The Boy, Me and the Cat

The Boy, Me and the Cat

The Cruise of the Mascot October, 1912-June, 1913 All Hands and the Cook Henry M. Plummer Henry M. Plummer, Jr. and Scotty

Map A.

New Bedford, Massachusetts, September 15, 1912.

The Mascot is an old-fashioned Cape Cod catboat 30 years old. Her dimensions are, length overall 24 ft. 6 in., waterline 23 ft., beam 10 ft., draught 3 ft. 6 in. With self-bailing cockpit she is as safe and able a little ship as a man could want to go to sea in. Cabin accommodations are comfortably ample for two men and include a small shipmate stove near gangway on port side, a well-filled bookcase forward on starboard side, two roomy transoms and plenty of storage room.

Today we hauled out on marine railway to paint and also had a 3-horsepower engine installed in our 15 ft. dory skiff. Mighty busy days settling up business matters and attending personally to every detail of outfitting for Henry is new to the game and can be of very little help at this time.

Was giving a man some help on a capstan when a post pulled out of the ground and a big block and chain snapped in, catching me on the leg and putting me out of commission and into bed for four, pretty uncomfortable days. Visions of weeks on my back with splintered leg bone were finally ended when, with a little sharp click, a misplaced tendon snapped back and I was soon hobbling about. Made a mental note never to try and help anyone again.

October 10th-11th. Made sail in afternoon and worked round to Padanaram where the next day we received visitors, drank luck and happy days to the boat, said good-bye, hoisted pennant of New Bedford Yacht Club, and in late afternoon slipped down river in very light airs.

October 12th. At 3 o’clock this morning with aid of little launch we towed across the bar and dropped anchor off my Potomska farm in the Pascamanset River which flows into Buzzards Bay between Meshaum Pt. and Barneys Joy just northerly from Cuttyhunk, the most westerly of the Elizabeth Islands.

October 14th. Mighty busy cup o’ tea this morning. Tumbled all the “last things” on board. Crawled under the shed, caught the cat, rubbed her full of flea powder, and dropped her into a gunny sack to moult. Will have troubles enough without fleas.

Good-bye to brave mother, and with a white apron waving from the cottage door, we slipped moorings and stood to sea with fair tide and light westerly breezes. Employed crew in ship’s duties and with sheets flattened in we made it a long and short leg passing inside of Hen and Chickens reef and so to quiet anchorage for the night at Sakonet.

October 15th. Turned out 5 o’clock. Sun rose very angry and glass falling. Wind strong at west. Double reefed and under way by 10. Wind slacked and left us rolling without headway. Had to put on whole sail to work off shore. Breeze began to freshen at once from S. W. Lots of coot and I tried my luck with the gun and knocked down one with each barrel for a long chance. We got one and so began living on the country. Breeze pricking on very fresh. Launch unshipped rudder and Henry had to jump on board and save it. This he did well and he shows great aptitude in everything. Breeze increasing and sea very heavy so dropping peak ran back to cove under west shore. Wind suddenly shifted and came out fresh gale N. W. Double reefed again and went out to look things over and test boat and rigging. Found a fearful sea on, into which we plunged at times to the mast. Our davits held all right. Kept jogging along and ran into Newport at 9:30 after a long, hard day. Took a heavy squall off Fort Adams and cut all kinds of pigeon wings with water flying and halliards, too. Thought we would surely sink the launch, but found only a few inches of water in her next morning.

October 16th. Lay at anchor all day. Did shopping, etc., etc. Made a fine corn pudding. Found the cow’s horn on our bowsprit end had been badly twisted in the blow of yesterday and got ready to mend same. Will here explain that I was carrying spinnaker pole, spears, harpoons and spare truck in general lashed, one end on small davits and forward end resting in an iron half hook or horn bolted on end of short plank bowsprit.

October 17th. Fine day with very strong breeze from S. W. Crew engaged in ordinary ship’s duties and mending bowsprit horn. Kitty doing fine. Not sick a bit. Tried to make her sleep in basket last night instead of on my neck and result is she has disappeared under transom and won’t come out at all today in spite of all hands calling Kitty! Kitty! and a nice plate of chowder waiting.

October 18th. Gale blew out in night and morning came bright, fair with nice breeze S. S. W. Up at 5 and under way with single reef by 9. Looked over the German cruiser Victoria Louise and also one of our battleships. Then flattened in sheets for a long beat to Pt. Judith. Beautiful day with easy sea and crew engaged in ship’s duties and sewing launch fender. Some little hubble-bubble outside and coot stew slopped over on Scotty but did not scald her. Later while asleep in her basket the beans came flying to leeward. She heard them on their way and escaped from under by a flying leap to cockpit. Quite a day for Scotty. Henry had his first taste of coot stew while laid to off Narragansett Pier. He tucked away a good bit and held it down. Shook out our reef and ran into Pt. Judith Pond at 4 P. M. after a fine day to windward. Tied right up to the bank of the marsh just like alongside a dock. A fascinating place with great possibilities. Fisherman gave us a fresh mackerel for supper.

October 19th. Comes cloudy with freshening S. W. breeze. Owly looking weather. More mackerel from kind friend. Flock of tired geese came near giving us a shot. Off by 9 under single reef. Very crooked water and heavy ground swell. Drove along easily and made good weather. Crew engaged in cleaning and splitting mackerel on new fish board which works fine. Later salted mackerel down. This looks like living on the country. Slipped in behind inner breakwater at Stonington by 3:45 after a hard thrash against heavy seas and wind with threatening skies. Six days from home and only 60 miles away and every mile fought for.

Good supper of corn soup and hot biscuits. Henry delights me with sounds of contentment wrung from the jew’s-harp. Scotty is picking up heart and investigating the deck.

October 20th. Comes fresh, clear and cold N. W., an ideal day for getting on but as we only have to make New London we stayed quietly at anchor after good breakfast of fried clams and potatoes. Engaged in snugging up and finding things still lost since starting. Scotty beginning to play nicely. Lunched and slipped quietly away about 1 o’clock. Light airs but fair tide and a beautiful bright blue sky and sea, with shore of browns, greens and vivid reds. Four o’clock found us becalmed off mouth of the Thames so Henry started the bug and away we went 35 min. to the old anchorage off the coal pockets. Passed a familiar looking old packet on way up river. She was slowly beating in with only two men on board. She proved to be the schooner yacht Ruth and indeed sadly fallen in estate since I sailed a Goelet race in her so many years ago. I wonder if I, too, look so done up.

October 21st. Comes beautifully bright with fine easterly breeze and we should have been moving. Gave up the day, however, to fitting cover to launch. It was a very busy but satisfactory day and ended with a fine hot bath on shore with beefsteak supper to follow.

October 22nd. Comes again beautiful with again that fresh breeze at E. S. E. We are both feeling effects of our hard preparatory work and strenuous days following, and so it is 10 o’clock before we are half down the river. Once out and away, we begin to bruise water in great shape. Finally hove to and rigged spinnaker in spite of quite a rolling sea. I hoisted it and with a cheer we broke it out to as fair and pretty a breeze as ever christened a new sail. And how we legged it then and when tide turned some more. For seven hours we never started sheets or halliards. Warmed by the kindest of suns, pulled by spinnaker and mainsail, pushed by whitecapped, sparkling waves and hurried by a sweeping tide, we ran by the beautiful Connecticut shores and drove into New Haven 50 miles from our start at 7 p.m. We were well tired, but we had covered as much ground in nine hours as had taken a week till then. We snugged up and sat down to two great bowls of tomato clam bisque which I had been at work on. Oh, it was good and we tucked a lot of it away and then rolled into our bunks for good long sleep, but did we get it? Nit.

October 23rd. Starts at 1 a.m. for mine and about 2 a.m. for Henry. Tomato clam bisques are not good in bulk for tired stomachs. Least said about this day the better. Our spirits went as low as the barometer which dropped 7/10 inch for a nasty S. E. gale which drove in a sea that kept us rolling all day at our anchor. Henry recovered promptly, but yours truly was in his bunk all day. I got lots of sleep, however, which I knew just what to do with. Night came with a storm and rain and roll and pitch, but I was better and slept well. For three miserable days we lay rolling scuppers to while the heavy southeaster drove the rain swishing across decks. My eyes gave out completely, and I spent most of my time clinging to my transom and renewing bandages.

October 26th. Up at 4 a.m. and after a “Jolly boy” which consists of a fried ship’s bread, and a mug of cocoa, we up anchor and started. No wind, but clearing skies. The beautiful hunter’s moon in the west and a glorious red sun popping out of the sea in the east. We took a strong westerly breeze outside breakwater and thought we were in for a good smash to windward. It soon all gave out and for the whole day we just worked flukes along the shore and anchored at 4 p.m. behind the Stratford breakwater with only a dozen little miles to our credit. We saw more ducks than I ever saw before. Literally by the thousand and by the acre. I was too afraid of game wardens to try the shotgun, but Helen Keller, the name we give to the 22 cal. with silencer, whispered close to a number but failed to touch meat. There were coot, white wings, whistlers, shell drake, skunk heads, and thousands of black duck. Night came beautifully. Calm and clear. The eye better and with a patch and blue glasses I was fairly comfortable.

