea?”

“Fifteen hundred dollars—three hundred seventy-five apiece.”

“It won’t take it. You’ve made too large a calculation, though it’s an excellent plan to make a large calculation. You’ve gone upon the supposition of paying the regular price for labor and canvas. It ain’t going to cost you the trade price for canvas, by a great deal, nor for making the sails, fitting the rigging, and putting it on. I tell you, if we get home safe, you’ll have enough to give her the best of rigging, cables, and anchors, and enough left to load, provision her for a voyage, and pay the crew.”

Uncle Isaac now exerted all the craft he was master of to trap another silver fox; but, notwithstanding all his arts, the essences and other attractions he used, his efforts were for a long time fruitless. At length he built a booth, and, having first removed every vestige of offal from around the camp, he roasted a beaver, and besmeared it with medicine, then dragged the bloody neck of a deer just killed around the bait, and into the woods, and lay in wait several nights. He finally shot his fox, which he knew was in the vicinity, as he had seen him several times, which was the occasion of his taking so much pains.

Having accomplished this to his heart’s content, and exclaiming, “What will Sam and Captain Rhines say to that!” he avowed he would not bait another trap, but instantly set himself to hunting for canoe birch. He was not long in finding one—though at the present day they are so rare that the Eastern Indians have pretty much abandoned the use and construction of canoes—of sufficient size, bare of branches for several feet, and free from cracks and knots, and, with his knife and a sharp wedge, carefully peeled the bark from the trunk. It was a slow process, requiring great care, for this canoe, which was designed to carry most of the furs and provisions, was to be thirty-four feet long. In this labor all united, under the direction of Uncle Isaac. They next procured long strips of cedar, split with the frow from a straight-grained log,—four of them,—which were to form the gunwales, an inch thick and two inches wide, also a large number of strips for linings, an inch thick and two inches wide, strips of ash for ribs, half an inch thick and two inches wide, and spruce roots soaked in hot water for thread. When all these materials were procured, they were carried to a level piece of ground near the camp. While the boys, with their knives, wereshaping and smoothing the sheathing and timbers, and stripping the spruce roots into thread, Uncle Isaac, aided by Joe, modelled the canoe. They set up four stakes in the ground, two at each end, nearly as far apart as the canoe was to be long, and laid the bark on the ground between them, with the side that went next to the wood outside, the ends brought together and put between the stakes, then bound four of the cedar strips together by pairs in several places with roots, then bound the ends together to form the gunwales, and fastened them to the stakes. The ribs were then laid across the bark on the ground, the longest in the middle, and decreasing gradually towards each end. Stones were placed upon the middle of these to keep them down, the ends were then successively bent up and tucked between the gunwale strips, and fastened very near together. Other strips were then placed outside of these, lengthwise, and where they lapped, nicely bevelled, forming an outside covering, like the planks of a vessel. They were to keep the ribs in their places, and strengthen the structure.

Uncle Isaac now elevated each end by putting a stone under in two places, to give a proper curve. He then went all over his work, pulling up orshoving down the ribs that were placed between the gunwales, and thus shaping her to suit his eye, till, being satisfied with his efforts, he fastened several of the ribs securely to the inner rail strip to preserve the shape, and bringing up the bark, fitted it between the strips, and sewed it with roots, through both the bark and the ribs.

A number of bars were now put across, their ends brought against the rail, and sewed to it. The seams in the bark, at the ends and along the sides, were sewed, and then payed over with spruce gum mixed with charcoal dust.

The boys enjoyed themselves much at this work, as it was the very thing they had resolved to do in their summer holiday, with which the building of the Hard-Scrabble had so rudely interfered.

“I calculate to give these canoes to you boys; so I suppose you want them made in style.”

“Of course, Uncle Isaac,” said Charlie, “because, you know, we shall be asked who made them.”

Uncle Isaac boiled the moss of a tree in water in which the roots of wild gooseberries had been boiled, and made a red dye. In this he colored porcupine quills; others he colored blue and green, with other barks and roots, the names of which hewould not tell, and ornamented the canoe and stained the paddles. The canoe was thirty-four feet long, four and a half wide, and nearly three deep.

“I’ll warrant her to carry twenty-five hundred,” said Uncle Isaac.

They now built a smaller one, and packing their furs, furnished themselves with moose meat, smoked and dried, for provision on the way, turned their backs on the woods, and arrived safely at home in hoeing time, where Uncle Isaac found his crops and cattle in fine order, all his affairs having been intrusted to Ricker during his absence.

When they started for home, John said to Charlie, as he took up his paddle, “I’ve had woods enough to last me for a long time, and shall be contented to go to work.”

“I am only sorry,” said Charlie, “that I couldn’t find a bear’s cub that I could take home with me.”

During their absence Captain Rhines and Ben had filled Fred’s store with goods, to be sold on half profits, which enabled him to furnish his portion of the money without any detriment to his business.

