All Hands and the Cook

Henry M. Plummer

Henry M. Plummer, Jr.

_and_

Scotty

[Sidenote: Map A.]

_New Bedford, Massachusetts, September 15, 1912._

The Mascot is an old-fashioned Cape Cod catboat 30 years old. Her

dimensions are, length overall 24 ft. 6 in., waterline 23 ft., beam

10 ft., draught 3 ft. 6 in. With self-bailing cockpit she is as safe

and able a little ship as a man could want to go to sea in. Cabin

accommodations are comfortably ample for two men and include a small

shipmate stove near gangway on port side, a well-filled bookcase

forward on starboard side, two roomy transoms and plenty of storage

room.

Today we hauled out on marine railway to paint and also had a

3-horsepower engine installed in our 15 ft. dory skiff. Mighty busy

days settling up business matters and attending personally to every

detail of outfitting for Henry is new to the game and can be of very

little help at this time.

Was giving a man some help on a capstan when a post pulled out of

the ground and a big block and chain snapped in, catching me on the

leg and putting me out of commission and into bed for four, pretty

uncomfortable days. Visions of weeks on my back with splintered leg

bone were finally ended when, with a little sharp click, a misplaced

tendon snapped back and I was soon hobbling about. Made a mental note

never to try and help anyone again.

_October 10th-11th._ Made sail in afternoon and worked round to

Padanaram where the next day we received visitors, drank luck and happy

days to the boat, said good-bye, hoisted pennant of New Bedford Yacht

Club, and in late afternoon slipped down river in very light airs.

_October 12th._ At 3 o’clock this morning with aid of little launch we

towed across the bar and dropped anchor off my Potomska farm in the

Pascamanset River which flows into Buzzards Bay between Meshaum Pt. and

Barneys Joy just northerly from Cuttyhunk, the most westerly of the

Elizabeth Islands.

_October 14th._ Mighty busy cup o’ tea this morning. Tumbled all the

“last things” on board. Crawled under the shed, caught the cat, rubbed

her full of flea powder, and dropped her into a gunny sack to moult.

Will have troubles enough without fleas.

Good-bye to brave mother, and with a white apron waving from the

cottage door, we slipped moorings and stood to sea with fair tide and

light westerly breezes. Employed crew in ship’s duties and with sheets

flattened in we made it a long and short leg passing inside of Hen and

Chickens reef and so to quiet anchorage for the night at Sakonet.

_October 15th._ Turned out 5 o’clock. Sun rose very angry and glass

falling. Wind strong at west. Double reefed and under way by 10. Wind

slacked and left us rolling without headway. Had to put on whole sail

to work off shore. Breeze began to freshen at once from S. W. Lots

of coot and I tried my luck with the gun and knocked down one with

each barrel for a long chance. We got one and so began living on the

country. Breeze pricking on very fresh. Launch unshipped rudder and

Henry had to jump on board and save it. This he did well and he shows

great aptitude in everything. Breeze increasing and sea very heavy so

dropping peak ran back to cove under west shore. Wind suddenly shifted

and came out fresh gale N. W. Double reefed again and went out to look

things over and test boat and rigging. Found a fearful sea on, into

which we plunged at times to the mast. Our davits held all right. Kept

jogging along and ran into Newport at 9:30 after a long, hard day.

Took a heavy squall off Fort Adams and cut all kinds of pigeon wings

with water flying and halliards, too. Thought we would surely sink the

launch, but found only a few inches of water in her next morning.

_October 16th._ Lay at anchor all day. Did shopping, etc., etc. Made a

fine corn pudding. Found the cow’s horn on our bowsprit end had been

badly twisted in the blow of yesterday and got ready to mend same.

Will here explain that I was carrying spinnaker pole, spears, harpoons

and spare truck in general lashed, one end on small davits and forward

end resting in an iron half hook or horn bolted on end of short plank

bowsprit.

_October 17th._ Fine day with very strong breeze from S. W. Crew

engaged in ordinary ship’s duties and mending bowsprit horn. Kitty

doing fine. Not sick a bit. Tried to make her sleep in basket last

night instead of on my neck and result is she has disappeared under

transom and won’t come out at all today in spite of all hands calling

Kitty! Kitty! and a nice plate of chowder waiting.

[Illustration: The Beaver Tail]

_October 18th._ Gale blew out in night and morning came bright, fair

with nice breeze S. S. W. Up at 5 and under way with single reef by 9.

Looked over the German cruiser _Victoria Louise_ and also one of our

battleships. Then flattened in sheets for a long beat to Pt. Judith.

Beautiful day with easy sea and crew engaged in ship’s duties and

sewing launch fender. Some little hubble-bubble outside and coot stew

slopped over on Scotty but did not scald her. Later while asleep in

her basket the beans came flying to leeward. She heard them on their

way and escaped from under by a flying leap to cockpit. Quite a day

for Scotty. Henry had his first taste of coot stew while laid to off

Narragansett Pier. He tucked away a good bit and held it down. Shook

out our reef and ran into Pt. Judith Pond at 4 P. M. after a fine day

to windward. Tied right up to the bank of the marsh just like alongside

a dock. A fascinating place with great possibilities. Fisherman gave us

a fresh mackerel for supper.

_October 19th._ Comes cloudy with freshening S. W. breeze. Owly looking

weather. More mackerel from kind friend. Flock of tired geese came

near giving us a shot. Off by 9 under single reef. Very crooked water

and heavy ground swell. Drove along easily and made good weather. Crew

engaged in cleaning and splitting mackerel on new fish board which

works fine. Later salted mackerel down. This looks like living on the

country. Slipped in behind inner breakwater at Stonington by 3:45 after

a hard thrash against heavy seas and wind with threatening skies. Six

days from home and only 60 miles away and every mile fought for.

Good supper of corn soup and hot biscuits. Henry delights me with

sounds of contentment wrung from the jew’s-harp. Scotty is picking up

heart and investigating the deck.

_October 20th._ Comes fresh, clear and cold N. W., an ideal day for

getting on but as we only have to make New London we stayed quietly

at anchor after good breakfast of fried clams and potatoes. Engaged

in snugging up and finding things still lost since starting. Scotty

beginning to play nicely. Lunched and slipped quietly away about 1

o’clock. Light airs but fair tide and a beautiful bright blue sky and

sea, with shore of browns, greens and vivid reds. Four o’clock found

us becalmed off mouth of the Thames so Henry started the bug and away

we went 35 min. to the old anchorage off the coal pockets. Passed a

familiar looking old packet on way up river. She was slowly beating in

with only two men on board. She proved to be the schooner yacht _Ruth_

and indeed sadly fallen in estate since I sailed a Goelet race in her

so many years ago. I wonder if I, too, look so done up.

_October 21st._ Comes beautifully bright with fine easterly breeze and

we should have been moving. Gave up the day, however, to fitting cover

to launch. It was a very busy but satisfactory day and ended with a

fine hot bath on shore with beefsteak supper to follow.

_October 22nd._ Comes again beautiful with again that fresh breeze at

E. S. E. We are both feeling effects of our hard preparatory work

and strenuous days following, and so it is 10 o’clock before we are

half down the river. Once out and away, we begin to bruise water in

great shape. Finally hove to and rigged spinnaker in spite of quite a

rolling sea. I hoisted it and with a cheer we broke it out to as fair

and pretty a breeze as ever christened a new sail. And how we legged it

then and when tide turned some more. For seven hours we never started

sheets or halliards. Warmed by the kindest of suns, pulled by spinnaker

and mainsail, pushed by whitecapped, sparkling waves and hurried by a

sweeping tide, we ran by the beautiful Connecticut shores and drove

into New Haven 50 miles from our start at 7 p.m. We were well tired,

but we had covered as much ground in nine hours as had taken a week

till then. We snugged up and sat down to two great bowls of tomato clam

bisque which I had been at work on. Oh, it was good and we tucked a lot

of it away and then rolled into our bunks for good long sleep, but did

we get it? Nit.

_October 23rd._ Starts at 1 a.m. for mine and about 2 a.m. for Henry.

Tomato clam bisques are not good in bulk for tired stomachs. Least said

about this day the better. Our spirits went as low as the barometer

which dropped 7/10 inch for a nasty S. E. gale which drove in a sea

that kept us rolling all day at our anchor. Henry recovered promptly,

but yours truly was in his bunk all day. I got lots of sleep, however,

which I knew just what to do with. Night came with a storm and rain and

roll and pitch, but I was better and slept well. For three miserable

days we lay rolling scuppers to while the heavy southeaster drove the

rain swishing across decks. My eyes gave out completely, and I spent

most of my time clinging to my transom and renewing bandages.

_October 26th._ Up at 4 a.m. and after a “Jolly boy” which consists of

a fried ship’s bread, and a mug of cocoa, we up anchor and started.

