Part 2

Very few tools are necessary at the beginning, and those shown in Nos. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, and 7, Fig. 5, are a full complement for any beginner. The first four are wire tools, made of spring steel or brass wire, about which fine wire is wrapped; the ends of the wires are securely bound to the end of a round wooden handle, and sometimes for convenience two ends are made fast to a single handle; and these tools are called double-enders, and are used in roughing out the clay in the first stages of the work. No. 5 is a boxwood tool with one serrated edge, and is used for finishing. The tools shown in Nos. 6 and 7 are of steel, and are of use on plaster, where others would not be sufficiently durable. Any of these tools can be purchased at an art-material store for a few cents each, except the steel tools, which are more expensive.

A stand or pedestal will be necessary on which to place the clay model, unless perhaps it should be a medallion, which may be worked over on a table.

Fig. 6 is a stand that can be made by any boy from a few pieces of pine two inches square, and a top board one inch and a half in thickness, and arranged with a central shaft that may be raised or lowered, and to the top of which a platform is securely attached.

The movable shaft can have some holes bored through it from side to side, through which a small iron pin may be adjusted to hold the platform at a desired height. Clay can be purchased at the art stores by the pound, or in the country a very good quality of light slate-colored clay may sometimes be found along the edges of brooks, or in swampy places where running water has washed away the dirt and gravel, leaving the clear deposit of clay in the consistency of putty.

Supports which the clay models are built upon can be made of wood and wire, as the requirements necessitate. That for the head is shown in Fig. 1. Nearly every clay model of any size will need some support, as clay is heavy and settles, and if not properly supported will soon become distorted, and the composition spoiled. Add to the paraphernalia some old soft cloths that can be applied wet to the clay, a pair of calipers, and a small trowel or spatula.

To model well, the art of drawing is constantly used, the idea of form is continually brought into play, so the knowledge of drawing is essential to the good modeller. To begin with, choose some simple object to copy, such as a vase or some small ornament, then when a satisfactory result has been obtained, select something a trifle more difficult, such as a hand or foot.

Plaster heads, hands, feet, and all parts of the human body, as well as animals and flower pieces, can be purchased at the art stores, but if they are not available something that may be at hand in which artistic merit is evident may be chosen as a model.

When copying a head obtain a bust support on which to work the clay, and a very simple and strong one can be made from a piece of board, two sticks, and a short piece of pipe wired to the top end of the upright stick, Fig. 1.

To carry out the proportions of a bust similar to Fig. 4, the clay can be packed about the support much after the manner shown in Fig. 2. This will be the support for the clay.

With a lump of clay and the fingers form the general outline as shown in Fig. 2 for the head, then with the wire tools begin to work away the clay in places so as to follow the lines of the model. With the calipers measurements can be taken from the plaster head and used advantageously in carrying out the accuracy of the clay model. Turn the plaster model and clay copy occasionally, so that all sides may be presented and closely followed in line and detail.

Modelling differs from drawing and painting in that every side of the model is visible, while only the face of the painting is presented to the eye, where the impression of form and outline is worked out on a flat surface.

The contour of proportion is the most difficult part of modelling, and for this reason it is to the student and amateur one of the most beneficial branches of the fine arts. Having successfully mastered the head, next attempt a foot from a plaster cast. Select a simple foot, and afterwards a more elaborate subject, such as a whole figure, can be tried.

With the wire modelling-tools and the fingers begin to work away the clay to obtain the general outline and form; continue this in a rough manner, until a perfect composition is obtained that compares favorably with the original model; the finishing-touches may then be applied, and the detail worked up more carefully.

Never complete one part and leave the remaining ones until later; always work up the model uniformly, adding a little here and there, or taking away, as may be necessary, and so developing the total composition gradually.

Always turn both model and copy frequently, that comparison may be frequently made, and thus training the eye to detect any little miscalculation in proportions and lines, and by the addition or removal of small masses the clay will finally take the form and accurate outline and detail of the original.

Moisten the clay occasionally with water sprayed on with a small watering-pot or a green-house sprinkler, to keep it soft and ductile, and when not being worked upon it should be covered with wet cloths to keep it moist.

As the work progresses the clay may be allowed to harden and consolidate, but not to dry; if allowed to dry entirely the model may be considered ruined, as the shrinkage of the clay around the support results in fissures and fractures that cannot be repaired.

By the time the amateur has acquired the knowledge to attempt a full-size figure he will invent the devices to support it.

The support or skeleton must of course be adapted to line with the pose of the figure, and should be of pipe and heavy wire or rods securely anchored to the base-plate.

The composition of flowers, fruit, foliage, animal life, and landscape is an inexhaustible one, and some beautiful effects can be had in flat-work. Good examples of this character of work can be found on all sides, and to the genius the field of modelling is a broad one, without limit.