Isaac having left a draw-bill, Mr. Welch had sent to Captain Rhines the money that belonged to him. The sails were done, and the boards to load the sloop were sawed. Letters had been received from Isaac, stating that he should not be at home till March. Thus they had abundance of time.

Captain Rhines took the furs to New York in the Perseverance, sold them there for a high price,—there was a great foreign demand, and furs were up,—and bought the rigging.

They found the vessel was so buoyant that the lumber they had cut would not load her. CaptainRhines advised them to carry part of a deck-load of spars.

John went to Portland, and Charlie began to clear a portion of his place large enough to set a house, and for a small field, it being just the time of year to fall trees while the leaves were on.

As Charlie was in hopes to have use for his timber in ship-building, he did not wish to burn it up, and therefore cleared but a small portion.

Ben and Charlie worked together. One week they worked on Elm Island, and the next on Pleasant Point. There was also another attraction at Elm Island—a baby. The time passed pleasantly with Charlie. The cherry and apple trees he had planted in the garden were in blossom; and, though he had outgrown his playthings in some measure, he had by no means outgrown his love for the children, who, falling heirs to all these treasures, enjoyed them with the highest relish.

The vessel was rigged in the course of the summer by Captain Rhines and Ben, and the rigging thoroughly stretched in the hot weather.

When John arrived at Portland, he found that Mr. Starrett had bought the cables and anchors of a vessel cast away at Gay Head, larger somewhat than the Hard-Scrabble, but nearly new. Theywere sold at auction for a reduced price; also a dipsey-lead and line, chest of tools, and compasses.

When the snow came, Charlie cut and hauled out spars enough to complete the deck-load of the vessel; but, although they piled them up ten feet above deck, they could not bring her deck to the water, she was so buoyant.

Captain March, as we must call him now, came home just as they were completing the lading.

John came home to see Isaac off, and to settle up the business. The crew were shipped, as in the Ark, for nominal wages and a privilege.

Sally had a liberal allowance of room given to her for a venture.

Peterson went before the mast, and his boy went as cook. Isaac persuaded Joe Griffin and Henry to go with him, Joe as mate. The rest of the crew were made up of the neighbors’ boys.

When they came to settle accounts, they found that the cost of outfit had been brought down to a thousand dollars, instead of fifteen hundred, as they estimated at first. There were several reasons for this. The canvas cost them much less than it would had they bought it at a warehouse. Captain Rhines had bought the rigging in New York, where he was well acquainted, cheap. Mr.Starrett had bought the cables and anchors for two thirds price, and would take no commission. Captain Rhines and Ben charged very low wages for making the sails, fitting and putting on the rigging, and the boys could not make them take any more.

“We’ve got the advantage of you now, boys,” said the captain. “You wouldn’t let us lend you money, but you can’t make us take more for our work than we like.”

On this account they were able to settle all their bills, provision the vessel for the voyage, load her, and even have something left, which exceeded their most sanguine expectations.

Isaac, whose proportion had all been paid in cash, had remaining but four dollars. John had nine shillings of the money resulting from his venture in the Ark, and the proceeds of hunting, although he had some wages due him in Portland. Fred, who had paid nearly every dollar of his proportion in orders, except what the cargo cost, could have advanced seventy-five dollars more without detriment to his business; while Charlie was better off in respect to ready money than either of them. There was sufficient reason for this. His wages as master workman had been more than the rest, andhe had worked all the time in the winter making the spars, rudder, and windlass, and building the boats. He had also furnished the timber and spars for the cargo of the vessel. Fred could not pay this in orders; so he and the others had to pay Charlie one hundred and fifty dollars apiece in money, which left him better off than they, as he had his farm and a fourth of the vessel, while Isaac’s goods were the greater part on commission, and belonged to Captain Rhines, Ben, and Uncle Isaac.

It was a pleasant morning when the vessel weighed anchor, a fair wind, a little quartering, just right to make every sail draw; and all the population that could get there were assembled around the banks of Captain Rhines’s Cove. They had a singular fashion before, and for many years after, the revolution,—even till 1812 and later,—of rigging vessels into topsail sloops, and even sent them to the East Indies.

The old sloop Messenger, of Portland, and Stock, of Boston, owned by the Messrs. Parsons, were of this class.

The Hard-Scrabble presented a novel sight on that morning, and well did her appearance correspond to her name. As the sun shone upon hersides, wherever they were out of water, it revealed a streak of black and a streak of white, where the black pitch and white wood alternated. Her sails, though well made, of good material, and setting well, were the color of flax, not being bleached. Her lower mast was rather short in proportion to the top, top-gallant, and royal masts. The mainmast was set well aft, and raked a good deal. The bowsprit and jib-boom were long. She had a spritsail yard and double martingale. The fore-braces led to the end of the bowsprit, the others to the end of the jib-boom. In bad weather they had preventer-braces that led aft to the rail. She carried fore-topmast staysail, jib, and flying-jib. She had no sail on the lower yard, because, when they built her, they did not think they could afford it. Had they known how they were coming out, Charlie would have done it.