No wind, but clearing skies. The beautiful hunter’s moon in the west

and a glorious red sun popping out of the sea in the east. We took a

strong westerly breeze outside breakwater and thought we were in for a

good smash to windward. It soon all gave out and for the whole day we

just worked flukes along the shore and anchored at 4 p.m. behind the

Stratford breakwater with only a dozen little miles to our credit. We

saw more ducks than I ever saw before. Literally by the thousand and

by the acre. I was too afraid of game wardens to try the shotgun, but

Helen Keller, the name we give to the 22 cal. with silencer, whispered

close to a number but failed to touch meat. There were coot, white

wings, whistlers, shell drake, skunk heads, and thousands of black

duck. Night came beautifully. Calm and clear. The eye better and with a

patch and blue glasses I was fairly comfortable.

[Illustration: Pulled by sail and swept by tide.]

_October 27th._ Turned out at 4 and under way at 4:30 in cold, snappy

morning with fresh northerly breeze and Henry mighty glad to wrap my

knit scarf round his neck. Caught the tide just at the turn and away

we went with that glorious moon to the west and the old crimson sun

popping up behind us. Eye turns out better, and I am less anxious about

it. Think too much Pond’s Extract with its alcohol made much of the

trouble. Alcohol has but one fit place and that internal. With started

sheets we did bruise the water unmercifully hour after hour. The breeze

freshened all the time and we were soon carting more canvas than was

prudent so ran in under lee of a point and doused sail for a single

reef. Here I distinguished myself by tying in two second reef points

and tearing two nice holes in my new sail when we hoisted. Age will

tell. Away again, and Henry shot a crippled coot which we got. At this

time the chief engineer reported fire in the hold. The captain returned

answer that he didn’t care a ... how much was in the hold if there

was enough in the stove for breakfast so we let her burn. Sheet of

asbestos not enough under stove and wood beneath was charring. Officers

allayed the fears of the passengers, and crew were employed in ordinary

ship’s duties which prevented panic. Off Stamford a Sunday fishing

party of five men in a rowboat was sighted being blown out into the

Sound. We responded to their frantic waves of distress. Made a sporting

pickup and towed them in under the land to calm water. Then off and

away again. The Sound narrowing up. Execution Rock in sight. Traffic

increasing. Passed Execution Rock at noon, and entered the beginning

of East River and caught the Western Hell Gate tide all right. Here

the wind left us and we shook out reef and made slow going to the Gate

where we boiled through on the rushing tide.

Hardly passed the Gate when all wind failed. We lost steerage way and

being caught by a swirling back eddy went head on plump into a barge

alongside the dock. Then we waltzed around a few times, took a little

puff of wind and plumped bang into the barge again. Broke ends off our

fish poles and smashed our fish grain pole, and as we were preparing

for another dive at the barge and the boat completely out of control,

I ordered Henry into the launch and with mother’s helper away we went

fluke-o down the river. Henry touched the high places when the ferry

boats kicked up the seas, but he stuck in and the little bug never

missed a turn. So to Ellis Is. where Henry came on board, and as night

shut down we found our way into the Erie Basin and tied up snug and

quiet behind the big steam yacht _Aphrodite_. It was a long day well

put in. I don’t think I ever had twelve hours of fair tide before. We

made 60 statute, and about 54 nautical miles and that’s some going for

a 24-foot boat. Scotty, who has been pretty peevish during the last few

days, began picking up to-day, and shows signs of being a sailor after

all. If Henry had any mind, he would make a dandy, for his appetite is

good. My eye stood the long day well, and I turned in feeling that it

was distinctly on the mend.

_October 28th._ Found us all snug in Erie Basin with warm sun to cheer

the cockles of our hearts. I devoted the whole day to patching my torn

sail. I took lots of time and care and hope to look at the two patches

with pleasure for months to come. Henry took down the stove and put

in more asbestos and made an air space with hope of averting another

holocaust. Fred Hussey called at 4 p.m. and took Henry to Orange for

the night and Scotty and I were left to keep ship alone. Finally I left

Scotty and made my way up town for a good dinner. Back to the boat

mighty early, for the surroundings of Erie Basin are not conducive of

late saunterings. I bet they gave it the name Erie after nightfall.

Great stretches of black water half covering blacker stretches of

mud. A lonely, unlighted road leads across made land and marsh. Blast

furnaces flare up unexpectedly. Trip-hammers pound on iron. Dogs follow

and snarl at your heels. Hound’s Ditch, London, must have been like

it. No, I don’t fancy the Erie Basin at night where the electric cars

stop en route while driver and conductor get a drink in the neighboring

bar and light up their cigarettes. Scotty greeted me on my return and

was soon muzzling into some chicken hash which I brought back from my

dinner. I have to order my meals according to what I think Scotty wants

and not at all as I feel appetite for. When waiter isn’t looking I

scoop a lot into a piece of paper and jam it into my pocket.

From October 28th to November 1st we lay in Erie Basin enjoying fine

weather, and occupied every minute in fitting ship and making ready for

the days and weeks to come. There is a raft of things to be done to

insure comfortable living on a small boat, and it is always difficult

to stick to completion of essentials first. I want to write a book

and call it the “Magnification of the Non-essential.” I wonder if I

thought that title up myself or cribbed it somewhere. Henry worked

hard and well, is making a good shipmate and seems to have a sailor’s

heart in him. When we go to town from here we pass the India Docks

where Henry’s grandfather Morgan fitted out his clipper ships for the

adventures of the sea.

[Illustration: Residential Section Erie Basin.]

_November 1st._ Comes cloudy with light rain. Wind S. E. and sharply

falling glass. Weather has been too kind to kick at a little change. Up

early and leave the nasty, slimy Erie Basin at 8 o’clock. The launch

is a sight. All grease brown. Head tide but strong whole sail breeze

and we made good time on port tack, hugging the Brooklyn shore as far

as the Narrows. Here the wind hauled due south, and we made a stretch

over to Staten Island, where I took a few chances and nicked the tide

close to the beach for half a mile. Then the wind failed under the

high land, and we stretched over to Long Is. again. Worked that shore

hard and wind freshened but hauled S. W. right in our teeth. Wind kept

coming. We beat through inside Fort Lafayette and were carrying plenty

of canvas in quite a chop. Now what a comfortable boat this is. Here

we were with rail all awash and lunging to it, with heavy rain squalls

driving over. I lighted my fire all warm and comfy below, and in an

hour sat down to a roast of beef and baked potatoes. We crossed the

river once more with wind increasing and rain sheeting down and the

sea fearfully crooked. We had six miles dead to windward at entrance

to Raritan Bay. We lugged the sail to her mighty hard for the sea was

nasty enough and we had to crowd her to make any headway. All our poles

and gear stayed on the davits, but we lost sight of them a good many

times entirely, and wondered if we were to see them again. We finally

rounded our buoy only to have the wind haul more by the west and dead

ahead some more. We thrashed and pounded at it the whole afternoon with

driving rain in our faces. Just before daylight left us there was a

quick lull and down from northwest came an ugly looking squall. First

driving rain, and then a vicious blast of wind. I was ready for it, and

laid her to with dropped peak. It seemed likely to last so lowered sail

and made a sporty single reef. Henry is a born sailor and acts like an

old hand at the game. Couldn’t ask for better help. No sooner reefed

than it fell calm and left us rolling scuppers to, etc. An hour or so

of that, and the wind came smartly out of northwest which gave us a

long and short leg up to Perth Amboy which we made with help of lead

line at 9 o’clock. This was a hard day for we were at it thirteen hours

and only covered 33 miles. Strong head tides all day.

[Sidenote: Map B.]

_November 2nd._ Comes bright and clear with smart reefing breezes from

N. W. and a real touch of winter in the air. A little more and we would

need our mitties. Turned out 6:30 and while eating breakfast were

hailed by a towboat captain to know where our anchors were. We pointed

ahead, of course, and it was some time before we caught onto the fact

that we were dragging straight across harbor. Felt pretty cheap and

unprofessional. Bowsed our anchor and took off some dozen turns of

chain. Under way about 9 under two reefs, one of which we shook out at

once. Passed through drawer of R. R. bridge, and then through another

and were then fairly on our way up Raritan River. The morning’s sail

was beautiful, and made the more so by contrast with yesterday. Marshes

browning, with haycocks scattered about and the hills across wide

stretches. Clouds, sky and smoke from many chimneys all helped out. By

1 o’clock we dropped anchor off the entrance to Delaware and Raritan

canal at New Brunswick. We spent the afternoon wandering round streets

of New Brunswick, and buying few provisions and getting canal tickets.

Curiously we had to pay more for the launch than for the Mascot. This

because we use her as towboat. Night came still, clear and snappy cold.

To carry out my plans in regard to showing the cities to Henry, we

should have started a month earlier. I can see hurry and rush and cold

ahead if we delay.

