I fear that I can scarcely hope to contribute to the present volume of the admirable Badminton Series anything that is very new or original. Although my voyages have extended over a long period, and have carried me into nearly every navigable sea, I have for the most part followed well-known tracks. The seamanship, as practised in the 'Sunbeam,' has been in conformity with established rule; the navigation has been that of the master-ordinary.

It would be hardly fair to fill the pages of a general treatise with autobiography. As an introduction, however, to the remarks which follow, my career as a yachtsman may be summarised in the most condensed form.

VOYAGES

Twelve voyages to the Mediterranean; the furthest points reached being Constantinople, 1874 and 1878; Cyprus, 1878; Egypt, 1882.

Three circumnavigations of Great Britain.

One circumnavigation of Great Britain and the Shetland Islands, in 1881.

Two circumnavigations of Ireland.

Cruises with the fleets during manoeuvres, in 1885, 1888, and 1889.

Voyages to Norway, in 1856, 1874, and 1885. In the latter year Mr. Gladstone and his family were honoured and charming guests.

Voyages to Holland, in 1858 and 1863.

Round the World, 1876-77.

India, Straits Settlements, Borneo, Macassar, Australia, Cape of Good Hope, 1886-87.

England to Calcutta, 1893.

Two voyages to the West Indies, 1883 and 1892, the latter including visits to the Chesapeake and Washington.

Canada and the United States, 1872.

The Baltic, 1860.

In 1889 the 'Sunbeam' was lent to Lord Tennyson, for a short cruise in the Channel. The owner deeply regrets that he was prevented by Parliamentary duties from taking charge of his vessel with a passenger so illustrious on board.

The distances covered in the course of the various cruises enumerated may be approximately given:—

Distances sailed: compiled from Log Books

I turn from the voyages to the yachts in which they were performed, observing that no later possession filled its owner with more pride than was felt in the smart little 8-tonner which heads the list.

The variety of craft in the foregoing list naturally affords opportunity for comparison. I shall be glad if such practical lessons as I have learned can be of service to my brother yachtsmen. And, first, as to the class of vessel suitable for ocean cruising. As might be expected, our home-keeping craft are generally too small for long voyages. Rajah Brooke did some memorable work in the 'Royalist' schooner, 45 tons; but a vessel of 400 tons is not too large to keep the sea and to make a fair passage in all weathers, while giving space enough for privacy and comfort to the owner, his friends, and the crew. Such vessels as the truly noble 'St. George,' 871 tons, the 'Valhalla,' 1,400 tons, and Mr. Vanderbilt's 'Valiant,' of 2,350 tons (Mr. St. Clare Byrne's latest production), cannot be discussed as examples of a type which can be repeated in ordinary practice. Yachtsmen have been deterred from going to sufficient tonnage by considerations of expense. When providing a floating home of possibly many years, first cost is a less serious question than the annual outlay in maintaining and working.

A cruise on the eastern seaboard of North America, where the business of coasting has been brought to the highest perfection, would materially alter the prevailing view as to the complements necessary for handling a schooner of the tonnage recommended. The coasting trade of the United States is carried on in large schooners, rigged with three to five masts. All the sails are fore and aft. In tacking, a couple of hands attend the headsheets, and these, with a man at the wheel, are sufficient to do the work of a watch, even in narrow channels, working short boards. The anchor is weighed and the large sails are hoisted by steam-power. The crews of the American fore-and-aft schooners scarcely exceed the proportion of one man to every hundred tons of cargo carried. For a three-masted schooner of 400 tons, a crew of twelve working hands would be ample, even where the requirements of a yacht have to be provided for. In point of safety, comfort, speed in blowing weather, and general ability to keep the sea and make passages, the 400-ton schooner would offer most desirable advantages over schooner yachts of half the tonnage, although manned with the same number of hands.

