]
[Illustration:
CUTTER “GENESTA.”
]
Among the many yachts which were altered often and extensively may be
mentioned the famous sloop _Gracie_, designed and built at
Nyack-on-the-Hudson, by A. Polhemus. She was launched in July, 1868, her
dimensions being 60 feet 3 inches over all, 58 feet on the water-line,
18 feet 8 inches beam, 5 feet 6 inches depth of hold, and 5 feet
draught. Her center board was lengthened 2 feet aft in 1869. She was
altered in 1874, and when completed measured as follows: length over
all, 72 feet 9 inches; on water-line 62 feet; beam, 20 feet 6 inches;
depth of hold, 6 feet 6 inches; draught 5 feet 8 inches. In 1879 she was
rebuilt by David Carll, at City Island, her length over all being 79
feet 10 inches, on water-line 72 feet 2 inches; beam, 21 feet 6 inches;
depth of hold, 7 feet 2 inches, and draught, 6 feet 6 inches. In 1886
she was given 12 inches more freeboard. She sailed in the trial races
against _Bedouin_, _Puritan_, and _Priscilla_, for the honor of
defending the _America’s_ cup against _Genesta_, but that task was given
to _Puritan_.
The keel cutter _Colonia_, built by Herreshoff as a cup defender to sail
against _Valkyrie II._, proved less fast than _Vigilant_. Her fault was
a deficiency of lateral plane, which made her sag off bodily to leeward
in a most discouraging manner. After serving as a drill ship for the
crew of the _Defender_ in 1895, she was purchased by Commodore Clarence
A. Postley, fitted with a centerboard from a plan by Cary Smith, at
Lewis Nixon’s shipyard, and rigged as a schooner. She is now (1899) the
crack American “two-sticker.”
Old-timers will recollect how slow the schooner _Sappho_ was until Capt.
“Bob” Fish hit upon the bold expedient of “hipping her out,” which was
done by swelling out her midship section about fourteen inches, and
tapering it off to nothing about thirty feet each way. The result was
that _Sappho_, theretofore so sluggish that she could scarcely get out
of her own way, beat nearly every craft bold enough to encounter her,
and won many cups and much kudos for her sportsmanlike owner, Mr.
William P. Douglas. Mr. A. Cass Canfield altered the sloop _Priscilla_
considerably, but it cannot be said that he was altogether successful.
When _Volunteer_ was transformed into a schooner her forebody was
reconstructed, and she made an enviable record as a “two-sticker;” but
when rerigged as a sloop she never showed an approach to her original
splendid form, as I think most yachtsmen will frankly concede.
[Illustration:
SCHOONER “COLONIA.”
]
Our British cousins used to have a perfect craze for rebuilding famous
yachts, the old crack cutters _Alarm_ and _Arrow_—both celebrated
prize-winners—being notable examples of this ruling passion. But both
here and in England the custom of materially altering the form of a
yacht’s hull in the hope of improving her speed may be said to have gone
completely out of fashion. This is doubtless due to the radical and
rapid changes in hulls, brought about by the frequently shifting rules
of measurement for time allowance and the artfully ingenious methods of
generations of yacht designers to get the better of those selfsame
rules.
I only mention these just to give a practical illustration of the way
the old-timers used to alter and rebuild their beloved boats. The custom
is now obsolete. If a racing machine of the present day is not
outclassed in her third season she is looked upon as quite a smart
craft. It may thus be perceived that conditions have altered
considerably during the last decade.
On general principles it is unwise to go in for very extensive
alterations on a yacht of any kind, whether cruiser or racer. If,
however, you are determined to go ahead, I advise you to be sure to have
an iron-clad contract as to cost.
[Illustration:
Rig of Cutter showing Masthead Shroud.
]
While your boat is being repaired or altered, ship your sailing-master,
scrutinizing his references as to ability and character with care, and
if possible supplement this examination by an interview with his last
employer before engaging him.
Of course, much depends upon the size of your craft and the depth of
your pocket. A Hank Haff or a Charley Barr would be too expensive a
luxury for a craft of modest dimensions, and a boat-owner in matters of
this kind must depend much upon his own judgment; it is impossible to
give him advice except in the most general way.
The work of fitting out a racing yacht preparatory to tuning up for the
season’s sport is exceptionally interesting to the real amateur, but the
owner who has no true regard for yachting generally finds the process
somewhat of a bore. In “Boat Sailing, Fair Weather and Foul,” a
companion volume to this book, there is a chapter on “The Overhauling of
a Yacht,” which contains a useful wrinkle or two, of which the reader
may avail himself if he feels so disposed. The same is true of the
chapter on “Laying up for the Winter,” which is indorsed by naval
architects and practical seamen.
It is customary with some builders to have a sail-loft annex to the
shipyard, and these men are, in most cases, anxious to contract for the
sails as well as for the hull of a boat. I should not advise any yacht
owner who contemplates racing his craft to employ anyone but the most
skilful manipulator of duck to make his sails, which are of as much
consequence as the hull itself so far as the winning of cups and prizes
is concerned.
The man of fashion, ambitious of being well attired, so as to shine
socially, doesn’t go to Baxter street for a dress suit. Neither does a
yachtsman patronize a tentmaker for a racing mainsail or a well-cut jib.
There is no objection to the shipbuilder contracting for the sails if he
desires to make a little extra money, but the yacht owner should take
care that the name of the sailmaker appears in the contract, and this
will be a sufficient guarantee for first-class work. There are many
firms in the United States justly famous as yacht sailmakers, and these
are of such high standing that their names marked on the sails supplied
insures the best in the way of cut and the quality of material. It is a
great mistake to exercise any cheeseparing economy on a yacht’s means of
propulsion, whether it be steam or duck. The best in the market, whether
it be machinery or sails, is none too good.
A cruising craft with a slovenly or slatternly owner may, perhaps, be
content with a suit of sails that fits like a purser’s shirt on a
handspike, with a mainsail all abag and head-sails that would disgrace a
coal barge; but even a cruising craft may be caught on a lee shore with
a gale of wind, and perhaps the owner will curse his fatuous economy
when he has tried in vain to claw off the beach with his baggy sails and
finds that his craft is crunching to pieces in the surf and he himself
is struggling for life in the treacherous undertow.
The cost of racing sails is high, and, ordinarily, a yacht that goes the
cup-hunting circuit needs a new mainsail every season. Under careful
management, however, a mainsail, with good luck, has been known to do
good service for two summers. The quality of cotton duck has improved
appreciably of late, owing to a better method of manufacture, and sails
“sit” better and do not “bag” as they used to. Cotton is king, so far as
racing sails go, in Europe as well as America, flax having been entirely
superseded by it. The change from flax to cotton began in England about
1893.
The rig of a racing yacht should be no more neglected than her sails.
The spars should be hollow on 20-footers and all in excess of that
class. The standing rigging should be of silver-steel wire, set up by
turnbuckles. The blocks should be strong and light, and the running
rigging of the best quality. There should not be a superfluous ounce of
weight in the craft alow or aloft if the winning of cups is what the
owner has in view.
Rigging screws or turnbuckles, which have superseded deadeyes and
lanyards for the setting up of standing rigging, were first used in 1877
on the English cutter _Verve_. They are used now on all racing yachts.
In the old days of reefing bowsprits it was quite a usual event to carry
away several bobstays during the season. The long overhang forward of
the modern yacht has reduced the length of the bowsprit, and
consequently the strain on the spar when pitching into a heavy head sea.
The overhang also gives better facilities for handling the head-sails.
Flexible silver-steel wire rope is now used for running rigging in many
yachts, notably for runners and runner tackles, and also for peak and
throat halyards.
The best spars for large yachts are made of Oregon fir. This splendid
wood is the best in the world for the purpose. Some spars have been
known to measure nearly 40 inches in diameter, and some 172 feet long;
the average length of spars shipped to Atlantic ports from the Pacific
coast is 90 feet, and the diameter 22 to 23 inches. Oregon fir is
stronger than spruce or white pine, and hence less diameter is required
for the same height. Spruce is in general use for the spars of smaller
craft. Steel booms for racing yachts were first used on _Defender_ and
_Valkyrie III._
The greatest improvements in the rigging of yachts of recent years have
been the masthead shrouds, bridles on gaffs, and the comparatively new
throat-halyard pennants. In a spanking breeze there is a great strain on
the masthead, also much play, but by the adoption of the three devices
mentioned the strains are both minimized and equalized. Large vessels
carry double masthead shrouds, and smaller craft single ones. _Vigilant_
was, I believe, the first American yacht to be fitted with them. Now
they are carried by every craft of consequence. Gaff bridles and
throat-halyard pennants are indispensable to the rigging of every racing
yacht from the smallest cat to the largest schooner.
If your craft is large enough to spread two shrouds on each side, have
them fitted in pairs. A bight and a good seizing are preferable to two
single eyes.
The bowsprit-shroud outriggers or spreaders should be bolted fast to the
ship without any hinged joint. This prevents any unnecessary play when
the boat plunges bows under in a heavy head sea. There should be the
same length of shroud between the spreader and the bowsprit end, and the
spreader and the turnbuckle which sets them up. The strain is thus
divided equally and advantageously. The bobstay spreader or
dolphin-striker should always have a hinged joint.
The rigging of _Uncas_ is fitted as follows: Bobstay, 2½-inch steel
wire; forestay, 2-inch do.; jibstay, 1¼-inch do.; bowsprit shrouds,
1½-inch do.; standing rigging, 1¼-inch do.; masthead shroud, 1⅜-inch
do.; topmast gear, all 1-inch do.; runner shrouds, 1¼-inch do.; spring
stay, 1½-inch do.; main lifts, 1½-inch flexible 19-thread steel wire;
gaff bridles, 1¼-inch do.; peak and throat halyards, 2¼-inch manila
bolt-rope; main sheet, 2-inch do.; fore sheet, 1¾-inch do.; head-sheets
and minor gear in proportion.
The _Vigil_, of similar design, is rigged precisely the same, with the
exception that her main peak and throat halyards are of 1-inch flexible
steel wire, the fore peak and throat halyards of ⅝-inch do.;
club-topsail halyards, ⅝-inch do.
Lengths of manila are so spliced to these flexible wire halyards that
when they are belayed the splice is about six feet above the deck. This
flexible steel answers remarkably well. When once set up, it stays set
up. There is no “give” to it, and thus frequent “swaying on it,” as is
the case with hemp rope, is quite unnecessary.
[Illustration:
RIG AND SAIL PLAN OF “UNCAS.”
]
A modern 25-foot-water-line single-sticker with a pole mast, is rigged
as follows: Bobstay, rod of steel ¾-inch in diameter, set up with a
turnbuckle at end of bowsprit; shrouds, two on each side, 1⅛-inch steel
wire; forestay set up to stem head, 1¼-inch do.; jib set flying, hoisted
with ¾-inch 8-stranded flexible steel halyards, set up with a
jig-purchase; runner shrouds of ⅝-inch steel wire canvased over; main
lifts, ¾-inch flexible steel wire, painted, parceled, served over with
white cod-line, and then covered with white canvas sewed on; the throat
and peak halyards are of ¾-inch flexible steel wire. The blocks are all
strapped with grommets of flexible steel wire, served and leathered.
From these examples a fair idea of the modern method of rigging a racing
craft may be gathered. Strength, lightness, and neatness are the
qualities sought and attained. Steel wire is now largely used for the
leech ropes of sails, and it is strongly recommended by our “swellest”
sailmakers.
The above I owe to my old seafaring friend, John F. Byno, who put the
neatest splice ever seen in the Brooklyn Bridge cable, and is an expert
with the marlinspike, as all the members of the Seawanhaka Corinthian
Yacht Club can bear witness.
[Illustration:
No. 1. Side view of main masthead.
No. 2. Back view of main masthead.
MASTHEADS OF “UNCAS.”
]
[Illustration:
No. 3. Side view of fore masthead.
No. 4. Back view of fore masthead.
MASTHEADS OF “UNCAS.”
]
Flexible steel wire rope is nearly if not quite as pliable as new hemp
rope of the same strength. It is made with nineteen wires to the strand.
