“Say the line is 6 inches long and one angle is 35 degrees, while the other is 117 degrees. Let us draw a 6-inch straight line. This we will call our base line. Now we will place the base edge of our protractor on the base line with its center at the right hand end of the line. At the 37 degree mark we will make a dot on the paper so, and draw a line from the right hand end of the base line through this dot. Now we will do the same thing at the opposite end, making a dot at 107 degrees from the line, and draw a line from the left hand end of the base line through this dot.

“If we extend these lines until they intersect, we will have the required triangle, and can measure the two sides, which will be found to be about 12 inches and 8 inches long, and the third angle will measure just 26 degrees. It doesn’t make any difference on what scale we draw the triangle, whether it be miles, yards, feet, inches or fractions of an inch, the proportions will be the same. If the base line had been 6 half-inches, or 3 inches long, and the same angles were used, the other two lines would measure 12 half-inches, or six inches, and 8 half-inches, or 4 inches. If the base line were 6 quarter-inches long, the sides would be 3 inches and 2 inches long.

“Now, for example, I am going to measure the distance to that tree over there. Get out your chain and measure off a straight line 10 feet long. Now, I’ll set the surveying instrument with the plumb-bob right over the end of this line, and sight through the two sight holes until I bring the two vertical hairs in line with each other and the tree. Look at the compass needle. It points to the 173 degree mark on the cardboard ring. Now, Bill, you hold the rod at the other end of our base line while I swing this instrument around and sight it. There, the needle points to 92 degrees, and subtracting this from 173 the difference, 81 degrees, is the angle at the right end of our base line. We’ll do the same thing at the other end of our line. See, the compass needle points to 189 degrees, and now sighting to the pole at the other end of the line we find that the needle points to 268. The difference, 79 degrees, is therefore the size of the angle
Fig. 84. Determining the Distance to the Tree. at the left end of our base line. Now we will draw this out on paper, as we did our first triangle, using quarter-inches to represent feet. Our base line was 10 feet long, and we will therefore draw a line 10 quarter-inches, or 2-1/2 inches long, on our drawing board. On this line we will construct the triangle, using the angles 81 and 79 degrees. There, that’s how our triangle looks, and the right hand side measures 7-1/4 inches, while the left hand side measures 7-5/16 inches. That is, 29 quarter-inches for one side and 29-1/4 quarter-inches for the other. As each quarter-inch represents a foot, you will find that the tree is about 29 feet from the right end of our base line and 29 feet 3 inches from the left hand end. Of course, our instrument is not perfect, neither is our drawing; but if you measure it off with the chain you will see that I am not very far from correct.”

Mapping the Island.

Most of our surveying was done by actual measurement, the surveying instrument being used only to determine the exact direction of the measurement. However, there were some measurements which we could not make directly with the chain. For example, we wished to know just how far it was from our tent to the Jersey shore of the river. We measured off a base line along our shore 400 feet long and sighted to a point directly across the river from our tent. The angle in front of our tent was 90 degrees, and at the other end of the base line was 73 degrees. When we drew out our triangle on the scale of 100 feet to the inch we found that the shorter side directly in front of the tent was almost exactly 13 inches long. This meant that the river at this point was 1,300 feet wide, nearly a quarter of a mile. On the other side of the island we found, in the same way, that the river at its narrowest point was about 500 feet wide. This portion of the river we named Lake Placid, as the water was very still and quite deep. This was due to a sort of natural dam formed at the lower end of our island. The small island that Dutchy found was kite-shaped, with a tail of boulders which extended almost all the way across to a rocky point on the Pennsylvania shore. The channel between “Kite Island,” as we called it, and Willow Clump Island was not more than fifteen feet wide in some places, and through this the water swept with a swift current down past a narrow neck of land to join the main current. This narrow stretch of land we named the Tiger’s Tail, owing to its peculiar shape. It was in the hook at the end of this tail that we discovered the old bridge wreck above referred to. From the tip of the Tiger’s Tail to Point Lookout, at the extreme upper end of Willow Clump Island, it was a little under a half-mile. The shore all along Lake Placid was very steep, except near Point Lookout. At one place there was a shallow bay which we called the lagoon.

CHAPTER VIII.
SWIMMING.

