88 HISTORY AND METHODS OF THE FISHERIES. 



eastward that we could not run our course (WNW.) without danger of jibing (he foresail, which 

 would be liable to cany away the foremast head. Not wishing to run winged out when it was 

 blowing so heavy, we took in the mainsail, and having first double reefed it, furled it up and let 

 her run under the whole foresail. Barometer, at 8 a. m., 30.10. We had a very heavy fall of snow 

 this a. m., until 11 o'clock, when it stopped snowing and turned to sleet and misty rain. "Wind at 

 this time had increased considerably. Barometer, 30. At 2 p. m. the barometer stood on 29.90. 

 There was not so much wind at this time as during the forenoon, but the sea had made up high 

 and sharp. There was a fine, sleety snow falling. The wind was about east and, as we were run- 

 ning W., we were dead before it. At 3 p. m. we noticed that the fore throat-halyards were stranded. 

 We set the jib, and having first shook the reef out of the mainsail, we hoisted it up in order that 

 she would run fast enough to keep clear of <he sea. As soon as the foresail was in we let the 

 vessel come to, swayed up the mainsail, and then kept off again. We first furled the foresail and 

 then repaired the halyards. The wind backed slowly to the northward, but still continued to snow. 

 At 5 p. m., just after supper, a heavy northeast puff struck, and if I had not been ready to let the 

 mainpeak run she would have repeated the performance of last winter, when she came so near 

 going to the bottom in a squall. But this time we had daylight in our favor, which doubtless saved 

 us from disaster. We hauled down the mainsail, set the foresail, hauled down the jib and took the 

 bonnet out and furled it. At 5.30 the weather cleared so that we could see about half a mile, and 

 before dark we could see 2 or 3 miles. Set the jib at 9 p. m. 



Wednesday, February 19, 1879. At 1 a. m. we set the mainsail. The barometer at this time 

 had risen to 30.10. The wind still continued NE., decreasing slightly in force. There was a cold, 

 sleety rain that had coated everything on deck and above deck with ice. I judged we were well 

 up to Cape Sable, and hauled to W. by N., having previously been running W., to go well clear of 

 the cape. At 5 a. m. set staysail and gaff-topsail. It was very cold at this time; barometer had 

 risen to 30.20. At 10.30 a. m. there was a smart breeze NE. by N., and " spitting" snow. Barometer, 

 30.35. Our position at this time, by dead reckoning, was latitude 42 55' K, and longitude G6 41' 

 W. There was a good leading breeze all the afternoon, and we went along very smartly. Barom- 

 eter, 30.35 at 6 p. m. 



Thursday, February 20, 1879. At 12.15 a. m. (correct apparent time) we made Thatcher's 

 Island Lights a point on the weather bow, and, as we headed, we would have just about struck 

 Eastern Point. The wind at this time was veering easterly, with indications of snowing thick 

 very soon, and shortly after snow began to fall, though it did not immediately get very thick. 

 "Beautiful snow" may sound very pretty and poetical, but it certainly is not appreciated very 

 inuch by one coming on the coast in winter. I was kept in a constant state of anxiety concerning 

 the weather, as there was every appearance of a coming gale.* The lights kept disappearing and 

 reappearing as we neared them, being hidden most of the time, keeping me in suspense between 

 hope and fear; hoping that the snow would not shut down thick before we got in, and fearing it 

 might be so dense as to preclude all possibility of making the land until daylight, before which 

 time it might blow a gale, and compel us to haul off. At last Thatcher's Island Lights were entirely 

 shut in and we saw no more of them; but as it was not so thick to the westward and we had got 

 pretty well in, a glimpse of Eastern Point Light was obtained, and we steered straight for it. The 

 wind in the mean time had hauled out to SE., and began to breeze up smait. As the snow grew 

 thicker and thicker we barely kept sight of the Point Light, although, with every foot of canvas 



* One of the most furious gales of the winter was then approaching the coast; the gale in which thirteen sail of 

 George's cod fishermen were lost on the Bank, with their crews of one hundred and forty-three men. 