October 27th. Turned out at 4 and under way at 4:30 in cold, snappy morning with fresh northerly breeze and Henry mighty glad to wrap my knit scarf round his neck. Caught the tide just at the turn and away we went with that glorious moon to the west and the old crimson sun popping up behind us. Eye turns out better, and I am less anxious about it. Think too much Pond’s Extract with its alcohol made much of the trouble. Alcohol has but one fit place and that internal. With started sheets we did bruise the water unmercifully hour after hour. The breeze freshened all the time and we were soon carting more canvas than was prudent so ran in under lee of a point and doused sail for a single reef. Here I distinguished myself by tying in two second reef points and tearing two nice holes in my new sail when we hoisted. Age will tell. Away again, and Henry shot a crippled coot which we got. At this time the chief engineer reported fire in the hold. The captain returned answer that he didn’t care a ... how much was in the hold if there was enough in the stove for breakfast so we let her burn. Sheet of asbestos not enough under stove and wood beneath was charring. Officers allayed the fears of the passengers, and crew were employed in ordinary ship’s duties which prevented panic. Off Stamford a Sunday fishing party of five men in a rowboat was sighted being blown out into the Sound. We responded to their frantic waves of distress. Made a sporting pickup and towed them in under the land to calm water. Then off and away again. The Sound narrowing up. Execution Rock in sight. Traffic increasing. Passed Execution Rock at noon, and entered the beginning of East River and caught the Western Hell Gate tide all right. Here the wind left us and we shook out reef and made slow going to the Gate where we boiled through on the rushing tide.

Hardly passed the Gate when all wind failed. We lost steerage way and being caught by a swirling back eddy went head on plump into a barge alongside the dock. Then we waltzed around a few times, took a little puff of wind and plumped bang into the barge again. Broke ends off our fish poles and smashed our fish grain pole, and as we were preparing for another dive at the barge and the boat completely out of control, I ordered Henry into the launch and with mother’s helper away we went fluke-o down the river. Henry touched the high places when the ferry boats kicked up the seas, but he stuck in and the little bug never missed a turn. So to Ellis Is. where Henry came on board, and as night shut down we found our way into the Erie Basin and tied up snug and quiet behind the big steam yacht Aphrodite. It was a long day well put in. I don’t think I ever had twelve hours of fair tide before. We made 60 statute, and about 54 nautical miles and that’s some going for a 24-foot boat. Scotty, who has been pretty peevish during the last few days, began picking up to-day, and shows signs of being a sailor after all. If Henry had any mind, he would make a dandy, for his appetite is good. My eye stood the long day well, and I turned in feeling that it was distinctly on the mend.

October 28th. Found us all snug in Erie Basin with warm sun to cheer the cockles of our hearts. I devoted the whole day to patching my torn sail. I took lots of time and care and hope to look at the two patches with pleasure for months to come. Henry took down the stove and put in more asbestos and made an air space with hope of averting another holocaust. Fred Hussey called at 4 p.m. and took Henry to Orange for the night and Scotty and I were left to keep ship alone. Finally I left Scotty and made my way up town for a good dinner. Back to the boat mighty early, for the surroundings of Erie Basin are not conducive of late saunterings. I bet they gave it the name Erie after nightfall. Great stretches of black water half covering blacker stretches of mud. A lonely, unlighted road leads across made land and marsh. Blast furnaces flare up unexpectedly. Trip-hammers pound on iron. Dogs follow and snarl at your heels. Hound’s Ditch, London, must have been like it. No, I don’t fancy the Erie Basin at night where the electric cars stop en route while driver and conductor get a drink in the neighboring bar and light up their cigarettes. Scotty greeted me on my return and was soon muzzling into some chicken hash which I brought back from my dinner. I have to order my meals according to what I think Scotty wants and not at all as I feel appetite for. When waiter isn’t looking I scoop a lot into a piece of paper and jam it into my pocket.

From October 28th to November 1st we lay in Erie Basin enjoying fine weather, and occupied every minute in fitting ship and making ready for the days and weeks to come. There is a raft of things to be done to insure comfortable living on a small boat, and it is always difficult to stick to completion of essentials first. I want to write a book and call it the “Magnification of the Non-essential.” I wonder if I thought that title up myself or cribbed it somewhere. Henry worked hard and well, is making a good shipmate and seems to have a sailor’s heart in him. When we go to town from here we pass the India Docks where Henry’s grandfather Morgan fitted out his clipper ships for the adventures of the sea.

November 1st. Comes cloudy with light rain. Wind S. E. and sharply falling glass. Weather has been too kind to kick at a little change. Up early and leave the nasty, slimy Erie Basin at 8 o’clock. The launch is a sight. All grease brown. Head tide but strong whole sail breeze and we made good time on port tack, hugging the Brooklyn shore as far as the Narrows. Here the wind hauled due south, and we made a stretch over to Staten Island, where I took a few chances and nicked the tide close to the beach for half a mile. Then the wind failed under the high land, and we stretched over to Long Is. again. Worked that shore hard and wind freshened but hauled S. W. right in our teeth. Wind kept coming. We beat through inside Fort Lafayette and were carrying plenty of canvas in quite a chop. Now what a comfortable boat this is. Here we were with rail all awash and lunging to it, with heavy rain squalls driving over. I lighted my fire all warm and comfy below, and in an hour sat down to a roast of beef and baked potatoes. We crossed the river once more with wind increasing and rain sheeting down and the sea fearfully crooked. We had six miles dead to windward at entrance to Raritan Bay. We lugged the sail to her mighty hard for the sea was nasty enough and we had to crowd her to make any headway. All our poles and gear stayed on the davits, but we lost sight of them a good many times entirely, and wondered if we were to see them again. We finally rounded our buoy only to have the wind haul more by the west and dead ahead some more. We thrashed and pounded at it the whole afternoon with driving rain in our faces. Just before daylight left us there was a quick lull and down from northwest came an ugly looking squall. First driving rain, and then a vicious blast of wind. I was ready for it, and laid her to with dropped peak. It seemed likely to last so lowered sail and made a sporty single reef. Henry is a born sailor and acts like an old hand at the game. Couldn’t ask for better help. No sooner reefed than it fell calm and left us rolling scuppers to, etc. An hour or so of that, and the wind came smartly out of northwest which gave us a long and short leg up to Perth Amboy which we made with help of lead line at 9 o’clock. This was a hard day for we were at it thirteen hours and only covered 33 miles. Strong head tides all day.

Map B.

November 2nd. Comes bright and clear with smart reefing breezes from N. W. and a real touch of winter in the air. A little more and we would need our mitties. Turned out 6:30 and while eating breakfast were hailed by a towboat captain to know where our anchors were. We pointed ahead, of course, and it was some time before we caught onto the fact that we were dragging straight across harbor. Felt pretty cheap and unprofessional. Bowsed our anchor and took off some dozen turns of chain. Under way about 9 under two reefs, one of which we shook out at once. Passed through drawer of R. R. bridge, and then through another and were then fairly on our way up Raritan River. The morning’s sail was beautiful, and made the more so by contrast with yesterday. Marshes browning, with haycocks scattered about and the hills across wide stretches. Clouds, sky and smoke from many chimneys all helped out. By 1 o’clock we dropped anchor off the entrance to Delaware and Raritan canal at New Brunswick. We spent the afternoon wandering round streets of New Brunswick, and buying few provisions and getting canal tickets. Curiously we had to pay more for the launch than for the Mascot. This because we use her as towboat. Night came still, clear and snappy cold. To carry out my plans in regard to showing the cities to Henry, we should have started a month earlier. I can see hurry and rush and cold ahead if we delay.

November 3rd. Comes snappy cold. A strong, raw northwest wind made mufflers comfortable. I finished knitting Henry’s muffler last night with Scotty in my lap playing with needles and yarn. Mighty busy all morning stripping davits and lashing poles to main boom besides filling gunny sacks with dry leaves for fenders in the locks. Curious smell in cabin this morning and H. was for beating the cat at once. I counselled moderation, and discovered that Mr. Coot, shot a week ago, had decided not to be parboiled any more. Don’t think H. was sorry to see his carcass floating downstream. Lucky escape for Scotty. Had chicken stew with steamed dumpling for dinner. Everything all right, but the chicken was an old fowl. I parboiled it two hours and cooked it two more, and it was not even to be cut with a sheath knife. Put it by for future use.