The greater the diameter of the sheaves over which it passes, the longer
it will last. The manufacturers recommend as a preservative a mixture of
linseed oil and pine tar. It is impossible to belay wire rope to a
cleat, as it will surely “render” or slip. Manila rope is therefore
spliced to the hauling end of the wire, which makes it pleasanter to
haul on, and insures its remaining fast after it is once belayed. I
would not counsel a lubber to try to splice wire and rope together,
unless in the privacy of a separate room. Why? Because the bystanders
would be sure to laugh. It takes an artist to make this most difficult
splice.
Grommet straps for blocks made of flexible steel wire cannot be
surpassed. After making the grommet, paint well with raw linseed oil and
white lead; parcel with canvas, serve with marline, apply another coat
of paint, and then cover with leather or canvas sewn on. For neatness,
strength, and durability this method is superior to any other. But it
requires an expert to do the work.
With regard to turnbuckles for setting up all kinds of standing rigging,
it must be conceded that they are indispensable for racing craft both
large and small. One advantage of deadeye and lanyard for deep-water
cruising is that if it should be necessary to cut away the mast to save
the ship when hove on her beam ends, a cut with an axe will sever the
weather lanyards and away goes the mast. The turnbuckle cannot be cut. A
combination of turnbuckle, and deadeye and lanyard, might be fitted so
as to combine the advantages of both.
[Illustration:
CUTTER “MINERVA.”
]
The bulwarks of racing yachts have been reduced in height to mere
battens. All deck fittings have been lightened as much as the designers
dared. All with the intention of reducing weight, ironwork on spars
looks very frail when compared with that of a decade ago, and the weight
of blocks has been diminished in some cases more than fifty per cent.
The abolition of all cabin fittings first took place in the Marquis of
Ailsa’s _Bloodhound_, built in 1874. All she had in her cabin was a seat
along each side.
It is only comparatively recently that yacht designers have made serious
efforts to reduce weight aloft. Sometimes they have gone too far. I
remember a 40-foot cutter, built to sail against the Scotch cutter
_Minerva_. She was dismasted in a puff on the occasion of her first
race, which was also her maiden sail. The same mishap befell her later
on in a fine sailing breeze off Newport. I was on the committee boat
which towed her into port. If she hadn’t been well handled after being
disabled some serious accident might have happened to her hull. The
accident was ascribed to defective ironwork.
It is of no benefit to stay the masts of pleasure vessels with rigging
heavy enough for a great brig. A sense of proportion should be observed.
Scientific men have calculated and tabulated the stress and strain that
wood, metal, wire and hempen rope will bear, and these tables may be
consulted by anybody able to read.
It is a fact that piano wire plays a leading part in the rigging of some
of the down-to-date little racing freaks one meets nowadays, especially
in fresh water where it is less exposed to corrosion. It is highly
spoken of by those who have used it. Better, however, not to go to
extremes and always to beware of a spider-web rig. Like flimsy
construction it causes a yacht to come to grief.
[Illustration:
SAIL PLAN OF “ETHELWYNN.”
]
A good example of lightness of rig was the 15-footer _Ethelwynn_,
designed by Mr. W. P. Stephens, to defend the International Challenge
Cup of the Seawanhaka Corinthian Yacht Club. It will be remembered that
she beat Mr. Brand’s _Spruce IV._, which boat was quite heavily rigged
when compared with the American craft. The mast was a hollow spar of 4¼
inches, a far too heavy stick, as experience proved, for one of 3 inches
and about half the weight would have been sufficiently strong. The
hollow boom was 2¾ inches diameter in the slings. The rigging was of
phosphor-bronze wire rope, the forestay being ³⁄₃₂-inch diameter,
shrouds ³⁄₁₆-inch diameter, and runners ⅛-inch. Main and jib halyards
were of the same material, ⅛-inch diameter. The main-halyard ran over a
2-inch sheave in the masthead, a single part with a whip-tackle at the
deck. The jib-halyard was double with a jig. The running rigging was of
imported English cord. She carried 198 square feet of duck.
[Illustration:
HALF RATER “SPRUCE IV.”
]
[Illustration:
FIFTEEN-FOOTER “ETHELWYNN.”
]
I am indebted to Mr. Stephens for the description and the accompanying
sail plan.
J. M. James, Vice-Commodore of the Imperial Model Yacht Club, of Tokio,
Japan, is enthusiastic in praise of lacquer as a coating for the outside
skin of yachts. He says that all the club’s models have their topsides
and bottoms lacquered; and after numerous experiments for testing those
thus treated against painted craft an increase of speed, amounting to
ten per cent., was found in favor of the lacquered ones. A model yacht
once well lacquered, with care and barring accidents, will last a
lifetime and retain its luster. He says that all the Japanese naval
ships have their bottoms lacquered. The lacquer gives increased speed
and almost prevents fouling, and if properly put on lasts for three
years. The only drawback is that the process is very expensive.
Here is an opportunity for some enterprising individual to experiment
with lacquer. If he proves successful he will gain the gratitude of
yachtsmen. Incidentally, he will also win a large pecuniary reward.
In the matter of a compass the racing yachtsman should be careful. In
thick weather, when steering for a mark, it is necessary that the
deviation for every point should be known. In wooden yachts there is no
difficulty, if ordinary precautions are taken, in keeping compasses
exact. In iron and steel yachts they have to be licked into shape by a
professional adjuster of reputation.
In spite of opinions to the contrary, held by old salts, the compass is
not affected by fog, thunder, or attraction of land. It should be
remembered, however, that magnetism exerts its magical influence through
all bodies, no matter how dense, while light, heat and electricity do
not possess this wonderful property.
Thus, casing an iron bulkhead with wood or covering an iron stanchion
with copper or canvas will not prevent the metal from affecting the
compass. It may be thought superfluous to assert such a well-known
scientific fact in this year of the world, but experience teaches me
that there is still much to be learned by those who go down to the sea
in yachts.
It is not generally known that no iron vessel has been struck by
lightning. The wooden spars have been shattered frequently by the
electric fluid, but, owing to the circumstance that water is a better
conductor than iron, the hull of an iron vessel has never suffered. If
the spars of an iron ship are made of iron, the vessel may be looked
upon as immune from disaster by lightning.
As soon as your craft is fitted out place her in commission, and proceed
to become acquainted with her. Prizes are won only by hard work, and if
you intend to make a record for yourself and your craft you can attain
your end by honest industry only.
Part of the sea-jockey’s stock in trade is to discover how slow a yacht
may be made to go with every stitch of sail set ostensibly to the best
advantage, with sheets pulling like horses and trimmed to perfection. It
is only the most subtle and knowing customer that can so master a yacht
as to excel in this. The most accomplished proficient I ever knew was
the skipper of the Scotch ten-ton cutter _Madge_, which came over in
1881, and created a great revolution in yachting. That man could make
the boat almost speak. By manipulating the sheets, slacking one or
flattening in another, and by other tricks unknown to this deponent, I
have seen him allow an oyster-boat to beat the crack racing cutter. The
name of that canny skipper was Duncan. The Yankee captains who sailed
against him are not likely to forget it.
I remember reading somewhere about a yacht skipper of experience who
fooled a younger rival and caused him much unhappiness during a hotly
contested race on the Solent. It was blowing a piping breeze, and
_Sally_, the rival craft, had one reef in her mainsail and the topmast
struck. _Bantam_, on the other hand, was the stiffer of the two, and
held on to the whole mainsail, but also dowsed topmast. _Sally_ had
passed _Bantam_, and was leading her some fifty yards. Both yachts were
at that time sheltered by the land, but a few hundred yards ahead a big
sea was running in the West Channel.
It was at this moment that the sly old sea-dog played his low-down trick
on the green young skipper, who was watching his every action.
“Up with the topmast, lads!” yelled Captain Sly of the _Bantam_.
His crew made a great pretense of swaying away on the heel rope, but
somehow or other it got jammed and stayed jammed, in spite of the
apparent efforts made to clear it.
Captain Green thought he would be smart. He sent up his topmast in
seamanlike style. The topsail was set just as the _Sally_ encountered
the heavy sea in the channel. She made one dive and buried herself up to
the skylight. The pressure was too much for her. In an instant
_Bantam’s_ topmast was housed, and all the gear fast again, and while
_Sally_ was pitching and ’scending in the choppy sea _Bantam_ crawled
through her lee and beat her. Captain Green was so demoralized by the
trick of which he was the victim that he did not regain his
self-possession until it was too late.
Captain Sly was convinced that Captain Green would imitate him in
everything, and the result proved that he had formed a correct estimate
of his opponent.
It is not wise or politic to undervalue the sailing qualities of an
opposing yacht, especially when she is practically an unknown quantity.
In other words, don’t prophesy unless you know. Here is a case in point:
When the _Madge_ was about due to sail her first race in these waters,
the skipper of her Yankee opponent is said to have paid a visit to
Sawyer, the sailmaker, and asked for the loan of some flying kites.
“Any old stuff will do,” quoth the skipper. “I’ve only got to knock out
that narrow-gutted coffin anchored yonder.”
The sails were lent by Mr. Sawyer, and it is needless to say that they
did _not_ fit “like paint on a post.” The “coffin” beat the “skimming
dish” with singular ease.
I put this little yarn on record only just to show the contempt the
average American yachtsman had at that time for the epoch-making
_Madge_.
The proper balancing of sails is imperative when racing. To illustrate
my meaning I need only refer to the decisive race between _Vigilant_ and
_Valkyrie_ for the _America’s_ Cup, which all but resulted in the
winning of the race by the British yacht. In point of fact, _Valkyrie_,
had not her two spinnakers blown away, would have romped in
victoriously. In the beat to the outward mark _Vigilant_ carried a
reefed mainsail and a big jib, and, for the first time in her history,
required lee helm. This blunder, in addition to her centerboard becoming
jammed, made _Valkyrie_ beat her 1m. 55s. on the windward leg.
_Valkyrie_ had a half-reef in her mainsail, but shifted her jib and set
one whose center of effort was in exact accord with the reduced
after-canvas. _Vigilant_ won by forty seconds only, and had it not been
for the _Valkyrie’s_ hard luck would have been badly defeated.
On July 13, 1889, the _Katrina_, while racing against the _Titania_ in a
reefing breeze, carrying a big jib and a reefed mainsail, suffered a
like deserved defeat. Under her ill-balanced sail-spread, for the first
time in her history, she, too, carried lee helm, and sagged off to
leeward like a haystack adrift. She made a pitiable exhibition of
herself, and all hands rejoiced when her main boom snapped off and
permitted her to withdraw without disgrace. Meanwhile _Titania_,
splendidly handled by Captain Haff and Mr. C. Oliver Iselin, sailed over
the course and won the race.
[Illustration:
FORTY-FOOTER “GOSSOON.”
]
It is interesting to note that the mishaps to both _Katrina_ and
_Vigilant_ occurred on the 13th of the month.
The jibtopsail when a yacht is close-hauled is of very little use,
especially in a bit of a breeze. Some skippers set what is known as a
“baby-jibtopsail” when the wind is very light. It is questionable if the
sail is of any benefit at all under such circumstances. In my opinion,
the sail makes the boat’s head sag off to leeward, lee helm being the
result. If no such sail were made, I think it would never be missed. Of
course, with the wind free the jibtopsail, from its most diminutive size
to its most extreme balloon development, is a very valuable sail.
In taking note of the speed of boats the length should be considered. I
remember that the 40-footer _Gossoon_, the conqueror of the Scotch
cutter _Minerva_ in 1890, without any tide to help or retard her, made
in a race I saw an average of nine knots an hour. This means that to
accomplish this feat she had to run her length in 2¾ seconds. A little
reflection will show that this is a remarkable achievement for so small
a vessel.
It may be mentioned here that a nautical mile, a knot, and a
geographical mile are one and the same thing. A knot equals 1.15 statute
miles. Multiply the number of knots by 1.15, and you have the distance
in statute miles. There are 6,080 feet in a knot; 5,280 feet in a
statute mile.
