Chapter XX (3)

The boat was originally a first-class little lap-streaker of good model, built of teak throughout and copper-fastened; but there were many cracks in her planks and most of her fastenings were loose, and in a general way she might be described as "nail-sick" all over. With the help of a couple of chums I placed her on chocks and shored her up on an even keel, supporting her well, so that she should not suffer from any unequal strain when I filled her later on with water. She was very dirty inside, and I remember it took me the greater part of a day to thoroughly clean her with soap, hot water and a scrubbing brush. Then I put the plug in and started to fill her up with water. Although I had plenty of help from the village boys, who were never so joyous as when pottering about a boat, it took a long time to fill her, for the water poured out of her like the streams from a shower-bath. But her dry and thirsty planks soon began to swell a little and the leaks to diminish. I kept her as full of water as possible for two or three days, marking with chalk every leak that appeared. I may remark that the chocks on which her keel was raised were high enough for me to crawl completely under her bottom and get at every part of her. Her hull, which originally had been varnished to show the grain of the natural wood, was pretty well checkered with chalk-marks by the time I had finished. Then I let the water drain out of her, and waited until she was dried thoroughly by wind and sun.

Meanwhile I bought a lot of copper nails of the requisite length and rooves to match, with the use of which I had become thoroughly familiar from watching the men in the boat-shop hard by.

Then I began operations, aided by an apprentice from the boat-builder's establishment whom I induced, by the proffer of pocket money, to turn out of his bed at dawn and lend me a hand till the clang of the bell summoned him to his daily toil. We replaced all the rivets that had worked very loose with new ones of a larger size, and drove an additional nail between every two originally driven. The old nails, which were only a little slack, I hardened with a few taps of the hammer from the inside, while Toby, the afore-mentioned apprentice, "held on" against the heads of the nails with another hammer on the outside. This was slow and tedious work, but it paid in the long run, for it made the boat almost as good as new, her frames, as I have already mentioned, being in capital condition.

My next operation was to borrow a pitch-kettle from the boat shop and to put in it a pound of pitch and a gallon of North Carolina tar. Kindling a fire under it I let it boil until the pitch had melted, stirring it constantly. This mixture I applied boiling hot to the inside of the boat with a paint-brush, filling every crevice and ledge up to the level of the underside of the thwarts. It was astonishing what a quantity of this composition the planks absorbed. I put only half a ladleful of the tar into my paint-pot at a time, so that it should not stand long enough to cool, replenishing every few minutes from the boiling kettle. Tar when at the boiling point is comparatively thin, and has superior penetrative qualities, so it can be worked with the point of the brush into every crevice, no matter how minute. When it hardens it forms a water-tight seam which possesses, from the nature of its ingredients, a certain amount of elasticity.

There were a number of sun-cracks in the planking, which I filled with fish glue, run in hot from the outside. This composition dries very hard and does not crack. My next task was to sandpaper the outside, smoothing the very rough places with pumice-stone after wetting them well. I ached all over by the time this process was completed but I got her as smooth as glass. Then I gave her outside a couple of good coats of raw linseed oil applied on a hot day. As a finish, not caring to waste money on varnish, I gave her a final coat of boiled linseed oil, in which a generous lump of rosin had been melted. This is the mixture used from time immemorial by the Dutch on the bottoms and topsides of their galliots, and it wears well and looks well, resisting the action of both fresh and salt water. I may say that this method of making my boat water-tight was economical and successful. The example may be followed with similar results by anybody who owns a leaky lapstreak craft.

Another method, as practiced on a St. Lawrence skiff that was badly checked and rotten in places, is thus described by a veteran boatman who made the successful experiment: "The boat was of lapstreak construction, and many of the seams had opened. I went entirely over the boat, first closing the seams as much as possible by drawing together with clout-nails. Next, where there were cracks through the 3/16-inch planking, I cleaned the painted surface, and where the paint had blistered I removed all of it by scraping. When the surface was in proper condition I cut a strip of eight-ounce duck of a length and width to cover the crack (generally 3/4 inch was wide enough) and smeared one side, by means of a stick, with liquid glue. The canvas was applied to the crack and pressed down, and the glue-stick drawn over the raveled ends from the center outward, to make them adhere closely to the boat. Then the canvas and surrounding wood were brushed over with enamel paint. The painting must be done before the glue sets, as otherwise the canvas is apt to warp. Open cracks 1/8 inch wide were covered in this manner, and also cracks at the butts of the strakes. After all of the cracks were treated I gave the boat two good coats of paint over all, and the result was a comparatively smooth surface, and one that was absolutely watertight." The veteran very truly adds that an old boat repaired in this way will not stand any rough usage, and the patches are not proof against being dragged over rocks, or even a sand-beach; but by a little labor a boat that is practically worthless may be so made serviceable for an indefinite time.