Lake Placid was a favorite swimming place for us. We used to plunge in from the branches of a tree which overhung the water a little ways above the lagoon and made a natural springboard. We could all swim like ducks, except Dutchy, who couldn’t do anything but paddle. However, Uncle Ed was an expert, and he took Dutchy in hand and soon made a pretty good swimmer out of him. He also taught us some fancy strokes. Of course I took no record of these lessons. You would hardly expect me to sit on the bank with a book in hand jotting down notes while the rest were splashing around in the cool water having the best of fun in the world, and even if I had, I wouldn’t republish the notes here, because whoever heard of a boy learning to swim while reading a book on the subject? A beginner had better leave books alone and plunge right into the water. He will soon learn to keep himself afloat and can then practise any fancy strokes that he sees others try. Then, again, don’t try to learn in shallow water, because you will never do it. Of course it doesn’t pay to jump into water that is over your head unless there is a good swimmer near by to help you out. But you will never learn to swim until you have become accustomed to putting your head under water. You can not swim with a dry face. The first time we went swimming, we couldn’t persuade Dutchy to try it. The water was deep right up to the very bank and he had never been in over his head. Instead he sat up in the diving tree swinging his feet and trying to hide the fact that he was having a dull time.

“Say, we’ve got to douse that fellow,” said Reddy.

“You’re right; he needs a wash,” said Jim. “Let’s sneak up behind him and chuck him in.”

They landed a little ways up the stream behind a large bush and then crept down stealthily on their victim. But Dutchy had his suspicions aroused and saw them coming. He scrambled out of the tree in a jiffy and tore off into the woods as fast as his legs could carry him.

Swimming on a Plank.

We didn’t expect to see him again that afternoon, for the pace he was leading should have carried him miles in no time; but while he couldn’t swim, Dutchy had his own ideas of fun on the water. It was about twenty minutes later that we saw him coming down-stream lying full length on one of the 2-inch planks taken from the bridge wreck. He was paddling himself along with arms and legs hung over the sides of the plank. We all gave him a cheer, and then started out to have some fun with him. We tried to pull him off his raft, but he stuck on like a leech. It was only when we made his craft turn turtle that Dutchy got his head under water. But it wasn’t a moment before he scrambled back on top again, gasping and sputtering to get the water out of his nose and mouth.

Uncle Ed all this time had been sunning himself on the bank, when suddenly he uttered a shout of warning. We were right at the mouth of the mill-race. For the moment we forgot about Dutchy, and swam out for shore. Before we realized it Dutchy was caught in the current, and was being swept full tilt down the stream. My but wasn’t he scared. I can see him yet clinging for dear life to the plank, his face the color of ashes and his eyes bulging out in terror. First he tried to make for the bank, but the water was so swift that when the front end of the board struck land the rear end swung around in a circle, carrying him on again, but backward this time, before we could reach him. Two or three more times the plank struck the bank and turned him around, while we raced along the high bank, scrambling down to catch him every time he headed for shore, but each time just missing him. Then he swung out past the Tiger’s Tail into the open river just above the rapids. Fortunately he was going along headforemost this time, and Uncle Ed, who had just arrived, panting and breathless, from running, shouted to him to keep his head and steer for a narrow opening between two jutting boulders. I don’t know whether Dutchy did any steering or not, but the raft shot straight through the opening, and was lost in a cloud of spray. In a moment he reappeared below the rapids, paddling like mad for a neck of land on the Pennsylvania side of the river.

Dutchy would never own up that he was afraid. He never told a lie under other circumstances, but when it came to a question of courage he had the habit of stretching facts to the very limit. Even in this case, he said that he started out with the idea of shooting the rapids, and if we hadn’t flustered him so, he would not have bumped into the bank and turned about so many times. Dutchy was a very glib talker. He nearly persuaded us that it was all done intentionally, and his thrilling account of the wild dash between the rocks and through the shower of spray stirred us up so that we all had to try the trick too.

Shooting the Rapids.

The next day, while Uncle Ed was taking a nap, we stole off to the upper end of Lake Placid, each one towing a plank. We needn’t have been so afraid of Uncle Ed, for we found out later that he intended to try a plank ride through the rapids himself next time he went in swimming. Down Lake Placid we paddled in single column to the mill-race. In a moment the current had caught us and we were off. I shall never forget the thrilling ride down the swirling mill-race, the sudden pause as we shot out into the open river, the plunge between the boulders and the dive through the spray. It was all over too soon. Something like coasting–whiz, whiz-z-z, and a half-mile walk. Were it not for the trouble of hauling the planks back by the roundabout course along the Pennsy shore we would have thought shooting the rapids a capital game.

