
FOREST AND STREAM. 






























































— SHOAL DRAFT SLOOP — 
DESIGNED BY 
MORGAN BARNEY 
NAVAL ARCHITECT 
29 BWAY NewYork 
ScaLe s21-0 




= 
LINES AND CONSTRUCTION PLANS OF ONE-D 
A Hollew Belaying Pin. 
FroM warm, sunny Cuba the little three-masted 
coasting schooner I was on was pushing her way 
day by day up toward midwinter off Hatteras. 
A shift of wind from southeast to northwest 
came like a cold blast from a refrigerator, and 
all hands dove into the forecastle for winter 
clothes. We single refeed and then we double 
reefed. Stowed the spanker and stowed the 
outer jib, and still the J. Percy B., as we called 
her, floundered north. 
Every sea made a clean breach over her, for 
she was scuppers-to with sugar. Boxed up in 
the forecastle with blankets over head and ears 
to keep warm in our watch below, it sounded 
like being under Niagara Falls in a box, still 
we slept sound as rats. 


2 e SS —— 
— + ———— 
ESIGN CLASS 
But when it came our watch on deck, oilers 
and sea boots failed to keep us dry. The “old 
man’ would not risk a man’s life, keeping look- 
out on the forecastle head, so one man took the 
wheel and the other tried to keep from freezing 
by moving about on the two-foot strip of poop 
deck forward of the mizzen mast. 
Harry, a Swede, in the other watch, had an 
uncanny look in his face as he stuck his head 
into the forecastle door to call Oscar and I one 
night, and remarked when I came aft to relieve 
Axel at the wheel: “Dere’s a horn blowin’ off 
here to wind’ard an’ de ole man’s worried—he 
can’t locate it.” 
There were only two of us in a watch, Oscar 
and I in the captain’s, and Harry and Axel in 
the mate’s. When the old man saw me at the 
wheel he came up and said: “We've heard a 


OF BOATS FOR SHINNECOCK yY. C.—DESIGNED BY MORGAN BARNEY. 
horn in the mate’s watch, but it’s too thick to 
see anything, so keep your eyes open.” 
Thick! Gee! I guess it was. If anyone has 
come north in the gulf stream in winter they 
know what a fog bank it is. Oscar was only 
thirty feet ahead of me, and yet I could just 
discern a hazy blot where he stood. The wind 
came out in extra heavy chunks soon, and Oscar 
came gliding aft. 
“Say, did you hear dat?” he asked me, show- 
ing his face straining to a listening attitude in 
the glare of the binnacle lamp. 
“Hear what?” 
“Don’t you hear not’ing?” 
“Nol Whats is 17? 
“Sounds like a fog horn,” 
raised his head to listen again. 
He could not hear it then either, but all my 
he answered, and 




orm 
ews 


