BOAT SAILING,
FAIR WEATHER AND FOUL.

Good Luck and a Fair Wind.
A. J. Kenealy.

OUTING LIBRARY OF SPORT.

Boat Sailing

IN

FAIR WEATHER AND FOUL.

BY

CAPTAIN A. J. KENEALY.

"Man made him a boat of a hollow tree,

And thus became lord of the bounding sea."

1903.

SIXTH EDITION.

REVISED.

WITH ILLUSTRATIONS AND DIAGRAMS.

THE OUTING PUBLISHING CO.,

NEW YORK. LONDON.

Copyrighted by

The Outing Publishing Company, 1903,

NEW YORK.

PREFACE.

When the first edition of this little book was printed in 1894 my publishers thought they would be very lucky if they ever disposed of half the number of copies turned out by the press. I had the same melancholy forebodings. The result has shown that our fears were groundless. The book was written in a simple sailorly style for all lovers of the sea and boats. That it should have received such cordial commendation as it has from amateurs and professionals has been both a pleasure and a surprise. In sending it out on its sixth edition, I cannot lose the opportunity of thanking my critics who have been very flattering to whatever merits it may possess.

A. J. Kenealy.

New York, April, 1903.

CONTENTS.

ILLUSTRATIONS AND DIAGRAMS.

TURNING THE STAKE.

I.
ADVICE TO AN AMATEUR.

All of us remember the old sailor's retort to the man who reproached him for soaking his clay in bad rum. "There ain't such a thing under heaven as bad rum," he sagely remarked. "Of course some rum is better than another, but I have been knocking about the world for more than fifty years and never did I drink a glass of rum that deserved to be called bad, and I got outside of some pretty fiery tipple in my time."

The same is true in a general way of boats. There are many types of boat and each has some peculiar attribute to recommend it. No two craft, for instance, could be more widely different in every way than a Gloucester fishing dory and a Cape Cod cat-boat, yet each when properly handled has safely ridden out an Atlantic gale. Of course if their movements had been directed by farm hands both would have foundered. In point of fact, there is no royal road to the acquisition of seamanship. Experience is what is needed first, last and all the time. It is true, however, that the rough sea over which the learner has necessarily to sail may be smoothed for him, even as the breakers on a harbor bar are rendered passable for a homeward-bound craft by the judicious application of a little oil.

The choice of a boat depends upon a vast variety of circumstances, the chief of which is the location of the prospective boat owner. If he lives on the Great South Bay, for example, he should provide himself with a craft of light draught, almost capable of sailing on a clover field after a heavy fall of dew. Equipped with a centerboard and a sail a boat of this kind, if of the right shape and construction, will be found comfortable, safe and of moderate speed. A man may also enjoy an infinite amount of pleasure aboard her, after he has mastered the secret of her management. There are so many sandbars in the Great South Bay that a boat of light draught is indispensable to successful sailing. The same remark applies also to Barnegat Bay and adjacent New Jersey waters. There are some persons who believe that it is impossible to combine light draught and safety. They make a great mistake. A twelve-foot sneakbox in Barnegat Bay, with the right man steering, will live for a long time in rough water that would sorely try the capacity of a much larger craft in the hands of a lubber. The same is true of a sharpie.

The man who makes up his mind that he wants a sailing boat should study well the geography of his vicinity. If he lives in New York or on the Sound his course is easy. He is sure to be within reach of a yacht or boat club from whose members he can get all the information he needs. They will tell him the boat best adapted to his requirements and his finances, and if they persuade him to join their organization they will be conferring upon him a favor. I have traveled a good deal among the yacht clubs of New York, New Jersey and Connecticut, and I never came across a more generous, more obliging and more sportsmanlike body of men than those enrolled on the rosters of these enterprising associations. They are convinced that there is more real pleasure to the square inch in the possession of a stout boat capable of being managed by a couple of men, than there is in the proprietorship of a big yacht that carries a crew of twenty and whose owner probably knows nothing about the art of sailing her, but depends all the time on his skipper. It is a pleasure to meet these men and listen to their yarns. The earnestness, the zeal and the ability with which they pursue their favorite pastime are indeed commendable. And the best of it is they are always ready to welcome recruits, and to pass them through the rudimentary mill of seamanship and navigation, their motto being "Every man his own skipper." The only requisite necessary to membership in one or more of these clubs is that you should be a "clubable" man with manly instincts. Young fellows, too, are eagerly sought, so you need have no compunction about seeking their doors, the latchstrings of which are always down.

By all means join a club, I say. You get all the advantages of the house and the anchorage, and all the benefits that accrue to association with men who are ardent and enthusiastic in the enjoyment of their pet diversion. Besides—let me whisper a word in your ear, my brother, you of the slender purse or may be economic instincts—it will be cheaper for you in the end; it will put money in your purse. Your boat will be looked after all the year round by watchful guardians, who will see that it isn't stripped or rifled by river pirates, and that the elements do not mar its beauty. I confess I was surprised when I learned how little it costs to become entitled to all the privileges of these clubs, and it is owing to their moderate charges that the "mosquito fleet" in the vicinity of New York is growing so big and interest in the sport is increasing so rapidly.

What I have written of New York is true, perhaps, in a greater measure of Boston. There is no finer sheet of water for boat sailing than Boston Bay, and no people in the world are more devoted to the sport than those who dwell in the city of culture and its sea-washed environs. There are plenty of yacht clubs between Point Allerton, on the south, and Marblehead, on the north. It has been ascertained that more than five thousand members have joined these organizations and that nineteen hundred yachts are enrolled on their lists, most of the craft being less than twenty feet on the water line. It will thus be seen that Boston fully appreciates the value of small sailing craft as a means of amusement and healthful recreation. The port from which Volunteer, Mayflower and Puritan originally hailed, though justly proud of those three magnificent racing yachts, has always been distinguished for turning out stout, able and seaworthy vessels of the smaller type, and also for breeding a sturdy race of men who know every trick of seamanship. The majority of the boats are so constructed and rigged as to ensure that they will render a good account of themselves in a blow and a seaway. Thus the "sandbagger" type of vessel is rarely found "down east," and this, in my opinion, need not be regretted.

The catrigged boat, with stationary ballast and a centerboard, may be said to be the type generally preferred in those waters. The Newport cat-boat is famous the world over for her handiness, speed and ability. I know that it is fashionable for scientific men and swell naval architects to decry the seaworthiness of these boats. It has been urged that the weight of the mast in the eyes of the craft is a serious objection, a strain on the hull, and not unlikely to be carried away for want of proper staying. The long boom also has been objected to, because of its liability to trip. The craft has been declared difficult to steer and a regular "yawer." But while saying unkind things of the cat-boat's behavior in a blow, no critic, however biased, has ventured to deny her general handiness.

I might remind these gentlemen that the owner of a pleasure boat does not as a rule sail her in a blow or in a seaway, but this would not be a fair or legitimate argument. The elements are treacherous. A summer storm often plays havoc among the shipping, and a man who ventures seaward in the morning in a balmy breeze and with the water smooth as a horsepond may be caught in a savage blow, followed by a heavy sea, both of which may sorely try the capabilities of his craft and his own resources as a seaman.

I am such a devout believer, however, in a cat-boat of proper form and rig, that I will defend her as a good and handy craft in both fair weather and foul. It blows hard in Narragansett Bay sometimes, and I have often known a devil of a sea to be kicked up off Brenton's Reef lightship. But the Newport cat-boat, with a couple of reefs down, comes out of the harbor and dances over the steep waves like a duck or a cork. I never saw one of them come to grief, and in fact they have always impressed me as being the handiest all-round boat afloat. I have sailed in them in all sorts of weather, and I am not likely to alter my opinion. Many of the objections raised against them are idle. For instance, the mast can be so stayed as to be perfectly secure. There is also no reason why the boom should project so far over the stern as to trip, and in this connection I should like to ask of what use is a topping lift unless one avails himself of it in just such an emergency? A man should always keep the boom well topped up when running before the wind in a seaway, and by this means he may avoid much trouble and possibly peril.

The above remarks are applicable to both salt water and fresh water, to the yachts of the North, the South, as well as of the Great and Little Lakes, and indeed wherever the glorious sport flourishes. In point of fact, all the hints and directions given in these chapters may be followed with profit on the Pacific Coast as well as on the Atlantic Seaboard, on Lake Michigan or on the Gulf of St. Lawrence.

II.
THE CHOICE OF A BOAT.

If any ambitious would-be mariner, old or young, hailing from anywhere were to ask me what sort of a boat I would recommend him to build or buy, I would answer him frankly that an able cat-boat, with a centerboard and stationary ballast would, in my judgment, be best. I would advise him to shun the "sandbaggers"—not that one cannot enjoy an immense amount of exciting sport in one of them, but because they seem to me to be only fit for racing, and I will tell you why. A man when he goes on a quiet cruise doesn't want to be bothered by having to shift heavy bags of sand every time the boat goes about. It is too much like hard work, and by the time your day's fun is finished you feel stiff in the joints. I have other arguments against the use of shifting ballast, but do not think any other save the one mentioned is necessary.

This point disposed of, let us confer. Of what shall the stationary ballast for our able cat-boat consist? Outside lead is of course the best, but its first cost is a serious matter. A cast-iron false keel or shoe answers admirably, and is moderate in price. Some persons object to it, claiming that it rusts and corrodes; that its fastenings decay the wooden keel to which it is bolted, and that its weight strains a boat and soon causes her to become leaky. There is of course some truth in these charges; but if the boat is built by a mechanic and not an impostor, none of these disadvantages will exist, and the cast-iron keel will prove to be both efficient and economical.

But if, by straining a point, lead can be afforded, procure it by all means and have it bolted on outside. It neither tarnishes nor corrodes, and as it does not deteriorate, its marketable value is always the same. Racing yachts have, however, been known to sell for less than their lead ballast cost, but such instances are rare. It should be borne in mind that the lower down the lead is placed the less the quantity required, and the greater its efficiency.

