Chapter III: Part 3

_December 23rd._ Comes with nasty cold rain and blow northeast. Almost impossible to get H. out of his bunk and fear he has no enthusiasm for the sport. The morning at darning socks. This little town has two banks, but no darning needles. The p.m. worse than a.m. and a government tug made us turn out in rain to shift berth. Tied up along side of a launch and cow horn on bowsprit ripped a whopping big hole in launch covering. Put our launch on beach this morning for little more overhauling and found her sunk by the seas which have been increasing during the day. O dear! O dear! Wonder if she will break up right size for our stove during tonight. Good big mail from home forwarded from Charleston. Everything all right there, and so who cares for the weather? Folks mighty good about writing and can have no idea how much it is appreciated.

_December 24th._ Comes with wind shifting by south and west to northwest where it blew itself clear with a regular squealer. In the morning we visited the old launch on the beach and as expected found her full of water, batteries run out and coil once more soaking in salt water. Hitched on two tackles luff on luff and began laboriously hauling her up beach. Along came 4 or 5 natives who, imbued with Xmas spirit, grabbed hold and carried her up for us. Then aboard for a good day’s rest and loaf. It is sure strenuous work this driving boats, but to my mind there is no such complete rest as is found in a well warmed, snug little cabin. Rolled in my bunk, with Scotty asleep in my lap, my book and my knitting within reach, I eased up to the limit. Discovered old Mascot complaining a little around rudder port. Nothing serious, but always a mean place to get at especially if have to unhang rudder. Evening came, and we went ashore for our usual plate of fried oysters. The boys are out with tin pans and horns making the noise of a southern Christmas. H. and I both a bit homesick and lonesey. It is my first Xmas away from home in twenty-four years. I am sure a devil of a way off. We have each bought things for the other’s stocking and will live up to traditions if we sink her. Beautiful night and just our chance to be away with light northerly. In two days when we are ready wind will probably haul to southard again. Don’t it beat all?

_December 25th. Christmas._ Turned out to be a bright, frosty morning with a skim of ice in pans on deck. Great excitement, for there hung our two stockings filled with presents which we had hung up last night. Looked kind of Christmasy anyway. Breakfast over, we opened our bundles, dolled up cabin with two little red paper bells and would have decked Scotty out with a red ribbon, but just then she heard something like a train of cars somewhere and flew to snug quarters in lazaret. Took things easy, but put in an hour or two on launch. At 3 p.m. began preparations for grand feast. Menu to be, raw oyster cocktail, roast pork, applesauce, spuds and a mince pie. Everything going like mice when, just as pie went into oven, round came the wind and away went my fire draught. After hours of coaxing we finally sat down to some pork scraps stewed in fry pan and boiled spuds at 8 p.m. Pie did finally dry up enough to be called cooked and was not so bad. Scotty appeared this p.m. and with her pretty new ribbon around her neck, enjoyed a little oyster stew made of three oysters. So ends Christmas 1912 which I had expected to spend in Jacksonville.

_December 26th._ Threatened to feed H. on tar and oakum if he wasn’t smarter about turning out. To the beach where we worked on launch. It is all very snug and comfy on this little beach. At the base of a big skeleton wooden tower is the Club-room of the fifteen Southport pilots who daily do congregate for lengthy gams and pleasant smokes. Now and then one more energetic than the rest climbs slowly the stairs of the old tower and sweeps the sea with spy glass in search of ships that seem to never come. They come and whittle sticks and talk to H. and me, and we are tied to their private wharf where the sign reads “Landing forbidden,” and they will know the reason why if we can’t stay all winter if we want to. The boat-builder is nearby, the storekeeper across the way and the sun shines warmly on us all and saps the energy out of H. and me, and we are glad to sit and listen to the yarns spun in this softly spoken southern tongue.

The signs of Christmas are about gone. The two skiffs dragged up in front of the little bank building are again on the beach, and the wheelbarrow and ash barrel, which for past twenty-four hours have decorated the weather signal pole, have been taken down, and in their place are again flying the dreaded northeast storm warnings. Down came the rain just after lunch so it was scuttle on board and spend a delightfully quiet afternoon with my book. Quahaug pancakes for supper. Not so much because we wanted them, and indeed it was wet work opening them in the rain, but Scotty dotes on quahaugs. To-day we once more repacked and fitted up our much abused electric coil and away went little motor at first whirl of wheel.