Restoring the Drowned.

It was on the second day after Dutchy’s exploit of the rapids that Bill came so near drowning. He probably would have drowned if Uncle Ed hadn’t been on hand to work over him. Bill was a fine swimmer, but even the best of swimmers will sometimes get a cramp, so it is never safe for any one to go into the water without some one at hand to help him out in case of accident. In the present case Bill was doing some fancy strokes by himself over near the Pennsy shore, while the rest of us were watching Uncle Ed give Dutchy a lesson in swimming. All of a sudden Bill threw up his hands and sank. I happened to glance up as he did it. We thought he was fooling at first, but soon made out that he was in genuine trouble. Uncle Ed dropped Dutchy to my tender care, and raced over with a powerful stroke to the spot where he had last seen his nephew. He failed to find him on the first dive, but the second time was successful and he carried the lifeless body to the Pennsylvania
Fig. 87. Pressing the Water out of the Stomach. shore. In the meantime I had landed Dutchy and with the rest of the boys had crossed the lake. Uncle Ed first laid Bill on his back and hastily wiped dry the mouth and nostrils. Then he pried his jaws apart, holding them open with a piece of wood wedged in between the teeth. After which he turned him on his face over a log which was placed under his stomach. By stomach I do not mean the bowels, but the real stomach, which lies just under the ribs in front. Then he pressed with a good weight on the back directly over the log for nearly a minute, causing the water to flow out of the mouth. Dutchy had by this time rowed across in the scow, in which fortunately there happened to be some of Uncle Ed’s clothing. This he took and rolled into a bundle,
Fig. 88. Expanding the Chest. then Bill was laid on his back over the roll of clothing, which was arranged to raise the pit of his stomach above the rest of his body. Uncle Ed now wrapped a handkerchief around his forefinger, and with it wiped out Bill’s mouth and throat. Reddy, who was the least excited of the lot, was told to draw Bill’s tongue forward so as to prevent it from falling back and choking the windpipe. This he did with the dry part of the handkerchief, drawing the end of the tongue out at the corner of the mouth, and holding it there while Uncle Ed and I started the pumping action, which produced artificial respiration. I was directed to grasp Bill’s arms just below the elbows, and swing them vertically in an arc until the hands met the ground again above the head. This expanded the chest. Uncle Ed at the same time stood
Fig. 89. Squeezing out the Air from the Lungs. over the body with his elbows on his knees and hands extended, as illustrated in Fig. 88. Then I swung the arms up and back to the sides of the body, but just before the hands touched the ground Uncle Ed seized the body in both hands just below the ribs, and as soon as I touched the arms to the ground he swung forward with all his weight on his hands, squeezing the waist and pushing upward so as to force out the air in the chest. Then he slowly counted, one, two, three, four, all the time steadily increasing the pressure, until at the signal four, with a final push, he shoved himself to the first position, shown in Fig. 88. At the same signal I drew the arms up again over the head, and held them there while Uncle Ed again counted four; then I returned the arms to the sides, and Uncle Ed repeated the squeezing process. These movements were continued for about three minutes, and then Bill gave a short, faint gasp. We kept on with the artificial respiration, assisting the gasps, which gradually grew stronger, until they had deepened into steady breathing. Then we stripped off the wet bathing suit, and wrapping Bill in Uncle Ed’s clothing, laid him in the bottom of the boat. While Dutchy hurried the boat across, Uncle Ed rubbed the patient’s arms and legs. The rest of us swam over and ran for blankets from the tent. Bill was wrapped in one of the blankets and the other was used as a stretcher, on which we carried him to the tent. Then one of us was sent post-haste across to Lumberville for some whiskey, which was diluted in hot water and given the patient a teaspoonful at a dose, every fifteen minutes at first, and then at less frequent intervals. Uncle Ed kept Bill in bed all the next day for fear of congestion of the lungs. He told us that unless the patient kept perfectly quiet for a couple of days, he was liable to be seized with a sudden attack of hard breathing that might choke him to death in a short time. To stop such an attack he told us that the best plan was to apply a mustard plaster to the chest, and if the patient commenced to gasp, to start pumping the arms and squeezing the waist so as to help him breathe. After Bill had come around and was himself again Uncle Ed gave us a thorough drill in methods of restoring the drowned. He laid down on the grass and made us practise on him the various directions which he gave us.