By either of the methods mentioned above a lapstreak boat may be made tight as a bottle. A carvel-built craft—that is, one with the planks flush, edge and edge, and the seams between calked and payed—may generally be made tight by recalking her with threads of cotton prepared for that purpose and sold by ship-chandlers, driving the cotton well home with iron and mallet, and afterward puttying up the seams. Care should be taken, however, not to put the cotton in too tight, or drive it right through the seam. Serious damage has often been done to a boat in the way of increasing her leakiness by too hard calking. Or the boat's hull may be completely covered with light duck nailed on with copper tacks, and afterward well painted. This, however, is rather difficult for a greenhorn to accomplish so as to make a neat fit of it; but I have seen several boats repaired and renovated in this manner by young men gifted with ingenuity, and a great deal of patience. I may say that the result, if the work is well done, is worth the pains thereon expended.

Rowboats, sailboats, and launches propelled by any kind of power may have their hulls treated after one of these fashions, with quite satisfactory results.

If the owner does not think he is sufficiently handy to undertake the stopping of leaks he can, at any rate, paint and varnish his craft. To paint a boat outside or inside a perfectly smooth surface is necessary, and to obtain this all rough spots should be smoothed with pumice-stone and sand-paper. Enamel paint should be used above the water-line, and the bottom may be painted with any one of the excellent compositions now in the market, which prevent grass and barnacles from flourishing too luxuriantly on the underbodies of boats.

The interior of the boat, after being thoroughly washed and scrubbed, should also have a coat or even two coats of enamel paint, as this composition is lasting and wears three times as long as the ordinary preparation of white lead, oil, turpentine, and pigment. One thing, however, is worth remembering. Never use washing soda or boiling water to clean wood covered with enamel paint. Rub it with a sponge or flannel cloth dipped in lukewarm water and a little soap. For protecting and beautifying natural wood above deck or below, use a good brand of spar varnish. This will resist the damp, salt air of the ocean, or the more penetrating moisture of fresh-water lakes and rivers, far better than the higher grade of varnish used for the indoor decoration of dwelling houses, which, when it gets damp, acquires a plum-like bloom on its surface by no means beautiful.

Mr. W. Baden-Powell, than whom there is no better authority, says very truly, that there is no more dangerous time in their lives for the spars of canoes than when stowed away in a boat-house roof for the damp winter's rest. Bamboo spars are more liable to suffer than pine, or solid spruce, but each and all are in danger of splitting or kinking, especially so in the case of built spars, if glued up, instead of screw-built. With such convenient lengths as are found in canoe spars, there is no excuse for leaving them in damp boat-houses, as they can be stacked in a room corner, on end, and the sails and rigging in drawers or boxes. In this way each item of rigging can be overhauled, mended, improved, and set in order for the coming year, just as convenient spare time offers.

About the middle of March in these latitudes we generally are blessed with ideal sailing breezes, a trifle blustering and boisterous, perhaps, when the merry music of the stiff nor'wester pipes through the rigging, but nevertheless vastly enjoyable to the ardent amateur, who grasps the tiller of his stanch shippie and fearlessly luffs up to the strident puffs, knowing that he has a stout hull beneath him, and that sails and gear are of trusty strength.

It is all very well for the steam-yachtsmen and such-like marine Sybarites to wait for the hot days of July to arrive before ordering their floating palaces to go into commission, but he who depends upon sails can ill afford to allow all the glorious winds of the fresh and fragrant springtime to blow themselves to waste in such reckless, feckless fashion. There may be a chilly sting or bite in the spray that breaks on the weather bow in a silver shower and smites the helmsman mercilessly in the face, but there is invigorating ozone in wind and water, and a glow of triumph after a successful battle with breeze and billow.

Photo by Dr. Titus.

HAULED OUT FOR PAINTING.
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It is prudent, too, to fit out early and lay up late, for life, alas! is brief, and it behooves us, my boating brethren, to enjoy as many brave sailing days as possible ere we make our final voyage across the Styx, with grim Charon, the ferryman, taking his perennial trick at the tiller, while his pets, the frogs, plash and play and croak in his muddy wake.

If the yacht is a small one—a knockabout or a 30-footer—and she has wintered afloat, the first thing is to haul her out and prepare to clean her hull of barnacles and grass, of which a goodly crop is sure to have grown on her below the water-line. Start in with scrubbing brushes, sand and canvas and use plenty of elbow grease until she is thoroughly cleaned and all rough places smoothed with pumice stone. Use plenty of fresh water, with a flannel cloth as a final application to her hull. Then leave her until she is thoroughly dry. Carefully examine her seams for leaks, calking where necessary.

When your boat is out of water open her wide to the fresh air. Rig up a windsail, and let the healthful breezes circulate through her interior. If she has hatches or skylights, lift them off; if portholes, unscrew them and give the wind a chance to blow all close impurities away. Rig the pump and relieve her of all malodorous bilge water, the most nauseating and offensive evil that is met with by mariners. Take up the cabin flooring. If the ballast consists of pig iron, rout it out, clean off the rust, and before replacing give it a good coat of coal tar, applied hot. Clean the limbers and flush them with plenty of water, using a bristly broom to remove the dirt. Splash the water about lavishly, and then pump it out dry. If there happens to be a cooking stove below, as there generally is in a vessel of any size, light a roaring fire and do your best to kill all fungoid germs or spores that may have gathered in damp places during the winter. Examine the ceiling for leaks.