_December 27th._ Comes with banging against wharf and slatting of rigging. Northeaster down on us again in all its glory. Down, down slipped the barometer and presto, round flew the wind into southwest and the fun began. We were pretty well up under the weather shore, but there was rake enough with the tide to kick up a lively jump which pounded against our stern and slatted us about promiscuously. The wind screamed, and we could do nothing but lash our helm amidship and get out extra dock lines. With spinnaker pole for fender we were taking no damage. About 2 p.m. the wind hauled a point and rain stopped. With the clearing, things began moving on the dock. From the pilot’s tower signals were seen flying from the Cape Fear Lighthouse which read, “vessel ashore on Frying Pan.” Off went four pilots in their big motorboat. Scree-eech went the whistle of a tug at end of wharf and down from the village tumbled the crew, and it was cast off and away with black smoke rolling from her stack. I could have gone with H. on the tug but why take a chance when there was nothing we could do, and as the captain said nothing he could do either in the sea that must be running. Out from the cove to the south of us shot the big power lifeboat of the Southport station, and we watched her head towards the breakers which we could see jumping in air on the harbor bar. By six o’clock the tug and pilots were back. They reported a big four-master bound east was almost out of water some six miles from shore but that the lifesavers were standing by on north side of shoal. Another fierce gale is springing up from west and northwest as I write, and the sea outside must be truly awful. I hope with all my heart and soul that those poor devils are safe ashore. I believe H. begins to realize more fully what I had on my own mind the night I tried to jump the New Inlet Bar.

_December 28th._ Ice on deck again this morning, but a day to make a man’s heart glad. First thing was arrival of big power lifeboat with the good news that at ten o’clock the night before they had rescued all the crew of the stranded schooner. The vessel herself was lumber laden and a gang went off to her to-day in hopes to get cargo out and to lighten the ship so that she might be pulled off. The day was busy for us with completing repairs on launch, getting stores on board and making ready for another bid for warmer climes. Until to-day my spears and poles have been but a miserable nuisance, but when the bight of a line caught the handle of my pump rod and twitched it right overboard, it was the eel spear for mine. Tide was running smartly and I could just reach bottom. Slowly and with great care I poked about in the mud and at last was rewarded by pulling up three feet of old rubber hose. Better luck next time and I just fell upon that mud-covered pump handle when it crossed the rail. An eel spear would sure be a handy thing in any household.

_December 29th._ A peach of a morning with light northerly airs, a good barometer and everybody telling us to be up and off for now was the chance. We were soon ready to start when I found centre-board jammed in the box. Hard, too. At low tide, when aground, something had wedged it hard and fast. Had to pound it out with aid of a big piece of iron piping. It was noon before we waved good-bye to our friends the Southport pilots and slipped out of the harbor down the long 80 miles of beach to Georgetown or 120 miles, nautical, to Charleston. At four o’clock, wind failing, we put on little helpmeet and jogged along our four knots right merrily. The sun set red, but with plenty of cloud. The engine began to skip about 10 o’clock and from then on until two, gave us a most remarkable exhibition of skips, jumps and shakes. At 2 a.m. it made two or three quiet little chuck-chucks and died. About this same time the barometer got in some fancy steps and dropped 4 points in two hours. Heavy cloud made the night fearfully dark, and the sea began to pick up in a long, swinging ground swell. I wished myself well back in Southport you bet. By dead reckoning Southport was some 50 miles away and Georgetown jetty about 30 only, so it had to be Georgetown. The breeze with some rain came at southwest very light and I jogged slowly along.

_December 30th._ Morning broke dull and sullen. Barometer still dropping and little whitey gray woolies blowing across the dark clouds. The ground swell was heaving in from sea and there was no chance for running inlets. With the light came a waspish puff of air out of southwest and on top of that one another, with such venom in it, I wasted no time on speculation, but clapped in two reefs and stood off shore. In the shake of a lamb’s tail the wickedest kind of a sea jumped up, but Henry’s stomach beat it at that. The rolling swell checked up on the shoal ground for we were in less than 3 fathoms and was met and crossed by the sea leaping with the southwester which was even then heaving me to my cockpit-rail. In half an hour it was put on life lines, douse sail and tuck in my storm reef. Canvas thrashing viciously and had to put watch tackle on leech earing before we could haul out. Laid ship to off shore, hauled up my board, lashed wheel and gave launch 10 fathoms of line. Didn’t know whether to run to sea for deeper water or take chance of ground swell not breaking and hang onto the beach. Decided to hang on for I am bound to Florida and not the Riviera. All day long we were knocked and smashed about by an indescribable jumble of crooked water. H. and I spent our time below trying to cling onto our transoms for it was not particularly safe on deck, and we crawled out only every two hours to lower sail, wear ship and stand on the other tack. There is a good bit of worry to a day like that, especially when you have a two foot hole covered only with thin canvas in the side of your boat. There would have been a mighty sight more worry if old Mascot hadn’t shown us at the very start off that she was quite able and willing to play the game. With her wheel amidships, she looked up into it grandly and never had a bucket of green water in the cockpit.