For the help and assistance of those who desire to make a deeper study there are many hand-books and treatises on the subject by masters and sculptors, but the boy or girl adopting the work as a pleasant pastime will find this description very beneficial in the selection of tools and materials, as well as the primary steps to the great art of sculpture.

When casting from hands, feet, or ornaments where undercut predominates, the most successful mode is in the use of gelatine or glue.

To cast a head similar to the one shown in Fig. 4, it will be necessary to make a box frame large enough to place the head in.

The cast is to be well oiled, and down the front and back, running around under and back over the base block, strong linen threads are to be stuck on with oil. Warm glue or gelatine is then poured in the box, and left to chill and solidify.

When sufficiently cold the frame may be removed, leaving the solid block of glue like hard jelly; the ends of the threads are to be grasped and torn through the gelatine, thus separating it in two or three parts. The plaster head may then be removed, and the mould put together again and surrounded by the frame to hold it in place.

To make a plaster head this plaster of Paris may be poured into the mould and left for a while, when, on removing the frame and taking the glue mould away, a perfect reproduction of the original head will be found.

When very large objects that would require a great deal of plaster are cast, they are generally made hollow in the following manner:

Obtain the glue mould by the process described, and into it pour a quantity of thin plaster, having first oiled the surfaces that come in contact with it. Turn the mould about and upside down, so the plaster will enter every part and adhere to the glue form. Allow it to "set," and again pour some plaster into the mould, which will adhere to the first coating, and after this has set repeat the operation several times, until a deposit or coating an inch or more in thickness has been made.

The glue mould on being removed will reveal a perfect plaster casting that, instead of being solid, is hollow, and in consequence is much lighter.

MIDSHIPMAN JACK, U.S.N.

BY WILLIAM DRYSDALE.

"I am not one of those fellows who 'can fight and run away, and live to fight some other day,'" one of the bravest Lieutenant-Commanders in the United States navy said one evening to a party of friends, who were making him feel uncomfortable by discussing his brilliant war record. "My bad leg won't let me run, so I always have to stand and fight it out."

"Why, Commander," one of his friends exclaimed, "I did not know that you had a bad leg. You do not limp."

"No," he answered, "not ordinarily. But when I tire myself I limp a little, and if I were to undertake to run I should come to grief."

"Where did you receive your injury?" another asked.

"In action at Apalachicola," the Commander replied; "the severest action I ever saw."

There was a twinkle in his eye as he spoke, and he looked about the table to see what effect the words had upon his friends. Two of them merely muttered their sympathy, and the third asked for the story of the fight; but the fourth man looked up with a comical expression that told the Commander he was understood in one quarter at least.

"You will certainly have to tell us about that," this fourth man laughed, seeing that the Commander was waiting for a question; "for I have always understood that Apalachicola, being an out-of-the-way place, was one of the few Southern towns that escaped without a scratch in the war. I never heard of any battle there."

"No, there was no battle there," the Commander replied, "and you would hardly hear of the action, because there were so few engaged in it. In fact, I was the only one on the Federal side, and there were no Confederates. When I was a boy there I fell out of a pine-tree and broke my thigh; so it was my own action, and one that I still have reason to remember."

This was the Commander's modest way of describing an accident that brought out all the manliness he had in him, and made him an officer in the United States navy, and he seldom gives any other account of it; but some of the grown-up boys of Apalachicola tell the story in a very different way--the same "boys," some of them, who used to set out in parties of three or four and chase young Jack Radway and make life miserable for him.

Jack had a strange habit, when he was between fifteen and sixteen (this is the way they tell the story in Apalachicola), of going down to the wharf and sitting by the half-hour on the end of a spile, looking out over the bay. That was in 1862. His name was not Jack Radway, but that is a fairly good sort of name, and on account of the Commander's modesty it will have to answer for the present. While he sat in this way it was necessary for him to keep the corner of one eye on the wharf and the adjacent street, watching for enemies. Oddly enough, every white boy in the town was Jack's enemy, generous as he was, and brave and good-hearted; and when one came alone, or even two, if they were not too big, he was always ready to stay and defend himself. But when three or four came together he was forced to retire to his father's big brick warehouse, across the street. They would not follow him there, because it was well known that the rifle standing beside the desk was always kept loaded.

This enmity with the other boys, for no fault of his own, was Jack's great sorrow. A year or two before he had been a favorite with all the boys and girls, and now he was hungry for a single friend of his own age. The reason of it was that his father was the only Union man in Apalachicola. Every white man, woman, and child in the town sympathized with the Confederacy, except John Radway and his wife and their son Jack. The elder Radway had thought it over when the trouble began, and had made up his mind that his allegiance belonged to the old government that his grandfather had fought for.

