498 
FOREST AND STREAM 
Oct. 19, 1912 
half a dozen wave tips to rest in from rudder 
post to stern boot top, for when such a one 
comes to her, it heaveth her right up with it. 
What wonder 1 failed to notice Gus free 
himself from his rubber boots. I never saw him 
ahead of me in the cockpit any more than if 
he had not been there. He said afterward: 
‘‘When I could see close ahead what an awful 
white mess we were compelled to go through 
off the end of that pier, I immediately pulled 
my boots off so as to have some show of life 
in swimming.” I told him: “You should have 
remained in your boots and gone down like a 
gentleman, if necessary.” ft bore not to me the 
appearance of being a good place for a nata- 
torium in any kind of a suit. 
The reason of my mate’s sightlessness aboard 
the soaring Caro was that my faculties were all 
needed in the business of steering the boat 
through: in also mentally lifting her over every 
threatening crest by an extra power that seems 
to be given 11s for use in emergencies if we will 
it so. In going through, only some of the light¬ 
est of the suds lathered us. Thus was the first 
time proved afloat, and many an after time, what 
a magnificent sea boat was the Caro. 
After provisioning at Newcastle, we flitted 
away again. It was easier going now, because 
of the marshy shores, and the coast trending 
more northerly. The edge of the “mash” sucks 
up the waves without breakers, and its border is 
navigable for a smallness of boat that the heart 
fails it at the thought of climbing the crested 
billow out in the channel. We were compelled 
to do that thing also to get around the end of 
the long railroad pier that puts out below the 
Christiana River. It was an open pier on piles, 
so the cross sea did not bother. 
A photograph of the mate, taken while at 
the helm, and in the heave out there to satisfy 
the longings which we all have, to be perpetuated 
as one who had done things and which had for 
a background the following sea, showed the usual 
disappointing photographic result. The local 
wrinkles and wavelets on the slopes of the big 
fellows came out sharp, while the undulations 
we were after — and that were after us—their 
shadows failed of impression on the plate. The 
resultant picture showed the following sea ap¬ 
pearing almost 1 itie a flat field covered with little 
waves, save for big bright spots here and there 
to the horizon where it had been combing. But 
our ensign in the picture stood out flat — wrinkle¬ 
less — as if it had been cut from tin. The breeze 
did what it could. 
We met nothing moving under sail on the 
face of the waters, and there was nothing mov¬ 
ing much on our faces either, as they were “set” 
most of the time, and very little fit to eat moved 
into them that day, which was rough—like the 
sea. The mate shrunk together considerably so 
as to offer less surface if a sea should take a 
notion to eat us up, and he said to me with a 
hunted look in his yes, “I hate to acknowledge 
it, but it is so. I don’t like to look over my 
shoulder. ’ I told him, “Rest easy, pull your¬ 
self together, I am in the same boat.” 
Behind the shelter of Edgemoor pier, a poor 
place because of the shallow water, our reckless 
hook went splashing down for the night, and 
when we got spread out on our heaving berths, 
we were all in, dog tired and cared little for 
anything. 
By the jig the boat was doing on the Sun¬ 
day morning gray, when we awoke it felt as if 
the dance was still agoing on like yesterday. 
Looking out from the end of the cabin shore¬ 
ward, the tops of the large trees were seen to 
be beaten down by the wind, tossing as on the 
evening before. A look out on the river showed 
a small schooner—a smart Aleck—who imagined 
it really necessary to try to get somewhere 
against the wall of wind and wave, and over 
such white-topped hills as were coming down 
from windward, beating under bobbed jib and 
close-reefed mainsail. In the act of going about 
to the starboard tack, as he came up into the 
wind, a sea reared up and said good morning to 
him, its foam seeming to go half way up the 
foremast, and he shed tears as he fell off again 
on the same old tack shoreward. This was in¬ 
teresting: “Watch him try it now.” He no 
more than by jinks just did do it, which was 
well for him, for a failure to pay off on the 
right tack this time would have meant quick 
work with the anchors or a go ashore. 
I stood on the heaving after-deck after 
watching the schooner’s glorious dives and 
plunges and the wild tide borne way out to 
windward. I found myself looking down in 
mild wonder at another interesting sight. It 
was a load waterline that had been drawn by a 
wet wave the length of our canvas cabin. The 
soaking wet curve cut sharp and clear along the 
canvas, and at its highest point amidships was 
within two inches of the ridge. This looked as 
if she must have swung out beyond the end of 
the pier, touched bottom in the valley, and then 
a wave must have taken her on the broadside. 