November 4th. Comes beautiful but so cold that there was ice in the pans on deck and frost enough for snowballs over everything. Launch engine froze up, but the mechanician soon had it going. Put it on astern with quarter lines and away we went. Couldn’t tell the beauties and delights of the day. Too many for me. Everything worked perfectly. Little launch pushed us 4 miles an hour at her ¾ speed. We hardly heard her way astern, and we just sort of glided by the banks, through beautiful farming country, past towns and villages. Our fenders were perfect and although the flotilla was the devil to turn corners with, we never had any trouble. When night came we snugged up to the left bank along which ran a railroad track. We were at supper when the first train with deafening roar rushed by. H. was watching it, and when it had passed he noticed a little object running towards us on the track. By gum! if it wasn’t Scotty soaked to the skin. She wouldn’t tell us how it happened, but we think she was playing on deck, got frightened and jumped or fell into canal and swam ashore.

November 5th. Comes not so cold, a perfect, still, misty, fall morning. We were away by 9 o’clock ready to enjoy another glorious day and we had it. Reached Trenton at noon and entered our first descending lock. We were careless here and failed to get out a stern line. When the water began to drop we were caught in the current and swept across the lock. H. was quick as scat and saved serious trouble by getting his line out and holding her. Our bowsprit caught as we dropped and we chipped a piece off the end, but no serious harm. From here on it was a busy afternoon with locks and bridges every quarter mile. Just at sunset we tied up to the wharf above the last lock which to-morrow will let us down to the Delaware River. As the tide will not serve in the river until noon, we are looking forward to a quiet morning at the dock.

November 6th. Comes beautifully fair. As tide did not serve in the Delaware River until 1 o’clock we lay in the lock during morning. When it came to locking out, the beasts tacked on another $4.00 to our charge because we were a pleasure boat or something. $6.50 for the Mascot and same for tender. Never get to Florida at that expense rate. No wind all afternoon so we tucked tender aft and away we went for a beautiful boat ride. Night caught us above a big railroad bridge just above Philadelphia. Sometimes I thought the bridge looked high enough to let me under and sometimes I didn’t. The nearer I got the scairder I was, so turned onto east bank to wait until morning. Between one cast of lead and another I went high and dry as usual. Boat bilged and we had supper at the same old angle. Then tide came and with it my courage and I poked the end of my mast up into the big black shadow of that bridge just as a freight train thundered over. Of course we went under all right and so on down to the city and wharves. Barometer falling sharply and I poked into a black dock on east shore and tied up to a barge. Watchman came and said there would be no water at low tide, but we were too tired to mind that and turned in.

November 7th. Came as expected with downpour of rain and old-fashioned southeaster. I made ready for shore in search of an eye doctor, as my right eye had been out of commission for the past week. Got laundry together in big newspaper bundle and was about to start when along comes wharf man and orders us out of our berth, as tug was coming to move barge. Nasty mess. Sheeting rain and blowing hard. Shifted up river off Camden Motor Boat Club where tide runs fiercely. Then I started ashore and by the time I reached an electric all the newspaper had melted off my laundry bundle and I was gathering up the loose and wet ends of shirts, socks and pajamas. People in the car thought I was a joke.

Got hold of a good eye man and spent the afternoon with him. Seems nothing very serious the matter, and he hopes to soon have me going again. Back to boat for supper.

November 8th. Comes in at 2 a.m. with a vicious young gale out of northwest. Things began doing at once. Motor boats at short mooring lines began darting at each other and the old Mascot at the end of 15 fathoms of chain commenced a series of circles in which she managed to hit them all. H. and I shivering in night clothes and bare feet were powerless to stop the merry-go-round and just when things began to snap and crack too plenty, I slipped my cable and ran up river under bare poles and let the motor boats fight it out. We are pretty well in hand by now and after mugging up with coffee and hardtack, were soon sound asleep again by four o’clock. Turned out to listen to some choice language from tow-boat captains for we had anchored plump in fairway. Had to shift just as we had all dolled up for shore. A mighty interesting visit to the Cramp ship yards in p.m. When I slipped cable we buoyed it with our push pole and got it again all right, but in the mixup we tore out the boom crutch deck fittings and smashed a cleat on boom. All non-essentials.

November 9th. I reported to eye doctor with two pretty good peepers and had some new glasses made and fitted. Henry worked on boat trying to reduce confusion. He came ashore later and we dined together. There is no time for anything when trying to look decent and be ashore each day. We are mighty sick of Philadelphia with its quick running tideway, dirty water and cold, piercing wind.

November 10th. Tide served at 4 o’clock and we were up and ready, but it was so dark we concluded to eat a comfortable breakfast and not take any chances. Yesterday had an unfortunate instance, for during p.m. when we were in town, our boom crutch worked loose and quietly faded away. Darned good maple crutch it was, too. We hove anchor about six and with a glorious day breaking, headed down Delaware with smart westerly breeze. My! but it was cold. Two heavy socks, mufflers and mitties all to the good. Wind hauled ahead and we had it on end until tide turned, when the breeze slacked and we dropped yank near Jersey shore and prepared for the first few hours of real loafing we have had since leaving home and that will be a month tomorrow. Scotty just dotes on sea fowl so I got Helen Keller to whisper once to a hell-diver and he was soon stewing in the pot. We really tried to keep still for a few hours, but there are so many things to do we managed it badly. The tide served about 3 p.m. and we were away with it. Light breeze ahead but such a swirling 4-knot tide that we made good headway and sometime about 8 or 9 o’clock ran into a little hole in the wall behind a breakwater where after some trouble we found water enough to float us. Wilmington, Delaware, was just over in back of a long nearby jetty.

November 11th. Came bright and fair but dead calm. We put the launch on ahead and H. towed me down river to Delaware City which we reached at 9:30 just as tide was setting ahead. The day starting in quite cold, suddenly turned southerly and so warm that thermometer went to 80 degrees in the sun. We filled water tanks at dock and then locked into canal basin where we tied up to the side of the main street of the town. Here we found a man and his wife whom we first met in the Raritan canal. They were bound to Florida in a little 26 foot open launch with canopy top. Heaven I hope will help the outfit or wreck them on some friendly shore, for the man had neither charts nor directions and didn’t even know the meaning or use of buoys. We had told him of the Rudder’s description of route and he was then waiting to receive copies. The little woman was losing courage and well she might, for in the southeaster a few days ago they had been soaked through, bedding and all, and the night of the northwest squall they had spent shivering while tied to a can buoy in Delaware River not knowing where they were or what to do. How comfortable our cosy little cabin did seem in comparison. Seeing them again reminded me of a little experience in the Raritan canal. We tried to pass a big barge going our way and when nearly by we took bottom and ran up good and plenty. The barge-man yelled out to “come off as ye come on” and left us. To budge the good ship I had to run a line ashore and heave her down with throat halliards. You bet it made my sore eye better when on passing the next bend I found the barge stuck hard and fast on a rock with no prospect of getting off this year. “Come off as ye come on” says I, and away we went. To hark back to Delaware City we put in the afternoon measuring off rigging for I don’t trust this and we’ll get new at Baltimore. Then we hauled out head and foot of mainsail and then we were both about all in for we have been working hard for a good many days and the change of weather did us both up brown. I took Scotty for a little walk but when she heard a dinner bell, she thought of the engine in the Raritan canal and bolted. Gee! how she flew. The Mascot not being near enough, she jumped into nearest open boat and crawled away up under forward deck from where I had to pull her by the tail. Night came and villainous urchins pounded with sticks on our smoke pipe.

November 12th. Comes fair and warm. Both feeling fine and my eyes all mended up. Off by nine into the country now beginning to look a little more southern. More leaves on the trees and the trunks festooned with vines. The canal with its little lakes and then again its narrow wooded cuts most beautiful. The warm sunlight flooded all and the distances were hazy blue and brown. It was a day of days. The bluebird perched on my finger and let me stroke its feathers, and Scotty curled up in my lap just the nicest, softest bunch of fur. Broiled steak and creamed potatoes for dinner. If I didn’t continually prove myself a fool I would think myself a philosopher—for I seem to come nearer to complete happiness more often than other folks. I have worked hard for it, too, in a way, and I believe that I have made such friends with bluebird that neither poverty, want or woe can drive him far away for long.

The beautiful delightful fourteen miles was mighty soon over and about 1:30 we locked out into the creek which leads to Elk River and the headwaters of old Chesapeake Bay. We ran aground promptly, but got off with help of launch and sail. Then we towed a bit and then with very light airs but fair tide, we beat down the beautiful reaches and were mighty glad to lose the sound of the launch’s puffing.

Oh! it sure was a dandy sail and when the sun set behind the highlands and the light clouds all turned a gorgeous crimson we slipped quietly into a little branch and anchored in the deep shadow of the shore and watched a flock of geese wing to the southard. This was what we came for and it was way up to expectations.

