210 
FOREST AND STREAM 
Aug. 16, 1913. 
Forest and Stream will give a weekly digest of Yachting and Motor Boating events from all over the country. 
All Hands Asleep. 
Leaves from a Log Book. 
BY SENECA. 
(From issue of .Tan. 19, 1882.) 
She was built—no matter where—by an old 
oysterman; and, as to her age, it isn’t quite the 
polite thing to inquire a female's time of life, 
so the Captain forbore asking this question. She 
was hearty and strong, however, was Peggy, and 
cheap as dirt; and if bulk gives speed, as our 
friend of the yachting page declares it does, she 
should have been a clipper. But whether it was 
the model, or the barnacles on her bottom, or 
the undersize of her sails, or the faulty handling 
of her skipper, certain it is that the Peggy’s 
pace was a very moderate one, and she was 
more famous for a steady, sober plodding along 
in all weathers, than for any spasmodic bursts 
of speed in certain winds. After the old oyster- 
man had made such alterations in rig, cabin, 
etc., as the Captain demanded, and cleaned, to 
the best of his ability, the interior, which was 
redolent with the odor from many years’ hauls 
of fish and oysters, the Peggy was, withal, quite 
a trim little ship, and, before completing his first 
cruise in her, the Captain conceived a lasting 
affection for the easy-steering, comfortable¬ 
handling and safety-assuring old smack. 
The tide was ebb in Cob Creek as the 
Peggy dropped down toward the sea, floating 
slowly, while the Captain cooked his dinner on 
the spirit-stove near the cabin door, occasion¬ 
ally peering over the house to see that her nose 
was right. The sails were loose, ready to hoist, 
ropes and rigging coiled or belayed in place, and 
everything prepared as carefully as if the Peggy 
were a man-of-war, or fitted out to find the 
Northwest passage. And with good reason.' 
The Captain, crew, supercargo and all were one 
man—a so-called consumptive at that—and 
where the sailing, cooking, aye, and the scrub¬ 
bing of a twenty-two foot two-master depends 
on so small a crew, there are many things to be 
carefully pondered that would receive but slight 
attention were there a man or so “before the 
mast.” 
As we—the Peggy and Captain—drop down 
through the mouth of the creek and into the 
bay, a slight whiff of air is felt as we clear the 
range of the forest of hackmatacks, and prepa¬ 
rations are made for action. The little mizzen 
is first hoisted and the halliards made fast. Then 
the jib runs up, the Captain noti leaving the 
cockpit to hoist it. Now the Peggy begins to 
feel the breath of the light land breeze and, as 
the mainsail is hoisted, ripples the water from 
her bow with a musical gurgle. With such a 
light zephyr we can use all sail, and, as we are 
anxious to see how our hitherto untried topsail 
will work, that, too, is sent aloft, and the Peggy 
has donned her “racing rig” complete. 
The voyage is to be made through waters 
entirely unknown to the Captain, but the chart 
shows a plenty of harbors along the coast, and 
the sea-going qualities of the little smack are so 
well-known that but little anxiety is felt for the 
possible dangers to be encountered. “She'll find 
her way all by herself,” said the old oysterman, 
when the Captain bade him good-bye at the 
dock, and. verily, his words were not without 
reason. As the hooked end of Crab Point was 
passed and the open ocean lay before us, the 
breeze freshened considerably, and the topsail 
was lowered. The little eight-foot lifeboat that 
served as a dingey, which hitherto had lain to 
the windward of the house, was shoved into the 
water, and its painter made fast to the Peggy’s 
stern. Then the Captain leaned back against 
the dandy mast on the first long leg out to sea 
and smoked his pipe, while he watched the por¬ 
poises playing and the distant sails of a fleet of 
fishing vessels on their voyage home. There is 
something soporific in thus sitting silently steer¬ 
ing under the rays of the summer sun, with the 
light waves plashing around, and only enough 
wind to rock one gently up and down as in a 
cradle, and soon the Captain began to feel a 
drowsy sensation stealing over him. An innate 
facility of sleeping anywhere and under any cii'- 
cumstances, which was a very happy possession 
in most cases, was here very unwelcome. For 
a while the somnolent sensation was pleasant, 
and the Captain abandoned himself to a dreamy 
reverie, but as his head nodded forward there 
came a sudden “rat-tat” from the loosed jib- 
sheets, and, awaking with a start, he found the 
Peggy rounding to; so, bringing her to her 
course again, he sat up straight, and began to 
puff vigorously on the brier-root to keep awake. 