By afternoon we saw the launch was in trouble, and settling pretty fast. It was soon bail or lose her. H. stripped pretty close to the buff and I tied the bowline round him myself. Then we worked the launch up to leeward and managed to unlace a little bit of cover so when a chance came H. jumped in like a squirrel and away he went with me tending painter and life line. He had no trouble bailing out the water, but when it came to balancing himself on the little forward deck while relacing the cover, he had to face a truly sporting proposition. Kind of made my heart jump to see him perched on the bows of that little skiff when a big breaking comber would pick her up and surge her down to leeward where the next sea would put her out of sight for ages. At last he did the trick and mighty carefully I worked the launch up under our lee until with a good jump and yank on the line I landed him in the cockpit again. Cured his seasickness anyway for after warming up below he lit up his pipe as perky as you please.

During all this ringtum Scotty was playing her part well. Not once did we leave the deck tired, wet and anxious to stretch out in rubber boots and soaking oilskins on our transoms, but Scotty would curl up on our shoulder or in our lap all snuggled close with mighty comforting purr. She was a dear little companion, and in the midst of the circus we cooked her one of her own little oyster stews as a mark of our appreciation. Towards night the wind let go and as we drew in toward the beach, fishermen built big bonfires to warn us away from an inlet which they thought I might be fool enough to try and run. No more inlets for me. The sea was too heavy to anchor so we again prepared to make it watch and watch and let the boat jog off and on under her bit of canvas for we were too tired to make more sail and the night at best looked full of trouble.

_December 31st._ Found us slatting about in dead calm. Barometer not rising and heavy cloud. By two o’clock a.m. the sea had quieted to a long, greasy roll and I plumped over the big hook in 3 fath. and turned in for three or four hours’ snooze. Turned out at six and cooked breakfast which tasted good after some forty-eight hours of more or less cracker and cheese diet. Day broke at seven and a mighty ugly looking day it was with dark storm clouds all about and again those waspish little white ones scudding ahead of the black spots. The breeze struck in light at northeast and with it came the rain. The drops were good, big, fat ones and barometer was not sliding down so I hoped for no serious trouble, but down here the easter is only spoken about in whispers and H. and I didn’t speak about it at all. We jumped all sail on at once, up yank and fanned along. Got H. to try his launch and was rewarded by a merry little puff puff, and we were off. Found a lot of sediment in carbureter and in gasoline, evidently corrosion from tank after being filled with salt water. We kept her skipping and jumping along by continually moving throttle and needle valve. Rain and mist often shut out the shore but the light following breeze didn’t have the twang of trouble in it and by my dead reckoning I had only some 20 knots to go before reaching Georgetown jetties which stretch two miles to sea and couldn’t be missed unless it blew on and forced me off shore. I had run my time out at one o’clock and still through the haze that old sand beach stretched ever southward without a break. Worries began again, but in half an hour we sighted the lighthouse and in another half rounded the end of the north jetty and ran into quiet water.

“Way up the river Pedee
Way up the river Pedee
Where the moon shines bright
And the stars give light,
Way up the river Pedee.”

How we shook hands and yelled it out. The rain poured, the wind drew northwest dead ahead, but tide and a strong one was fair and the launch was hitting it hop, skip and jump, so who cares.

About six miles upstream and six miles below Georgetown we noted on our chart the entrance to the little creek which is the beginning of the inside route towards Charleston. With the last of the light of the last day of the year we found the little opening in the marsh and snuggled into the quiet water mighty gladly and ran her plump aground on the mud of the eastern bank. We were too tickled at ending our long razzle dazzle to hurry about pushing off, especially as tide was flooding in river outside. There’s where we missed it for tide was dropping in the creek and soon, work all we could, we never budged her and had to run out guy lines to keep from bilging. Mighty little difference that made to us for we were in that kind of shape that lets you go right on working. Not very hard and with mighty little reasoning in it, but still working. While we were mussing around we heard the cry of hounds and soon a big doe took water not twenty yards away, slowly swam the creek and with much effort managed to crawl up the other bank about tuckered out. She looked at us a moment, and then disappeared in the high sedge. The hounds were close up and soon hustling up and down the bank, but none would take water and H. and I sat down to spend our new year’s eve mighty well pleased to think of that deer snugly resting up in some thicket just as we were in our warm little cabin. Honest injun, I was never better pleased to make snug harbor in my life for I had been practically sixty hours without sleep except at odd half hours and had been driving boat under strenuous conditions for over fifty hours. I should have been all in, but I wasn’t at all and I couldn’t see or feel that I didn’t stand the racket as well as I used to in my twenties. Gee, but it’s fine to be in such shape again. H. pulled along all right, too, but insisted upon going to sleep anywhere and everywhere. I must break him of this habit if possible, for it leaves him scarcely any time for eating and none for work.