All the paint on her was the lamp-black and oil with which her name was put on, and a little more, where Ben had painted it on the brunt of her topsail. She was stowed so full of lumber that the men could only heave forward of the windlass, and it was piled so high that the mainsail was obliged to be reefed, and a false saddle put on to keep the boom up; while in glaring contrast to the rest ofthe structure was the beautiful boat, which Charlie had built to show what he could do, gayly painted, on the davits, and for which he had made a mast and sail.

In the warm sunshine, under lee of a high ledge that sheltered them from the wind, were seated Captain Rhines’s folks, Uncle Isaac and his wife, Ben and Sally, the boys, and old Mrs. Yelf, who was gazing with great complacency upon the royal her old fingers had woven,—a labor of love,—as it swelled out in the fresh breeze, and also Tige Rhines, a few paces in front, a most interested and observant spectator.

As she faded from view, and the forms of Isaac and Joe, standing on the quarter, could no longer be recognized, the boys turned their eyes upon each other in silence.

“Well, boys,” said Uncle Isaac, at length, laying his hand upon Charlie’s shoulder, “it’s been a hard scrabble; but you’ve done it, and she’s gone to seek her fortune and yours. May the Lord be with them!”

“You’ve done it, too, without the old folks,” said the captain; “and that, I suppose, makes it the sweeter.”

“No, we haven’t, Captain Rhines,” said Fred.“I never should have been able to have built my part of her without the old folks.”

“I shouldn’t have had anything,” said John, “if it hadn’t been for the folks that built the Ark, and carried my venture,—went into the woods, and showed me how to hunt and trap.”

“I’m sure,” said Charlie, “I never should have had anything, or been anything but a poor, forlorn castaway, if it had not been for father and mother, Captain Rhines, Uncle Isaac, and Joe,—yes, and everybody round here. And wasn’t mother the means of making the sails?”

“You may try as hard as you like to make out that you are not good for much,” said Ben; “but you’ll have hard work to make us, or anybody else, believe it.”

“Well, father, it makes boys smart to have friends to love them, encourage, and show them; tell them they are smart, and say ‘stuboy,’ to have plenty to eat, and see a little chance to do something for themselves, and folks trying to make them happy. If a boy has got anything in him, it must come out.”

“Yes,” said Uncle Isaac. “And if there ain’t anything, it can’t come out.”

After the rest had gone, the boys sat watching the vessel till she mingled with the thin air.

“Now, I’m glad we’ve done as we did,” said Charlie. “We might have hired the money of father, or Captain Rhines, have sent the vessel off, and, perhaps, paid for her, and paid them; but suppose she had made nothing, or been lost—then we should have been in debt, and felt mean enough; now she is ours, and paid for; if she is lost, we owe nobody: we’ve learned a good deal, and are young enough to earn more money.”

“What are you going to do now, John?”

“Going back to Portland.”

“I suppose I ought to go to Stroudwater. Mr. Foss wants me: he’s going to build two vessels.”

“I know what he wants to do,” said Fred.

“What’s that?”

“Get married.”

“Well, so I do, awfully.”

“Then,” said John, “why don’t you do it?”

“Yes,” said Fred. “It’s a leisure time now: the snow is about gone, and we’ll all turn to and put you up a log house in no time.”

“That’s it, Charlie. Come, you are the oldest; set a good example: I’ll raise the crew. Fred wants to follow suit.”

“I’m a good mind to build a log house before I go to Portland;” which resolution was the resultof many previous conversations with Mary Rhines, in which they had determined to begin, as Ben and Sally, Joe Griffin and his wife, had done. The boys took good care not to let his resolution cool, but instantly set off, post-haste, for Captain Rhines’s, where they found Ben, Sally, and Uncle Isaac, and, taking them aside, commended the affair to them. Uncle Isaac needed no prompting, and in a fortnight the house was built, differing in no wise from Joe’s, except that it had a chimney and glazed windows, which Captain Rhines declared they should have: he said the bricks and the windows would do for another house.

John now started for Portland, and Charlie for Stroudwater, in order to earn all he could before settling down. He was never satisfied unless he could be making some improvement. In Portland (on his way to Stroudwater) he saw a vessel that had put in for a harbor. It was built for a privateer in the war, and of a most beautiful model.

He ascertained her proportions, and, after he went to work at Stroudwater, amused himself with trying to imitate her with a block of wood, making a half model, and got so much interested that he went into Portland to compare his work with the original, till he got it as accurate aspossible; then he put a stem, keel, and stern-post on, and painted it, intending to give it to Bennie for a plaything, and, putting it up on a brace in the shop, thought no more about it; but one stormy day, sitting in the shop, and thinking about the proportions of a vessel he had been at work upon, his eye fell upon the model. A new idea was instantly suggested; he leaped from his seat, took square and compass, divided the model accurately into pieces an inch in thickness from stem to stern, then took a fine saw, and sawed it all up. He then planed a board smooth, fastened the keel, stem, and stern-post of his model on to it, placed inside of them the blocks corresponding to the forward, after, and midship frames, and several others between them, and fastened them to the board; he found he could, by placing his square on these blocks, obtain a water-line along her side, follow the model, shape his vessel accurately, and know just what kind of a vessel he was going to have when he was done. Here was an end to his sweeps on the beach, tumbling in timbers, and guessing, to a great extent. He had got a skeleton model, the latest improvement till the present one of close models.