Chronometers should be kept free from damp, dust, and draughts. When
winding turn the key steadily, avoiding any jerky action. Most of them
require seven and a half turns of the key. Wind slowly and steadily as
far as the mechanism will permit. Wind punctually at the same hour every
day. A chronometer that has run down, on being wound up again, will
probably not start until it has been quickly but not violently slued
half round and back again. This is easily done by placing the instrument
on the table, and turning it horizontally between the hands. Take care
that the instrument has neither too much nor too little side-play in the
gimbals. A standard compass stowed away, while in port, close to a
chronometer has been known to ruin the going of the watch, the powerful
compass needles having by induction magnetized the steel portion of the
balance. Do not stow a chronometer close to an iron bulkhead, an iron
vessel’s side, the upper or lower end of a vertical iron stanchion, or
within eight feet of compass compensating magnets. The chronometer case
should not be screwed down to a table containing drawers which might
possibly be used to hold spare compass cards. Chronometers should be
kept away from iron almost as religiously as compasses.
Jolting in a railway train or a conveyance of any description is liable
to alter the steady going of a chronometer. The quick jerk of a boat
propelled by oars is still more likely to prove injurious. If,
therefore, a chronometer has to be taken from one place to another in a
pulling boat, it should be held free in the hand by the leather straps,
taking care to avoid a circular motion. When traveling by train place
the instrument on a pile of overcoats or rugs, in such a position that
it will not fall. Marine chronometers are intended always to be kept
strictly horizontal with the face up. Never allow a chronometer to run
longer than four years without having it overhauled by a first-class
workman. If it is a new instrument, it should be looked at after a year
or eighteen months.
[Illustration:
“AMERICA,” 1899.
]
V.
DUTY AND DISCIPLINE AFLOAT.
THE SHIP’S COMPANY IN DETAIL FROM THE SKIPPER TO THE SEA-COOK.
To cruise with pleasure from port to port and to win races—the yacht
owner must remember that he can do neither unless his sailing-master
thoroughly understands his business. Whether amateur or professional,
the skipper must be a man of dash and daring tempered with a modest
_soupçon_ of discretion, active, vigilant, with his weather eye wide
open at all times and seasons. He must have the knack of handling men so
as to get every foot-pound of energy out of them that is in them. He
should be a strict, but not necessarily a stern, disciplinarian; and he
should have sufficient diplomatic instinct in his make-up to know when
to wink at a slight lapse on the part of a generally capable and
faithful blue-jacket.
The personnel of the racing yacht is of the greatest importance, and, if
not of the best, the career of the vessel is not likely to be crowned
with the laurels of success. The man in command must have the rare gift
of personal magnetism, the art of inspiring enthusiasm, of compelling
victory. A cool head is no less necessary than are nerves of steel. He
must be a splendid helmsman, a good practical seaman and skillful
navigator.
A man possessed of all these attributes commands high wages and deserves
all he can get. The discipline of his yacht is perfect. Everything goes
with the precision of clockwork, at sea or in port. He is prepared for
every emergency that may arise when at anchor or under way, and is never
caught napping. Keeping a watchful eye on the interests of his owner, he
is also careful of his crew, being fully aware of the evil consequences
of a discontented forecastle, and knowing that sulky or surly sailors
never yet were conducive to the capturing of sea trophies. A good
skipper must therefore be a good judge of human nature, alive to the
idiosyncrasies and frailties of sailors, who have in good sooth as many
whims and vagaries as silly schoolgirls in the transition stage of
development. In fact he should be quite a past master in the cunning art
of “jollying along.” It is astonishing what a number of men there are
who possess all these qualifications. Modest, unassuming men, skillful
navigators and seamen they will prove to be, and you can avail yourself
of their services for a moderate compensation.
There is no fixed scale of wages for a yacht skipper. The sailing-master
of a large steam yacht may be paid $3,000 a year, while the skipper of a
racing 51-footer might think himself lucky if he gets $80 a month with
the prospect of being paid off when the yacht goes out of commission.
This practice of engaging a skipper for the season seems to me to be
short-sighted policy. It cannot be expected that a captain hired for
three months only will take more than a passing interest in the vessel.
He would be more than human if he lay awake nights, scheming how to save
his owner money. Whereas, an honest, conscientious skipper, assured of
receiving living wages all the year round, will more than earn his
salary by the extra care he takes of the yacht. He naturally looks upon
the vessel as a prime source of revenue. He realizes that it is to his
interest to run her as economically as possible, to keep her in thorough
repair and order at the least possible cost, to make life aboard her as
pleasant as possible to his owner and his guests, to win as many prizes
as he can if the boat is a racer, or if simply a cruiser to get her
talked about for a phenomenally fast passage from one port to another,
for beating a rival of approximate size by a handsome margin, or for
successfully reaching her destination in a heavy blow, when other boats
were glad to scud under bare poles for a harbor. These little acts if
performed with tact, make an owner prouder than ever of his yacht and
more appreciative of the services of his skipper.
Permit me to illustrate. A friend of mine several winters ago purposed
to buy a schooner and fit her out for a West Indian cruise. He provided
himself with a number of tickets of admission to several vessels laid up
in a dock at South Brooklyn. He invited me to accompany him on a
prospecting tour. It was a dirty day, sleet, snow and wind being the
objectionable features that confronted us.
Our first port of call was the office of the dock, where we found a man
in charge who examined our credentials and sent to a neighboring tavern
for the “ship-keeper,” who he said had “gone to lunch.” In about half an
hour this functionary made his appearance, and piloted us to the pier
where several schooners which we desired to look at were moored. We
boarded the first on our list, a cruising vessel of some celebrity,
whose owner desired to sell her, as he was building a steamer. The decks
were deep with water, the scuppers being obstructed. Everywhere were
signs of disgraceful neglect. The binnacle was a mass of verdigris.
Costly and artistic wood carving was without protection from the
weather. The handsome companionway of mahogany was without a canvas
cover. Going below we found everything mildewed and musty. The bedding
in the berths was damp. Water trickled from the deck beams. What really
had been a most attractive interior presented an appearance of dampness
most dispiriting, as well as every evidence of decay. It was indeed
pitiable to see such a fine vessel in so sad a plight. We passed on, and
inspected two other craft whose condition was only slightly better, and
which presented few attractions from a purchaser’s point of view.
The next yacht we visited was in marked contrast to the others. A
handsome, sunburned man greeted us at the gangway, and after we had
explained our mission, invited us below. He was the captain of the
schooner, he told us, and was spending the winter aboard of her.
Stepping down into the cabin we saw a snug and cozy saloon, a cheerful
fire burning in the open grate, everything bright and spick and span, as
though the yacht was in Newport at the height of the season. A pretty
young woman was at work at a sewing machine, while a pampered Persian
cat basked luxuriously on a handsome rug in front of the fire.
“This is my wife, gentlemen,” he said, and then he showed us all over
the vessel from right forward to right aft. The staterooms were in
perfect order, not a sign of damp or mildew anywhere. Everything was
clean and spotless as a new pin. We found that the skipper had been in
charge of the yacht from the day of her launch, that he and the steward
and a boy lived on her every winter and kept her in thorough order
outside and inside.
We were shown the logs of several deep-water cruises she had made,
together with track charts of the voyages. We were entertained with an
intelligent and interesting description of the yacht’s behavior in a
hurricane off Bermuda, given with a wealth of seamanlike detail, which
we both hugely enjoyed. It was evident that the skipper was a firm
believer in his boat, and that he had tended her with care and loving
kindness from her christening to that day. He explained that his owner
had married a woman who hated the sea, and that the vessel was in the
market at a reasonable price.
That schooner now flies my friend’s private signal, and that same
skipper is still her sailing-master, and, according to his employer, is
worth his weight in gold. This practical illustration may demonstrate
the advantage of employing a sailing-master by the year and not by the
season.
Every word I have written about a skipper applies, in the case of a
steam yacht, to the engineer. And if possible, still more strongly, for
the deterioration of marine engines left without care or protection is
both rapid and, I need hardly add, costly in the extreme.
I strongly advise a yacht owner who thinks he has the skill and
knowledge requisite for the command of a yacht, to assume command
himself and dispense with the services of a professional sailing-master.
Let him ship a competent man as mate and give him to understand that his
duty is to carry out the owner’s orders, and simply to act as executive
officer. It is impossible that a yacht can have two captains and turn
out a cup winner. Jacob found two wives in the same house quite
incompatible; and the discipline of a racing craft with the owner and
the sailing-master both issuing commands at the same time is not
unlikely to be lax, and with lax discipline races cannot be won.
The treatment of the sailing-master by the yacht owner varies according
to the temperament and disposition of the latter. A gentleman is
incapable of rudeness to an employé—especially to a man holding so
responsible a position, and in charge of such a valuable piece of
personal property as a yacht. The judicious owner always treats his
skipper with respect. If he desires to preserve proper discipline
aboard, he will let the crew see that the captain has his entire
confidence. The owner, therefore, should always give his orders to the
skipper, who will then communicate them to the crew. For instance, if he
wants a boat lowered he should not sing out to the crew to lay aft and
lower the launch. That would be a grave breach of yachting etiquette.
The correct course to pursue is to tell the captain that he wants the
boat, and leave to him the issuance of the necessary commands for the
carrying out of his wish. This may seem a small matter, but it is really
of importance. If neglected, it is subversive of discipline. The owner
should always address the master as Mr. ——, never as “Skipper” or “Cap,”
as is too often the case aboard a certain class of craft conducted after
slipshod methods. The men should always address the sailing-master, and
also the mate, as “Sir,” and no departure from this rule should be
tolerated. The sailing-master should be held responsible for any breach
of discipline on the part of the crew, and his authority should always
be sustained by the owner.
I have seen more than one sailing-master who, not content with
tyrannizing over the crew, held the owner in complete subjection. It may
be readily surmised what kind of worms these owners were. But take yacht
skippers by and large, the average is worthy of confidence and respect.
The percentage of black sheep among them is almost infinitesimal. The
same remark applies to the mates and the men.
The following hints to sailing-masters were written by a dyspeptic
martinet of a yacht owner, but there is much good sense in them. They
are hung up in his sailing-master’s berth:
1.— Never curse the crew. The owner will do all the swearing.
2.— Should the owner or any of his guests not use tobacco, never smoke
to windward of him or them. Have the goodness to step to
leeward.
3.— Always be at the gangway when the owner comes alongside. No matter
how warm it may be, do not receive him in your shirt-sleeves.
4.— Have a memorandum of all the stores in your department. Do not
rashly answer, “There is none on board,” without consulting your
list when asked for an article required.
5.— There are yachts afloat whose owners are run by the
sailing-masters. This yacht is governed differently.
6.— If the sailing-master is at any time dissatisfied with the owner
or the yacht he has an unfailing remedy, and the sooner he
avails himself of it the better.
7.— The owner trusts that pleasant relations will always prevail
between the sailing-master and himself.
Having secured your skipper let him ship the crew. If your yacht is a
large vessel you will need a mate. In the interest of harmony it is
advisable to let the skipper have some say in the matter of his
selection. It will be advisable to look over his credentials, with a
view to finding out if he is competent to take charge of the vessel in
the event of any accident befalling the captain. If you contemplate a
blue-water voyage, be careful that the mate is a navigator and has the
requisite license. If deprived of the services of your skipper by any
unforeseen cause, it would be awkward to find yourself, say, a thousand
miles from land, with nobody aboard capable of finding the vessel’s
position otherwise than by dead reckoning—a hit or miss method always
unreliable.
The wages of mates vary. Some of them are paid $10 or $15 a month more
than the men, whose pay ranges between $25 and $30 a month. This is much
more than is paid to English yacht sailors, who have to feed themselves
out of their pay.
The mate’s duty is to take charge of the yacht when the master is below.
When the master is on deck the mate’s station is forward. He
superintends the setting, taking in and trimming of sails, and in a
general way carries out the skipper’s orders. He is a very important man
in a race, for then the captain’s place is at the helm and the mate is
responsible for the proper working of the vessel and the prompt setting
of balloon sails. If any of the running gear gets foul or parts he is
tolerably certain of a brisk dressing-down, especially if the mishap
causes the loss of the race. The reason of this is because he has charge
of all the gear and sails and spars, and is responsible for their being
always in good condition.