Should, through imprudent oversight, any bedding, matting, carpet, or clothing, have been left in the boat since last season, take them out and have them cleansed and dried. If mold and mildew have attacked them, destroy without compunction, and resolve to take better care next time.

After thoroughly cleansing the craft inside from the eyes of her to right aft with soap and hot water, you can paint her cabin, if you deem she needs it, using enamel paint if you are willing to go to a little extra expense, or, at any rate, if not, using a generous quantity of spar varnish with the oil and dryers you mix your white lead with. This dries good and hard and is easily cleansed with warm water, soap and a sponge, and is far more durable and satisfactory than paint mixed in the ordinary manner. Two coats should be given.

The next process is to clean the deck of the coat of varnish with which it was doubtless covered when the yacht was prepared for the winter. To accomplish this in the most efficacious manner, procure from a ship chandler a sufficient quantity of one of the many preparations of caustic soda, with which the market is well equipped. Dissolve it in an iron bucket in hot water, mixing it strong enough to act as a powerful detergent. These preparations vary in power, so it will be well to experiment on a section of the deck with a sample and then add more soda or more water as required.

After sundown apply plentifully to the deck with a mop, rubbing the mixture well into the planks. Next morning before sunrise arm yourself with a good hard deck-scrubber, and set to work in earnest, using plenty of hot water and scrubbing the deck planks (fore and aft, mind you, always, and never athwart-ship) until every particle of the old varnish and every speck and stain is removed. If the detergent is allowed to remain on the deck while the sun is shining, it is bound to eat into the planks and burn them.

The next operation is the painting of the boat inside and out. There are many excellent compositions for coating the hull below the water-line, but if you do not care to experiment with them, use the recipe given in the chapter on "Useful Hints and Recipes." Choose a clear, dry day and apply the paint. For above the water-line use pure white lead of the best quality reduced to the proper consistency with equal parts of raw and boiled linseed oil and copal varnish. Add a dash of dryers and a few drops of blue paint, strain and apply.

Personally, I prefer to varnish the deck of a small craft, though I am quite willing to acknowledge the superior beauty of a spotless deck white as a hound's tooth. The friends of a yachtsman often wear boots with ugly nails in them, both on soles and heels, and these are apt to play havoc with the spick and span appearance of a deck innocent of varnish. After cleaning the decks thoroughly let them dry well. Wait for a sunny morning and a northwesterly wind, when the air is comparatively free from moisture. Get your can of spar varnish out, and after sweeping the decks and dusting them thoroughly with a feather-duster, apply with a regular varnish brush of convenient size. It is advisable to pour out the varnish into a shallow jar, a marmalade pot for instance, in small quantities as required, as varnish loses its virtue rapidly by exposure to sun and air. It is expedient, therefore, that the varnish can, or bottle, should never be left uncorked. The varnishing process should not be undertaken until the last thing, after the boat has been cleaned and painted inside and out, spars and blocks scraped and polished, standing rigging set up, running rigging rove and sails bent. Two thin coats of varnish will be ample for the decks and spars, as well as all the hardwood fittings and trimmings of the yacht inside and out.

Should the varnish be too thick to flow freely from the brush, _don't_ thin it with oil or spirits of turpentine unless you wish to dim its luster and deprive it of much of its preservative quality. Simply place the varnish can in a bucket of hot water, and let it remain there until it gets warm, when you will experience no difficulty in applying it to advantage. Another hint worth taking is never to buy cheap and inferior varnish. The best is none too good.

These suggestions may appear superfluous to a professional yachtsman, who, if he happens to read this yarn, might feel tempted to observe: "Why, every darned chump knows that!" As a matter of fact, amateurs as a rule are not familiar with these little "wrinkles," which are in many cases tricks of the trade. This yarn is spun for amateurs only, and not for the edification or instruction of veteran professionals. About half a century ago, when I first became a boat owner, I should have been delighted to get the fruits of a practical man's ripe experience.

Fashionable craft with spoon bows and long overhangs forward have abolished the long bowsprits and simplified the head gear. The short bowsprit is secured with a steel bobstay extending from the stem to the cranze iron on the bowsprit, the bobstay being set up taut with a turnbuckle of galvanized iron. The bowsprit shrouds are of steel wire also set up by turnbuckles.

The polemast has also done away with all the topmast gear, the mast being secured by a forestay which sets up to the stem head and by one or sometimes two shrouds on each side set up by turnbuckles. The days of deadeyes and lanyards and of reefing bowsprits are departed. A sailor to be quite down-to-date should combine with his nautical knowledge some of the art of the blacksmith. Strength and lightness and handiness are the watchwords of to-day, and with modern methods the gear of a small craft is so simple that it takes little time to rig her.