I never remarked to the dear mate, but as I re¬ 
garded the card it had left, I had a justifiable 
suspicion, all to myself, that along in the middle 
of the black watering night, somewheres our en¬ 
tire motion picture show afloat came near enough 
to being introduced to Mr. Davy Jones and his 
locker. 
What business was it of mine to remove my 
grasp from the handle of the coffee pot while 
we were reeling so for one fraction of a second 
even if Gus did want the salt? But to please 
others is all we live for, therefore I reached in 
its direction of a quickness, but the hot steam¬ 
ing pot was quicker' in getting off its perch and 
shot its near boiling contents along the cockpit 
floor and some into our turned back bedding. 
It is well to be young and active, but none of it 
touched the mate doing the instantaneous canti¬ 
lever bridge act, but because of the mess left by 
the receded brown tide, he had grounds of com¬ 
plaint against me. We were preparing our 
breakfast on the throttled down—because of the 
waviness of the blaze—alcohol stove that Sun¬ 
day morning in a jump above Edgemoor pier. 
We left Edgemoor, Del., at 9 o’clock and 
were back to the float in Cooper’s Creek, Cam¬ 
den, N. J., at three with the mast out, and as 
these two figures of time of departure and ar¬ 
rival are the only ones in the yarn to remember 
—what good some yarns are almost nothing else 
—it should be easy, but they were put in be¬ 
cause it doesn’t seem right never to mention 
once the time of day we expectantly departed 
for further experiences. 
There was a wild rush under the little jib all 
the billowy way—billowy except on one spot 
where we struck a smooth that was very 
remarkable. Below Marcus Hook a long re¬ 
finery pier with a great steamship alongside its 
windward side, the up-stream rushing tide against 
it, produced out beyond the end of the pier a 
wonderful flat dome of swift-flowing water siz¬ 
ing up to a half acre, perhaps. When we had 
succeeded in shaking off the last grasping rough 
one astern, we jumped on it, swiftly sped across, 
and plunged half buried into the fringe of roll¬ 
ing breakers that lined its upper edge. This 
trip across gave us a new experience in doing 
some sailing. We saw other—not so happy— 
craft which would not go at all. 
As we went we saw many evidences of the 
storm’s ravages in wrecked craft and piers. One 
schooner seemed to be all right and standing up¬ 
right, but had been washed and blown away back 
in the “mash.” 
At the yacht club moorings at Essington a 
big seagoing steam yacht was ashore, lying on 
her bilge high and dry, and to think a little snip 
like us was flying gaily by. 
This was not a day to choose for a yacht 
race, but the Delaware River web-foot breed of 
yachtsmen is of a toughness. Those two big 
cats on the wind that we rushed by and gave the 
merry hail off League Island had all their tucks 
gathered, but the area of their sails remaining 
was a burden to them; they dragged it. As we 
looked at the rows of wet blue nozzles of the 
crews piled out to windward, protruding at in¬ 
tervals through the cataracts of cold slop and 
storm of snowflake lathery suds coming aboard 
to them with irregular regularity, a fine warm 
rosy-hued feeling of thankfulness takes 11s by 
the hand, pokes 11s in the ribs and makes us 
feel how glad we are to be going the other way 
this time under the little jib. 
When we rounded Greenwich Point and 
hauled up for the broad reach through the city 
harbor, I gave her the reefed mizzen. Wonder¬ 
ful how the wind held with this additional sail. 
We tore along and quickly finished the course 
around Cooper’s Point to the creek. 
Beside the smart Aleck schooner of the early 
morning, and the two fierce cats scratching for 
cups and glory, not a hull under sail had been 
met from the lock gate to Cooper’s mouth. 
When we went to lower the flaming pennant, 
only the staff came down. The long paddle up 
the tide-flowing creek, with our unrigged craft, 
was a quiet Sunday afternoon pleasure by con¬ 
trast with the shaking up we had undergone. 
We' gave back a final look as we swam 
around an upper point. At our last dinner camp 
at fair Red Hill, whose carefully put out fire 
was the last of the year, and though full—as of 
dinner—of regrets at the parting with outside 
nature, the smoky fire memories of this and 
countless others that have flamed around utensils 
or only showered sparks aloft for us into the 
starry dark, brightens the world a bit. 
Yachtsmen in Session. 
Forty representatives of yacht associations 
from the lake regions, Long Island Sound, Phil¬ 
adelphia and New York met in the Atlantic 
Coast Conference at the New York Y. C. last 
week to consider changes in the racing rules 
with a view to clarifying them. A per¬ 
manent organization under the name of the 
Yacht Racing Conference was decided upon with 
a committee of nine on rules, to be appointed 
hereafter. 
A committee of five, made up of W. Butler 