While he was contemplating his work, Mr. Foss came along: he showed it to him. The old carpenter saw it in a moment.

“Charlie,” said he, “you’ve made a great improvement. I undertook to learn you, and you have learned me. That’s a great thing: that’s going to save money, time, and timber. With the rising line and shortening line, you can model and build a vessel, and know what you are going to do. I’ll give you the dimensions of this vessel we are getting the timber for, and I want you to make a model of her.”

“I will try it.”

Charlie modelled, and was successful. He returned home in June, and was married. He found that the trees which he had girdled in the fall had leaved; but the leaves were most of them small and withering. He had drawn a cordon, many rods in width, all around the buildings, and especially round the little peninsula, in the midst of which towered the great elm, sparing a handsome tree every now and then, so that after the girdled trees had fallen down, and been removed, they might be out of the reach of fires.

Charlie had been married but a few weeks when the young pair made their appearance at Elm Island.

“Mother,” said Charlie, “do you remember one night, when I first bought my place, I came homefrom there, you asked me what was the matter, and I put you off?”

“Yes; I saw you’d been crying, and that was what made me ask you.”

“I had been thinking about old times, and my mother. I wanted then, and I want now, as I have got settled on my place, to go to St. John, and get her body, and have her buried under an elm there is there. It is a lovely spot: it was almost the first thing that came into my mind when I saw the place, and that was what I had been crying about. When she died, I followed her to the grave in rags, no one to go with me but the Irish woman of whom we hired the room: she was a good-hearted woman, poor herself, but did what she could for us. Many a crust has she given me; and if she is living, I’ll let her know I haven’t forgotten it. Mother, now that I have a home of my own, I can’t rest any longer to have her lie in that miserable corner, among the worst of creatures, the place all grown up with bushes. I want to bring her here.”

“I am sure I would, Charlie.”

“Do you think father would go with me?”

“Go! to be sure he would. The Perseverance is out fishing now, but she will be in soon; she isonly hired for one trip. I tell you what you do, Charlie: after haying, bring Mary over here, and leave her; you and Ben take the schooner, and go. When you get back, we’ll all of us attend the funeral, have the minister preach a sermon, and everything done as it should be; but two is not enough: there ought to be three.”

“We can run into Portland, and get John. I would rather have him go with us than anybody else.”

The noble boy accomplished his object, and deposited the ashes of the mother so dear to him in the spot he had chosen. It was a sweet resting-place: the branches of the majestic tree, green in the first verdure of summer, almost swept the grave; the brook murmured gently as it rounded the little promontory; the ground-sparrow built her nest, and reared her young, upon the turf that covered it; and the low-voiced summer winds breathed requiems over the sainted dead.

Often, on Sabbath evenings, as Charlie, with his young wife, visited the spot, did he lift up his heart in gratitude to Him who had given him a home, friends, and land of his own, and enabled him to pay the last tokens of affection to the mother he so dearly loved. Gratifying the tasteshe had acquired in his native land, and aided by his wife, he surrounded the spot with flowers and shrubbery.

Charlie’s marriage, so far from involving him in any additional expense, increased his facilities for acquiring; for he had married one who was indeed a helpmeet. Captain Rhines would have furnished his daughter abundantly; but she, like John, preferred to earn it herself.

“I never saw such children as mine are,” said the captain. “They won’t let me do anything for them.”

“Wait, father,” said Mary, “till we get a frame-house, and our land cleared. We may burn this up, and it is good enough for that: besides, father, I know how Charlie feels; he abhors the idea of marrying on; he will feel a good deal better to get under way himself: you know, you can give me any time, if you want to. Charlie, John, and Fred are all alike about being helped.”

The very first thing Charlie did after he got into his house was to set a bear-trap; the next, to make a loom and all the fixtures for Mary. Some years before, her father had given her a pair of sheep, and now she had quite a flock, and had made blankets and other articles for housekeeping before her marriage; her mother had furnished her with flax,and the hum of her wheel kept time with the strokes of Charlie’s hammer, as he worked on his boats. He brought over a host of hens from Elm Island; but ducks and geese he didn’t dare to bring, the foxes were so plenty and destructive; but he calculated to trap them, and did hope the bears would get into his corn. O, how he did want to go into farming, down with trees, put in the fire, and raise corn and grain! But then he wanted to save his shade trees, and had a contract to build a lot of boats for vessels that were building in Portland. This paid better than farming, and must be done right off; therefore he must defer the gratification; so he hired Ricker to help him, and set to work upon his boats. Thus employed we must leave him, to follow the fortunes of Captain Murch, in the Hard-Scrabble.