There are always a number of second-hand cat-boats in the market for sale at a reasonable rate, and an advertisement will bring plenty of replies. But for a tyro to purchase a boat haphazard is a mistake on general principles. It is like a sailor buying a horse. Get some honest shipwright or boat builder to examine, say, some half-dozen boats whose dimensions suit you, and whose prices are about what you think you can afford. There are certain portions of a cat-boat that are subject to violent strains when the craft is under way. The step of the mast and the centerboard trunk are parts that require the vigilant eye of an expert.

Human nature is prone to temptation, and paint and putty are used quite often to conceal many important defects in a craft advertised for sale. The keen eye of a mechanic who has served his time to a boat-builder will soon detect all deficiencies of this kind, will ferret out rotten timbers, and under his advice and counsel you may succeed in picking up at a bargain some sound, seaworthy and serviceable craft in which you can enjoy yourself to your heart's content.

But if some rotten hull is foisted on you by an unscrupulous person you will be apt to "kick yourself round the block," for she will be always in need of repairs, and in the end, when she is finally condemned, you will find on figuring up the cost that it would have been money in your pocket if you had built a new boat.

The principal boat-builders of New York, New Jersey, Connecticut and Massachusetts are men of high character, who take a pride in their work (which is thoroughly first-class), and whose prices are strictly moderate. Any one of these will construct a capital boat of good model and fair speed. I am an old crank and a bigot in many things appertaining to boats and the sea, but I hope that any reader of this who is going to build a pleasure craft will follow my advice at least in this instance: Let her be copper-fastened above and below the water-line. Don't use a single galvanized nail or bolt in her construction. See that the fastenings are clenched on a roove—not simply turned down. Don't spoil the ship for a paltry ha'porth of tar. Many builders, for the sake of economy, use galvanized iron throughout, and will take a solemn affidavit that it is quite as good as copper. But in the innermost cockles of their hearts they know they are wrong. Others more conscientious use copper fastenings below the water-line and galvanized iron above; but copper throughout is my cry, and so will I ever maintain while I am on this side of the Styx.

Sometimes one may pick up a good serviceable boat at a Navy Yard sale. Uncle Sam's boats are of fair design and well built. They are often condemned because they are what is called "nail sick," a defect which can be easily remedied. Occasionally a steamship's life-boat can be bought for a trifle, and if it be fitted with a false keel with an iron shoe on it, will prove thoroughly seaworthy and a moderately good sailer.

Mr. E. F. Knight, the English barrister and author of the "Cruise of the Falcon," tells how he bought a life-boat condemned by the Peninsular and Oriental Company. She was thirty feet long with a beam of eight feet, very strong, being built of double skins of teak, and, like all the life-boats used by that company, an excellent sea boat. This craft he timbered and decked, rigged her as a ketch, and crossed the North Sea in her, going as far as Copenhagen and back, and encountering plenty of bad weather during the adventurous voyage. Mr. Knight is a believer in the pointed or life-boat stern for a small vessel. He was caught in a northwest gale, in the Gulf of Heligoland, in the above-mentioned craft, and had to sail sixty miles before a high and dangerous sea. His boat showed no tendency to broach to, "but rushed straight ahead across the steep sea in a fashion that gave us confidence and astonished us. Had she had the ordinary yacht's stern to present to those following masses of water, instead of a graceful wedge offering little resistance, we should have had a very uncomfortable time of it. Many men dislike a pointed stern and consider it ugly. However that may be it behaves handsomely, and we should certainly recommend any amateur building a sailing boat for coasting purposes to give her the life-boat stern."

Mr. Knight fitted his boat with lee boards, which no doubt served their purpose admirably. I should, however, favor a false keel and an iron shoe as being more efficient and less unsightly. I should not advise the purchaser of a condemned life-boat to have her fitted with a centerboard. The cost would be high, and unless the job was done in a first-class manner by a man experienced at this sort of work it would be very unsatisfactory.

A "nail-sick," clencher-built boat should be hauled up on the beach and filled with water. Every leak should be marked on the outside with chalk or white paint. After all the leaks have been discovered, run the water out of her and dry her thoroughly. Next examine every nail and try the lands or joinings of the planks with the blade of a very thin knife. Any rivets which have worked loose must be taken out and replaced with nails and rooves of a larger size. Through the chief parts of the bottom it may be necessary to put an additional nail between every two originally driven. Many of the old nails which are only a little slack should be hardened at their clench by a few taps from inside, one hand holding a "dollie" against the head of the nail on the outside. Melt a pound of pitch in a gallon of boiling North Carolina tar and give her bottom a good coat inside, filling the lands or ledges well. The garboard strake fastenings and also those of the hooded ends should be carefully caulked. So should the seams. The seams of the planking should also be caulked.

There are various methods of making a boat unsinkable. Cork is sometimes used, but it takes up too much room and is not so buoyant as air. Copper or zinc cases, made to fit under the thwarts and in various odd corners, have been fitted in boats, but their cost is high. Amateurs have used powder flasks and cracker cans, with their covers soldered on, cigar boxes, covered with duck and painted, bladders inflated with air, etc., etc. A boat displacing one ton will take about forty cubic feet of air to make her unsinkable.

III.
TRIAL SPIN IN A CAT-BOAT.

Before getting a cat-boat under way from an anchorage, or casting adrift from moorings, the captain should see all gear clear, that the centerboard works easily in its trunk, and that oars, rowlocks and a baler are aboard. An oar is very handy for turning a boat's head round in a light air when she has barely steerage way on; and in case you are confronted with a flat calm, a pair of oars are indispensable for working homeward. A boat-hook, too, should not be neglected. There is a story that I heard in the forecastle, of a mean old Dutch skipper who left his new anchor ashore on purely economic grounds. He was afraid it might rust, I suppose. The result of this thrifty dodge was the loss of his vessel on the Goodwin Sands. My counsel to the young boat-skipper is to see that his anchor is snugly stowed away forward, and that his chain—if his cable is of chain—is properly shackled to the ring of the anchor, and that the inner end of the cable is fast to the heel of the mast by a lashing that can be cut if it is necessary to slip at any time. If the cable is of rope, take care that it is not made fast to the ring with a slippery hitch. Anchors cost money, and a bend that will not come adrift is quite simple to make.

Cast the tyers off the mainsail and hoist it, pulling up best on the throat halyards and then "swigging" on the peak till the after-leech is taut and the sail begins to wrinkle slightly at the throat. While you are setting the sail, let the sheet fly. Next coil down the throat and peak halyards clear for running, and see that the mainsheet is free from kinks and coiled so that it can be eased off at a moment's notice without any danger of jamming in the block. A kink in the mainsheet has capsized many a cat-boat. Before you reeve a new mainsheet, stretch it well and take all the kinks out of it. Take care that the running parts of all sheets and halyards are coiled uppermost, with the ends underneath.

Let us suppose that there is a nice breeze blowing and that your intention is to essay a four or five mile beat to windward, and then conclude your trial trip with a run home. Cast adrift from your moorings or get your anchor aboard, as the case may be, and start out on whichever tack is convenient. When on the starboard tack the boom is over to port, and vice versa. Lower the centerboard and fill away on the boat with one hand on the tiller and the other holding the mainsheet, which should never be belayed, but may be held by half a turn round the cleat.

Do not make the mistake of trimming in the sheet too flat, but let the boom off till it is well on the quarter and keep the sail well full, not allowing it to shiver. This is called steering "full-and-by," which signifies as close to the wind as possible with the sail not shaking. If your boat is well balanced—that is, if her weights are well adjusted and her sail of proper cut—she will carry quite a little weather helm. So much so that if you allow the rudder to come amidships or on a line with the keel she will fly up in the wind and her sails will shake. This is by no means a fault unless it is carried to excess, and it may be said, indeed, that there is something radically wrong with a craft that requires lee helm—a defect that should be remedied at once.

The young sailor should bear in mind that to accomplish the best results in beating to windward the sail should always be kept full. Nothing is gained by sailing a boat right in the wind's eye with the sail shivering. The boat then points higher but she goes to leeward like a crab. Instances have been known of a fore-and-aft racing yacht sailing within three points of the wind, but these are rare, indeed. The ordinary cat-boat will not often do better than pointing up within four points of the breeze, and her best windward work is generally thus accomplished. There are occasions, indeed, when what is known as a "fisherman's luff" may be indulged in with profit, such as when rounding a mark or shooting up to an anchorage where there is little room. The maneuver consists in luffing the boat up into the wind so that the sails shake, and she shoots dead to windward by her own momentum. If the boat is a heavy one she will shoot quite a distance. Care must be taken to put the helm up and fill on her before she loses way, or she will get "in irons" and acquire sternway, or perhaps pay off on the other tack. If a boat acquires sternway the helm must be shifted at once. The rudder will now produce the reverse effect to what it would if the boat were going ahead. Putting the tiller to starboard turns the vessel's head to port, and vice versa in the case of sternway.

The beginner will find that his boat spins along quite merrily and obeys the slightest touch of the tiller. He should not relax his vigilance in the least, but should keep his weather eye skinned for sudden gusts of wind or catspaws which may be seen ruffling the water to windward, in timely season before they strike the boat. As the little craft begins to heel or list over to the pressure, luff up a little so that the fore-leech of the sail begins to shiver. If there is not weight enough in the puff to put the lee rail under, sail her along with just the suspicion of a shake in the luff of the sail, so that if she goes over far enough for the water to threaten to come over the lee coamings and deluge the cockpit you can put your helm down and luff up until the boat comes nearly head to wind, at the same time lowering away your sail and making preparations for taking in a reef.

If you are a novice, and the water is neither too rough nor too deep and the breeze seems likely to last, and you think your craft is not up to carrying a whole mainsail, there is no reason why you should not drop anchor and reef your sail in leisurely and comfortable fashion. If you feel at all nervous take in a couple of reefs.

