ailed it to the wood. Over these bulkheads I placed
thwarts six inches wide, and then proceeded to make a keel. This I did
by bolting two thicknesses of board together and cutting them down, so
that it measured three inches deep at the stem and six at the stern. The
fastening on of this keel gave me more trouble than anything else
connected with the boat, for I had no bolts long enough to go through
six inches of timber, and then through the bottom of the boat. There was
only one way, and that was to make some bolts eight inches long, and
this I did from some pieces of three-eight iron rod I found. Nine bolts
took me a whole day to make--from six in the morning till six in the
evening. My anvil was a granite rock, which I had to carry on my
shoulders from the beach; but it served its purpose capitally.

My labours at the anvil were considerably lightened by the singing of
all the appropriate songs I could think of, especially the "Village
Blacksmith," which I think I must have worn out while making my bolts
and other fastenings.

I made heads to my bolts, and thrusting them through the keel, fastened
them off on the inside with iron collars or burrs. To make the keel more
secure I ran a strap of iron up the stern, from the heel of the keel,
and screwed it in place.

For the mast I made a step by crossing two pieces of board, and where
they crossed cut a hole through sufficiently large to take my mast,
which was a short one, being only about ten feet long. These cross
pieces not only held the mast, but also greatly strengthened the bows,
which felt the first and full force of the waves.

Then the rudder had to be made and attached, thole pins provided, and
the whole concern tarred inside and out, tin and all.

Oars had to be made, and with these I had some little difficulty; but by
steadily pegging away I at length turned out three very serviceable, if
not elegant, ones. The third was in case of a breakage, for it would
never do to go to sea without a spare oar, as in case of accident I
might have drifted helplessly goodness knows where.[1]

The Bay of Avranches is a large place, and as the Channel Islands do not
lie in the direct course of ocean-going vessels, it would be extremely
awkward, even on a calm day, to be alone in a boat with but one oar.

I found a large roll of old sails in the loft of the boathouse, all much
too large for my boat; but I selected a jib, and cut it down to form a
lug-sail. This sail b