_November 3rd._ Comes snappy cold. A strong, raw northwest wind made

mufflers comfortable. I finished knitting Henry’s muffler last night

with Scotty in my lap playing with needles and yarn. Mighty busy all

morning stripping davits and lashing poles to main boom besides filling

gunny sacks with dry leaves for fenders in the locks. Curious smell in

cabin this morning and H. was for beating the cat at once. I counselled

moderation, and discovered that Mr. Coot, shot a week ago, had decided

not to be parboiled any more. Don’t think H. was sorry to see his

carcass floating downstream. Lucky escape for Scotty. Had chicken stew

with steamed dumpling for dinner. Everything all right, but the chicken

was an old fowl. I parboiled it two hours and cooked it two more, and

it was not even to be cut with a sheath knife. Put it by for future use.

_November 4th._ Comes beautiful but so cold that there was ice in the

pans on deck and frost enough for snowballs over everything. Launch

engine froze up, but the mechanician soon had it going. Put it on

astern with quarter lines and away we went. Couldn’t tell the beauties

and delights of the day. Too many for me. Everything worked perfectly.

Little launch pushed us 4 miles an hour at her ¾ speed. We hardly

heard her way astern, and we just sort of glided by the banks, through

beautiful farming country, past towns and villages. Our fenders were

perfect and although the flotilla was the devil to turn corners with,

we never had any trouble. When night came we snugged up to the left

bank along which ran a railroad track. We were at supper when the first

train with deafening roar rushed by. H. was watching it, and when it

had passed he noticed a little object running towards us on the track.

By gum! if it wasn’t Scotty soaked to the skin. She wouldn’t tell us

how it happened, but we think she was playing on deck, got frightened

and jumped or fell into canal and swam ashore.

[Illustration: Scotty Takes a Bath]

_November 5th._ Comes not so cold, a perfect, still, misty, fall

morning. We were away by 9 o’clock ready to enjoy another glorious day

and we had it. Reached Trenton at noon and entered our first descending

lock. We were careless here and failed to get out a stern line. When

the water began to drop we were caught in the current and swept across

the lock. H. was quick as scat and saved serious trouble by getting

his line out and holding her. Our bowsprit caught as we dropped and

we chipped a piece off the end, but no serious harm. From here on it

was a busy afternoon with locks and bridges every quarter mile. Just

at sunset we tied up to the wharf above the last lock which to-morrow

will let us down to the Delaware River. As the tide will not serve in

the river until noon, we are looking forward to a quiet morning at the

dock.

_November 6th._ Comes beautifully fair. As tide did not serve in the

Delaware River until 1 o’clock we lay in the lock during morning. When

it came to locking out, the beasts tacked on another $4.00 to our

charge because we were a pleasure boat or something. $6.50 for the

Mascot and same for tender. Never get to Florida at that expense rate.

No wind all afternoon so we tucked tender aft and away we went for a

beautiful boat ride. Night caught us above a big railroad bridge just

above Philadelphia. Sometimes I thought the bridge looked high enough

to let me under and sometimes I didn’t. The nearer I got the scairder I

was, so turned onto east bank to wait until morning. Between one cast

of lead and another I went high and dry as usual. Boat bilged and we

had supper at the same old angle. Then tide came and with it my courage

and I poked the end of my mast up into the big black shadow of that

bridge just as a freight train thundered over. Of course we went under

all right and so on down to the city and wharves. Barometer falling

sharply and I poked into a black dock on east shore and tied up to a

barge. Watchman came and said there would be no water at low tide, but

we were too tired to mind that and turned in.

_November 7th._ Came as expected with downpour of rain and

old-fashioned southeaster. I made ready for shore in search of an eye

doctor, as my right eye had been out of commission for the past week.

Got laundry together in big newspaper bundle and was about to start

when along comes wharf man and orders us out of our berth, as tug was

coming to move barge. Nasty mess. Sheeting rain and blowing hard.

Shifted up river off Camden Motor Boat Club where tide runs fiercely.

Then I started ashore and by the time I reached an electric all the

newspaper had melted off my laundry bundle and I was gathering up the

loose and wet ends of shirts, socks and pajamas. People in the car

thought I was a joke.

Got hold of a good eye man and spent the afternoon with him. Seems

nothing very serious the matter, and he hopes to soon have me going

again. Back to boat for supper.

_November 8th._ Comes in at 2 a.m. with a vicious young gale out of

northwest. Things began doing at once. Motor boats at short mooring

lines began darting at each other and the old Mascot at the end of 15

fathoms of chain commenced a series of circles in which she managed

to hit them all. H. and I shivering in night clothes and bare feet

were powerless to stop the merry-go-round and just when things began to

snap and crack too plenty, I slipped my cable and ran up river under

bare poles and let the motor boats fight it out. We are pretty well

in hand by now and after mugging up with coffee and hardtack, were

soon sound asleep again by four o’clock. Turned out to listen to some

choice language from tow-boat captains for we had anchored plump in

fairway. Had to shift just as we had all dolled up for shore. A mighty

interesting visit to the Cramp ship yards in p.m. When I slipped cable

we buoyed it with our push pole and got it again all right, but in the

mixup we tore out the boom crutch deck fittings and smashed a cleat on

boom. All non-essentials.

[Illustration: Mixing with Motor Boats.]

_November 9th._ I reported to eye doctor with two pretty good peepers

and had some new glasses made and fitted. Henry worked on boat trying

to reduce confusion. He came ashore later and we dined together. There

is no time for anything when trying to look decent and be ashore each

day. We are mighty sick of Philadelphia with its quick running tideway,

dirty water and cold, piercing wind.

_November 10th._ Tide served at 4 o’clock and we were up and ready,

but it was so dark we concluded to eat a comfortable breakfast and not

take any chances. Yesterday had an unfortunate instance, for during

p.m. when we were in town, our boom crutch worked loose and quietly

faded away. Darned good maple crutch it was, too. We hove anchor about

six and with a glorious day breaking, headed down Delaware with smart

westerly breeze. My! but it was cold. Two heavy socks, mufflers and

mitties all to the good. Wind hauled ahead and we had it on end until

tide turned, when the breeze slacked and we dropped yank near Jersey

shore and prepared for the first few hours of real loafing we have had

since leaving home and that will be a month tomorrow. Scotty just dotes

on sea fowl so I got Helen Keller to whisper once to a hell-diver and

he was soon stewing in the pot. We really tried to keep still for a

few hours, but there are so many things to do we managed it badly. The

tide served about 3 p.m. and we were away with it. Light breeze ahead

but such a swirling 4-knot tide that we made good headway and sometime

about 8 or 9 o’clock ran into a little hole in the wall behind a

breakwater where after some trouble we found water enough to float us.

Wilmington, Delaware, was just over in back of a long nearby jetty.

_November 11th._ Came bright and fair but dead calm. We put the launch

on ahead and H. towed me down river to Delaware City which we reached

at 9:30 just as tide was setting ahead. The day starting in quite

cold, suddenly turned southerly and so warm that thermometer went to

80 degrees in the sun. We filled water tanks at dock and then locked

into canal basin where we tied up to the side of the main street of the

town. Here we found a man and his wife whom we first met in the Raritan

canal. They were bound to Florida in a little 26 foot open launch

with canopy top. Heaven I hope will help the outfit or wreck them on

some friendly shore, for the man had neither charts nor directions

and didn’t even know the meaning or use of buoys. We had told him of

the Rudder’s description of route and he was then waiting to receive

copies. The little woman was losing courage and well she might, for in

the southeaster a few days ago they had been soaked through, bedding

and all, and the night of the northwest squall they had spent shivering

while tied to a can buoy in Delaware River not knowing where they

were or what to do. How comfortable our cosy little cabin did seem in

comparison. Seeing them again reminded me of a little experience in

the Raritan canal. We tried to pass a big barge going our way and when

nearly by we took bottom and ran up good and plenty. The barge-man

yelled out to “come off as ye come on” and left us. To budge the

good ship I had to run a line ashore and heave her down with throat

halliards. You bet it made my sore eye better when on passing the next

bend I found the barge stuck hard and fast on a rock with no prospect

of getting off this year. “Come off as ye come on” says I, and away we

went. To hark back to Delaware City we put in the afternoon measuring

off rigging for I don’t trust this and we’ll get new at Baltimore. Then

we hauled out head and foot of mainsail and then we were both about all

in for we have been working hard for a good many days and the change of

weather did us both up brown. I took Scotty for a little walk but when

she heard a dinner bell, she thought of the engine in the Raritan canal

and bolted. Gee! how she flew. The Mascot not being near enough, she

jumped into nearest open boat and crawled away up under forward deck

from where I had to pull her by the tail. Night came and villainous

urchins pounded with sticks on our smoke pipe.

_November 12th._ Comes fair and warm. Both feeling fine and my eyes all

mended up. Off by nine into the country now beginning to look a little

more southern. More leaves on the trees and the trunks festooned with

vines. The canal with its little lakes and then again its narrow wooded

cuts most beautiful. The warm sunlight flooded all and the distances

were hazy blue and brown. It was a day of days. The bluebird perched

on my finger and let me stroke its feathers, and Scotty curled up in my

lap just the nicest, softest bunch of fur. Broiled steak and creamed

potatoes for dinner. If I didn’t continually prove myself a fool I

would think myself a philosopher--for I seem to come nearer to complete

happiness more often than other folks. I have worked hard for it, too,

in a way, and I believe that I have made such friends with bluebird

that neither poverty, want or woe can drive him far away for long.

