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 her sides, 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 of the 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?”