_January 1st, 1913._ New Year’s Day. Comes pouring rain, and at 2:30 a.m. for mine. Got Mascot afloat but couldn’t handle her alone in tideway and had to call H. on deck. Hanged if the boy wasn’t asleep again. Soon snugged up and after a hot mug-up turned in for some good rest. Turned out about eight and felt fine. Barometer rising. Sky clearing. Wind a beauty at northwest and just what the doctor ordered for round Cape Romain to Charleston outside. Nix on the outside said H. when I finally shook him awake. Afraid I can never beat any ambition into the lad. Can’t understand what a funny lot of insides I must have. I am only just over being pretty well scared up and am already beginning to want to try it again. I’ll get “ketched” good and plenty some day, but I hope that when I do I may be alone. The day was warm, bright and full of sunlight. We dolled up the ship. Cleaned up gasoline tank and in the afternoon walked into the big forest of live oak and long-leaved pine. A day of perfect content and rest. Boiled and roasted a ham which turned out deliciously. Only one thing to mar the peace of our new year’s day and that was a sharp attack of delirium tremens suffered by Scotty. During the blow a small can of white paint upset in cockpit and I suspicion that she ate some. Anyway her tail went right over her back like that animal’s in the pictures of our old geographies which hangs all its young ones upside down on its tail. Her hind legs went 200 to the minute and her front ones only 25. This landed her repeatedly on her head which must have been distressing. In an hour she seemed all O. K. again and except for being a bit dopey has stayed so. Mighty anxious we were, for Scotty is full 50% of this trip. Today an old nigger rowing down stream stopped to gam. He said was all kinds of varmint hereabout. Coons, possums, rabbits, deer and turkeys. No lions or tigers except some 30 miles back in the lumber. Said wild cows wouldn’t hurt us, and that children could walk alone on any of the roads, which was both interesting and comforting. A tug with big ¼ mile log boom swung by us at noon. These are mean, unruly visitors and are mighty apt to do you damage. This one got by without hitting us, but we had to fend off once or twice. For supper we broached a bottle of White Rock and with much ceremony toasted family and absent friends. So ended our New Year’s, 1913.

_January 2nd._ Woke about 2 a.m. to a fearful bump and swash. What next? says I, and tumbled out. Out of the inky black under my bows I saw a big dark shape lift out of water some five or six feet and fall back with a swash. Alligators this time I bet. No such thing, but a big 30 ft. log 12 to 15 inches in diameter caught in a bight of one of our lines. Had good luck in getting it clear and stranded it inside of us where it now lies. “Something doing from one to eleven at the Old Howard.” On deck in a hurry again at four when a tug steamed by with what looked like another log boom but proved to be something else. Out again for breakfast at seven and Henry, well provisioned, started for Georgetown in the launch to get gasoline, provisions, etc., while I stayed aboard to keep ship. Engine not going right yet, and I listened long to its jumps and skips until out of hearing. If he finds a good engine man he may stay overnight and get it fixed up shipshape for we must depend upon it entirely from now on. Come back soon “mon petit Asticot” for I miss you sadly and feel pretty far away among the wild cows.

Scandalously tricky weather do we have. Here H. started at 9 this morning with as pretty a day as one could ask for and old barom. showing nothing else. By eleven clouds made up from south, glass began a slide and by 2 p.m. it was pelting rain with barometer still on the toboggan. Rain all p.m. and all evening. I couldn’t expect H. to come back, but how I did listen for the skip-and-go-one sound of that little motor. I missed him like the devil and no mistake. Hope he isn’t nosing round out there in rain and dark with engine broken down and no Scotty. Had a fine black bean soup with croutons all ready for him, too. I am used to being on a boat alone, but I am mighty lonesey tonight just the same. This is our first night apart in three months and a black creek in the marsh is none too cheerful a place at night anyway. By nine o’clock things were doing. Wind pricking on every minute, rain swishing across decks with roar and barometer still on the drop. I turned in but not to sleep. I had my spinnaker pole driven deep in the clay mud at edge of deep water, but it was a flimsy thing to depend on. There had been no flood tide all day, an uncanny sort of thing. By eleven o’clock the gale was on at south and a full-fledged one to boot. I dressed and crawled into my boots and oilers for the tide had started flooding with a rush and every half hour I had to raise the guy lines on my pole to keep it in position. The barometer dropped to 29, nine points in 12 hours. Don’t remember such a drop in many a day. How high the tide might go was guesswork, but if the westerly shift which I knew would come caught me on top of a big tide it would be into the bulrushes for little Harry and make a duck stand out of Mascot.

Now that was quite a longish night, too. Sitting still, listening to the howl and swish of the gale and speculating on where H. was and where I was going to, for I was out on the open marsh not snugged away up among the woods between high banks. When the wind took a whiffle down the canal the old Mascot would shake all over and lean right to it. Tide kept a-coming and I kept a-crawling out on hands and knees to raise my guy lines until the top of the pole was level with my trunk deck and the stick bending and cracking at every charge of wind until I felt sure it must go. I knew that tide must be ’way above common, but it was too dark to see how high it exactly was. Given another foot rise and I would have been all right for pole was slanting under boat then. It was four o’clock in the morning and tide had been coming about nine hours.

