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CHAPTER XXVI
THE CREW AND THEIR CAPTAIN
Utterly worn out as he was, it was not a part of Phil’s purpose – it was not in his nature, indeed – to neglect any duty. He ate a hearty supper with the boys, during which he talked very little. Once he said, suddenly: —
“I suspect it’s the Tallahatchie.”
“What do you mean?” asked Ed.
“Why, the river we’ve reached. It lies to the left of our course. If it was the Sunflower, it would lie to the right. Anyhow, it runs into the Yazoo, and that’s all we ask of it.”
“By the way, Ed,” said Irv, “how long is the Yazoo?”
“I don’t know, I’m sure,” said Ed. “I’ll get the map after supper, and look.”
“Don’t bother,” said Phil. “The navigable part of it is one hundred and seventy-five miles long.”
“How did you come to know that?” asked Will. “I thought Ed was the geographer of this expedition.”
“So he is. But I’m captain, worse luck to it, and it’s my first business to know what lies ahead. So I looked this thing up on the map. The Yalobusha and Tallahatchie run together somewhere near a village called Greenwood, which is probably a hundred feet or so under water just now, – we may even float over the highest steeple in that interesting town, when we get to it, – and those two streams form the Yazoo. By the way, that little side issue of a river happens to be considerably longer, in its navigable part, than one of the most celebrated rivers in the world – the Hudson.”
“You don’t mean it?” exclaimed Irv, for once surprised out of his drawl.
“Maybe I don’t. But I think I do. Ask Ed to study it out. I’m too tired to talk. I’m going to sleep for ten minutes now. Wake me up at the end of that time. Don’t fail!”
With that the exhausted boy rolled into a bunk, and in an instant was asleep again.
Ed got out his maps and studied them for a while.
“He’s right, boys,” said the older one, after some measurements on the map.
“Of course he is,” said Constant. “He’s got into the habit of being right since we chose him to be ‘It’ for this trip. But go on, Ed. Tell us about it.”
“Well,” said Ed, still scrutinizing the map, “the navigable part of the Hudson, from New York to Troy, is about one hundred and fifty-six miles long. The navigable part of the Yazoo is, as Phil said, one hundred and seventy-five miles long. Oh, by the way – ”
“What is the thought behind that exclamation?” said Irv, when Ed paused; for Irv’s spirits were irrepressible.
“It just occurs to me,” said Ed, “that this wonderful river of ours, the Mississippi with its tributaries, is almost exactly one hundred times as long – in its navigable parts – as the greatest commercial river of the East.”
“In other words,” said Irv, “the East isn’t in it with us. Its great Hudson River would scarcely more than make a tail for the Mississippi below New Orleans. It would just about stretch from Cincinnati to Louisville. It would cover only a little more than half the distance from St. Louis to Cairo, or from Cairo to Memphis.”
“True!” said Ed, “and pretty much the same thing is true of every great river in Europe. Not one of them would make a really important tributary of our wonderful river. All of them put together wouldn’t compare with the Ohio and its affluents.”
“Phil’s ten minutes are up,” said Will. “I hate to wake him, but that was his order.”
Phil had come, in this time of stress, to live mainly within himself. He was too much absorbed with his responsibilities to be able to put them aside, or even to treat them lightly.
“I’m ‘It,’ and so I’m responsible,” he had said to Ed, “and I must think. Sometimes it doesn’t pay to talk, and sometimes I’m too tired to talk. I must just give orders without explaining them. You explain it all to the other fellows, and don’t let them misunderstand. I don’t like the job of commanding, even a little bit. But you fellows set me at it, and I accepted the responsibility. I’ll bear it to the end, but – ”
“We all understand, Phil,” said Irv Strong, who had joined the brothers. “Your crew was never better satisfied with its captain than it is to-day. But it will be still more loyal to-morrow and next day, and every other day till the voyage is ended.” Then in lighter vein – for Irv never liked to be serious for long at a time – he added: “Why, I wouldn’t even whisper if you told me not to, and you remember Mrs. Dupont posted me first, and you next, as irreclaimable whisperers.”
