188 
FOREST AND STREAM 
[Aug. 13, 1904. 
I have looked forward with considerable interest to the 
meeting of old Jack and his former master when he 
should visit here next winter, as I knew it would be such 
"a meeting as would never be forgotten by anyone witness- 
ing it. 
I can but lament as did McLeod of Dare: "We can 
never go over the fields again, Jack, never again in all 
the days that are to come." As for Mr. Jacobs, the sym- 
pathy of all lovers of the dog should be his now, for as 
good dogs come and go and have their day, there will not 
be any more Jacks for him. 
If at any time Elmer takes you to a little mound in his 
back yard, and you discover a tear in "Cub's" eye, take off 
your hat, for you are in the presence of all that remains 
of a noble specimen of "man's best friend." B. S. W. 
fachtittg. 
A Cruise on Long Island Sound. 
BY CHARLES N. ROBINSON, HARTFORD, CONN. 
{Concluded from page 12 ).) 
The men on the tow were straining at the capstan on 
the first box, and when they had broken out the anchor, 
the tug slowly pulled the tow as far as possible into the 
angle formed by the island and breakwater. A large two- 
masted schooner came in and brought up inside of us. 
She left her mainsail up but soon got it down and let go 
her second anchor. The rain and wind came in squalls 
of constantly increasing violence. Finally one of these 
almost hid the schooner from view, and through the 
blur of rain we saw her fall off broadside and walk away 
with both anchors. Our own dragged soon after this, but 
the second one brought her up and then chafing gear had 
to be put on the cables, which was wet work with the bow 
going under at every dip in the short, sharp sea. To be 
on the safe side our spare 55-pound anchor and. cable 
were put overboard, and then we crouched in the cock- 
pit and waited for something to happen. Inside quarter 
of an hour all three cables were taut. _ 
The coal boxes appeared to be making fair weather of 
it, being well protected by the island. One of them was 
leaking badly, and six men were constantly pumping. 
Finally the tug came alonside, and after some delay got 
a length of hose into the box and connected it to her 
own pump. As for ourselves, with 116 pounds of anchor 
and a goodly scope of cable put, we felt pretty sure of 
not going ashore— barring accidents. The barometer had 
dropped steadily at the rate of 0.10 inch an hour from 
30.02 at 6 o'clock to 29.38 at noon. The tide was nearly 
high, and when it turned we hoped the wind would veer 
and go down. At 1 o'clock the baromter had risen to 
29.46, and the wind was working around into the south. 
This made the breakwater a lee, but only a partial one, 
as the waves were breaking clear over the top. Our posi- 
tion was far from comfortable, but we had the satisfac- 
tion of knowing that it would improve as the tide fell. 
Our small boat was more than half full of water, and as 
it seemed possible that there might be more wind, H. put 
on a bathing suit and managed to bail her out. 
Although the barometer only rose to 29.55 during the 
afternoon, the wind dropped with the tide and died away 
af sunset. The schooner had just escaped going ashore 
after all. The frame .work for the light on the end of the 
breakwater was knocked out of true, and when the keeper 
came out in his power boat to light up he tested the 
ladder a good many times before climbing to the top. On 
shore a great deal of damage was done, especially by the 
very high tide. The Patchogue and Menunketesuck 
really became rivers for a while, and the waters were 
backed up to such an extent that the main road to Clin- 
ton was three feet under water near the bridge spoken of 
above. 
That night we slept soundly on a quiet sea with nothing 
to disturb us — not even a nightmare. 
Saturday the 13th brought a clear sky, plenty of heat, 
and no wind. Breakfast was soon out of the way, as it 
had been partially prepared the evening before. We 
started to break out our assortment of anchors at 7 
o'clock. I was surprised to find the heavy canvas that 
had been put around the cables where they passed 
through the brass chocks, actually worn out on two of the 
ropes. All the anchors came up without much trouble, 
and from the samples on the flukes the bottom appears 
tc be a mucky sand. We got the two large ones on deck 
and unbent the cables, then as a light air crept in from 
the S.W. the small anchor was hauled up and we gradual- 
ly crawled away from the wall behind which we had spent 
such an exciting morning the day before. As soon as we 
were clear of the breakwater, the club-topsail and jib- 
topsail were set, and after several short tacks we passed 
the red spar buoy on Stone Island reef and then headed 
close-hauled on the starboard tack for Faulkner's Island. 