I suppose I may take it for granted that all the running rigging was neatly coiled up and labeled and stored ashore when you went out of commission last fall. I know many smart young yachtsmen who while away many a long winter evening with pleasure and profit overhauling sheets and halyards, stropping blocks, varnishing them, splicing, serving and generally repairing all of the running gear that needs attention, making manropes, scraping and polishing the gangway ladder, the tiller, etc., and in other ways preparing for their summer's amusement. The study of navigation, the rule of the road at sea, the coast pilot, the learning of marlinspike seamanship and a rudimentary knowledge of the use of the palm and needle, so that if a sail should need some simple repairs they may be made without loss of time and without seeking aid from a sailmaker—all these the amateur will find useful. It is astonishing how much one can learn in one winter if he devotes only an hour a night to the acquirement of nautical lore.

But supposing that his running gear has not been touched since it was unrove, it will take only a short time to get it in tip-top order, and the work may be done in the evening when it is too dark to potter about the yacht.

While you are about it you may as well make a thorough job of this fitting out. Shin up the mast and make a tail-block fast to the masthead as high as possible, reeving a gantline through it so that you may sit in a boatswain's chair or in a bowline while you survey the stick. If the collars of the shrouds or forestay show any sign of chafe, they must come down and be served over again with spun yarn or covered with canvas sewn on with a palm and needle, using plenty of lead colored paint in the process to prevent rust. Examine the masthead carefully for weak parts, which generally are to be found in the wake of the rigging. If rot and signs of serious strains are met with, it is evident that a new mast is needed. Longitudinal cracks may be disregarded unless they are glaringly apparent, but transverse cracks should be viewed with suspicion.

If, after close inspection, you conclude that the mast is good enough to stand, you may as well begin to scrape it, engaging your chum to lower you down by your gantline. After scraping, use sandpaper until it is polished smooth. Then give it a couple of coats of spar varnish. If the boat has a bowsprit, treat it in the same way. If she carries a topmast, scrape and varnish it and the boom, gaff, spinnaker-boom, boathook and the oars of your dinghy as well as all blocks ashore, wherever convenient.

Next set up your rigging good and taut, taking care to stay the mast perfectly plumb—no rake aft or forward. If you carry a topmast, send it up and stay it in the usual way. Get your boom in position by means of the gooseneck and the crotch; reeve your topping-lift and hook it on to its place at the end of the boom. Get the gaff in place, hook on the throat and peak halyards, and there you are all ready to bend sails.

It is imperative that your vessel, whether she be a cruiser pure and simple or a racer, should have a well cut suit of sails. If it is your intention to treat her to the luxury of a brand new suit, I hope that you placed your order with a responsible sailmaker weeks ago. The winter is the correct time to have your sails made, when the knights of the palm and needle are not so apt to be rushed.

Yacht owners have the habit of procrastinating where sails are concerned, and postpone their orders for new canvas to the very last moment. This causes such a hurry in the loft that large orders are apt to receive the first and best attention of the sailmaker, while the owner of a moderate-sized vessel has to wait the foreman's convenience; whereas, if an order is placed before, say, Christmas, one of the firm is as likely as not to give the matter his personal attention, measure your craft himself, and let the cut and the sit of the sails have the benefit of his own supervision. It is also a fact that the sailmaking firms make it a point to keep their best men at work all the year round, while the mere ordinary workmen are "laid off" when the season closes. The consequence is that the yachtsman who orders his sails in good time has the advantage of the most skillful craftsmen in the market, and he is likely, too, to have better prices quoted him than in the rush of the season, when all hands are hard at it. Therefore, my advice is to take early action and win the best results at the most favorable figure.

It was always my custom, before unbending my yacht's sails preparatory to going out of commission, to summon my sailmaker aboard and take him for a short trip, pointing out what I considered to be the defects in the muslin and listening to his suggestions for their remedy. He would make notes in his memorandum-book and inscribe certain hieroglyphic marks on the sails themselves. When the canvas was unbent he would send for it, make the repairs and alterations at his leisure and store the sails for me until the spring, when I would find them in perfect condition for setting. All this was done for moderate compensation, considering the excellence of the workmanship.

The importance of a well-cut and well-sitting suit of sails cannot be over-estimated. No matter how well the naval architect may have executed his work in the design of a vessel's hull, if the sailmaker has failed in his task, success in racing is an impossibility. You might just as well expect a fast homing pigeon to attain his normal speed with a crippled wing as a yacht to win a cup hampered by sails of poor material and faulty construction.

If low-grade material is used, despite the best efforts of the scientific sailmaker, the sails are sure to be unsatisfactory. The climate on the Atlantic coast is peculiarly trying even to the finest grades of cotton duck, which is assuredly the best fabric known that can be used for the purpose of the sailmaker. The hot and arid westerly winds dry out the sails so that they become soft and open, causing them to stretch abnormally and to get full of what are technically termed "hard places." The wind shifts to the eastward, a damp, moist quarter, and the result is a severe shrinking, which, in conjunction with the previous violent stretching, is enough to play havoc with the best and closest woven material, no matter how scientifically designed and constructed. You can imagine how a suit of sails of cheap and common duck, botched by some ordinary tentmaker, would be likely to behave under such circumstances.