_January 3rd._ Bet I was pleased when I crawled out at 4:30 and found end of pole at same level. Crawled right below again and mugged up on hot beef tea. Five o’clock came and tide had dropped a foot. Then the westerly shift came with a whoop and I thought Scotty and I were surely bound for the meadows, but that old pole buckled, bent and creaked and held. Great scissors, how it blew. Couldn’t stand on deck nohow. Just had to crawl and cling on.

Day broke with clearing skies and found me with bows pretty well up on bank, but stern still in deep water and I make no doubt I can pull her off if this northwester will only blow out as I expect it will before another high water or somebody comes along who will carry me out an anchor to help hold her off. I have ground tackle enough to handle her all right, but without tender am entirely helpless. Poor little Scotty feels these busy nights dreadfully, and is too sleepy and tired to eat a thing. I feel fine and had a good breakfast off of the last Pt. Judith mackerel. I can’t believe that since last Saturday night, and it is Friday now, I have not had four hours of consecutive sleep. I haven’t ache, pain or nerves. Just as I used to be on the old _Raven_ thirty odd years ago. I had to acknowledge later that I did not stand the care, worry and loss of sleep as well as I thought. Between Beaufort and Charleston I lost seven pounds in weight, and again put my eyes almost completely out of commission. H. showed a gain of fifteen pounds in his weight and I begin to wonder for whose health are we traveling anyway.

The clear, westerly gale has continued all day and barometer has moved up only 2/10. Not an inch of tide has come in during the whole day and like a bat I have lived, clinging literally to the rafters, for the boat is very sharply listed. How such days go it is hard to say. You write log and a few letters. Cook your meals, read, smoke, snooze a bit, knit a bit and presto the day is done. Of course H. did not come down river and I am looking forward to another night alone, but I think a peaceful one, for the wind can’t hurt me as I am, and I don’t believe tide can come unless wind drops. I am not going to write to-morrow’s date heading now, however, for things move quickly round here and we may have another eight hands around by midnight.

_January 4th._ The night was delightfully peaceful and how I did sleep it out. The wind went down and morning came clear, bright and with a flooding tide that soon put me afloat again. While cooking breakfast I listened to something familiar in the sound of a distant motor and pretty soon, round the point swung H. with the launch going perfectly. You bet flag went to masthead as he stepped over side and we had one big joyful reunion. O, what a good, happy breakfast we did have. What fun it was to swap lies about our several experiences. He had twice tried to reach me, but weather had driven him back. He had spent a night at a southern boarding house where his roommate was drunk and unbuckled a big Colt’s 44 when he went to bed. He had found motor trouble rested entirely in electric coil, of which we had made two soups, so buying another was all O. K. and engine going as well as ever. As a relic and for what it has done, we still think of keeping our coil so carefully preserved in red flannel and sealed in pickle jar, for it helped push us many an anxious, weary mile. The inside route from here is so crooked and so shallow in many places that it seems silly to undertake it when it is only 54 miles with two intervening harbors outside. Even H. with stimulus of warm sun and bright skies agrees to tackle it again and so I shall run down to jetty to-night and get away early to-morrow. The wind still hangs southwest most persistently and I must keep a weather eye open.

_January 5th._ Had at least one good, quiet night but I was kind of wakeful and didn’t do it justice. Morning came a peach and tucking little helpmeet behind we were off at eight on the first of the ebb. Found a jumble of rolypoly seas outside breakwater, but with fair tide logged our 4 knots without sail as it was flat calm. Queer looking gulls around here, wings in the middle, bodies with great long pointed ends. Look just like some Boston people. Scotty began the day with another of her runabouts and retreated to the lazaret as usual. She came out in about an hour; saw or heard something and went all to the bad again. So much so that we had to shut her below fearing she would jump overboard. Never see no such sight. She has no fit spasm at all, just goes amuck with some kind of fear. We chugged merrily along and at 2 p.m. had Cape Romain with its miles of sand shoals abeam. As the chance looked good with easterly airs, we sent up the rag and let her run for Bull’s Bay some 12 knots farther along. Barometer climbing up to 30-1/10 began to make me think a bit for as soon as it passes 30 things begin to happen with us. The afternoon grew more and more to look like storm. The easter freshened to a smart breeze and we were mighty glad at 5 o’clock to haul into shallow Bull’s Bay through the channel near the lighthouse and drop anchor in the little river which begins the inside route to Charleston. We did 36 knots to-day in 9½ hours and nearly all with little kicker which never went better, and H. is justly proud. After a good supper of corn beef the mate reported fire in the oven and sure thing, my kindlings drying were all ablaze and such a mess and smoke before we got them out. Scotty appeared for supper and made a good meal but seems not entirely over her fright yet. Nine o’clock as I write and wind pricking on northeast. You bet it is good to be in this quiet little hole in the wall and not batting around outside. I figure that by coming outside to-day we saved several days of tedious inland work in very shallow water. From here to-morrow I can go to Charleston outside, weather fitting, or inside if things don’t look right.

