CHAPTER XVIII.
A CAMP-FACTORY.
Breakfast was finished before daylight that morning, and when it wasover the three companions resumed work upon their fortification. Nedstopped long enough to catch some shrimps for dinner, but with thatexception there was no break at all in the morning's work, anddinner-time found the boys tired as well as hungry. The afternoon wasspent quite as industriously, and when night came the fort, though stillincomplete, was well advanced toward security.
"Now," said Ned, when supper-time came, "we have had rather too much ofshrimps, I think, and of oysters too. I'm going out with the netto-night to catch some fish for to-morrow. What do you two propose todo?"
"I'm going to make some more clubs," said Charley. "We've somethinglike a fort now, and the next thing is to provide an abundance ofammunition."
"By the way," said Ned, "why can't we make some better arms?"
"Of what sort?" asked Jack.
"Well, bows and arrows, for example. We can make arrow-heads out of someof our copper bolts, and they are weapons not to be despised--what areyou smiling at, Charley?"
"Oh! nothing; I was only wondering what good bows and arrows would dowithout bowstrings."
Ned's countenance fell; then he joined in the smile of his companions,and admitted that his little plan had been very imperfectly worked outin his head.
"I might make some blow-guns out of the canes," he said, "but they'renot worth making. I have killed birds with them, but I've tried themthoroughly and they won't shoot hard enough to drive an arrow-head halfan inch into a pine plank; so they would be worthless for our purposes."
"Yes," said Jack, "I think we may make up our minds that we've got toget on with no better weapons than our clubs for general use, with theaxe, hatchet, and digging tools to fall back upon as a last resort. Touse such things means to kill, and of course we don't want to do that."
"No, of course not. We only want to protect ourselves and make thesesquatters let us alone. We don't want to do the poor creatures anyunnecessary harm."
Saying this, Ned took the net and went away in search of fish. When hehad gone Jack said:
"Charley, let's build a platform to fight from."
"I don't quite understand you," said Charley.
"Well, you see the stockade is ten feet high, and slopes outward, and soit won't be easy for anybody to scale it; but it isn't impossible,particularly if one has time to put up a pole or two to climb on. Mynotion is that we must be prepared to interfere with anybody who triesto do that. We must build a sort of platform all around inside thestockade, about six feet from the ground; it needn't be any thing morethan a row of poles laid against the stockade and supported by someforked stakes. We can then stand up on these poles and look over the topof the stockade. If anybody tries to climb up, we can beat him backfrom there, while if we were on the ground inside here, we should benearly helpless. It won't take you and me more than half an hour or soto rig the thing up."
"That's a good idea," replied Charley; "and we need the platform moreto-night than we shall at any time hereafter."
"Why?"
"Because if those fellows mean to attack us they will do so at once. Ifwe escape to-night we're not likely to be attacked at all."
"I don't know about that," answered Jack. "On the contrary, I thinkthey'll let us alone to-night, because they'll expect us to be on thelookout for them. They have no special fancy for getting their headsbroken, and when they come they will try to take us by surprise. Atleast that's my notion."
"Then you think they are likely to attack us later this week or next?"
"Yes, at any time except to-night. They will wait for us to make up ourminds that they aren't coming at all."
"Well--that _fabula docet_ that we mustn't make up our minds in thatdirection at all."
"Exactly. We must be as alert two weeks hence as we are now--if we'rehere so long. But come, let's get to work."
Cutting some forked stakes, which did not need to be driven far into theground, because they were to be leant toward the sloping stockade, theboys placed them in position, and laid poles from one to another untilthe line stretched all the way around the enclosure. It was easy to walkupon these poles all the way around, and when standing upon them theboys' shoulders were above the top of the stockade.
Near the water, on each side, an entrance to the stockade had been made,and a movable piece of timber, with a notch in it and a brace behind,served to close each of these gates; and when thus closed and fastenedfrom the inside, the gates were as secure as any other part of thefortress.
Jack's prediction that the enemy would not appear on Monday night wasverified. The whole of that week, indeed, was passed in completequietude.
Having made their fortress reasonably secure, the boys resumed work uponthe boat on Monday and continued it throughout the week; but they gaveonly one half of each day to that task, devoting the other half to thework of strengthening their fort. The posts, as we know, were originallyset six inches apart for the sake of hurrying the work, but this was notintended to be a permanent arrangement. As fast as they could the boysfilled up the spaces thus left, and by Saturday night the fort wascomplete, so that its inmates felt entirely confident of their abilityto beat off any attack the negro squatters might choose to make.