November 13th. Last night we turned in to the vibrant sound of honking geese in flight and this morning we turned out to the same tune. Not a breath of air and the bay like a mirror with shores veiled in bluish mist. Wonderful beyond anything. Put the launch astern and were soon on our way. So straight does she go when we fix launch just right that we both sat down in cabin to breakfast and let her go it alone. Ducks, ducks by the thousand, geese by the hundreds and hundreds. We chased big, long-necked Canada geese in flocks as if they were puddle ducks. I never expected to see such a sight. They all knew motor boat mightly well, however, and Helen Keller, the 22 rifle with Maxim silencer, whispered in vain, but mighty close by. It is a sporting proposition to get duck or goose meat with a 22 cal. at 150 or 200 yards with your boat going 4 knots and distance guessed at. No wind came until afternoon and we just puffed along while the crew cleaned ship after the dirty canal travel and kept busy in ordinary ship’s duties. Barometer slowly working down, also provisions. Better make Baltimore to-night although it hurts my pride not to hoist sail. Things look mighty different now from what they did with a bandage on one eye and a blue glass over the other. Age, however, must be creeping on for without glasses I can’t make out anything on a chart.

We jogged along until off entrance to Baltimore harbor where a smashing S. W. breeze struck in and we up sail and squared away for anchor. Baltimore being noted for its nasty harbor water, we ran up to South Baltimore in Curtis Bay, and as we were beating in got properly cussed by ferry boat captain for not having our lights lit. Said he would report us and some other things too. Hope he don’t for I was caught pretty lame. Scotty scared of motor today and fled behind stove where she stayed all day. Clouding up from southard and am glad to be in good harbor.

November 14th. This day was a hustle like all the previous ones. I went to town and bought provisions and new rigging, but found there was no way of ever getting them to Curtis Bay which I also found was reputed the most notoriously disreputable suburb of Baltimore. Didn’t get back to boat until 3 p.m. when H. met me all dolled up to go to his Uncle Alfred’s to supper. I started the launch, got gallied with the tiller lines and ran her bang into the wharf. No damage and soon on board where I had supper and wrote letters and then fell sound asleep so that H. returning, had to hire a launch to bring him on board.

November 15th. Comes with drifting cloud and cold, raw wind from the west where snow is reported in the mountains. Got under way at once, and beat up harbor in smashing breeze to anchorage off Maryland Motor Boat Club. A very Christian place. While I was cooking breakfast, H. went ashore for our supplies and without life preservers, fire extinguisher or whistle in launch fell right into hands of revenue officer who said he must report him. What with being caught without side lights the other night, and without launch fixings today, things are beginning to be interesting. We rove, spliced and whipped new gang of rigging this morning and she looks more shipshape. Must now go ashore for last things and there is the revenue cutter waiting at wharf. Had launch full of preservers and bric-a-brac, no trouble. On board for nice quiet evening at knitting.

November 16th. Comes sharply cold with breeze N. W. Off by 7:15 and after breakfast and clearing up put spinnaker to her in freshening breeze and away we went down Chesapeake to the tune of “forward and back with ladies change.” The breeze hauling by west made me try spinnaker as balloon jib but wind was too puffy and nearly lost my boom so had to take it in. Saw a herd of black and white cows ahead. No law on stray cows at sea so I got one with one barrel and H. took another with other barrel and their carcasses soon aboard. On past Annapolis where the Naval School buildings looked grandly beautiful. Can’t stop today but see you on our way back. Busy as bees all morning. Basket of oysters to be cleaned and now and then one opened. So good, so good. Then I opened a dozen or so and H. made a pie which is baking as I write, and the sun is going down gloriously clear, and up under the shore with leg-o-mutton sails and long raking spars the oyster sloops are racing home for the night. How short the day. Half-past four and we are getting lanterns ready. Let the wind only hold at this, and I will take her a long way from here before the sun peeks at me again. I believe it is right to drive south steadily and loaf along on the up route because it is too cold and young ice will be along soon. A year ago Baltimore was buried in snow and had a zero temperature. Not any for mine. The wind dropped with the sun and after hour of loafing along in the light of a good moon, we dropped anchor and turned in at 11 p.m.

November 17th. Comes without a cloud or a breath of wind. Turned over and snoozed it out until 7. Then up and doing. I had remains of oyster pie for my breakfast and H. stuffed griddles. A regular Chesapeake morning. The Bay a mirror and dotted with sail of all kinds. We got away with launch astern but by 10:30 a cold whiffle came down from north and it was soon eight hands around, and away to a smashing breeze with white caps dancing alongside. We are tearing at it as I write and yet it seems impossible down here in the cozy little cabin with good fire going, sunlight pouring through the open hatch and kitty, who has just eaten and then thrown up the leg of a sea fowl, asleep in my lap. All the comforts of home in 24′ 7″. Don’t it beat all? And just as I finished writing the above sizzle it came butt-ends on and then some. We were over-blown in no time so it was bring her to it and reef in a vicious chop of a sea. Put in the best reef yet and in ship-shape style. H. is all right. Papa felt so good he tied down the leach earing himself. Away again in search of palm trees for this norther was cutting cold. It blew on steadily and soon every sail on the bay but ourselves had run to cover in some little hole in the wall. We drew out into the broad mouth of the Potomac and such a hubble-bubble as there was and the breeze pricking on all the time. The launch still without cover began to lap up the water and was soon shooting from side to side. I dropped my peak to ease things but couldn’t do much. Sea tumbling every which way and more to come. In the holes we could see whiff-on-pooffs laughing. I was below eating dinner when H. yelled “she’s gone.” Sure thing. The launch had stripped the big quarter cleat off the deck and was headed to sea far astern. Thank goodness she wasn’t sunk. Then it was down board up peak and haul sheets. Oh! a fine, noble little ship she is. She looked up into that crooked water like a major. Into Henry’s bunk went my bean dinner, coffee, etc., etc. Round she came and everything else went into mine. Just before reaching the launch an old, whopping sea spilled lanterns, cans, pans, coal and me into the scuppers, and before I could get my wheel again, we all but hit the launch beam on. Just got by but couldn’t catch her. Made a sporting pickup on next try, but saw at once that she would soon roll over if not bailed out. Dropped peak, laid to and H. jumped aboard and bailed out like a sailor. Then away again and found that with a very long painter she did pretty well. Was trying to get round next point without tacking, but the sea was almost breaking and my lead giving me only 2½ fath. In a cast or two I got only 1½ fath. and the water straight up and down. The sooner the quicker and we made a fancy North river jibe and hauled off shore. Soon found easier going and tacking her smartly just inside Smith’s Point Light, we squared away for Great Wicomico River which we entered for a delightfully quiet harbor at 6 p.m. after a truly sporting day. In half an hour we sat down to roast chicken, baked potatoes and brown gravy. Henry getting so used to these little merry-go-rounds that he don’t turn a hair now while a few weeks ago they made his teeth chatter. He says he didn’t know yachting was anything like this and I tell him it “ain’t.” This is boating and to get little boats over big distances you must drive them. There was some whipping to canvas with peak dropped today and a nasty batten poked thro’ the sail and before it tore loose and went to leeward it ripped a foot or more of canvas. Also tore out lazy jack boom block, loosened poop deck irons and split one of the boards. H. thinks we better lay up and repair while there is something left to repair, but they are all non-essentials while this norther is very much an essential towards making southing, so on we go with halliards flying and no down haul. Like Jorrocks, I feel like saying “Yachting is the sport of kings, the essence of war with all the glory and only twenty-five per cent of the danger.”

November 18th. Came as bright, crisp and snappy as you please. Under way by 8:45 still clinging to our single reef, although barometer was up after a 2 point drop yesterday for that breeze. With wide sheet we slipped along the shore heading about due south. Again the sails and the fleets of oyster boats. The shore not misty blue but clear cut in the smart northerly air, and the water a deep, wholesome blue. And so on with the breeze always pricking on and driving us faster, but without the concentrated venom of the day before and our single reef just handsome canvas. Past the mouth of the Rappahannock where the seas picked up and with only 2 fath. of water, we were almost out of sight of land. Old squaw stew for dinner, and Henry had to run from the cabin. First touch of mutiny on board. He allowed he would desert at Norfolk or right then and there if I gave him any more sea fowl to eat. Foolish boy, he needs starving. Scotty and I finished the stew. Away past Mobjack Bay; the York River, and as night fell we beat up into the little hole called Back Bay and dropped anchor at 5:45 having done 48 knots in the 9 hours run or 54 land miles. With Norfolk only 18 miles away, I feel as if we had about knocked this stretch to pieces. But what a chance I had at it.

November 19th. Comes calm and as pretty as a picture. Found us anchored in a snug little harbor and surrounded by busy oystermen. Fried oysters for breakfast, and we took our time, so that it was 11 o’clock before we tripped our hook and started for Norfolk only 18 miles away. There’s where we just missed it for the wind hauled E. S. E. and gave it to us right in the eye with a mean, short, little hubble-bubble that old Mascot found it particularly hard to negotiate. A miserable little sloop-rigged dugout manned by three niggers gave me the beating of my life. She was about 30 ft. long and slid through that chop as if greased. I still held to my reef and with launch in tow made slow but mighty comfortable going. Worked the shore down to Old Point Comfort but taking a strong ebb tide there we had to get whole sail on her and seriously work our passage up Hampton Roads where “Lay the Cumberland Sloop of war.” The wind failed as the sun went down and night found us seeking some little quiet corner in the big, busy harbor of Norfolk which was crowded with barges and schooners waiting cargoes. I counted seven five-masters and one six-master. Henry towed awhile, but we got aground and then a little night air springing up we slowly worked her up past the wharves to a quiet little berth among some other small craft. We are 35 days from Potomska and count up just 21 sailing days. We must stop here and fix up for a day or two sure.

