184 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



LBept. 10, 1885. 



THE PURITAN. 



Colchester, who, in the close of the season for oj-ster fishing, have 

 long made yacht racing a profitable buslnefs. On the advice of 

 yacht-racing men the crew of the Foxhound was changed, with the 

 result that the little vessel proved herself a marvel for speed in her 

 class. 



The yacht-racing captain is as much superior to the ordinary 

 yachting captain as the expert Newmarket jockey is to the plough 

 man who rides a race wirh his fellow of the furrow home from the 

 field on one of his tired team. At the commencement of the season 

 he has to put his boat in commission , get her n'gged from bowsprit 

 to stern, see that the tackle is stronjj aud reliable, and that the sails 

 are properly and gradually stretched. If he is a fool he will try and 

 stretch his new mainsail by sheer force, instead of waiting for the 

 wind to do so by degi-ees. and the result will be shaking of the canvas 

 and loss of wind force. After racing in the matches from Thames 

 to Harwich, and also in the matches from Thames to Dover, and the 

 Royal Cinque Ports match, he must be able to take his boat around 

 Land's End to the Mersey. At the conclusion of the races there he 

 will have to carry on for the Clyde in a Channel match, and after 

 severe contests there, race to Belfast Lough : from Belfast, after the 

 regatta, race to Kingsto-wm, Dublin Bay: from Dublin Bay back round 

 Land's End to Falmouth; thence up the Channel to Cowes and Kyde 

 for the annual regatias of the Yacht Squadron; down Channel again 

 as far as Torbay, then liome to lay the vessel up. Only those who 

 have gone \Nhat is known as ''the racing round" can understand the 

 troubles of the captain of a racing yacht or appreciate his wisdom in 

 setting canvas on the morning of a race, his skill at starting, his con- 

 fidence at mark-boats, or his patience in refraining from racing at 

 all when he sees that the wind promises to blow too strong for his 

 particular craft unless he reefs his mainsail, and to a certain extent 

 spoiis it for subsequent races. Bowsprits will snap at times, and top- 

 masts will break in the very moment of victory, bringing down gaff 

 and cross tree?. He will have to make for the nearest shipwrights, 

 and try to get everything ready for the race next day. Frequently 

 it is necessary to run down to the starting line, still busy repairing 

 the damages, after working all night with the men. The yacht-racing 

 captain must be intelhgent, skillful, plucky and patienc, and be in 

 addition endowed with powers of endurance. From the decision 

 which he is daily requited to exercise, he would probably make a 

 splendid man for steering torpedo boats. 



It may be asked by some what amotmt of pleasurable excitement 

 the owner of a racing yacht gets for his money. The answer can 

 only be supplied by experience. The reader must come on board a 

 racing yacht and accompany me in such a race as I have sailed 

 before now. All night we have been carrying on hard in a Channel 

 race, on what is known, as the northern round, now bursting up a 

 long pho;<phorescent wake as our gallant vessel heeled to the freshen- 

 ing breeze, now with s-plnnaker set to catch the lightest of airs, racing 

 ghost like in the moonlight through a fleet of startled herring fishers, 

 who, while their anchor lights bobbed on the surge we caused, no 

 doubt thought with fear of the Flying Dutchman. Now, a few 

 hours after our arrival, we are preparing to start in the principal race 

 of the day. Racing flags are fluttering at the mast-heads of half a 

 dozen competitors, two of which are rigged as yawls, and one as a 

 schooner; bunting is flying in confusion from the rigging of the Com- 

 modore ship, moored at the entrance to the bay; union jacks float 

 from every church spire of tlie little seaport town: a fast and stately 

 steamer, specially engaged to accompany the match, hovers about 

 with a fair gay crowd on board, the local hand playing from the fore 

 deck such tunes as "A Life on the Ocean Wave," and "Rule Britannia." 

 The morning breeze has been piping up fresh, and promises to increase 

 in strength. The captains of the competing vessels are much exer- 

 cised as to what size of topsail to set, there being apparently, so fa,r, 

 no necessity for reefing. It wants but twenty minutes to the time for 

 starting, yet each seems watching and waiting to see what his 

 opponent 'will do. At last our own alile skipper makes up his mind, 

 and in a few minute.s the crew is busily engaged in hoisting our bal- 

 loon topsail, with its huge ya-'d fifty' feet in length; a work by no 

 mean.s easy when the weight of the spar and canvas, together with the 

 fact that it has to be raised one hundred clear feet from the deck to 

 the topmast head, Is taken into consideration. '-The breeze is always 

 lighter here outside when it is from the northwest," says our captain 

 in explanation, "and we will have it free all down the shore." The 

 other vessels are follomng our example and soon balloon topsails are 

 set on all of the fleet, that on our own boat sitting like a bit of card- 

 board. A glance through the binocular shows that there is some ex- 

 citement on board the Commodore's boat, and as we rush past we 



can see the officer in charge with watch in hand by the side of the 



funner, who with his hammer ready stands by the little four-pound 

 rass swivel in order to strike the cap at the word of command. 

