A CRUISE THAT BEGAN. 



E. D. H. 



When we planned the cruise, it was our 

 intention to spend a week visiting the va- 

 rious old fashioned villages on the North 

 shore of Long Island from Glen Cove to 

 Port Jefferson. A cruise of this character 

 is generally attended with little danger and 

 great pleasure. The Sound is compara- 

 tively narrow, and the many deep land 

 locked inlets afford perfect security from 

 the storms that occasionally sweep in from 

 the Atlantic. There were the usual 3 in 

 our party. Rob acted as captain, while I 

 performed the miscellaneous duties of cook 

 and crew. For goodfellowship we invited 

 Tom, a landsman. 



Our vessel was the Stingaree, a sloop 

 that had not gained an enviable reputation 

 for beauty. She had been a lobster smack 

 in her day, and her day was passed. Still, 

 she was not utterly devoid of good quali- 

 ties, being extremely staunch and sea- 

 worthy. She was of clinker build, 22 feet 

 over all, 8 feet beam and 26 inches draught, 

 and carried in addition to her dingy, weath- 

 er beaten working rig, a club and a jib 

 topsail, brand new and of amateur make. 

 A square summer cabin with roof of light 

 pine and canvas, constructed over the for- 

 ward end of the spacious cockpit, intensi- 

 fied her ugliness. 



We certainly did not look yachty. We 

 had tacked a matting on the floor. On one 

 side of the centerboard trunk we had piled 

 cushions, blankets and valises ; on the 

 other, cooking utensils and provisions. An 

 oil stove, 2 lanterns, a mirror, and an alarm 

 clock completed our furnishings. 



One beautiful morning in the latter part 

 of August, 1893, we slipped our moorings 

 in the upper harbor of Stamford, and with 

 a light, fitful, Easterly wind abeam, 

 dropped lazily down the narrow channel 

 into the broad bay. As we drifted out 

 from under the windward shore, the fresh- 

 ening breeze aroused us to activity. Club 

 and jib topsails were hoisted and sheets 

 made taut. The broad track astern, flecked 

 with foam, told how fast we were travel- 

 ing. Merrily we bowled along toward the 

 open Sound, leaving far behind Pine island 

 with its 3 lonely, skeleton-like trees, and 

 the white beaches dotted with summer cot- 

 tages. 



The day was perfect. The sky was a 

 pale blue ; the waters, glistening and spark- 

 ling in the sunlight, reflected the blueness 

 above, but added a deeper sapphire. A 

 few scuds of leaden hue hung motionless 

 on the Eastern horizon. 



89 



Leaving the Light, we let off sheet and, 

 with the wind on our quarter, headed 

 Southwest for the point, faintly seen 

 through the enshrouding haze, marking the 

 entrance to Hempstead bay. We were then 

 fairly on our cruise, perfectly happy and 

 contented. We were at our respective po- 

 sitions : Rob at the helm, I at the sheets, 

 and Tom sprawled out on the cabin roof, 

 deeply interested in yellow covered litera- 

 ture. An ebb tide was running strong, and 

 bucking against the wind, kicked up a little 

 sea. The Stingaree was pitching and roll- 

 ing considerably. Suddenly Tom sat bolt 

 upright. 



"Say, boys !" he exclaimed, laying down 

 his pipe and book ; "I don't feel well." 



"Tobacco," I suggested. 



"Couldn't hurt a hardened subject like 

 me," he answered with a sickly smile. 



He certainly did look ill. An ashen gray 

 was creeping over his face. In a moment 

 misery and despair had taken the nlace of 

 peace and contentment. It was not many 

 minutes before he was hanging over the lee 

 rail, gazing contemplatively into the green 

 depths. Rob and I did what we could for 

 h:m. The only thing that seemed to give 

 him relief was a lemon, the old fashioned 

 : *medy for seasickness. We were obliged, 

 h^</ever, to fasten an end of the main sheet 

 about his waist to prevent him from pitch- 

 ing headlong overboard when the boat 

 heeled. 



In a little over 2 hours the Stingaree 

 left the turbulent waters of the Sound, 

 poked her nose around the outer point, and 

 headed up Hempstead bay. The wind, com- 

 ing down over the bluffs, blew in squalls. 

 At times it struck heavily and we were 

 finally obliged to take in our topsails. The 

 weather was beginning to look decidedly 

 owlish. The scuds in the East, noticed at 

 our departure, had grown and expanded 

 until the sun was completely obscured. A 

 storm was brewing; of that we were cer- 

 tain, but we felt secure, for we were put- 

 ting into one of the safest harbors on the 

 coast. 



We let go our anchor just inside the 

 breakwater. Sails were lowered and every- 

 thing was put shipshape ; but Tom, who 

 was slowly coming to himself once 

 more, could stand the suspense no 

 longer. While we were at work tidying 

 up he crawled into the dinghy and rowed 

 ashore. We said nothing for fear we 

 might hurt his feelings. It was past mid- 

 day and we were ravenously hungry. The 