_January 6th._ Bilged during the night and mine the weather bunk as usual. Had wonderful line of dreams and woke H. to ask him if he had pulled eel spear out of the mud and tied the crab net solid. You see we lost our whole bundle of spears, grains and harpoon iron when I bilged so heavily the night of the gale at Georgetown. My keel caught on the top of the bank and I went right on my beam ends. The scupper plugs alone kept me from filling and everything went to leeward. I just managed to keep stove covers on. Sorry they are gone, but so far they have been non-essentials and much in the way.

Turned out to find one of those mornings which first you know all about and then you don’t. Regular gulf weather with warm, damp easterly breeze. Could see nothing but worry and fret outside so on turn of tide, we put kicker behind and headed for the woods and hay fields. Spent a truly delightful morning twisting in and out the narrow waterway leading through the most gigantic piece of salt marsh I have ever seen. Some few little hell-divers gave us both a chance to show the weakness of our sporting eye. I finally nailed one for Scotty who turned out to-day as chipper as ever. We had alternate bright sunlight and dark cloud and the colors were wonderful. The brightest of bright blues and emerald greens, bright yellows and pearl grays. The distance always framed by the dark line of heavy pine and the foreground by café au lait oyster bars. At 12:30 just in time for lunch we ran quietly but decidedly aground and folded tents. As we ate we heard the one o’clock whistles blowing in Charleston. All about us are yellow legs, curlew, duck and plover, but at this low tide they are feeding on the flats and I only see them afar off. Henry hears them calling but being a bit deaf, I get no sound of it. A little tedious that. We floated and were away by 3:30 and on and on through the marsh as before. Passed the mouth of inlets and I tried in vain to get H. to enthuse on running outside for rest of the way. By 5:30 and as it was growing dark we hit a middle ground and stopped just in time for supper. Fine oyster stew we had from the little native oysters; H. picked up a basketful in a few minutes at noon. They are small, very sweet and delicate, and grow six or eight together in a cluster with edges as sharp as knives. We saw the darkies as we came along gathering them in their bare feet. I mean the darkies, not the oysters, had bare feet.

Floated again after supper and we dropped one anchor up stream and one down for the night which came dark and with fog.

_January 7th._ Turned out to find pouring rain and thick, thick fog. Leisurely good breakfast and with rain letting up after we slipped away only to run ashore a quarter of a mile. By quick work we dragged her into deeper water and settled down to a loaf until fog should lift. Soon after this a motor tug came by with a scow alongside. Wonderful how these natives can find their way in these crooked slews. Just then the tug took a jump in the air and the nigger pilot near shot out the window and there they were for the rest of this day. We had most delicious fried oysters for luncheon. Must get to a city pretty soon for yesterday, when lacing on sail cover, I laced my starboard whisker to the mast. After lunch we started again and went about 200 yds. and fetched up some more. One thing is very satisfactory round here; to go aground is neither strange, uncommon nor a subject of ridicule. “Everybody’s doing it.” This morning we allowed it was Charleston or bust to-day. I guess the busts win.

Yet one more guess, for tide came and we went another 100 yds. Then tide came some more and we were off and away. Through a drawbridge and so out into Charleston Harbor where we passed close to Fort Sumpter and then over to the City where we anchored in open roadstead with considerable tide off the fine clubhouse of the Carolina Yacht Club at 5 p.m., just four weeks to the day from Beaufort, and we had allowed four days at longest. We poseyed right up and went ashore where a member of the club most courteously gave us a stranger’s card and then to P. O. for lots of good news from home and so to a little restaurant for a good bite to eat. Mighty hot and sticky ashore with steam rising everywhere. Most enervating. Our legs going all wibbly, wobbly so. Mighty glad to get on board again where it is snug, peaceful and quiet. Scotty much to the bad again this evening with a real, genuine fit. Don’t know what to do for her and am very glad she has lately taken a fancy to sleep with H.

Turned in only to be turned out by Scotty who refused to have her fit comfortably in the lazaret, and proposed having it and actually did have it in the cabin. H. hid under his blanket, but I was brave, faced the danger and got Scotty’s initials scratched all over my bare feet. Shipwreck is nothing to a wet cockpit, bare feet, dark night and a fitting cat. Soused her with cold water and bundled her away under cockpit for the night. At four o’clock in the morning H. woke to find her cuddled to sleep most contentedly on his blanket, so that danger is for the moment past.