The wind was very light, but with the help of the tide we 
were off the south side of the island by noon, when the 
wind faded away completely. Passed the time by starting 
one of the stoves and toasting some hardtack, which had 
been previously well buttered. Also made some cocoa 
with the last of the milk, but it was hardly a success, as 
the milk objected to the way it was treated and curdled. 
The cables were now dry, so they were carefully coiled, 
stopped and stowed away forward with the anchors on 
top. 
About 1 o'clock the tide turned ebb and a nice breeze 
came in from the S.W. Sheets were started a trifle, and 
Ramea was headed for the New Haven breakwater. The 
wind gradually backed into the S., so the main sheet was 
eased well off and the balloon-jib set. Three hours, more 
or less, followed of that delightful kind of sailing when 
you get just the right angle for the tiller, and, with a 
cushion between your back and the rail, let your mind 
wander where it may while the boat pretty nearly sails 
Iicrsclf . 
We slipped past the inner end of the east breakwater 
at half-past three, and were soon anchored in Morris 
Cove rather close under the south shore and somewhat 
west of the Yale-Corinthian Y. C. house. I ran up to 
Hartford for the night, while H. remained on board. 
Came down again qxi tfrs ^rly §m$*f twfl. Jt Wn.?4 
all the way to New Haven, and, as I had no umbrella, I 
looked for a good wetting. Fortunately the rain let up 
until I got on board. I reached the Cove somewhat be- 
fore the time arranged, but H. finally saw my signals and 
rowed ashore. > Ramea had been rolling in good old- 
fashioned Morris Cove style all night, and consequently 
H. didn't get much sleep, and was in an un-Christian 
frame of mind. We left the Cove at half-past ten with a 
good whole-sail breeze from the S. The tide was fair 
outside, though we did not feel the full effect of it until 
we had passed the Sperry light on the western break- 
water. Thewind was unsteady, varying from S.E. to S. 
by W., and it had begun to rain again. A course of S.W. 
by W. carried us well outside the red spar buoy off Strat- 
ford Point, while W. by S. l / 2 S. took us up the Sound. 
At 4 o'clock the Norwalk Islands were abeam, and as 
the wind was coming out of the S. with increasing 
strength, we decided that it would be well to get over under 
the Long Island shore. So we headed her close-hauled 
for Oyster Bay, and let the ebb tide lee-bow us across. 
When about half way over a heavy rain squall swept 
down on us, and for a while we hardly knew whether we 
were sailing on or under the water. And we ran out of 
this squall only to run into another just as bad. Before 
it passed the wind moved around to the N. of W. and the 
compass said we were heading back for the Norwalk 
Islands. We concluded not to bother with Long Island 
any more and began to mildly wonder where we should 
bring up for the night. The rain had completely killed 
the strong breeze, and we banged and slatted around in 
that quiet, nerve-soothing way a boat has at such times. 
I got out the glasses and finally picked up a big schooner 
yacht close under the Long Island shore coming up with 
her sheets apparently eased off. That meant that the 
wind had backed around into the S.E. again, which was 
just what we wanted. After about an hour it reached us, 
and the mainsail filling lifted the sheets out of the water. 
As it was now late in the afternoon, we headed in for 
Shippan Point, intending to go into Stamford harbor, 
but the wind pushed us along so well that we kept on, 
and finally, at 7:30, brought up in Indian Harbor at 
Greenwich. The barometer was still low and the wind 
was becoming lighter. There was no sunset, the sun 
simply dropped out of one mass of cloud like a great red- 
hot cannon ball and disappeared almost immediately be- 
hind a lower darker bank from which later on a few pale 
rays escaped. 
Monday morning it was blowing hard from the N.E. 
and raining. We took our time over breakfast, and about 
half-past eight got into oilers and went on deck. A 
couple of reefs were soon put in the mainsail, and getting 
up the anchor we set the storm jib and stood out of the 
bay before the wind, passing between Great Captain and 
Calve's Island. 
On a clear day this narrow western end of Long Island 
Sound is one of the most picturesque and interesting 
stretches of water imaginable. The low, rocky northern 
shore, with its many harbors and coves, is well wooded 
and gradually rises inland to higher ranges of hills. The 
towns are well back from the shore, and for the most 
part hidden among the trees. Attractive summer homes 
are everywhere. In striking contrast is the southern side 
of the Sound, five or six miles away, with its high sand 
bluffs gleaming white in the sun below the dark green 
of .the forest. Instead of little harbors are the great bays 
and bays within bays. But perhaps it is a waste of space 
to describe such a well known body of water as this, and 
at any rate it was not especially attractive to us on this 
dull and rainy day. 