It is not within the scope of my present remarks to treat of naval architecture. The volumes will contain contributions from such able men as Messrs. G. L. Watson, who designed the 'Britannia' and 'Valkyrie,' and Lewis Herreshoff, whose 'Navahoe' and 'Vigilant' have recently attracted so much attention. I may, however, say that my personal experience leads me to admire the American models, in which broad beam and good sheer are always found. In 1886, I had the opportunity of seeing the International Race for the America Cup, when the English cutter 'Galatea' (Lieut. Henn, R.N.), with a sail-area of 7,146 feet, and 81 tons of ballast, sailed against the American sloop 'Puritan,' with 9,000 square feet of sail-area and 48 tons of ballast. On this occasion, the advantages of great beam, combined with a shallow middle body and a deep keel, were conspicuously illustrated. The Americans, while satisfied with their type, do not consider their sloops as seaworthy as our cutters. The development which seems desirable in our English building was indicated in a letter addressed to the 'Times' from Chicago in September 1886:—

Avoiding exaggerations on both sides, we may build up on the solid keel of an English cutter a hull not widely differing in form from that of the typical American sloop. It can be done, and pride and prejudice should not be suffered to bar the way of improvement. The yachtsmen of a past generation, led by Mr. Weld of Lulworth, the owner of the famous 'Alarm,' were not slow to learn a lesson from the contests with the 'America' in 1851. We may improve our cutters, as we formerly improved our schooners, by adaptations and modifications, which need not be servile imitations of the fine sloops our champion vessels have encountered on the other side of the Atlantic.

After the lapse of seven years, we find ourselves, in 1893, at the termination of a very remarkable year's yachting. The new construction has included H.R.H. the Prince of Wales's yacht, the 'Britannia,' with 23 feet beam, Lord Dunraven's 'Valkyrie,' Mr. Clarke's 'Satanita,' and the Clyde champion 'Calluna,' all conspicuous for development of beam, combined with the deep, fine keel which is our English substitute for the American centreboard. These vessels have proved doughty antagonists of the 'Navahoe,' brought over by that spirited yacht-owner, Mr. Caryll, to challenge all comers in British waters.

Thus far as to sailing yachts. Though the fashion of the hour has set strongly towards steam-propelled vessels, the beautiful white canvas, and the easy motion when under sail, will long retain their fascination for all pleasure voyaging. It is pleasant to be free from the thud of engines, the smell of oil, and the horrors of the inevitable coaling. Owners who have no love for sailing, and to whom a yacht is essentially a means of conveyance from port to port and a floating home, do well to go for steam. The most efficient and cheapest steam yacht is one in which the masts are reduced to two signal-poles, on which jib-headed trysails may be set to prevent rolling. As to tonnage, the remarks already offered on the advantages of large size apply to steamers even more than to sailing yachts. When space must be given to machinery, boilers, and bunkers, the tonnage must be ample to give the required accommodation. The cost of building and manning, and the horse-power of the engines, do not increase in proportion to the increase of size. The building of steamers for the work of tramps has now been brought down to 7l. per ton. I would strongly urge yacht-owners contemplating ocean cruising to build vessels of not less than 600 tons. Let the fittings be as simple and inexpensive as possible, but let the tonnage be large enough to secure a powerful sea-boat, with coal endurance equal to 3,000 knots, at ten knots, capable of keeping up a fair speed against a stiff head wind, and habitable and secure in all weathers.

Deck-houses are a great amenity at sea, but the conventional yacht skipper loves a roomy deck, white as snow, truly a marvel of scrubbing. Considerations of habitability at sea are totally disregarded by one who feels no need for an airy place of retirement for reading and writing. The owner, seeking to make life afloat pass pleasantly, will consider deck cabins indispensable.

There remains a third and very important type for ocean cruising, that of the sailing yacht with auxiliary steam-power. The 'Firefly,' owned by Sir Henry Oglander, the pioneer in this class, suggested to the present writer a debased imitation in the 'Meteor,' 164 tons. About the same date somewhat similar vessels were brought out, amongst others by Lord Dufferin, whose earliest experiences under sail had been given to the world in 'Letters from High Latitudes.' All will remember the never-varying announcement by a not too cheering steward, on calling his owner, in response to the inquiry, 'How is the wind?' 'Dead ahead, my lord, dead ahead!'

