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 being discoloured, I gave it a coat of yellow ochre and boiled oil on each side, which gave it a very curious appearance.  The upper strake of my boat I also painted yellow, and to finish off christened my craft the “Yellow Boy.”

The launch was a Herculean task, as I had built her too high above high water-mark, and it took me nearly a day to get her down and afloat.  Finding I could not move her with my own bodily strength, I had to carry an anchor out and attach a block-tackle and thus, with the help of my faithful old comrade, “Eddy,” haul the boat gradually down below high water-mark, where I left her for the tide to rise and float her.  She seemed large while I was at work upon her, but the huge bulk of Crevichon towering up in the background dwarfed her to a cockle shell.

While the tide was rising I busied myself in selecting large flat pieces of granite for ballast, and fastening them down to the floor with battens, which operation was scarcely finished when the tide came into the little cove, and in half an hour the “Yellow Boy” was afloat.  “Hurrah!” I shouted, while “Begum” barked with joy.  I could not refrain from taking the good fellow with me for the trial trip, for I must have someone to talk to, as I felt in such a joyful mood.