After sail has been shortened set the mainsail, hoist up the anchor again and thresh her at it. You will observe that she inclines less to the puffs under the pressure of the reduced sail, and that the lee gunwale is always well clear of the water. Watch the boat well; look out for coming squalls, and be prepared to ease off the sheet and luff up instantly should occasion arise. If there are other boats in company with you tacking toward the same point you must remember that those on the starboard tack have the right of way, and thus when you are on the port tack you must keep clear of them. I would not advise a novice in a boat on the port tack to try and cross the bow of a boat on the starboard tack unless there is plenty of room. Distances on the water are deceptive to the tyro, and it is well to run no risk of collision. If the boat on the port tack will not keep away for you when you are on the starboard tack, and seems to be making for you with the intention of running you down, keep cool. Stand by to put your helm hard down so as to luff right up in the wind or even to go about. If you put your helm up and keep away, and a collision ensues, you would probably have to pay all the damage. The strict legal rule is that the vessel on the starboard tack must keep her course and neither luff nor bear up. If this rule is observed you will be within the letter of the law. In yacht racing a yacht on the port tack can be disqualified if she is struck by a yacht which is on the starboard tack, no matter how the striking happened; if she herself strikes a yacht which is on the starboard tack; if she causes a yacht which is on the starboard tack to bear away to avoid a collision. It is apparent, therefore, that no wise helmsman will run any risks. If he is on the port tack he will give way with a good grace and try to look pleasant. It is better than a collision, which is sure in a brisk breeze to do a lot of damage, and may possibly cause serious personal injuries or even loss of life.

The beginner may, after threshing to windward for an hour or so, begin to feel homesick. Let him then put his helm up, easing the mainsheet off at the same time until he gets the boom at a right angle with the mast and the boat dead before the wind. He will at this time have to pay particular attention to the steering, giving the boat "small helm" and giving it to her quickly in order to keep her steady on her course. Steering a cat-boat in a stiff breeze and lumpy water requires both skill and experience. I should counsel a green hand to lower the peak of the mainsail and run her under easy sail until he acquires the art. In that case, should he accidentally gybe the boom over, the result is not likely to be particularly disastrous; whereas, if the sail were peaked up, the boom might snap in two or the boat herself might broach to.

The centerboard should be hoisted up into the trunk when running before the wind, and the boom should be kept well topped up. In some small cat-boats there is no topping lift and the sail has only one halyard, which hoists both the throat and peak. This is a faulty rig. Throat and peak halyards should be separate, and a topping lift should always be fitted.

I think it my duty to warn the inexperienced boat sailer against gybing his little craft. It is a maneuver that requires skill and care, especially in a brisk breeze. If you must gybe, lower the peak so as to "scandalize" the sail, and haul the boom well aboard as the helm is put up. As the wind shifts from dead astern and comes on the other quarter, carrying the boom over, ease off the sheet handsomely and take care to meet her promptly with the helm as she flies to, which is invariably the case. You can then hoist the peak up again.

If you have women and children aboard the boat, gybing should never be resorted to if the wind is strong. It is far preferable to luff up into the wind and tack and then keep off again.

In coming to anchor or picking up moorings make the boat describe a good sweep, so that she may come up in the wind and lose her way exactly where you wish. You can then either let go the anchor or pick up the moorings, as the case may be. Then lower the sail, furl it snugly, put on the sail cover, stow away everything neatly, haul taut the halyards and the mainsheet, which you should coil up, and leave everything tidy and in readiness for getting under way next time.

When, on a wind with a light breeze and in smooth water, it becomes necessary to heave to to let a boat come alongside, haul the mainsheet flat aft and haul the fore and jib sheets a-weather. If in a fresh breeze, flatten in the mainsheet, let the jib sheet flow, and haul the fore sheet a-weather.

For small open boats the anchor should weigh one pound for every foot of length up to twenty feet length. If the boat is ballasted, another half pound per foot should be added.

If you have the misfortune to get stuck fast in the mud or on a sand bank, you must act quickly. If you ground while running before the wind, lower your sails at once. If you have a dinghy, run out your kedge anchor, with a line fast to it, astern into deep water and try to haul off. Work the helm to and fro. Run from side to side so as to loosen the boat from her muddy bed. If the tide is rising and your kedge does not drag, you will be sure to get off.

If you run aground while close-hauled, let go the mainsheet, put the helm hard over and try to back her off with the jib, at the same time using a boathook or oar to try to shove her into deep water. If you have any passengers, concentrate all their weight as far aft as possible. Send out a kedge, and let all hands clap to on the line. If the tide is on the ebb, you may probably have to wait till high water. Now comes a ticklish crisis. If your craft is beamy, with full bilges, she will take the ground and lie easily as the water recedes. If, on the other hand, your little ship is of the deep and narrow kind and is not provided with "legs," you will have to improvise something in that direction to prevent her from careening on her side. "Legs" are not fashionable on this side of the Atlantic. They are props of wood shod with iron, one end of which rests on the bottom, while the other fits under the channels, or is lashed to a shroud. If you have no other spar available, unbend the head of the mainsail from the gaff. Stick it in the mud jaws downward close to the rigging and lash it firmly to a shroud. List the boat over to the side the gaff is out by guying over the boom and putting any extra weight you happen to have on the same side. The boat will then take the ground in safety.

IV.
THE YAWL RIG.

Though I recommend the catboat as a general craft for knocking about and having a good time in, I am not blind to the advantages of the yawl rig. In fact, the bold young seaman contemplating long cruises and sometimes venturing out of sight of land will find that the yawl rig possesses no mean merit. For single-handed cruising its worth has long been recognized. The sails are so divided that they are small and easy to handle, but this division of sail inevitably decreases the speed and also the weatherly qualities of the boat. If we take a catboat and change her into a yawl rig she will not be nearly so fast, nor will she point so close to the wind. There are fathoms of scientific reasons for this with which I will not bother my readers. Suffice it to say that it has been demonstrated practically over and over again.

But although the yawl-rigged sailing boat of the smallest type has at least three sails—foresail, mainsail and mizzen—yet the last named, after once being set, practically takes care of itself. The mainsail, too, is quite easily handled, the whole sail being in the body of the boat. The foresail sometimes gives a little annoyance in taking it in, if the boat is pitching her nose under in a steep sea. This, however, is unavoidable. Headsails on all sailing vessels, big or little, have never been conducive to dry skins under certain conditions of wind and sea. The yawl is always under control, and in this attribute lies her chief charm. When a squall is bearing down all one has to do is to lower the mainsail and pass a tyer or two round it to keep it muzzled. When the gust strikes the boat she is under easy sail and is not likely to come to grief. If the squall is of exceptional strength, ease off the foresheet and keep the sail shaking a little until you have felt the full strength of the wind. Act then as judgment may dictate. If the blow is very heavy and seems likely to last it may be necessary to take in the foresail and the mizzen, and close reef the mainsail.

If you are sailing with the wind a-beam and a squall smites you it may not be necessary to lower the mainsail at all. Ease the sheet right off so as to spill the wind, and you will pass safely through the ordeal without parting a rope yarn.

In getting under way or in working up to anchorage in a crowded harbor or roadstead the yawl rig is one of the handiest known, for by having the mainsail furled the speed of the boat is reduced so that you can pick your way among the craft without danger of collision or striking flaws. So many famous cruises have been made in small yawl-rigged craft that there can be no doubt about their adaptability for such work, and to the man anxious for more ambitious achievement than merely sailing in rivers, bays and sheltered harbors, I most certainly would recommend the rig.

Despite the yawl's certain safety for single handed cruising, I am not in favor of sailing by myself. I prefer a congenial companion to share whatever pleasure or peril may be encountered. Of course one must exercise some wise discrimination in the choice of a cruising companion; for when once at sea there is no way of ridding yourself of an objectionable mate except throwing him overboard, which would not be exactly fair to him. Besides, he might throw you overboard, which would be bad for you. There are, however, hundreds of good yachtsmen and boatmen who have made long voyages alone and have written charming accounts of their nautical expeditions. John McGregor's "Voyage Alone in the Yawl Rob Roy" and E. Middleton's "Cruise of the Kate" (also a yawl) are two entertaining books of sea travel which I heartily recommend to those who contemplate sailing by themselves.

While I am in favor of a catboat for general purposes in the neighborhood of New York, yet when long distance trips are to be made the yawl rig will, on the whole, be found preferable.

That keen sportsman, Mr. W. H. H. Murray, is a firm believer in the yawl rig for cruising. In Outing for May, 1891, there appeared a most valuable article from his facile pen entitled "How I sail Champlain." The Champlain is of sharpie model, thirty feet on the water-line. She is of remarkably strong construction, her oaken keel being sixteen by twenty inches amidships and tapering properly fore and aft. Through this keel is sunk a mortise four inches wide and sixteen feet long, through which the centerboard works. This "fin" is of oak planking thick enough to easily enter the case when hoisted, but leaving little space between it and the case when in use. The centerboard is sixteen feet long, four feet deep forward and seven feet aft, and it has fifteen hundred pounds of iron for ballast. Mr. Murray says: "When the centerboard is lowered this mass of metal is eight feet below her water-line, and guarantees a stability adequate to resist any pressure which the wind can put upon her sails and the sails withstand. Of course I am speaking with the supposition that the boat receives, when under stress, judicious management."

The centerboard, which weighs two thousand pounds, is lifted by a "differential hoist," by means of which "the helmsman, with one hand on the tiller, can, if need occurs, with the other easily run the heavy board rapidly up into the case. The value of this adjustment can only be appreciated by a cruising yachtsman. It places him in perfect control of his craft under all conditions of varying depth of water and difficult weather. In a heavy seaway; in rapidly shoaling water on an unknown coast; when suddenly compelled to beat up against a swiftly flowing tide; or when finding himself unexpectedly near a reef, unobserved through carelessness or not plainly charted—this hoist is simply priceless. It is not over expensive, and can easily be adjusted to any yacht."

YAWL IN A SQUALL

The cockpit is roomy, and, because of its high coamings, is also deep. The cabin is sixteen feet long, the forward half being permanently roofed. The after-half of the cabin is constructed, as to its roof, in equal divisions. The forward-half is tracked, and the after-half is grooved to run upon it. Mr. Murray finds this arrangement most convenient, as it gives to the yacht such coolness and comfort as cannot be obtained in a cabin permanently roofed. The whole roof is so fitted to the coamings that it can be quickly and easily removed and stowed, leaving the yacht to be sailed as an open one, decked from stem to midship section. This arrangement is an admirable one for harbor sailing in bright weather or for racing.