The 'Sunbeam' was launched in 1874; following in her wake, the 'Chazalie,' 1875, 'Czarina,' 1877, and the 'Lancashire Witch,' 1878, appeared in rapid succession. The 'Lancashire Witch' was bought by the Admiralty for a surveying vessel, as being especially adapted to the requirements of that particular service. The 'St. George,' 831 tons, launched 1890, is an enlargement and improvement on her predecessors already named. She does credit to her owner, Mr. Wythes; the designer, Mr. Storey; and the builders, Messrs. Ramage. The 'Sunbeam,' as the first of this class, has been a great success. She was designed by Mr. St. Clare Byrne, M.I.N.A., as a composite three-masted topsail-yard screw schooner, constructed at Birkenhead, and launched in 1874. The following table gives the leading details:—

Dimensions of Spars

It may be interesting to give some general account of the 'Sunbeam's' performances at sea.

In making the voyage round the world in 1876-77 the total distances covered were 15,000 knots under sail and 12,800 knots under steam. The best run under steam alone was 230 knots. The most successful continuous performance was on the passage from Penang to Galle, when 1,451 knots were steamed in a week, with a daily consumption of 4-¼ tons of coal. The best runs under sail, from noon to noon, were 298 and 299 knots respectively. The first was on the passage from Honolulu to Yokohama, sailing along the 16th parallel of north latitude, and between 163° and 168° 15' east. The second was in the Formosa Channel. The highest speed ever attained under sail was 15 knots, in a squall in the North Pacific. On 28 days the distance under sail alone has exceeded, and often considerably exceeded, 200 knots. The best consecutive runs under sail only were:—

1. Week ending August 13, South Atlantic, in the south-east trades, wind abeam, force 5, 1,456 knots.

2. Week ending November 19, South Pacific, south-east trades, wind aft, force 5, 1,360 knots.

3. Four days, January 15 to 18, North Pacific, north-east trades, wind on the quarter, force 5 to 9, 1,027 knots. The average speed in this case was 10.7 knots an hour.

The following were the average speeds of the longer passages:—

On a later voyage to Australia, the total distance covered was 36,709 knots, 25,808 under sail and 10,901 under steam. The runs under sail included thirty-nine days over 200 knots, fifteen days over 240, seven days over 260, and three days over 270. The best day was 282 knots. Between Port Darwin and the Cape the distance covered was 1,047 knots under steam, and 5,622 knots under sail. The average speed under steam and sail was exactly eight knots. In the fortnight, October 13 to 27, 1887, 3,073 knots, giving an average speed of nine knots an hour, were covered under sail alone, with winds of moderate strength. Balloon canvas was freely used.

On returning from the voyage just referred to, the boilers of the 'Sunbeam' (which are still at work, after nineteen years' service) required such extensive repairs that it was recommended to remove them and to replace with new. Hesitating to take this step, we went through two seasons under sail alone, the propeller being temporarily removed and the aperture closed. In 1889 a voyage was accomplished to the Mediterranean under these conditions. Making the passage from Portsmouth to Naples, in the month of February, we covered a total distance of 2,303 miles from port to port in ten days and four hours. The same good luck with the winds followed us in subsequent passages to Messina, Zante, Patras, and Brindisi, during which we steadily maintained the high average of ten knots. On the return voyage down the Mediterranean, the results were very different. As this novel experiment in running an auxiliary steam yacht under sail alone may be of interest, a few further details may be added.

The average rate of speed for the distance sailed through the water was approximately 6.4 knots. The total number of days at sea was 44. On 23 days the winds were contrary. On 21 days favourable winds were experienced. With much contrary wind and frequent calms the distances made good on the shortest route from port to port averaged 123 miles per day.

For the total distance of 3,020 miles from Portsmouth to Brindisi, touching at Naples, Messina, Taormina, Zante, and Patras, with fresh and favourable breezes, the distances made good on the shortest route averaged 201 miles per day.

