i88 WILD WINGS 



I found myself again on old Cape Cod at Chatham, one fine 

 September afternoon, and engaged a boat for the next morn- 

 ing to take me outside the bars. The day proved dark 

 and cloudy, with a dead calm, so it was useless to make the 

 attempt. Next day we were enveloped in a dense fog. The 

 fishermen find that with fog usually comes the " ground 

 swell," and, sure enough, next morning the surf was moan- 

 ing, breaking heavily on the bars and clear across the mouth 

 of the harbor. Thus day after day passed, and, just as the 

 weather cleared and the sea quieted down, I was summoned 

 home by telegraph. 



In dealing with the weather, waves, and currents of such 

 a battle-ground of titanic forces, there is no hurrying of mat- 

 ters, without exposing one's self to disaster. There was a time 

 when I thought the fishermen over-cautious, but I learned 

 my lesson. I had sailed my small sloop down from Boston, 

 with several friends, intending to run in to Chatham. At 

 davbreak we were off Chatham bars, the wind blowing hard 

 offshore from the northwest, and the sea breaking mast-high 

 clear across the harbor entrance. It was too rough to double 

 Monomoy Point and take the gale on " the shoals," so we 

 cruised back and forth under the lee, waiting for something 

 to turn up. To be caught o^ the " back-side of the Cape " 

 in a small craft in bad weather, with no chance to get under 

 shelter, puts one in a not altogether enviable position. 



Toward evening the wind moderated. Although the surf 

 was still bad, at length we saw a seine-boat with a crew of 

 fishermen dodge out among the breakers to try for a school 

 of bluefish. We hailed them, and they agreed to pilot us in, 

 so all boarded the yacht. With their boat in tow, one of 

 them took the helm and headed in for the raging caldron. 

 After a big wave had passed, we ran round the point of the 

 shoal and were in between two breakers. How we were to 



