Earl Thomas Brassey Brassey

A few English sailing yachts visit the Baltic every year, but that wind-swept sea can scarcely be termed one of the favourite cruising grounds of our pleasure fleet. This is not altogether strange; for the voyage is a long and rough one round the Skaw into the squally Cattegat; chilly gales and choppy seas in many summers form the rule rather than the exception among the Danish Islands, and the principal seaports of the inland sea are singularly dull and uninteresting. Nevertheless—and the reader will soon understand that what I am about to say is in no wise inconsistent with my opening sentence—I am confident that the yachtsman who undertakes a summer's cruise on the Baltic in a small vessel will afterwards remember it as one of his very pleasantest experiences. This is a sea which is often coldly repelling to the cursory traveller, but it is strangely fascinating to him who takes the trouble to explore it, and the charm of it increases with further knowledge.

How interesting, to begin with, is the voyage out! For, with the small vessel I am speaking of, the yachtsman does not double the stormy Skaw, but sails in and out along all the winding coasts that were the cradle of our race, the lands of the Frisians, Saxons, Jutes, Angles, and Danes. Having waited for a slant in one of our Eastern ports—Harwich, for example—he crosses the North Sea to a Dutch harbour, follows the shores of the Zuider Zee, picks his way up the narrow channels that divide the sandy Frisian Islands from the mainland, enters the river Eider, and passes up the ship canal to Kiel.

And that port once reached, what possibilities of glorious cruising are before him! He has now left behind the discoloured waves of the North Sea, and his keel is cleaving water so limpid that every stone and weed is visible fathoms beneath. He can sail up narrow sounds between park-like glades and forests of pines and magnificent oaks and beeches; or up long winding fiords which take him beyond the coast belt of forest and pasture, and past the undulating corn lands, into the very heart of the Cimbrian peninsula, where the desolate moorlands of the Ahl, grand in their northern savagery, spread far on either side of the sinuous creek. There is the long Slie, a succession of lakes and narrows that leads to old Schleswig; there are the deep inlets of Flensborg, Apenrade, Veile, and many-islanded Liim; Ise Fiord, perhaps the fairest of all, with its promontories of noble forest; the lovely sounds of Svendborg and the Little Belt; and a score of other straits and lochs that make this in many respects the finest cruising ground in Europe. I do not know where else, when the sun shines out between the rain squalls, the sea appears so blue, the grass and the foliage seem so green and luxuriant, as in this land of Denmark. It is pleasant to sail, as one often does, suddenly out of the choppy windy open Baltic into the shelter of these narrows, where the great trees dip their branches into the smooth water, where one comes upon scene after scene of tender and restful beauty, and where the traveller knows, too, that whenever he may choose to land, at some trim village or opposite some snug old farmhouse, he is sure of a welcome from the kindly people. Then, if the yachtsman wishes for more open water, he can sail out of the fiord mouth and steer for one of the many delightful little islands that stud the Baltic. Remote many of them are, set in the middle of that treacherous sea, inhabited by a few primitive fishermen. The advent of a stranger is rare in the extreme. I spent two summers in these waters, and found that no British yacht had ever come before to most of the fiords and islets I explored.

For it happens that nearly all the charms I speak of are lost to him who sails these waters in a big vessel. It is a coasting voyage in a small craft I am advocating here. Of the fiords that penetrate the Cimbrian peninsula and the larger islands, only a few are available for a yacht of deep draught, and in order to visit some of the most beautiful of the inland waters one's vessel should not draw more than two feet. Again, though harbours that will admit coasters of even light tonnage are far apart on much of the iron-bound coast of the Baltic, there are to be found everywhere, at short intervals, little artificial havens that have been built for the accommodation of the craft of the herring fishermen; while the only shelter afforded by many of the islets consists of similar havens, frequented solely by the fishing and ferry boats. At the entrance of most of these miniature harbours there is a depth of about four feet of water at high tide.

Now bad weather springs up frequently and with wonderful suddenness in the Baltic, and a dangerous sea soon rises on those shallow waters. It is therefore of great advantage to have a boat of so light a draught as to be able to run for refuge into any of these little havens. Such a craft has nearly always a snug port not far under her lee while coasting here; whereas a larger craft can find no harbour for many leagues, and has to make the best she can of it on the open sea. The shallow boat is the safest for such a cruise, besides being the only one with which the most interesting inlets and islets can be visited. She must be small, but at the same time she must be as good a sea-boat as is possible for her size; for she is not likely to escape bad weather altogether on the Baltic.

Danske fishing-boat and anchor.

