Riding it out.
By afternoon we saw the launch was in trouble, and settling prettyfast. It was soon bail or lose her. H. stripped pretty close to the buff and I tied the bowline round him myself. Then we worked the launch up to leeward and managed to unlace a little bit of cover so when a chance came H. jumped in like a squirrel and away he went with me tending painter and life line. He had no trouble bailing out the water, but when it came to balancing himself on the little forward deck while relacing the cover, he had to face a truly sporting proposition. Kind of made my heart jump to see him perched on the bows of that little skiff when a big breaking comber would pick her up and surge her down to leeward where the next sea would put her out of sight for ages. At last he did the trick and mighty carefully I worked the launch up under our lee until with a good jump and yank on the line I landed him in the cockpit again. Cured his seasickness anyway for after warming up below he lit up his pipe as perky as you please.
Saving the Launch.
During all this ringtum Scotty was playing her part well. Not once did we leave the deck tired, wet and anxious to stretch out in rubber boots and soaking oilskins on our transoms, but Scotty would curl up on our shoulder or in our lap all snuggled close with mighty comforting purr. She was a dear little companion, and in the midst of the circus we cooked her one of her own little oyster stews as a mark of our appreciation. Towards night the wind let go and as we drew in toward the beach, fishermen built big bonfires to warn us away from an inlet which they thought I might be fool enough to try and run. No more inlets for me. The sea was too heavy to anchor so we again prepared to make it watch and watch and let the boat jog off and on under her bit of canvas for we were too tired to make more sail and the night at best looked full of trouble.
Down the Beach
December 31st.Found us slatting about in dead calm. Barometer not rising and heavy cloud. By two o’clock a.m. the sea had quieted to a long, greasy roll and I plumped over the big hook in 3 fath. and turned in for three or four hours’ snooze. Turned out at six and cooked breakfast which tasted good after some forty-eight hours of more or less cracker and cheese diet. Day broke at seven and a mighty ugly looking day it was with dark storm clouds all about and again those waspish little white ones scudding ahead of the black spots. The breeze struck in light at northeast and with it came the rain. The drops were good, big, fat ones and barometer was not sliding down so I hoped for no serious trouble, but down here the easter is only spoken about in whispers and H. and I didn’t speak about it at all. We jumped all sail on at once, up yank and fanned along. Got H. to try his launch and was rewarded by a merry little puff puff, and we were off. Found a lot of sediment in carbureter and in gasoline, evidently corrosion from tank after being filled with salt water. We kept her skipping and jumping along by continually moving throttle and needle valve. Rain and mist often shut out the shore but the light following breeze didn’t have the twang of trouble in it and by my dead reckoning I had only some 20 knots to go before reaching Georgetown jetties which stretch two miles to sea and couldn’t be missed unless it blew on and forced me off shore. I had run my time out at one o’clock and still through the haze that old sand beach stretched ever southward without a break. Worries began again, but in half an hour we sighted the lighthouseand in another half rounded the end of the north jetty and ran into quiet water.
“Way up the river PedeeWay up the river PedeeWhere the moon shines brightAnd the stars give light,Way up the river Pedee.”
“Way up the river PedeeWay up the river PedeeWhere the moon shines brightAnd the stars give light,Way up the river Pedee.”
“Way up the river PedeeWay up the river PedeeWhere the moon shines brightAnd the stars give light,Way up the river Pedee.”
“Way up the river Pedee
Way up the river Pedee
Where the moon shines bright
And the stars give light,
Way up the river Pedee.”
How we shook hands and yelled it out. The rain poured, the wind drew northwest dead ahead, but tide and a strong one was fair and the launch was hitting it hop, skip and jump, so who cares.
About six miles upstream and six miles below Georgetown we noted on our chart the entrance to the little creek which is the beginning of the inside route towards Charleston. With the last of the light of the last day of the year we found the little opening in the marsh and snuggled into the quiet water mighty gladly and ran her plump aground on the mud of the eastern bank. We were too tickled at ending our long razzle dazzle to hurry about pushing off, especially as tide was flooding in river outside. There’s where we missed it for tide was dropping in the creek and soon, work all we could, we never budged her and had to run out guy lines to keep from bilging. Mighty little difference that made to us for we were in that kind of shape that lets you go right on working. Not very hard and with mighty little reasoning in it, but still working. While we were mussing around we heard the cry of hounds and soon a big doe took water not twenty yards away, slowly swam the creek and with much effort managed to crawl up the other bank about tuckered out. She looked at us a moment, and then disappeared in the high sedge. The hounds were close up and soon hustling up and down the bank, but none would take water and H. and I sat down to spend our new year’s eve mighty well pleased to think of that deer snugly resting up in some thicket just as we were in our warm little cabin. Honest injun, I was never better pleased to make snug harbor in my life for I had been practically sixty hours without sleep except at odd half hours and had been driving boat under strenuous conditions for over fifty hours. I should have been all in, but I wasn’t at all and I couldn’t see or feel that I didn’t stand the racket as well as I used to in my twenties. Gee, but it’s fine to be in such shape again. H. pulled along all right, too, but insisted upon going to sleep anywhere and everywhere. I must break him of this habit if possible, for it leaves him scarcely any time for eating and none for work.
January 1st, 1913.New Year’s Day. Comes pouring rain, and at 2:30 a.m. for mine. Got Mascot afloat but couldn’t handle her alone in tideway and had to call H. on deck. Hanged if the boy wasn’t asleep again. Soon snugged up and after a hot mug-up turned in for some good rest. Turned out about eight and felt fine. Barometer rising. Sky clearing. Wind a beauty at northwest and just what the doctor ordered for round Cape Romain to Charleston outside. Nix on the outside said H. when I finally shook him awake. Afraid I can never beat any ambition into the lad. Can’t understand what a funny lot of insides I must have. I am only just over being pretty well scared up and am already beginning to want to try it again. I’ll get “ketched” good and plenty some day, but I hope that when I do I may be alone. The day was warm, bright and full of sunlight. We dolled up the ship. Cleaned up gasoline tank and in the afternoon walked into the big forest of live oak and long-leaved pine. A day of perfect content and rest. Boiled and roasted a ham which turned out deliciously. Only one thing to mar the peace of our new year’s day and that was a sharp attack of delirium tremens suffered by Scotty. During the blow a small can of white paint upset in cockpit and I suspicion that she ate some. Anyway her tail went right over her back like that animal’s in the pictures of our old geographies which hangs all its young ones upside down on its tail. Her hind legs went 200 to the minute and her front ones only 25. This landed her repeatedly on her head which must have been distressing. In an hour she seemed all O. K. again and except for being a bit dopey has stayed so. Mighty anxious we were, for Scotty is full 50% of this trip. Today an old nigger rowing down stream stopped to gam. He said was all kinds of varmint hereabout. Coons, possums, rabbits, deer and turkeys. No lions or tigers except some 30 miles back in the lumber. Said wild cows wouldn’t hurt us, and that children could walk alone on any of the roads, which was both interesting and comforting. A tug with big ¼ mile log boom swung by us at noon. These are mean, unruly visitors and are mighty apt to do you damage. This one got by without hitting us, but we had to fend off once or twice. For supper we broached a bottle of White Rock and with much ceremony toasted family and absent friends. So ended our New Year’s, 1913.