But to return to the night in question. When Phil was waked he took a lantern and made a minute inspection of the boat, inside and outside. Then he dropped into a skiff and rowed away to examine the moorings critically. On his return he said to his comrades: —
“The boat is leaking a good deal more than I like. The strain she received back there, yesterday or the day before, or a thousand years ago – I’m sure I don’t remember when it was – is beginning to tell upon her. One pump is no longer quite enough to keep the water in the bilge. We must keep both going – not quite all the time, of course, and not very violently, but pretty steadily. So that’s the order for to-night. Two fellows on watch all the time, and both pumps to be kept going most of the time. I’ll sleep till two o’clock. Then wake me, and I’ll take my turn at a pump.”
The boys would have liked to exempt him from that duty. But his tone did not invite question or protest of any kind. It did not admit even of argument. It was a command – and Phil was commander.
CHAPTER XXVII
A STRUGGLE IN THE DARK
But Phil was up long before the hour appointed. It was not yet midnight when he got out of his bunk to get a drink of water. As he did so he stepped into water half way up to his knees.
He instantly aroused his companions.
“The boat is sinking,” was his explanation. “Get to the pumps quick.”
Then lighting a lantern he made a thorough search of the hold in the hope of finding and stopping the leaks, but it was without avail.
With two boys at each pump the water could be kept down. That fact was established by an hour’s hard work.
“But we can’t keep up that sort of thing,” said Phil. “We must stop the leaks or abandon the boat.”
He thought for a while. Then he said to Ed: —
“Get some ropes, Ed, and make them fast to the four corners of the tarpaulin. Bring each pair together about twenty feet away from the rag, and fasten them to another rope.”
“What’s your plan?” asked Irv, who was diligently pumping.
“I’m going to stretch the tarpaulin under the boat. Sailors stretch a sail that way sometimes to stop a leak.”
But this was much more easily said than done. When the tarpaulin was ready, Phil took all hands away from the pumps and, sending them to the skiffs, made an effort to force the great stiff cloth under the bow. It was a complete failure. The current was much too strong.
Then he went to the stern, where he hoped that the current would be of assistance. But that attempt also failed. The current doubled up the tarpaulin against the end of the boat, and it refused to slip under. The effort was several times repeated, but always with the same result – failure.
Finally Phil ordered all hands back to the flatboat. He went below and presently returned with a ball of twine. Unwinding its entire length and carefully coiling it on deck, he told Ed to fasten its farther end to one of the ropes attached to the tarpaulin strings.
“What are you going to do, Phil?”
“I’m going to put my swimming to some practical account. Two of you fellows get into a skiff, – yes, three of you, – and lie off the larboard side of the boat.”
As they obeyed, the boy removed his clothes and tied the twine securely around his person.
“Watch the coil, Ed,” he said to his brother, “and don’t let it foul. Give me free string from the moment I go overboard. A very little pull would drown me!”
Then, taking a lantern, Phil scanned the water on both sides of the boat carefully for drift that might be in the way. When all was ready he leaped overboard, and after an anxious wait on the part of the boys he came to the surface again on the other side of the boat. He had repeated his old feat of diving under the flatboat, but this time it was harder than ever before. The strong current helped him a little, for the flatboat, tied bow and stern, lay almost athwart it. But a deal of difficulty was created by the necessity of dragging the twine after him. Ed saw to it that no tangle should occur, but the string dragged upon the deck and over the side and again upon the bottom of the boat, so that a much longer time and far more exertion was necessary for the dive than had ever been required before. Indeed, when Phil came up he was barely clear of the gunwale and his ability to hold his breath was completely at an end. A second more and he must have inhaled water and drowned. He was for the moment too much exhausted to climb into the skiff that was waiting for him, or even to give directions to his companions.
Seeing his condition, Irv and Will leaped overboard with their clothes on, and actually lifted the boy into the skiff, pushing him over its side as if he had been a log or a limp sack of meal.
As soon as he was able to gasp he helped his comrades into the little boat, and called out: —
“Pull away on the string, boys, as fast as you can, otherwise the current will carry it out from under the boat, at one end or the other.”
They obeyed promptly and presently had the end of the rope in their grasp. Pulling upon this, they succeeded in getting the edge of the tarpaulin under the starboard side of the flatboat. But there the thing stuck, and their tugging at the rope only resulted in drawing their skiff up to the flatboat’s side. Phil quickly saw that “pulling without a purchase” was futile. He called out: —
“Row to that tree yonder, and we’ll make fast to it.”
When that was done the pulling was resumed, this time “with a purchase.” But it was of no avail. The tarpaulin was drawn halfway under the boat, but there it stuck.