To some it may appear foolhardy to go so far on a small yacht like the one I am speaking of; but as a matter of fact it will be found that it is nearly always the cautious sailor and not the reckless one who succeeds in sailing his little vessel to distant shores. The imprudent and thoughtless man soon encounters such experiences, soon gets into such scrapes, on attempting a foreign cruise as will keep him for the future in the home waters he happens to know something about.

A voyage from England to the uttermost ends of the Baltic does not necessitate any really long runs for a yacht of small draught, and it is seldom that one need remain out at sea at night. It is well that it is so; for these are surely the most wind-vexed waters of Europe; violent north-westers rise in the most unexpected manner, and the stillest of summer mornings will as likely as not be succeeded by a howling wintry afternoon. It behoves the skipper of the small yacht to watch his weather very carefully in this treacherous region. Whenever a run of some distance is before him, from isle to isle, or along some portion of the coast where the havens of refuge are rare, he must patiently wait for a slant, and the advice of the aneroid in the cabin must be implicitly followed.

It is this last precaution that makes what otherwise would certainly be a dangerous cruise for a small craft an amusement less risky than are the majority of sports. It ought to be unnecessary to repeat such trite admonition as this; but in my experience it is the skipper of the small vessel who pays the least attention to his glass; and in all cases that have come under my notice when small yachts that have started to cross the North Sea or the Channel, or to make some other run of a dozen hours or so, have come to grief in any way in consequence of having encountered weather dangerously heavy for them, it is for the one reason that the skipper, possibly an excellent sailor in other respects, has neglected his aneroid. One may indeed make occasional runs in this blind fashion, trusting to the appearance of the sky alone, and yet no harm come of it; but on the sort of Baltic cruise I am describing there will, of course, be a number of such short runs; short, but quite long enough to make disaster a probability sooner or later if proper precautions be not taken, and it may be found that the pitcher has gone to the well once too often.

The life of the man who undertakes long coasting voyages in small craft depends more on his knowledge of the use of the barometer, and on his close observation of it, than it does on his good seamanship. A man I know had his dinghy carried away, and nearly lost his little yacht and his life, on a run from Ryde to Havre. The longshore wiseacres shook their heads when they heard of it, and spoke of the foolhardiness of sailing across Channel in so tiny a vessel. In this I maintain the wiseacres were wrong; the foolhardiness lay in the skipper's blinking at the heavens to windward and lee, and putting absolute faith in their deceptive appearance, while he entirely omitted to see what the glass was doing before he tripped his anchor. It is possible to practically insure for oneself fine weather, or at any rate the absence of dangerously bad weather, for a run of say a day and night, provided one have the patience to wait for it.

I cannot recall an instance of having experienced really bad weather when my reading of the barometer had told me that it would be fine; but I have seen the weather-wisdom of many an old sea-dog at fault. In the Baltic the fishermen fail signally to read the signs of their own skies, as the following incident will show. I had sailed into a fishing-haven on Zeeland called Gillelie. I found a fÊte in progress which had detained the fishermen who would otherwise have sailed on that day to the distant island of Anholt for the autumn herring fishery. 'But we will all be off to-morrow,' said one to me. 'I do not think any of you will sail to-morrow or the day after; it will be blowing a gale of wind from the north-west,' I remarked, for my glass had been falling in most ominous fashion for some days. But my friends thought they knew better. 'You are a stranger here,' said they; 'we fishing-folk know the signs of the sky in our country. The wind is south-west, and it will remain fine. The barometer is not to be trusted in the Baltic.' Well, at midnight the wind had shifted to north-west, and was howling through the bending pines; by dawn the gale had burst upon us, for two days it blew a very hurricane, and there was much loss of life and shipping on the Cattegat. Had it not been for the fÊte the fishermen would have put to sea, and few would ever have been seen again. I converted the fishermen of Gillelie to a belief in the barometer, and I believe that they forthwith applied to the Danish Government for one of those glasses which it supplies to seaports for the public use.

Having given my reasons for recommending a small vessel of light draught for Baltic cruising, I will now explain what I consider that vessel should be like. I am about to preach rank heresy, but I should certainly act up to my preaching were I ever again to make preparations for a similar voyage.

The craft that last carried me about those seas was an old teak P. & O. lifeboat, 29 feet in length, which had been decked, rigged as a ketch, provided with six inches of false keel, and so converted into a yacht of three tons register. A boat something like this one appears to me to be the best adapted for the purpose in question—a boat with pointed stern and considerable sheer, such as my lifeboat was, and such, too, as are the herring fishing boats of the Cattegat. Her beam should be about one-quarter of her length, her draught should not exceed 2 ft. 6 in., and she should have less ballast by a good deal than is generally put into a boat of her tonnage; for she must be comfortable when in rough water, be light and lively, and leap over the steep seas of the Baltic instead of driving herself through them.

