Nov. 23, 1912 
FOREST AND STREAM 
655 
A 
Day Off Cape Cod 
By CHAS. G. SANDFORD 
“What can we do to pass time before din- sunk down on the seat, and with all those school 
ner ?” inquired one. “The shore dinner at marras looking, lapsed into the throes of sea 
Monomoyck Inn isn’t to be served till two.” sickness. The way to the cabin was clear, and 
“We can sail around in Stage Harbor for a general rush was made for below. Some didn’t 
a couple of hours,” answered the captain, look- stay long, for “Old White Ears” loves stuffy 
ing at the fat doctor, “or we can land near cabins, where are hung smelly suits of oilers and 
Chatham and walk across to the upper life sav- sou’westers. Others remained till we landed, and 
ing station.” if they were sick, none knew of it but the cap- 
“Oh, let’s sail,” said some, enthusiastically, tain. 
“Let’s land,” plead the fat doctor. Soon, under the lee of Monomoy, smooth 
We were now sailing easily before the wind water was reached, and “Old White Ears” balked 
under a double reef. Captain Bourse was whirl- of his prey, silently slipped overboard and drop- 
ing his wheel, to hold the course against great ped astern. 
combers that threatened to get us broadside. Funny how misery likes company. As we 
It was a new experience for most of the came to anchor in Stage Harbor, the fat doctor 
“¥ QW bridge,” called Captain Bourse again, 
I „ and the fat doctor ducked with a groan 
of anguish in body and mind. 
We were just inside of Monomoy Bar, a 
finger of land, extending nine miles to the west¬ 
ward from Chatham, on Cape Cod. 
Less than a half hour before we had sailed 
out of Wychmere Harbor, Harwichport, in a 
mild freshening breeze, and now it was blow¬ 
ing great guns from the southwest. 
Between Nantucket (twenty-eight miles off) 
and Martha’s Vineyard there is a clean ocean 
sweep that lets in ground swells on days when 
the wind is right, and this was one of the days. 
The fat doctor had advertised himself as 
a good sailor and really believed it, or he never 
would have risked making the spectacle of him¬ 
self he did before a bunch of twelve Boston 
school marms, good looking and good sailors all. 
Even now, there are some of the party who do 
not doubt for a minute but that he is a good 
sailor, for he still affirms it was only an off day 
with his in’ard workings. 
It was dead low tide, and there was white 
water a-plenty. Captain Nathan Bourse had his 
hands full, dodging gigantic combers that seemed 
eager to make a mess of smart frocks and things 
that the wind and spray soon proved to be woe¬ 
fully out of place. 
The first wave that came aboard hit the fat 
doctor. He was standing by the companionway 
and caught it full on his broad back. About a 
bucketful slopped upward and gracefully raised 
his new Panama hat, washing it away to lee¬ 
ward. 
Isn’t that too bad!” ejaculated one, and there 
came a chorus of “O’s” from the others. The 
fat doctor seemed not to care much. A sickly 
smile overspread his splotchy, pallid face. It was 
an eloquent smile. It said: “What do I care 
for the loss of such a little thing as a hat when 
I feel so rotten all over inside.” 
“Can’t you get it, captain ?” asked one sym¬ 
pathetic little school marm, following the 
pirouetting Panama with her eyes. 
“Got all I can do to keep you ladies dry,” 
said the captain, gazing sharply ahead, where 
the weather was fast thickening. 
The Ida Mildred, a staunch twenty-six-foot 
cabin cat, with a ten horse kicker, was doing 
nobly, but wisps of spray kept flying aboard. 
Occasionally, a good solid wave would come 
churning over the bow, searching out school 
marms and reducing to a sadly bedraggled con¬ 
dition hats and bright-colored veils that belonged 
ashore. 
Watching his chance, Captain Nathan, with 
a low bridge warning, came about, shut down 
his motor and “went scudding” before the wind. 
“No use,” he said, regretfully, “we can’t 
make Monomoy to-day.” 
Then there came another chorus of “O’s”, 
for Monomoy with its life saving and wireless 
stations was to be the chief attraction of the day. 
“Sorry to disappoint you, ladies,” said the 
genial old captain, “but it’s white water over 
there and and we couldn’t get within a half mile 
of the point.” 
school marms, yet none was sick. Rapid fire 
questions were flung at the captain, who never 
tired answering. Spar buoys were taken for 
wrecks, fish weirs for lobster traps and once 
there was almost a panic when a red can buoy 
was pronounced a floating torpedo. The fat 
doctor sturdily stuck to his post abaft the com¬ 
panionway. 
“What’s the matter, boss, ain’t you feeling 
well?” asked the captain, anxiously. 
The fat doctor braced his feet with an effort. 
A wan smile played over his damp and pallid 
face. 
“Not very well, captain,” he confessed, 
wearily. 
“Guess ‘Old White Ears’ is coming aboard,” 
said the captain, laughing. “He likes sailing 
afore the wind.” 
“Who?” chorused the ladies. 
“Old White Ears,” repeated the captain. 
“There’s two or three of you ladies that has 
his calling cards already.” 
“How ridiculous,” whispered one. 
“There,” said the captain, speaking low, “I 
told you he was here.” 
With ponderous deliberation the fat doctor 
came over to me and whispered, “Old man, it 
came near getting you, didn’t it?” 
I stoutly denied the insinuation, though now 
it is all over, I confess yes. 
The tide was still so low that the dory could 
not make the shore by a dozen feet, so the cap¬ 
tain, sly old dog that he is, carried in his arms 
each of those fair school marms ashore. 
There was one certain trip he made that the 
fat doctor followed with longing eyes, but he 
did not volunteer, for the captain was surer of 
foot. 
It was a mile and a half to the life saving 
station, and away we started, burdened with 
wraps, packages, cameras, etc. 
As we advanced a gathering host awaited 
us. We had ventured on the original breeding 
grounds of mosquitoes. There was the choice 
of walking on the heavy sand of the dunes, or 
in short, crisp grass that held the enemy. There 
were thousands—millions of the pests, stinging 
and filling mouth, eyes, nose and ears. I was 
too busy saving my own life to determine 
whether those particular mosquitoes preferred 
silk stocking or the fat doctor’s bald head, for 
an argument arose later about it. 