How to Work Over a Patient Alone.

“If you boys hadn’t been so excited,” he said, “I would have made you rub Bill’s body and limbs while we were pumping the air into him, but I knew you would get in the way, and be more of a bother than a help. You must learn to be calm in any accident; excitement doesn’t pay. Keep steadily and slowly at your pumping, for you might have to do it for four hours before the patient comes to.” He taught us just how to swing the arms and squeeze the ribs to best advantage, and how to hold the tongue without getting in the way of the arms as they were pumped back and forth. There was also a special way of rubbing the arms and legs. The
Fig. 90. Working alone over a Patient. limbs were always rubbed upward, or toward the body, with the bare hands, or a dry cloth if there was one at hand, but this all had to be done without interfering with the pumping action. “If the patient doesn’t come around in five minutes,” he said, “turn him on his face again over the roll of clothing, or any other suitable substitute, and press out the water from the stomach, rolling him first to one side and then to the other; be sure to get all the water out.” When we had learned our lesson well, Uncle Ed took Dutchy for his patient, and proceeded to show us how a man could work over him alone. First he went through the operation of squeezing the water out of him, and drying his nose and mouth, much to the patient’s discomfort; then he drew Dutchy’s tongue out of the corner of his mouth, holding it there by closing the jaws on it, and holding the jaws together by passing a handkerchief over his chin and lapping it over his head. After that he began to pump, seizing the patient’s arms and swinging them up over the head and back, as before. Just as the arms were dropped back to the sides of the body, he squeezed them in against the ribs, at the same time drawing upward toward the head and counting four each time, as he had done before. But the lesson was abruptly interrupted by Dutchy, whose imagination was worked up to such a pitch that I actually believe he thought he had been drowning. Anyway, he squirmed out of Uncle Ed’s grasp, and wouldn’t play patient any longer. For several days after that we couldn’t persuade him to venture near deep water.

CHAPTER IX.
BRIDGE BUILDING.

We ran a bridge across the mill-race at its narrowest point. This bridge was made of trees which we had cut down in making our road. It was quite a piece of engineering, built under Uncle Ed’s guidance. Two frames were made of the shape shown in Figs. 91 and 92. The side sticks were 15 feet long and spaced about 10 feet apart at the base by crosspieces. At the upper end one frame was made 6 feet wide and the other 5 feet wide. The side and cross spars were mortised together and secured by lashing a rope around them. To make the frames more rigid we braced them with diagonal braces nailed on. When completed we set the frames up on opposite sides of the stream and with ropes carefully lowered their upper ends until they interlocked, the side spars of each frame resting on the cross spars of the other. In the angles formed by the crossing side spars a center spar was laid, and a number of floor beams or spars were stretched to this from the opposite shores. On these a flooring was spread made of saplings, cut and trimmed to the right size. A rustic railing on each side of the bridge completed the structure.

The Rope Railway.

The mill-race was crossed further down by a rope line on which we rigged a traveling carriage. A light manila rope was used, anchored to a tree at each side about fifteen feet from the ground. A pulley block with a wheel or sheave 4 inches in diameter was mounted to travel on the rope. Suspended from this block by means of fall and tackle was a swing seat. This, as shown in Fig. 94, was merely a
Fig. 95. Tying the Ropes to the Seat. board fastened with four rope strands to the ring of the tackle block. A single rope was used, with the ends tied firmly together. The loop thus formed was passed through the ring of the tackle block and the opposite ends were twisted over the ends of the seat board in the manner illustrated in Fig. 95. The tackle blocks were quite small, having 2-inch sheaves, and they, together with the large pulley or “traveling block,” as we called it, cost us about $2.50. Two light ropes were fastened to the large traveling block, each rope long enough to reach across the stream. The ropes extended to opposite anchorages, where each was passed over a branch of the tree and belayed on a cleat within easy reach. A fellow could draw himself up clear of the ground by pulling on the free end of the fall, as a painter does; then tying the swing fast in this position, he would pull himself across the stream by means of the rope stretched to the opposite anchorage. The swing could be drawn back by the next one who wanted to cross. We also used this aerial line for transporting loads from one island to the other.