January 2nd.Woke about 2 a.m. to a fearful bump and swash. What next? says I, and tumbled out. Out of the inky black under my bows I saw a big dark shape lift out of water some five or six feet and fall back with a swash. Alligators this time I bet. No such thing, buta big 30 ft. log 12 to 15 inches in diameter caught in a bight of one of our lines. Had good luck in getting it clear and stranded it inside of us where it now lies. “Something doing from one to eleven at the Old Howard.” On deck in a hurry again at four when a tug steamed by with what looked like another log boom but proved to be something else. Out again for breakfast at seven and Henry, well provisioned, started for Georgetown in the launch to get gasoline, provisions, etc., while I stayed aboard to keep ship. Engine not going right yet, and I listened long to its jumps and skips until out of hearing. If he finds a good engine man he may stay overnight and get it fixed up shipshape for we must depend upon it entirely from now on. Come back soon “mon petit Asticot” for I miss you sadly and feel pretty far away among the wild cows.
Raft Life.
Scandalously tricky weather do we have. Here H. started at 9 this morning with as pretty a day as one could ask for and old barom. showing nothing else. By eleven clouds made up from south, glass begana slide and by 2 p.m. it was pelting rain with barometer still on the toboggan. Rain all p.m. and all evening. I couldn’t expect H. to come back, but how I did listen for the skip-and-go-one sound of that little motor. I missed him like the devil and no mistake. Hope he isn’t nosing round out there in rain and dark with engine broken down and no Scotty. Had a fine black bean soup with croutons all ready for him, too. I am used to being on a boat alone, but I am mighty lonesey tonight just the same. This is our first night apart in three months and a black creek in the marsh is none too cheerful a place at night anyway. By nine o’clock things were doing. Wind pricking on every minute, rain swishing across decks with roar and barometer still on the drop. I turned in but not to sleep. I had my spinnaker pole driven deep in the clay mud at edge of deep water, but it was a flimsy thing to depend on. There had been no flood tide all day, an uncanny sort of thing. By eleven o’clock the gale was on at south and a full-fledged one to boot. I dressed and crawled into my boots and oilers for the tide had started flooding with a rush and every half hour I had to raise the guy lines on my pole to keep it in position. The barometer dropped to 29, nine points in 12 hours. Don’t remember such a drop in many a day. How high the tide might go was guesswork, but if the westerly shift which I knew would come caught me on top of a big tide it would be into the bulrushes for little Harry and make a duck stand out of Mascot.
Now that was quite a longish night, too. Sitting still, listening to the howl and swish of the gale and speculating on where H. was and where I was going to, for I was out on the open marsh not snugged away up among the woods between high banks. When the wind took a whiffle down the canal the old Mascot would shake all over and lean right to it. Tide kept a-coming and I kept a-crawling out on hands and knees to raise my guy lines until the top of the pole was level with my trunk deck and the stick bending and cracking at every charge of wind until I felt sure it must go. I knew that tide must be ’way above common, but it was too dark to see how high it exactly was. Given another foot rise and I would have been all right for pole was slanting under boat then. It was four o’clock in the morning and tide had been coming about nine hours.
January 3rd.Bet I was pleased when I crawled out at 4:30 and found end of pole at same level. Crawled right below again and mugged up on hot beef tea. Five o’clock came and tide had dropped a foot. Then the westerly shift came with a whoop and I thought Scotty andI were surely bound for the meadows, but that old pole buckled, bent and creaked and held. Great scissors, how it blew. Couldn’t stand on deck nohow. Just had to crawl and cling on.
Oak + Pine.
Day broke with clearing skies and found me with bows pretty well up on bank, but stern still in deep water and I make no doubt I can pull her off if this northwester will only blow out as I expect it will before another high water or somebody comes along who will carry me out an anchor to help hold her off. I have ground tackle enough to handle her all right, but without tender am entirely helpless. Poor little Scotty feels these busy nights dreadfully, and is too sleepy and tired to eat a thing. I feel fine and had a good breakfast off of the last Pt. Judith mackerel. I can’t believe that since last Saturday night, and it is Friday now, I have not had four hours of consecutive sleep. I haven’t ache, pain or nerves. Just as I used to be on the oldRaventhirty odd years ago. I had to acknowledge later that I did not stand the care, worry and loss of sleep as well as I thought. Between Beaufort and Charleston I lost seven pounds in weight, and again put my eyes almost completely out of commission. H. showed a gain of fifteen pounds in his weight and I begin to wonder for whose health are we traveling anyway.
The clear, westerly gale has continued all day and barometer has moved up only 2/10. Not an inch of tide has come in during the whole day and like a bat I have lived, clinging literally to the rafters, for the boat is very sharply listed. How such days go it is hard to say. You write log and a few letters. Cook your meals, read, smoke, snooze a bit, knit a bit and presto the day is done. Of course H. did not come down river and I am looking forward to another night alone, but I think a peaceful one, for the wind can’t hurt me as I am, and I don’t believe tide can come unless wind drops. I am not going to write to-morrow’s date heading now, however, for things move quickly round here and we may have another eight hands around by midnight.