After a little Phil evolved a new idea. Releasing the skiff, he rowed to the flatboat and directed Irv to go aboard. Then returning to his former position, he again made the skiff fast to the tree.
“Now, Irv,” he called out, “you and Ed go below and bring up two or three barrels of flour.”
“What for?” asked Ed.
“Never mind what for. Do it quick,” was the answer.
When the barrels of flour were on deck, Phil said: —
“Find the middle of the tarpaulin as nearly as you can, and roll a barrel of flour overboard into it.”
The thing was quickly done. The weight of the barrel of flour caused the tarpaulin to sink below the flatboat’s bottom, and it became possible to drag it under her for a further space.
“Roll another barrel overboard,” said the captain, when the tarpaulin refused to come farther. This enabled the boys to drag the sheet still farther, and finally, with the aid of a third barrel, they brought its edge ten feet beyond the gunwale.
“Now,” said Phil, “we’ve got to spill those flour barrels out of the cloth, or it won’t come up to the boat’s bottom and stop the leaks.”
How to do this was a puzzle. After studying the problem for a while, Phil directed Ed and Irv on board the flatboat, and Will and Constant in the skiff, to relax the tension on the great square of sailcloth.
“I’m going down on top of it,” he said, “to push the barrels off.”
“But when you do that, it’ll close up to the bottom of the boat and catch you in it,” said Will. “Don’t think of doing that!”
“I must,” said Phil, “we’re sinking; it’s our only chance, and I must take the risk. Let me have your big knife, Constant.”
“What are you going to do with it?” asked the boy, as he handed it to Phil.
“Cut my way out if I can, or perhaps cut a way out for the flour barrels. Good-by, boys, if I never get back. And thank you for everything.”
With that he stepped upon the tarpaulin and slid down it under the boat. Presently he came back, gasping and struggling.
“I got one barrel out,” he said. Then he waited awhile for breath, and went under again. This time he was gone so long that his comrades feared the worst, with almost no hope for a better result. But they could do nothing. Presently Phil came up, but so exhausted that he could only cling in a feeble way to the edge of the canvas. The boys dragged him into the skiff, and he lay upon its bottom for a time like one almost drowned, which indeed he was. When he had somewhat recovered, Irv called to him: —
“I’m going down next time, Phil. You shan’t brag that you’re a better water-rat than I am.”
“No, you mustn’t,” said the boy; “I’ve found out how to do the trick now. But I’ve lost your knife in the shuffle, Constant. Cast the skiff loose and let’s go aboard for another.”
The boy was so exhausted that his companions simply forbade him to make another attempt.
“You shan’t go down again,” said Irv, “and that’s all there is about it. If you’ve found out how to do the trick, as you say, save my life by explaining it to me, for I’m going down, anyhow.”
The boy was too weak to insist. So he explained: —
“Don’t go down on top of the sheet as I did. Dive under it. Find the barrels, – they’re almost exactly in the middle, – and slit the tarpaulin under them so that they can drop through. Oh, let me do it, I’m all right now.”
But Irv was overboard with a big butcher knife in his grasp, and the skiff was again securely fastened to its tree.
Irv dived three times. On coming up for the third time, he said with his irrepressible vivacity, “One, two, three times and out! Third time’s the charm, you know. I beg to announce that there’s a big slit in the tarpaulin and that the two barrels of triple X family flour are calmly reposing in the mud that underlies The Last of the Flatboats.”
“Good!” said Phil. “But we must hurry.”
And he gave rapid orders for drawing up the canvas on each side of the flatboat. Then he secured some tackle blocks and carried ropes from the two ends of the tarpaulin to the anchor windlass, and set the boys to draw it as tight as possible.
Then he went below, and found the water almost up to the level of the gunwales. That is to say, the boat proper, the part that floated all the rest, was very nearly full of water. A few inches more and the craft would have gone down like an iron pot with a hole in it.
There was hurried and anxious work at the pumps. At the end of an hour the gauge below showed that the water in the hold had been reduced by an inch or two.
“This will never do,” said the young captain. “We can’t keep on pumping like demons day and night till we get to New Orleans. We simply must find the leaks and stop them. The tarpaulin helps very greatly, but it isn’t enough.”
“But how?” asked Ed.
“First of all cast the flatboat loose and let her float,” said skipper Phil. “It’s daylight now.”
“What good will that do?” asked one.