The mate superintends the work of getting under way, sees the head-sails
clear for hoisting, looks after the windlass, sees that the hose is
played on the chain cable if the vessel has brought up on muddy bottom.
Also when coming to anchor he sees that the mud-hook is clear for
letting go, all halyards ready for lowering, booms in good shape for
swinging out, and the boats in good condition for lowering. The captain
is in command of the starboard watch, and the mate takes hold of the
port watch. In long runs the watches are set as in ocean steamers, the
men taking two-hour tricks at the helm and the same on the lookout.
The mate, as executive officer, superintends the washing down of the
decks in the morning, and is held responsible for the yacht’s ship-shape
appearance. If any “Irish pennants” are seen towing overboard or if
there is a speck of dirt anywhere to be found, the mate is brought up
with a round turn. A good mate is invaluable, and if he and the
sailing-master work in harmony together, the yacht, so far as discipline
is concerned, will be perfect, and the vessel will be a pleasant one for
all hands. The mate in large steam yachts has generally the charge of
the launch, bringing aboard guests and taking them ashore. It is
imperative that he should have a thorough knowledge of the art of
boat-handling and that he should be a smart, all-round man in every
detail.
Only very large craft carry a boatswain. His duty is to care for the
rigging and “pipe the side.” Personally, I like to hear the cheery sound
of his whistle. It reminds me of old times. The boatswain nowadays finds
no occupation for his “call” on a racing craft.
Great Britain and the United States are the leading yachting nations of
the world. The yachting flags of both countries have been seen in nearly
every harbor of the globe. France, Italy and Germany have during the
last decade made some noticeable progress in the pastime, but neither in
racing nor in cruising have they accomplished anything of real
significance.
For instance, how galling must it have been to the patriotic pride of
the German Emperor to be forced to sail his imperial racing cutter,
_Meteor_, designed by a Scotchman and built on the Clyde, with a crew of
Hampshire and Essex sailors. But stern necessity compelled him. The
German seaman has many merits, but he doesn’t show up to advantage
aboard a racing cutter. One would have thought that the Emperor would
have trained a crew of Germans especially for the task, but the idea
either did not occur to him or was judged not to be feasible.
He might have followed the example of our countryman, Mr. C. Oliver
Iselin, the managing owner of the _Defender_, who in 1895 turned the
tables on certain of his British critics, who had declared that no
American crew could possibly beat the trained British yacht sailors who
formed the crew of the _Valkyrie_. These seamen, all hailed from
Wivenhoe or Brightlingsea in Essex, had sailed in cutter yachts in the
summer and cutter-rigged fishing smacks in the winter from boyhood, and
were indeed the flower of the racing sailors of England. Captain
Cranfield, one of the smartest skippers afloat, had drilled them for
several seasons. They were pronounced invincible by recognized
authorities.
In previous contests for the _America’s_ cup the crews of the _Puritan_,
_Mayflower_, _Volunteer_ and _Vigilant_ were composed largely of
Scandinavians, concerning whose ability as seamen I have nothing to say
except in praise. It was the general idea that without the Scandinavian
element the battle was lost. Mr. Iselin undertook to expose the fallacy
of this notion. Without disparagement of the excellent yacht sailors
hailing from Danish, Swedish or Norwegian ports, he determined to prove
practically that the native-born American sailor, when properly licked
into shape, makes as fine a yachtsman as ever trod a deck or broke a
biscuit.
Accordingly Captain Haff was sent to Maine, and there the veteran
skipper shipped an American crew worthy of the saucy Stripes and
Stars—active young fellows who had never sailed on pleasure craft but
had followed the sea on fishing schooners and coasting vessels. After
being drilled by Captain Haff for a few weeks they became as smart and
efficient a crew as ever tailed on to a mainsheet or manned club-topsail
halyards.
I had many opportunities of comparing them with their British opponents,
and I pledge you my word as a sailor and a gentleman that one crew was
as smart as the other in setting or shortening sail and in all marine
manœuvres. It was a surprise to many, but nobody was more astonished
than Captain Cranfield, who admiringly admitted the ability and
efficiency of the boys from Maine who manned the _Defender_.
This achievement opened the eyes of the British critics and showed them
of what our raw material is capable. It was also a surprise to many of
our racing skippers, who were laboring under the delusion that
Scandinavian sailors alone are capable of manning our yachts. Never was
a greater error. The native-born American, when properly trained, makes
as smart a yacht sailor as ever walked a deck.
Most of these Maine sailors, judging from their names, belonged to the
great Anglo Saxon race whose deeds afloat are written on the bright
pages of sea history. America has reason to be proud of her seafaring
ancestors. The infallible law of heredity and the no less assured
principle of the survival of the fittest have been well exemplified
among the dwellers on the British coasts. The bold sea-dogs of the West
Country to-day are fitting successors to those sturdy semi-pirates who
under the flag of Frobisher, of Drake, of Raleigh and of Hawkins shed so
much glory on the nation they upheld and so much of the enemy’s
life-blood. The smugglers and privateers of the southern and eastern
coasts may justly be classed as the progenitors of our racing yachtsmen.
For be it remembered that speed was the prime necessity of their means
of livelihood. The contests between revenue cutters and luggers were
continuous struggles for sea supremacy. If a lugger was captured by a
cutter, the keel of what was hoped to be a still faster lugger was laid,
and so the war went on. British privateers generally got the best of
their Gallic opponents. Nelson crushed Great Britain’s foes at sea as
effectually as Wellington defeated her enemies ashore.
In the war of 1812 America proved her naval superiority by many a heroic
deed. Until the devastating cruise of the _Alabama_ our mercantile
marine was our national pride. It is true that our mercantile fleet of
to-day is by no means what it ought to be, but it is also a fact that
our fine coasters and fishing vessels, although manned by a large
percentage of foreigners, are, as a rule, commanded by native-born
Americans. Those of our countrymen who follow the sea for a livelihood
soon rise in their profession. The somewhat scanty emoluments offered
are sufficient reasons for deterring the average ambitious American
youth from seeking his fortune afloat, but should more liberal
inducement ever be offered, the sea-loving Yankee will be to the fore
again.
That the raw material is at hand was proven by the adaptability of the
Maine men to be transformed into efficient yachtsmen in so short a time.
Had the Emperor of Germany tried to convert some of his seafaring
subjects into a crew for the _Meteor_, he might have met with a far
different result.
Sailors are a queer lot, and good ones are to be found in every maritime
country. In their native climes a crew of lascars, hard as nails and
agile as monkeys, cannot be surpassed. Ship them aboard a vessel bound
to the English Channel and due there in midwinter, and you might just as
well have a ship’s company of frozen earwigs. In the Bay of Bengal, blow
high or blow low, you couldn’t wish for smarter sailors. I speak from
personal knowledge, having had command of a smart schooner engaged in a
certain lucrative trade on the Coromandel coast and in the China seas,
the precise nature of which I decline to divulge, but which called for
quick work. Never have I sailed with a more satisfactory crew than
Abdool, the Serang, and his twenty alert followers. They made that
schooner talk. In the Bay of Biscay they would have been as useless as a
dead steam-engine. They were the most economical sailors I ever
knew—five rupees a month and a modest ration consisting principally of
curry and rice. I wonder in what seas my faithful Abdool and his lithe
and dusky shipmates are cruising to-day, for I am writing of thirty
years ago, when I was a little spryer on my pins than I am at present.
The selection of a crew, especially for a deep-water cruise likely to be
of long duration, is an important piece of business. The skilled
skipper, from long experience, possesses the instinctive faculty of
picking out the right men from a small army of applicants. This, too,
without any unnecessary delay. A short talk, a glance at papers, and the
trick is done. A sea lawyer has no chance of being shipped. The skipper
detects him at once. He knows that breed. The inexperienced yacht owner
cannot appreciate what troubles he is saved from by the wise selection
of his ship’s company. One sea lawyer with the pestilent gift of the gab
will infect a whole forecastle full of honest and well-meaning men, just
as one sheep with the rot will taint a sound and healthy flock. The
incessant wagging of his jaw, his perpetual growlings like a bear with a
sore head, are as likely as not to breed a mutiny, or, at any rate, to
make a floating hell of that part of the vessel that is forward of the
foremast. Such a man will grumble even if he gets roast beef and plum
duff three times a day and a “nobbler” of rum every hour of the
twenty-four.
It is well, therefore, to exercise due care in shipping your crew if
bound on a globe-circling expedition. Some owners insist that candidates
for berths aboard their ships shall undergo a medical examination, in
order to make sure that they are physically fit for a long voyage. This
is, in my opinion, a wise course to pursue, for sickness at sea is like
a wet blanket on the pleasure of a voyage, and no owner wants to ship a
sailor unfit to fulfil the duties for which he signs articles.
A crew intended for the usual coastwise cruising and racing, taking part
in all the events of the season for which the yacht is eligible, should,
of course, be selected with care. You will often see the same crew stick
to a yacht for years. They are paid off at the close of the season, get
through the winter as best they can, some of them subsisting on their
summer savings, others shipping on coasting vessels or fishing craft, or
even finding odd jobs to do ashore. When the yacht goes into commission
at the beginning of the following summer, there they are to be found
aboard of her, and ready for anything that may turn up. Smart and steady
men are always in demand, and when they leave the yacht in the fall they
get the tip from the sailing-master to report for duty in the spring.
The prudent yacht owner, when preparing for a deep-water voyage, should
ship a crew as small as possible for the proper working of the vessel.
Every device for the economizing of labor should be adopted. In these
days, when a crew of six, all told, sail a big fore-and-aft cargo
schooner, a large ship’s company is not absolutely necessary aboard a
yacht of moderate size. It is easier to keep a small crew in good health
than a large one, especially when cruising in the tropics. The
necessarily limited space at the disposal of the “jackies,” in spite of
all the modern contrivances for their convenience and comfort, causes
some forecastles to be unhealthy. Without taking into consideration the
saving of money in the wages of men not absolutely necessary for the
handling of the yacht, the owner is likely to get more solid comfort out
of a small, contented crew of picked men than he would out of a large,
injudiciously selected crowd of sailors. The fewer the mouths to feed
the more stores and water for each can be carried. Personally, I would
rather have twelve good men to work a large schooner, than a score of
indifferent lubbers and skulkers masquerading under the names of able or
ordinary seamen.
These may seem to be revolutionary notions in these days of kid-gloved
skippers and large crews. But let us go back half a century or so, and
see what the custom was in the brave old days of the Yankee schooner
_America_. In her historical voyage to England in 1851 she was commanded
by Captain “Dick” Brown, with Nelson Comstock as mate, and only six men
before the mast. Messrs. George Steers, James Steers and young Henry
Steers were the passengers, and these, of course, lent a hand when
required. But there were no more cats aboard than could catch mice.
The _Sappho_, a much larger schooner, sailed from New York to Falmouth
in July, 1868, the time of her passage being fourteen days. She was in
charge of Captain T. P. Baldwin, a retired merchant skipper, two mates,
and six men before the mast, none of whom were yacht sailors. Judging
from the logs of these two representative schooners, no difficulty was
experienced in handling them, and both made excellent passages, the
_America_ reaching Havre in seventeen days and a half, in spite of the
retarding circumstance that she carried only the small sails of the
pilot boat _Mary Taylor_, a wonderfully fast schooner built by Mr.
George Steers.
Mr. E. F. Knight, the English yachtsman, has some very sensible things
to say on this subject, and, as he speaks from wide experience, my
readers will be interested in his remarks. He says:
“It is my opinion that there should not be a single yacht sailor on
board the foreign-cruising 50-tonner. It is difficult to get the right
ones, and it will be bad for the owner if he fall in with the wrong
ones—men who have been spoilt by foolish employers, for instance; a
numerous class, I fear. We all know them. Smart-looking fellows enough,
maybe, but shirkers of honest work. They prefer to ship on show yachts
belonging to owners who like to exhibit themselves and their vessels in
the fashionable yachting ports each season, but who are not sailors in
any sense of the word, and have no real love of the sport, following it
only for the swagger of the thing. Men who have served such owners would
prove a great nuisance on an ocean cruise, and would not be likely to go
far. I have heard such hands grumbling on a friend’s yacht because they
had to pass one night at sea instead of in some port where they happened
to have friends. They look to frequent tips from the ‘governor’s’
visitors, and to other less legitimate perquisites. These they cannot
get in mid-Atlantic, so it is not the place for them.