On the passage down the Mediterranean, from Brindisi to Gibraltar, calling at Palermo and Cagliari, against persistent head winds, and with 60 hours of calm, the distance made good from port to port was reduced to 67 miles a day.

Homewards, from Gibraltar, against a fresh Portuguese trade, the distance made good rose to an average of 122 miles through the water per day, the average rate of sailing being 6-¼ knots. From a position 230 miles nearly due west of Cape St. Vincent to Spithead, the 'Sunbeam' covered the distance of 990 miles in six days, being for the most part close-hauled.

In the course of the voyage numerous gales of wind were experienced, viz.: on February 12, a severe mistral, on the passage from Minorca towards Naples; March 28, heavy gale from westward off Stromboli; April 9 and 10, gale from S.W. at the mouth of the Adriatic; April 17, gale from S., off south coast of Sardinia; April 29 and 30, gale from W., off Almeria.

On the days of light winds and calms, balloon topmast staysails, a jib-topsail, and an extra large lower studsail, were found most valuable in maintaining the rate of sailing.

In ordinary cruising I find that, as a general rule, one-third of the distance is covered under steam, and that upon the average we make passages at the rate of 1,000 miles a week. The consumption of coal is very moderate. For a voyage round the world, of 36,000 miles, the coal consumed was only 325 tons.

If I were dealing with the question of rig, with the long experience gained on the 'Sunbeam,' I should decidedly adopt the barque rig. In confirmation of this opinion, it may be interesting to note that when H.M. brig 'Beagle' was under the command of Captain FitzRoy, R.N., for a lengthened service in the Straits of Magellan and the coasts of South America, the mizenmast was stuck through the skylight of the captain's cabin, an arrangement which, while of service to the ship, was not unnaturally a source of discomfort to the captain. In making passages in the Trades, with light winds on the quarter and the usual swell, fore-and-aft sails are constantly lifting, while sails set on fixed yards keep asleep. They draw better, and there is no chafe. I have found great advantage from the use of large studding-sails, made of light duck. This material was highly esteemed when it was first brought out. In modern practice a combination of silk and hemp furnishes a greatly superior material for the huge spinnakers, of 4,000 square feet, carried by the 'Navahoe' and 'Valkyrie.' The new balloon sails can no longer be called canvas. They may more accurately be described as muslin.

I will not attempt a recital of nautical adventures in the present chapter; but a few experiences may be briefly described. The worst passage I ever made was in the 'Eothen,' s.s., 340 tons, in 1872, from Queenstown to Quebec, touching at St. John's, Newfoundland. On August 14 we put to sea deeply laden, with bunkers full, and 15 tons of coal in bags on deck. In this condition we had 2 ft. 9 in. of freeboard. On the second day out we encountered a summer gale. Shortly after it came on, we shipped a sea, which broke over the bow and filled us up to the rail. At the same time the engineer put his head above the engine-room hatch, and announced that, the bearings having become heated, he must stop the engines. For a short time we were in danger of falling off into the trough of the sea. It was a great relief when the engines once more slowly turned ahead. In the mid-Atlantic, we encountered a cyclone, passing through the calm but ominous centre into a violent gale from the north-west, which lasted twenty-four hours. We were battened down and suffered considerable discomfort. Fortunately, no heavy sea broke on board as we lay to under double-reefed main storm-trysail, the engines slowly turning ahead. Two days later we encountered another sharp gale, in which the barometer fell to 29.14°. Happily it soon passed over. After this third gale we had a change of wind to the eastward, and, pushing on, with all sail set, we reached St. John's in thirteen days from Queenstown, with four inches of water in the tanks, two tons of coal in the bunkers, the decks leaking in every seam, cabins in utter disarray, and a perfect wreck aloft and on deck. After leaving St. John's, where we had confidently hoped that the worst was over, we encountered a hurricane off Cape Race, which exceeded in violence anything that had been experienced in these waters for many years. We lay to for three days, and when the storm abated put into the French island St. Pierre, almost exhausted. It was an unspeakable relief when we entered the St. Lawrence.