The beautiful delightful fourteen miles was mighty soon over and about

1:30 we locked out into the creek which leads to Elk River and the

headwaters of old Chesapeake Bay. We ran aground promptly, but got off

with help of launch and sail. Then we towed a bit and then with very

light airs but fair tide, we beat down the beautiful reaches and were

mighty glad to lose the sound of the launch’s puffing.

Oh! it sure was a dandy sail and when the sun set behind the highlands

and the light clouds all turned a gorgeous crimson we slipped quietly

into a little branch and anchored in the deep shadow of the shore and

watched a flock of geese wing to the southard. This was what we came

for and it was way up to expectations.

_November 13th._ Last night we turned in to the vibrant sound of

honking geese in flight and this morning we turned out to the same

tune. Not a breath of air and the bay like a mirror with shores veiled

in bluish mist. Wonderful beyond anything. Put the launch astern and

were soon on our way. So straight does she go when we fix launch

just right that we both sat down in cabin to breakfast and let her

go it alone. Ducks, ducks by the thousand, geese by the hundreds and

hundreds. We chased big, long-necked Canada geese in flocks as if they

were puddle ducks. I never expected to see such a sight. They all

knew motor boat mightly well, however, and Helen Keller, the 22 rifle

with Maxim silencer, whispered in vain, but mighty close by. It is a

sporting proposition to get duck or goose meat with a 22 cal. at 150 or

200 yards with your boat going 4 knots and distance guessed at. No wind

came until afternoon and we just puffed along while the crew cleaned

ship after the dirty canal travel and kept busy in ordinary ship’s

duties. Barometer slowly working down, also provisions. Better make

Baltimore to-night although it hurts my pride not to hoist sail. Things

look mighty different now from what they did with a bandage on one eye

and a blue glass over the other. Age, however, must be creeping on for

without glasses I can’t make out anything on a chart.

[Illustration]

We jogged along until off entrance to Baltimore harbor where a

smashing S. W. breeze struck in and we up sail and squared away for

anchor. Baltimore being noted for its nasty harbor water, we ran up to

South Baltimore in Curtis Bay, and as we were beating in got properly

cussed by ferry boat captain for not having our lights lit. Said he

would report us and some other things too. Hope he don’t for I was

caught pretty lame. Scotty scared of motor today and fled behind stove

where she stayed all day. Clouding up from southard and am glad to be

in good harbor.

_November 14th._ This day was a hustle like all the previous ones. I

went to town and bought provisions and new rigging, but found there

was no way of ever getting them to Curtis Bay which I also found was

reputed the most notoriously disreputable suburb of Baltimore. Didn’t

get back to boat until 3 p.m. when H. met me all dolled up to go to his

Uncle Alfred’s to supper. I started the launch, got gallied with the

tiller lines and ran her bang into the wharf. No damage and soon on

board where I had supper and wrote letters and then fell sound asleep

so that H. returning, had to hire a launch to bring him on board.

[Illustration: Canal Lock]

_November 15th._ Comes with drifting cloud and cold, raw wind from the

west where snow is reported in the mountains. Got under way at once,

and beat up harbor in smashing breeze to anchorage off Maryland Motor

Boat Club. A very Christian place. While I was cooking breakfast,

H. went ashore for our supplies and without life preservers, fire

extinguisher or whistle in launch fell right into hands of revenue

officer who said he must report him. What with being caught without

side lights the other night, and without launch fixings today, things

are beginning to be interesting. We rove, spliced and whipped new

gang of rigging this morning and she looks more shipshape. Must now

go ashore for last things and there is the revenue cutter waiting at

wharf. Had launch full of preservers and bric-a-brac, no trouble. On

board for nice quiet evening at knitting.

_November 16th._ Comes sharply cold with breeze N. W. Off by 7:15 and

after breakfast and clearing up put spinnaker to her in freshening

breeze and away we went down Chesapeake to the tune of “forward and

back with ladies change.” The breeze hauling by west made me try

spinnaker as balloon jib but wind was too puffy and nearly lost my boom

so had to take it in. Saw a herd of black and white cows ahead. No law

on stray cows at sea so I got one with one barrel and H. took another

with other barrel and their carcasses soon aboard. On past Annapolis

where the Naval School buildings looked grandly beautiful. Can’t stop

today but see you on our way back. Busy as bees all morning. Basket of

oysters to be cleaned and now and then one opened. So good, so good.

Then I opened a dozen or so and H. made a pie which is baking as I

write, and the sun is going down gloriously clear, and up under the

shore with leg-o-mutton sails and long raking spars the oyster sloops

are racing home for the night. How short the day. Half-past four and

we are getting lanterns ready. Let the wind only hold at this, and I

will take her a long way from here before the sun peeks at me again. I

believe it is right to drive south steadily and loaf along on the up

route because it is too cold and young ice will be along soon. A year

ago Baltimore was buried in snow and had a zero temperature. Not any

for mine. The wind dropped with the sun and after hour of loafing along

in the light of a good moon, we dropped anchor and turned in at 11 p.m.

_November 17th._ Comes without a cloud or a breath of wind. Turned over

and snoozed it out until 7. Then up and doing. I had remains of oyster

pie for my breakfast and H. stuffed griddles. A regular Chesapeake

morning. The Bay a mirror and dotted with sail of all kinds. We got

away with launch astern but by 10:30 a cold whiffle came down from

north and it was soon eight hands around, and away to a smashing breeze

with white caps dancing alongside. We are tearing at it as I write and

yet it seems impossible down here in the cozy little cabin with good

fire going, sunlight pouring through the open hatch and kitty, who has

just eaten and then thrown up the leg of a sea fowl, asleep in my lap.

All the comforts of home in 24′ 7″. Don’t it beat all? And just as I

finished writing the above sizzle it came butt-ends on and then some.

We were over-blown in no time so it was bring her to it and reef in

a vicious chop of a sea. Put in the best reef yet and in ship-shape

style. H. is all right. Papa felt so good he tied down the leach

earing himself. Away again in search of palm trees for this norther

was cutting cold. It blew on steadily and soon every sail on the bay

but ourselves had run to cover in some little hole in the wall. We

drew out into the broad mouth of the Potomac and such a hubble-bubble

as there was and the breeze pricking on all the time. The launch still

without cover began to lap up the water and was soon shooting from

side to side. I dropped my peak to ease things but couldn’t do much.

Sea tumbling every which way and more to come. In the holes we could

see whiff-on-pooffs laughing. I was below eating dinner when H. yelled

“she’s gone.” Sure thing. The launch had stripped the big quarter

cleat off the deck and was headed to sea far astern. Thank goodness

she wasn’t sunk. Then it was down board up peak and haul sheets. Oh! a

fine, noble little ship she is. She looked up into that crooked water

like a major. Into Henry’s bunk went my bean dinner, coffee, etc., etc.

Round she came and everything else went into mine. Just before reaching

the launch an old, whopping sea spilled lanterns, cans, pans, coal and

me into the scuppers, and before I could get my wheel again, we all

but hit the launch beam on. Just got by but couldn’t catch her. Made a

sporting pickup on next try, but saw at once that she would soon roll

over if not bailed out. Dropped peak, laid to and H. jumped aboard and

bailed out like a sailor. Then away again and found that with a very

long painter she did pretty well. Was trying to get round next point

without tacking, but the sea was almost breaking and my lead giving

me only 2½ fath. In a cast or two I got only 1½ fath. and the water

straight up and down. The sooner the quicker and we made a fancy North

river jibe and hauled off shore. Soon found easier going and tacking

her smartly just inside Smith’s Point Light, we squared away for Great

Wicomico River which we entered for a delightfully quiet harbor at 6

p.m. after a truly sporting day. In half an hour we sat down to roast

chicken, baked potatoes and brown gravy. Henry getting so used to these

little merry-go-rounds that he don’t turn a hair now while a few weeks

ago they made his teeth chatter. He says he didn’t know yachting was

anything like this and I tell him it “ain’t.” This is boating and to

get little boats over big distances you must drive them. There was some

whipping to canvas with peak dropped today and a nasty batten poked

thro’ the sail and before it tore loose and went to leeward it ripped

a foot or more of canvas. Also tore out lazy jack boom block, loosened

poop deck irons and split one of the boards. H. thinks we better lay up

and repair while there is something left to repair, but they are all

non-essentials while this norther is very much an essential towards

making southing, so on we go with halliards flying and no down haul.

Like Jorrocks, I feel like saying “Yachting is the sport of kings, the

essence of war with all the glory and only twenty-five per cent of the

danger.”

[Illustration: Rounding for the Launch.]