“Hands from fishing-boats, sailing barges and small coasters, are the
best men for the foreign cruiser of small tonnage. Among these, one is
not likely to come across spoilt and pampered mariners, and they are
accustomed to roughing it, and to the shifts of short-handed craft. But
were I undertaking a lengthened tropical voyage I think I should ship my
English crew simply for the run over to my first West Indian or South
American port, and there engage a negro crew. These blacks are excellent
fore-and-aft sailors, easy to manage, and always happy and ready for any
amount of hard work, if kindly but firmly treated; while they are, of
course, far better fitted than white men to withstand the debilitating
influence of sultry climates, an influence, which, as everyone knows,
has caused the ruin of many a good British sailor, driving hitherto
sober men to injure their health by excess whenever they get shore
leave.”
Sir Edward Sullivan, Bart., who saw the _America_ win the cup that bears
her name, over the Cowes course in 1851, and has been a devotee of the
sport ever since, says: “Yacht sailors, as a rule, are sober, honest,
obliging, goodtempered, original. During the many years I have yachted I
have had crews from north, east, west, and south, and I have almost
without exception found them the same. A man must be hard to please,
indeed, if after a three or four months’ cruise, he does not part from
his crew with regret, and with a genuine wish that they may meet again.
Amongst yachting skippers I have come across some of the most honorable,
trustworthy, honest men I have met in any class of life, men who knew
their duty and were always willing and anxious to do it. The chief
peculiarity of all the seafaring class that I have been brought into
contact with, is their entire freedom from vulgarity. They are obliging
to the utmost of their power, but never cringing or vulgar.
“The winter half of their lives is spent in fishing-boats or coasters,
or sea voyages, where they have to face dangers and hardships that must
be experienced to be realized. As a rule they are religious, and their
preparations for the Sabbath, their washings and soapings and brushings,
show with what pleasure they welcome its recurrence. Yacht minstrelsy,
with its accordion, its songs of twenty verses, its never-ending
choruses, its pathos, is a thing of itself. Some day, perhaps, some
Albert Chevalier will make it fashionable. Such as they are, I know of
no class of Englishmen superior, if any be equal, to the sailors who man
our yachts. Of course, there are sharks, or at any rate dogfish, in all
waters, but where the good so immensely outnumber the bad, that man must
be a fool indeed who gets into wrong hands.”
With these sentiments I most cordially concur.
The yacht owner will engage his cook and his steward to suit himself.
Some seagoing _chefs_ of steam yachts get bigger pay than a commodore in
the navy, while many stewards have grown wealthy out of their
perquisites. With these men I have nothing to do. They belong to the
owner exclusively, so let him deal with them as he may see fit. The
ship’s cook, however, is a most important functionary, and every canny
skipper tries to ship a thorough “tip-topper,” who will feed the boys
“high,” while at the same time taking care of the owner’s interests by
guarding against waste. A cook of genius will on a pinch “create” a
savory dinner for all hands out of what may appear a most unpromising
batch of materials, and I am glad to say that cooks of genius are by no
means scarce. The Japs make excellent cooks, and so do the Portuguese.
Hungry sailors go in for hearty fare. Beef and beans, pork and peas,
clam chowder, roast joints, and plenty of fresh vegetables are their
principal dishes, but they by no means despise the ice cream and the
cabin delicacies which fall to their lot on cruises when there is a
heavy sea, and landsmen feel more like throwing up their commissions
than taking in ballast.
“The internal economy of a yacht,” says Sir Edward Sullivan,
“constitutes one of its greatest charms. Your cook with only a little
stove for which a shore cook would scarcely find any use will send you
up an excellent dinner cooked to perfection for any number of guests.
And the steward! who can describe the work of a yacht’s steward? I doubt
whether Briareus with his hundred hands could do more than a steward
does with two. At seven in the morning he is ashore for the milk, and
the breakfast, and the letters, and the flowers; he valets half-a-dozen
people, prepares half-a-dozen baths, brushes heaven knows how many
clothes, gets the breakfast, makes the beds, cleans the plate, tidies
the cabin, provides luncheon, five o’clock tea, dinner, is always
cheerful, obliging, painstaking, and more than repaid if occasionally he
gets a _petit mot_ of compliment or congratulation. When he ever sleeps
or eats I never can tell; and far from grumbling at his work he often
resents the assistance of any shore-going servant.”
I have quoted the above at length because it is in my judgment the best
description of a _good_ cook and a _good_ steward ever written. What
yachtsman cannot testify to the truth of every word? I have sailed with
a _bad_ cook and an utterly worthless and incompetent steward, and my
imperfect knowledge of the English language does not permit of my
adequately describing the inevitable horrors and discomforts attending
the martyrdom of my shipmates and myself. Therefore let us draw the
curtain down on the unsavory subject. But nevertheless let us resolve in
the interest of our brother yachtsmen never to give a misleading
recommendation or certificate of character to either a bad cook or a
worthless steward. If the first-named is a “grub-spoiler” masquerading
under the guise of a _chef_, and the other is a sham and a fraud,
hesitate not to brand them correctly and thus prevent them from imposing
on others. Have backbone!
In England there is a regular schedule of racing wages—a system which
has not been adopted as yet in this country. The skipper gets five per
cent. or ten per cent. of the value of the prize won, while every member
of the crew is given $5 if you win and $2.50 if you lose. In addition to
this expense, bounteous supplies of beef, soft tack and beer are
generously dispensed on race days, while on other occasions the crew
supply their own rations.
The life of a yacht sailor is by no means hard. From twenty to thirty
dollars a month and good grub should be attractive to the foreigners
who, for the most part, man our pleasure fleet, and who would earn
considerably less than half that sum in the vessels of their native
mercantile navy. There are so many smart and deserving men in the
market, that a yacht owner has no difficulty whatever in engaging a
satisfactory ship’s company.
[Illustration: [Yacht fender]]
VI.
A DOWN-TO-DATE YACHT RACE,
IN WHICH MAY BE FOUND SOME NOTEWORTHY EXAMPLES OF THE SEA-JOCKEY’S ART.
Sailing as a visitor on a racing yacht is delightfully exciting. Let me
transcribe from my log-book the yarn of the contest between the _Ghost_
and the _Phantom_, two modern 51-footers. Stowed away between the lines
may be found a wrinkle or two of value to the novice. So here goes:
The bell on the _Phantom_ was striking eight as the gig rounded her
graceful stern and brought up at the starboard gangway. The cutter had
been completely “skinned” for the fray, as she was to compete for a
valuable prize offered by the club. Everything had been taken ashore
that the racing rules permitted, including books, cabin fittings, the
cooking stove, deck scrubbers, buckets and brooms, mops, and other
impedimenta comprised in the equipment of a properly fitted yacht. The
cabin was bare—“cleared for action,” as the owner observed.
[Illustration:
“Phantom.”
]
“All you will get to eat to-day won’t trouble your digestive organs,” he
continued. “The steward has made a box of corned beef sandwiches, and
that will be our plain and simple fare, with a toothful of grog to wash
the grub down, and a pipe to settle everything. Today all hands fare
alike, forward and aft, for we shall have no time to waste in devouring
luxurious kickshaws. We must win that cup.”
From the critical view of an expert yachtsman, everything was in
ship-shape fashion for the race. There wasn’t an ounce of superfluous
weight aboard. The very crew seemed to be characteristic of the vital
elements of the vessel, namely, strength and lightness. Their muscular
agility was displayed to advantage a few moments later, when, manning
the throat and peak halyards, they spread the superb mainsail to woo the
wind, which, at this time, wasn’t particularly strong. I noticed that
the skipper did not “sweat up” the halyards too taut, but prudently
reserved that process for a few minutes before weighing anchor, allowing
the soft, warm breeze to expend its influence on the sail and stretch it
evenly and gently before the final pull was given.
The skipper sent the mate aloft to pass a preventer lashing round the
gaff and masthead, so as to be prepared for the unfortunate contingency
of the parting of the throat halyards. This is a precaution seldom
taken, but Captain Marlin’s custom is to take no risks, and to be ready
for every possible mishap. Judging from the appearance of the sky at
that time, it did not seem probable that the halyards were to be
subjected to any heavy strain; but the weather cannot be relied upon,
and the carrying away of the throat halyards has lost many a race which
a preventer might have saved.
The club-topsail was handled next, in seamanlike style. It is a
difficult sail to set properly at any time, and, when spread or dowsed
in a fine sailing breeze, has made many a lubber use strong language.
This particular piece of duck was mast-headed cleverly and silently, as
is always the case in a yacht commanded by an able skipper and manned by
a competent crew.
Speculations are indulged in as to the outlook. Yachts about to compete
in other classes are criticised, and many sage observations, made by the
sailors concerning wind and weather, find their way aft to the
quarter-deck, where the owner and his amateur tars are smoking their
pipes and discussing and prognosticating the coming events of the day.
The parting drag is given to the halyards, the head-sails are made
ready, and the anchor is hove short.
It is half an hour before the time announced for the start, and we know
that the Chairman of the Race Committee is no trifler and that the
preparatory gun will be fired sharp at the hour appointed. The outlook
is promising. A fine sou’wester blows, ruffling the blue waters of the
bay and making the small craft dance to the merry music of wind and
wave. There is a goodly fleet at anchor and a large throng of visitors
is seen on the veranda of the club-house, on the green lawn that almost
kisses the water’s edge, and on the float, which is nearly surrounded by
steam and naphtha launches, gigs, dinghies and other tenders. From a
look aloft at the fleecy clouds and straggling mares’ tails that sail
along in the cerulean sky, the breeze shows every sign of freshening as
the day grows older; and the inevitable weather prophets, one or two of
whom can be found in every yacht’s crew, talk sagely of single reefs and
coming squalls.
Our yacht is a down-to-date 51-footer, fitted with all modern appliances
for the winning of cups, including a fin-keel that would scrape the
bottom at a depth of more than ten feet, and frightens many a flounder
from his feeding grounds. Witch-like she looks, as she tugs at her
anchor eager to be off. Everything alow and aloft is taut and trim. Her
standing rigging is set up as tight as bars of steel. Not a wrinkle
shows in her well-cut mainsail, set just as it ought to be, with no
abnormal strains visible in throat, peak or after leech, and not a
symptom of bagginess in the whole symmetry of the sail. Above this the
huge club-topsail is spread, stretching ambitiously skyward, and this,
too, is a choice example of the sailmaker’s skill. The head-sails are
ready for hoisting. The big jibtopsail is set in stops ready for
breaking out as we cross the line, for the first leg of the triangular
course is a reach with the wind abeam, and we shall have to carry on
sail like a China clipper to get to the first mark before our
antagonist, the _Ghost_, whose best sailing point is reaching or
running.
Our boat, the _Phantom_, though built from the same design as the
_Ghost_ and carrying the same amount of sail, is the better at beating
to windward. Once get her sheets trimmed in close-hauled to a breeze,
and she will look up as high as any yacht afloat, and, what is more, you
can rely on the saucy jade to fetch and weather any mark she points for.
The _Ghost_, though phenomenally fast with the wind free, is not quite
so good at windward work as we are, judging from her behavior in four
former races, when we have given her a good dusting with the breeze dead
in her teeth. But once get the _Ghost_ a-going with the wind anywhere
from abeam to right aft, and the way she slides through the sea is
exasperating to her opponents on the _Phantom_, who have often had to
contemplate with annoyed admiration the shapely contour of the beauty’s
counter.
Who can satisfactorily account for the difference in the speed of the
two boats? They are like shoes made from the same last, of the same
material and finish. Why is it that one boat beats to windward better
than the other, and that the other reaches and runs faster than her
rival? Nobody has yet offered a satisfactory explanation of this
peculiar state of affairs, which yachtsmen know to exist in all classes
of one design.
