“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?”