“None, perhaps. Perhaps a great deal. It will put us into a river for one thing. We’re in about as bad a place for sinking as there could be. Maybe we shall float into a better one. Maybe we shall come to some place where the land is still out of water and let the boat sink where we can save part of the cargo. Maybe anything. Cast loose, while I study things below.”
CHAPTER XXVIII
A HARD-WON VICTORY
Phil’s further explorations below, which occupied perhaps half an hour, convinced him that the pumps, if worked to their utmost capacity, were capable of emptying the hold of water within three or four hours, possibly somewhat sooner, as the tarpaulin was doing its work better, now that the flatboat was cast loose. The current was no longer interfering, as the boat was now moving with the stream, and the weight of the craft was pressing it closer to the canvas beneath.
Phil realized that to keep the pumps at work to the full for so long a time would fearfully tax the crew’s strength, taxing it perhaps even beyond its capacity of endurance. But he saw no alternative. The water simply must be got out of the hold. Till that should be done there would be no possibility of finding and stopping the leaks.
So going again on deck, he said to his comrades: —
“I’ll tell you what, boys, we’ve got to work for all we’re worth now for the next two or three hours. We must get at the inside of the bottom of the boat and find these leaks. We can’t do that till we empty her of water, or get her pretty nearly empty.”
“But how in the world are we to get at the leaks under all our freight?” asked Will Moreraud.
“We have got to move the freight,” said Phil.
“But where?” asked Irv.
“Well,” said Phil, “we’ve got to throw part of it overboard, I suppose, in order to give us room. Then we’ve got to shift the rest of it little by little from one spot to another, exposing a part of the bottom each time. We must find every leak that we can, and stop every one that is capable of being stopped. It will take two or three hours to pump the water out, and, I suppose, it will take two or three days to get these leaks fully stopped. In the meantime, we are all going to be enormously tired, and of course – ”
“And of course we’ll all be as cross as a sawbuck,” said Irv Strong; “tired people always are; what we’ve got to do is to look out and not quarrel.”
“Oh, well,” said Phil, “I will take care of that. I am as cross as two sawbucks already, but I haven’t quarrelled with anybody yet, and I don’t mean to. And I’ll keep the rest of you too busy to quarrel. We will postpone all that until we get to New Orleans – ”
“If we ever do get to New Orleans,” said Ed.
“Ever get to New Orleans? Why, we have got to get to New Orleans. We have undertaken to do that job for the owners of this cargo, and we are going to do it, if we have to pump the Mississippi River three times through this boat in getting there. Our present task is to reduce the necessity for pumping as much as we can.”
Phil found by experiment that one boy at each pump was nearly as efficient as two, and as the work of pumping was exhausting, he decided to keep only two boys at it, one at each pump. Then, taking the other two with him, he went below and with buckets they began dipping water from the hold and pouring it overboard at the bow. In this way they added largely to the work of the pumps, and every fifteen minutes or so two of the boys handling buckets would go to the pumps, and the two tired fellows at the pumps would come below and work with buckets.
It was wearisome work, but there was at any rate the encouragement of success. By one o’clock in the afternoon the water in the hold was so far reduced that it was no longer possible to dip it up with buckets with any profit. So Phil stopped that part of the work, and decided to keep the boys on very short shifts at the pumps, leaving them to rest completely between their tours of duty. He let two of them work for ten minutes. Then another pair took their places for ten minutes. Then the fifth one of the party – for Phil did his “stint” like the rest – became one of the relief pair, thus giving one boy twenty minutes’ rest instead of ten. This extra rest came in its turn of course to each of the boys, so that each boy worked forty minutes – ten minutes at a time – and rested sixty minutes out of every one hundred minutes or every hour and two-thirds.
About five o’clock in the afternoon Phil made one of his frequent journeys of inspection in the hold. He came on deck with an encouraged look in his tired face.
“We’ve got the water pretty nearly all out now, boys. Our next job is to keep it out by stopping leaks. We’ll work one pump all the time. I think that will keep even with the leaks, or pretty nearly so. If we find the water gaining on us, we’ll set the other pump going for a while.”
“And what’s your plan for stopping leaks, Phil?” asked Irv.
“First of all we’ll find the leaks,” said Phil. “Then we’ll do whatever we can to stop them.”
“Oh, yes, we know that,” said Irv, with a touch of irritation in his voice, “but you know I meant – ”
“Come, Irv, no quarrelling!” said Will Moreraud. “You’re tired and cross, but so are the rest of us.”