The Hard-Scrabble had a good run off the coast, holding the wind to the edge of the Gulf Stream; proved herself an excellent sea boat, and, although so deep loaded, a good sailer. It was evident that, light, she was faster than ordinary.

France and England were then at war. Napoleon’s star was just rising above the horizon, and our young captain found he had arrived at the rich Island of Martinique in a most favorable time. But few American vessels were there, barracks were building for troops, boards were wanted, and there was a great demand for small spars, as masts for drogers, booms for French men-of-war that came in there to refit after the conflicts that were constantly occurring between the hostile fleets.

Isaac sold his boards for forty dollars per thousand, and obtained a hogshead of molasses for a small spar which cost little more than the expense of cutting.

“I wish I had loaded her with spars,” said Isaac to his mate.

“You’ll make money enough,” said Joe, “as it is: you ought to be satisfied. But I wish I’d brought spars for a venture.”

Isaac now bought iron, and thoroughly bolted his knees, and, heaving the vessel out, butt-bolted the plank, and painted her upper works. The fastening was put in by him and his mate; for Isaac was possessed of all the native ingenuity of his uncle for handling tools.

“Now, Mr. Griffin,” said he, “we need not fear to put the molasses in her, and we’ll see if we can’t bring her scuppers to the water.”

Just as they were ready to take in molasses, a French man-of-war came in, that had been disabled in an action with an English frigate. As she lay in the offing, the commander sent his lieutenant aboard the Hard-Scrabble, to see if she had brought any spars that would make him a main-yard. The lieutenant informed Isaac that they had broken the spar nearly off in trying to escape from the enemy, but that they had fished, and made it answer a temporary purpose; that they must have a spar, if it could be procured, no matter what the price.

“Where is it injured?” asked Isaac; “in the slings?”

“No; well out on the quarter: it was a poor stick; there were some large knots in it, and it broke square, without splintering; that is, it cracked, though it didn’t come in two.”

Isaac replied that he would come on board in the course of an hour, and see the captain.

“What is the use to go aboard?” said Joe; “you haven’t got a thing but a spar you’ve saved for a derrick, and haven’t brought anything that would make him even a royal mast.”

“I ain’t so sure of that. Come down below, Joe.” When they were by themselves, he said, “Joe, suppose I should offer him the mainmast; could you and I get her home?”

After reflecting a moment, he replied, “Go ahead, captain: it will be summer time; we shall have southerly winds, and we’ve got provisions enough.”

“But what will the crew say? We’ve no right to disable the vessel, and run the risk of losing her, and their lives, without their consent.”

“If you’ll give me authority to offer them a hogshead of molasses apiece, I’ll make ’em willing, and more than willing.”

Joe went forward, got the men together, and broached the matter. They not only made no objection, but received the proposition with cheers.

“We’ll put it all into Fred’s store, boys,” said Henry Griffin, “and let him sell it for us on commission—sweeten him well.”

Isaac lowered the boat Charlie had made,—whose rowing and sailing qualities attracted the attention of all in the harbor,—put four oars in her, and went on board the man-of-war in good shape.

There was a very kindly feeling existing at that time between us and the French, who had aided us in the struggle for independence.

The French commander received Isaac with all the politeness of his nation. Isaac went aloft, and looked at the spar. It was just as the lieutenant had stated. When he came down, he said,—

“Captain, I haven’t any spars; didn’t bring any but small ones; but I’ll sell you my mainmast.”

“But if you sell your mast,” cried the Frenchman, in astonishment, “how are you to get home?”

“That is my own lookout.”

“What strange people you Americans are! But is it large enough?”

“It’s eighty feet long and twenty-eight inches through.”

“That is long enough,” said the Frenchman. “It is a very little shorter than the old yard, but will answer, as the sail does not haul out. It is more than large enough.”

“It is a very good stick—worth two of your old one.”

“But to take your mast out of your vessel you will ask a great price.”

“If you will take it out,—for I have no purchase sufficient,—give me your old spar and a thousand dollars, you may have it.”

“A thousand dollars!” interrupted the lieutenant. “That is more than your whole craft is worth.”

“Perhaps so to you, but not so to me. Besides, I risk my life, and that of my men, and my cargo, by disabling my vessel.”

“I must have the spar, and I’ll give you the money,” said the captain.

He invited Isaac to take wine with him, which he declined.

“I’ve seen strange things to-day,” said the Frenchman. “A captain that would sell the mast out of his vessel, and wouldn’t drink a glass of wine.”

In the intercourse which grew out of this trade, the Frenchman noticed Isaac’s boat,—his own had been riddled with shot,—and he wanted to buy her.

“There’s not a boat in this harbor,” said Isaac, “that can pull or sail with her. I’ll sell her. I’ll sell anything but my country and my principles. If you want her enough to give me one hundred dollars for her, take her.”