One of the trial races for the 90-footers had been 
scheduled for the 15th, and we hoped to find the three big 
boats already under way. But everything was quiet at 
Larchmont, and a mile or so beyond Reliance lay at her 
moorings outside of Echo Bay with covers on her sails 
and no signs of life aboard. We sailed around her several 
times taking a good look at her enormous overhangs and 
huge mast, with its apparently light rigging. Then we 
beat back to Larchmont harbor, which was well filled with 
yachts of all sizes, and anchored about opposite the club 
house. 
After lunch we rowed ashore, and found that the race 
had been postponed. To fill, up the afternoon, we took 
the trolley over to New Rochelle and visited Hunting- 
ton's yard. Three weeks before, when Ramea was being 
put in commission, the yard was full of boats; now but 
a handful were left, and we realized that the yachting 
season had begun. H. had to be in New Haven on Tues- 
day, so after a dinner on board he departed, and Ramea's 
crew was reduced to one for the return trip to New 
London. 
It rained most of Monday night, but cleared up Tues- 
day morning. After lunch I got under way and sailed 
around to Echo Bay, anchoring on the east side of the 
harbor among the boats of the New Rochelle Y. C, and 
just inside of a dredger that was picking up fragments 
of rock from a ledge that had been recently blasted. 
Rowed up the creek to Huntington's, and loaded the 
various things I had come for into the 8-foot dinghy, 
which is as stiff as a church, and took them on board. 
I never pass over the body of water lying inside the rock 
on which stands the gasoline tank without wishing that 
it were something besides a few narrow channels and a 
collection of mud flats at low tide. It would make an 
ideal anchorage for small boats. 
The weather was bright and pleasant once more, so 
opened up everything and dragged the cushions, bedding, 
etc., out of the cabin for a good airing. The cabin of a 
small boat gets damp pretty quickly in bad weather, even 
if she doesn't leak, and I cart truthfully say that Ramea 
does not leak a drop anywhere. But the combination of 
bad weather and a leaky house — spare me from the afflic- 
tion! It's bad enough, after a hard day's sail, to find the 
water sloshing about over the floor, but when at the 
same time the skylight and cabin roof have been letting in 
a steady drio, drip, drip, when your cushions are wet 
and bedding damp — well, what is the use of talking about 
it; most of us have been there at some time or other in 
our cruising experiences. 
While resting in the cockpit watching the scoop of the 
dredger bring up fragment after fragment of rock, most 
of them as large as my hand, I concluded to run into 
town for the evening, and not caring to leave Ramea in 
her present position alone, I hastily stowed everything 
below and. ran back to Larchmont with, the ebb tide and 
the last of the breeze. Making all secure and putting up 
the riding light, I rowed over to the club float, and tying 
the boat, walked up to the station and took the train for 
New York. Came out again after the theatre, and turned 
in before one o'clock. 
Slept late Wednesday morning, and spent the rest of it 
in straightening out the cabin. After an early lunch I 
started out for a sail, taking a look at the yachts in the 
harbor, and then running over to Echo Bay and anchor- 
ing off Hudson Park. Later in the season, on a pleasant 
Saturday or Sunday afternoon, this park presents a very 
animated appearance. The rocky wooded point jutting 
out into the little bay and the small bathing beach are 
crowded with women and children, while the men, for 
the most part, are the victims of the fishing habit. They 
speak not, neither do they look to the right or the left, 
but occasionally they dislodge their hooks from some 
rock, and once in a great while a tiny cunner comes 
quietly out of the water and disappears into the fish 
basket. The waters of the bay are everywhere dotted 
with skiffs full of more motionless fishermen. Their 
silence and calmness form a strong contrast to the frivo- 
lous babble on the shore among the trees. Empires may 
totter, but the fisherman cares not. In his "Notes and 
Recollections," Ludovic Halevy says that one of fhe 
strangest sigbts in Paris during the terrors of the Com- 
mune was the dozen or more men he saw calmly fishing 
in the Seine during the close season, while fighting went 
on in the streets, and the buildings almost over their 
heads were in flames. 