Regarding the handiness of Champlain Mr. Murray says: "All yachtsmen know what a disagreeable job it is to reef a sloop or cat-boat in rough water, and from this cause many skippers will delay reefing as long as possible and often until too late. And because of this many accidents happen yearly. In this respect the yawl rig shows to the greatest advantage and commends itself to all sensible yachtsmen. For when the moment has come to reef, if the boat is running free her head is brought up to the wind, the mizzen and jib sheets trimmed in, and with the main boom well inboard the pennants are lashed and the reef points tied down, when she is let off again and goes bowling along on her former course. In Champlain the three reef cringles on the leech of the mainsail are all within easy reach from the cockpit, and the skipper, without leaving the tiller, can lash the pennants, and hence, with only one assistant, the three reefs can successively, if need be, be tied down. Indeed, so well do the jib and mizzen sail work in unison, that unless the wind is very puffy and variable, the helm can be lashed and she will hold her course steadily onward while the skipper is tying down the after reef points. It is a matter of pleasant surprise to one not accustomed to this rig how easily and rapidly a reef in most trying conditions can be taken in the mainsail of a yawl whose sails are well balanced.

"Moreover, unless the squall is a very heavy one, a yawl can be eased through it without reefing at all. For when the wind comes roaring down and the white line of froth and spray is right upon you, the boat can be brought up to the wind and the mainsheet eased handsomely out, and with jib and mizzen drawing finely and the mainboom off to leeward the wind whistles harmlessly between the masts, while the yacht, only slightly disturbed in her balance, sails steadily along. Or, if the squall is a heavy one and there is no time to reef down before it strikes, the yacht can be luffed up, the mainsail let down at a run, and with the belly of the sail held within the lazy-lines the yacht is under safe conditions. But ordinarily it is better to reef or even tie down the mainsail snugly, and as in a yawl it can be done rapidly and easily there is no reason why it should not be done and everything be kept shipshape.

"In cruising I often sailed Champlain under jib and mizzen alone, with the mainsail stowed and the boom crutched and tied snugly down amidships, especially in the night time when it was very dark and the weather foul. Under this scant canvas with a favorable wind she would sail along at a very fair rate of speed and even make good progress in beating up against quite a sea, and I need not say that it adds greatly to the pleasure of cruising in a small yacht with only one man for your crew to feel that you have your boat in a condition of perfect control. It is evident that with no other rig can this condition to the same degree be obtained or such a sense of absolute security be enjoyed.

"To an amateur nothing is more trying than coming to or getting away from moorings, especially if the wind is blowing strongly and the anchorage ground is crowded with other yachts, not to speak of vessels of commerce, bateaux, tugs and ferryboats. Under such circumstances it is no easy matter for any, save an expert, to work a sloop or cat-boat or schooner safety out through the crowded harbor or basin to the open water beyond; and it is all the more trying to a skipper if there is a strong tide running at the moment. But with a yawl the difficulties of the situation are almost wholly removed. For with mainsail unlashed he can hoist his anchor or cast off from moorings, and under his two small sails work his boat out slowly and safely from the jammed basin or crowded space within the breakwater. He must be a tyro indeed who cannot safely manage a yawl under the worst possible conditions of this sort.

"In cruising, if the weather is threatening it is well to carry a single reef in the mainsail until it clears up, for a yawl works well under such a sail with jib and mizzen furled. In such trim the yacht is as a cat-boat with a small sail, and as her main boom is shorter than a cat-boat's or a sloop's she can be worked in a very heavy sea with her boom's end well above the rollers. And I know of nothing more trying to a skipper than to sail his craft with his boom's end half the time under water. In such a condition the spars, rigging and boat are under a stress and strain which every prudent skipper dreads and seeks to avoid, and it speaks volumes in favor of the yawl rig to say that with it such a trying condition can never arise. Indeed a yawl under a double-reefed mainsail alone is in perfect trim for scudding. If well modeled she will neither yaw nor thrash the water with her boom's end, but career along almost with the speed of the wind itself. For her canvas is low down, as it should be, and her boom carried well above the seething water. In this shape, moreover, she can lay a course with the wind well over her quarter without strain, and it must be a very hard blow and rough water indeed to give anxiety to any on board of her."

That the Champlain is a capital sea-boat is beyond question. Her owner thus describes a run on the lower St. Lawrence in returning from a cruise to the Saguenay: "We passed Baie St. Paul in the evening, whirled along by a rising gale blowing directly up the river. The night was pitchy dark, the tide running fiercely on the ebb at the rate of five miles an hour at the least. The water was very wild, as one can easily imagine. Stemming such a current it would not do to shorten sail if one wished to pass Cape Tourmente and get into quiet water, the Isle of Orleans and the north shore, so we let every sail stand, cleated the sheets tightly and let her drive. How she did tear onward! The froth and spume lay deep on her pathways and after-deck. The waves crested fiercely, rolling against the current, and the black water broke into phosphor as we slashed through it. I do not recall that I ever saw a yacht forced along more savagely. How the water roared under the ledges and along the rough shores of Tourmente! And I was profoundly grateful when we were able to bear off to starboard and run into the still water back of Orleans. Perhaps that midnight cup of coffee did not taste well! Its heat ran through my chilled veins like Chartreuse. I can taste it yet!"

The ordinary jib-and-mainsail rigged boat, as seen in the waters round New York, might easily be improved upon. In the first place, the majority of them are too much after the skimming-dish pattern to suit my fancy. Then the mast is stepped as a rule too far forward for the best work, and renders reefing difficult, as she will not "lay to" comfortably under her headsail, whereas if the mast of a boat is stepped well aft, cutter fashion, the boat will lay to quite well, and reefing the mainsail is easy. The American sloop rig is open to the same criticism, and that is why the English way of rigging a single-sticker has been adopted in all our new racing craft. To my mind there is nothing more hideous than a "bobbed" jib. It renders good windward work impossible, as it causes a boat to sag off to leeward and is in other ways a detriment. A small boat with the mast stepped in the right place and carrying a jib and a mainsail is, however, a very satisfactory craft, good at beating to windward as well as reaching or running. I should advise that a "spit-fire" or storm jib be carried along whenever a sail of any distance is contemplated, and also a gaff-headed trysail, so that the adventurous skipper may be always prepared for storm and stress of weather. This extra "muslin" takes up little room when properly rolled up.

The simplest and safest rig in the world is the leg-of-mutton sail. It is the one fitted exactly for river work, where one is sure to encounter puffs of some force as ravines are reached or valleys passed. To amateurs it is the sail par excellence for experimenting with, for no matter how many blunders are made a mishap is well nigh impossible. The leg-of-mutton sail has no gaff, nor need it have a boom. There is little or no leverage aloft, and all the power for mischief it has can be taken out of it by slacking off the sheet and spilling the wind. The learner might with advantage practice with a sail of this shape until he becomes proficient. If he eventually determines upon a jib and mainsail or yawl rig for permanent use, he may avoid wasting it by having it made over into a storm trysail.

I would strongly advise every amateur skipper to shun the ballast-fin device as he would shun cold poison or a contagious disease. That is unless he intends to go in for a regular racing career, in which case the cups carried off might possibly compensate him for the woe, the anguish and the premature gray hairs inseparable from this contrivance. Mind you these remarks of mine apply only to amateurs and not to grizzled sailing-masters of yachts who fully understand how to navigate and handle all types of pleasure craft. Theoretically the ballast-fin has many obvious advantages.

TYPE OF FIN-KEEL.

The fin consists of a plate of iron or steel to the base of which is affixed a bulb of lead, which, being in the best possible place, insures stability. The fin proper gives lateral resistance in an almost perfect form, for there is no deadwood either forward or aft and the least possible amount of wetted surface. I remember when a little boy in a fishing village on the bank of a land-locked arm of the sea, where the water was always smooth, how we youngsters came to appreciate fully the worth of an improvised ballast-fin. We used to enjoy the diversion of model yacht sailing and the delights of many regattas. I owned one of the smartest models in the village. She was rigged as a cutter with outside lead, self-steering gear and all the latest maritime improvements, and she generally came out a winner. I tell you I used to put on a great many airs on this account, and as a natural result was duly hated and envied by my playmates, who owned more or less tubby craft that could scarcely get out of their own way.

But the day arrived when my pride was destined to have a fall. A shrewd youth of Scottish extraction came to our village for the summer with his father. He had the keenest, greenest eye you ever saw, and one of those money-making noses that are unmistakable. His whole physiognomy and form indicated shrewdness. He mingled with us for some time on the beach, mudlarked with the boys and watched our model yacht matches with undisguised interest. We all got the notion that he was an inland landlubber, though it is only fair to him to acknowledge that he never told us so in so many words.

One Saturday afternoon, after my little cutter had surpassed herself by distancing all her opponents, I indulged in some unusually tall talk, and challenged each and every one of my rivals to a race across the "creek," as the sheet of water was called, offering to give them four minutes' start, the distance being half a mile.

To my surprise, our green-eyed friend came along and accepted the challenge, saying that on the following Saturday he would produce a craft that would knock spots out of my cutter without any time allowance whatever, and without the aid of a longer hull or larger sailspread. He also remarked that he had a month's pocket money saved up, and was willing to wager it on the result. I accepted his offer without superfluous parleying, and in my mind's eye was already investing that pocket money of his in various little treasures for which I hankered. But, for all that, I made every preparation for the fray, using very fine sandpaper and pot lead till my boat's bottom was beautifully burnished, and seeing that her sails and gear were in tip top racing condition. All the boys wondered what sort of a craft my opponent would bring out. He had never been seen with a boat of any description. We laughed in our sleeves and whispered it about that he would probably produce one of those showy vessels that one sees in the city toy store, and that generally sail on their beam ends.