The lesson to be drawn from my voyage in the 'Eothen' is obvious. It is a great mistake to attempt to cross the stormiest ocean in the world in a steam yacht of such small size. For ocean steaming much more tonnage and power are necessary.

The heaviest gale ever experienced by the 'Sunbeam' was off Flamborough Head, in 1881. I embarked at Middlesbrough on the evening of October 13, intending to sail for Portsmouth at daybreak on the following morning; but, finding the wind from the south and the barometer depressed, our departure was deferred. At 9 a.m. the barometer had fallen to 28.87°, but as the wind had changed to W.N.W., and was off shore from a favourable quarter, I determined to proceed to sea. We were towed down the Tees, and as we descended the river I conferred with the pilot as to what we might anticipate from the remarkable depression in the barometer. He was of opinion that a severe gale was at hand, that it would blow from the north-west, and that there was no reason for remaining in port. The tug was accordingly cast off at the mouth of the Tees, and we made sail. Foreseeing a storm, topmasts were housed, boats were secured on deck, and we kept under close-reefed canvas, setting the main and mizen jib-headed trysails, double-reefed foresail and forestay-sail, and reefed standing jib. As the day advanced no change took place in the weather. The wind blew strongly, but not with the force of a gale, and the sea was comparatively smooth. Meanwhile the barometer continued to descend rapidly, and at 2 p.m. had fallen to 28.45°. As nothing had yet occurred to account for this depression, my sailing-master remarked that it must have been caused by the heavy showers of rain which had fallen in the course of the morning. I knew from former experiences that it was not the rain, but the coming storm, that was indicated by the barometer. It had needed some resolution to quit the mouth of the Tees in the morning, and at mid-day, when we were off Whitby, a still greater effort was required to resist the temptation to make for a harbour. No further incidents occurred until 3 p.m., when we were nearing Flamborough Head. Here we were at last overtaken by the long impending storm. Looking back to the north-west, over the starboard quarter, we saw that the sea had suddenly been lashed into a mass of white foam. The hurricane was rushing forward with a velocity and a force which must have seemed terrible to the fleet of coasting vessels around us. Before the gale struck the 'Sunbeam' our canvas had been reduced to main and mizen trysails and reefed standing-jib; but even with the small spread of sail, and luffed up close to the wind, our powerful little vessel careened over to the fury of the blast until the lee-rail completely disappeared under water—an incident which had never previously occurred during all the extensive voyages we had undertaken. Such was the force of the wind that a sailing vessel near us lost all her sails, and our large gig was stove in from the tremendous pressure of the gunwale against the davits. We took in the jib and the mizen-trysail, and, with our canvas reduced to a jib-headed main-trysail, were soon relieved of water on deck. For an hour and a half we lay-to on the starboard tack, standing in for the land below Burlington Bay. We were battened down, and felt ourselves secure from all risks except collision. The fury of the wind so filled the air with spoon-drift that we could not see a ship's length ahead, and in such crowded waters a collision was a far from impossible contingency. At 6 p.m. we thought it prudent to wear, so as to gain an offing during the night, and gradually drew out of the line of traffic along the coast. At 9 p.m. the extreme violence of the hurricane had abated, and we could see, through occasional openings in the mist, the masthead lights of several steamers standing, like ourselves, off the land for the night. At midnight the barometer was rising rapidly, and the wind gradually settled down into a clear hard gale, accompanied by a heavy sea, running down the coast from the north.