My old lifeboat was the best sea-boat of her size I have ever come across. Once I was caught with her in a north-wester in the Gulf of Heligoland, and had to run to Cuxhaven before a really heavy sea. That little boat acquitted herself in a way that astonished us; presenting as she did a sharp stern to the steep following seas, she showed no tendency to broach to, but steered with beautiful ease, rising like a duck to every roller. Why more of our little cruisers are not constructed with these lifeboat sterns I could never understand. Anyone who has run before a high breaking sea in both styles of craft will appreciate the enormous difference between the behaviour of the long-countered vessel and the one with the pointed stern. The latter is undoubtedly the boat for comfort and safety in a sea-way.

In such a boat as I am describing one could sail, single-handed, if one was so minded, to Finland or to the furthest depths of the Gulf of Bothnia, and run less risk than one would in most vessels four times her size. We have now got a good sea-boat almost as safe as a lifeboat—but the next question is, how will she sail? A double-ended craft like the one I am speaking of will run or reach as well as anything of her size; but, being of such light draught, though she will turn to windward well enough, maybe, in smooth water, she will be a very slow boat, making scarcely any headway, but considerable leeway, when she encounters the tumbling waters of the Zuider Zee or Baltic on a breezy day. This, of course, must be remedied by some means; for we cannot always have fair winds and smooth waters. And now I am coming to my greatest heresy—I would not make a hole in the bottom of my boat and pass the orthodox centreboard through it; but I should sling on either side of her the heterodox leeboard.

In this country we are not accustomed to see leeboards on pleasure craft, and they are considered to be ugly. In Holland, where they also know something about small yachts, elegant polished oak brass-bound leeboards are invariably attached to the brightly polished little oaken vessel. One soon comes to consider a leeboard as an ornament. The appearance of a long double-ended boat is distinctly improved by these wing-like appendages. Finding that my lifeboat was so unsatisfactory on a wind, I got a Dutch shipwright at Harlingen to fit two shapely oaken leeboards upon her, which suited her well, for she herself was of polished teak. I remember that when her leeboards were once temporarily removed we felt quite ashamed of her, so lank and naked did she appear in our eyes. But the leeboards were still more useful than they were beautiful. When I put out with them into the choppy Zuider Zee I was astounded at the success of my plan. The vessel turned to windward as she had never done before, and I soon came to the conclusion that I had almost arrived at the ideal of a shallow-water cruiser.

Leeboards have many undoubted advantages over centreboards. To make a long hole through the bottom of a boat cannot but weaken her. The trunk of a centreboard is ever in the way in a small cabin. In rough water a centreboard must strain a boat more than a leeboard does. On a little vessel like the one in question the leeboards are not cumbersome, but can be readily unshipped and stowed on deck or below when there is a leading wind, or when one is hove-to in bad weather, or rolling about at anchor. And, most important of all, if the boat runs ashore, the leeboards will come gently up, whereas a centre-plate may become jammed, and so bend or break. A leeboard never refuses to be hauled up or dropped down.

In many of the shallow Baltic fiords one is apt to run ashore pretty frequently, and sometimes on rough ground that would subject a boat to severe strain unless the centreboard were pulled up very smartly. Again, some portions of these fiords in summer present the appearance of green fields, so thickly are they overgrown with weeds whose branches float on the surface of the brackish water. It is impossible to bring a centreboard boat into this tangle. The weeds gather round the plate, choke the trunk, and cannot be cleared in many cases until the boat has been hauled up on dry land. But leeboards can be lifted and cleared in a moment, and the boat provided with them can sail over meadows of aquatic growth that would effectually bar the approach of the orthodox yacht. To reach the inland brednings or 'broads' of the Baltic, far larger and as fair as those of Norfolk, one must often pass through these weedy passages, and this is not one of the least of my reasons for advocating the leeboard.