_November 18th._ Came as bright, crisp and snappy as you please. Under

way by 8:45 still clinging to our single reef, although barometer was

up after a 2 point drop yesterday for that breeze. With wide sheet we

slipped along the shore heading about due south. Again the sails and

the fleets of oyster boats. The shore not misty blue but clear cut in

the smart northerly air, and the water a deep, wholesome blue. And

so on with the breeze always pricking on and driving us faster, but

without the concentrated venom of the day before and our single reef

just handsome canvas. Past the mouth of the Rappahannock where the

seas picked up and with only 2 fath. of water, we were almost out of

sight of land. Old squaw stew for dinner, and Henry had to run from

the cabin. First touch of mutiny on board. He allowed he would desert

at Norfolk or right then and there if I gave him any more sea fowl to

eat. Foolish boy, he needs starving. Scotty and I finished the stew.

Away past Mobjack Bay; the York River, and as night fell we beat up

into the little hole called Back Bay and dropped anchor at 5:45 having

done 48 knots in the 9 hours run or 54 land miles. With Norfolk only 18

miles away, I feel as if we had about knocked this stretch to pieces.

But what a chance I had at it.

_November 19th._ Comes calm and as pretty as a picture. Found us

anchored in a snug little harbor and surrounded by busy oystermen.

Fried oysters for breakfast, and we took our time, so that it was 11

o’clock before we tripped our hook and started for Norfolk only 18

miles away. There’s where we just missed it for the wind hauled E.

S. E. and gave it to us right in the eye with a mean, short, little

hubble-bubble that old Mascot found it particularly hard to negotiate.

A miserable little sloop-rigged dugout manned by three niggers gave

me the beating of my life. She was about 30 ft. long and slid through

that chop as if greased. I still held to my reef and with launch in tow

made slow but mighty comfortable going. Worked the shore down to Old

Point Comfort but taking a strong ebb tide there we had to get whole

sail on her and seriously work our passage up Hampton Roads where “Lay

the Cumberland Sloop of war.” The wind failed as the sun went down and

night found us seeking some little quiet corner in the big, busy harbor

of Norfolk which was crowded with barges and schooners waiting cargoes.

I counted seven five-masters and one six-master. Henry towed awhile,

but we got aground and then a little night air springing up we slowly

worked her up past the wharves to a quiet little berth among some other

small craft. We are 35 days from Potomska and count up just 21 sailing

days. We must stop here and fix up for a day or two sure.

_November 20th to November 26th._ At anchor Norfolk. Most of the time

put in while running back and forth to our meals ashore. We did finally

complete the cover to the launch and get a new quarter cleat bolted

down. We were a trifle fine in spots, and I made H. spend a day by

himself which did him good. We passed a day inspecting terminus of

Virginia R. R. and one afternoon we actually loafed an hour or two on

board. We met two young fellows who were bound to New Orleans in a 26

ft. launch and writing up a story of their trip for publication in the

Motor World. Their boat was the most complete mess I ever saw. Their

photo outfit took up most all available space, and what was left held

a typewriter in a big box. Four gallons of water in two little stone

jugs was all the wet goods carried. When they arrived they brought the

remains of a canopy top which had blown off one day in the Bay. They

seemed happy enough, however, and spent an evening on board and took a

picture of “Scotty.” The Mascot with all the room pleased them much.

[Illustration]

[Sidenote: Map C.]

_November 26th._ I turned out at 5, but that crew of mine has no

ambition, and it took half an hour to get him out of his blankets. The

morning was bitter cold and it was mufflers and mitties once more.

We breakfasted and after filling water tanks at wharf we tucked the

launch under stern and were away up the south branch of Elizabeth

River. Past the docks, ferry boats, tugs, barges and stuff. Then the

big navy yard and through railroad bridges and at last the river and

the pines. How good it all looked. We were mighty tired of that old

harbor with its shrieking whistles and uneasy waters. The river wound

and twisted along until it fetched us up near noon at the entrance and

first and only lock of the Chesapeake and Albemarle Canal. Here we were

mulct $7.50 for getting dropped about 2 ft., but somehow that little

drop seemed to separate us entirely from the north and launch us into

Dixie waters. The sun was out bright and warm. The air a misty blue

from smoke drifting over from big fires in Dismal Swamp. The canal

stretched straight away a bright blue line framed in the greens and

browns of the bank. Oh! it was all so beautiful, so calmly peaceful

and still. We tied to a grape vine and muzzled all four feet right

into a great oyster stew and then away on our long road of color. The

swamp lonesome, dreary, fascinating, stretched on either side as far as

we could see. Dore might have come here to sketch some of his great,

gaunt, tree trunks. What can people be made of to talk of these canals

as tiresome bits of the southern journey, to be endured and gotten over

as quickly as possible. This half day paid for the effort gone before.

And as the day wore on it grew always wilder, more beautiful. The dark

green of holly, the blue green of the great, long leaved pine, and the

browns and yellows of leaf and grasses growing full to the water’s

edge. It was a sacrilege to break such stillness with a motor, but we

committed it. Three big, bald headed eagles and a few hawks were the

only live things we saw. The afternoon wore on. All the wind died and

the shadows crept across the stream, while the sun, a big red fire ball

dropped behind the pines and it was night quick, quick. The little

chain rattled and we were soon swinging quietly at anchor. I had to

give Scotty a talking to. No sooner was anchor down than she wanted

to go ashore and see the wild cats, but I took her on my knee and

said “Non, mon pauvre petit mimi, tu ne peut pas aller chez les chats

sauvages. Sois sage et reste tranquille avec nous.” This calmed her at

once. I was a bit scared because she had a fit yesterday and honestly I

never saw a little cabin so full of one cat before. If she has another,

we leave the ship even here in Dismal Swamp. So with cheese fondue and

lots of toast for supper, thus ends a mighty fine day and we turned

in to the sound of the hoot of an old owl. We turned out again mighty

quick, however, to the hail of “What in hell is that?”, to find a river

steamer close aboard. No sooner was he safely past than down stream

came a tug and the whoppingest, biggest barge. As they swung round the

bend the barge just missed us, and the captain from seemingly the top

of a mountain shouted “Youse all better move away or some of us all

will be running over youse.” We moved all right and promptly.

[Illustration]

_November 27th._ Warm cabin all night. Snug and comfy. I turned out

5:30 and found everything white with frost. Kicked H. out after much

labor. Fear me he will never have any ambition. His circulation is like

that of the Boston Common. Heavy mist over all. The sun up a silver

ball and everything bright and sparkling like a Christmas Tree. Fine

breakfast with a new feature called Bologna a la Mascot. Here it is.

Beat eggs and add little English mustard. Dip thin slices of Bologna

and roll in cracker crumbs. Fry in drip fat. Serve on toast with sauce

made by adding cream to beaten egg. Try it. I invented it when tending

fire at 2 a.m. From companionway we can watch a great bald head eagle

on top of an old dead tree. He is a buster and his white head glistens

in the sun. Off by nine with the night mists rising from the marshes

and the dark pine coming into sight. Past Pungo Ferry, a good name for

a lonely spot. Then on into North Landing River. The sun soon brightly

warm and we were comfortable in shirt-sleeves. A mighty sudden and

pleasant change from early morning. The whole scene was so charmingly

beautiful that it was hard to leave deck and go to cooking. Creamed

oysters on toast paid, however, for the trouble.

[Illustration: Last Whistling Swan.]

While H. was eating lunch, we came out into the upper reaches of

Currituck Sound. Through the glasses I made out some queer looking

white spots on the perfectly calm water and by gum! they turned out to

be a flock of more than one hundred swan. America’s biggest game bird

and the first we had ever seen. Sort of made my insides creep just as

it does to see a noted snow mountain for the first time. We began to

see ducks now, thousands of them, but all pretty shy. Henry bagged a

blue-nosed pig at the fourth shot with Helen. No law on pigs. We triced

him to the rigging and crew returned to ordinary ship’s duties. Across

head of Currituck and into a little canal cut right through the piney

woods. Afternoon was getting on. The reflections of the pines reached

from either bank and down the middle lay a pathway of silver for our

little boat. I hope my two photos may bring the scene back to mind. I

could think only of that picture “The Isle of the Blessed” with its

cypress trees. So on and on until night threatened and we slowly felt

our way into a little creek near mouth of North River, and while H. was

busy with the launch, I tackled the dinner of roast pork, baked white

and sweet potatoes and applesauce. Thus ends another perfect cruising

day. Barometer tended up and we turned in with cloudy sky and variable

northerly airs. Didn’t like the looks much and if bound round Cape Cod

would have stayed at Vineyard Haven.

_November 28th._ Thanksgiving. Started prompt on time with smartish

breeze true N. E. Turned out at 3:30 and gave her more chain and saw

all right. Barometer on the roller coaster. By 5 things were doing

and by 6 it was blowing 60 miles and snowing hard. We were perfectly

protected up our little creek and luckily swung in enough water to

float us although the bank was precious close. H. a bit nervous about

drifting ashore at first, but soon got accustomed to the sing of

things. He thinks yachting with father is great, but doesn’t care for

the snow. Stove drew so hard it nearly took Scotty right through the

grate and we had to wrap the Gloucester head with canvas to save the

coal. Flapjacks for breakfast and coffee strong enough to carry out the

big anchor. Everything covered with snow. The trunks of the pines at

edge of forest all snow-white like birches. H. thinks the warm cabin

pretty good, but when I suggested it was a fair wind and we might as

well tie her down and get along, he said he would take his chance in

the launch and go live with the Piney Woods people first. Afraid he has

no heart for the game. Got out my fiddle and H. his flute, and we had

it back and forth to the tune of “Eight Hands Around and Ladies Change.”