My advice is to order your sails of a reputable firm of experience, have them made of the best material, and take care that they are bent by a man of judgment and skill and not by some habitué of a hay-mow or a pig-drover fresh from the farm. I have known a suit of sails that cost several hundred dollars irretrievably ruined by being overstretched in the first instance by a sailing-master ignorant of the first principles of his calling.

A well-known sailmaker, who has made sails for some of the crack racing yachts of America, gives the following admirable instructions for setting the sails of a 40-foot single-sticker: Cast off the tyers from the mainsail; hook on the peak halyards; see that the gaff goes up between the topping-lifts as you hoist up on the throat and peak halyards; hoist up on the throat until the luff-rope is straight; if the sail has a slide on the boom, haul out on it till the canvas is just straight and smooth on the foot; too hard a pull will throw a heavy strain on the diagonal, from the end of the boom to the jaws of the gaff, giving a bad after leech when the peak is swayed up; next sway up the luff pretty taut; it is not necessary to top the boom up to too great an angle out of the crotch; man the peak halyards and hoist on them until the after leech is so lifted that it spreads and stretches every square inch of the after angle of the sail; as soon as the peak begins to lift the outer end of the boom, the mainsheet should be made fast (unless the boom extends so far over the taffrail that it would bring an undue leverage on the boom and spring it to breaking); now sweat up the peak halyards until the stretch is entirely taken out of the halyard canvas; if the peak is hoisted beyond its proper angle, it puts an undue strain on the diagonal, from the end of the gaff to the center of effort of the sail, the consequence being a nasty gutter just inside the leech, which gives rise to the groundless complaint that there is a tight cloth inside the after leech. It should be remembered that the trouble lies in stretching the head and foot of the sail too taut, and over-setting, the peak.

These instructions are so clear as to be intelligible to the merest tyro, and should be followed out on all occasions. A good mainsail costs a large sum, and there is no reason why it should be ruined by neglect of proper precautions.

In setting a thimble-headed topsail hoist away on the halyards, then bowse the tack down with a purchase, then sheet it out to the gaff end so that there shall be an exact and even strain on both foot and leech.

The proper angle of the jib-sheet depends entirely on the position its clew occupies in relation to the stay. It should always hold the foot of the sail a little more than it does the after leech, so as to allow the proper flow, which is so effective as well as so beautiful.

If you determine that the craft's old suit is good enough for another year, overhaul it for holes. Perhaps the sails have been stowed away where rats or mice have had free access to them. If so, they will need repairs. If they were rolled up damp, or stored in a damp place, they will probably be badly mildewed. The unsightly stains of mildew can be partially removed by scrubbing the sail on both sides with fresh water and soap, and afterward rubbing whiting over it and leaving it to dry and bleach in the sun.

If the sails are discolored, they may be improved by laying them on a plot of clean sand, scrubbing them on both sides with sea-water and salt-water soap, and afterward sprinkling them with salt-water in which whiting is dissolved until it looks like milk. Let them bleach in the sun until one side is quite dry, and then turn them over.

To prevent mildew from spoiling the sails, keep them dry and well ventilated. If a sail is furled when damp, the inner folds will mildew. Always roll up a wet sail loosely, and shake it out and dry it the first chance you get; in any case open it out and give it air, even if rain continues to fall. Remember that new sails will mildew very quickly because of the "dressing" in the duck, which sets up a fungoid growth or fermentation. For these reasons don't depend too much on your watertight sail-covers, but give your canvas frequent air and sun baths if you wish your "white wings" to remain things of beauty.

The same attention to the sails to avoid mildew should be given to the hull to prevent dry rot, which is quite as frequently caused by the lack of ventilation as by the use of unseasoned timber in the construction of a vessel.

The principal labor of fitting out has been described, but the cabin is yet to be fixed up for occupation, and stores taken aboard for the opening cruise. It is well to have a list prepared of the actual necessities in the way of supplies that must not be left ashore when you get under way. Here are a few things that cannot be dispensed with: Anchor and chain, small kedge anchor, tow-rope, life-buoy, side-lights, anchor light, oil and wicks, bell, foghorn, compass with binnacle, hand lead, chart of waters you intend to navigate, dinghy, either on board or towing astern, properly fitted with oars, boathook, rowlocks and plug, all secured by lashings. A good supply of fresh water should be taken along, and a stock of provisions suitable to the tastes of the skipper and his guests. An awning for the cockpit may prove a great comfort both in hot and rainy weather, when becalmed or at anchor.

I recommend that a storm trysail, a storm jib and a drogue, or sea-anchor, form part of the yacht's equipment, and that they be stowed away in some place convenient for instant use. Perhaps they may never be needed, but it is often the unforeseen that happens, and in this world of uncertainty it is best to be always ready for an emergency.

Thus prepared the yachtsman may safely venture for a cruise, selecting those waters with which he is most familiar or most anxious to explore. He will find April an ideal month for yachting, and if he puts in his time to the best advantage he will have his craft "tuned up" to racing pitch, his amateur crew so admirably drilled and disciplined, and his sails and gear in such capital shape that, if there is really any speed in the craft at all, prizes should be the inevitable reward of his skill and his enterprise.

