Charlie finished his boat, putting four knees to each of the middle thwarts, and two to both the forward and after one. He was resolved this boat should not split in two. At the bow and stern he decked her over, and made a splendid locker forward and aft, with doors, and in which he could put powder, fishing-lines, and whatever he wished to take with him. Under the middle thwart he made a locker, just the shape of a gun, with a door hung on wire hinges, so as to keep his gun dry. He was already provided with spars, sails, rudder, and oars, as this boat was just the size of the West Wind. His paints were all gone, except a little vermilion that the English captain had given him, and there was none at the store. Indeed, there was seldom anything in the form of paint at the store, except lampblack, and red or yellow ochre, and they were used only on the inside of houses, or on vessels, and generally with fish oil. It was a rare thing that white lead or linseed oil was found there, it being so little called for. Captain Rhines’s house was the only one in the place that was painted outside. He and some others had one room painted lead-color; the general custom being to keep the walls and floors white, and scour them. But Charlie was determined to have paint for this boat, and sent to Portland by Joe for both paint and oil.
The iron-work of the other boat was suitable for this, and she was now calked and all done except painting. Charlie had oiled the planks to keep them from renting, as he had no paint to prime her. How he longed for that paint to come! Indeed, he thought so much about it, that none of his usual sources of enjoyment seemed to afford him any gratification, or to occupy his thoughts. The flowers were passed by unheeded, the song of birds won no regard, and even the baby received slight attention. He enjoyed himself most when occupied about that which was in some way connected with the boat. He passed a good many moments in thinking how he should paint her. As she was altogether too precious to lie aground even in the quiet harbor of Elm Island, he prepared a mooring for her. He borrowed Uncle Sam’s drill, and made a round hole in a large flat rock, then dug up a small tree by the roots, cut it off about fifteen feet from the roots, removed the bark, shaved the trunk smooth, ran it through the hole in the rock, till the roots prevented it from going farther, and then put it off in the harbor. Over this pole, standing upright in the water, he slipped an oak plank, which floated on the water, and travelled around the pole as the wind veered, and slipped up and down on it as the tide rose and fell. To this traveller he fastened a rope, with an eye-splice in it to slip over the boat’s stem, and then he could go to her in the Twilight.
When all these preparations were made, he began to think of a name. He didn’t like to give her the name of the old boat, because he thought she had been unlucky, and it would revive unpleasant memories.
“There’s only one thing about her I should like otherwise,” said he. “I wish she was pink-sterned and lap-streaked. These square sterns look chopped off to me. I think the eye requires that both ends should be alike. I wonder how a fish would look with a square stern? or a tree with a square top? Well, I’ll build another, when I shan’t be tied to the dimensions of a log, and can have her wider and deeper, with plenty of room to knock about in. This boat will be like old Captain Scott’s boat, in Halifax, that was so small and full of trumpery, he said there wasn’t room enough in her to swear. Well, I don’t want to swear. I think it’s real mean. So there’ll be room enough for me.”
All at once he thought of something to divert attention and occupy his leisure time, which was, to study surveying. The science of angles was congenial to his mechanical tastes, and he was soon so absorbed in the pursuit as well nigh to forget the paint, for which he had been longing. The evenings were growing longer, and he had a competent instructor in Ben. Ben also had another scholar, Seth Warren, who had come over to the island to study navigation.
“Mother,” said Charlie, one night, as they were milking, “do you suppose there will ever be a vessel built in this bay?”
“I don’t know. Not in my day, I guess.”
“Why not, mother? Didn’t father build the Ark on this island? and couldn’t he, and Captain Rhines, and Uncle Isaac build a vessel if they had a mind to?”
“Why, Charlie, the people here have hardly got their land cleared up, and got to living themselves. There are no carpenters but Joe Griffin and Robert Yelf, no blacksmith but Peter Brock, and he’s worn out. Besides, there’s nothing for a vessel to do, except to carry wood to Salem or Boston, or to fish. Your father and Captain Rhines had rather put their money into a vessel with Mr. Welch.”