The hour for the race arrived. The boys were all excited and flocked to the water's edge, whence the start was to be made. There was a goodly throng of them present, and, notwithstanding their contempt for the Scotchman, it was no doubt the desire of their hearts that some of my overweening conceit should be taken down a couple of pegs or so. Presently my rival appeared on the scene, carrying in his arms the queerest looking craft any of us had ever seen. Her hull was shaped like an Indian birch bark canoe, except that to the rounded bottom a keel was fastened. A groove was made in the keel, in which an oblong piece of slate was placed, to the bottom of which a strip of lead was secured. The rig was that of a cutter, and I noticed that her sails were well cut. She looked quite business-like, and when she was measured we found she was two inches shorter than my cutter.

There was a nice, fresh westerly wind blowing, and quite a lop of a sea running for diminutive craft such as were about to race. I had already deemed it prudent to take in a reef in the mainsail of my vessel, and set a No. 2 jib, but my Scotch friend said he thought his boat would carry whole sail without any trouble. The course was south, so the craft had to sail with the wind a-beam. The start was made, my boat being to windward, as I had won the toss. And that was all I did win. The "ballast-fin" craft beat my cutter so badly that even at this distance of time my ears tingle and I feel ashamed. While my boat was burying herself, her rival took the curling wavelets right buoyantly, standing up to her work valiantly, and moving two feet to the cutter's one. We accompanied the model yachts in row-boats, keeping well to leeward, but quite close enough to observe their movements accurately. That was my first experience of the ballast-fin. We all became converts, and shoal, round-bottomed craft, with slate fins to give stability and lateral resistance, were thenceforward the fashion. My successful rival, we afterward discovered, was the son of a naval architect of repute, and he is now practising his father's profession with a good deal of success.

Thus I have not a word to say against the ballast-fin so far as racing is concerned, but in cruising the average man who sails for pleasure wants a craft that he can haul out of the water easily to scrub, clean and paint. Now, if you put a ballast-fin boat on the mud for any one or all of these purposes she requires a "leg" on each side to keep her upright, and also supports at the bow and stern to prevent her from turning head over heels. The stationary fin always represents your true draught of water. It is always with you and is an integral portion of the boat's hull. If you happen to get stuck on a shoal—and this is a contingency that has occurred frequently to the most skillful and careful navigator—in thick weather for instance, your lot is by no means to be envied. This is particularly true if the tide is falling fast. The boat would go over on her side as soon as the water got low enough. The crew and passengers might have to wait aboard until high water, and a precious uncomfortable time they would pass I am certain. When the flood tide made it might be a moot question whether the boat would float or fill with water.

The movable centerplate will always let you know when you get on a shoal, and will in nearly all cases give you warning in time to avoid grounding, which is always an unpleasant predicament and one entailing much labor. Then, again, the anchorages at which small boats can safely lie are generally pretty shallow at low water and the ballast-fin is found to be mighty inconvenient for such places.

SAIL PLAN OF FIN-KEEL.

V.
THE KNOCKABOUT CLASSES.

The knockabouts, which had their origin in Boston, have much to recommend them. They are free from freakiness. None of them at this time of writing have been fitted with fin-keels to harass their skippers when they come in contact with the ground. They have a moderate sail area, and thus are under control at all times. In a blow one is as safe aboard one of these craft as a converted Chinaman under the lee of his fair Sunday-school teacher at church-time. The variety in vogue in Boston in 1897 was limited to 500 square feet of sail. All were keel boats, 21 feet being the limit of length on the load water-line.

This class gained popularity from the intrinsic excellence of the boats themselves, combining capital cruising qualities with fair speed and good accommodations. Several designers competed, the restrictions governing their construction, dimensions, and sail area being such that the boats were very even in speed, and the contests in which they took part were keen, close, and exciting.

SEAWANHAKA 21-FOOT KNOCKABOUT.

The type of knockabout chosen for the season of 1898 by the Seawanhaka Corinthian Yacht Club and the Westchester Country Club has proved to be quite admirably adapted for cruising and racing. They were designed and built by Mr. W. B. Stearns, of Marblehead, their dimensions being: Length over all, 33 feet; on the load water-line, 21 feet; beam, 7 feet 8 inches; draught, 4 feet; with board down, 7 feet. The area of the mainsail and jib contains 550 square feet. The centerboard is a small one of iron, and houses below the cabin floor. The trunk cabin is 8 feet long, with 5 feet head-room. The price of these boats was $750 complete, and, their construction being sound and strong, they will, if taken care of properly, be good for many years.

It is impossible to speak in terms too high of this class after a surfeit of the racing machines and freaks like the 20-footers whose alarming antics so often amused and amazed us whenever they happened to meet in a reefing breeze. Another good property they possess is that they look like boats when hauled up on the beach, and can never be mistaken when their masts are unstepped for pig-troughs or fish floats. There is no doubt of the seaworthiness of these craft. They are perfectly safe in a northwest squall off Sandy Hook or in a dirty easterly gale on Long Island Sound.

SEAWANHAKA KNOCKABOUT.

Another craft of this type which was deservedly popular last year is of larger size than the one described above. She is 25 feet on the load water-line, 38 feet over all, with a beam of 8 feet 6 inches, and 5 feet draught with centerboard up. The boat, which was designed by Mr. B. B. Crowninshield, of Boston, has a commodious cabin with six feet head-room, a seven-foot cockpit, and 800 square feet of duck in mainsail and jib. A very able and roomy boat nearly twice as costly as the Stearns craft, but indeed quite a little ship.

SAIL-PLAN OF SEAWANHAKA KNOCKABOUT—550 SQUARE FEET.

Personally I favor a short bowsprit in a knockabout, it being convenient for hoisting the anchor, keeping it clear of the hull, and preventing unseemly dents from the flukes.

I fear that knockabouts, or raceabouts, even in restricted classes, are destined eventually to be fitted with fin-keels. As a speed-inducing factor the fin has fully demonstrated its capacity since the first edition of this little book appeared. I have not, however, altered my opinion one iota since my remarks on the ballast-fin made in the chapter which precedes this. In my judgment the fin is admirably adapted as an adjunct to a racing machine, but for cruising craft I like it not. Brand me as an old fogy, if you will; half a century behind the times, if it so pleases you, shipmates, but give me credit for sincerity.

The keen sense of rivalry inherent in every American will not permit him to be content with a good, honest sailing boat for cruising purposes only. If one of his chums comes out with a faster craft, whether a fin-keel or a modification thereof, he will become dissatisfied with his own boat, no matter how seaworthy and comfortable she may be, and will promptly discard her for a new-fangled design in which speed is the principal characteristic. The so-called restricted classes, which are so popular just now, are, I think, sure in the end to become purely racing classes, something after the fashion of the Herreshoff 30-footers now so fashionable in Newport. As racing boats, none afford more sport than these wonderfully smart flyers, and I can well understand what fascinating toys they have proved to their owners. But, after all, they are only toys, vastly expensive, too, with no accommodations for cruising and apt to be uncomfortably wet in a breeze.

The one-design classes of small yachts are not confined to knockabouts only. Cruising schooners, designed by Cary Smith, made their appearance in 1898, and the class, from a modest beginning, seems likely to grow. The features of the boats are their sound and wholesome characteristics. They possess moderate draught, large accommodations, and strength of construction. They are 64 feet 2 inches over all, 46 feet long on the load water-line, 16 feet beam, draught without board 6 feet 6 inches, least freeboard 3 feet. A rather low cabin trunk gives full head-room for the greater part of the yacht's length, the main saloon being more than 13 feet long with a floor width of 6 feet 9 inches. On each side are two berths and two sofas with drawers beneath. There is accommodation in the forecastle for four men. The yachts carry 20,000 pounds of lead ballast, of which 18,000 pounds is on keel. Another one-design division is the Riverside Yacht Club dory class, which has been adopted by many of the clubs enrolled in the Yacht-Racing Union of Long Island Sound. These boats are thirteen feet on the keel, seventeen feet over all, with four feet beam, fitted with a centerboard and rigged with a small jib and a leg-of-mutton sail. They are for single-handed racing, but for pleasure cruising or fishing a man can take his chum along. Fully equipped with oars, sails, etc., they cost about forty dollars, and afford capital sport on fine afternoons. To encourage this little class, prizes worth winning are offered by the club, and sweepstake races are popular features.

The idea was probably taken from the Nahant Dory Club, organized in 1894, which did much to encourage sport in this serviceable and inexpensive class. Spectators will find amusement in watching "green hands" in their maiden efforts at sailing these dories, as strange and startling results often follow the rash experiments of an adventurous tyro. But apart from the comic element, valuable lessons in yacht-racing may be learned by steering and manœuvring a dory against a fleet of half-a-dozen eager competitors. Thus, yachtsmen cannot help approving this new Riverside venture, originated, I believe, by Mr. F. Bowne Jones, of the Regatta Committee.

The origin of the one-design class was Dublin Bay, where the "Water Wag" type was first evolved. A Norwegian praam with a boiler-plate centerboard, combining ballast and lateral resistance, and carrying a big sail, was built in 1878 at Shankhill. She was christened Cemiostama and proved an ideal boat. The conditions were a sloping sandy shore on which the high surf not infrequently broke, and from which the craft had to be launched every time her owner wanted a sail, and onto which she had to be beached after the cruise was finished. Cemiostama was a capital sea-boat; she pointed well, hit what she aimed at, did not sag off to leeward, and was quite fast. When the centerboard, weighing about one hundred pounds, was raised she ran up easily on the beach, resting quietly on her flat bottom. Her centerboard was then lifted out, and her crew of two hauled her up.

The knowing Irish yachtsmen, appreciating a good thing, saw that there was a lot of fun in a boat of this class, and several were built, and many scrub races were indulged in. In 1887 the Water Wag Association was started, the craft being built on the same lines and the sail-area being limited. Their dimensions were thirteen feet in length, with a beam of four feet ten inches, full lines and a flat floor.