Lunched lightly in preparation of Thanksgiving feast to come.

Barometer turned up, thermometer turned down and wind hauled by west

with breaking cloud and a fearful scream of wind and flurry of snow.

I knew this storm would come, and I have been driving south hard in

consequence. Here it matters little for the cold doesn’t last many days

in succession and we are all ready for it. I am anxious about our two

boy friends in the little launch, for it was a tricky day yesterday and

might well have caught any man with a lee shore aboard this morning. It

was touch and go whether I crept in here or anchored in the open.

Made a mince pie. It looked all right. Put on macaroni to boil and

then muffled all up in oilers and mitties and went up the little creek

in the launch for a breath of air and to get a picture of the piney

woods with tree trunks white with snow. Found a little gill net across

the stream and in it a hell-diver all but strangled. Cut him loose

and let him go. When we got back to Mascot we found a nice pickerel

in the bottom of the boat. Must have jumped in upstream. Macaroni all

but boiled out. Just saved it. Fixed it up with cracker crumbs and

cheese. Roasted a fine, big chicken. Baked sweet and white potatoes.

Had delicious raw oysters in cocktail sauce and while night shut in

still, cold and clear, we muzzled into it all and didn’t forget absent

friends, although I did forget a pint of “champagne wasser” which I had

meant to get at Norfolk. Everything iced down on deck as we turned in.

Wouldn’t be much surprised to find ourselves pinched by the morning.

Hopes not.

_Friday, November 29th._ Comes clear as a bell and mighty cold. Henry

showed mighty little enthusiasm about bailing launch. Boat pretty well

iced up, and 100 yds. up creek was my good old enemy, new ice. Away by

nine with dead calm and launch tucked astern. The sun got up and such

a change. Off mitties and mufflers, coats and even jackets. With eyes

shut you might picture yourself on a hillside back of Mentone. Out of

the North River and out into Albemarle Sound so dazzling bright in

that southern sun. Swans, swans, lots of them, and to see them made

my stomach crinkly again. Very few ducks, and Helen Keller could add

nothing to the larder. Don’t need anything. Never saw so many things

to eat on a little boat before. For lunch there was cold roast chicken

and pork, oyster cocktails, applesauce flicked up with raisins, mince

pie and cranberry sauce. Can you beat it? Something must be done or we

won’t have any hardships to boast of. They may come. There’s lots of

time. I looked at Henry’s log yesterday and found the following: “Heavy

north east gale with driving snow and awful cold. Father crazy and

playing the fiddle.” Now what do you make of that after all I’ve done

for him? Across Albemarle Sound with power helped out by sail and light

westerly airs. Just before reaching the water to westward of Roanoke

Is. we spied a familiar-looking little launch astern and it turned out

to be our old friends, husband and wife, still pegging away on the

hunt to Florida. Then the breeze drew right out south and chopped up

water so that we had to put launch in tow. While beating slowly along

we sighted another little launch and were soon passed by _Querida II_

and two boy friends from Norfolk. All this meeting and passing of boats

bound on same quest adds much to the interest. Not such good fun today

to see the little wretches work up to harbor 6 miles away right in the

wind’s eye and leave us slip-slopping about. Sun was nearly set when

wind and sea dropped and we again started launch and headed for the

harbor, too. This harbor, Roanoke Marshes, is a little creek in back of

Roanoke Light and the creek makes into the marshes. Night fell quickly

and we were soon cruising along a low, black shore line without sign

of light to guide us. No more use than nothing, so after running into

numerous fish traps we over yank and called it enough. Our gasoline

is running mighty low for we have had no wind since leaving Norfolk.

More than 100 miles from here to Beaufort and few if any places to get

any. Gosh! but it is an awful long ways to anywhere in these parts. The

water is as muddy as pea soup, and looks like it. When the lead gives

you 12 ft. you know you are in the channel.

[Illustration]

_November 30th._ Last night came cold, and that boy Henry shut the

cabin up tight and I woke about midnight gasping. Morning came and

found us 200 yds. from mouth of creek, but it was a blind little hole

even by daylight. Everywhere around us were fish traps. A forest of

poles and nets. Don’t see how we missed getting bungled up. H. ran into

the creek in search of gasoline and kerosene, but returned with word

that everybody was shorter than we were and envied us our sail power.

Old Mascot seems like a great unwieldy ship in these thin waters and

light airs. Off by 9 and picked our way among the fish traps to Stumpy

Point Bay about 10 miles where it was reported there was gasoline.

We are at anchor there now as I write. We touched the high spots all

right coming in, but why not with 3 ft. of water. The beautiful warm

sun is flooding the cabin and did it not happen each day we couldn’t

believe that we would shiver with cold by 6 p.m. Stumpy Point Village

looks interesting and consists of a few shanties lining the desolate

shore of a little bay about a mile wide. What for the village? I don’t

know. We will find out and I think loaf out the day after eating boiled

striped bass fresh from a net this morning. Anchor hardly over in 4

ft. of water when we were boarded by W. A. Best, typical southerner

of the coast. He wanted magazines and we were sorry to find ourselves

without a one. Pitiful, this cry for reading. We are 60 miles from

nearest railroad. Hospitable no name for it. Wouldn’t we go ashore and

stay at his house? He would see that everything that Stumpy Point had

was ours and the more he talked, the greater the attractions seemed.

Ducks and geese everywhere. Deer and bear in the woods. We must go

after grey squirrels in the afternoon with him. This we did and never

saw a squirrel, but we did see virgin forest of cypress, gum and maple,

a magnificent sight soon to be seen hereaway no more. Best took us to

his house, a little shanty like the rest of those in Stumpy Point. He

showed us into the parlor and there on the floor, with an old quilt

under her, lay his wife. She never moved as we entered and at first I

thought she was a deader. Best explained casually that she had a fever

and cold and headache and had been _ailing_ for several days. Three

little boys were playing in the room and an air-tight stove was making

merry. For true misery you couldn’t beat it much. All Stumpy Point

knows we are here and this evening it was hard to get away from the

grocery store where the village had collected to see and hear us. We

were most cordially invited to attend divine services to-morrow, and

I think we will do it. The whole little village depends upon about 3

months’ shad fishing in the spring and for the rest of the year just

exists. Mail comes and goes twice a week by steamer when the steamer

comes. The water in the sound, for we are now in Pamlico, goes in and

out according to the direction of wind and just now it seems to be

going out, for to-night we are aground and we may be here several days

to come. We like Stumpy Point and are quite happy, but how to refuse

the hospitality offered and not offend, that’s the difficulty. The dish

of cold, fat pork and potatoes that we had to sit down to at Best’s

this afternoon makes me shudder now. Night comes with glass jumping to

30.4 and an ugly looking mist hanging to the southward. Symptoms like

those before the gale of a few days since. Hopes not.

[Illustration: in Pamlico]

_December 1st._ Comes cloudy light airs N. E. Put in the morning at

letter writing and entertaining callers. The good people come on board

and just set and set. After lunch we poseyed all up and went on shore

to Sunday school. Mrs. Best had a 6 months’ baby last night and was

not receiving to-day. I guess the Sunday school was a Baptist affair.

It was all right anyway, and the whole village turned out for it. The

community is mighty interesting. No niggers allowed, no rum drunk and

not a cuss word heard. The men and boys a fine, clean looking set,

but the women tired and worn. No sooner back to the boat when more

visitors. A man with 200 lb. wife with one eye and two children. Then

another man. The 200 lbs. came below and “nussed” the baby while I

cooked supper and they all stayed while we ate it, watching our every

move. They are bound not to let us go, and I fear will put a seine

round us if we don’t get away to-morrow.

Scotty stole carcass of duck right off the table while we were at

supper. Would have made a get-a-way had I not caught her by the tail.

Never a smile from a single visitor. The strain is too awful. We must

flee and hope to do it before we make some dreadful social bull, for

pride and sensitiveness are what these people live on besides ducks.

_December 2nd._ Comes kind of sort of chill southerly, squally looking

sky and very thin airs with slowly falling glass. H. went on shore

before breakfast and returned with gasoline and two live roosters. What

do you think of that? I bought some oysters and last evening H. raked

some with crab net from the boat so we feel again provisioned. If we

stay another night H. must accept invitation to do society so it is up

yank and away by 9.

