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?”