Meantime the boat approached completion, though there was, perhaps, aweek's work, or a little less, still to be done upon her.
"We must caulk her seams," said Ned on Sunday, as the boys sat chattinground their fire, "with moss instead of oakum, and then we'll coat herall over with pitch."
"By the way," answered Charley, "we've got to make the pitch. Do youknow how, Ned?"
"Not very well," replied Ned, "but I think we can make out."
"I know," said Jack; "I've seen tar made in the North Carolina tarcountry, and pitch is only boiled tar."
"Very well, then, you shall superintend that job," said Ned; "you knowthat was our bargain, to make each fellow manage the things heunderstood best."
"You'd better make a lot of salt, then, right away, beginning to-morrowmorning."
"Why? You don't use salt in making pitch, do you?"
"No; but I shall want the big kettle to boil the tar in, and it won't befit for use as a salt kettle after that."
"Then we must cook up all our rice too," said Charley.
"No, we needn't," said Ned; "it would spoil if we did, and we can cookit, as we need it, in the coffee-pot."
Early the next morning these preparations were begun. Charley got hissalt factory at work, Ned worked at the boat, and Jack made preparationsfor tar-burning. He began by digging a pit about four feet square andtwo feet deep. Then--at a distance of about a foot--he dug another pitabout three feet square and four feet deep. He packed the wall of earththat separated the two pits as firmly as he could, and then, cutting along joint of cane for a tar pipe, he passed it through this wall, froma point exactly at the bottom of the shallow pit. He inclined itdownward a little, so that the tar might easily run though it and fallinto the deeper pit.
Having finished this part of his work, Jack went into the woods near thecamp and prepared a large quantity of "fat" pine for burning. Pilingthis in the shallow pit, and heaping it two or three feet above thelevel ground, he took the shovel and covered the pile with earth to adepth of a foot or more, leaving a single opening through which he couldset fire to the mass. His object was, by smothering the flames in thisway, to make the fat, resinous pine burn slowly, creating a roastingheat under the earth, and thus, as it were, melting the tar out of thepine. If he had not covered the wood with earth, it would have blazed upand burned to smoke, resin and all, making no tar at all.
When all was ready the pile was set on fire, and as soon as it hadcaught well, Jack covered the single opening with earth, and the moundsmoked like a volcano. Pretty soon a little stream of smoking-hot tarbegan trickling through the cane-tube into the deep pit.
Night had now come on, and the smoke from the tar-kiln, ca
tching thelight from the camp-fire, glowed with a peculiar red color, and gave apicturesque air of strangeness to the camp.
"You've started a young volcano, Jack," said Charley, as he looked atthe smoking mound.
"Yes. An improvement on Crusoe," said Ned; "he had no volcano on hisisland. But what a quantity of smoke the thing does make. It looks as ifmore material came out of the mound in that way than you put into it inthe shape of wood."
"Yes, and so a gallon of water will fill a big room if you make it intosteam."
"What is smoke anyhow?" asked Charley.
"It is composed of several things," answered Ned, "but chiefly ofcarbon. Indeed, all that you can see in smoke is carbon."
"Then why doesn't it burn?"
"It would if it were kept in the fire long enough; but the light vaporsthat rise from the fire carry the particles of carbon with them, and sothey get out of the fire before they are burned. The smoke is simply somuch wasted fuel, and many plans have been made to save it in factorieswhere the cost of fuel is great."
"There's a big waste in making tar, then," said Charley.
"Not half so much as you think," said Jack. "They don't waste the smokeup in the North Carolina tar country."
"How do they burn it?"
"They don't burn it, but they catch it and sell it."
"How do you mean?"
"Why, they have wire screens stretched over the tar-kilns, and as thesmoke strikes them the fine particles of carbon stick to them. I haveseen masses of them hanging down many inches from the screens, and verypretty they are too."
"But what do they do with the stuff?" asked Charley.
"Sell it. It is called lamp-black, and it brings a pretty good price."
"That is close economy, isn't it?"
"Yes, but it is frequently by just such 'margins' as that thatmanufacturing becomes profitable. It is a very poor and desolate-lookingcountry up there in the tar-making districts, and I remember hearing aman say once, as we passed through it: 'This is the country where theywaste nothing; they bark the trees to get resin: they distil the resinand make turpentine; what's left is rosin; when the trees die they burnthem to make tar, catch the smoke for lamp-black, and there aren't anyashes.'"
The Wreck of the Red Bird: A Story of the Carolina Coast Page 19