 "Give us time from the flash," cries our cap tain. "There it goes." 



As he speaks the crack of the first gun rings out. and we know that 

 five minutes afterward to the very ticJi, we shall have the second, 

 before the firing of which we must not cross the line. Our owner, 

 who acts as timekeeper, holds a chronometer and calls off the minutes 

 as they run, thus keejjing check on the timekeeper on board of the 

 Commodore ship while assisting our steersman in judging how he 

 shall manceu^Te his vessel so as to get a good position when the race 

 commences. "One minute gone," he calls as we race up the bay in a 

 direction straight away from the com-se we have to sail. "One gone, 

 sir," repeats the captain, who has been casting his eyes anxiou.sly 

 round to observe the movements of his opponents, who are cat-like 

 also watching his own. "Two minutes gone!" cries the timekeeper 

 as we still hold on up the bay. "Two gone, sir." is the quiet answer 

 to this, followed by the sharp command, "Stand by to go about; lee 

 helm." Round she comes 1 With both hands he" shoves the helm 

 hard down, the bowsprit swings around till the head sails are in the 

 wind; there is a heavy fluttering and flapping of canvas, a rattling 

 sound of blocks and flicking sound of loose sheets, and then as the 

 latter are hauled aft and belayed she fills asraui and goes off steaming 

 down the weather shore for the line. "Three minutes gone, sir I" 

 says our timekeeper. "Three gone, "repeats the captain after him. 

 "Burst the jibtopsail out smartly Jhere, we must travel as fast as we 

 can to catch the gun." As the liying jib, which has been fastened to 

 the forestay by thin hanks of spun-yarn, is burst out by a hard pull 

 at the sheet, our gallant vessel springs to the signal like a greyhound 

 from the slips at Altcar, sending the white foam up in spurts from 

 her lee shoulder, while the broken water snorts and hisses in the lee 

 scupper, like escaping steam from the throttle valve of a locomotive 

 engine. "Four minutes gone!" is called, and responded to in the 

 same quiet manner; but as yet we are a considerable distance off the 

 line, on the edge of which some of our opponents are hovering about 

 so as not to be far off when the signal is given. What a mistake they 

 made in doing this, they will soon find out. "Four minutes and a 

 half gone," is the warning caU. "All right," says our captain, looking 

 not a little disappointed, however, as he sees our most formidable 

 opponent, the largest of the cutters, close on our weather bow. 

 "Quarter to go," "Ten seconds to go," cries our timekeeper excitedly, 

 as midst the shouts of excited captains, the booming sound of loose 

 canvas and the roar of rushing water like a Higbland torrent in a 

 spate from the stems of the competing vessels we charge through, 

 getting the wad of the newly discharged starting gun almost across | 

 our bowsprits. Drawing his helm to him, our steersman ti-ies to 

 force his way through the lee of our opponeni, who is so close to us 

 that the foam from the biniised billows she occasionally catches 

 under her fore foot lashes over us in showers of white spray, but in 

 vain. Inch by inch she creeps up in the puffs, only to fall away in 

 the lulls. Never disappointed our steersman tries again, and the jib- 

 topsail has almost filled clear of that of our rival. Once that is 

 eiiected we are through. We are almost certain of success, when all 

 of a sudden M'e feel a scraping sensation beneath us, and the local 

 pilot, who has up to now been very quiet, springs up and shoves the 

 helm hard down, with the remark "No more away, captain, for any 

 sake;" and just in time, for the sensation we feel is that of the boat's 

 keel grating on the sand, and any moment might see us with mast, 

 sails, and everything going over the bow in one huge entangled mass. 

 Gradually we have been nearing the first mark-boat, and our 

 captain resolves to try and get through our opponent's lee no 

 longer, but makes preparations for the next stretch of the 

 course, which is six miles dead to windward, and so giving pro- 

 mise of plenty of tacking. The square balloon topsail Is hauled 

 down smartly, and a three-coraered one without a yard, technically 

 known as a jib header, hoisted in its stead, while the jibtopsail on th'e 

 topmast stay is lowered and made fast ready for setting again (it 

 cannot be used going to windward) by a man who sits stride legs on 

 the bowsprit end. Roimd we swing at the stern of our rival, taking 

 care not to foul the markboat, for if we even touch it we shall be out 

 of the race, and with sails flat, the sheets having been hauled ui, we 

 hold on our original tack, our opponent standing off on the opposite 

 one with the view of getting the early flood tide to assist her. 

 Gradually we draw away from each other, and then we go about full 

 two mUes apart at the same time. Closer, and closer, and closer 

 again we draw together, and the question arises which is first boat. 