_January 8th._ Turned out to a most muggy, foggy enervating day with thermometer at 75 degrees. Decided we better keep moving her southward, and if we ever get any time have it at the far end and on the return trip when the country should be at its best. So it was on shore with anchor for a new stock and to get a kedge anchor and things too numerous to mention but which sadly depleted my finances. To cap the climax, word comes from home that wifey has decided to keep what money H. had for Christmas and I could advance it to him. Don’t that beat all? Such a bully dinner of steak and fixings. Such a glorious hot bath and after that a long session with tonsorial artist. Then tumbled everything on board and by gum if up didn’t go northwest storm warnings. No place to take a twister, this Charleston. So up anchor and into the clubhouse wharf where we tied snugly. On shore for another good feed. Charleston, nominally prohibition, is really more wide open than any town I ever saw. The blind tigers are running with wide open eyes at every corner and the signs of open gambling everywhere. Commend me always to a good, gambling bar for good cooking and so we hit a mahogany palace having an electric roulette wheel for a sign. Right we were and a delicious steak we had.

[Sidenote: Map D.]

_January 9th._ Comes cloudy, mean and with a chilling wind that smacks of easting. The swash at the open dock had us rolling and gave me good warning to be up and away. It was early up town to a quick breakfast and visit to P. O. then on board, clap in two reefs, twist her round and off up the Ashley River to the tune the old cat died on. We soon found mouth of Wappoo Creek which was our inland way and up it we hustled under canvas. All day we kept the sail on her, winding and twisting through the marsh under a cold, cloudy sky. We finally were glad to drop over hook in a broad reach just below Martin’s Pt., perhaps 30 miles from Charleston. We knicked her once but twisted her into deep water, and jumped her up all standing on a middle ground just before anchoring for the night, but were soon off again. The night shut in dark and cloudy with a cutting wind out of northeast. Glass is again up to 30-2/10 and I suspicion trouble. Am all snug here and Scotty is all right again, the fire drawing well, so let her blow.

_January 10th to 15th._ Am not going to write daily log of this time for it would be too tedious reading, but it was by no means tedious living. We became part and parcel of the swamp and marsh. We were of it, in it, and passed through it like a muskrat or mink, like a snipe or plover. The tide; its set, speed and turning. The wind; its strength and direction. These were what counted and on them we either halted or went on. The ripple of the tide at every bend, the line of foam bubbles on every reach was a matter of constant interest and study. Such days are not for either rich or poor, for those ignorant or wise, but for those only who can cast themselves bodily into nature and be absorbed by it. I don’t wonder big launch owners and houseboat owners always send their boats south under charge of the crew. There could be nothing more dreary than just a-setting still and being taken through these twisting rivers that lead for miles and miles through the never ending rice marshes. We saw some ducks and shore birds, but got shots at very few and missed those ingloriously. One morning during a thick fog, H. tried Helen Keller at a cormorant which down here they call a nigger’s goose. The bird was on the wing, yet once it sounded as if the bullet had found meat but the bird didn’t drop. Two or three hundred yards farther on we came across him stone dead with the lead through his heart. The fog was a nuisance and brought us to anchor at the mouth of the river leading into St. Helena’s Sound which we wished to cross on our way to Hunting Is. H. went ashore to try and pick up a mess of something to eat, but at 5 p.m. yelled out of the fog that his boat was high and dry and he would like me to send him his supper on a tray. Foolish little boy. I got him on board again about 7 and mighty glad he was to crawl into the warm cabin and eat a good hearty supper for he had been nearly bogged, was wet through and plastered with mud. A bit scared, too, and I don’t believe will try this country again alone. He got seven shore birds, but cooked and ate them on shore himself. Greedy cuss. He brought me a present in a match box and when I opened it, out hopped a chameleon lizard right into my lap. What with Scotty trying to catch it and I trying not to, there was a very busy cup of tea. We caught him next day. Have named him Bill from Alice in Wonderland and added him to ship’s company.

One morning the fog burned away to as pretty a bit of blue sky and southerly wind as you ever saw. We were off to cross St. Helena’s Sound at once. What do you think? In an hour a black, vicious looking squall made up in the west and struck just as we had tied in two reefs. A short smother of rain and wind and then cloudy skies and light airs with strong tide and lumpy seas. That Sound is no Massachusetts Bay. All about are 1 ft. and 2 ft. spots. I did the best I could, but one spot that should break didn’t and everything else did and what with the tide sweeping us about we had a mighty anxious hour or two with the lead giving us from 9 to 10 feet of water on a falling tide. Finally got into our creek and of all dreary surroundings these certainly won out over any we have yet seen. For miles and miles the dark brown oyster bars stretched endlessly and the creek with many branches wound about like a maze. It was near night when we took bottom and learnt from some nigger oyster gatherers that we were way out of the main creek and bound for the sticks. So it was snug down for the night. At high tide these oyster bars will be covered and we will be anchored in a great shallow lake through which it would be most dangerous to try to navigate for these bars are simply covered with sharp pointed oyster clusters which differ in my opinion mighty little from rocks. Hundreds of big plover all over and about this afternoon. Big as pigeons, tame as pigeons, too. Went in launch to get some for supper. Missed them sitting, also flying, and came back without one. I am in that delightful stage when I pull the trigger three or four times before I shoot. Flinching? Well, I guess so. H. ain’t no better than I am. We have a standing bet of five glasses of Coca-Cola to one that the other fellow don’t kill. So far we stand even and nobody has hit a thing. Dreary, cold, cloudy, northeast weather. Put launch ashore and repacked stuffing box, but that didn’t stop leak which now threatens to almost sink her overnight.