The Frenchman took her. The boatswain’s crew of the man-of-war brought the yard alongside, and took out the mast.

Isaac and Joe got the spar on board, sawed it off square where it was cracked, then took a whip-saw and split it into halves the whole length, turned the halves end for end, and put it together again, thus bringing the joint in another place, and making the spar just as long as it was before, and then treenailed it together.

A yard is differently shaped from a mast, being biggest in the middle. By their turning the halves, although the length was the same, there was a slag in the place of the joint, and a bunch at the ends. They filled up the slag with plank, the bunch at the bottom helped out the step of the mast, and that at the top to form the masthead. They thenput on the hounds and the old trestle-trees. Joe, who was no mean blacksmith, hooped the whole with iron, above and below the wake of the mainsail. They now put in the mast, and set up the rigging.

As the mast was so much smaller than the other, they did not dare to send up the top and top-gallant masts; but they gave additional strength to the masts by putting the topmast backstays and also the headstays on to the head of the lower mast, thus leaving the stays of the two masts on one, to compensate for the smaller size of the spar. They were not afraid now to carry a whole mainsail and fore-staysail. They also sent up the fore-yard, and bent the topsail on it for a square-sail.

In order that she might not look stunt, Joe made a light spar to take the place of a topmast, to set colors on. They put the top-gallant rigging and backstays on it, and the flying-jib for a gaff-topsail. Thus they had nearly as much sail as before, and all the large sails, without cutting a foot of rigging or a yard of canvas.

“It takes us ‘Hard-Scrabble boys’ to do things,” said Joe, when the whole was completed. “Hurrah for the Hard-Scrabble!” and jumping on to the windlass-bitts at one bound, and slapping his hands against his sides, he crowed most lustily.

Mails were now established by Congress, and communication was more easy. The boys were impatiently awaiting news from Isaac. They did not manifest the patient endurance of Ben while the Ark was gone, but were running to the office every mail day.

At length word came from John that Captain Crabtree had arrived, bringing news that Isaac had sold his lumber for forty dollars per thousand, got a hogshead of molasses for a spar, sold Charlie’s boat for one hundred dollars, and Sally’s venture for ninety-six, and had agreed to sell his mast to the captain of a French frigate for a mainmast for a thousand dollars, and was coming home under jury-masts, and that Crabtree came away then.

When Mr. Welch heard of it, he declared he should have a ship when he got back if he had to buy one for him.

“You can’t have him,” said Captain Rhines. “You ought to have held on to him when you had him. He belongs to the boys.”

“But the boys can’t build him an Indiaman.”

“Can’t they? I’d like to know what they can’t do! Besides, they’ll have good backers. I’ve been in both kinds of business, and it’s my opinion there’s more to be made in West India than thereis in East India business, at any rate while this war lasts, though it may not have so large a sound and be quite so genteel, which goes a great ways withsome people.”

“Especially if you can raise your own cargoes, build your own ships, make your own rigging, and weave your own sails,” added Mr. Welch, laughing.

In a few days they had a letter from Isaac, telling the particulars, saying that they were ready to take in cargo; and he wanted Charlie to have a mast all made and ready to go in when he got home, and a load of spars for men-of-war, lower masts, yards, and smaller spars; that he would take a few large ones on deck, and go to Cadiz,—for the Spaniards were in the war, and spars were high there,—and would load back with salt. He said all hands were well, the vessel tight, sailed and worked first rate; and he had got a bag of coffee for old Mrs. Yelf.

“I can get the mast fast enough on Elm Island,” said Charlie, “roll it into the water, and tow it over; but how does he think I’m going to haul those heavy spars on bare ground, enough to load that sloop?”

“I’ll tell you how,” said Ricker. “You knowthat place where the brook goes right through a gap in the ledge?”

“Yes.”

“Well, make a pair of gates to open and shut in that gap, dam the water, and flow it back, till the brook is deep enough to float the timber, then twitch and roll it into the pond, float it down to the gates, open them, and down it will go into the cove, right alongside your vessel. I know all about that work. I never did much else.”

“That will be just the thing,” said Charlie, “for some of the largest trees grow within half a gunshot of the pond.”

“You’ll have to stir yourselves,” said Captain Rhines. “The way he’s rigged that vessel, according to his letter, he won’t be much longer than common on the passage.”

“I wish Joe Griffin was here,” said Charlie.

“I guess he’s done you more good where he is.”

Charlie obtained men, got his gates made, his mast cut and made, and part of the spars cut, when the sloop arrived in Boston.

When she was again ready for sea, she presented quite a different appearance. They finished her cabin, put a billet-head on her, painted her hull andspars, put studding-sail booms on her yards. The decks were worn smooth, and the sails bleached white. She had a square-sail, and looked like another vessel.