November 20th to November 26th. At anchor Norfolk. Most of the time put in while running back and forth to our meals ashore. We did finally complete the cover to the launch and get a new quarter cleat bolted down. We were a trifle fine in spots, and I made H. spend a day by himself which did him good. We passed a day inspecting terminus of Virginia R. R. and one afternoon we actually loafed an hour or two on board. We met two young fellows who were bound to New Orleans in a 26 ft. launch and writing up a story of their trip for publication in the Motor World. Their boat was the most complete mess I ever saw. Their photo outfit took up most all available space, and what was left held a typewriter in a big box. Four gallons of water in two little stone jugs was all the wet goods carried. When they arrived they brought the remains of a canopy top which had blown off one day in the Bay. They seemed happy enough, however, and spent an evening on board and took a picture of “Scotty.” The Mascot with all the room pleased them much.

Map C.

November 26th. I turned out at 5, but that crew of mine has no ambition, and it took half an hour to get him out of his blankets. The morning was bitter cold and it was mufflers and mitties once more. We breakfasted and after filling water tanks at wharf we tucked the launch under stern and were away up the south branch of Elizabeth River. Past the docks, ferry boats, tugs, barges and stuff. Then the big navy yard and through railroad bridges and at last the river and the pines. How good it all looked. We were mighty tired of that old harbor with its shrieking whistles and uneasy waters. The river wound and twisted along until it fetched us up near noon at the entrance and first and only lock of the Chesapeake and Albemarle Canal. Here we were mulct $7.50 for getting dropped about 2 ft., but somehow that little drop seemed to separate us entirely from the north and launch us into Dixie waters. The sun was out bright and warm. The air a misty blue from smoke drifting over from big fires in Dismal Swamp. The canal stretched straight away a bright blue line framed in the greens and browns of the bank. Oh! it was all so beautiful, so calmly peaceful and still. We tied to a grape vine and muzzled all four feet right into a great oyster stew and then away on our long road of color. The swamp lonesome, dreary, fascinating, stretched on either side as far as we could see. Dore might have come here to sketch some of his great, gaunt, tree trunks. What can people be made of to talk of these canals as tiresome bits of the southern journey, to be endured and gotten over as quickly as possible. This half day paid for the effort gone before. And as the day wore on it grew always wilder, more beautiful. The dark green of holly, the blue green of the great, long leaved pine, and the browns and yellows of leaf and grasses growing full to the water’s edge. It was a sacrilege to break such stillness with a motor, but we committed it. Three big, bald headed eagles and a few hawks were the only live things we saw. The afternoon wore on. All the wind died and the shadows crept across the stream, while the sun, a big red fire ball dropped behind the pines and it was night quick, quick. The little chain rattled and we were soon swinging quietly at anchor. I had to give Scotty a talking to. No sooner was anchor down than she wanted to go ashore and see the wild cats, but I took her on my knee and said “Non, mon pauvre petit mimi, tu ne peut pas aller chez les chats sauvages. Sois sage et reste tranquille avec nous.” This calmed her at once. I was a bit scared because she had a fit yesterday and honestly I never saw a little cabin so full of one cat before. If she has another, we leave the ship even here in Dismal Swamp. So with cheese fondue and lots of toast for supper, thus ends a mighty fine day and we turned in to the sound of the hoot of an old owl. We turned out again mighty quick, however, to the hail of “What in hell is that?”, to find a river steamer close aboard. No sooner was he safely past than down stream came a tug and the whoppingest, biggest barge. As they swung round the bend the barge just missed us, and the captain from seemingly the top of a mountain shouted “Youse all better move away or some of us all will be running over youse.” We moved all right and promptly.

November 27th. Warm cabin all night. Snug and comfy. I turned out 5:30 and found everything white with frost. Kicked H. out after much labor. Fear me he will never have any ambition. His circulation is like that of the Boston Common. Heavy mist over all. The sun up a silver ball and everything bright and sparkling like a Christmas Tree. Fine breakfast with a new feature called Bologna a la Mascot. Here it is. Beat eggs and add little English mustard. Dip thin slices of Bologna and roll in cracker crumbs. Fry in drip fat. Serve on toast with sauce made by adding cream to beaten egg. Try it. I invented it when tending fire at 2 a.m. From companionway we can watch a great bald head eagle on top of an old dead tree. He is a buster and his white head glistens in the sun. Off by nine with the night mists rising from the marshes and the dark pine coming into sight. Past Pungo Ferry, a good name for a lonely spot. Then on into North Landing River. The sun soon brightly warm and we were comfortable in shirt-sleeves. A mighty sudden and pleasant change from early morning. The whole scene was so charmingly beautiful that it was hard to leave deck and go to cooking. Creamed oysters on toast paid, however, for the trouble.

While H. was eating lunch, we came out into the upper reaches of Currituck Sound. Through the glasses I made out some queer looking white spots on the perfectly calm water and by gum! they turned out to be a flock of more than one hundred swan. America’s biggest game bird and the first we had ever seen. Sort of made my insides creep just as it does to see a noted snow mountain for the first time. We began to see ducks now, thousands of them, but all pretty shy. Henry bagged a blue-nosed pig at the fourth shot with Helen. No law on pigs. We triced him to the rigging and crew returned to ordinary ship’s duties. Across head of Currituck and into a little canal cut right through the piney woods. Afternoon was getting on. The reflections of the pines reached from either bank and down the middle lay a pathway of silver for our little boat. I hope my two photos may bring the scene back to mind. I could think only of that picture “The Isle of the Blessed” with its cypress trees. So on and on until night threatened and we slowly felt our way into a little creek near mouth of North River, and while H. was busy with the launch, I tackled the dinner of roast pork, baked white and sweet potatoes and applesauce. Thus ends another perfect cruising day. Barometer tended up and we turned in with cloudy sky and variable northerly airs. Didn’t like the looks much and if bound round Cape Cod would have stayed at Vineyard Haven.

November 28th. Thanksgiving. Started prompt on time with smartish breeze true N. E. Turned out at 3:30 and gave her more chain and saw all right. Barometer on the roller coaster. By 5 things were doing and by 6 it was blowing 60 miles and snowing hard. We were perfectly protected up our little creek and luckily swung in enough water to float us although the bank was precious close. H. a bit nervous about drifting ashore at first, but soon got accustomed to the sing of things. He thinks yachting with father is great, but doesn’t care for the snow. Stove drew so hard it nearly took Scotty right through the grate and we had to wrap the Gloucester head with canvas to save the coal. Flapjacks for breakfast and coffee strong enough to carry out the big anchor. Everything covered with snow. The trunks of the pines at edge of forest all snow-white like birches. H. thinks the warm cabin pretty good, but when I suggested it was a fair wind and we might as well tie her down and get along, he said he would take his chance in the launch and go live with the Piney Woods people first. Afraid he has no heart for the game. Got out my fiddle and H. his flute, and we had it back and forth to the tune of “Eight Hands Around and Ladies Change.”

Lunched lightly in preparation of Thanksgiving feast to come. Barometer turned up, thermometer turned down and wind hauled by west with breaking cloud and a fearful scream of wind and flurry of snow. I knew this storm would come, and I have been driving south hard in consequence. Here it matters little for the cold doesn’t last many days in succession and we are all ready for it. I am anxious about our two boy friends in the little launch, for it was a tricky day yesterday and might well have caught any man with a lee shore aboard this morning. It was touch and go whether I crept in here or anchored in the open.

Made a mince pie. It looked all right. Put on macaroni to boil and then muffled all up in oilers and mitties and went up the little creek in the launch for a breath of air and to get a picture of the piney woods with tree trunks white with snow. Found a little gill net across the stream and in it a hell-diver all but strangled. Cut him loose and let him go. When we got back to Mascot we found a nice pickerel in the bottom of the boat. Must have jumped in upstream. Macaroni all but boiled out. Just saved it. Fixed it up with cracker crumbs and cheese. Roasted a fine, big chicken. Baked sweet and white potatoes. Had delicious raw oysters in cocktail sauce and while night shut in still, cold and clear, we muzzled into it all and didn’t forget absent friends, although I did forget a pint of “champagne wasser” which I had meant to get at Norfolk. Everything iced down on deck as we turned in. Wouldn’t be much surprised to find ourselves pinched by the morning. Hopes not.

