WILD WINGS 
188 
I found myself again on old Ca]De 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 
mv lesson. I had sailed my small sloop down from Boston, 
with several friends, intending to run in to Chatham. At 
daybreak 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 
Alonomoy 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 off 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 