January 4th.The night was delightfully peaceful and how I did sleep it out. The wind went down and morning came clear, bright and with a flooding tide that soon put me afloat again. While cooking breakfast I listened to something familiar in the sound of a distant motor and pretty soon, round the point swung H. with the launch going perfectly. You bet flag went to masthead as he stepped over side and we had one big joyful reunion. O, what a good, happy breakfast we did have. What fun it was to swap lies about our several experiences. He had twice tried to reach me, but weather had driven him back. He had spent a night at a southern boarding house where his roommate was drunk and unbuckled a big Colt’s 44 when he went to bed. He had found motor trouble rested entirely in electric coil, of which we had made two soups, so buying another was all O. K. and engine going as well as ever. As a relic and for what it has done, we still think of keeping our coil so carefully preserved in red flannel and sealed in pickle jar, for it helped push us many an anxious, weary mile. The inside route from here is so crooked and so shallow in many places that it seems silly to undertake it when it is only 54 miles with two intervening harbors outside. Even H. with stimulus of warm sun and bright skies agrees to tackle it again and so I shall run down to jetty to-night and get away early to-morrow. The wind still hangs southwest most persistently and I must keep a weather eye open.
January 5th.Had at least one good, quiet night but I was kind of wakeful and didn’t do it justice. Morning came a peach and tucking little helpmeet behind we were off at eight on the first of the ebb. Found a jumble of rolypoly seas outside breakwater, but with fair tide logged our 4 knots without sail as it was flat calm. Queer looking gulls around here, wings in the middle, bodies with great long pointedends. Look just like some Boston people. Scotty began the day with another of her runabouts and retreated to the lazaret as usual. She came out in about an hour; saw or heard something and went all to the bad again. So much so that we had to shut her below fearing she would jump overboard. Never see no such sight. She has no fit spasm at all, just goes amuck with some kind of fear. We chugged merrily along and at 2 p.m. had Cape Romain with its miles of sand shoals abeam. As the chance looked good with easterly airs, we sent up the rag and let her run for Bull’s Bay some 12 knots farther along. Barometer climbing up to 30-1/10 began to make me think a bit for as soon as it passes 30 things begin to happen with us. The afternoon grew more and more to look like storm. The easter freshened to a smart breeze and we were mighty glad at 5 o’clock to haul into shallow Bull’s Bay through the channel near the lighthouse and drop anchor in the little river which begins the inside route to Charleston. We did 36 knots to-day in 9½ hours and nearly all with little kicker which never went better, and H. is justly proud. After a good supper of corn beef the mate reported fire in the oven and sure thing, my kindlings drying were all ablaze and such a mess and smoke before we got them out. Scotty appeared for supper and made a good meal but seems not entirely over her fright yet. Nine o’clock as I write and wind pricking on northeast. You bet it is good to be in this quiet little hole in the wall and not batting around outside. I figure that by coming outside to-day we saved several days of tedious inland work in very shallow water. From here to-morrow I can go to Charleston outside, weather fitting, or inside if things don’t look right.
January 6th.Bilged during the night and mine the weather bunk as usual. Had wonderful line of dreams and woke H. to ask him if he had pulled eel spear out of the mud and tied the crab net solid. You see we lost our whole bundle of spears, grains and harpoon iron when I bilged so heavily the night of the gale at Georgetown. My keel caught on the top of the bank and I went right on my beam ends. The scupper plugs alone kept me from filling and everything went to leeward. I just managed to keep stove covers on. Sorry they are gone, but so far they have been non-essentials and much in the way.
Turned out to find one of those mornings which first you know all about and then you don’t. Regular gulf weather with warm, damp easterly breeze. Could see nothing but worry and fret outside so on turn of tide, we put kicker behind and headed for the woods and hay fields. Spent a truly delightful morning twisting in and out the narrowwaterway leading through the most gigantic piece of salt marsh I have ever seen. Some few little hell-divers gave us both a chance to show the weakness of our sporting eye. I finally nailed one for Scotty who turned out to-day as chipper as ever. We had alternate bright sunlight and dark cloud and the colors were wonderful. The brightest of bright blues and emerald greens, bright yellows and pearl grays. The distance always framed by the dark line of heavy pine and the foreground by café au lait oyster bars. At 12:30 just in time for lunch we ran quietly but decidedly aground and folded tents. As we ate we heard the one o’clock whistles blowing in Charleston. All about us are yellow legs, curlew, duck and plover, but at this low tide they are feeding on the flats and I only see them afar off. Henry hears them calling but being a bit deaf, I get no sound of it. A little tedious that. We floated and were away by 3:30 and on and on through the marsh as before. Passed the mouth of inlets and I tried in vain to get H. to enthuse on running outside for rest of the way. By 5:30 and as it was growing dark we hit a middle ground and stopped just in time for supper. Fine oyster stew we had from the little native oysters; H. picked up a basketful in a few minutes at noon. They are small, very sweet and delicate, and grow six or eight together in a cluster with edges as sharp as knives. We saw the darkies as we came along gathering them in their bare feet. I mean the darkies, not the oysters, had bare feet.
Through the Marsh.
Floated again after supper and we dropped one anchor up stream and one down for the night which came dark and with fog.
January 7th.Turned out to find pouring rain and thick, thick fog. Leisurely good breakfast and with rain letting up after we slipped away only to run ashore a quarter of a mile. By quick work we dragged her into deeper water and settled down to a loaf until fog should lift. Soon after this a motor tug came by with a scow alongside. Wonderful how these natives can find their way in these crooked slews. Just then the tug took a jump in the air and the nigger pilot near shot out the window and there they were for the rest of this day. We had most delicious fried oysters for luncheon. Must get to a city pretty soon for yesterday, when lacing on sail cover, I laced my starboard whisker to the mast. After lunch we started again and went about 200 yds. and fetched up some more. One thing is very satisfactory round here; to go aground is neither strange, uncommon nor a subject of ridicule. “Everybody’s doing it.” This morning we allowed it was Charleston or bust to-day. I guess the busts win.
Yet one more guess, for tide came and we went another 100 yds. Then tide came some more and we were off and away. Through a drawbridge and so out into Charleston Harbor where we passed close to Fort Sumpter and then over to the City where we anchored in open roadstead with considerable tide off the fine clubhouse of the Carolina Yacht Club at 5 p.m., just four weeks to the day from Beaufort, and we had allowed four days at longest. We poseyed right up and went ashore where a member of the club most courteously gave us a stranger’s card and then to P. O. for lots of good news from home and so to a little restaurant for a good bite to eat. Mighty hot and sticky ashore with steam rising everywhere. Most enervating. Our legs going all wibbly, wobbly so. Mighty glad to get on board again where it is snug, peaceful and quiet. Scotty much to the bad again this evening with a real, genuine fit. Don’t know what to do for her and am very glad she has lately taken a fancy to sleep with H.