Pluck and principle win the day. The cargo which they carried out in this rough craft, built of white pine, and half fastened, amounted to eleven thousand seventy-five dollars, bought their homeward cargo, and left them three hundred dollars in cash. The mast Isaac sold to the Frenchman paid all the expenses of the voyage within fifty dollars, and, after selling their molasses, left them cash and sales twenty-six thousand six hundred and five dollars, six thousand six hundred fifty-one dollars and twenty-five cents apiece, Charlie having one hundred dollars more, the price of the boat, half of which he gave to Joe, Captain Rhines, and Ben, put glass windows in the meeting-house, and clapboarded it. Uncle Isaac and others built a steeple. The boys gave a bell, and Isaac brought a bag of coffee and a barrel of sugar for Parson Goodhue.

During the fall and winter Charlie cut spars enough to freight the sloop again, and built a few boats.

The Hard-Scrabble returned, having made aprofitable voyage; and, as the spring opened, Charlie had leisure to attend to farming. He planted among the trees, whose naked branches flung no shadow, and whose dead limbs and seasoned trunks, continually dropping, afforded an inexhaustible supply of dry fuel.

At leisure intervals he hewed out timber for a house and barn frame; and, as he now had money, hired Ricker, and, after the harvest was gathered in the fall, cut down and burned up all the dry trunks of the trees, when the ground was wet, and there was no risk of the fires running.

He now had a large belt of cleared land between the grove—behind which he had resolved to place his permanent buildings—and the great elm and forest, also many beautiful trees scattered here and there over the slope trending to the shore.

“It has made some work,” said he, “to save these trees; but they are a life-long source of beauty and happiness.”

As the next spring opened, he was about to attack the forest in earnest, when his plans were entirely changed by a communication from Captain Rhines and Uncle Isaac.

Charlie now possessed what in those days was considered a handsome property.

As the spring came on, he made sugar, and determined to cut and burn the growth of white maple, birch, and ash that covered the flat, that he might have field pasturage, and indulge his taste for farming. But his plans were brought to a sudden termination, and the land was to be cleared in a manner quite different from that which he had anticipated.

About four o’clock one afternoon, as he and Ricker were grinding their axes, in preparation for the morrow, Ben, Captain Rhines, Uncle Isaac, and Fred landed in the cove. As Charlie went to meet them, Fred held up a letter.

“We’ve come to set you to work,” said Captain Rhines. “We were afraid that, living here by yourself, with plenty of money, you would get rusty and lazy.”

“I was afraid I should myself, and so am getting ready to go into the woods. Come, go into the house, all of you.”

The letter was from Isaac. He was at Cadiz, waiting for a cargo of salt.

“He says he wants a larger vessel; that the demand is for large spars for men-of-war, lower masts, yards, and bowsprits; that he can’t carry them in that vessel, and that the few he did carry he had to run over the rail forward and aft, and he liked to have lost his vessel going out by one getting adrift.”

“How large a vessel does he want, Captain Rhines?” asked Charlie.

“Seven hundred tons,—a proper mast ship,—large enough to carry real whoppers, one hundred and eight feet long and thirty-six inches through, with a port at each end big enough to drive in a yoke of oxen.”

Neither Charlie, nor even Fred, who thought the Hard-Scrabble a monster for size, seemed startled by this.

“Is he in a hurry for her?”

“No; he said he wanted you to be thinking about it; and he will let the masts alone, and take fish, boards, and staves to Madeira, or some of the Danish islands.”

“I will go to cutting the timber to-morrow. I’d rather cut it into ship-timber than burn it. It won’t be fifty rods from the yard. As I am clearing, I can save what I come across, and set up the vessel in the fall, if he is in no hurry. Who’ll be the owners?”

“Mr. Welch, Ben, Uncle Isaac, myself, and you ‘Hard-Scrabble boys.’ There’s eight of us. We’ll all own alike. Give her a hard-wood floor, white oak top, buy the timber of you, and take her at the bills.”

“I’m agreed. What’s the dimensions?”

“I’ve got them here. Isaac has seen an English mast ship out there, and sent home her proportions. But you must build a two-story frame-house first to lodge your men. You’ll want fifty or sixty men before you get through.”

“I can get along with a log house—make it bigger. Some can sleep in the barn in warm weather. I want something else a great deal more than I do a frame-house.”

“What is that?” asked Ben.

“A saw-mill right on this brook, where I can saw all my deck, ceiling, outboard plank, and waterways.”

“That’s a fact,” said Uncle Isaac. “I go in for a mill. I’ll build in it, and work on it.”

“I hope you won’t have a wooden crank,” said Fred.

“Nor tread back with the foot,” said Ben, “like this old rattle-trap on the river.”

“There’s water and fall enough,” said Captain Rhines; “and we’ll have an iron crank if we send to England for it, and all the modern improvements. I move that Charlie, Ricker, Yelf, and Joe Griffin go to work hewing the timber; and that we send Uncle Isaac off to the westward to learn the new improvements, and come home and build it.”

Having agreed upon all these matters, they separated; and that is what became of Charlie’s farming that year.

The pond, of which the brook was an outlet, furnishing a steady supply of water, not affected by droughts, offered a splendid mill privilege. The dam was almost built by nature, and the labor of constructing the whole was greatly lessened, as the timber grew upon the spot.