Our aerial railway didn’t last long. We soon tired of it, and instead utilized the materials for a rope suspension bridge. We procured from Lumberville half a dozen old barrels and used the staves as a flooring for the bridge. The staves were linked together by a pair of ropes at each end woven over and under, as indicated in the drawing Fig. 97. Notches were cut in the staves to hold
Fig. 98. The Suspension Bridge. the ropes from slipping off. The flexible flooring thus constructed was stretched across the river and secured to stakes driven firmly in the ground. A pair of parallel ropes were extended across the stream about three feet above the flooring, with which they were connected at intervals of five feet. The bridge was 25 feet long, and while rather shaky, owing to the fact that there were no braces to prevent it from swaying sidewise, still it was very strong and did excellent service.

Pontoon Bridge.

At the head of the mill-race, where the channel was fifty feet wide, we built a pontoon bridge. We were fortunate in securing six good cider barrels at low cost, also a quantity of “slabs” from one of the sawmills of Lumberville.
Fig. 99. The Pontoon Bridge. “Slab” is the lumberman’s name for the outside piece of a log which is sawn off in squaring up the sides. We made a raft of these materials and floated them down the river to Lake Placid. The bridge was made by anchoring the barrels in the channel about eight feet apart, and laying on them the floor beams, which supported a flooring of slabs. The floor beams were narrow planks 1 inch by 4 inches, taken from the bridge wreck, and they were placed on edge to prevent sagging. Of course we had no anchors for securing the barrels, but used instead large stones weighing about 100 pounds each, around which the anchor lines were fastened. We found it rather difficult to sink these improvised anchors at just the right places, for we were working at the very mouth of the mill-race, and were in constant danger of having our scow sucked down into the swirling channel. Once we were actually drawn into the mill-race and tore madly down the rushing stream. By Bill’s careful steering we managed to avoid striking the shore, and just as we were off the Tiger’s Tail Reddy succeeded in swinging a rope around an overhanging limb and bringing us to a sudden stop. A moment later we might have been dashed against the rocks in the rapids below and our boat smashed. Shooting rapids in a scow is a very different matter from riding through them on a plank.

The King Rod Truss.

Our bridge building operations were not entirely confined to the island. Two of them were built on the Schreiner grounds at Lamington. Reddy Schreiner’s home was situated a little distance above the town where Cedar Brook came tumbling down a gorge in the hills and spread out into the Schreiners’ ice pond. Thence it pursued its course very quietly through the low and somewhat swampy ground in the Schreiners’ back yard. Over this brook Reddy was very anxious to build a bridge. Accordingly, before returning to school in the fall Bill made out a careful set of plans for the structure, and after we had gone the rest of the society, under Reddy’s guidance, erected the bridge.

The structure was a cross between a suspension bridge and a spar bridge. The banks of the stream were so low that, instead of resting the floor of the bridge on top of the inclined frames, as we had done over the mill-race, it was suspended from the spars by means of wires. The crossing
Fig. 100. The King Rod Bridge. ends of the spars were nailed together and their lower ends were firmly planted about four feet apart in the banks of the brook. A stick nailed to the apex of each pair of spars served temporarily to brace them apart. The center cross beam of the bridge was now suspended from the spars by means of heavy galvanized iron wire (No. 14, I should say). The beam was hung high enough to allow for stretch of the wire, making the roadway incline upward from both sides to the center. Aside from carrying the floor of the bridge, this beam was used to brace the inclined spars when the temporary crosspiece was removed. The ends of the beam projected about thirty inches beyond the bridge at each side, and they supported braces which extended diagonally upward to the crossing ends of the spars. When this was done the temporary crosspiece above referred to was removed. As the span between the center cross beam and the banks was a little too long to provide a steady floor, a couple of intermediate cross beams were suspended from the inclined spars. The floor beams were then laid in place and covered with a flooring of slabs.

Stiffening the Bridge.