But here we are, aboard the _Phantom_ thirty minutes before gunfire. Our
sportsmanlike owner and our seamanlike skipper are well qualified for
the coming strife. They know the course like their A, B, C. They are
acquainted with every tide-rip and current likely to be encountered. The
sailing directions are explicit. The crew, amateur and professional, are
old hands at the business, and if the _Phantom_ doesn’t win the cup and
the side bet from the _Ghost_, why, all hands will be down in the dumps
at the end of the race.
But there is no mention of that dastard word, defeat. Owner and captain
and crew have an abiding confidence in the yacht and in each other, and
all hands are imbued with enthusiasm and zeal. This is apparent in every
animated glance, in each cheery “Aye, aye, sir,” in response to orders,
and in every active movement of body and limb.
All hands have been through the mill before and are accustomed to pull
together. The skipper knows the “hang” of the boat; he fully understands
how to trim sail to the best advantage—just how much sheet to give to
induce the highest rate of speed. The boat herself is balanced like a
druggist’s scales, and is responsive as a sentient being to the
slightest touch of the helm. The gear is of the best.
[Illustration:
“GHOST.”
]
“Now, Captain Marlin,” says the owner, “we’ll get up the anchor and take
a short trial spin across the bay, just to limber things before
starting.”
“Break the anchor out, boys,” says the skipper, “and stand by to hoist
the head-sails.”
In a few minutes the anchor is on deck and the foresail and jib are
hoisted to the fast-increasing breeze. Away we go on the starboard tack,
heeling over till the water boils up in the lee scuppers and an
occasional spray comes inboard on the weather bow.
As we pass through the fleet at anchor many admiring eyes examine us
critically from quarter-deck and bridge; and many binoculars are leveled
in our direction as we swiftly glide toward the open bay, where we shall
feel the true force of the breeze and see whether the club-topsail will
be too much for her with sheets flattened in.
Captain Marlin is at the helm, with the owner beside him. Both view the
sails with expert glances, quick to discover imperfections in fit or
trim. The mainsail retains its shape admirably, because it has been
beautifully stretched by a sailor and not “monkeyed with” by a
countryman from an inland village. The jib is pulling magnificently, and
the foresail is attending strictly to business.
As soon as we reach the bay, away from the shelter of the protecting
headland, we get the full strength of the wind, which, indeed, pipes
high. A squall strikes us, and we careen under its influence till the
lee rail—a mere batten—is almost awash. The skipper luffs a little until
the fore leech of the mainsail quivers, but this seems to deaden the
_Phantom’s_ way very little. She is off, with a gleaming white bone in
her teeth and showing a great burst of speed.
[Illustration:
A STERN CHASE.
]
“Ready about!”
“Helm’s a-lee.”
The boat swings into the wind like a top, and before you can say Jack
Robinson she is filled and away on the other tack. But only a yachtsman
can appreciate the smart handling of the craft. The setting up of the
topmast-backstay while the vessel is in stays is work for men who are
actually alive and haven’t a lazy bone in their bodies. The same remark
applies to trimming the head-sheets. Of course there are “belaying
marks” showing where they are to be made fast, but smartness must
prevail first, last, and all the time in these days of rapid-spinning
boats.
And so back we fly through the squadron, most of them now under way. We
luff up in the wind’s eye for a minute or so and get another pull on the
jib halyards, sweating them up quite hard. We see the jibtopsail clear
for breaking out from the stops; and while we dodge about with
head-sheets hauled to windward, waiting for the preparatory gun, we see
the _Ghost_ making for us and realize that if we are to secure the
advantage of the windward berth and first away we must keep our weather
eyes skinned.
And mighty pretty our sleek-looking rival appears, with the sun shining
on her creamy sails just new from the loft, but bearing the impress of
artistic design and splendid fit. The only difference between _Ghost_
and _Phantom_ is that the first-named is painted black, while _Phantom_
is resplendent in a snow-white garb. Captain Spike, the _Ghost’s_
skipper, a bronzed, bearded man of massive build, is steering, and as he
passes under our stern we wave our hands or doff our caps in courteous
salute. For although both ships are manned by sturdy fighters, yet we
heartily respect each other, as gallant and honorable foes are wont to
do in the domain of yachtdom.
“Bang!” goes the preparatory gun, which conveys the information that our
class will start in five minutes. Our owner had timed his watch by the
chronometer on the club boat early that morning, and both timepieces
agree to a fraction of a second. It is to be a flying start, and the two
rival skippers, Spike and Marlin, are equally famous for getting away
with the gun, and both are past masters in the art of sea-jockeying for
a commanding position on the line. It is most interesting to watch the
manœuvres of the two captains. The yachts circle round and round each
other like two kittens at play, while the owners, with watches in hand,
call out the time.
“One minute gone” says our owner. “One minute gone,” repeats the alert
skipper; “hard-a-lee!” About she goes once more. “Two minutes gone,” is
soon heard, followed by another tack. “Three gone!” Then an anxious
pause. “Four gone!” says our owner. We are at this time some
considerable distance from the line, but fast approaching it, although
our foresail-sheet is hauled to windward. To leeward, and a dozen
lengths astern, is the _Ghost_.
“Four minutes fifty seconds,” says our owner.
“Let draw the foresail; break out the jibtopsail,” are the skipper’s
next commands, and for the ten seconds that follow we are all on
tenterhooks. If we cross the imaginary line between the committee’s
steamer and the mark-boat before the signal is given we shall have to go
back and cross the line again. It is indeed an anxious moment.
“Fifty-five seconds, fifty-six, fifty-seven——”
“Will they never fire?” think I.
“Fifty-eight, fifty-nine——”
“The gun!”
“Hurrah, hurrah! you gauged her beautifully,” says the owner to the
skipper, on whose mahoganized mug there grows a gratified grin.
“_Ghost_ is ten seconds after the gun,” observed the owner, “but I guess
she’ll pick that up and more too, on this leg, alone.”
The _Phantom_ is now hissing along with the wind on the port beam, the
main boom well eased off, the jibtopsail doing gigantic work, and the
other sails contributing their share toward impelling the fairy-like
fabric onward to the next goal, six nautical miles away. Not a quiver or
a wrinkle in all the vast expanse of muslin extended to the breeze. The
yacht’s sharp cutwater cleaves the blue sea, making little or no
disturbance, but the fleecy foam travels aft with the speed of a
mill-race and leaves a glittering wake astern. All the crew have come
abaft the mast, and are up to windward as far as they can get. The yacht
heels over in the puffs at times until the lee rail is under, and the
water occasionally threatens to bubble up to the skylights, but never
gets there. It is indeed glorious racing. Nobody has the slightest idea
of shortening canvas. What she can’t carry she must drag.
The skipper keeps his eyes on the sails and on the compass. He never
dreams of looking astern to see how his friend Captain Spike, of the
_Ghost_, is coming along. No yacht-racing skipper ever does look astern
while he is steering. It would be a breach of an old tradition
unpardonable in a professional. Our owner, however, watches our opponent
quite carefully, and confides to me in a whisper that he fears she will
overhaul us and pass us to windward before we reach the mark at the end
of the first leg. “It is in the beat back from the second mark that we
shall have him at our mercy. We are considerably faster to windward in a
blow like this, and if it pipes any harder he will have to take in his
club-topsail, and then he is our meat, sure,” he added.
But there is no sign of shortening canvas on the _Ghost_. Captain Spike
will hang on to the great sail until the topmast goes over the side
rather than be beaten at “cracking on” by Captain Marlin. As a matter of
fact, _Ghost_ stands up to her work very well indeed, heeling over to
the pressure of the puissant breeze only a mere trifle more than
_Phantom_.
Other boats are competing in the regatta—a number of crack schooners and
some of the new-fangled knockabouts—all of which carry single reefs in
their mainsails and small jibs. It is evident, too, that even with this
moderate sail they have as much as they can stagger under. We, however,
have too much to do in the way of paying attention to our own craft and
our immediate opponent to particularly regard the doings of the rest of
the fleet.
One thing that strikes me exceedingly is the splendid way that _Phantom_
steers. One of the old-time racing boats would have been yawing about in
rampant style in a breeze as potent as is now blowing. The helmsman
would have all he could do to keep her on her course, the prevailing
tendency of the ancient type being to gripe to windward most damnably.
Yacht architects have made great progress since then, and the modern
craft are balanced so exquisitely that they show little or no proneness
to gripe, even with the wind abeam or on the quarter. _Phantom_ carries
her rudder nearly amidships, only taking a spoke or two of weather helm.
Captain Marlin steers her with one hand, and keeps as cool as a
cucumber.
Meanwhile _Ghost_ crawls up on us, inch by inch and foot by foot, her
aim being to pass us to windward and to blanket us. This we will never
permit without a hard fight.
We are now half way to the first mark, the wind continuing true and
strong—an ideal breeze for racing. The sea is not steep enough as yet to
do us any harm when we trim in our sheets for the final beat; but before
this shall come to pass we have a leg to sail with the wind dead aft,
and even now the men are making sure that the spinnaker gear is all in
readiness for setting that enormous sail immediately after rounding the
first mark. We are going to do our prettiest to get the better of
_Ghost_ at the turn, and the yacht that gets the spinnaker boom down
first and the sail broken out most quickly has a big advantage.
I can’t help remembering how a mishap to her spinnaker caused _Valkyrie
II._ to lose her last race with _Vigilant_, and I express a silent but
fervent hope that nothing untoward may occur to stop the smart setting
of our own good sail.
But now the sly and swift _Ghost_ is crawling up, pointing her bowsprit
for our weather quarter, with the intent, if possible, of establishing
an overlap and a consequent blanket. This leads to a luffing match which
is mighty interesting while it lasts. The more we luff the faster we
fly, and at last we get so far ahead that we are able to bear away on
our course again and still maintain the lead.
Now, what do you think is the next artful move of the skipper of the
_Ghost_? That fellow is as cunning as a wagonload of monkeys. Seeing
that he cannot pass us to windward, he eases his sheets a little, and,
with a great spurt of speed which fairly took our breath away, walks
through our lee like lubricated lightning and tries to luff up across
our bows and so get the weather gauge.
But it isn’t Captain Merlin’s watch below exactly. That ancient and
tarry one has his eyes wide open and his wits all about him. He also
luffs in time to establish an overlap, and so he balks the blanketing
dodge of Captain Spike, who is thus hoist with his own petard. This
skirmish shows the advantage of getting the lead at the start. Had
_Ghost_ crossed the line first we could never have caught her, but as it
is we are able to prevent her from passing us. And to the undying fame
of our sterling skipper, by the exercise of all the devices known to the
sea-jockey, we actually round the mark first!
As we whirl round the raft from whose flagstaff the club burgee is
noisily flapping, the main boom is eased off handsomely by the owner and
myself, while the rest of the boys busy themselves with the spinnaker.
As the boom is lowered, the sail neatly done up in stops is smartly
hoisted to the topmast head. The after guy is hauled aft, the outhaul is
manned, and with three tugs on the sheet the big sail bellies to the
blast and pulls nobly.
Now a more powerful puff than ever smites the _Phantom_. Its force makes
the spinnaker boom up-end and the spinnaker itself puff out like a
balloon. But both spar and duck are of the best and no misfortune
befalls them. The balloon jibtopsail now takes the place of No. 2, so
that if the wind shifts we shall be ready for it. When this is done all
hands lie aft so as to lift her bow as much as possible, while not
burying her counter, and, standing up so as to catch every breath of
wind that is going to waste, are regaled on beer and sandwiches, which
the steward passes round. He, like the willing and zealous fellow that
he is, has been pulling and hauling with the rest of the crowd, and is
puffing like a porpoise after the unusual exertion.
In planning the day’s campaign it has been settled that we shall steer a
direct course from the first to the second mark. We know that we have no
chance to run before the wind so fast as the _Ghost_, which is now only
twenty seconds astern of us, and is bound to pass us in spite of
everything. Thus, we waste no time in jockeying.
And glide past us she does, silently and slowly like the ghost that she
is, her spinnaker and main booms forming the base of a lofty pyramid of
canvas, arched out to the swelling breeze. The lapping waves break in
milky foam under her counter, the spray sparkling like diamonds in the
golden sunshine. Her crew look proud and exultant at their victory.