Launch pulled us a mile or two when light airs S. W. chopped up the

sea and we made sail. Wind dead ahead and it was mighty slow footing

in the short swash. Awful good to be under sail once more and we had

a harbor not far away. Out to Long Shoal Light and then with eased

sheets and freshening breeze a good hour’s run to the mouth of Pain’s

Bay which we entered and put hook down in 6 ft. water. We sailed about

16 miles but are only 8 miles nearer the palm trees. Chickens looked

so miserable tied by the legs that we set them going tied by one leg

to each other and as I write they are peacefully going to roost with

many a contented cluck. Hope we don’t get fond of them and have to add

them to the ship’s company. Half an hour after dropping anchor a heavy

fog settled down, night shut in and it was pitch dark. Queer country

and where strangers must keep weather eyes open. Gunners returning to

Stumpy Point from Hatteras told us that the gale of Thanksgiving day

blew all the water out of the sound and left a big 60 ft. motor yacht

high and dry off the beach. Then when wind hauled N. W. all the water

blew back with such a rush that she was afloat in 40 minutes but lost

her nice power launch, anchor and 15 fath. chain, but was able to get

shelter under power herself.

_December 3rd._ Begins about 3 a.m. with the darndest racket. Dead

calm, pitch dark and all around us thousands of geese and duck. Might

as well try to sleep in a hen coop. Honk, honk, quack, quack, a babel

of sound. Along about 5 o’clock and just as we were beginning to hope

that a glimmer of light would give us a shot, two men on a cruising

launch turned out with a lantern and the roar of wings on water was as

loud as a train of cars. Cuss those New York fools anyway. Day came

with a shift of wind into N. E. and a wild, windy look to the sky. With

a reef tucked in I could cover lots of miles southward, but there is

again the question, “What will the water do?” Suppose we turn her loose

down wind and it pricks on sharply. Will we find water all run out of

the harbors and we left to wallow it out 2 or 3 miles off shore? It is

certainly queer guessing. This morning we found there was much about

live chickens to make them undesirable sea companions. Don’t think we

are in danger of keeping them long. Barometer didn’t act like storm

and by 11 o’clock I couldn’t stand it any longer, so put a single reef

in and away we scuttled. It was mighty good sailing and I guessed the

weather right for by 1 o’clock we were under full sail and a summer’s

sun. Could have been a long ways if had got away early, but the chance

was then too big. Hauled to westward and over hook to a nice anchorage

in Wyesocking Bay at 3:15 p.m. Earlier in the day than we have stopped

her since leaving home. Henry into the launch and up creek to see if

he can’t nab some stray cattle. Chickens killed and picked and all the

pleasures of a farming life are ours. While I write at 4 p.m., the

sun is flooding down companionway so warm, so warm. The first fly is

buzzing, too. H. returned with nix and reported mosquitos on shore.

Things are progressing.

_December 4th._ Turned out at 5 to find all quiet, still and dark. So

quiet that from the quarter I could hear the ticking of our little

clock. So calm that each star was mirrored on the water. Away under

power by 7. Out into a golden sunrise, the pride and beauty of the day.

Here was a morning for sun worshippers to kneel. Sea and sky melted

into one great glory in the east and behind us faded into soft pearly

mists in which horizons were lost, and we seemed to be floating in air.

So flat the bosom of the sea that the meanest stepmother in the land

would have been proud to call it hers. The duck feathers floated on

the surface as lightly as--well, I can’t think just how lightly now,

but gosh-dinged lightly. We turned her on a 20 mile leg S. W. at 8 and

sailed all morning on this wonderful sea. Why can’t somebody come here

and tell people of the beauties to be found? We chased duck all about

but failed to get meat, although we lost lots of time which is precious

today.

Scotty was on sick list yesterday and had sort of kind of fits so fast

one after the other that she lost count. Pretty near threw her little

heart up. Looked kind of meechin this morning so gave her a dose of

sweet oil. This afternoon she seems better and has eaten a chicken and

held onto it. As I write this we are entering Neuse River at lower

end of Pamlico 3:45 p.m. We had gone about 35 knots, all under power,

since 7 this morning. Without it we couldn’t have moved a mile. Intend

running on some 14 miles farther to mouth of creek which leads to canal

cutting through to Beaufort. The motor has just given 3 spasmodic gasps

and died. Oh, dear! Found gasoline all gone and now, with new, she is

off again merrily. She pushes us in calm water 4½ knots an hour and

gives us 6 knots to 1 gal. gas. Pretty good work we think.

Night shut down with easterly air so cold I was all of a shiver, the

change is so great from heat of the day. Quickly the wind changed warm

to the south and the air was like ours in August. We picked up our

lights all right, and poked her quietly into the black woods where

should have been a river, and sure enough, there was. The accuracy

of these charts is a continual surprise. By 7:30 we were at quiet

anchorage stuffing ourselves with fried oysters.

[Illustration]

_December 5th._ Comes cloudy. A sort of dog-day affair. Pleasant to

our eyes after the glare, and our little river framed in the green of

long-leaf pine looks very attractive. Along we go, getting glimpses

of dark swamps, up creeks, in deep, solemn shadow. Then came the cut

through the neck of land to a river at headwaters of Beaufort Harbor.

Along the banks were palms, real palms. Not great big snoosing busters

with cocoanuts, but little wee-wees, but palms all the same. From the

boat I shot a plover and we had the deuce of a time landing and getting

him. Scotty promptly grabbed him and with head and tail up, marched

off below to eat him. Not much, Scotty. Then out of the cut into broad

reaches where oyster bars poked up their heads from a few inches of

water. A fog shut down hiding all the ranges and we were soon all to

the bad. Out of the mist ahead we made out a little launch aground

and it turned out to be our friends, husband and wife, still plugging

at it. Close to them was a big motor boat from Conn., also high and

dry. They had both tried to go wrong side of a red buoy. We waved and

motored on, but in less than a quarter mile hit bottom ourselves,

and with meek and lowly spirits, took up our burden and went below

to dinner. Tide being well out, it was only two hours before we were

afloat again. The launch balked a little for almost the first time

since leaving home, and while H. was doctoring it along came a fellow

to offer a tow down to Beaufort. Told him we could get along alone but

gave him a segar and soon had him so chummy that he hitched alongside

and pulled us down to a good anchorage off Beaufort wharves for

nothing. Nothing like a little practice in insurance business and a cup

of coffee and segar at right moment.

Beaufort is great. Like the Old Howard, something doing along its water

front from daylight till dark and long after. Lots of fishing vessels

all anchored in a line only 50 yds. from the little wharves. Thousands

of motor boats and only one muffler. The wharves and fish houses extend

a mile and there is lots of color, and across it all blows the damp

sea wind with its smell of the old beach. Mighty good to my nose after

weeks of inland smells. I keep recollecting little things about Stumpy

Point such as they couldn’t keep hogs “Cause the bars ketched em all

up” and one man who trapped alive a big bald head eagle complained that

he got no returns because “the _human sociation_ done gone ketched him

up and let him go.” He was a good eagle and the man couldn’t understand

the why of it.

_December 6th._ Comes with threatening skies and drifting fog,

southerly. The fishermen with big crews got away, only to anchor under

the hook of the land just outside. As I write, at noon, they are

streaming in again and picking up their anchorages like horses running

into their stalls. The air is damp, warm and depressing. H. and I could

hardly crawl about on shore and were mighty glad to get aboard again.

[Illustration: Beaufort N.C.]

We visited an oyster-opening plant. Mighty interesting and on the

whole, cleanly. Hundreds of men, women and little children at work

opening 1500 bu. a day. The little white children looked peaked enough

and the dirt, steam and smell of the opening shed were kind of fierce.

In the midst of the mess was a baby in its wagon, the mother at work.

Too big a problem for my addled brain. Roses in the gardens and

everything mighty summerish.

_December 8th._ Beaufort. Air better and wind more to westward, but

think gale northwest needed to blow this fog to sea. Borrowed a box

compass and spent the morning turning and twisting Mascot at end of

wharf until I noted my compass variations. The result surprised me,

for while I knew there was trouble I did not expect to find fault of

one whole point. It was there, however, and undoubtedly due to my

iron ballast. Think have got it noted all right, but it was a long,

vexatious job, and when we went to hotel for dinner we were late and

got only cold pickings but at usual price. The afternoon in walking and

loafing. Beaufort is very good. Besides the picturesque fishing fleet

there is the usual busy main street of a southern town, lined with all

kinds of buildings from shanties to modern store affairs. Bales of

cotton are standing about. Blacksmith welding a shaft in the street.

The high two-wheeled country carts drawn aimlessly along by one ox.

Everybody takes his time, and talks about it in slow southern drawl.

There are tonight seven or eight launches and big power boats here

besides ourselves. It is great fun to see them come in because the

channel brings them within speaking distance. On shore the natives

stuff them with fearful tales of the dangers to be faced on the trip

outside. This is all with the purpose of getting pilotage fees. I have

heard tides reported as running 50 miles an hour and that is some tide.

H. and I have made friends with an old darkie who was a slave here in

Beaufort. He was in Union army at capture of the Beaufort forts and

served with Col. Stone, Capt. Fuller and wanted to serve with Col.

William Forbes because he was good to his men and looked so fine in

uniform with his head always so high.