The clouds all rolled away and a morning broke as bright as a new dollar with a waspish northeaster whisking across the marshes. It was off and away “pronto.” With single reef we cut things wide open. Slack sheet, down peak and away we rushed the reaches. In sheet, up peak and we beat her up the bends and then repeat with our wake swashing from bank to bank. We kept at it all day and it was one of the sporting sails of my life. Through narrow creeks, down broad rivers, across big sounds we drove and hustled. Just a little slip-up in jibing or tacking and we would have been in the meadows, but we made none. When we shot out of the creek into Port Royal Sound we made just three jumps and landed with a swash in the river on other shore. Old Mascot only wet her garboards twice in crossing, and the launch never touched water at all. So it was all day and we anchored for the night with Savannah, Ga., but a few miles away. The night came pretty as a picture, but snappy cold and with the highest glass we have yet seen, 30.2. Think must have change soon. When glass is persistently high down here I promptly suspicion trouble. By 4 a.m. I felt sure we were in for another duster for glass began to drop, heavy clouds rolled up from northeast and wind piped on. I lay awake hoping that I wouldn’t have to get out anchors until daylight for it was pesky dark and cold. Suddenly all the breeze let go to a dead calm and then came out of the northwest smartly but not troublesome and I got in some handsome winks until seven o’clock when I turned out to an undeniably pretty day and good breakfast. Then it was away under sail once more, and passing for a mile or so through a little winding creek, we entered the Savannah River and by noon were sailing along the water front of one of the busiest of southern ports.

_January 16th._ Comes deliciously fair, bright and warm. We have worked mighty hard for some sunlight like this and a little “dolce fa niente” served with some prawns creamed on toast won’t hurt either of us. To town where I was quite the centre of effort when they learnt at the bank that I had brought a 24 ft. catboat down _under sail_ in midwinter. I felt just like Dr. Cook. Sorry H. wasn’t along. In p.m. we took up hook, put launch behind and twisted our way for 10 miles through marsh to Thunderbolt. It looks very attractive here and if we can find a decent beach to haul out on, we’ll stay a day or two and complete repairs. We caught many flies for Bill to-day, but Bill is a dope and won’t eat a thing. You look out, Bill, or you’ll come off the way you come on.

_January 17th to 21st._ Found a boatbuilder and turned the launch over to him. Hauled Mascot on beach. Covered patch on her side and found rudder-hanger iron all torn off. Would have looked pretty bobbing about the Atlantic without any rudder. Air soft and mild, feels awful good and we were contented to take things slowly. Found Senator Cameron on houseboat _Alamida_. He asked us to luncheon and we went you bet. Bully lunch and decided change from my cooking. He must be a lonely man for he asked us to come again next day. Accepted, of course. He offered to tow us way to Jacksonville. I refused as it didn’t seem sporting to welsh on the last leg. Looked on at public dance at electric road’s casino. Everything as well ordered and conducted as at a private party. No rowdies, no splurge, but just a bully good time. There is no foreign or mill population to contend with, and no cheap sports throwing their coin. At the little roadhouses and inns on the way to town everything is well handled and we saw many little parties of two or three ladies together having supper without escort. Savannah is out and out the most attractive place we have yet seen.

Turned out one morning at 3 a.m. to twist Mascot around on beach for rudder repairs. These beaches, so-called, are not real beaches at all but huge mud banks covered several feet deep with oyster shells through which the brown clay mud oozes at every step. Into this stuff we had to shovel a pit deep enough to crawl into and get under rudder. H. did it you bet and such a mess as he was. In fact by time we got Mascot into deep water once more everything was plastered with slippery clay. Found and calked a little leak around rudder port and think I may have turned a neat trick. Put more canvas and copper tacks on old launch and finally one afternoon settled ourselves in cabin for a quiet hour or two with feeling that things were pretty well taken care of. The weather continued gloriously bright and warm. A beautiful moon made each night as light almost as day and so feel we have cheated winter of two victims if nothing more. It would be hard to explain why, since leaving home we have never used an eel spear, fish grain, net or even dropped over a line. The daily strife against wind and tide has been far too engrossing. The constant repairs to sail, rigging gear and engine have occupied every moment and every bit of our energy so that with each hour of leisure we have wanted to stretch out and rest. I still have the remains of two 10 ft. bamboo poles. Every other bit of fishing gear has been either broken or swept overboard. I am clinging to these two broken and twisted bits of bamboo with the idea that I will yet catch a fish on them before throwing them away just as matter of sentiment. We began breaking them in Hell Gate and foot by foot they have shortened up ever since. Will make good walking sticks pretty soon.