Heavy sea—Isle of Wight—The Commodore—A glance at gear—Bow—Running rigging—Sisterhooks—Horse—Tiller.

The boy and his dog formed a small crowd on the little pier to see the Rob Roy start again with a fine breeze off shore, but freshening every minute until near Selsea Bill it blew half a gale. The navigation round this point is difficult at low water, as may be seen from the markings in the chart copied at page 245, merely as a specimen of what a chart is for the sailor’s eye.

At last it was necessary to reef main-sail and jib, the wind blew so hard and in gusts, and the adverse tide met me as it rushed out of Spithead with a heavy swell. Rain poured down slanting with the wind, and the rocks, uncovered at low water, looked very uninviting to leeward.

The little dingey was towed astern, as we had not expected so much sea with a north wind, but for the first time we found how perfectly this diminutive boat was adapted for towing, and after this trial she was never again stowed in the cabin. The bluff bow above, and the keelless, round, smooth bottom below, enabled the dingey to top the sharpest wave, and I often forgot my steering while turning round to watch the little creature as she nimbly leaped over the tumbling billows. The weather got worse, therefore we changed for a storm-mizen, and so many seas broke heavily over the Rob Roy, that the water in the well washed about my ankles, and finally we were compelled to give in and lie-to for an hour or more, after manning the pump.

This wind, rain, and sea together were the worst we had met with, but the yawl seemed in high spirits, like her owner; though the waves in the tide-way were sometimes so short and sharp that it was impossible to rise and fall fast enough, and she often buried deeply. It was here that my chart was so wet that it melted before my eyes, even with all endeavours to preserve it, and therefore I bore up for Brading Harbour, in the Isle of Wight, and somehow managed to get round Bembridge reef all safe into the quiet lake beyond.

Here, and on British soil again, was an end to all expected anxieties of the summer’s voyage. The rest to come were to be met, but not anticipated. There had been first the goal of Paris to be reached at a certain time for the Regatta there, and then there was the unknown voyage over the Channel, homeward bound; but henceforth no more dates or wide seas had to be thought of, and the rest of the vacation was free.

The shores and seas about the Isle of Wight looked more cheerful and lovely than ever, with a fair day next morning. Here we soon pass one of the new sea-batteries, a huge granite castle, reminding one of Bomarsund, but unfinished, and with scaffolds round that are worked or stopped, as Ministries go out or in, and as guns or iron plates are proved strongest in turn at Shoeburyness.

Portsmouth is in front, always with moving life on the waves. A squadron of ironclads presses heavy on the water at Spithead, and among them conspicuous is the five-masted Minotaur. White-winged yachts glide through the blue space between these and Ryde. Osborne basks in the sunshine with the “sailor Prince’s” pleasure-boat by the shore. If there be a gap or two in the horizon it is soon filled up by some rich laden merchantman, with sails swelling full in the light, and gay signal flags flowing out bright colours; and all the scene is woven together, as it were, by swift steamers flitting to and fro like shuttles strung with a thread of foam across a warp of blue.

But it is to that wooded point at Cowes we are steering, and the tall yellow masts clustered there shew already what an assemblage the yawl will meet at the Royal Yacht Squadron Regatta.

There was a certain amount of sailor’s pride as our yawl steadily advanced, steering in among these, the smallest of them all, but ready to be matched against any of its size and crew. She quietly approached the crowded quay, and I put my portmanteau ashore at the Gloucester Hotel; then the jib was filled again to sail up straight to Medina dock, where Mr. John White would see the craft he had modelled, and after a careful survey, the verdict upon her was entirely favourable. [192]

On her safe arrival at Littlehampton, after crossing the Channel, a short account of the voyage had been sent to the ‘Times,’ and this had reached the numerous yachtsmen at Cowes an hour before the boat herself appeared in front of the Club house. Therefore, the little craft required no more introduction. My flag was my card, and I was speedily made a member of the Club for the time being. Many old friends here greeted me, and many new visitors came on board to congratulate, while His Royal Highness the Commodore of the Royal Canoe Club, whose burgee flew at my mast-head, graciously shook hands.

While the ship carpenters at Medina Dock are making my new bowsprit, and a hundred other things, and Mr. Ratsey is putting the last finish to my sails, we may examine a little the upper gear of the yawl, for that has not yet been specially noticed; but as ladies and landsmen often come on board, who do not require a minute description of all the ropes and spars in the Rob Roy, they can skip the rest of this chapter.

* * * * *

From the sketches of the yawl given in our pages, it will be seen at once that she was under-masted and under-sailed. She could bear a spread of canvas double of that she carried; but for safety, for handiness, and for comfort, we must be content to sacrifice some speed.

Therefore, it was only in a very powerful breeze that the beautiful build and lines of the hull had anything like fair play for shewing her pace through the water. Then, indeed, and when other craft were reeling about and shipping seas, even under reefed canvas, the Rob Roy at once asserted her position.

We have spoken of the excellent mast already. The shrouds were of iron rope. This is affected by heat and wet, but not so much, as cordage is. The screw links to tighten the shrouds seldom had to be employed; a copper rope from the truck to a shroud acted as a lightning conductor.