Turned in only to be turned out by Scotty who refused to have her fit comfortably in the lazaret, and proposed having it and actually did have it in the cabin. H. hid under his blanket, but I was brave, faced the danger and got Scotty’s initials scratched all over my bare feet. Shipwreck is nothing to a wet cockpit, bare feet, dark night and a fitting cat. Soused her with cold water and bundled her away under cockpit for the night. At four o’clock in the morning H. woke to find her cuddled to sleep most contentedly on his blanket, so that danger is for the moment past.
Scotty soused with cold water
January 8th.Turned out to a most muggy, foggy enervating day with thermometer at 75 degrees. Decided we better keep moving her southward, and if we ever get any time have it at the far end and on the return trip when the country should be at its best. So it was on shore with anchor for a new stock and to get a kedge anchor and things too numerous to mention but which sadly depleted my finances. To cap the climax, word comes from home that wifey has decided to keep what money H. had for Christmas and I could advance it to him. Don’t that beat all? Such a bully dinner of steak and fixings. Such a glorious hot bath and after that a long session with tonsorial artist. Then tumbled everything on board and by gum if up didn’t go northwest storm warnings. No place to take a twister, this Charleston. So up anchor and into the clubhouse wharf where we tied snugly. On shore for another good feed. Charleston, nominally prohibition, is really more wide open than any town I ever saw. The blind tigers are running with wide open eyes at every corner and the signs of open gambling everywhere. Commend me always to a good, gambling bar for good cooking and so we hit a mahogany palace having an electric roulette wheel for a sign. Right we were and a delicious steak we had.
Map D.
January 9th.Comes cloudy, mean and with a chilling wind that smacks of easting. The swash at the open dock had us rolling and gave me good warning to be up and away. It was early up town to a quick breakfast and visit to P. O. then on board, clap in two reefs, twist her round and off up the Ashley River to the tune the old cat died on. We soon found mouth of Wappoo Creek which was our inland way and up it we hustled under canvas. All day we kept the sail on her, winding and twisting through the marsh under a cold, cloudy sky. We finally were glad to drop over hook in a broad reach just below Martin’s Pt., perhaps 30 miles from Charleston. We knicked her once but twisted her into deep water, and jumped her up all standing on a middle ground just before anchoring for the night, but were soon off again. The night shut in dark and cloudy with a cutting wind out of northeast. Glass is again up to 30-2/10 and I suspicion trouble. Am all snug here and Scotty is all right again, the fire drawing well, so let her blow.
Old Charlston
January 10th to 15th.Am not going to write daily log of this time for it would be too tedious reading, but it was by no means tedious living. We became part and parcel of the swamp and marsh. We were of it, in it, and passed through it like a muskrat or mink, like a snipe or plover. The tide; its set, speed and turning. The wind; its strength and direction. These were what counted and on them we either halted or went on. The ripple of the tide at every bend, the line of foam bubbles on every reach was a matter of constant interest and study. Such days are not for either rich or poor, for those ignorant or wise, but for those only who can cast themselves bodily into nature and be absorbed by it. I don’t wonder big launch owners and houseboat owners always send their boats south under charge of the crew. There could be nothing more dreary than just a-setting still and being taken through these twisting rivers that lead for miles and miles through the never ending rice marshes. We saw some ducks and shore birds, but got shots at very few and missed those ingloriously. One morning during a thick fog, H. tried Helen Keller at a cormorant which down here they call a nigger’s goose. The bird was on the wing, yet once it sounded as if the bullet had found meat but the bird didn’t drop. Two or three hundred yards farther on we came across him stone dead with the lead through his heart. The fog was a nuisance and brought us to anchor at the mouth of the river leading into St. Helena’s Sound which we wished to cross on our way to Hunting Is. H. went ashore to try and pick up a mess of something to eat, but at 5 p.m. yelled out of the fog that his boat was high and dry and he would like me to sendhim his supper on a tray. Foolish little boy. I got him on board again about 7 and mighty glad he was to crawl into the warm cabin and eat a good hearty supper for he had been nearly bogged, was wet through and plastered with mud. A bit scared, too, and I don’t believe will try this country again alone. He got seven shore birds, but cooked and ate them on shore himself. Greedy cuss. He brought me a present in a match box and when I opened it, out hopped a chameleon lizard right into my lap. What with Scotty trying to catch it and I trying not to, there was a very busy cup of tea. We caught him next day. Have named him Bill from Alice in Wonderland and added him to ship’s company.
One morning the fog burned away to as pretty a bit of blue sky and southerly wind as you ever saw. We were off to cross St. Helena’s Sound at once. What do you think? In an hour a black, vicious looking squall made up in the west and struck just as we had tied in two reefs. A short smother of rain and wind and then cloudy skies and light airs with strong tide and lumpy seas. That Sound is no Massachusetts Bay. All about are 1 ft. and 2 ft. spots. I did the best I could, but one spot that should break didn’t and everything else did and what with the tide sweeping us about we had a mighty anxious hour or two with the lead giving us from 9 to 10 feet of water on a falling tide. Finally got into our creek and of all dreary surroundings these certainly won out over any we have yet seen. For miles and miles the dark brown oyster bars stretched endlessly and the creek with many branches wound about like a maze. It was near night when we took bottom and learnt from some nigger oyster gatherers that we were way out of the main creek and bound for the sticks. So it was snug down for the night. At high tide these oyster bars will be covered and we will be anchored in a great shallow lake through which it would be most dangerous to try to navigate for these bars are simply covered with sharp pointed oyster clusters which differ in my opinion mighty little from rocks. Hundreds of big plover all over and about this afternoon. Big as pigeons, tame as pigeons, too. Went in launch to get some for supper. Missed them sitting, also flying, and came back without one. I am in that delightful stage when I pull the trigger three or four times before I shoot. Flinching? Well, I guess so. H. ain’t no better than I am. We have a standing bet of five glasses of Coca-Cola to one that the other fellow don’t kill. So far we stand even and nobody has hit a thing. Dreary, cold, cloudy, northeast weather. Put launch ashore and repacked stuffing box, but that didn’t stop leak which now threatens to almost sink her overnight.