Friday, November 29th. Comes clear as a bell and mighty cold. Henry showed mighty little enthusiasm about bailing launch. Boat pretty well iced up, and 100 yds. up creek was my good old enemy, new ice. Away by nine with dead calm and launch tucked astern. The sun got up and such a change. Off mitties and mufflers, coats and even jackets. With eyes shut you might picture yourself on a hillside back of Mentone. Out of the North River and out into Albemarle Sound so dazzling bright in that southern sun. Swans, swans, lots of them, and to see them made my stomach crinkly again. Very few ducks, and Helen Keller could add nothing to the larder. Don’t need anything. Never saw so many things to eat on a little boat before. For lunch there was cold roast chicken and pork, oyster cocktails, applesauce flicked up with raisins, mince pie and cranberry sauce. Can you beat it? Something must be done or we won’t have any hardships to boast of. They may come. There’s lots of time. I looked at Henry’s log yesterday and found the following: “Heavy north east gale with driving snow and awful cold. Father crazy and playing the fiddle.” Now what do you make of that after all I’ve done for him? Across Albemarle Sound with power helped out by sail and light westerly airs. Just before reaching the water to westward of Roanoke Is. we spied a familiar-looking little launch astern and it turned out to be our old friends, husband and wife, still pegging away on the hunt to Florida. Then the breeze drew right out south and chopped up water so that we had to put launch in tow. While beating slowly along we sighted another little launch and were soon passed by Querida II and two boy friends from Norfolk. All this meeting and passing of boats bound on same quest adds much to the interest. Not such good fun today to see the little wretches work up to harbor 6 miles away right in the wind’s eye and leave us slip-slopping about. Sun was nearly set when wind and sea dropped and we again started launch and headed for the harbor, too. This harbor, Roanoke Marshes, is a little creek in back of Roanoke Light and the creek makes into the marshes. Night fell quickly and we were soon cruising along a low, black shore line without sign of light to guide us. No more use than nothing, so after running into numerous fish traps we over yank and called it enough. Our gasoline is running mighty low for we have had no wind since leaving Norfolk. More than 100 miles from here to Beaufort and few if any places to get any. Gosh! but it is an awful long ways to anywhere in these parts. The water is as muddy as pea soup, and looks like it. When the lead gives you 12 ft. you know you are in the channel.

November 30th. Last night came cold, and that boy Henry shut the cabin up tight and I woke about midnight gasping. Morning came and found us 200 yds. from mouth of creek, but it was a blind little hole even by daylight. Everywhere around us were fish traps. A forest of poles and nets. Don’t see how we missed getting bungled up. H. ran into the creek in search of gasoline and kerosene, but returned with word that everybody was shorter than we were and envied us our sail power. Old Mascot seems like a great unwieldy ship in these thin waters and light airs. Off by 9 and picked our way among the fish traps to Stumpy Point Bay about 10 miles where it was reported there was gasoline. We are at anchor there now as I write. We touched the high spots all right coming in, but why not with 3 ft. of water. The beautiful warm sun is flooding the cabin and did it not happen each day we couldn’t believe that we would shiver with cold by 6 p.m. Stumpy Point Village looks interesting and consists of a few shanties lining the desolate shore of a little bay about a mile wide. What for the village? I don’t know. We will find out and I think loaf out the day after eating boiled striped bass fresh from a net this morning. Anchor hardly over in 4 ft. of water when we were boarded by W. A. Best, typical southerner of the coast. He wanted magazines and we were sorry to find ourselves without a one. Pitiful, this cry for reading. We are 60 miles from nearest railroad. Hospitable no name for it. Wouldn’t we go ashore and stay at his house? He would see that everything that Stumpy Point had was ours and the more he talked, the greater the attractions seemed. Ducks and geese everywhere. Deer and bear in the woods. We must go after grey squirrels in the afternoon with him. This we did and never saw a squirrel, but we did see virgin forest of cypress, gum and maple, a magnificent sight soon to be seen hereaway no more. Best took us to his house, a little shanty like the rest of those in Stumpy Point. He showed us into the parlor and there on the floor, with an old quilt under her, lay his wife. She never moved as we entered and at first I thought she was a deader. Best explained casually that she had a fever and cold and headache and had been ailing for several days. Three little boys were playing in the room and an air-tight stove was making merry. For true misery you couldn’t beat it much. All Stumpy Point knows we are here and this evening it was hard to get away from the grocery store where the village had collected to see and hear us. We were most cordially invited to attend divine services to-morrow, and I think we will do it. The whole little village depends upon about 3 months’ shad fishing in the spring and for the rest of the year just exists. Mail comes and goes twice a week by steamer when the steamer comes. The water in the sound, for we are now in Pamlico, goes in and out according to the direction of wind and just now it seems to be going out, for to-night we are aground and we may be here several days to come. We like Stumpy Point and are quite happy, but how to refuse the hospitality offered and not offend, that’s the difficulty. The dish of cold, fat pork and potatoes that we had to sit down to at Best’s this afternoon makes me shudder now. Night comes with glass jumping to 30.4 and an ugly looking mist hanging to the southward. Symptoms like those before the gale of a few days since. Hopes not.

December 1st. Comes cloudy light airs N. E. Put in the morning at letter writing and entertaining callers. The good people come on board and just set and set. After lunch we poseyed all up and went on shore to Sunday school. Mrs. Best had a 6 months’ baby last night and was not receiving to-day. I guess the Sunday school was a Baptist affair. It was all right anyway, and the whole village turned out for it. The community is mighty interesting. No niggers allowed, no rum drunk and not a cuss word heard. The men and boys a fine, clean looking set, but the women tired and worn. No sooner back to the boat when more visitors. A man with 200 lb. wife with one eye and two children. Then another man. The 200 lbs. came below and “nussed” the baby while I cooked supper and they all stayed while we ate it, watching our every move. They are bound not to let us go, and I fear will put a seine round us if we don’t get away to-morrow.

Scotty stole carcass of duck right off the table while we were at supper. Would have made a get-a-way had I not caught her by the tail. Never a smile from a single visitor. The strain is too awful. We must flee and hope to do it before we make some dreadful social bull, for pride and sensitiveness are what these people live on besides ducks.

December 2nd. Comes kind of sort of chill southerly, squally looking sky and very thin airs with slowly falling glass. H. went on shore before breakfast and returned with gasoline and two live roosters. What do you think of that? I bought some oysters and last evening H. raked some with crab net from the boat so we feel again provisioned. If we stay another night H. must accept invitation to do society so it is up yank and away by 9.

Launch pulled us a mile or two when light airs S. W. chopped up the sea and we made sail. Wind dead ahead and it was mighty slow footing in the short swash. Awful good to be under sail once more and we had a harbor not far away. Out to Long Shoal Light and then with eased sheets and freshening breeze a good hour’s run to the mouth of Pain’s Bay which we entered and put hook down in 6 ft. water. We sailed about 16 miles but are only 8 miles nearer the palm trees. Chickens looked so miserable tied by the legs that we set them going tied by one leg to each other and as I write they are peacefully going to roost with many a contented cluck. Hope we don’t get fond of them and have to add them to the ship’s company. Half an hour after dropping anchor a heavy fog settled down, night shut in and it was pitch dark. Queer country and where strangers must keep weather eyes open. Gunners returning to Stumpy Point from Hatteras told us that the gale of Thanksgiving day blew all the water out of the sound and left a big 60 ft. motor yacht high and dry off the beach. Then when wind hauled N. W. all the water blew back with such a rush that she was afloat in 40 minutes but lost her nice power launch, anchor and 15 fath. chain, but was able to get shelter under power herself.

December 3rd. Begins about 3 a.m. with the darndest racket. Dead calm, pitch dark and all around us thousands of geese and duck. Might as well try to sleep in a hen coop. Honk, honk, quack, quack, a babel of sound. Along about 5 o’clock and just as we were beginning to hope that a glimmer of light would give us a shot, two men on a cruising launch turned out with a lantern and the roar of wings on water was as loud as a train of cars. Cuss those New York fools anyway. Day came with a shift of wind into N. E. and a wild, windy look to the sky. With a reef tucked in I could cover lots of miles southward, but there is again the question, “What will the water do?” Suppose we turn her loose down wind and it pricks on sharply. Will we find water all run out of the harbors and we left to wallow it out 2 or 3 miles off shore? It is certainly queer guessing. This morning we found there was much about live chickens to make them undesirable sea companions. Don’t think we are in danger of keeping them long. Barometer didn’t act like storm and by 11 o’clock I couldn’t stand it any longer, so put a single reef in and away we scuttled. It was mighty good sailing and I guessed the weather right for by 1 o’clock we were under full sail and a summer’s sun. Could have been a long ways if had got away early, but the chance was then too big. Hauled to westward and over hook to a nice anchorage in Wyesocking Bay at 3:15 p.m. Earlier in the day than we have stopped her since leaving home. Henry into the launch and up creek to see if he can’t nab some stray cattle. Chickens killed and picked and all the pleasures of a farming life are ours. While I write at 4 p.m., the sun is flooding down companionway so warm, so warm. The first fly is buzzing, too. H. returned with nix and reported mosquitos on shore. Things are progressing.