VIII.

FITTING OUT FOR A CRUISE.

In equipping a boat for a cruise, even in summer, it is always well to remember that gales of wind are not unusual even in July. I once knew it to blow with spiteful ferocity in the last week of that month, and to disperse the Atlantic Yacht Club squadron and drive them to seek shelter in various harbors of Long Island Sound, between Black Rock and New Haven. Out of the whole fleet only two yachts reached their destination, New London. One was the sloop _Athlon_, Vice-Commodore E. B. Havens, on board of which I was a guest, and the forty-footer _Chispa_. It was quite an exciting and hard thrash to windward in the teeth of an easterly gale, but we got there. Had not the two yachts mentioned been properly prepared for such an exigency, they also would have been forced to bear up and run for some land-locked haven in which to linger until the wind had blown itself out. Although these summer gales generally exhaust themselves in twenty-four hours, they are often quite savage while they last, and the sensible yachtsman will always be prepared to meet them. His standing and running rigging will be in first-class condition; whatever storm canvas he carries will be ready for bending at a moment's notice; his sea anchor or drogue will also be at hand for letting go should the necessity arise.

Of course I need not impress upon the amateur boat sailer that a compass should be taken along on a cruise. But I have mingled a good deal with the owners of small craft, and have met many who either did not carry one at all or, if it was aboard, as likely as not stowed it away in the same locker with a hatchet, marlinespike and other tools not likely to improve it. A compass should always form part of a boat's outfit. A fog often makes its appearance when a party of pleasure seekers are enjoying a sail on sound or bay, and when it shuts down on you thick as a hedge I will defy you not to lose your bearings, and consequently your way. In times such as these a compass will prove a source of great comfort, and instead of being compelled to anchor and await clear weather you can steer for your destination under shortened sail. In such cases never fail to blow the foghorn, which should be of regulation size and not a penny squeaking trumpet such as a six-year old schoolboy affects. The ordinary boat's compass will answer admirably if only short sails are contemplated, but on a long cruise where a heavy sea is not unlikely to be encountered, a fluid compass should be carried. The motion of a small craft in rough water causes the common compass card to jump about so much as to be perfectly useless to steer by, while a fluid compass remains steady and reliable under all circumstances and conditions. There are several fluid compasses in the market at a reasonable price, which can be depended upon in an emergency. The fluid on which the needle floats is generally alcohol, to guard against freezing, and is simply a development of a primitive compass used by the daring seamen of the twelfth century. This old-fashioned instrument consisted of an iron needle, one end of which was stuck into a piece of cork. The other end was well rubbed with a loadstone, and when the cork was floated in an earthenware bowl of water the end so treated pointed to the magnetic North. In spite of the meager knowledge of those early navigators concerning variation and deviation, they generally managed to make a sufficiently good land-fall. It may not be generally known that a sewing needle rubbed on a magnet and carefully dropped into a vessel of water will float and point to the North.

The rule of the road at sea requires vessels in a fog to go at a moderate speed and to blow the foghorn at intervals of not less than two minutes; when on the starboard tack one blast, when on the port tack two blasts in succession, and when with the wind abaft the beam three blasts in succession. It also has certain imperative rules for a vessel at anchor in a fog.

The law provides that a vessel not under way in a fog shall at intervals of not more than two minutes ring a bell. It will be seen therefore that a bell is quite as necessary as a foghorn. If a boat at anchor or under way in thick weather, with neither bell nor foghorn in use as provided by the law, should be run into and damaged or sunk by any other vessel, her owner would have no redress. On the contrary, if he escaped with his life he could be forced to pay for any damage, however trifling, the vessel colliding with him sustained in the act. If he was drowned his estate would be liable.

A bell should form part of the careful boatowner's outfit. But if you have neglected providing one, don't despair. Get out a frying pan or a tin kettle and kick up as much racket as you can by beating one or both with a hammer or a marlinespike. A fishhorn has many times answered the purpose of a foghorn, but I would not recommend it as a steady substitute. All I wish to convey is that a frying pan and a fishhorn are better than nothing.

The variety of anchor to be carried depends very much upon choice. There are several kinds for sale quite suitable for small cruisers, all of which have good points to recommend them.

The law is imperative as regards the carrying of lights by night when at anchor or under way. If your craft is very small, there is a light in the market fitted with green and red slides to be shown when required, which may suit your purpose. But if your craft has any pretensions to size provide yourself with a pair of brass side lights and also a good brass anchor light. Avoid those flimsy articles with which the market is flooded. The best are cheapest in the end. See that all the lamps you have aboard take the same sized wick. Buy the brand of oil known as mineral sperm, which is used by all first-class steamship lines. Its quality has borne the test of years and has never been found wanting. For lamp cleaning take a plentiful supply of cotton waste and old newspapers, the last named for polishing the glass. A hand lead and line must not be forgotten, while an aneroid barometer, a thermometer and a marine clock will be both useful and ornamental. Do not forget a canvas bucket and a deck scrubber.