The Water Wags are presided over by a king and a queen, bishop, knights and rooks; and although the boats were at first used principally for pleasure, they are now racers pure and simple. Their headquarters are now in Kingstown Harbor, and prizes are put up for them at all the local regattas. They are very handy, too, and quite admirable for the purpose for which they were designed. They cost from $75 to $100, and the rules that govern their races provide that they shall be similar in every respect except sail-plan. The mast must not exceed thirteen feet over all, measured from top of keel to truck; the fore and aft sails must not exceed seventy-five square feet in area, and the spinnaker (which is to be used only before the wind and never as a jib) must not exceed sixty square feet.

Each boat shall carry no less than two or more than three persons in a race, all of whom shall be amateurs. A member or a lady may steer. No prize shall be awarded a boat for a sail-over, but she may fly a winning flag therefor. A pair of oars and a life-buoy must be carried in every race. It is only right to mention that these sailing regulations are vigorously enforced.

The latest one-design class established by our rollicking Irish cousins is known as the 25-footers of the Dublin Bay Sailing Club. These craft are of such noteworthy type as to deserve a few lines of description and approval here, especially as it was wisely decided that the type shall not be altered for five years from January 1, 1898. The boats, of which quite a number were built and raced, are deep-keeled cutters of the following dimensions: Length over all, 37 feet 3 inches; length on load water-line, 25 feet; beam, 8 feet 8 inches; draught, 6 feet 3 inches; lead on keel, 3 tons 5 cwt., and sail area, 845 square feet, divided into a mainsail laced to the boom, gafftopsail, foresail and jib. A second jib, jibtopsail, balloon foresail, spinnaker, storm jib and trysail may also be carried. The design, made by Will Fife, Jr., of Fairlie, is handsome, the type being eminently adapted for Dublin Bay. Restrictions of the strictest kind ensure the boats being exactly alike in size, material, construction and canvas.

The "Mermaids," a craft much used by the B division of the same club, are large Water Wags, 18 feet long, with 6 feet beam, fitted with centerboards, but carrying no ballast, and limited when racing to 180 square feet of sail. These are vastly popular, and a dozen or so race every Saturday afternoon during the season.

Although one-design racing originated on the other side of the Atlantic, it is questionable if any one class has been sailed with more spirit or persistency than were the Herreshoff 30-footers at Newport during the yachting season of 1897 and since.

That the classes are destined to prosper there is no doubt, the only condition being that the type must be carefully adapted to the location for which it is intended, and the more it is available for fishing excursions and pleasure trips the greater favor will attend it. Another helpful feature is the substantial economic gain from the construction of several boats by the same builder from the same design.

VI.
KEEP YOUR WEATHER EYE OPEN.

The sailer of a boat, little or big, should keep his weather eye open all the time. When sailing in a river where the banks are of irregular height he should be especially on his guard, because puffs of considerable violence frequently come with little or no warning. A few inches of sheet eased off, and a gentle luff not quite sufficient to spill the sail, will generally prevent the shipping of water over the lee gunwale, and a possible capsize. Thus the mainsheet should never be made fast permanently, and should always be coiled so as to be clear for running. A neglect of either of these precautions has often been attended with fatal results. If by any mischance the mainsheet becomes jammed do not hesitate, but cut it. A sharp knife in such an emergency has often saved life when an upset has seemed inevitable through the boat being nearly on her beam ends. If you are sailing in a jib and mainsail craft, and the squall has a good deal of weight in it, let fly the jib sheet and let the boat come up in the wind, at the same time lowering away the mainsail and taking care to spill it as it comes down. A reef should then be taken in, and the boat be filled away on her course.

While sailing anywhere in the vicinity of New York, and when one of those heavy thunder-squalls that are so frequent in the summer time is seen rising in the northwest, waste no time. If not in too deep water, anchor at once and stow your sails snugly. You can then ride out the fury of the squall in perfect safety; that is, if your ground tackle is sufficiently strong. If your cable parts and you are on a lee shore and there is a harbor to run for, scud for it under bare poles or with a fragment of sail set. If there is no refuge under your lee, set as much sail as your boat can safely carry and thresh her off shore. The chances are that you will be successful, because these squalls while often very dangerous seldom last long, and are generally followed by a flat calm which is more exasperating than a blow.

We will take it for granted, however, that your anchor and chain are of the correct strength and quality, and that you bring up before the squall strikes you. If you have time it would be well to close-reef your mainsail before furling it, and then you would be prepared for any emergency. But let me impress upon all who are in charge of boats with women and children aboard, that it is their duty, when one of those peril-fraught thunder-squalls is seen approaching, to dowse every stitch of sail at once and let go the anchor. There is a wide gulf between bravado and bravery, and no truly courageous man would imperil the lives of anyone, especially of helpless women and children. The rash carrying on of canvas has been responsible for more loss of life on the water than any other cause. It is a seaman who shortens sail in time, but a lubber who "cracks on till all's blue."

Great caution is necessary when passing under the lee of a vessel at anchor or under way, especially in a fresh breeze. Your boat is sure to get becalmed and may possibly nearly lose her way, so that as she draws clear of the object the full force of the breeze will strike her when she has scarcely steerage way on. The result may be a complete knockdown or even a capsize. Therefore have your mainsheet clear for running, and do not hesitate to let it fly in a hurry before your little vessel's gunwale is anywhere near the water. By all means endeavor to keep clear of vessels at anchor. Do not try to get in the wash of steamboats, as some foolhardy persons do, "just for fun." On the contrary take special pains to avoid them. When you must encounter their wash, which in the case of large and fast steamers is heavy and dangerous, do your best to let your boat take the brunt of the waves on the bluff of the bow. If they strike her broadside on, swamping is a possibility not far remote.

In sailing a boat in rough water the greatest precaution is necessary. A craft that in smooth water could safely carry all sail, might when the sea is perturbed be forced to stagger along under double reefs, the force of the wind being the same in both instances. Especially is this the case when the wind and sea are both abeam, the former strong and the latter heavy. This is probably the most dangerous point of sailing there is, and requires the most careful touch of the tiller. A boat heeled over to fifteen degrees by the force of the wind, by the joint influence of a sudden puff and a heavy roll to leeward may be inclined to such an angle that a capsize is inevitable. When there seems to be any danger of this mishap occurring the helmsman must not close his eyes to keep them warm. When he sees a larger wave than usual coming along he should put his helm up a little, so that it may strike the boat abaft the beam and so reduce the danger to a minimum. The judicious application of weather helm in a beam sea has saved many a big ship's deck from being swept, and many a small boat from being capsized.

It is in my judgment rash to sail a small boat under these conditions unless it is imperative, such as when a harbor is being entered, or when the boat's course must necessarily be steered with wind and sea abeam. I should strongly advise the hauling of the boat on a wind until she reaches the point where her sheets may be eased off and she can be headed for her destination with wind and sea on the quarter. A boat with any pretensions at all can be sailed close-hauled in rough water with safety if certain elementary precautions are observed. Everybody on board except the helmsman should sit amidships in the bottom of the boat, so as to keep the weight as low as possible and the craft herself in her natural trim. No unusual weight is wanted in the bow of the vessel, which should lift in a prompt and lively manner to each sea. In an open boat and a nasty sea no more sail should be carried than will keep her under proper command.

A great deal depends upon the nerve and skill of the man at the tiller. Keep her moving all the time. If a big wave threatens to come aboard over the weather bow, luff smartly into it and meet it as nearly end on as possible. Then up with the helm at once and fill on her again, repeating the process as often as it may be needful. Never let the lee gunwale get under water in a seaway, nor at any other time, but always luff before it is too late, and help her to come up in the wind if necessary by easing away the jib sheet.

If the wind keeps increasing and the sea rising, haul down the headsail and pass a gasket round it, close-reef your mainsail, previously seeing your sea anchor clear for letting go. If you have no sea anchor with you, rig some sort of a raft with oars, boathook and sails, the latter lashed securely to the spars. Make a line fast to this raft and pay out about twenty fathoms and let the boat ride to it as to an anchor. It is surprising what a good effect this contrivance has in breaking the waves and keeping the boat head to sea. Nothing else can now be done until the gale moderates sufficiently for sail to be made and the boat headed for her destination. It may be consolatory to those aboard a craft in such a contingency to buoy themselves up by remembering that some of the heaviest gales known have been safely ridden out in cockleshell boats without any damage to crew, hull or gear.

DROGUE, OR SEA ANCHOR.

The sea anchor consists of a hinge-jointed galvanized ring about three feet in diameter. A conical bag made of stout canvas is sewed to the ring and roped, as shown in sketch. A bridle is fitted to the ring, to which the riding hawser is bent. A cork buoy prevents the anchor from diving. When thrown overboard the mouth of the anchor opens and fills. To hoist the anchor on board, the tripping line, shown in diagram, is hauled on. When not in use the ring is folded together by the joints, and the bag is made fast snugly round it.

DIAGRAM OF FLOATING ANCHOR.

Another plan for making a floating anchor is shown below. K, M, N, O, are the ends of two iron bars formed into a cross and connected by a stout bolt, nut and pin at their intersection, S. At each end of the bars is an eye through which a strong rope is rove, hauled taut, and well secured. Thus a square is formed, and over the square a piece of strong canvas is laced to the roping. Four ropes are made fast to the iron bars, forming a bridle. To this the riding hawser is made fast. To prevent the anchor from sinking, a buoy, B, is made fast to one corner by a rope, with five or six fathoms of drift. The buoy rope, P, leads on board. H is the hawser to which the boat is riding, A is the anchor, and B the buoy. To get the anchor aboard haul in on the line, P. This will cause the anchor to cant edgewise, and it can then be easily hauled in.

FLOATING ANCHOR IN USE.