Near the mouth of the river lay the United States gunboat _Alleghany_, guarding the harbor, with the stars and stripes floating bravely at her stern.

"Look at that flag," Jack's father told him. "Your great-grandfather fought for it, and I want you always to honor it. It is the grandest flag in the whole world. It is my flag and yours, and you must never desert it."

By the side of Mr. Radway's house stood a tall pine-tree, much higher than the top of the house, with no limbs growing out of the trunk except at the very top, after the manner of Southern pines. Jack was a great climber, and nearly every day, when he did not go down town, he "shinned" up this tall tree to make sure that the gunboat was still in the harbor. And one day, the day of what the Commander calls "the action at Apalachicola," he lost his hold in some way, or a limb broke, and he fell from the top to the ground.

For some time he lay there unconscious, and when he came to his senses he could not get up. There was a terrible pain in his left hip, and he called for help, and his mother and some of the colored women ran out and carried him into the house, and when they laid him on a bed he fainted again from the pain.

Mr. Radway was sent for, and after he had examined the leg as well as he could, he looked very solemn, for there was no doubt that the bone was badly broken. Even Jack, young as he was, could tell that; but with all his pain he made no complaint.

"This is serious business," he said to his wife when they were out of Jack's hearing. "The bone is badly fractured at the thigh, and there is not a doctor left in Apalachicola to set it. Every one of them is away in the army, and I don't know of a doctor within a hundred miles."

"Except on the gunboat," Mrs. Radway interrupted; "there must be a surgeon on the gunboat."

"I have thought of that," Mr. Radway answered; "but if he should come ashore he would almost certainly be killed, so I could not ask him to come. And if I should take Jack out to the boat, we would very likely be attacked on the way. I must take time to think."

Medicines were scarce in Apalachicola in those days, but they gave Jack a few drops of laudanum to ease the pain, and made a cushion of pillows for his leg. For all his terrible suffering, and the doubt about getting the bone set, he did not utter a word of complaint. But he turned white as the pillows, and the great heat of midsummer on the shore of the Gulf added to his misery.

For hours Mr. Radway walked the floor, trying to make up his mind what to do. Jack's suffering was agony to him, and the uncertainty of getting help increased it. Late in the evening, when all the household were in bed but Mr. and Mrs. Radway, they heard the sound of many feet coming up the walk, then a shuffling of feet on the piazza, and a heavy knock at the front door.

"Have they the heart for that?" Mr. Radway exclaimed. "Could they come to attack us when they know what trouble we are in? Some of them shall pay dearly for it if they have."

The knock was repeated, louder than before, and Mr. Radway took up a rifle and started for the door. Standing the rifle in the corner of the wall, and with a cocked revolver in one hand, he turned the key and opened the door a crack, keeping one foot well braced against it.

"You don't need your gun, neighbor," said the spokesman of the party without; "it's a peaceable errand we are on this time."

"What is it?" Mr. Radway asked, still suspicious.

"We know the trouble you are in," the man continued, "and we are sorry for you. It's not John Radway we are down on; it's his principles; but we want to forget them till we get you out of this scrape. There are twenty of us here, all your neighbors and former friends. We know there is no doctor in Apalachicola, and we have come to say that if you can get the surgeon of the gunboat to come ashore and mend up the sick lad, he shall have safe-conduct both ways. We will guard him ourselves, and we pledge our word that not a hair of his head shall be touched."

This friendly act came nearer to breaking down John Radway's bold front than all the persecutions he had been subjected to. He threw the door wide open, put the revolver in his pocket, and grasped the spokesman's hand.

"I need not try to thank you," he said; "you know what I would say if I could. My poor Jack is in great pain, and I shall make up my mind between this and daylight what had better be done."

The knowledge that he was surrounded by friends instead of enemies made Jack feel better in a few minutes; but the pain was too great to be relieved permanently in such a way, and all night long he lay with his teeth shut tight, determined to make no complaint.

By daylight he was in such a high fever that his father had no further doubts about what to do. He must have medical attendance at once; and the quickest way was to take him out to the gunboat, rather than risk the delay of getting the surgeon ashore. So a cot-bed was converted into a stretcher by lashing handles to the sides. Colored men were sent for to carry it, and another was sent down to the shore to make Mr. Radway's little boat ready.

The morning sun was just beginning to gild the smooth water of Apalachicola Bay, when the after-watchman on the gunboat's deck, who for some time had been watching a little sail-boat with half a table-cloth flying at the mast-head, called out,

"Small flag-of-truce boat on the port quarter!"

Jack Radway, lying on the stretcher in the bottom of the boat, heard the words repeated in a lower tone, evidently at the door of the Captain's cabin: "Small flag-of-truce boat on the port quarter, sir."

