The Hard-Scrabble of Elm Island

by Elijah Kellogg

But all this accuracy and despatch, resulting from a division of labor, has been a work of time, brought about by the efforts of many minds, and from very rude beginnings.

We cannot go into detail. It is sufficient to say that, in the present system of what is termed close modelling in this country, the master workman puts together with screws or keys, so they can be taken apart at pleasure, some pieces of soft pine, half an inch in thickness, three feet, two, or eighteen inches in length, according as he intends to go upon the scale of a fourth of an inch or an eighth, more or less, to a foot.

From this block he cuts out half his future vessel, making it to suit his eye. As these pieces, being in leaves, can all be taken apart, he can take by measurement the exact proportions of every part on the floor of a large loft, mark them down, enlarged to the full size, and from these make his moulds of every timber.

It is evident that the mechanical genius here lies in making this model, shaping the vessel in the mind of the architect. All, after this, is a matter of measurement and arithmetic. It requires mathematical ability to take off this complicated system of lines from the model, a clear head and mechanical ability to make the moulds; but after this any one who can handle tools can follow the patterns, and cut out the timber. But carpenters were hundreds of years getting as far as this, although they were building vessels all the time, some very good, where the workman was possessed of superior genius; but the great majority were wretched models, requiring an enormous waste of time, labor, and timber.

The first decided approach to the present method was the rack model, which consists in fastening several pieces of board edgewise to a flat surface, to represent the frames of a vessel, and cutting out the model on the edges of these. By measurements from these, the moulds were made, which insured accuracy, economized labor and timber. The first water-line model now in use was made by Orlando B. Merrill, of Newburyport, in 1794; but, like all new things, there were prejudices against it. The old carpenters would have nothing to do with the “newfangled thing.”

It was a long time before it was used in Massachusetts, and thirty-six years getting into Maine. The first vessel built from the new plan there was the ship Burmah, of Portland, built by Water-house, from New York, in 1831, for the Messrs. Oxnards, who came there and modelled her; but, after all, she was not so good a vessel as many built on the old plan, to the great delight of the old carpenters, who “knew it would turn out just so.” Even then they got no farther than the forward and after frames, but had to timber out the ends by guess for a long time. The fact is, the ground of success lies in originating the model. Thus the same principles are involved in both methods, whether a man holds all the proportions of a vessel in his mind to a great extent, sets her up, and makes his model as he goes along, altering his ribbands and cutting his frames to suit his ideas, or does it all on a block of wood beforehand. The same man will build as good a model in one way as the other. The difference is, that in one case he knows, when he has made his model, precisely what kind of a vessel he will have. The draughting from the model is a matter of mathematics. The result must follow as inevitably as a sum in the rule of three, if rightly stated and accurately worked. In the other way he cannot know this till she is timbered out. To work by the first method, some little education is needed; in the other, not the least.

Another more important matter is the great saving of time, rendering it possible for all parts of a vessel to go on together, and the great saving of timber.

The man who works from the modern plan knows just what wood he needs to form every timber; whereas, in the old way, some of the timbers were half cut off, some had to be thrown away, and others that would not fill up the ribband furred out; but neither time nor timber was worth a third as much then as now. A mast that cost sixty dollars then now costs two hundred and forty dollars, while those of the largest size cannot be obtained at all, but must be made in pieces and hooped. A carpenter who was worth a dollar a day then is worth four now, and it costs twice as much to feed him.

You will perceive, my young friends, there is the same, and even greater, scope for ability now than there was then, with this difference, that there is a greater opportunity for sham. Ship-carpenters can now pony in ship-building as well as in these days of mathematical keys and translations; students can “pony” in algebra and Æschylus. Then they had to make their own keys and unlock their own doors.

All the way a carpenter, who was a good mechanic, but not possessed of ability to model a vessel, could build one, was to get some one who had to timber her out to the ribbands, after which he could finish her; but then everybody knew it. Now a person, by paying for it, may (privately) get any kind of a model he likes, build from it, and nobody—or but a very few—the wiser. Thus a man with modern helps can build vessels, and good ones, who, for the life of him, could not have gone to work, set up, and built a vessel, as Charlie did on Elm Island.