December 4th. Turned out at 5 to find all quiet, still and dark. So quiet that from the quarter I could hear the ticking of our little clock. So calm that each star was mirrored on the water. Away under power by 7. Out into a golden sunrise, the pride and beauty of the day. Here was a morning for sun worshippers to kneel. Sea and sky melted into one great glory in the east and behind us faded into soft pearly mists in which horizons were lost, and we seemed to be floating in air. So flat the bosom of the sea that the meanest stepmother in the land would have been proud to call it hers. The duck feathers floated on the surface as lightly as—well, I can’t think just how lightly now, but gosh-dinged lightly. We turned her on a 20 mile leg S. W. at 8 and sailed all morning on this wonderful sea. Why can’t somebody come here and tell people of the beauties to be found? We chased duck all about but failed to get meat, although we lost lots of time which is precious today.

Scotty was on sick list yesterday and had sort of kind of fits so fast one after the other that she lost count. Pretty near threw her little heart up. Looked kind of meechin this morning so gave her a dose of sweet oil. This afternoon she seems better and has eaten a chicken and held onto it. As I write this we are entering Neuse River at lower end of Pamlico 3:45 p.m. We had gone about 35 knots, all under power, since 7 this morning. Without it we couldn’t have moved a mile. Intend running on some 14 miles farther to mouth of creek which leads to canal cutting through to Beaufort. The motor has just given 3 spasmodic gasps and died. Oh, dear! Found gasoline all gone and now, with new, she is off again merrily. She pushes us in calm water 4½ knots an hour and gives us 6 knots to 1 gal. gas. Pretty good work we think.

Night shut down with easterly air so cold I was all of a shiver, the change is so great from heat of the day. Quickly the wind changed warm to the south and the air was like ours in August. We picked up our lights all right, and poked her quietly into the black woods where should have been a river, and sure enough, there was. The accuracy of these charts is a continual surprise. By 7:30 we were at quiet anchorage stuffing ourselves with fried oysters.

December 5th. Comes cloudy. A sort of dog-day affair. Pleasant to our eyes after the glare, and our little river framed in the green of long-leaf pine looks very attractive. Along we go, getting glimpses of dark swamps, up creeks, in deep, solemn shadow. Then came the cut through the neck of land to a river at headwaters of Beaufort Harbor. Along the banks were palms, real palms. Not great big snoosing busters with cocoanuts, but little wee-wees, but palms all the same. From the boat I shot a plover and we had the deuce of a time landing and getting him. Scotty promptly grabbed him and with head and tail up, marched off below to eat him. Not much, Scotty. Then out of the cut into broad reaches where oyster bars poked up their heads from a few inches of water. A fog shut down hiding all the ranges and we were soon all to the bad. Out of the mist ahead we made out a little launch aground and it turned out to be our friends, husband and wife, still plugging at it. Close to them was a big motor boat from Conn., also high and dry. They had both tried to go wrong side of a red buoy. We waved and motored on, but in less than a quarter mile hit bottom ourselves, and with meek and lowly spirits, took up our burden and went below to dinner. Tide being well out, it was only two hours before we were afloat again. The launch balked a little for almost the first time since leaving home, and while H. was doctoring it along came a fellow to offer a tow down to Beaufort. Told him we could get along alone but gave him a segar and soon had him so chummy that he hitched alongside and pulled us down to a good anchorage off Beaufort wharves for nothing. Nothing like a little practice in insurance business and a cup of coffee and segar at right moment.

Beaufort is great. Like the Old Howard, something doing along its water front from daylight till dark and long after. Lots of fishing vessels all anchored in a line only 50 yds. from the little wharves. Thousands of motor boats and only one muffler. The wharves and fish houses extend a mile and there is lots of color, and across it all blows the damp sea wind with its smell of the old beach. Mighty good to my nose after weeks of inland smells. I keep recollecting little things about Stumpy Point such as they couldn’t keep hogs “Cause the bars ketched em all up” and one man who trapped alive a big bald head eagle complained that he got no returns because “the human sociation done gone ketched him up and let him go.” He was a good eagle and the man couldn’t understand the why of it.

December 6th. Comes with threatening skies and drifting fog, southerly. The fishermen with big crews got away, only to anchor under the hook of the land just outside. As I write, at noon, they are streaming in again and picking up their anchorages like horses running into their stalls. The air is damp, warm and depressing. H. and I could hardly crawl about on shore and were mighty glad to get aboard again.

We visited an oyster-opening plant. Mighty interesting and on the whole, cleanly. Hundreds of men, women and little children at work opening 1500 bu. a day. The little white children looked peaked enough and the dirt, steam and smell of the opening shed were kind of fierce. In the midst of the mess was a baby in its wagon, the mother at work. Too big a problem for my addled brain. Roses in the gardens and everything mighty summerish.

December 8th. Beaufort. Air better and wind more to westward, but think gale northwest needed to blow this fog to sea. Borrowed a box compass and spent the morning turning and twisting Mascot at end of wharf until I noted my compass variations. The result surprised me, for while I knew there was trouble I did not expect to find fault of one whole point. It was there, however, and undoubtedly due to my iron ballast. Think have got it noted all right, but it was a long, vexatious job, and when we went to hotel for dinner we were late and got only cold pickings but at usual price. The afternoon in walking and loafing. Beaufort is very good. Besides the picturesque fishing fleet there is the usual busy main street of a southern town, lined with all kinds of buildings from shanties to modern store affairs. Bales of cotton are standing about. Blacksmith welding a shaft in the street. The high two-wheeled country carts drawn aimlessly along by one ox. Everybody takes his time, and talks about it in slow southern drawl.

There are tonight seven or eight launches and big power boats here besides ourselves. It is great fun to see them come in because the channel brings them within speaking distance. On shore the natives stuff them with fearful tales of the dangers to be faced on the trip outside. This is all with the purpose of getting pilotage fees. I have heard tides reported as running 50 miles an hour and that is some tide. H. and I have made friends with an old darkie who was a slave here in Beaufort. He was in Union army at capture of the Beaufort forts and served with Col. Stone, Capt. Fuller and wanted to serve with Col. William Forbes because he was good to his men and looked so fine in uniform with his head always so high.

December 9th. Turned in last night with sharply falling glass, and turned out this morning at 3:30 to the tune of rattling halliards and creaking dock lines. Wind a waspish breeze northwest with flurries of snow. Got out extra lines and while shivering at the job, out of the black came little Querida II seeking a bit of quiet as she was touching the bottom where she lay at anchor. We helped the boys tie up all snug, and scuttled back to warm blankets for a good snooze. Turned out about 8:30 to find clearing skies, strong breeze and falling temperature. New England can give this coast no points on weather changes. Yesterday about 65 degrees, to-day 30 degrees. The change gave me a little crinkleums in my back. Wish we were off and away. Could bruise an awful lot of water by night. Will be to-morrow I hope. Breakfast on coal fire again. How good and cheery the warmth. Coffee? Well I guess. All we want three times a day.

Seems as if some few things had contributed very largely to success of this cruise besides the general outfitting which proved good. These few suggestions are the coal stove, cotton sheets sewed up into bags, and the fish cleaning board. Put in the day provisioning up and filling tanks. For supper went to little one-horse restaurant and ate our last Beaufort oyster stew. We have had one or two a day since being here and they are delicious. Made without milk in the oyster liquor. These little soft oysters are wonderfully sweet and tasty, but so delicate and small that they wouldn’t bear or pay to ship.

December 10th. Comes clear and pretty cold. Frost on deck. H. reported streets hard and ice in gutters. Little Scotty had a dreadful time of it. She was peacefully sleeping when a gas engine started ashore and school bell began to ring. The cabin was at once full of cat. Simply wild with fright, she darted about and finally sought refuge in her retreat under the cockpit. “Pauvre petit mimi.” It is now noon, but no coaxing can get her out. Hoisted sail to a very thin northerly air and with launch at the stern, waved our good-byes to friends on shore and stood to sea at 9 o’clock. The Beaufort channel is a twisting little gutter running between nasty shoals. The harbor is full of range beacons which don’t help strangers much. There is no need for anybody to run ashore, however, for the water is clear and the sea breaks on most of the shoals. Outside we turned her W ¼ S along shore for Bogue Inlet. The westerly airs soon petered out and left us chugging along on a sea like a mill pond with bright warm sun to cheer us. Set 2 hour watches as I shall keep along, weather remaining fit. There are many inlets to run to in fair weather for a boat of 4 ft. draft, but I fancy it usually happens that a man stays outside until the sea picks up, and makes running inlet bars dangerous. The bars off the mouths of the inlets they tell me, trend to southward and the gutter runs behind them up the beach as it does in our country. The open beach is fairly bold and if I was put to it, I think I would crowd on the rags, tie myself in the cockpit and send her up into the meadow. Make no mistake about that, a good, bold, sandy beach is much better to walk home on than 10 ft. of tide-swept water inside a sunken sand spit.