The clouds all rolled away and a morning broke as bright as a new dollar with a waspish northeaster whisking across the marshes. It was off and away “pronto.” With single reef we cut things wide open. Slack sheet, down peak and away we rushed the reaches. In sheet, up peak and we beat her up the bends and then repeat with our wake swashing from bank to bank. We kept at it all day and it was one of the sporting sails of my life. Through narrow creeks, down broad rivers, across big sounds we drove and hustled. Just a little slip-up in jibing or tacking and we would have been in the meadows, but we made none. When we shot out of the creek into Port Royal Sound we made just three jumps and landed with a swash in the river on other shore. Old Mascot only wet her garboards twice in crossing, and the launch never touched water at all. So it was all day and we anchored for the night with Savannah, Ga., but a few miles away. The night came pretty as a picture, but snappy cold and with the highest glass we have yet seen, 30.2. Think must have change soon. When glass is persistently high down here I promptly suspicion trouble. By 4 a.m. I felt sure we were in for another duster for glass began to drop, heavy clouds rolled up from northeast and wind piped on. I lay awake hoping that I wouldn’t have to get out anchors until daylight for it was pesky dark and cold. Suddenly all the breeze let go to a dead calm and then came out of the northwest smartly but not troublesome and I got in some handsome winks until seven o’clock when I turned out to an undeniably pretty day and good breakfast. Then it was away under sail once more, and passing for a mile or so through a little winding creek, we entered the Savannah River and by noon were sailing along the water front of one of the busiest of southern ports.
January 16th.Comes deliciously fair, bright and warm. We have worked mighty hard for some sunlight like this and a little “dolce fa niente” served with some prawns creamed on toast won’t hurt either of us. To town where I was quite the centre of effort when they learnt at the bank that I had brought a 24 ft. catboat downunder sailin midwinter. I felt just like Dr. Cook. Sorry H. wasn’t along. In p.m. we took up hook, put launch behind and twisted our way for 10 miles through marsh to Thunderbolt. It looks very attractive here and if we can find a decent beach to haul out on, we’ll stay a day or two and complete repairs. We caught many flies for Bill to-day, but Bill is a dope and won’t eat a thing. You look out, Bill, or you’ll come off the way you come on.
January 17th to 21st.Found a boatbuilder and turned the launchover to him. Hauled Mascot on beach. Covered patch on her side and found rudder-hanger iron all torn off. Would have looked pretty bobbing about the Atlantic without any rudder. Air soft and mild, feels awful good and we were contented to take things slowly. Found Senator Cameron on houseboatAlamida. He asked us to luncheon and we went you bet. Bully lunch and decided change from my cooking. He must be a lonely man for he asked us to come again next day. Accepted, of course. He offered to tow us way to Jacksonville. I refused as it didn’t seem sporting to welsh on the last leg. Looked on at public dance at electric road’s casino. Everything as well ordered and conducted as at a private party. No rowdies, no splurge, but just a bully good time. There is no foreign or mill population to contend with, and no cheap sports throwing their coin. At the little roadhouses and inns on the way to town everything is well handled and we saw many little parties of two or three ladies together having supper without escort. Savannah is out and out the most attractive place we have yet seen.
Turned out one morning at 3 a.m. to twist Mascot around on beach for rudder repairs. These beaches, so-called, are not real beaches at all but huge mud banks covered several feet deep with oyster shells through which the brown clay mud oozes at every step. Into this stuff we had to shovel a pit deep enough to crawl into and get under rudder. H. did it you bet and such a mess as he was. In fact by time we got Mascot into deep water once more everything was plastered with slippery clay. Found and calked a little leak around rudder port and think I may have turned a neat trick. Put more canvas and copper tacks on old launch and finally one afternoon settled ourselves in cabin for a quiet hour or two with feeling that things were pretty well taken care of. The weather continued gloriously bright and warm. A beautiful moon made each night as light almost as day and so feel we have cheated winter of two victims if nothing more. It would be hard to explain why, since leaving home we have never used an eel spear, fish grain, net or even dropped over a line. The daily strife against wind and tide has been far too engrossing. The constant repairs to sail, rigging gear and engine have occupied every moment and every bit of our energy so that with each hour of leisure we have wanted to stretch out and rest. I still have the remains of two 10 ft. bamboo poles. Every other bit of fishing gear has been either broken or swept overboard. I am clinging to these two broken and twisted bits of bamboo with the idea that I will yet catch a fish on them before throwing them away just as matter of sentiment. We began breaking themin Hell Gate and foot by foot they have shortened up ever since. Will make good walking sticks pretty soon.
H. did it. You bet.
January 21st to 22nd.Turned out to find a thick fog and light northeaster. Filled water tanks and at 10 o’clock at turn of the tide we slipped away into the mist with launch a-kicking astern and whole sail pulling ahead. It is a dreary thing to point your bow into these desolate wastes of marsh, swamp, and barrens when the sun shines brightly. Indeed, it’s doubly so when the fog spreads over all and gives you view only of two mud-bordered, sedge-covered banks on either side. But tide and wind were fair and we hit it right merrily. Up the creek, down that reach, across the rivers and open sounds. Sometimes with a fair tide, often with a strong head one at it we plugged. These inland streams make up from one big river or sound and after many miles turn and run out into another arm of the sea. You may start into one with head tide and no slouch of a tide either, a good two to two and one-half knot current. You buck it for four or fivemiles and then come to the divide where, say 50 yards the tide is slack. After that away you go a fluke-o down to the next big water. All day we were at it with freshening breeze and driving fog. At 4:30 p.m. we came to St. Catherine’s Sound which I wanted to cross before night as we had fair wind and weather looked so dirty I thought I might not get over in the morning. Thicker than burgoo by this time, but only a knot and one-half to go. It was the same old story, tide was swirling up river, and I thought it was running down. Pretty soon we were driving through tide rips with 7 and 8 feet of water and then we had 6 feet and then 4 feet and then we were bumping sand good and plenty. By this time I had guessed my error on tide and a few more lucky guesses and plenty of wind let me drag her over the middle ground and sight the opposite shore close aboard. It was getting after 5 o’clock and I had less than an hour of light to find a creek in a strange shore, and a lee one at that, without knowing which side of it I was on. Made a good guess and slipped into it just as night was shutting in. It was a good day’s sail and Jorrocks would have said, “Cum grano salis with a touch of cayenne.” Even H. admits that no other sport offers quite the joyful sensation that follows the slipping into calm and quiet harbor at the falling of night after a good, smart bit of anxious work in dirty outside weather.