The bridge was a pretty good one, except for a slight unsteadiness between the center and either end. When Uncle Ed saw it he showed us at once where the trouble lay. Our intermediate cross beams were hung from the center of the spars, and consequently made them bend, because the strain came across their length, while at the center of the bridge there was no chance for the spars to bend, because the strain was exerted along their length, that is, it tended merely to push the ends of the spars deeper into the banks. To remedy the trouble he proposed propping up the center of each spar with a brace running from the center crosspiece. The dotted lines in Fig. 100 show how these braces were applied. They made the floor perfectly solid throughout, and gave the bridge a much better appearance. Uncle Ed told us that the structure might be called a “king rod truss,” except that in place of rods we had used wires.

First we set about constructing the king posts, which were made as shown in Fig. 101. Two stout posts 7 feet long were connected at the top by a tie stick, which spaced them 4 feet apart. To make a secure fastening they were notched
Fig. 101. The King Post Frame. together and strengthened with diagonal braces. Each king post was notched on opposite sides, at about thirty inches from the top. A temporary tie piece was also nailed across the lower ends of the king posts. The frame thus formed was set up at the center of the span and temporarily held by nailing the lower tie piece to the working platform. Four stout spars were now cut, each about fifteen feet long. Taking a pair at a time, we planted their lower ends firmly in the opposite banks and sawed off their upper
Fig. 102. The King Posts Set in Position. ends until they could just be hammered into the notches in the king post. This required careful fitting, but by making the spars a little too long to start with, and then shaving them down with a draw-knife, we managed to make fairly good joints. A couple of long wire nails in each spar made the structure perfectly secure. The king posts were now sawed off just above the temporary tie piece, and the permanent cross beam was fastened to these ends with straps of heavy wire wound tightly about them. The working platform sagged so much that we were able to lay this cross beam above it. From the ends of the cross beam diagonal braces extended to the king posts (Fig. 103). Our working
Fig. 103. The Permanent Cross Beam Made Fast. platform was now removed and replaced with the permanent floor beams, which were firmly nailed to the center cross beam and to the inclined spars at the shore ends. The floor beams were quite heavy and needed no support between the king posts and shore. A rustic floor was made of small logs sawed in two at Mr. Schreiner’s sawmill. Light poles were nailed to the flooring along each edge, giving a finish to the bridge. We also provided a rustic railing for the bridge of light poles nailed to the king posts and the diagonal spars.

CHAPTER X.
CANVAS CANOES.

Owing to a sudden business call Uncle Ed left us after he had been with us nearly three weeks. But, before going, he explained carefully to Bill just how to construct a canvas canoe. Jack, the cook, who was anxious to lay in a second supply of provisions, accompanied Uncle Ed as far as Millville, the next town below Lamington. Here Uncle Ed bought five yards of canvas, 42 inches wide, several cans of paint and a quantity of brass and copper nails and tacks. These supplies, together with the food provisions that Jack had collected, were brought to us late in the afternoon by Mr. Schreiner. Mr. Schreiner also brought the necessary boards and strips of wood for the framework of our canoe.

A Visit from Mr. Schreiner.

We invited Mr. Schreiner to spend the night with us, and this he did after fording with some difficulty the swift-running river. In the morning we showed him our quarters, our filter, the roads we had built, the spar bridge across to Kite Island, our surveying instrument and the chart we had made of the vicinity. He was greatly pleased with our work, and it was then that he gave us an order for the bridge over the gorge. From that day on he became our staunchest ally, so that when my father and Mr. Van Syckel complained that we were loafing away a lot of time which could be more profitably spent in study or work, Mr. Schreiner stood up for us and declared that our experiences on the island were doing us far more good, both physically and mentally, than any other work that they could conceive of; that before condemning us they should pay us a visit and see how we were employing our time.

The Sailing Canoe.