At 6 a.m. we carefully examined the dead reckoning, and, having fixed on an approximate position, we determined to bear away, steering to pass in mid-channel between the Outer Dowsing and the Dudgeon, through a passage about ten miles in width. We were under easy sail; but, under the main-trysail, double-reefed foresail, staysail, fore-topsail, and reefed jib, we scudded at the rate of eleven knots. A constant look-out had been kept from aloft, and at 10 a.m., having nearly run the distance down from our assumed position when we bore away to the north end of the Outer Dowsing, I established myself in the crosstrees until we should succeed in making something. After a short interval we saw broken water nearly ahead on the port bow. We at once hauled to the wind, steering to the south-west, and set the mizen-trysail. The lead showed a depth of three fathoms, and we were therefore assured that we had been standing too near to the Outer Dowsing. The indications afforded by the lead were confirmed by sights, somewhat roughly taken, and by the circumstance of our having shortly before passed through a fleet of trawlers evidently making for the Spurn. In less than an hour after we had hauled to the wind we found ourselves in the track of several steamers. At 3 p.m. we made the land near Cromer, and at 5.30 we brought up in the Yarmouth Roads, thankful to have gained a secure shelter from the gale.

In connection with this experience, it may be remarked that, as a general rule, our pleasure fleet is over-masted. We are advised in these matters by sailmakers, who look to the Solent and its sheltered water as the normal condition with which yachtsmen have to deal. When we venture forth from that smooth and too-much frequented arm of the sea into open waters, our vessels have to pass a far more severe ordeal, and they do not always come out of it to our satisfaction. Many are compelled to stay in harbour when a passage might have been made in a snugly rigged yacht.

One of the longest gales experienced in the 'Sunbeam' was on the passage from Nassau to Bermuda, in November 1883. The gale struck us south of Cape Hatteras, on November 25, in latitude 31.54° N. The north-east wind gradually subsided, and we pushed on, under steam, for Bermuda at 7 knots. The head sea increased, but no change took place in the force or direction of the wind from 8 p.m. on the 25th till 4 a.m. on the 27th. Meanwhile, the barometer had gradually fallen to 29.82°, giving warning for a heavy gale, which commenced at north-by-east, and ended on November 30, at 4 p.m., with the wind at north-west. We lay-to on the 27th, under treble-reefed foresail and double-reefed mainsail, shipping no water, but driving to the south-east at the rate of at least one knot an hour. On the 28th we decided to try the 'Sunbeam' under treble-reefed foresail and mainsail, double-reefed fore-staysail and reefed mizen-trysail. With this increased spread of canvas we were able to make two knots an hour on the direct course to Bermuda, and to keep sufficient steerage way to luff up to an ugly sea. The behaviour of the vessel elicited the unqualified approval of our most experienced hands. Bad weather quickly brings out the qualities of seamen. Our four best men relieved each other at the wheel, and it was due in no small degree to their skill that, in a gale lasting three days, no heavy sea broke on board. I need not say that all deck openings were secured, especially at night, by means of planks and canvas. Our situation might perhaps excite sympathy, but we had no cause to complain. Meals could not be served in the usual manner, but by placing every movable thing on the floor of the cabins and on the lee side, and by fixing ourselves against supports, or in a recumbent position, we were secured against any further effects of the force of gravity, and did our best to enjoy the novelty of the situation. On the 30th the wind veered to the north-west, and the weather rapidly improved. The sea turned gradually with the wind, but for many hours we met a heavy swell from the north-east.

An acquaintance with the law of storms had proved invaluable on this occasion. There is no situation in which knowledge is more truly power, none in which, under a due sense of the providential care of Heaven, it gives a nobler confidence to man, than at sea, amid the raging of a hurricane. Mr. Emerson has truly said, 'They can conquer who believe they can. The sailor loses fear as fast as he acquires command of sails, and spars, and steam. To the sailor's experience, every new circumstance suggests what he must do. The terrific chances which make the hours and minutes long to the mere passenger, he whiles away by incessant application of expedients and repairs. To him a leak, a hurricane, a waterspout, is so much work, and no more. Courage is equality to the problem, in affairs, in science, in trade, in council, or in action. Courage consists in the conviction that the agents with which you contend are not superior in strength, or resources, or spirit, to you.'

