" The
oldest captain shook my hand warmly when the breast-hooks were put in,
declaring that he could see no reason why the _Spray_ should not "cut
in bow-head" yet off the coast of Greenland. The much-esteemed
stem-piece was from the butt of the smartest kind of a pasture oak. It
afterward split a coral patch in two at the Keeling Islands, and did
not receive a blemish. Better timber for a ship than pasture white oak
never grew. The breast-hooks, as well as all the ribs, were of this
wood, and were steamed and bent into shape as required. It was hard
upon March when I began work in earnest; the weather was cold; still,
there were plenty of inspectors to back me with advice. When a
whaling-captain hove in sight I just rested on my adz awhile and
"gammed" with him.
New Bedford, the home of whaling-captains, is connected with Fairhaven
by a bridge, and the walking is good. They never "worked along up" to
the shipyard too often for me. It was the charming tales about arctic
whaling that inspired me to put a double set of breast-hooks in the
_Spray_, that she might shunt ice.
The seasons came quickly while I worked. Hardly were the ribs of the
sloop up before apple-trees were in bloom. Then the daisies and the
cherries came soon after. Close by the place where the old _Spray_ had
now dissolved rested the ashes of John Cook, a revered Pilgrim father.
So the new _Spray_ rose from hallowed ground. From the deck of the new
craft I could put out my hand and pick cherries that grew over the
little grave.
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