“Yes,” said the skipper; “and I think it will make a very good makeshift, for the wood’s as hard as hard. But what wouldn’t I give for a good old crooked piece of Devon oak from out of Dartmoor Forest!”
Shortly afterwards he had set the carpenter and his mates to strip off the copper sheathing, while he led off Joe Cross and another man about a quarter of a mile away from the river bank to where a huge pollard-like tree was growing at the edge of the forest, all gnarled and twisted in the most extraordinary way.
The two lads had followed them, and Rodd looked at the selected tree aghast.
“Why, you are never going to set the men to cut down that tree, captain?” he cried.
“Why not, my lad? Do you know a better bit?”
“Better bit!” cried Rodd. “Why, the men can hardly get through that with those axes. Most likely take them a fortnight—I might say a month.”
“Ah, well, I don’t want it all. I am not going to load up the brig with a cargo of timber. I only want that big dwarf branch from low down there where it starts from close to the root; and you will mind and get that big elbow-like piece as long as you can, Joe Cross.”
“Ay, ay, sir! Just you mark out what you want, and we’ll cut accordin’. Better take all the top off first, hadn’t us?”
“Why, of course, my lad. One of you use the saw while the other works away with an axe. You quite understand?”
“Ay, ay, sir; me and my mate has seen a ship’s knee afore now;” and rolling up their sleeves, they soon made the place echo with the blows of the axe, while the rasping harsh sound of the saw seemed to excite a flock of beautifully-plumaged parrots, which began to circle round the head of the tree, before finally settling amongst the branches uttering their sharp screeching cries, and giving vent to croaking barks, as if resenting this attack upon their domain.