But to get back to the cruise. Friday the 19th the three 
big Cup boats_ were to try conclusions off Indian harbor, 
and I determined to start back and see as much of the 
race as possible. After breakfast it was a flat calm, but 
I got up the mainsail and then tackled the anchor. There 
was a long scope out, and when I had hauled about half 
of it on deck, it began to come hard. All of a sudden 
something gave way, and I sat down hard on a lot of wet 
rope. Then it stuck again, and it was quite evident that 
a big fish had been hooked. Slowly the cable came in, 
with much language and labor. Finally the anchor came 
to the surface with one of its flukes caught on the fluke 
of a much larger anchor. There were no moorings near 
me, so I presume it was a lost anchor; at any rate I did 
not investigate, as my back was rather weary, but un- 
hooked it and let it drop to its former resting place. 
In getting out of the bay Ramea lost all steerage way, 
turned around once or twice, and then insisted on drift- 
ing into a large sloop moored off "All View." Pushed 
off with the boat hook and managed to get out into the 
Sound Down to the eastward the big fellows were 
maneuvering about and a crowd of lesser sails sur- 
rounded them. A heat haze lay over the land and water 
and distant outlines looked unreal. As I didn't care much 
about drifting around, I took in the jib and dropped the 
anchor. About one o'clock the wind came in light from 
the S.E.. and by four I had tacked down to Parsonage 
Point. Here the wind dropped again, and it began to 
rain heavily, so eased off the sheets and ran back to 
Larchmont. By five it was clear, at six a gentle breeze 
came in from the S.W., and it was not long before 
Ramea was headed out of the harbor. As usual, there 
was much less wind outside, but it carried me down to 
Rye Point nicely, and I anchored for the night near a 
schooner yacht behind Scotch Cap rocks. 
Up at three o'clock Saturday morning, prepared to 
make an early start, but found a heavy fog and S.E. 
wind. Having gotten up, however, went ahead with 
breakfast, and at four was ready to start. The fog was 
still too thick, so lay down just as I was and dozed until 
seven. By that time the fog had lifted somewhat, and I 
got under way. The breeze during the night had left a 
confused sea, and going to windward in the light air was 
slow work. The tide turned flood off Great Captain 
Island about noon, and as no headway could be made 
against it, the sheets were started, and I ran into Green- 
wich. Brought up off the Indian Harbor Y. C. house, 
and leaving the small boat at the club landing, walked 
up to the town which lies some distance inland. Bought 
some meat and berries and on the way back stopped at a 
small hotel and had dinner. The long road leading down 
to the harbor is completely overarched by large trees at 
places, and these spots, in consequence of so much rain, 
had a strong smell of wet vegetable matter, while the 
stone walls were green. with moss. This odor suggested 
some memory very strongly, and suddenly for a few 
moments I stood again in front' of the wet walls of the 
stone house on a cattle ranch or "pen" in the St. Thomas- 
ye-Vale district of Jamaica, with the morning sun shining 
through a white mist and the moisture dripping from 
everything. 
By one o'clock I was under way again, and standing to 
the S. E. with a faint N.E. air. Out in the middle of 
the Sound the Cup yachts were fighting out a race, which 
was evidently Friday's postponed. They had a good 
breeze, but were .half hidden by a gray mist. When the 
wind came it was from the S. and lasted long enough to 
take me down to the Stamford lighthouse. Then it 
flopped into the E. and the rain came down as though the 
bottom of the pitcher had fallen out. Just then a sloop 
with a "putter, putter" engine in her went by bound into 
Stamford, and I gave up and followed her in, wet and 
disgusted. Stamford harbor is a fairly deep but some- 
what rocky bay, from the head of which two creeks run 
up to the city. It is entirely open to the south, but pretty 
well protected otherwise. The anchorage is off the Stam- 
ford Y. C. house on Shippan Point, and with the wind 
from the E. is a perfect lee. While maneuvering about 
among the yachts looking for a good place to anchor, I 
miscalculated a distance and missed smashing into a 
dinghy by a foot. The man on the yacht rushed aft to 
pull it in and glared frightfully at me, but I glared back 
at him, and we let it go at that. 
It rained all night, and the E. wind blew hard against 
the windward side of the Point, where the trees let it 
through in strong gusts that darkened the surface of the 
water. Sunday ushered in the same old condition of 
things, and I took my time with breakfast, afterwards 
shutting up the cabin and letting the stoves dry up some 
of the dampness. At 10:30 the rain ceased, and I went 
up to the city, bought a supply of Sunday papers, and got 
into communication with home over the long distance 
telephone. Stopped at the old Stamford House and ate 
a very good dinner, which was the last square meal I 
had for sQme time, ^§ \\ turned ou^ WhjU? %\ dinner a 