In scudding before a strong wind and a heavy sea in a small craft, a trysail is always preferable to a sail with a boom, which may effect much mischief by trailing in the water or suddenly gybing. The helmsman must be always on the alert to prevent the boat from "broaching to," which means flying up in the wind; or from being "brought by the lee," which means running off so as to bring the wind on the other quarter. A long, narrow boat will always run before the wind better than a short, beamy craft, as she is better adapted for taking the seas, and she also steers easier, not yawing about so much or turning round every few minutes to take a look at her wake. The inexperienced boat sailer should bear in mind that scudding in a seaway is ticklish work, and is not unlikely to be attended with peril. If you have no trysail, reef the mainsail and lower the peak. Hoist on the weather topping lift so as to keep the boom as high as possible out of the water. By no means run a boat before the wind until it blows too hard and the sea is too high to heave to with safety. If the breeze seems likely to pipe up, make up your mind immediately. Delay is dangerous. Have your sea anchor ready. Watch for a smooth. When it comes put your helm down smartly, trimming in the mainsheet. When she gets the wind on the bow, heave your sea anchor overboard and ride to it either with the mainsail set or lowered, as may be deemed best.

If you happen to be on a lee shore, with the surf breaking high on the beach, and you cannot claw off, do not wait until it is too late and your boat is in the breakers. Let go the anchor, and if it holds try to ride out the storm. If your ground tackle gives way, do your best to set the mainsail and steer boldly for the shore. The faster you go the better chance you have to be carried high and dry. Remember that this will give you a fighting chance for your life, whereas if your boat gets broadside on in the breakers she will most likely roll over and over and in all probability drown you and your crew.

It may be thought preposterous for me to advocate the use of oil to break the force of curling wave-crests when a small craft is riding to a raft or sea anchor. Most people would naturally suppose that a boat could not carry enough oil aboard her for it to have any beneficial effect in smoothing a turbulent sea. Nor could it if it was poured into the ocean out of its original package, or out of "bags with small holes punctured in their bottoms," as some marine experts advise. The proper way to apply oil is to fill a round bottomed canvas bag, about two feet long and eight inches in diameter, three parts full of oakum or cotton waste. Do not pack too tightly. Pour into this as much fish or animal oil as the oakum or waste will suck up. Sew the mouth up tightly with palm and needle. Secure a lanyard to it. Make a few holes in its sides with a marlinespike and hang it over the lee bow, and you will be surprised at the result. The seas, instead of breaking over the boat and threatening to swamp her, will become comparatively smooth as soon as they approach the limits of the film of the oil as it oozes slowly out of the bag. When running over a harbor bar where the sea is breaking badly, a couple of these bags suspended from either bow will prevent the waves from pooping the little craft and help her materially in her struggle for existence. Mineral oil will do if no other is available, and a gallon of it will go a long way if used in the manner mentioned above. These bags should be carried all ready for use when cruising, so that all you will have to do is to pour the oil in, sew up the mouths and hang them over the bows by the lanyards. A ship's boat with a dozen men aboard once safely weathered an Atlantic gale by riding to a couple of buckets and a cork fender saturated with kerosene. Pouring oil on troubled waters is by no means a case of bluff or the dream of an opium smoker, but a capital "wrinkle" by means of which many a good man has been saved from Davy Jones' yawning locker. I trust that these little bags will form part of the outfit of all going on long cruises. They may serve as pillows or may be made in the shape of cushions, so long as the above general idea is followed.

THE BOSTON KNOCKABOUT "GOSLING."

As a striking instance of the value of oil in a heavy gale I will quote the case of the British ship Slivemore, which took fire in June, 1885, while in the Indian Ocean about eight hundred miles northeastward of the Seychelle Islands. The ship was abandoned and the boats steered for the islands. Capt. Conly, of the Slivemore, gave orders that each boat should take aboard two cans of paint oil for use in bad weather, and he also instructed the officer in command of each boat in the use of the oil. Three days after the ship was left the boats encountered a cyclone. Drags made from spars, oars and sails lashed together were rigged, and to these improvised sea anchors the frail craft rode securely. Stockings filled with oakum saturated with the oil were hung over the bows of the boats and formed an oil-slick of considerable expanse. Before the stockings were hung out the boats narrowly escaped being swamped and the men had to bail hard with buckets. The oil prevented the seas from breaking and the boats rode over the enormous waves in safety. Little water was shipped, and those on board the boats were able to lie down and sleep while a tropical cyclone was raging furiously. All the boats reached the islands in safety without the loss of a man, but had it not been for the oil the loss of the Slivemore would have remained an untold mystery of the ocean.

A still more wonderful example of the efficacy of oil is told by the captain of the ship Martha Cobb, and it relates to the achievement of a sixteen-foot dinghy. In December, 1886, the Martha Cobb, petroleum laden, encountered a heavy gale in the North Atlantic. She shipped some tremendous seas which swept away all her large boats, washed away her bulwarks and played havoc generally with her decks. The only boat that was left uninjured was the aforesaid sixteen-foot dinghy, intended solely for smooth water work.

While laboring and plunging in the mountainous sea, the Martha Cobb fell in with a sinking vessel flying signals of distress to the effect that the water was fast gaining on her and that all her boats were stove in. The captain of the Martha Cobb determined to stand by the vessel in distress, in the hope that the gale would abate. He knew that his little cockleshell of a dinghy could not possibly live in such weather, and that it would be suicidal to lower her and attempt a rescue.

After standing by till near nightfall with no prospect of the storm moderating, the commander of the Martha Cobb determined to make an effort to save the crew of the fast foundering craft. The Martha Cobb's petroleum was in casks, some of which leaked. The captain had noticed that when the pumps were being worked the sea in the wake of his ship was always much smoother. He got the Martha Cobb to windward of the wreck and started the pumps, in the hope that the oil in the well and bilges would create a smooth when it reached the sea, so that the dinghy could be lowered in safety.

He found, however, that the ships drifted faster than the oil, so that while the sea to windward was comparatively smooth the water to leeward was rough as ever. So he kept his ship away, ran down under the vessel's stern and luffed up under her lee. Then he started the pumps and also allowed a five-gallon can of fish oil to trickle into the water through the scuppers. The effect was almost miraculous. In less than half-an-hour the crested surges and breaking combers were converted into long heavy swells such as you see when a calm has succeeded a heavy gale.

The little dinghy was lowered, and manned by three men was pulled to windward alongside the wreck with little difficulty. All hands were rescued, and the tiny boat, while engaged in the gallant work, shipped no water. All this time the waves were breaking furiously outside the magic limit of the oil-slick.

One more illustration and I am done. Capt. Amlot, of the steamer Barrowmore, on January twenty-fourth, 1885, while in 51 degrees north latitude and 21 degrees west longitude, fell in with the sinking ship Kirkwood. This ship had for part of her cargo several hundred casks of canned salmon. In order to make a smooth and allow the boat of the Barrowmore to come alongside in safety, the crew of the Kirkwood broached a number of the cases, and opening the cans poured the oil from them into the sea. This had the desired result, and although the sea was very heavy the oil reduced it rapidly, and the boat of the Barrowmore had no difficulty in taking off the twenty-six men that composed the ship's company of the Kirkwood.

Two quarts of oil used per hour will produce effective results. A ship scudding before the wind, with a mountainous sea running and threatening to poop her, has expended this amount and kept dry. Experts have calculated that this quantity of oil has covered the sea with an infinitesimal film measuring thirty feet in width and ten nautical miles in length. As the thickness of this film is only .0000047 of an inch, its efficacy is indeed marvelous.

A simple and excellent device for distributing oil has been invented by Capt. Townsend, of the United States Signal Office. It is cheap and convenient, and is especially adapted for use in boats or small yachts. It has been thus described:

"It consists of a hollow metal globe ten inches in diameter, with a capacity of about one and a-half gallons of oil. It has an air chamber separated by a partition to keep it afloat in a certain position, and there are two valves. When filled with oil the upper valve is adjusted to allow oil to flow out at any desired rate, while the lower valve admits water. When placed in the sea it floats with the upper valve a little above the surface, and water will enter to displace the oil from the graduated upper valve. The specific gravity of oil will keep it in the upper part of the distributor, and the motion of the globe on the breaking waves or swell will insure the ejection of the oil through the graduated valve in any quantity."

OIL DISTRIBUTOR.

This may be used by towing over the bow when running, or made fast to a sea anchor when hove to.

People inclined to be skeptical are, of course, at liberty to doubt the efficacy of oil to lessen the dangerous effect of heavy seas, but the examples I have quoted are simply a few culled from several hundred well authenticated cases.

PLAN OF OIL DISTRIBUTOR.

The lesson learned from the Shipwash lightship ever so many years ago, has not been without profit and benefit to naval architects. Let me spin you the yarn. The Shipwash lightship is moored in one of the most exposed places on the east coast of England, and is thus continually encountering particularly heavy seas. It came to pass that the old lightship was replaced by a new and scientific vessel. The new-fangled craft was, however, so remarkably unsteady and rolled so heavily that to the storm-tossed mariner beating up the coast her light appeared to be of crescent shape. Her crew got scared. They were afraid she would turn turtle. A surveyor from the Trinity House was sent aboard, and he made a report which was submitted to her designer, who eventually said the fault complained of could be easily remedied by the addition of extra ballast. Accordingly this was done, and the next gale she rode out her rolling was worse than ever, and produced quite a panic among her crew, who were afraid to go below while the storm lasted. Another report was made to headquarters. Other students of naval architecture were consulted, who not only advised that the extra ballast be taken out, but that four tons of lead be attached to the frame or cage supporting the light. These instructions were carried out, and the result was the steadiest lightship on the east coast.

A vessel will carry herself full of coal and behave herself in heavy weather. But when she comes to be laden with copper ore or lead, a certain amount of ingenuity has to be used in the storage of such heavy cargo to make her seaworthy at all. If it were all stowed in the bottom of the vessel she would roll so heavily in a seaway as to get dismasted, and would probably become a total wreck. It is now that the experienced art of the stevedore comes in. The man who follows the proper authorities would construct a bin or compartment in which to stow this dangerous freight thus:

Fig. 1

The result would be highly satisfactory. The vessel's center of gravity would be the same as though she were laden with coal, and her movements in a seaway would therefore be quite as easy.

Another man might construct his compartment thus:

Fig. 2

The vessel in this case would labor quite heavily on the slightest provocation and would not be so steady or so seaworthy as the one first mentioned, with the narrow bin or compartment extending to the upper deck.