“I own up, and beg pardon,” said Irv, regaining his good nature by an effort, but instantly. “Phil, may I take time for a cold plunge before you assign me to my next duty?”
“Certainly,” said Phil. “And I’ll take one with you. Come, boys, we’ll all be the better for the shock of a shockingly cold bath. Jump in, all of you!”
And they all did, for, to the surprise of every one, Ed leaped overboard with them and swam twice around the boat before coming out of the very cold water and into the still colder air.
“Ed’s getting well, Phil,” said Irv.
“Yes,” said Phil, as he watched his brother rubbing himself down. “Two weeks ago he would have come out of that water shivering as if with an ague, and the color of a table-cloth. Now look at him! He’s as red as a boiled lobster, and he’s actually laughing as he rubs the skin off with that piece of sanded tarpaulin that he has mistaken for a Turkish towel. Here, Ed, take a towel, or would you rather have some sandpaper or a rasp?”
“Thanks, old fellow,” said Ed, who had of course heard all the remarks concerning himself, “but this cloth feels good. I believe I am getting better. I’ve quit ‘barking’ anyhow.”
“That’s so,” said Irv. “You haven’t dared utter a cough since that morning when The Last of the Flatboats tried to make the last of herself by quitting the river and coming off on this little picnic in the Mississippi swamps.”
“If you young gentlemen have quite finished your discussion of past happenings, and are ready to give attention to present exigencies,” said Phil, in that mocking tone which he sometimes playfully adopted, “you’ll please put your clothes on and report for duty in the hold, where there’s some important work to be done. It’s your turn at the pump, Constant. Get thee to thy task, and don’t forget to remind me when your time’s up.
“Now,” said Phil, when they threw open the forward door of the flatboat to open a passage for taking out freight, “I suppose we ought to divide up the loss by throwing out about an equal quantity of each owner’s freight. But we can’t do it, so there’s an end of that.”
“Oh, the law will take care of all that,” said Ed.
“The law? How?”
“Why the law requires everybody interested in the boat or the cargo to share the loss, when freight must be thrown overboard to save the ship.”
“But how can that be done?” asked Irv.
“Why, we must keep account of what we throw overboard. When we sell the rest at New Orleans, we shall know just what was the value of the part jettisoned, – that’s the law term for throwing things overboard, I believe, – and that loss must be divided among the owners of the boat herself, the owners of cargo on board, and the insurance companies, if any of the freight is insured. Each one’s share of the loss will be in precise proportion to his interest.”
“Illustrate,” said Will Moreraud.
“Well,” rejoined Ed, “suppose we find the boat and her total cargo to be worth one thousand dollars – ”
“Oh, rubbish! It’s worth many times that,” broke in Will. “Why, I should value – ”
“Never mind that,” said the other. “I’m ‘supposing a case,’ as Irv says, and simply for convenience I take one thousand dollars as the total value of the boat and everything in her. Now, suppose we have to throw overboard one hundred dollars’ worth. That is one-tenth of the whole. That tenth must be divided, not equally, but proportionally, among all the persons interested. Suppose the boat is worth two hundred dollars. That is one-fifth the total value, and so the boat owners must bear one-fifth of the one hundred dollars’ loss. That is to say, we fellows should have to ‘pony up’ twenty dollars among us, or four dollars apiece. A man owning three hundred dollars’ worth of freight would be charged thirty dollars, and so on through the list.”
“Oh, I see,” said Phil, who in the meantime had been studying ways and means of accomplishing the practical purpose in hand. “And a very good arrangement it is. Now stop talking, and let’s heave out some of these bales of hay.”
“Why not take some of the other things instead?” asked Irv. “They are heavier, and to throw them over would lighten the boat more.”
All this while the boys were at work getting the hay out.
“We aren’t trying to lighten the boat,” replied Phil. “We’re only trying to make room, and the hay takes up more room, dollar’s worth for dollar’s worth, than anything else. So it’s cheapest to ‘jettison’ hay – thanks for that new word, Ed. Now, heave ho!” And the first bale of hay went over the bow into the water.
“Now, another!”
In a brief time a considerable space was cleared.
“That will do, I think,” said Phil. “We shan’t have to ‘jettison’ anything more, if you fellows will stop your chatter and get to work. If you don’t, I’ll jettison some of the crew.”
This brought a needed smile, for the boys were by this time almost exhausted with work and loss of sleep. Phil thought of this. He had not himself slept a moment since his discovery that the boat was sinking at midnight of the night before, while all the rest had caught refreshing little naps between their tours of duty at the pumps. But he left himself out of the account in laying his plans.