As a specimen of a dirty night at sea, I give another extract from the log-book. During our voyage round the world in 1876-77, after leaving Honolulu for Japan, as we approached Osima, on January 26, we were struck by a tremendous squall of wind and rain. We at once took in the flying square-sail, stowed the topgallant-sail and topsail, reefed the foresail and mizen, and set mainsail. At 6 p.m., the wind still blowing a moderate gale, the mizen was double-reefed. We pursued our way through a confused sea, but without shipping any water. All seemed to be going well, when, at 8 p.m., shortly after I had taken the wheel, a sudden squall heeled us over to the starboard side, where the gig was hung from the davits outboard. At the same time a long mountainous wave, rolling up from the leeward, struck the keel of the gig and lifted it up, unshipping the fore davit, and causing the boat to fall into the boiling sea, which threatened at every instant to dash it to pieces. We at once brought to. A brave fellow jumped into the boat and secured a tackle to the bows, and the gig was hoisted on board and secured on deck intact. It was a very seaman-like achievement. A heavy gale continued during the night, and at 2 a.m., on the 27th, we met with another accident. The boatswain, a man of great skill and experience, was at the wheel, when a steep wave suddenly engulfed the jibboom, and the 'Sunbeam,' gallantly springing up, as if to leap over instead of cleaving through the wave, carried away the spar at the cap. This brought down the topgallant-mast. The jibboom was a splendid Oregon spar, 54 feet long, projecting 28 feet beyond the bowsprit. It was rigged with wire rope, and the martingale was sawn through with the greatest difficulty.

The record of personal experiences must not be further prolonged. To the writer yachting has been to some extent part of a public life, mainly devoted to the maritime interests of the country. To conduct the navigation and pilotage of his vessel seemed fitting and even necessary, if the voyages undertaken were to be regarded in any sense as professional. There is something pleasant in any work which affords the opportunity for encountering and overcoming difficulties. It is satisfactory to make a headland or a light with precision after a long run across the ocean, diversified perhaps by a heavy gale. To be able to thread the channels of the West Coast of Scotland, the Straits of Magellan, the Eastern Archipelago, the labyrinths of the Malawalle Channel of North-East Borneo, or the Great Barrier Reef of Australia, without a pilot is an accomplishment in which an amateur may perhaps take legitimate pleasure.

To the yachtsman who truly loves the sea, it will never be satisfactory to remain ignorant of navigation. Practice of the art is not a relaxation. It demands constant attention, and is an interruption to regular reading. It may imply a considerable amount of night-work. On the other hand, the owner who is a navigator can take his proper place as the commander of his own ship. All that goes on around him when at sea becomes more interesting. He is better able to appreciate the professional skill of others. The confidence which grows with experience cannot be expected in the beginning. The writer first took charge of navigation in 1866, on a voyage up the Baltic. It was a chequered experiment. In the Great Belt we ran ashore twice in one day. In making Stockholm we had to appeal to a Swedish frigate, which most kindly clewed up her sails, and answered our anxious enquiries by writing the course on a black-board. On the return voyage to England we struck the coast some sixty miles north of our reckoning. Such a history does not repeat itself now.

It is not in books or at the library table that the art of the seaman can be acquired. Quickness of eye, nerve, promptitude of judgment, are the indispensable gifts, which must be gained by long and varied experience at sea. The seamanship required in a gale of wind on the open ocean, the seamanship displayed in sailing matches in over-sparred yachts, sailed mainly in smooth waters, and the seamanship called for in pilotage waters not previously visited, and especially at night, are different branches of a wide profession. There is a skill of a very high order in docking an Atlantic liner at Liverpool. There is a skill of a different but equally high order in knocking huge ironclads about in fleet-exercising at sea. There is a skill in bringing the Channel steamers alongside the pier at Dover. The skill of every description of nautical specialist will never be combined in one individual. There is some risk that the more careful the navigator, the less dashing the same man may be as a seaman.

