Page 56 of The Evening and the Morning
Cuthbert looked impressed. He said: “How will you fix the strakes to one another edge to edge?”
“I’ll peg them to a timber skeleton.”
“With iron nails?”
Edgar shook his head. “I’ll use treenails.” A treenail was a wooden peg with split ends. The peg was inserted in a hole, then wedges were hammered into the split ends, widening the peg until it was a tight fit. After that the protruding ends of the peg were cut off flush with the strake to make a smooth surface.
“That will work,” said Cuthbert. “But you’ll need to waterproof the joins.”
“I’ll have to go to Combe and buy a barrel of tar and a sack of raw wool.”
Dreng heard that and looked indignant. “More money? You don’t make boats out of wool.”
“The joins between the strakes have to be stuffed with tar-soaked wool to make them watertight.”
Dreng looked resentful. “You’ve got your smart answers, I’ll grant you that,” he said.
It was almost praise.
When the boat was ready, Edgar pushed it into the water.
It was always a special moment. While Pa had been alive the whole family had gathered to watch, and they had usually been joined by many of the townspeople. But now Edgar did it alone. He did not fear that the boat would sink, he just did not want to seem triumphal. As a newcomer here he was trying to fit in, not stand out.
With the vessel roped to a tree so that it could not float away, he eased it away from the bank and studied the way it lay in the water. It was straight and level, he saw with satisfaction. No water trickled through the joins. He undid the rope and stepped onto the ramp. His weight shifted the trim of the boat a fraction, as it should.
Brindle was watching him eagerly, but he did not want her on board for this trip. He wanted to see the boat perform without passengers. “You stay here,” he said, and she lay down with her nose between her paws, watching him.
The two long poles rested in wooden crotchets, a row of three on each side. He drew a pole out, put the end in the water, made contact with the riverbed, and pushed. It was easier than he expected, and the ferry moved smoothly off.
He walked to the forward end then put the pole in the water on the downstream side, heading the vessel slightly upstream, to counteract the current. He found it well within the capability of a strong woman or an average man—Blod or Cwenburg could do it, and Leaf and Ethel would easily manage it together, especially if he gave them a lesson.
As he was crossing the river he glanced at the luxuriant late-summer foliage on the far bank and saw a sheep. Several more emerged from the woods, herded by two dogs; and finally the shepherd appeared, a young man with long hair and a straggly beard.
Edgar had his first passengers.
Suddenly he was nervous. He had designed the vessel to be boarded by livestock, but he knew a lot about boats and nothing about sheep. Would they do what he expected? Or would they panic and stampede? Did sheep stampede? He did not even know that.
He might be about to find out.
Reaching the bank, he disembarked and tied the ferry to a tree.
The shepherd smelled as if he had not washed for years. He looked hard at Edgar for a long moment and then said: “You’re new here.” He appeared pleased with his own perspicacity.
“Yes. I’m Edgar.”
“Ah. And you’ve got a new boat.”
“Beautiful, isn’t it?”
“Different from the old boat.” With each completed sentence the shepherd paused to enjoy the satisfaction of achievement, and Edgar wondered if that was because he normally had no one to talk to.
“Very different,” Edgar said.
“I’m Saemar, usually called Sam.”
“I hope you’re well, Sam.”
“I’m driving these hoggets to market.”