The bowsprit is on the starboard side, for this allows you to use the light hand with the chain cable in the bitts. The jib has a foot of nine feet in stride. Its tack is on a rope round an open hook at the bowsprit end, so that in reefing you can get it in without danger of falling overboard while reaching out to detach it; then it is hooked on the stem. An iron bobstay we discarded, and an iron forestay, as difficult to keep taut; but, after trials with no bobstay at all, we found it advisable to replace this, although it is a troublesome rope in dealing with the anchor.

The gunwale has an opening of half an inch, all round, and this was enough for scuppers.

The forehatch is thirteen inches square, so that I can readily squeeze down into the fore-cabin.

I painted about a foot of the chain-cable of a bright red colour, at ten and at twenty fathoms, which was useful in telling how much ran out with the anchor. Fenders I got in Paris, very neatly made of line net-work, over canvas bags of cork.

The iron sheave on the stem for the anchor-chain was large, with a high cheek, and the comfort of this was well appreciated in weighing anchor at night or in a swell. The jib-sheets led aft, and the position of the cleats for these was most carefully chosen, as they are more worked than any part of the rigging; yet this position was twice altered, and the best place seems to be on the deck, two feet forward from your breast and two feet to the side.

The strain on these sheets in rough weather was greater than had been anticipated, and at last I had to put a tackle on the port jib-sheet, as that is the one less conveniently placed for belaying.

The peak halyard was fast to the gaff, then through a single block on the mast and one on the gaff, and again one aloft. The throat halyard was fast to the mast, and through a block on the throat, and then aloft. Both these halyards came down on the starboard side, and to separate cleats, but I found it generally more ready to haul on the two at once and belay them together.

The jib-halyard had a block on the sail, and then, with the topping lift, came down on the port side. A jib purchase I soon cut away—one learns to be economical of action when alone. Each of these four ropes then passed through a sheave on deck, two on each side, in an iron frame, properly inclined to give a clear lead. [195a]

Sisterhooks are troublesome things. Some much better plan as a substitute has to be invented, but I used for their “mousings” india-rubber rings, which answered perfectly well, and were easily replaced at six for a penny.

Stocking and re-stocking the anchor were the only operations when I felt the want of another hand, either to do the work at the bow or to give that one touch to the tiller at the critical moment, which an infant could do when near it, but which is hard for a man at a distance. The anchors were on deck, one at each side of the bitts, and fitting securely within the gunwale.

Two things, above all, I must try to devise for next voyage,—a cleat that will need no bends, [195b] but hold anywhere instantly, and an anchor-stock, self-acting in dark, rain, and wind, and without a forelock to slip out or get jammed.

Dashing spray

The hatch of the well was in two parts, and one of them, a foot in breadth, had chocks on each side, so that in rain and dashing spray it was fixed up at an angle before me, and thus only my eyes were above it exposed, and by moving my head down about one inch below the position shewn in the sketch, I could see the compass and the chart. A tarpaulin of one-faced india-rubber over the sloping board and under the horse, had its loose folds round one of my shoulders to the weather side, so that even in very rough water not much could get into the open well.

The main-boom had a ring working between cheeks and carrying a double block with a single block below. To reduce the long fall of the sheet I altered the upper block to a single one; but in the first heavy weather afterwards it was found to be too small a purchase. The force of the wind is underrated if you reason about it in fair weather.

The sheet block was fast to a strong, plain, copper ring, as a traveller, and after much trouble and expense about a horse for this, trying first an iron one, then a copper rope, and then hemp, I found that a rounded inch bar of red iron-wood straight across and about two inches above the bulkhead of the well, answered to perfection. [197]

The oars were stowed one on each side of the hatch combing with blades aft, and looms chock up to the gunwale at the bows, so as to be seldom moved by a rush of sea along the deck, and yet one or other or both could be instantly put into the iron crutches always kept ready shipped, and so placed that I could row comfortably while in the well and facing the bow. The boat-hook had its handle-end always near my right hand, and this saved me many a run forward in awkward times.

The tiller of iron-wood was well wedged into the rudder-head. Of course any joggling or slackness here is like a broken front tooth, or a loose steel pen. No plan that I heard of, or saw, or could devise yet, is entirely satisfactory for enabling the tiller to be set fast in a moment, at any angle, and yet to be perfectly free in ordinary times. I used a large piece of rough cork as a wedge to set the tiller, and a cord loop at each side of the gunwale, to keep it “hard down” when going about. At night, to stop the vibration of the rudder, I knocked in a brass wedge between its head and the iron bushing of the rudder hole.

Every bit of iron above water was galvanized; but this operation weakens small pieces of iron unless it is carefully done. However, the only part which carried away was my small anchor-stock, and this took place at the first cast of it into the Thames.

Such is the Rob Roy yawl, of 4 tons register, and the map (about 70 pages farther on) shews the general course of her first sea voyage by a dotted line, but many a long mile of zigzag had to be sailed besides.