Instead of going to work upon the mill, Charlie, who knew that the moment it was noised abroad that a mill was to be built on the outlet to Beaver Pond, the price of timber land in the immediate vicinity would rise, started off to Portsmouth,where the proprietor lived, and bought the whole lot, between him and Joe Griffin, which was heavily timbered with pine and hard wood. It was not the desire of speculation that influenced him: he wanted ship-timber, spars, and lumber, and didn’t want to strip all the forest from his home farm. Charlie loved the trees: a bare and barren landscape had no charms for him.

Uncle Isaac did not go to the westward to see the new improvements, but to Thomaston, where General Knox (with whom he was acquainted, having served under him in the war of independence) was building mills, and making all kinds of improvements.

The general, who was a noble, hospitable man, received Uncle Isaac most cordially, took him to his house, and gave him every facility in his power. He looked over the mills, made his observations, and took plans of the machinery, came home, and went to work.

Ricker now proved a most valuable man: he had been accustomed to mill work, and knew how to take care of a saw. Since his reformation, he had renewed his engagement, broken off by his loose habits. He went home, got married, took charge of the mill, and went to sawing out plank for the vessel.

Charlie built a first-rate frame blacksmith’s shop, with a brick chimney. John came home, bringing a complete set of tools.

Fred was fully occupied in getting fish ready to send in the “Hard-Scrabble” to Madeira, and exceedingly interested in some timber Ricker was sawing to order in the mill, and a cellar Uncle Sam Elwell was stoning not far from his store.

It was snapping times now all round, everybody on the clean jump from morning to night. The mill was going night and day, and the short click of the saw rang in the still midnight through the old woods, that had before echoed only to the war-whoop of the red man, or the blows of the settler’s axe.

The younger portion of the community were wide awake, ready for anything, and a spirit of emulation was rife among them. Walter Griffin, Fred’s clerk, kicked out of the traces at once; he went to Fred, and said, “Mr. Williams, I must leave.”

“Leave!” cried Fred, in amazement. “What for?”

“I want to go to sea.”

Fred more than liked Walter: he loved him;he was a splendid boy, industrious, trustworthy, and smart; but his wrist-joints were three inches below the sleeve of his jacket, for his mother couldn’t make clothes as fast as he grew.

“Why, Walter, I didn’t dream of your ever leaving me. I want you, when you are older, to go into business with me. Don’t you like me?”

The tears came into the boy’s eyes in a moment.

“Likeyou, Mr. Williams! My own father ain’t nearer to me: you’ve done everything for me; but, Mr. Williams, I never was made to weigh flour, measure molasses and cloth; it don’t agree with our kind of people. I can’t stand it; I shall die: indeed I can’t.”

“But you wouldn’t leave me now, when I have so much to do?”

“Not by any means, sir. I don’t want to go till the big ship is done.”

“I think you’ll miss it, Walter.”

“I don’t, sir. I don’t see why I can’t do as well at sea as Isaac Murch. I’ll leave it to Uncle Isaac.”

“Uncle Isaac, he’s always ready to shove any boy ahead.”

“Didn’t you like to have him shove you ahead when you was a boy, sir?”

That was a thrust which Fred knew not how to parry, and he was silent.

“Don’t feel so bad, Mr. Williams. My brother William is only eighteen months younger than I am; he would like to come in here, and would get well broke in before I shall want to go.”

“But he’s a Griffin, too,” said Fred, despondingly, “and will clear out just as he becomes useful.”

When the ship was ready for sea, half the boys in the neighborhood wanted to go in her. Isaac took four, and several young men, who had been some in coasters, as ordinary seamen.

She was called the Casco.

Fred was married to Elizabeth Rhines the day before she sailed, the wedding being somewhat hastened, in order that Isaac might be present.

This was a most eventful year. Uncle Isaac, one Saturday night, created surprise enough by riding down to the store with his wife in a wagon, the first one that had ever been seen in the place.

“You’ve got yourself into business, Isaac,” said the captain. “Either you or Charlie have got to make me one this winter.”

“Then I must do it, Benjamin; for Charlie’s got enough to do this winter to take care of that baby.”

Seth Warren assumed command of the Hard-Scrabble, that still continued to make money for her owners, who built more vessels, and acquired property, of which they made a most praiseworthy use, in affording employment to others, and doing all in their power to promote the welfare of society; and the prosperity and happiness of hundreds resulted from that pile of boards Captain Rhines navigated to Cuba; and fleet and beautiful vessels, visiting the most distant seas, were the successors of the Hard-Scrabble.

“The writings of Oliver Optic are the most peculiarly fitted for juvenile readers of any works now published. There is a freshness and vivacity about them which is very engaging to older readers. The benefit which a young mind will obtain from reading the healthy descriptions, full of zest and life, and, withal, containing a great deal of very useful information, is almost incalculable.”—Toledo Blade.