_December 9th._ Turned in last night with sharply falling glass, and

turned out this morning at 3:30 to the tune of rattling halliards and

creaking dock lines. Wind a waspish breeze northwest with flurries

of snow. Got out extra lines and while shivering at the job, out of

the black came little _Querida II_ seeking a bit of quiet as she was

touching the bottom where she lay at anchor. We helped the boys tie

up all snug, and scuttled back to warm blankets for a good snooze.

Turned out about 8:30 to find clearing skies, strong breeze and falling

temperature. New England can give this coast no points on weather

changes. Yesterday about 65 degrees, to-day 30 degrees. The change

gave me a little crinkleums in my back. Wish we were off and away.

Could bruise an awful lot of water by night. Will be to-morrow I hope.

Breakfast on coal fire again. How good and cheery the warmth. Coffee?

Well I guess. All we want three times a day.

Seems as if some few things had contributed very largely to success of

this cruise besides the general outfitting which proved good. These few

suggestions are the coal stove, cotton sheets sewed up into bags, and

the fish cleaning board. Put in the day provisioning up and filling

tanks. For supper went to little one-horse restaurant and ate our last

Beaufort oyster stew. We have had one or two a day since being here

and they are delicious. Made without milk in the oyster liquor. These

little soft oysters are wonderfully sweet and tasty, but so delicate

and small that they wouldn’t bear or pay to ship.

_December 10th._ Comes clear and pretty cold. Frost on deck. H.

reported streets hard and ice in gutters. Little Scotty had a dreadful

time of it. She was peacefully sleeping when a gas engine started

ashore and school bell began to ring. The cabin was at once full of

cat. Simply wild with fright, she darted about and finally sought

refuge in her retreat under the cockpit. “Pauvre petit mimi.” It is

now noon, but no coaxing can get her out. Hoisted sail to a very thin

northerly air and with launch at the stern, waved our good-byes to

friends on shore and stood to sea at 9 o’clock. The Beaufort channel

is a twisting little gutter running between nasty shoals. The harbor

is full of range beacons which don’t help strangers much. There is no

need for anybody to run ashore, however, for the water is clear and the

sea breaks on most of the shoals. Outside we turned her W ¼ S along

shore for Bogue Inlet. The westerly airs soon petered out and left us

chugging along on a sea like a mill pond with bright warm sun to cheer

us. Set 2 hour watches as I shall keep along, weather remaining fit.

There are many inlets to run to in fair weather for a boat of 4 ft.

draft, but I fancy it usually happens that a man stays outside until

the sea picks up, and makes running inlet bars dangerous. The bars

off the mouths of the inlets they tell me, trend to southward and the

gutter runs behind them up the beach as it does in our country. The

open beach is fairly bold and if I was put to it, I think I would crowd

on the rags, tie myself in the cockpit and send her up into the meadow.

Make no mistake about that, a good, bold, sandy beach is much better to

walk home on than 10 ft. of tide-swept water inside a sunken sand spit.

We made our good four knots an hour until about 3 p.m., when taking

a fair westerly breeze we made sail and hugged shore close hauled on

starboard tack. Wind all foozled out by night, and then came in fitful

dampish puffs out of the south. The glass was steady at 29-9/10 but the

sun set in an ugly looking cloud bank, and night came rather drearily

as it does with a soaking, southerly air. We had the launch on and then

off and then some more. Heavy black clouds swept over and the night

was very dark. When the stars broke through they might have been so

many peanuts as far as giving light went. To me the night down here is

most weird and strange. It falls quickly, and at once the horizon comes

seemingly within 25 or 50 yds. of the boat. Beyond is impenetrable, the

unknown. In one of my watches the black horizon suddenly lengthened

out to starboard in a diagonal line that, cutting across my bows only

a few yards ahead, stretched away like a deep black ditch far out

over my starboard quarter. I had a breeze, and as I sailed right at

this great black hole, I was on the point of calling H. to be ready

for trouble. What kind of trouble I didn’t know. In a little while I

was again sailing in my little dark circle as if in a collar box. In

another watch a shift of wind brought a queer light on the sea, and for

half an hour I seemed to be sailing onto a great, snow-covered mountain

which I never reached, but my bow was almost touching it. It might have

been a white mist or perhaps fish, I couldn’t tell. It was all strange

and new even to the porpoises which, leaving a big fiery wake, would

dash alongside, turn and dart right under the boat. One went under the

launch when H. was in her and scared him all right. I slept little

and steered a wide course to keep away from the beach which having no

stones to rattle is unusually silent. Day broke at 6 after a longish 12

hours of new experience. It caught me laid to under whole sail with a

nasty hubble-bubble on, and no wind to drive. We were 6 miles off the

beach and could just sight Cape Fear. I tacked in shore at 9 and with

nice little air made the beach at 11.

[Illustration: Wrecked.]

_December 11th._ The wind not being friendly, hauled out south, and

we took up the job of making it tack for tack along the shore. The

afternoon brought thickening clouds and my glass still standing high

with the southerly air began to make me mighty uneasy as to what was

coming next, for I felt there was a change in store, and soon. The

situation was not a good one. Before dark I could not reach the slew

inside Frying Pan Shoals off Cape Fear. To run 12 miles to sea and

round the shoals meant risking a gale on one of our worst bits of coast

and I had decided that we were soon to have a shift either northwest

or northeast. The sea was comparatively smooth and I thought that now

was the time to take a chance at an inlet. On the chart the New Inlet

with 4 ft. at low water looked good. We reached it at 3:30 p.m. at low

tide, and sailed back and forth outside the line of breakers to study

the water and best place to tackle. There was a middle ground and the

seas seemed less spiteful on southerly side so we put storm hatches on

cockpit, shut cabin doors, took out scupper plugs and lashed everything

down. Gave the launch a 10 fathom tow line and started at it. For

genuine excitement give me the next 12 to 18 hours. We took bottom on

the first breaker and broached to, bilging to seaward on about the

third. The fourth came roaring over cockpit rail, and flooded us knee

deep with lanterns, oil cans, etc., etc. swashing about promiscuously.

Fortunately the next sea pushed us along and threw us over onto other

bilge so that we escaped being flooded again very badly. The launch

came whooping along on her own hook. Just missed hitting us. Brought

up on bottom and rolled over and over with the next breaker and sank.

We got sail off and with the hope of turning her head towards a little

deeper water which we saw some 50 yds. to starboard, Henry waded out

and placed the kedge anchor. Might as well have put out a sweet potato.

We were bound for that middle ground and nothing would stop us. We were

pounding mighty hard, but didn’t jump our fire so thought we better

mug up while there was a chance. Went below after sounding pump and

finding boat tight. Had mess beans and all you had to do was open your

mouth and get beans at every crash she made, and she made ’em about

once a minute. Centreboard box was weaving all over the cabin and

transoms twisting horridly. Just before dark we tried to get launch up

under our lee in effort to bail her out, for it ain’t so pleasant to

look forward to a long, black 12 hour night, pounding the heart out of

your boat and nix to get ashore with in case of breaking up. After hard

work we dragged old “helpmeet” close aboard and, then came a big comber

to which we rose, and crunch-o, the nose of the launch went through

our bilge for a 6 in. hole. Up she went again, and bang-o, there was

another hole. My eye! we would soon be a pepperbox at that rate. Before

another surge caught us we twisted her bow round with the spinnaker

pole and a sea catching her, rolled her over and away. Things were

getting interesting. I ran below for hammer, tacks and canvas. Water

already over cabin floor. Lanterns all filled with salt water, but with

the last of daylight and using his hammer under water, Henry cleverly

put on a canvas patch. We sounded pumps and after half an hour they

sucked. Some relief to that sound. Believe me. Could do nothing more,

so went below, cleaned out a lantern, dried wick and got some light.

Waited until 8:30 when I began to fear that full tide would not carry

me over that lump of a middle ground. It was busy bees then and half

a ton of iron ballast went over pretty quick. With a heavy lurch and

crunch she slid into a little deeper water and floated once more. We

counted on a strong flood tide to carry us up the inlet, but push with

poles all we could we couldn’t get her anywhere, and finally dropped

big anchor in only 6 ft. water and just inside of breakers. Not a

quiet or particularly safe anchorage, but mighty sight better than

pounding in the surf. Sounded pumps and they sucked. What a noble piece

of boat building it is. It was 11 o’clock, pitch dark and raining,

with wind still soaking drearily from southward. We were soaking, too,

but not dreary, you bet. Went to work and made a new anchor stock for

little anchor. It broke short off early in the circus. The kedge was

still on the bar with a bit of furring on end of warp for a buoy. Am

going to take a picture of that anchor stock, for under conditions it

was shipshape and Bristol fashion. Then we shipped all weight over

to starboard and got holes in bilge out of water, threw over little

anchor to keep company with big one, and after a mug up turned in at 1

o’clock. Since leaving Beaufort some 42 hours before I had had only one

or two 1 hour naps, but felt all right and ready for what next which I

still felt would come soon.

[Illustration: Busted Launch.]