But the demon of despair affects us not. We know what our stanch and
noble craft will do when we haul on a wind for the final homeward
thresh. So we light our pipes, and grin and bear our temporary defeat
like the stoics of old. Meanwhile, we recollect that we shall have to
gybe round the next mark and realize that this will be quite a ticklish
job in so stiff a breeze. To luff round a stakeboat is easy as eating,
but to swing over a main boom as long as ours from one quarter to the
other with the huge club-topsail aloft requires coolness, skill and
judgment. Besides, we want to make as clever and close a turn as
possible, so as not to be swept too far to leeward before flattening in
sheets and starting on our long windward beat.
All has been provided for, however. We see all hands on the _Ghost_
taking in the balloon jibtopsail and getting ready to dowse the
spinnaker, for now the stakeboat looms mighty near and the great
struggle of the day is at hand.
“Take in the jibtopsail!” cries our skipper, and this is an easy task,
for the enormous sail is almost becalmed. It is soon spilled, stopped up
and bundled below. Foresail and jib are neatly set and their sheets
trimmed down to the marks.
“See the spinnaker gear clear for taking in,” is the next command. And
this being done, there is silence for the next minute or two. All hands
gather round the mast. One hand stands by to let go the outhaul, another
the halyards, while all get ready to grapple with and spill and smother
the bellying duck and bring it into subjection to the deck.
We are almost on top of the mark when the skipper sings out: “In
spinnaker!”
As the outhaul is slacked, the men, grabbing the foot of the sail, lug
it in, and, spilling the wind out of the flapping canvas, wrestle with
it and victoriously overcome it, until it lies an inert mass at their
feet. The boom is then topped up and all hands lie aft to tend the
mainsheet, which is stretched along the deck to rally in quickly. The
jib and foresail are set already and trimmed down to the marks. A couple
of men stand by ready to “come up” the topmast-backstay and get it set
up on the other side before an undue strain comes on the spar.
“Now, boys, haul in the mainsheet,” says the skipper as he shifts the
helm so as to bring the wind on the other quarter. Hand over hand the
men drag in the boom, pulling as if for dear life. The wind pipes so
breezily that the skipper has as much as he can do to gybe the boat so
as to make a close turn round the mark and carry away nothing.
The boom comes over with a whirl and a rush, and is checked by a turn
round the cleat. The yacht flies up in the wind, but is met with the
helm and the head-sails, and there we are, close-hauled on the port
tack, with three strakes of the lee deck under water and a devil of a
strain on the topmast. The yacht, as she comes to the wind, takes a
header into a big green sea and floods the deck. This is her first fault
of the day, and we cheerfully forgive her, not minding the wetting, and
making up our minds for a hard tussle home against wind and sea.
Now that we have fairly settled down to windward work, we have time to
look after our opponent. We see that she, too, has rounded without
parting a rope-yarn. She is ahead of us, and a wee bit to windward. We
notice that she is being “nipped,” the luff of her mainsail shaking all
the time. She isn’t quite so stiff as we are, and her immense
club-topsail will bury her if her skipper will only give it a chance. He
is afraid to take it in, for he knows that before he could get his
“thimble-header” set we should work out half a mile on his weather, so
he sails her close, and prays that the wind may lull.
Captain Marlin, on the contrary, gives it to _Phantom_ hammer and tongs,
letting her go clean through the water with the sails ramping full. The
decks to leeward are wet, but little does that concern us, for we know
that when we go about on the other tack we shall be able to cross our
rival’s bows, unless she also goes about. And so it comes to pass. The
next “board” assures us that the race is ours, unless we get crippled.
We plant ourselves on the weather of the _Ghost_ and stick to her, tack
and tack. We keep her jammed under our lee, in chancery, as it were; and
there she remains until we cross the line, a winner by 2m. 42s.
We come to anchor, furl the sails, send in a certificate that we have
complied with all the sailing rules of the match, and hoist another
winning flag to join our already long string. Then the steward is sent
ashore, and he quickly returns with a fine feed for the crew, which is
vastly enjoyed by them, after drinking a “horn” apiece to the further
success of the _Phantom_ and her owner.
VII.
RACING RULES AND THE RULE OF THE ROAD.
SOME IMPORTANT POINTS THAT AMATEURS AND PROFESSIONALS SHOULD BEAR IN
MIND.
It is gratifying to all lovers of the sport that race committees now are
in the habit of starting the yachts exactly at the time advertised—that
is if wind and weather permit. The old custom of waiting half an hour or
so for lazy laggards to reach the line is happily going out of fashion.
As a general rule, there is no plausible excuse for a yacht being late,
as under ordinary circumstances arrangements can easily be made for
arriving on the scene, either in tow or under sail, in good season for
the start.
Nothing adds more to the popularity of a yacht club than a race
committee that knows its business, starts the race punctually as
advertised unless prevented by the weather, takes the time accurately of
each craft as she crosses the line, sees that the racing rules are
obeyed, and after the race is finished promptly posts up a list of the
winners. Above all, the committee should make sure that all mark-boats
are in their places before the starting signal is given. I once knew a
race committee—but there, I won’t tell tales out of school.
I hope it will not be held as presumptuous on my part if I ask the race
committees to treat yachting reporters with courtesy. They are sometimes
seasick; they generally would feel much happier ashore. They may
sometimes appear too eager and zealous for information; but their motive
is good, they are anxious to “file early copy” and thus avoid their
editor’s wrath. The members of the club like to see good reports of
their races in the public press, and this end is rarely achieved by
insulting or snubbing a newspaper man, who after all is a human being,
if not of such high degree as a haughty member of a race committee.
Besides, the newspaper man dissembles his wrath, bides his time; and
when his opportunity arrives doesn’t he just roast his insulter?
Members of race committees should keep their eyes open all the time.
They should try to become familiar with the general appearance of each
competing yacht so that she may be identified without the aid of her
number. They should be quick to detect any breach of the rules and
should unhesitatingly punish offenders. Punctuality with the gun is a
cardinal virtue, and strict impartiality is another. In this country, up
to 1898, the decision of the race committee has always been final, there
having been no court of last resort like the Y. R. A. of Great Britain
to appeal to. I am proud to say that very few unsatisfactory decisions
have come under my notice.
As yacht racing is a gentleman’s sport, it is needless to lay stress on
the yacht owner’s obligation to live up to its ethics, to observe the
racing rules in spirit and letter, to be sparing in the use of the
protest-flag—indeed never to display it unless he is convinced that
there has been an undoubted violation of the rules. After he has made
his protest he should not withdraw it, but allow the race committee to
adjudicate upon it. The protest must be made in writing.
A writer in the _Yachtsman_ some years ago, while discussing the whole
subject of protests, suggested that a good way of checking the
unsportsmanlike habit of hoisting a protest-flag without sufficient
cause, would be to compel a competitor displaying the flag to deposit
the sum of £1 with the sailing committee, which should be forfeited to
the club fund in the event of the protest being withdrawn, and only be
repaid in the event of the protest being decided in favor of the
protesting party. This, in my judgment, is a capital suggestion and
should be adopted whenever the time is ripe for it. The upholders of the
maxim, “When in doubt, hoist a protest-flag,” should be brought up with
a round turn. A better maxim is, “Be sure you are right, and then go
ahead.”
There is, however, one point which I wish to make. Not so long ago it
was common report that the owner of a yacht in a class where shifting
ballast was prohibited, habitually carried bags of shot in his cabin and
when the breeze was heavy placed them on a shelf to windward, so as to
increase the boat’s stability. The charge was never investigated.
Whether true or false, I know not. If true, the offender should have
been expelled from the club and from the society of gentlemen generally.
If false, the same justice should have been meted out to his
calumniators. In my opinion, the case called for the fullest inquiry.
The practice of being measured with three light men aboard as crew and
sailing the race with three heavyweights, was begun by certain
unscrupulous tricksters. This was, however, stopped summarily by a hard
and fast rule, defining the limit of live weight to be carried.
The race committee, if it sees any transgression of the sailing rules,
should disqualify the offender, whether a protest is made or not. For
the honor of our yachtsmen be it said, that, generally, if they commit
any breach of the rules, such as fouling a mark, they voluntarily report
the incident to the officers and thus there is no need of an accuser.
An owner above all should make it his business to see for himself that
the taxable length of his yacht is never increased. Remembering the
unhappy Dunraven episode, he should not make charges against his
opponent which he is not prepared to substantiate by most convincing
evidence. A gentleman is as chivalrous concerning his antagonist’s honor
as he is about his own. If not, he ought to be. At the same time, if he
observes any “sharp practice” on the part of a competitor, it is his
duty to expose it in the interest of true sport.
A racing skipper should have the racing rules at his fingers’ ends. For
instance, if his yacht is sailing in the annual regatta of the New York
Yacht Club, he must take care that the vessel’s private signal and her
number are displayed according to the rule; that no more persons are on
board than permissible by Rule 8; that a boat and two life-buoys are on
deck.
I remember having been a guest on the cutter _Mayflower_ in her race
against the _Volunteer_ for the Goelet cup, when a mistake was made
about a boat, which, if it had not been rectified in time, might have
led to our disqualification. We carried a small boat on deck, but
finding it rather in the way when working ship, we passed it down the
skylight into the main saloon. One of Commodore E. D. Morgan’s guests
pointed out that the rule stated plainly that the boat must be carried
_on deck_. In a jiffy the offending boat was lugged up out of the cabin
and placed where it rightfully belonged.
The skipper must study the sailing instructions with critical care; he
must not forget that, the preparatory signal once made, the yacht is
amenable to the racing rules until the end of the contest; that a yacht
going free keeps clear of a yacht close-hauled; that a yacht
close-hauled on the port tack keeps clear of a yacht close-hauled on the
starboard tack; that when going free on opposite tacks, the yacht with
the wind on the port side keeps clear; that when going free on the same
tack the windward yacht keeps clear; that a yacht with the wind aft
keeps clear of all others; that when yachts which overlap are rounding a
mark or passing an obstruction, the outside yacht must give room to and
keep clear of the inside yacht.
He should remember that a yacht on the port tack can be disqualified if
she strike or be struck by a yacht on the starboard tack, also if the
latter luff, tack or bear away to avoid being struck. This is a most
important rule, because if a breach of it occurs, the yacht responsible
for it is not only disqualified but is liable for any damage that may
result.
When yachts approach an obstruction close-hauled, and the leeward yacht
cannot tack and clear the windward yacht, the helmsman of the leeward
yacht should hail for room and the two yachts must then tack together.
An overtaking yacht must keep clear of an overtaken yacht, which may
luff but must not bear away out of her course to obstruct the passage of
her competitor to leeward. If a yacht runs ashore, or fouls a vessel or
other obstruction, she may use her own boats and gear to get clear, but
she must take them aboard again, and is forbidden to accept help except
from the crew of the vessel fouled. This rule is, however, qualified by
another, which declares that when accidents occur competing yachts must
assist to save life.
A yacht must be propelled by sail alone after the preparatory gun. If
she is late and is being towed toward the starting line when the
preparatory signal is given, she may be disqualified. Tardy owners and
skippers should keep tab on this. A yacht may anchor during a race, but
she may not slip. She must not warp or kedge, or make fast to a buoy,
pier, vessel or other obstruction. The government regulations regarding
lights and fog signals, shall be observed by day and by night.
These are the principal rules which the skipper should never forget if
he desires to achieve or maintain a reputation. One thing I want to
impress upon him is that in any emergency when his vessel may be in
peril, it is his imperative duty to follow the regulations of the rule
of the road at sea, as prescribed by international law, and disregard
any racing rules that in the slightest degree conflict with a literal
interpretation of this rule. If he fails in this duty his owner is
responsible for any and all damage incurred by his vessel or by the
vessel he collides with. In an admiralty court the racing rules of a
yacht club or a yacht-racing association are disregarded. The case is
judged by standard rules of law that prevail among all seafaring
nations. Those who break the law must pay the penalty thereof. I cannot
impress this little legal maxim too strongly on both owners and
skippers.
[Illustration: [Ship’s wheel]]
[Illustration:
“VIGILANT.”
]
VIII.
EVOLUTION OF THE RACER.