I must not conclude without some reference to the most attractive cruising grounds. To begin near home, the Seine, the Meuse, the coast of Holland, the Baltic, the coast of Norway, the grand West Coast of Scotland, the East Coast of England (a cruising ground too much neglected by yachtsmen), and the Channel are all favourite haunts of mine. Going further afield, in my own case nothing was more satisfactory than a voyage along the East Coast of North America, in which every river was ascended to the head of the navigation for sea-going vessels. Certain parts of the Mediterranean offer a perfect cruising ground for the winter months. Most suitable waters for yachting are those bounded by the Straits of Gibraltar on the west and the Balearic Islands on the north-east. Here the mistral of the Gulf of Lyons is not felt. The Spanish coast offers many places of shelter and many points of interest. In westerly winds keep to the eastward of Cape de Gata; in north-easterly winds to the westward. There is another charming cruising ground between Corsica and the Italian coast, as far north as Spezia, and south down to Civita Vecchia. Sicily is admirable for yachting. A weather shore can be always made upon its beautiful coasts. In the spring or autumn the Archipelago and eastern side of the Adriatic can be confidently recommended. In the winter months the West Indies are a most perfect cruising ground. It will be well to make Barbados the landfall, then run to Trinidad, proceeding thence to Grenada, and following on from island to island down to Jamaica. The return voyage should be by Havana, and thence to a port in the United States, and by an ocean liner home, or by the Bahamas, Bermuda and the Azores to England. The Pacific, Japan and Eastern Archipelago will well repay those who can give the time required for such distant voyages.

Lastly, let no yachtsman speak contemptuously of the Solent. It is no exaggeration to say that if the splendid natural breakwater of the Isle of Wight were removed, half the tonnage of yachts under the British flag would disappear. The Solent offers a sufficient space of sheltered water for all but the very largest yachts to manoeuvre in conveniently. Breezes are seldom wanting, and the shores of the Wight are most pleasing. In this miniature ocean many have formed tastes for the sea which have led to more ambitious voyages. The estuary of the Clyde merits equally high praise, but the puffs off Bute are less gentle than those off the Wight, and the racing partakes of a hard-weather character, with streaks of calm.

In the preceding observations it has been assumed that I have been addressing readers who love the sea in all those varying phases which have given inspiration to some of the finest creations of poetic genius. The Greeks were lovers of the sea. We have been reminded of their admirable descriptions by Mr. Froude, in a brilliant passage:—

The days pass, and our ship flies past upon her way.

??a???? ?p?? ??da ??a?????? te ???t??
????a p???? ?a??ssa?.

How perfect the description! How exactly in those eight words Euripides draws the picture of the ocean; the long grey heaving swell, the darker steel-grey on the shadowed slope of the waves, and the foam on their breaking crests. Our thoughts flow back as we gaze to the times long ago, when the earth belonged to other races, as it now belongs to us. The ocean is the same as it was. Their eyes saw it as we see it.

Time writes no wrinkle on that azure brow.

Nor is the ocean alone the same. Human nature is still vexed with the same problems, mocked with the same hopes, wandering after the same illusions. The sea affected the Greeks as it affects us, and was equally dear to them. It was a Greek who said: 'The sea washes off all the ills of men,' the 'stainless one,' as Æschylus called it, the eternally pure.

The Romans had in Virgil a poet of the sea, who could attune his lyre to perfect harmony, alike with freshening or subsiding breeze:—

Vela dabant lÆti et spumas salis Ære ruebant.
.........
ferunt ipsa Æquora classem,
ÆquatÆ spirant aurÆ, datur hora quieti.

The sea has been the favoured theme of our English poets. There has been none in any language who has excelled our own Byron:—

Oft had he ridden on that wingÈd wave,
And loved its roughness for the speed it gave.

For me, the sea was a dream in my earliest years. I have spent upon its waters some of the brightest, and, alas! some of the saddest of my days; and now, in the autumn of my life, the unforgotten past, and the aims and work of the present, are more than ever bound up with the sea.

Our hearts, our hopes, are all with thee;
Our hearts, our hopes, our prayers, our tears,
Our faith, triumphant o'er our fears,
Are all with thee—are all with thee.