It was no use, however, and again the head 
dropped forward on the breast, the pipe fell 
from the lips, and the lone sailor was in another 
doze. This time the Peggy kept her course, 
and worked her way gradually further out into 
the open ocean. A party of young people, pass¬ 
ing in an open yacht, saw the sleeping steers¬ 
man sitting at his post, but took no more 
notice of the passing craft than to remark the 
peculiar rig, so seldom seen in those waters. A 
lumber schooner passed so near as to endanger 
the safety of the little smack, and the angry 
skipper hailed with a gruff voice, “You blasted 
lubber, haul off! Pd ort to run you down!” 
But the Captain of the Peggy made no answer, 
and he of the lumber vessel sailed away, still 
hurling maledictions back at the solitary voy¬ 
ager. And on and on went the Peggy, and 
further and further out to sea, and still the 
Captain slept. At length he dreamed. He 
seemed to be near a rocky island, searching for 
a harbor for his little smack. None appeared, 
and every moment the waves were growing 
fiercer. He would certainly be lost. A huge, 
jagged rock was dead ahead. He seized the 
helm to change his course. The tiller would not 
stir. He gave it a sudden wrench. It broke in 
two, and he fell over with the force of the shock. 
The hissing waves engulfed him, and as he 
struggled vainly to combat them he awoke. 
The tide had turned, the Peggy had rounded 
to, and a wave had come “splash” against the 
Captain's face. Rubbing his eyes and looking 
around with amazement, he saw the faint dark 
line of the shore far away. He looked at his 
watch. He had been afloat four hours, and 
during the greater part he had slept. 
But now work must be quick, for the hours 
of daylight are passing quickly, and there are 
low growlings of thunder away off in the west. 
The Peggy is put about, and away we speed for 
shore. If we can make Connerstown Harbor 
before dark we are all right. If not, we may 
be lost. I.et us examine the chart. Conners¬ 
town lies in a bay midway between two points, 
Rodney’s and Henderson’s. These are nine or 
ten miles apart. The Peggy’s nose is headed 
for one of these, but the question is, which one? 
If Rodney’s, we must bear off to the southward 
to find the harbor. If Henderson’s, we must 
change our course northward. The distance al¬ 
ready sailed cannot be accurately calculated, be¬ 
cause the wind has doubled its force since the 
start, and it is impossible to tell how long its 
present strength has been kept up. From the 
distance out at sea the Captain is led to believe 
that Rodney’s Point has been passed and that 
Henderson’s is the one in view. There is no 
craft of any kind in sight, so information from 
that quarter cannot be expected. A nearer peal 
of thunder warns that hesitation is dangerous, 
and the prow of the smack is turned immediately 
northward, though not without many misgiv¬ 
ings Now, every effort is made to discern the 
expected harbor as the Peggy bowls along. 
The wind has increased to half a gale, and with 
reefs turned in in every sail, the smack still 
heels fearfully. A sudden wave dashing into 
the cockpit wets the chart, and its lines are 
rendered almost illegible. The point is left a 
mile behind, and still no signs of the harbor. 
The Captain begins to feel that he has mistaken 
his bearings, but it is too late to turn back 
now, and hoping that by some chance he may 
still find a safe anchorage, he keeps blindly on. 
A great, black cloud is chasing rapidly across 
the sky and as its heavy folds obscure the light 
the darkness seems almost like that of night. 
It is now a certainty that the Captain has taken 
the wrong course, so, determining to prepare 
for the worst, the Peggy is laid to, ship’s lamps 
lighted, hatches all tightly closed, heavy coat 
donned and some of the water in the cockpit 
pumped out. By the time all this is done the 
gloom of night has fallen on the water, and 
avoiding the perils of an unknown shore, the 
Captain steers boldly for the open sea. 
One of the dangers of a summer thunder 