Immediately after Mr. Schreiner’s departure we started work on the canoe. A strip of spruce 1 inch thick, 3 inches wide and 12 feet long served as the keelson. At the stern a post 1-1/2 inches thick, 3 inches wide and 13 inches high was secured to the keelson with brass screws. This was braced as indicated in Fig. 104. At the bow a stem piece was attached to the keelson. This stem was cut to a somewhat semicircular form, as shown in Fig. 105. The outer edge was tapered with a
Fig. 105. Stern of the Canoe. draw-knife to a thickness of 1/4 inch and a brace was nailed to the inner edge. Our next work was to cut out three forms, one of the shape shown in Fig. 106 and two like that shown in Fig. 107. The first form was set up on the keelson midway between the stem and stern, and the other two were spaced about four feet each side of the center form. The center form was used only for shaping the
Fig. 106. Center Form. frame of the boat, and was not intended to be permanently affixed to the canoe. Therefore, we fastened it to the keelson very lightly, so that it could be readily removed. The other two forms, however, were made permanent parts of the frame, serving as bulkheads. The gunwales were now secured
Fig. 107. Bulkheads. in position. These were of spruce 3/4 inch thick and 2 inches wide. The ends were beveled off so as to neatly fit the stem piece and the stern post, to which they were fastened by brass screws. Then we applied the longitudinal strips, or rib bands, which were of 1/4-inch thick spruce 1 inch wide. Ten of these bands were used, equally spaced apart on the
Fig. 108. Center Braces. center form, to which they were lightly tacked; but they were nailed securely to the bulkheads and the stem piece and stern post. The cross ribs were made of barrel hoops which we had soaked in water for a day or so to render them pliable
Fig. 109. Top View
of the Canoe Frame. enough to be bent into place. These hoops were split to a width of 1/2 inch, and secured first to the keelson, then to the longitudinal strips and finally to the gunwales. Copper tacks
Fig. 110. Side View
of the Canoe Frame. were used for nailing the ribs in place, and these were long enough to be passed through the rib bands and clinched on the outside. Forty cross ribs were nailed on, and at the center of the canoe they were spaced about three inches apart. The center form was then removed and cut along the dotted lines shown in Fig. 106. The semicircular pieces thus obtained were now strengthened with strips on their inner edges, and wedged in between the keelson and the gunwales, to which they were nailed, as shown in Fig. 108. A pair of cleats nailed to the cross ribs served as supports for the seat of the canoe. The frame of the boat was completed by nailing in place two deck beams of 1/2-inch square pine and four corner pieces between the gunwales and the bulkheads, so as to make an elliptical well hole or deck opening. Before laying on the canvas covering the edges of the gunwales, keelson, deck beams, stem and stern posts were smoothed down with sandpaper.

The frame was laid in the center of the canvas and the latter drawn around it. Then with a large needle and strong twine we sewed both edges of the cloth together with long stitches, lacing the canvas over the frame as a shoe is laced over a foot. This done, the boat was turned deck downward and the canvas was tacked to the keelson. In each case,
Fig. 112. Tacking the Canvas to the Keel. before driving in a tack a daub of white lead was applied, to water-proof the spot. At the stem and stern a gore (narrow triangular piece) was cut out of the canvas so as to make it lie smooth on the frame, and white lead was painted in between the overlapping edges. The canoe was then turned deck upward and the lacing tightened, while we carefully worked out all wrinkles in the cloth. After tacking the canvas along the gunwales on the outside, it was trimmed off, leaving sufficient margin to be brought over the gunwales and tacked inside. Two triangular pieces were cut out for the decks, and these were lapped over the outer canvas and tacked to the gunwales. A narrow molding along the edge of the boat served to cover the tack heads and added a certain finish to the canoe. A keel plate 2 inches wide and 1 inch thick was attached to the outside of the boat, and then, after wetting the canvas, it was given a coat of white lead and oil. When this was perfectly dry it was sandpapered and the second coat applied.

The Rudder.

The canoe was now complete except for the rudder, which was cut from a 1/2-inch board to about the shape shown in Fig. 114. Strips 1-1/2 inches wide and 1/2 inch thick were nailed to each side of the blade, forming a post, to the top of which a crosspiece or tiller was fastened. A cleat nailed to the pillar at each side of the rudder post served to greatly strengthen the joint. The rudder was hinged to the canoe by a rod,
Fig. 114. The Rudder Hinge. which passed through four brass screw eyes, two threaded into the rudder and a corresponding pair screwed into the stern. For convenience in steering we ran our tiller rope clear around the boat, through screw eyes in the gunwales and a pulley at the stem, so that the steersman could guide his craft from any point in the canoe.

We planned to use our canoe as a sailboat, and had to provide a deep keel, which, for convenience, was made detachable. This keel was 6 inches wide, 1/2 inch thick and 6 feet long, and was fastened at the center of the canoe. Screw eyes about twelve inches apart were threaded alternately into opposite sides of the keel plate. Corresponding hooks were attached to the keel in position to hook into the screw eyes, and thus hold the keel firmly in place.

Canoe Sails.