“See here, boys,” he said, “there isn’t room for more than one of you to work here with me at these leaks. One must stay at the pump on deck, of course, but the other two might as well go to sleep till we need you to move freight again.”
“Oh, I like that,” said Irv. “But why shouldn’t you do a little of the sleeping, instead of shoving it all off on us, as you’ve done all day?”
“Oh, never mind about me. I shan’t sleep till we get things in shape, so you and Ed go to sleep. You go and relieve Constant at the pump, Will, and let him come and help me.”
“You said there was to be no quarrelling,” said Irv, “and I have thus far obeyed. I have even stood Ed’s exposition of the law about throwing freight overboard, without a murmur, but now I’m going to quarrel with the skipper of this craft, if he doesn’t consent to take his full and fair share of the sleeping that simply has to be done. He always takes his full share of the work, even to the cooking. It was only yesterday that he made the worst pot of coffee we’ve had yet. I insist that he shall not be permitted basely to shirk his fair share of the sleeping.”
The other boys echoed the kindly sentiment that Irv had put in that playful way, and Phil was touched by their consideration. Instinctively holding out his hands to them, he said: —
“Thank you, fellows. It’s awfully good of you. But I simply could not sleep now. I cannot close my eyes till I see this work of stopping leaks so well advanced as to be sure that the boat is safe. I promise you that just as soon as that is accomplished I’ll let you fellows go on with the work, and I’ll take even a double turn at sleeping.”
“You’ll promise that?”
“Yes. And by way of compromise, and to keep you from quarrelling, Irv, I’ll let you postpone your first sleeping turn till you can get me something hot to swallow – a canned soup with an egg in it, or something else sustaining. I’m hungry.”
During the day’s excitements there had been no regular meals served on the boat, but as there happened to be a cold boiled ham in the larder and plenty of bread, the boys had indulged frequently in sandwiches. But it now occurred to them that Phil, in his anxiety, had quite forgotten to do this, and had, in fact, eaten nothing whatever for more than eighteen hours. So Irv hastened to prepare him some food of the kind he had asked for.
In the meantime, Phil and Constant, armed with hammers and nails, and bits of board which they from time to time sawed or cut to fit spaces, were busy at the leaks. When they had done all they could in that way within the space laid bare by the removal of the hay, they rolled other freight into that space, thus exposing another part of the bottom.
In this way the work went forward during the night, all of the boys except Phil securing some sleep in brief snatches, and all of them ministering, so far as they were permitted, to their captain’s need for tempting food.
About daylight, in making a shift of freight, Phil suddenly came upon something that made him call out: —
“Hello! what’s this? I say, Irv,” – for Irving was then working with him, – “we’ve found the crevasse at last.”
“I should say so,” said Irv, with a slower drawl than usual, as he held up his lantern and looked. “The Mississippi River and all its large and interesting family of tributaries seem trying to come aboard here.”
Just where the gunwale joined the bottom planks of the boat a great seam had been wrenched open, and the water was actually spouting and spurting through it.
“There’s one consolation,” said Phil. “There isn’t any other leak like this anywhere.”
“How do you know?”
“Why, if there were two such, we should have gone to Davy Jones’s locker long ago.”
Then the two boys set to work trying to fasten a board over the open seam, but their efforts failed completely. Their united strength was not sufficient even to press the board against the timbers, much less to hold it in place long enough to nail it there. For the whole weight of the boat and cargo was pressing down into the river and forcing this jet of water upward through the opening.
“Call the entire crew, Irv,” said Phil. “We shall need them all for this job – including the fellow at the pump.”
Then, while Irv went to summon the boys, Phil secured a piece of plank three inches thick, very green and very heavy, which had been purchased at Vevay to serve as a staging over which to roll freight in taking it on or discharging it.
“Get me the brace and bit, Will – the quarter-inch auger bit. And, Ed, see if you can find the spikes that were left over in building the boat. Bring the heaviest hammers we’ve got too, some of you.”
All this while the boy was measuring, calculating, sawing, and hewing with an axe to fit his great plank to its place. He bored holes in it at intervals, to facilitate the driving of spikes through its tough and tenacious thickness.
When all was ready, the boys made a strenuous effort to force the timber down against the crack, but to no purpose. Their strength and weight were not sufficient.