A few tools will be found necessary. A hatchet, hammer, chisel, file, jack-knife, gimlet, screw driver, small crosscut saw and an assortment of screws and nails will be about all that is essential in this direction. A few yards of duck, palm and needles and sewing twine, a ball of marline, one of spun yarn and a marlinespike may be stowed away snugly, and their possession in case of need is often a great boon. The adventurous voyager must use his own discretion as to his wardrobe. The marine "dude" is in evidence in our midst, and who am I that I should condemn a man for trying to look his prettiest, both ashore and afloat? Don't forget to buy a good suit of oilers, and don't fail to slip them on when it rains. When you come to get to my age, and feel the rheumatism in your old bones, you will wish you had followed my advice.

Tastes differ so widely that it is hard to advise a man as to his _cuisine_ when afloat. What would suit an old sea dog "right down to the ground" might not be palatable to the nautical epicure with a taste for humming-bird's livers on toast, or other such dainty kickshaws. Personally, I can enjoy a good square meal of sardines and hardtack, wash it down with a cup of coffee and wind up with a pipe of plug tobacco, and conclude that I have feasted like a prince. This is probably due to my forecastle training. Others are more fastidious. Luckily this is the age of canned viands, and almost every delicacy under the sun is put up in convenient form, requiring only a can-opener to extract the hidden sweetness.

The culinary difficulty that confronts the sailer of a small craft is the cooking stove. Like the servant girl problem, it is still unsolved. Many great geniuses have wasted the midnight oil and have nearly exhausted the gray matter of their brains in trying to invent a stove that shall be suitable for a little cockleshell of a boat with a _penchant_ for dancing over the waves in lively style. Some have tried cast-iron stoves with a smokestack, and coal for fuel, and have cursed their folly ever after. Gasoline stoves, so long as they don't explode and set fire to the boat, are convenient and cleanly. Various kinds of alcohol lamps, hung on gimbals to accommodate themselves to the perpetual motion of a vessel, are in use and are thoroughly adapted for making a pot of coffee, tea or chocolate, and for heating a can of soup or preserved meat. A hungry boatman should not ask for more luxurious fare. There are preparations of coffee and milk and cocoa and milk in cans, which can be got ready in a hurry and with the least possible trouble. They are also nice, and I do not hesitate to stamp them with the seal of my approval. By looking over the catalogue of the canned goods of any first-class grocer, you will find a quantity of varieties to select from, all of excellent quality and moderate in price. In order to provide against waste it would be advisable if cruising alone to buy the smallest packages in which the viands are put up. Hardtack should be kept in airtight tin boxes to guard against damp. Matches can be stowed in a glass fruit jar, and in this snug receptacle defy salt spray and sea air which threaten the integrity of brimstone and phosphorus. The man who indulges in tobacco (and what lover of the sea does not?) will find it well to pack a supply of wind matches in a glass jar, so that he can keep his match safe replenished and be able to light his pipe or cigar no matter how the breeze may blow. I have found tobacco a mighty source of comfort under adverse mental and physical conditions, and its soothing influence has made many a trick at the tiller seem less weary.

Cooking in a small craft tossed like a cork on the waves is a confounded nuisance, but a hot meal tastes well after you have been stuck at the tiller for four or five hours in squally weather. I remember an incident that occurred on board my cutter, the _Heather Bell_, when ingenuity provided a hot breakfast which otherwise we should not have enjoyed. We were caught in a southerly gale in the English Channel, and under trysail and spitfire jib we were doing our best to claw off a lee shore. I had been at the tiller nearly all night, and when day broke I was thoroughly exhausted. The little cutter—she was only fifteen tons—was pitching and 'scending at such a lively rate that lighting a fire in the stove was out of the question. My chum, however, managed to make some coffee with the aid of a spirit lamp, and also to cook a couple of plump Yarmouth bloaters. This last-named feat was difficult, but my chum was a man of genius. An inspiration came to him. He split the bloaters down the backs, put them in an extra deep frying pan, such as should always be used at sea, deluged them with Scotch whiskey, old and smoky, and set fire to it. I can see him now, hanging on to the cabin ladder with one hand and balancing the frying pan in the other, so that the blazing whiskey should not overflow and set fire to the cabin. Those bloaters were fine. They went right to the spot. It was rather an expensive mode of cooking, for the whiskey in question was choice, but we both agreed that the fishes were worthy of it. I suppose they would have tasted just as well if they had been cooked in alcohol, but that idea did not occur to my friend. A beefsteak prepared in the same way was delicious. We had it for dinner and soon after there came a shift of wind which enabled us to run for Newhaven and sleep comfortably.

You should take with you a box of seidlitz powders, a bottle of vaseline, court plaster, a box of your pet pills, a bottle of extract of witch hazel, a bottle of extract of ginger, a bottle of _Sun_ cholera mixture, and a bottle of Horsford's acid phosphate. These should be stowed away in a medicine-chest, which, if you have any mechanical skill at all, you can make yourself. If you are no hand at a saw or a chisel, a small medicine-chest, filled with all the requisites and adapted for use in a boat, can be obtained from any good drug-store at a reasonable figure.