The same remarks apply to the ballasting of yachts. Before the days of outside lead, when pleasure craft shifted their racing for a cruising rig preparatory to a deep-water voyage, it was customary to raise the inside lead ballast by placing layers of cork beneath it, thus ensuring easy movements in a seaway. Racing yachts nowadays have all their weight outside, and this device for their relief cannot therefore be resorted to. When crossing the Atlantic, say for a race for the America's Cup, they are always in danger of getting caught in a gale of wind and an accompanying mountainous sea. In order to prevent excessive rolling, which might endanger the mast and consequently the vessel herself, it is necessary to keep a press of sail set. For this purpose a trysail with plenty of hoist to it is indispensable. It should not be one of those jib-headed impostors that some racing skippers most unaccountably affect, but one with a good long gaff that will successfully prevent the otherwise inevitable and peril-fraught roll to windward.

A yacht under these circumstances, it is true, cannot carry a great press of canvas when on the top of one of those big rollers that a gale soon kicks up in the Atlantic. But she wants as much of her sail area as possible exposed to the gale when she is in the hollow of the wave. Otherwise there will not be sufficient pressure to prevent her from rolling to windward.

Rolling to windward—easy enough to write, you may think—but every sailor knows what may follow. Green seas fore and aft, mast sprung, men washed overboard; and if the gale does not abate, why, Davy Jones' locker for all hands and the cook!

The storm trysail must necessarily be a sheet-footed sail set over the furled mainsail. It is a sail comparatively narrow at the foot, but it should for obvious reasons be made as broad as possible at the head, in proper proportion of course to the breadth of the foot. It need not have quite as much hoist as the mainsail, for the throat halyards at such a time must have a good drift, while to keep the sail inboard the peak should be quite extreme. It follows, therefore, that although the rollers may be high the peak of the trysail is above them, and the yacht is kept jogging along steadily without any sudden and violent shocks or strains to spar or rigging.

The following rough sketches will, I think, serve to demonstrate the superiority of the gaff-headed trysail over that abortion, the thimble-headed variety, which I do not hesitate to condemn as useless for a modern yacht ballasted with outside lead in a seaway.

No. 1 shows vessel with gaffheaded sail on the crest of a wave. She drops down into the hollow of the wave and becomes No. 2. The shaded part of the sail catches the wind over the crests of the waves, and the area so exposed is sufficient to steady the vessel and give her a safe heel or list.

Now I wish to call your attention to No. 3. She has enough sail spread when on the crest of a wave. But observe her when in the hollow. She has scarcely a stitch of sail above the level of the crest. The consequence is that her weight being so low down, and her form having so much stability, she swings with a violent roll to windward and her mast is thereby imperilled. This is the result of not having the requisite amount of pressure at the head of the sail.

The commanders of square-rigged vessels always bear this in mind. They heave to under a close-reefed maintopsail, never under a lower course, and the ship when in the trough of the sea has enough sail exposed to keep her steady. The smart schooners that used to ply between St. Michaels and London in the fruit trade, and that were bound to make smart passages or lose money, were always fitted with gaffheaded trysails, and found them most efficacious in beating to windward in strong gales. Their sturdy skippers would have looked with contempt and ridicule upon any person so fatuous as to recommend a jibheaded trysail. And they were skilled sailors of fore-and-aft rigged craft, and were well acquainted with that stretch of the wild Atlantic between the Lizard and the Azores. These vessels used to beat up the English Channel in the teeth of an easterly gale and fight their way homeward inch by inch, and I consider the practical experience of their captains as far more reliable than the theoretical vagaries of men who were never out of soundings in a small craft.

What is true of comparatively large yachts in an Atlantic gale applies equally to the small cruiser. The theory is precisely the same, and in ordering a storm trysail from his sailmaker the aspiring owner of a smart, seaworthy cruiser might well be guided by the few hints given above. A gaffheaded trysail is just what he wants to steady his boat when hove to, and to counteract that tendency toward rolling that outside lead always has on the hull of a boat in a seaway.

When coming to anchor at any other time than low water, do not forget to allow for the fall of the tide. For instance, if you bring up in 10 feet of water when the tide is high, in a boat drawing, say 5 feet, and the range of rise and fall is also 5 feet, at low water your vessel would be aground and perhaps under untoward circumstances in danger of damage or even total loss. This hint is worth remembering in many parts of the world, especially in some parts of the Bay of Fundy, where there is a range of no less than 50 feet! Soundings on the chart denote the depth at mean low water.

VII.
OVERHAULING THE YACHT.

No matter how small a craft the yachtsman owns she will, after a winter's lay-up, require a good deal of attention before she is fit for the water; and there is no reason why a keen yachtsman who owns a tidy little craft should not fit her out himself in his spare time. In fact, I am acquainted with many boat-owners who find nearly as much delight in getting their own vessels into proper fettle for the season's sport as they do in navigating them. There is much to be said in favor of this enterprise. The principal argument is that a man overhauling the hull of the boat which belongs to him will not be at all likely to "scamp" the work. On the contrary, it is to his interest to do the job thoroughly while he is about it, for he is improving his own property; whereas if he employs a mechanic to do it by piece work, or by the day, the task may be performed in a manner more or less perfunctory, or at any rate without the attention to minor details which the actual proprietor would be expected to bring to the task.

I would not counsel a man to attempt repairs which call for the skilled shipwright or boat-builder. The result would in all probability be a lamentable failure, and in the end a mechanic would have to be called in. But the work of cleaning, painting and varnishing a hull intrinsically sound may be accomplished by the man or boy of average intelligence and industry.

What is true about a hull is still more so of her rig. When I first went to sea on a deep-water voyage, as soon as the ship was out of soundings the crew's first duty was to undo the work of the professional rigger, stay the masts anew by shrouds and backstays, and replace the hurried botch-work of knots and splices by seamanlike and shipshape work.

Anything in the shape of a boat may be made water-tight, no matter how leaky she may be, if treated with careful ingenuity. I would be the last man to suggest patching and puttying up a ramshackle craft whose frames and planking are rotten. Supposing, however, that the hull is fairly sound, but through exposure to the hot sun her planks are cracked in sundry places, and that in fact she leaks like a sieve, there is no reason why she should be condemned. There is a lot of good fun to be got out of a craft of this kind, if the proper repairs are made. If put in the hands of a professional boat-builder the cost would be very high, even if he could be induced to undertake the work. Here, then, is where a handy man or boy has a capital opportunity to try his hand as a craftsman. I repaired an old 18 foot boat in my younger days, when money was scarce and I had the alternative of giving up my pet diversion of sailing or making the ancient bucket tight.

This is how I went about it.

The craft in question was hauled out on the shore above high-water mark. She had been abandoned by her rightful owner, who had moved inland and left her to the tender mercies of the sun in summer and the snow in winter. For sixteen months she lay on the beach neglected. Every day I cast covetous eyes on her. I will make a clean breast of it now in my old age and confess that I had contemplated stealing her. That sin was, however, spared me, as I found her owner's address and wrote, asking if he would sell her. He replied that he would give her to me and welcome, and thus made me the happiest youth in the land.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

IN DRY DOCK.

Photo by Dr. Titus.
HAULED OUT FOR PAINTING.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Should the varnish be too thick to flow freely from the brush, don't thin it with oil or spirits of turpentine unless you wish to dim its luster and deprive it of much of its preservative quality. Simply place the varnish can in a bucket of hot water, and let it remain there until it gets warm, when you will experience no difficulty in applying it to advantage. Another hint worth taking is never to buy cheap and inferior varnish. The best is none too good.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"MAKING READY FOR A NEW DRESS."

VIII.
FITTING OUT FOR A CRUISE.

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

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

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

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

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

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

PLEASANT CAT-BOAT SAILING.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

IX.
BEATING TO WINDWARD.

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

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

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

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

Beating to windward may be described as the method by which a vessel forces her way by a series of angles in the direction from which the wind is blowing. Some vessels will sail closer to the wind than others. That is to say, with their sails full they will head a point or more nearer to the direction from which the wind comes than vessels of different rig.

Diagram No. 2.
Running Before the Wind.

Broadly speaking, an ordinary fore-and-aft rigged yacht with the wind due north, will head northwest on the starboard tack, and northeast on the port tack. That is, she will head up within four points of the wind. Some will do better than this by a good half point. The famous old sloop Maria, owned by Commodore J. C. Stevens, founder of the New York Yacht Club, is said to have sailed within three points and a half of the wind, and I am informed that Constitution, in her races this year, achieved a similar remarkable feat.

A square-rigger, because the sails cannot be trimmed to form so sharp an angle to the breeze as a fore-and-aft rigged vessel, rarely sails closer than six points of the wind. Consequently, she has to make more tacks and consume a longer time in accomplishing a similar distance in the teeth of the breeze than a vessel driven by fore-and-aft canvas. It is possible to make my meaning clearer by means of simple diagrams, and to these I refer the reader.

Diagram No. 3.
Gybing.

A vessel is said to be close-hauled when the sheets are trimmed flat aft and the boat is headed as near to the wind as the sails will permit without their luffs shaking. When a vessel is so trimmed, she is said to be sailing "full and bye," which means as close to the wind as the craft will point with the sails bellying out and full of wind. If a vessel is sailed so close to the wind that the sails quiver, the pressure is diminished and speed is decreased. Thus the art of beating to windward successfully consists in keeping the boat's sails full, while her head should not be permitted to "fall off" for an instant. This requires a watchful eye and an artistic touch. To become an adept, one should have plenty of practice.

Diagram No. 4.
Close Hauled on Port Tack.

A boat is on the starboard tack when the main boom is over the port quarter and the port jib sheet is hauled aft. The wind is then on the starboard bow. The conditions are reversed when the craft goes on the port tack. In diagram No. 1, four conditions of sailing are shown, the figures representing a boat sailing with the wind astern, on the quarter, abeam, and close hauled. It will be observed how the main boom is trimmed to meet the varied changes of wind or course.