January 23rd.Comes without a ripple and with lifting fog giving a wide horizon. Close aboard to the east was St. Catherine’s Island with groves of live oak, and palmetto to the water’s edge. The tide was up and to the west stretched the marsh unbroken as far as eye could see. I like to fancy it the desert, but here are no soft footed camels, no stately dahabiehs with thick-necked Baroudis, and when you shut off the motor you have no soft song of the pumpers of water. Instead there is a nigger shooting marsh hens from his dugout and that is all, and he but adds to the dreary loneliness of the whole. We are off and swallowed up in the solitude by 8 o’clock. How different from our northern summer cruising where I have always looked upon the trip from New Bedford to Newport as quite a bit of sailing with its 33 miles of water. Here we provision for two and possibly three weeks and head her away for one hundred and fifty or two hundred miles at a clip. It brings back the oldMizpahfreighting days up the West branch of the Westport River. Thank goodness the ice and snow of many aMizpahtrip are not with us. The twists and bends of the bank came slowly out of the fog, and by 10 o’clock we were at the entrance to Sapelo Sound over which the fog hung most dismally. Nomore of this sound navigation in fog, thank you. Over with the hook and pipe crew to sewing canvas ballast bags. By noon the fog lifted to an undeniably pretty day, and we were off quick, quick. To-day we saw pelicans for the first time. Funny looking duffers like little old men with long beards. Sapelo Sound is no kindergarten proposition and it was all we wanted with kicker and good breeze to beat the racing tide. When it came to beating up the narrow channel of Mud River, I just folded my tent and went into winter quarters to await the turn. H. on shore for a walk, but I am content to loaf quietly aboard and hope to pull back one of those wandering pounds of my precious meat. Under sail we had a pretty bit of going just at sunset and remarking that we seemed to have passed the region of lumber booms we dropped anchor in the middle of a creek. A beautiful moonlight night.
January 24th.Jumped out of my bunk at 5 a.m. to the shriek of a tugboat’s whistle. Turned out to find big tugboat alongside and bearing down stream a great boom of sawed timber. I jumped forward with hope of getting anchor warp buoyed before slipping, but it was no use for the huge mass was on top of me in a minute and I only had time to cast off my turns and take a range from a post on the shore. We were off with a boom to the accompaniment of some extra choice tugboat language. H. and I jumped onto the slippery mass and finally pushed Mascot across the end and clear of it. Then over big yank and take account of stock. No damage done and so turned in again believing Scotty had sought seclusion of lazaret during the rumpus. Turned out for breakfast but no Scotty. After thorough search the awful fact dawned upon our minds that Scotty, the pride and joy and comfort of our trip was no longer on board. Vanished without leaving a single clew. It was a mighty sad breakfast we sat down to with thoughts of that little kit clinging desperately to that old log raft or washing about in the tideway of the sound. Just as we were preparing to wash up, Henry’s quick ear caught a strange sound from the marsh. Then even my half busted ears heard a faint wail. Gosh all hemlock! it was the last, despairing cry of our Scotty. No lifesavers ever tumbled into a boat quicker than we into the launch, and it was give a twirl and away. We guessed at direction and let her go right into the sedge for the tide was up and two feet of water flooded the marsh. To our calls we got one more wail of anguish. H. was overboard and floundering in the sedge in a jiffy. By the greatest piece of luck he came upon a little black spot in the water. Healmost ran by it. Then he stooped and picked up Scotty, unconscious. When he handed her to me there was no sign of life and I could touch her eyeball without her winking. Wouldn’t have given a peanut shell for half a dozen such cats. Back to Mascot we rushed. Hot brandy and water for she was still faintly breathing. As luck would have it she had a convulsion just then and bit off end of medicine dropper. The hot cloths all over her and then wait and watch. This all happened just three hours ago and our Scotty is now happily asleep in the sun apparently none the worse for her four hours of semi-submarine life. That was about the closest call yet. We suppose she was on deck and being frightened at the tugboat whistle jumped overboard and managed to reach the marsh. When tide came she must have had at least two hours of swimming and clinging to the sedge. My eye, but we are glad to have her with us again, and only hope that no serious results will follow the swallowing of the end of the glass dropper. Luck she brought us quickly, for making a grapnel out of the bent irons on my davits, helped out with a bit of pipe and stick of wood, I caught and picked up the slipped anchor warp and anchor from 20 ft. of water on the second try. Then it was up sail and away on the turn of the tide although the wind, a strong whole sail breeze, was dead ahead. Hard alee and repeat all morning until crossing a big river we found a racing tide ahead in the creek on the other side. Down yank foranother wait. Who cares? The breeze is from the south without a touch of chill and the warm sunlight is luxury. There we were a-setting all comfy, when along comes tugboat and log boom No. 2. No time for nothing. This one was built with two big timbers in form of triangle at the bow and when it hit us I slacked cable and we were pushed bodily one side and the raft went on without my having to slip my rode. It was really all my own carelessness, this getting mixed up with these two booms for I had no business to drop anchor in channel. Mighty lucky to escape with only a little less paint. Late in the afternoon we hitched on little kicker and after 4 or 5 miles anchored for the night at entrance to Altamaha Sound. Taking it all in all, this day was a pretty busy cup of tea. I expect there is more excitement to a polar expedition or an African lion hunt, but I guess this will hold me.