A locker for the storage of ice is indispensable for one's comfort when sailing in these latitudes in summer. The locker should be lined with zinc, and should be fitted with a brass tap to draw off the waste water. Wrap your ice up in paper first, and then in a piece of coarse flannel, and you will be surprised at the length of time it will keep. A porous earthenware bottle should form part of your equipment. It can be suspended in a draught, and will supply you with a moderately cool drink when your ice is all used.

Remember that sea air generates damp very quickly in a cabin. Bedding should be aired and sunned if possible every day, and the cabin should be well ventilated. Cleanliness and comfort go together in a boat, and scrubbing-brush and swab should not be allowed to get dry-rot by disuse. Cultivate order and tidiness so far as the domestic economy of your yacht is concerned. Have a place for everything and everything in its place, or your little cabin will present a slovenly appearance instead of looking pretty and snug.

If the interior of your cabin is painted white, use enamel paint, which dries hard and smooth, and can be easily cleaned by washing with warm (not hot) water, soap and sponge.

Cocoa-nut matting is better than carpet or oil-cloth as a covering for a small craft's cabin floor. It is difficult to dry carpet when it gets thoroughly drenched with salt water. Oil-cloth is comfortless and cold to bare feet, but cocoa-nut matting is open to neither of these objections. It is easily washed and dries quickly.

The cushions for the cabin may be stuffed with cork shavings or horse-hair and covered with india-rubber sheeting. These may again be covered with corduroy or blue flannel, as the india-rubber sheeting is cold. Mattresses made of deers' hair are in the market, and are quite comfortable. Being buoyant, they can be used as life-savers in an emergency.

Cups, saucers, plates and dishes of enameled iron or agate ware are unbreakable and much superior to those of tin, which rust and are hard to keep clean. Crockery and glassware are easily destroyed in a cruising craft, in spite of the ingenious racks and lockers invented to preserve them.

Don't omit to include fishing tackle among your stores. There is lots of sport in catching blue-fish or mackerel when under way, and many a weary hour when your craft is becalmed may be beguiled with hook and line. Besides, a fish fresh from the water forms an agreeable and appetizing change from the monotony of canned goods. There is no necessity to purchase expensive tackle for sea-fishing. All that is wanted is strong and serviceable gear. For blue-fishing provide yourself with a well-laid cotton line, which is not liable to kink. The line should be seven-sixteenths of an inch in circumference for the big fish one catches in spring and fall, and the hooks should be strong. It is well to carry with you several varieties of squid. For smaller blue-fish a lighter, cotton-braided line is good. When I go blue-fishing I take rubber finger-stalls along to prevent my fingers being chafed by the line. My readers should do the same. Horse-mackerel and Spanish mackerel are often taken with a blue-fish line.

For navigating purposes all that is really necessary for a coasting voyage is a chart of the waters you propose to sail in, a pair of dividers and parallel rulers, and a book of sailing directions. A patent log may be added if so desired, and will add to the accuracy of your dead reckoning.

Thus equipped, the navigator may boldly venture forth either by himself or with a congenial companion. If he does not enjoy every moment of his cruise, and gain health and strength from the tonic sea breezes, he can safely conclude that Nature never intended him for a sailor. In that case he should dispose of his craft at once and seek such consolation as agricultural pursuits afford.

IX.

BEATING TO WINDWARD.

There is an old nautical truism to the effect that a haystack will sail well to leeward, but that it takes a correctly-modeled vessel to beat to windward. It is easy to comprehend how a straw hat thrown into a pond on its northerly edge will, under the influence of a brisk breeze from the north, make a fast passage to the southerly bank. It is more difficult to understand how the same straw hat, if put into the water at the southerly end of the pond, might be so manœuvred as to make a passage to the northern extremity of the sheet of water, though the wind continued to pipe from the north. This was, no doubt, a tough nut for the early navigators to crack, and the problem may have taken centuries to solve.

Diagram No. 1.
Sailing under Varying Conditions
of Wind.
]

The paddle was naturally the first means of propelling a rude craft through the water, and the ingenious savage (probably an indolent rascal) who discovered that a bough of a tree, or the skin of a beast extended to a favoring breeze, would produce the same effect as constant and laborious plying of paddles, was presumably hailed as a benefactor by his tribe. But this device, artful no doubt in its inception, was only of avail while the wind blew towards the quarter in which the destination of the enterprising voyager lay. If the wind drew ahead, or dropped, the skin or leafy bough was no longer of use as a labor-saving contrivance, and the wearisome paddle was necessarily resumed.

The primitive square sail of antiquity embodies the same principle as that governing the motion through the water of the modern full rigged ship, which is admirably adapted for efficient beating to windward, or sailing against the wind. Superiority in this branch of sailing is the crucial test of every vessel whose propelling power is derived from canvas, and the shipbuilders and sailmakers of all seafaring nations have vied with each other for centuries to secure the desired perfection.