The captain felt that he had not come out of the argument at all well. It seemed rather absurd for a man to set himself against a boy—a boy, moreover, whom he had seen grow up—but there were so many reasons for Jimmy’s own sake why he should not be allowed to go that Uncle Amasa’s calm refusal to even consider them filled him with uneasiness. If the grandson proved as unimpressionable as the grandfather, there was trouble ahead. And Marion Royce felt that he was undertaking enough in this venture without adding anything that might bring about disorder or mutiny.
They went down the hill, the captain silent, Uncle Amasa gossiping cheerily as a snow-bird, and both men were soon at work on the great ninety-foot ark or “broadhorn” that still rested on its rude ways at the edge of the creek.
“We’ll get it into the water before night,” said the captain, looking lovingly at the unwieldy bulk that was more like a scow, built to be towed, than like a boat designed to navigate itself among channels and currents. It would, indeed, be more at the mercy of the elements than any scow, because its high freeboard would catch the wind as well as its clumsy upperdeck. It was built of rough hewn timbers, and put together with pins and treenails, so that it could be readily taken apart and sold as lumber for house-building in New Orleans, when its service as a cargo boat should be over.
Jonas Sparks, the old Marietta shipwright, who was overseeing the work, nodded at the captain. There was still a vast amount of decking or roofing to be done, and for this some of the lumber was still to be brought over from Marietta sawmill.
“It would be a good job done,” said Jonas Sparks, “if you could get your timber sawed up to Marietta while she is swelling. It will save that much time.”
“The new Pittsburgh mill hands haven’t come,” said the captain, “and they can’t get enough men at Marietta to work on the new brig and run the mill. The men won’t work. I expect we’ll have to go up and saw the lumber ourselves. What do you think?”
“Well,” said Jonas, to whom the difficulty of getting any sort of skilled or regular labor was too familiar to cause annoyance, “we’ll just put her into the water and see what can be done about getting the boards. There comes Charlie Hoyt with another load of the Claibornes’ whisky.”