We made our good four knots an hour until about 3 p.m., when taking a fair westerly breeze we made sail and hugged shore close hauled on starboard tack. Wind all foozled out by night, and then came in fitful dampish puffs out of the south. The glass was steady at 29-9/10 but the sun set in an ugly looking cloud bank, and night came rather drearily as it does with a soaking, southerly air. We had the launch on and then off and then some more. Heavy black clouds swept over and the night was very dark. When the stars broke through they might have been so many peanuts as far as giving light went. To me the night down here is most weird and strange. It falls quickly, and at once the horizon comes seemingly within 25 or 50 yds. of the boat. Beyond is impenetrable, the unknown. In one of my watches the black horizon suddenly lengthened out to starboard in a diagonal line that, cutting across my bows only a few yards ahead, stretched away like a deep black ditch far out over my starboard quarter. I had a breeze, and as I sailed right at this great black hole, I was on the point of calling H. to be ready for trouble. What kind of trouble I didn’t know. In a little while I was again sailing in my little dark circle as if in a collar box. In another watch a shift of wind brought a queer light on the sea, and for half an hour I seemed to be sailing onto a great, snow-covered mountain which I never reached, but my bow was almost touching it. It might have been a white mist or perhaps fish, I couldn’t tell. It was all strange and new even to the porpoises which, leaving a big fiery wake, would dash alongside, turn and dart right under the boat. One went under the launch when H. was in her and scared him all right. I slept little and steered a wide course to keep away from the beach which having no stones to rattle is unusually silent. Day broke at 6 after a longish 12 hours of new experience. It caught me laid to under whole sail with a nasty hubble-bubble on, and no wind to drive. We were 6 miles off the beach and could just sight Cape Fear. I tacked in shore at 9 and with nice little air made the beach at 11.

December 11th. The wind not being friendly, hauled out south, and we took up the job of making it tack for tack along the shore. The afternoon brought thickening clouds and my glass still standing high with the southerly air began to make me mighty uneasy as to what was coming next, for I felt there was a change in store, and soon. The situation was not a good one. Before dark I could not reach the slew inside Frying Pan Shoals off Cape Fear. To run 12 miles to sea and round the shoals meant risking a gale on one of our worst bits of coast and I had decided that we were soon to have a shift either northwest or northeast. The sea was comparatively smooth and I thought that now was the time to take a chance at an inlet. On the chart the New Inlet with 4 ft. at low water looked good. We reached it at 3:30 p.m. at low tide, and sailed back and forth outside the line of breakers to study the water and best place to tackle. There was a middle ground and the seas seemed less spiteful on southerly side so we put storm hatches on cockpit, shut cabin doors, took out scupper plugs and lashed everything down. Gave the launch a 10 fathom tow line and started at it. For genuine excitement give me the next 12 to 18 hours. We took bottom on the first breaker and broached to, bilging to seaward on about the third. The fourth came roaring over cockpit rail, and flooded us knee deep with lanterns, oil cans, etc., etc. swashing about promiscuously. Fortunately the next sea pushed us along and threw us over onto other bilge so that we escaped being flooded again very badly. The launch came whooping along on her own hook. Just missed hitting us. Brought up on bottom and rolled over and over with the next breaker and sank. We got sail off and with the hope of turning her head towards a little deeper water which we saw some 50 yds. to starboard, Henry waded out and placed the kedge anchor. Might as well have put out a sweet potato. We were bound for that middle ground and nothing would stop us. We were pounding mighty hard, but didn’t jump our fire so thought we better mug up while there was a chance. Went below after sounding pump and finding boat tight. Had mess beans and all you had to do was open your mouth and get beans at every crash she made, and she made ’em about once a minute. Centreboard box was weaving all over the cabin and transoms twisting horridly. Just before dark we tried to get launch up under our lee in effort to bail her out, for it ain’t so pleasant to look forward to a long, black 12 hour night, pounding the heart out of your boat and nix to get ashore with in case of breaking up. After hard work we dragged old “helpmeet” close aboard and, then came a big comber to which we rose, and crunch-o, the nose of the launch went through our bilge for a 6 in. hole. Up she went again, and bang-o, there was another hole. My eye! we would soon be a pepperbox at that rate. Before another surge caught us we twisted her bow round with the spinnaker pole and a sea catching her, rolled her over and away. Things were getting interesting. I ran below for hammer, tacks and canvas. Water already over cabin floor. Lanterns all filled with salt water, but with the last of daylight and using his hammer under water, Henry cleverly put on a canvas patch. We sounded pumps and after half an hour they sucked. Some relief to that sound. Believe me. Could do nothing more, so went below, cleaned out a lantern, dried wick and got some light. Waited until 8:30 when I began to fear that full tide would not carry me over that lump of a middle ground. It was busy bees then and half a ton of iron ballast went over pretty quick. With a heavy lurch and crunch she slid into a little deeper water and floated once more. We counted on a strong flood tide to carry us up the inlet, but push with poles all we could we couldn’t get her anywhere, and finally dropped big anchor in only 6 ft. water and just inside of breakers. Not a quiet or particularly safe anchorage, but mighty sight better than pounding in the surf. Sounded pumps and they sucked. What a noble piece of boat building it is. It was 11 o’clock, pitch dark and raining, with wind still soaking drearily from southward. We were soaking, too, but not dreary, you bet. Went to work and made a new anchor stock for little anchor. It broke short off early in the circus. The kedge was still on the bar with a bit of furring on end of warp for a buoy. Am going to take a picture of that anchor stock, for under conditions it was shipshape and Bristol fashion. Then we shipped all weight over to starboard and got holes in bilge out of water, threw over little anchor to keep company with big one, and after a mug up turned in at 1 o’clock. Since leaving Beaufort some 42 hours before I had had only one or two 1 hour naps, but felt all right and ready for what next which I still felt would come soon.

December 12th. Had to turn Henry out at 3 a.m. in drizzling cold rain for tide was out, we were over on our bilge, and now was chance to bail out launch if ever. His report was soon made that you could as easily bail out the ocean for her stern was split wide open, likewise her bottom and several planks. Now what do you make of that? Just after fixing her all up tight two days before at Beaufort. Nothing more to be done about it, however, so turned in again clinging to my transom like a bat to a rafter. Went to sleep in a minute, but H. was a bit nervous at the roar of the breakers close aboard and couldn’t do much in way of sleep. About 5 o’clock the black night ripped wide open in northwest and down came a sizzling norther. Gee whiz! how it blew for a few hours. With flooding tide our anchors held all right. Day came, and in the early light we could see the bow of the launch come out of water like a white shark, turn and plunge again to the bottom. Kind of consoling sight with half a gale blowing off shore and no chance to work further into inlet, for with ballast gone I hardly dared to put cloth on her. Had good breakfast and Scotty was mighty companionable and seemed perfectly content with the way everything was going. About 8 o’clock a man turned up in a skiff and came on board. I surely was glad to see that skiff and that man, too. He remarked that it was some blustering day and I admitted to a little ozone in the air. He said he thought our launch was sunk. He was a very truthful man. I gave him eggs on toast and coffee at once. While he was eating, tide turned ebb and along came our ground tackle and we for the bar once more. “My man,” says I, “cut out the egg and coffee habit, jump right into your skiff, underrun that anchor and carry it up stream.” He was a sailor all right and with no back talk, he was away on the job. First one anchor and then the other. I kept him at it and soon had her kedged all snug and comfy out of harm’s way. Then we hauled the bric-a-brac of a launch to the beach. “Good,” says I, “now you can walk the beach home for I need your skiff in my business.” He was all right that man and he lived in the “piney woods.” We talked politics and he allowed that rather than be a politician, he would live in the “sticks” with the coons and wildcats where a man could get “hisself” a little sleep and quiet. Bye and bye we put him ashore and he started away for his shanty somewhere, a lonely looking figure trudging through the sand, head down against the gale. So I read the signs right after all, and I felt justified in taking the chance I did, for this blowing to sea in a December norther is no joke. Where all my trouble came was not understanding the difference between a skiff such as I am used to and a launch which sinks and holds onto bottom like a rock. You watch me next time. When tide dropped I sent down my throat halliard tackle and after rigging up some sand anchors with oars, poles, &c, we greased some slide boards, and to Henry’s surprise and joy hauled the launch up high and dry. It was all nuts to me. Everything smashed up, but time, tackle and tools, to fix it all up again. I turned in early for some good few hours’ sleep but had to roust out at slack water to place anchors one up and the other downstream, for tide ran some 3 knots or better and only a narrow gut to swing in. Guess charts are of little use in these places, for my piney wood’s man said it had been ten years since there was any water in this inlet and my chart gave me 4 ft. on the bar at low tide.