Scotty rescued
January 25th.The night warm and muggy with torrential rain showers. The morning dull and warm. Were under way by 8 and crossing Altamaha Sound, entered a creek far more attractive than any we had been in for some time. At times we ran close to heavy wood where the big live oaks with long wavy, mossy beards dropped to touch the stream. Here we saw an army of buzzards feasting on some dead carcass. Rather a horrid sight, that. Cloud and sunlight with breeze to southard right in our eye so we let the kicker do the pushing. To-day we first saw orange trees in fruit and great flocks of white herons. The air soft, and truly balmy, not like real air at all. It somehow fails to satisfy. Doesn’t seem to fill the lungs. By noon to St. Simon’s Sound, where we struck the fiercest of ebb tides. Nobody ever told me about these tides. There is a rise and fall of 7 feet and with kicker going strong and braced to a light air, we could not gain and over yank in deep water where we had to give 15 fath. scope. The tide was running better than 4 knots and that’s some tide. A beautiful afternoon and I boiled and roasted half a ham besides a duck which H. got yesterday on the wing with the rifle. Also made my ninth canvas ballast bag all French seamed and Bristol Fashion. At 5 p.m. tide slacked, and we made our next creek and anchored soon after for the night. We can make neither head nor tail of these creek tides and just have to go when they serve and drop over hook when they don’t. Sometimes one sound will dominate the tide in a connecting stream, sometimes the other, and the time of change cannot be judged by change in either sound, but depends upon size of water body drained by that special stream. Local knowledge alone can solve the problem.Under these conditions and with head winds we make but slow progress and must be satisfied with 10, 15, sometimes 20 miles a day. To-day we passed the plantation of Frederica, where John Wesley established Methodism in this country. A deserted, tumbled down outfit to-day, but has the well preserved ruin of a big stone fort at water’s edge built, I suppose, against Indian attack.
January 26th.Turned out early for a good try at Fernandina, but had to give it up as an impenetrable fog set in at daylight. In a lift we worked out to the shores of Jekyl Sound, but dared not poke my nose out into the fog and tide. Passed Edwin Gould’s beautiful place on Jekyl Island but the whole thing is monotonously flat which must, after a while, become very tiresome unless your interest all rests in the shooting and fishing. Nasty little midges like black flies pester us considerably and we will have to use dope if they continue. This morning, while the fog kept us at anchor we put a strap around stern of launch and with main boom as swinging crane hoisted boat far enough out of water to repack stuffing box. She seems pretty tight now and it is a great relief for there have been a good many nights when we feared she might sink before morning. On turn of tide at noon fog lifted and we were away with the tide racing us seaward. Turned a little past light and began the long, hard buck against the tide in St. Andrew’s Sound for these two Sounds, Jekyl’s and St. Andrew’s, meet and flow to sea as one. We were precious lucky in having a nice little breeze come out of the southeast and with sheets broad to starboard and kicker kicking for all it was worth, we made fair headway by nicking into shoal water under the shores of Little Cumberland Island. This island, like big Cumberland, is far and away the best looking bit of sand we have seen in many a day. Good sand dunes and fine woods. Big Cumberland belongs to Andy Carnegie and I wonder if Oliver Ricketson isn’t within a mile of me as I write, for, after bucking tide until 5:30 the fog shut in again with rain, and we over anchor quick, quick, only a little way from a good looking outfit near shore of the island. Had good supper of fried oysters with slices of Virginia bacon.
January 27th.Comes with heavy southwest blow and rain. Neither of us quite used to this warm weather yet. Nights not much cooler than days and we don’t sleep very soundly. Clouds broke about 10 and we put whole sail to her and dragged it down river until we were fairly overblown and sought a lee under a marsh island where we lunched. Think will wait until later before double reefing and putting her across mouth of St. Mary’s River to Fernandina for tide is runningebb until 5:30 and it may be as well to get over and take first of flood up the harbor. Am gaining daily in my respect for these tides in the open stretches. Might just as well try Quick’s Hole and in a strong breeze the sea over these shoal grounds is fierce. Were severely cautioned before leaving not to get slack in manners and behaviour, so have been especially careful. Today, however, with Florida in sight H. threw slices of bacon at me and dipped out mustard with his thumb. Guess he’ll eat on back porch awhile when he gets back.
Breeze freshened steadily all day to a 4 point drop in barometer. Double reefed her at 4 p.m. and gave her a touch of peak to help her up tideway for H. to get his anchor. Crash! bang, and away went boom crutch tearing out both deck plates. Scotty swore she hadn’t cut loose main sheet and H. had to own up. I got a range on it as it drifted out of sight and finally when we got ship to going we kept a smart lookout and not only saw it but picked it up first grab. This soft feeling wind kind of deceived me or else it did breeze on quickly. At all events I soon found myself mightily overblown and thrashing it in a fearful blobble of lumpy water. The launch hung back like a yoke of steers and Mascot was nearly out of hand. Cockpit rail to the water and the dust coming kerswish across decks at every jump and she jumping sixty to the minute. Eased the peak a bit, but this would never do at all. Tide swashed me out a mile or so and then I got her round and dropped yank in lee of a bit of marsh. I am kind of young and inexperienced, but I certainly hardly expected to have to run to cover in a land-locked bay only two miles wide, but my hands were up and both anchors down and there we are with the lights of Fernandina twinkling only two miles away. This morning it was “Florida or bust” and we busted. This blow which reached proportions of a gale of wind, came out of a clear sky like our northwest winter gales. Barometer starts up at 8 p.m. but with heavy clouds to northward and eastward we wonder a little what next?
January 28th.The gale sort of naturally blew itself out during the night, giving us an uncomfortable shaking up for an hour or two on the full of the tide at midnight. The morning came raw and cold with breeze piping on again with the dawn from the northwest. We were off under double reef by 8 and had a sporting sail down wind to Fernandina some three miles away. Were visited by owner of a nearby launch who inquired about make of our noiseless engine. He was quite surprised to find that we had none for they don’t see any good sailing craft about here and we noticed that we attracted considerableattention as we sailed by the wharves. Guess I was showing off her paces a little, too, as I had a piping breeze, two reefs and smooth water. Found on shore that yesterday’s blow reached over 50 miles an hour and don’t wonder I was a bit overblown in spots. I went to Jacksonville and back for mail in afternoon. Have caught a lumbago by this sudden change in weather and when I first start I walk like a buzzard.
January 29th.Fernandina. The day was a peach but I enjoyed it little, feeling mean, headachy and generally down. Did up letter writing all morning. Provisioned ship in p.m. and felt fairly perky by night although a sight of the map of this country would have made me cry. H. not much better. Our slump undoubtedly due to sudden change with 3 or 4 strenuous days ending with that sharp blow and cold.