HOW TONNAGE AND MEASUREMENT RULES HAVE AFFECTED FORM IN AMERICA AND
GREAT BRITAIN.
The growth of the English cutter from its cradle, on the south and east
coasts, where the fantail stern was created, is an interesting study.
From the _Pearl_, designed by Sainty, the smuggler, for the Marquis of
Anglesey, down to the modern yacht of 1899, it is apparent that the
evolution of the craft was slow and gradual until about 1880, since when
strides of unprecedented length have been taken. Up to 1880 yacht
designing advanced sluggishly, both here and abroad, but the progress of
the art could be marked by the intelligent student, even as a trained
forester can tell the age of an oak from a section of the trunk. The
more closely you observe, the more clearly are you convinced that the
naval architects of both countries have for some time been converging to
a common goal. This goal they now seem to have attained.
In order to give an intelligent summary of the development of the racing
yacht of to-day, it is necessary, as we progress, to take note of the
measurement or tonnage rule which caused the change in the form of the
yacht.
The yacht of the early part of the century was an apple-bowed craft of
about three beams to length, ballasted with stone, gravel, or old iron.
Competition was restricted to matches between two yachts, the bigger
craft, other things being equal, usually winning. The first rule was
derived from the mercantile marine, and had been in force since 1794. It
was one in which length of keel and fore-rake, and the breadth at
broadest place, were the only dimensions that were measured. It did not
matter how high or how low the vessel was in the hold, half-breadth was
taken to represent the depth, in calculating tonnage. The tendency of
this rule was to make vessels high, narrow, and flat-sided, in order to
get as large a carrier as possible with the smallest registered tonnage.
This was called builder’s tonnage, and was in vogue until 1854 in the
mercantile marine. It was applied to yachts simply as a guide for
building them or for their purchase and sale. Up to 1854 there was no
time allowance whatever. Big and little yachts raced together
indiscriminately, and, of course, the larger boats had the advantage. It
struck Mr. Holland Ackers as being somewhat of an anomaly, so he
proposed a table of time allowances between large and small yachts, the
basis being the difference in size, as measured by the merchant-ship
tonnage rule, as given above, and the length of the course.
[Illustration:
Photo by J. C. Hemment.
“DEFENDER” IN DRY DOCK.
]
To evade the heavy harbor dues, etc., to which merchant vessels were
liable under the 1794 tonnage rule, shipbuilders naturally reduced beam,
which was penalized twice over, and increased depth, which was not taxed
at all, thus creating a vicious type of vessel. Yacht builders followed
suit, gradually increasing draught and decreasing beam. Then came the
raking sternpost, introduced about 1850 by Wanhill, of Poole, which gave
on a given length of keel a much longer water-line. Outside lead
followed.
In 1854 the “Thames Rule” was adopted, by which the length on deck was
measured and from this length the whole beam was subtracted.
This system did fairly well till heavy lead keels were introduced. Then
builders and owners found that with a lot of length and depth yachts
could carry sail enough to make them faster and more powerful vessels
than their predecessors, the reason being because they were far larger
in reality, carrying about 25 per cent. more sail and ballast, whereas
if the actual draught of water had been used as a factor in defining the
tonnage no such abortions as this rule encouraged would ever have been
built.
The apple bow and barrel-like bottom flourished in England until 1851,
when the schooner-yacht _America_ created a revolution in British yacht
naval architecture. Then, following the shape of that memorable craft,
the long, hollow bow became the fashion.
In 1878 the Yacht Racing Association decided that the length should be
measured on the load water-line instead of on deck. This was principally
owing to the circumstance that designers, in order to cheat the rule,
had adopted such devices as a ram bow and an immersed counter.
[Illustration:
“THISTLE,” NOW “COMÈTE,” EMPEROR OF GERMANY, OWNER.
]
The yachts continued to get longer and narrower and deeper until, in
1882, the Yacht Racing Association adopted a rule a trifle easier on
beam; and in 1887 a rule was formulated in which length and sail area
alone were penalized, beam being left free from any tax whatever. It is
interesting to note that the first yacht built that took advantage of
this rule was the _Thistle_, which challenged for the _America’s_ Cup in
1887 and was defeated by _Volunteer_. _Thistle’s_ beam was 20.3 feet,
while that of _Genesta_ and _Galatea_ was 15 feet. A comparison of two
crack English craft and two smart Yankee yachts of the year 1893 shows
how close Mr. Herreshoff and Mr. Watson were coming:
_Length L. W. L. Feet._ _Beam. Feet._
_Britannia_ 87.8 23.66
_Valkyrie II_ 86.8 22.33
_Navahoe_, C. B. 86.93 23.00
_Vigilant_, C. B. 86.19 26.25
[Illustration:
“VOLUNTEER.”
]
Still more significant are the measurements of _Valkyrie III._ and
_Defender_, both keel Craft:
_Length L. W. L. Feet._ _Beam. Feet._
_Valkyrie III_ 88.85 26.20
_Defender_ 88.45 22.20
It will be seen that not only did the American designer discard the
centerboard, but he gave his craft less beam than the British boat. I
remember when both vessels were hauled out in the Erie Basin, Brooklyn,
the American yacht was generally mistaken for the English, and vice
versa; this, too, by experts looking on from a distance too remote to
distinguish the names on their sterns.
In 1892 the leading yacht designers of Great Britain, realizing the
rating rule then in vogue, wrote to the Yacht Racing Association
suggesting that the rule be so modified that a type of vessel having
more body be evolved. In the same communication they said, defining what
the general public requires in a yacht:
“That she shall be safe in all conditions of wind and weather, that she
shall combine the maximum of room on deck and below with the minimum of
prime cost, and that she shall be driven as fast as may be, with the
least expenditure of labor, _i. e._, that she shall have a moderate and
workable sail area. Therefore, as but few men can afford to build for
racing, and for racing only, and as the racer of to-day is the cruiser
of a few years hence, any rating rule should, by its limitations,
encourage such a wholesome type of vessel.”
[Illustration:
Photo by J. C. Hemment
“VALKYRIE III.” IN DRY DOCK.
]
The Yacht Racing Association, on the other hand, held the view that what
the yacht-owning public want in a racing yacht is speed first, last, and
all the time, no matter what the cost. The only change made at that time
was in the measurement of the fore triangle and marking the load
water-line forward and aft.
[Illustration:
Designed by Watson, 1894.
“ELLEN”—20-RATER.
]
_Thistle_ was the first big English racing cutter with a clipper bow.
Her advent caused much critical comment among the experts, whose eyes
had become so accustomed to the “cutter stem” that they fairly blinked
when they first gazed on the new Clyde craft.
Mr. Watson, writing about the defeat of the _Thistle_ in 1894, says:
“Her surface was so cut down that sufficient lateral plane was not left
to hold her to windward, and although she sailed the water as fast as
the American champion, the _Volunteer_, she drifted bodily to leeward.”
After Mr. Watson had realized the superiority of _Vigilant’s_ model over
that of _Valkyrie II._, he designed the 20-rater _Ellen_, which I
reproduce from a photograph. It will be noticed that her form is
strikingly similar to that of _Vigilant_. Of a verity, imitation is the
sincerest form of flattery!
With the long overhang forward, the running bowsprit was abolished. The
modified cutter rig thus resulting is practically the same in both
America and England. Bobstays are now bars of steel or iron, and
bowsprits are comparatively short when compared with those that used to
project from the bows of the straight-stemmed cutters.
The clipper bow was gradually altered and modified until the present
stage was reached.
That sterling old British racing skipper, Captain Tom Jay, talking about
the modern cutter, with her cutaway forefoot and raking sternpost, being
an awkward craft to handle in a seaway, said: “Believe me, sir, it’s not
always so much the craft that’s awkward as the people that’s in her. Of
course, being so easy to drive, they reach faster than the old-fashioned
vessels, and that makes them drive harder into the seas; but that is
mostly a matter of the canvas you set. Of course, the worst time is when
you’re sailing a point or two free, because they go their ten knots, and
that means that they throw it about a bit.”
[Illustration:
BOW, 1892.
]
In our own country the measurement rules have also had a dominant
influence on the form of our racing craft as they appear in 1899.
[Illustration:
STERN, 1892.
]
[Illustration:
MIDSHIP SECTIONS OF FIVE ENGLISH CUTTERS.
]
[Illustration:
THE CUP CONTESTANTS.
The lower lines are approximately those of the English cutters, except
in the case of “Valkyrie III.,” which is wider and shallower than
“Defender.”
]
Monstrosities with fin-keels now monopolize the races in the larger
classes, while scows and ingenious nondescripts, which sailors would
never mistake for boats, control all the sport in the smaller classes.
How to give the owner of the honest boat a fair show, while at the same
time dealing justly with the owner of the racing machine, is a problem
that seeks for solution at the hands of constituted yachting
authorities. The present fleet of “freaks” is due in the first instance
to the want of foresight displayed by the clubs in not legislating
against them when they first made their appearance. Naval architects are
only human, and they cannot be blamed for taking advantage of any and
every ill-considered rule adopted by the clubs. For instance, when beam
was taxed in Great Britain the result was the long, deep and narrow
craft which so long prevailed across the Atlantic. The tax was taken off
beam in 1886, and the consequence was the practical abolition of the
narrow British cutter and the adoption of a beamier type of craft. At
the present time beam as a factor is utilized in much the same way both
in this country and in Great Britain. Until some sage discovers what is
absolutely the best type of yacht, we shall continue to go beating about
the bush.
There is no doubt that a rating rule can be so framed as to make any
particular type come into vogue, and in the end that type is bound to be
pushed to extremes. Experience has shown that when this stage arises in
an acute form the standard of rating is altered. This has been the case
in the United States ever since the sport became established. When the
New York Yacht Club was organized in 1844 the yachts were rated
according to Custom House tonnage, first-class sloops allowing 35
seconds a ton and second-class sloops allowing 45 seconds a ton to their
inferiors. This system was in force for only two years. In 1840 a
startling innovation was made. It was neither more nor less than getting
the actual weight of the yachts, which was computed by the revolutions
of screw-jacks placed under the keel of the boat when in dry dock. Here
is an example culled from the club’s archives:
[Illustration:
“VOLUNTEER” AND “THISTLE.”
]
[Illustration:
“VIGILANT” AND “VALKYRIE II.”
]
YACHT “SYREN.”
Weight of boat 115,776 lbs.
Weight of keel 3,400 lbs.
Weight of rudder 219 lbs.
———————
Total 119,395 lbs.
Racing measurement, 53 tons 6
cwt. 9 lbs.
From these data the allowances were computed. This queer rule was in
vogue until 1852, when a widely different regulation was adopted. Sail
area alone was taken into account, the following being the allowance:
First class—Over 3,300 square feet sail area, 1 second per foot.
Second class—Between 2,300 and 3,300 feet, 1¼ seconds per foot.
Third class—Less than 2,300 feet, 1½ seconds per foot.
[Illustration:
“VALKYRIE II.”
]
The natural result of this rule was the adoption of the light-draught
boats vulgarly designated as “skimming dishes.” It was found that it
took less canvas to drive this type of yacht through the water, and the
consequence was the building of many curious craft whose models may now
be seen on the walls of the New York Yacht Club. Here is a striking
example, which shows how the rule affected the sail area of the yachts.
The schooner _Rebecca_, which, before the rule was made, used to carry a
sail spread of 3,303 square feet, was cut down to an area of 1,306
square feet. This absurd rule was in force with a few modifications
until 1871, when yet another sweeping change was made. This time the
elements consisted of the yacht’s displacement in cubic feet and the
length of the water-line. In 1873 the rule was changed so as to take
into account the cubic contents of the whole hull. In 1883 a plan was
adopted taking into account, as a function of the new system, twice the
water-line length and once the sail area. In 1890 the present rule was
adopted by the New York Yacht Club.
[Illustration:
“VALKYRIE III.”
]
[Illustration:
MODERN TYPE OF FIN.
]
[Illustration:
“DEFENDER” AND “VALKYRIE III.”
]
[Illustration:
Photo by J. C. Hemment
HOISTING “DEFENDER’S” MAINSAIL.
]