 We are on starboard tack, and she on port, and the rule of the road ' 



at sea wfll act in our favor if it comes to be a near thing. The dis 

 tance between us lessens, "Can she cross us?" every one seems to ask 

 of himself. "We have got her," says our captain confidently, as he 

 sees our opponent's headsails commence to flutter as the helm is put 

 down, and she goes off to starboard tack, while we make ready to go 

 about, as the captain says, on the top of her— that is, well to wind- 

 ward — so as to keep her under our wing for a time. 



In the third tack we weather our second markboat, and with our 

 huge spinnaker on the port side dragging us along at a fearful 

 pace, commence to run home to the Commodore, our opponent fol- 

 low^ing, also with spinnaker set, and a water-sail carried under the 

 mainsail. Faster than we are dead off the wind, .she clo.«es up on us 

 gradually, and then, by the backing of our spinnaker and a slacken- 

 ing of our speed, we kaow that she has completely covered us and 

 taken the wind out of our sails. As our canvas hangs limp she surges 

 past, but we hold on in her wake, and at the Commodore she leads 

 but by three-quarters of a minute as we start to do the second and 

 finishing round. We have been allowed two and three-quarters for 

 her superior size, and are hopeful; so, with the breeze still freshen- 

 ing, we go off in hard pursuit dowu the shore, with less-feared com- 

 petitors close astern. In the showers the wind blows haider, and 

 goes more into the nonbwe.^t, so that we have less tacking to wind- 

 ward. We round the boatmark and set our head for the Commodore, 

 just exactly a quarter of a mmute within her time allowance, and 

 we have to keep inside that in order to secure the prize. In the 

 hardening breeze we have had to lower our topsail; but our oppo- 

 nent still carries hers, and our captain seems sorely perplexed as to 

 what to do, for our own gallant little vessel appears to have as much 

 as she can carry. Close up to the windward sit the crew with scarlet 

 cowls against the rail, looking like red-combed sea birds cowering 

 under a sheltering shelf of rock. To windward the sea is a mixture of 

 foam and spindrift, and we are in hopes that one of the shower-laden 

 squalls will bring down our opponent's topsail, topmast, and aU. 



But no! the showers pass and the wind rather .softens. Questions 

 seem to be passing every now and then between the eyes of the crew 

 and the eyes of the captain, and the former seem to be glancing aloft 

 appealingly. Their request is answered by an upward jerk of his 

 thumb, and the remark, "Give It her!" In'less Iban half a minute 

 the jib-headed topsail is hoisted above the mainsail, and the little 

 ship struggles gamely, the captain sometimes speaking to her and 

 cheering her on, as if she were really a thing of life. Soon the flash 

 of the gun tells us that our opponent has crossed the winning-line, 

 and our timekeeper commences to count off the time, and two and 

 three-quarter minutes allowed. The two minutes pass as slowly as 

 if they were months on a bed of sickness, and yet we are still with 

 I buckhng topmast and straining stays singing in the wind, ploughing 

 the green water. The half minute, too, had gone, but the helm Is 

 shoved hard up. and as we gibe over, the flaf h of a second gun in- 

 forms us we have won a good race, after forty-eight miles' hard sail- 

 ing. Such is, possibly, but a fair description of an average day's 

 racing in a modern yacht. 



The spore is not without incident and healthy excitement, and 

 worthy of encouragement. Business men, we know, are often called 

 upon to cross the English or Irish Channels or the Atlantic, on very 

 short notice, and all who have been yachting in their youth must 

 rejoice in their experience when they see their fellow passengeis 

 wiithing under the dreaded mal de mer, the only one remedy for sea- 

 sickness being a love of the sea acquired in boyhood. The yacht- 

 racing man, as a rule, is a good swimmer, and being accustomed to 

 such unrehearsed effects as a sudden immersion at times with his 

 clothes on. jx)ssesses that confidence and nerve vv-hich the fancy 

 swimmer of smooth water in ponds and baths lacks. He enjoys his 

 Channel passages and ocean voyages to the full; In shipwrecks or 

 collisions he is cool and collected, and able to assist in launching or 

 in managing the boats, and at home at his fireside he reads with an 

 intelligence and appreciation he could not have otherwise possessed, 

 descriptions of maritime disasters and feats of bravery by seamen. 

 Sea stories have for hirn a fre.=h charm, and he can readily detect the 

 difference between the swinging sea roll-like style of the expert and 

 the pinchbeck "starboard-bowsprit" nonsense on the lady novelist 

 who has never been out of sight of land. He loves, too, to look at 

 the sea pictures of the olden time, when British seamen, with death 

 raging all round them, would lav dowu their cutlasses at the word 

 of command, and with both hands at the haUiards and eyes alolt. 

 obey the orders of the saiUug master as cooUy as if in harbor, 

 while their comrades on the yards shook out their reef -points as lE 

 totally unconscious that they were the marks of picked riflemen. 

 ' below.— r. Dykes in Fortnightly Beview, August, 1885. 