January 30th.Turned out to a dandy morning, feeling much better all round. Good breakfast helped still more and putting kicker astern we were soon headed southward. Came to drawbridge, but just as it was opening I took bottom and made an inglorious halt. Off again and through that draw and then on and on through marsh and creek as so many days before. Here posts with boards nailed to them are supposed to guide you on your way, but the boards are ripped off and the posts all broken down so you have to rely upon guesswork and what knowledge you have acquired to pick your way. We had luck and only scraped the keel once to Nassau Sound, where we nicked a strong tide under the shore and were able to double a point and square away into the marsh once more. The breeze came fresh easterly and putting the big rag to her, with fair tide we certainly did eat up the miles. Everything went finely. H. killed a duck on the wing with Helen Keller and the St. John’s River was only a mile away when, kerplunk, we took the mud and it was all off. Set two anchors to keep from bilging and employed crew in usual ship’s duties. We must have cleaned up better than 30 miles since morning and it was 4 p.m. and time to stop anyway. I made a crout-au-pot for supper. Good thing for scurvy. Tried to get H. to rub some back of his ears, but he wouldn’t. Obstinate boy.
January 31st.Came on and off from midnight until 3 a.m. until ship floated and I hauled out my sleepy crew to pull anchors and work boat into deep water. This done it was quick to bed for some good snooze. Up, breakfast, clean up, and away by 8:30 with launch astern. Made our mark on an oyster bar first thing, but jumped her over. Across St. John’s River where tide was running fiercely. Promptly went ashore twice, trying to make creek on opposite shore. Got offeach time with luck and the spinnaker pole. Breeze came dead ahead and tide in same direction so it was slow pushing all the morning and was almost glad when I ran aground good and hard and had time for lunch. Floated and were off again. Today saw old Mississippi-type river steamer with big stern wheels thrashing white water. Stern-to they looked like big, cottontail rabbits. The marsh more attractive today. More color, prettier and longer grasses, and glimpses into the lonely cypress swamps. Still the whole thing is pretty flat and unprofitable. Should stop, spend a month to study and explore. H. has a notion he will cut quite a dash at Ormond Beach, and I have advanced him 25 cents for the purpose, so it is ever on, on, on. Grounded twice more in afternoon, but come off as I came on. If you lay flat on your stomach and waited for a spring tide you might be able to drown about here. Towards night the clouds banked up ugly in west and a sharp little squall swept the river as I dropped hook for the night. By 8 o’clock skies had cleared, but it doesn’t seem as if the wind blew hard enough to sweep the clouds very far away.
February 1st.Comes early, say about 1 a.m. when tide turned and with smartish northeaster, we ran plunk onto an oyster bar. Might as well run into the Old Cock of Hen and Chickens. Turned out to find nothing. Black as indigo. Had to get compass to find out whether it was Florida or Chelsea. Messed around and hauled into channel. Turned in with thoughts of steamers, tows, and log booms all on top of me at once. Up and away under whole sail to freshening northeaster. Took bottom almost immediately but crowded off and smothered down stream. Breeze pricked right on and we had our hands full slacking peak, jibing, hoisting again and trying to keep in enough water to wash dishes. Jumped her good and plenty once more but we were boring at it so hard that we just split that mud flat wide open and went on. We boomed into St. Augustine at 10:30 cutting a few fancy steps along the water front and making a North River jibe to our anchor. Took things easy and didn’t go ashore until after lunch. Going ashore at a resort of this kind after leaving the swamps and marshes seems somehow like going into a 10-cent store. Everything looked pretty cheap and nasty. We wandered about for a few hours. Saw old Fort Marion and the Ponce-de-Leon Hotel. The courtyard of the hotel is truly beautiful. The street crowds look a good deal like those at Cottage City and we were glad to get on board and have supper by ourselves. Saw by the paper that another 3 master was dismasted within 20 miles of us in the blow we took the day beforereaching Fernandina. Too much of the wreck business going on at my door. At Southport the 4 master went on Frying Pan. Off Georgetown when we layed to in the southwester, the 3 master McFarland was dismasted and we saw the hulk at Charleston. This last dismasted derelict we saw as we crossed St. John’s River, into which a revenue cutter had towed her. Must mind my P’s and Q’s or will be getting my come-gee-come myself. Here we are getting cold, raw weather for most part with fierce gales sweeping the coast every few days and all letters tell me of mildest weather in the north. Trees budding, flowers blooming. It all seems kind of topsy-turvy.
February 2 to 4.Just fooling around St. Augustine and waiting for Chinamen to wash up our wash.
We went to the much advertised South Beach where we expected to find quite a bit of life, but instead found the cheapest sort of outfit with not a soul in sight. There was an alligator farm with hundreds of the critters from the biggest and oldest down to teeny, weeny little fellows. They also had lots of rattlers and moccasin snakes caught right about here. I guess the Mascot’s cabin is full as good as tent life in these parts. St. Augustine differs from all the other cities we have seen because it is the oldest one in the United States and has a distinct and most attractive individuality handed down from days of Spanish rule. We should have done a little sightseeing but for us, sufficient for each day is the hustle thereof. One evening long after dark as we were leaving the wharf in putt-putt, a man hailed us and asked us where our lantern was. I replied that it was on board the big boat and asked if they were fussy around here. The voice from the dark said, “You are talking with the inspector.” I didn’t just remember the repartee for the situation, but meekly told H. to row on board. Am awaiting arrest now, and it ain’t so funny as it sounds. Would rather be layed to outside than languish in prison. Wish I knew how to spell “Layed-to.” Never feel sure whether I am a sailor or a hen-yard. Have our shore grub in a sort of “Club,” all dolled up in imitation Moorish fashion. Not badly done and good cook. We have never seen more than three persons besides ourselves eating there. I fancy hotels and all are sort of subsidized by Henry M. Flagler. One night we heard a bully crash and down the stairs came a girl imitating Scotty in a fit. H. and I to the rescue pronto. We picked her up, and undoubtedly saved her life, but got no prize, and she dined with another fellow. That makes me think that Scotty being particularly well got some meat the other day. The fun began in the fore peak, butinstantly spread over the whole ship. A tangled mass of claws, teeth, and fur landed first in my lap, and then in the cockpit. While H. jumped on deck to see if it had gone overboard, down through the skylight it came like a rocket stick scattering pens, ink, paper, etc., etc. all about. When I picked my head out of my bunk pillows the cyclone had disappeared in the lazaret, the entrance to which we blocked up promptly. No more meat, Scotty.