I should like to see leeboards more employed in this country. I remember as a small boy coming into possession of my first boat, some old ship's dinghy. I put sails in her, but, to my disgust, not a bit would she turn to windward. I tried to fix a false keel on her, but my appliances were few, and I was unsuccessful. Now, had I known of the simple expedient of the leeboard, limited as was my carpentering skill, I should have had no trouble in making my boat tack. The pleasure of sailing was thus denied to me for several years afterwards, and all through my ignorance of the leeboard. There must be plenty of boys at the present time in similar plight, in parts of the Far West for instance, where, as I discovered the other day, the very name of leeboard is unknown. In an hour or so anyone can convert almost anything that will float into something that will sail by means of leeboards; and this is a fact well worth knowing when one finds oneself in some wild corner of the earth and wishes to extemporise a sailing-craft. I have done something of the sort on more than one occasion. Once I was living by the shores of a lake in Florida. I started at short notice for a fortnight's cruise inside the keys that line the coast of the Gulf of Mexico above Tampa. Nothing else being procurable, I borrowed one of the canoes of the country, a flat-bottomed punt with no more lines than a horse-trough. I manufactured a sail, and one leeboard which I could throw over from one side to the other according to the tack I was on; and away I went with rod and gun down the shallow passes, up winding bayous and across broad lakes; a delightful little cruise; and my strange craft, to the astonishment of the crackers, sailed like a witch. It was the very coast for a leeboard; for the channels between the keys and the mainland are often very shallow—so shallow, indeed, that when the tempestuous north wind blew and the rising waves poured into my vessel, so that she would soon have filled and settled to the bottom, I was sometimes enabled to lighten her, and so save her, by stepping overboard; and then I would walk ahead of her, painter in hand, and tow her against wind and sea until the weather moderated—a manoeuvre that can be recommended under such circumstances.

To return to our little Baltic cruiser—I have only given the broad features of what I consider to be the most fitting craft. As for the details of rig, cabin arrangements, and so forth, each man knows best what he requires. But were I having such a boat made ready for myself, she should be built of oak. Her sides and leeboard should not be painted, but be varnished and kept brightly polished after the Dutch fashion—boiled oil and rosin is the mixture for the purpose. She should have a small well. There should be the usual hatch on the cabin-roof to slide back and facilitate entrance to the cabin; but, instead of the usual cabin-doors, I should have a water-tight bulkhead between the well and cabin, with only a small square opening at the top, which could be closed with a sliding shutter when necessary. The cabin would then be kept snug and dry.

It is, of course, the right thing for the skipper of a small vessel to run for a port when bad weather is coming on; but this cannot always be done, and it is by far the wiser policy to remain on the open sea and make the best of it than to rush blindly before the gale towards a harbour whose dangers and difficulties are unknown to one. I remember once being with some men who, because the sea was rather ugly, were very anxious to run into a most dangerous river mouth, to the almost certain perdition of our vessel. This was the suggestion of panic, but they called it prudence. Some small vessels, even though they be rather shallow, like the one I am speaking of, can claw off a lee shore in pretty heavy weather. Unless one have the misfortune to be embayed, there is generally one tack on which the boat can keep off the land—despite the leeway—well snugged down, with as little head-sail as possible on her, and forging slowly ahead all the time. But on such occasions there must be a good man at the tiller. Mr. ——, the most skilful sailor of small craft we have ever had, who used to knock about single-handed in all sorts of weather, and who, it will be remembered, at last died alone of heart-disease on his vessel in mid-channel—a fitting death for such a man—made it a rule to beat to sea instead of running for a port on the appearance of bad weather. He proved what can be done with a tiny yacht properly handled. But then he was a consummate seaman—so much so, indeed, that those who knew him affirm that no other man than he could have performed some of his exploits.

A little vessel may be blown away from the land, or have plenty of sea-room to leeward when the storm attacks her. Then it is not so difficult to know and to do the right thing. If the craft be such as I am imagining her to be, she should be able to ride out almost any weather with drogue out, and possibly a bit of trysail or mizzen set, sheeted well amidships. Every small yacht should be provided with one of these drogues or sea-anchors when a long cruise is to be undertaken. I have never seen one employed; but I was in the habit of carrying one, which consisted of an iron ring some 3 feet broad, to which was bent a stout canvas bag with a pointed end. A bridle was attached to the ring by which it could be made fast to a 20-fathom grass-rope. A very good drogue, which serves as a breakwater as well, can be extemporised with a spar. If one side of a small strong jib be bent on the spar, and a weight be attached to the lower corner of the jib, this ought to form a very efficient drag.

To sum up—for cruising on the charming inland waters of the Baltic, and for getting about from one part of that sea to another, the most fitting craft is, I believe, such a one as I have sketched out, sharp-sterned, with ample freeboard, with good sheer, of shallow draught, lightly ballasted, and provided with leeboards. With a boat constructed on these lines, a man who neglects not his aneroid should be able to make a very delightful voyage along the coasts of our Viking ancestors, and very much further from home, too, if he wishes it; while she would also be found a capital craft for sailing about the mouth of the Thames, the Norfolk Broads, and Dutch waters. But at Cowes they might stare at her with the eye of prejudice.