An instant later a young officer appeared at the rail with a marine glass in his hand.

"Ahoy there in the boat!" he called. "Put up your helm! Sheer off!"

The _Alleghany_ lay in an enemy's waters, and she was not to be caught napping. Nothing was allowed to approach without giving a good reason for it.

Then Jack's father stood up in the boat. "I have a boy here with a broken thigh," he said. "I want your surgeon to set it."

"Who are you?" the officer asked.

"John Radway--a loyal man," was the answer.

The name was as good as a passport, for the gunboat people had heard of John Radway.

"Come alongside," the officer called; and five minutes later a big sailor had Jack in his arms, carrying him up the gangway, and he was taken into the boat's hospital and laid on another cot. It was an unusual thing on a naval vessel, and when the big bluff surgeon came the Captain was with him, and several more of the officers.

The examination gave Jack more pain than he had had before, but still he kept his teeth clinched, and refused even to moan.

"It is a bad fracture, and should have been attended to sooner," the surgeon said at length. "There is nothing to be done for it now but to take off the leg."

"Oh, I hope not!" Mr. Radway exclaimed. "Is there no other way?"

"He knows best, father," Jack said; "he will do the best he can for me."

"He is too weak now for an operation," the surgeon continued; "but you can leave him with me, and I think by to-morrow he will be able to stand it."

If Jack had made the least fuss at the prospect of having his leg cut off, or had let a single groan escape, there is hardly any doubt that he would be limping through life on one leg. But the brave way that he bore the pain and the doctor's verdict made him a powerful friend.

The Captain of a naval vessel cannot control his surgeon's treatment of a case; but the Captain's wishes naturally go a long way, even with the surgeon. So it was a great point for Jack when the Captain interceded for him.

"There's the making of an Admiral in that lad in the hospital," the Captain told the doctor later in the day. "I never saw a boy bear pain better. I wish you would save his leg if you possibly can."

"He'd be well much quicker to take it off," the surgeon retorted. "But I'll give him every chance I can. There is a bare possibility that I may be able to save it."

There was joy in the Radway family when it became known that there was a chance of saving Jack's leg; but all that Jack himself would say was, "Leave it all to the doctor; he will do what he can."

Three weeks afterward Jack still lay in the _Alleghany_'s hospital with two legs to his body, but one half hidden in splints and plaster. Mr. and Mrs. Radway visited him every day, and the broken bone was healing so nicely that the doctor thought that in three or four weeks more Jack might be able to hobble about the deck on crutches, when more trouble came. A new gunboat steamed into the harbor to take the _Alleghany_'s place, bringing orders for the _Alleghany_ to go at once to the Brooklyn Navy-Yard. This was particularly unfortunate for Jack, for his broken bone was just in that state where the motion of taking him ashore would be likely to displace it. But that unwelcome order from Washington proved to be a long step toward making Jack one of our American naval heroes.

"It would be a great risk to take him ashore," the surgeon said to Mr. Radway. "The least movement of the leg would set him back to where we began. You had much better let him go north with us. The voyage will do him good; and even if we are not sent back here, he can easily make his way home when he is able to travel."

Nothing could have suited Jack better than this, for he had become attached to the gunboat and her officers; so it was soon settled that he was to lie still on his bed and be carried to Brooklyn. For more than a month he lay there without seeing anything of the great city on either side of him; and the _Alleghany_ was already under orders to sail for Key West before he was able to venture on deck with a crutch under each arm. There were delays in getting away, so by the time the gunboat was steaming down the coast Jack was walking slowly about her deck with a cane, and the color was in his cheeks again, and the old sparkle in his eyes. He was in hopes of finding a schooner at Key West that would carry him to Apalachicola; but he was not to see the old town again for many a day.

The _Alleghany_ was a little below Hatteras, when she sighted a Confederate blockade-runner, and she immediately gave chase. But, much to the surprise of the officers, this blockade-runner did not run away, as they generally did. She was much larger than the _Alleghany_, and well manned and armed, and she preferred to stay and fight. Almost before he knew it Jack was in the midst of a hot naval battle. The two vessels were soon close together, and there was such a thunder of guns and such a smother of smoke that he does not pretend to remember exactly what happened. But after it was all over, and the blockade-runner was a prize, with the stars and stripes flying from her stern, Jack walked as straight as anybody down to the little hospital where he had spent so many weeks.

His mother would hardly have known him as he stepped into the hospital and waited till the surgeon had time to take a big splinter from his left arm.

"Where's your cane, young man?" the surgeon asked, when Jack's turn came.

"I don't know, sir!" Jack replied, surprised to find himself standing without it. "I must have forgotten all about it. I saw one of the gunners fall, and I took his place, and that's all I remember, sir, except seeing the enemy strike her colors."