Part 6

_December 27th._ Comes with banging against wharf and slatting of rigging. Northeaster down on us again in all its glory. Down, down slipped the barometer and presto, round flew the wind into southwest and the fun began. We were pretty well up under the weather shore, but there was rake enough with the tide to kick up a lively jump which pounded against our stern and slatted us about promiscuously. The wind screamed, and we could do nothing but lash our helm amidship and get out extra dock lines. With spinnaker pole for fender we were taking no damage. About 2 p.m. the wind hauled a point and rain stopped. With the clearing, things began moving on the dock. From the pilot’s tower signals were seen flying from the Cape Fear Lighthouse which read, “vessel ashore on Frying Pan.” Off went four pilots in their big motorboat. Scree-eech went the whistle of a tug at end of wharf and down from the village tumbled the crew, and it was cast off and away with black smoke rolling from her stack. I could have gone with H. on the tug but why take a chance when there was nothing we could do, and as the captain said nothing he could do either in the sea that must be running. Out from the cove to the south of us shot the big power lifeboat of the Southport station, and we watched her head towards the breakers which we could see jumping in air on the harbor bar. By six o’clock the tug and pilots were back. They reported a big four-master bound east was almost out of water some six miles from shore but that the lifesavers were standing by on north side of shoal. Another fierce gale is springing up from west and northwest as I write, and the sea outside must be truly awful. I hope with all my heart and soul that those poor devils are safe ashore. I believe H. begins to realize more fully what I had on my own mind the night I tried to jump the New Inlet Bar.

_December 28th._ Ice on deck again this morning, but a day to make a man’s heart glad. First thing was arrival of big power lifeboat with the good news that at ten o’clock the night before they had rescued all the crew of the stranded schooner. The vessel herself was lumber laden and a gang went off to her to-day in hopes to get cargo out and to lighten the ship so that she might be pulled off. The day was busy for us with completing repairs on launch, getting stores on board and making ready for another bid for warmer climes. Until to-day my spears and poles have been but a miserable nuisance, but when the bight of a line caught the handle of my pump rod and twitched it right overboard, it was the eel spear for mine. Tide was running smartly and I could just reach bottom. Slowly and with great care I poked about in the mud and at last was rewarded by pulling up three feet of old rubber hose. Better luck next time and I just fell upon that mud-covered pump handle when it crossed the rail. An eel spear would sure be a handy thing in any household.

_December 29th._ A peach of a morning with light northerly airs, a good barometer and everybody telling us to be up and off for now was the chance. We were soon ready to start when I found centre-board jammed in the box. Hard, too. At low tide, when aground, something had wedged it hard and fast. Had to pound it out with aid of a big piece of iron piping. It was noon before we waved good-bye to our friends the Southport pilots and slipped out of the harbor down the long 80 miles of beach to Georgetown or 120 miles, nautical, to Charleston. At four o’clock, wind failing, we put on little helpmeet and jogged along our four knots right merrily. The sun set red, but with plenty of cloud. The engine began to skip about 10 o’clock and from then on until two, gave us a most remarkable exhibition of skips, jumps and shakes. At 2 a.m. it made two or three quiet little chuck-chucks and died. About this same time the barometer got in some fancy steps and dropped 4 points in two hours. Heavy cloud made the night fearfully dark, and the sea began to pick up in a long, swinging ground swell. I wished myself well back in Southport you bet. By dead reckoning Southport was some 50 miles away and Georgetown jetty about 30 only, so it had to be Georgetown. The breeze with some rain came at southwest very light and I jogged slowly along.

_December 30th._ Morning broke dull and sullen. Barometer still dropping and little whitey gray woolies blowing across the dark clouds. The ground swell was heaving in from sea and there was no chance for running inlets. With the light came a waspish puff of air out of southwest and on top of that one another, with such venom in it, I wasted no time on speculation, but clapped in two reefs and stood off shore. In the shake of a lamb’s tail the wickedest kind of a sea jumped up, but Henry’s stomach beat it at that. The rolling swell checked up on the shoal ground for we were in less than 3 fathoms and was met and crossed by the sea leaping with the southwester which was even then heaving me to my cockpit-rail. In half an hour it was put on life lines, douse sail and tuck in my storm reef. Canvas thrashing viciously and had to put watch tackle on leech earing before we could haul out. Laid ship to off shore, hauled up my board, lashed wheel and gave launch 10 fathoms of line. Didn’t know whether to run to sea for deeper water or take chance of ground swell not breaking and hang onto the beach. Decided to hang on for I am bound to Florida and not the Riviera. All day long we were knocked and smashed about by an indescribable jumble of crooked water. H. and I spent our time below trying to cling onto our transoms for it was not particularly safe on deck, and we crawled out only every two hours to lower sail, wear ship and stand on the other tack. There is a good bit of worry to a day like that, especially when you have a two foot hole covered only with thin canvas in the side of your boat. There would have been a mighty sight more worry if old Mascot hadn’t shown us at the very start off that she was quite able and willing to play the game. With her wheel amidships, she looked up into it grandly and never had a bucket of green water in the cockpit.

[Illustration: Riding it out.]

By afternoon we saw the launch was in trouble, and settling pretty fast. It was soon bail or lose her. H. stripped pretty close to the buff and I tied the bowline round him myself. Then we worked the launch up to leeward and managed to unlace a little bit of cover so when a chance came H. jumped in like a squirrel and away he went with me tending painter and life line. He had no trouble bailing out the water, but when it came to balancing himself on the little forward deck while relacing the cover, he had to face a truly sporting proposition. Kind of made my heart jump to see him perched on the bows of that little skiff when a big breaking comber would pick her up and surge her down to leeward where the next sea would put her out of sight for ages. At last he did the trick and mighty carefully I worked the launch up under our lee until with a good jump and yank on the line I landed him in the cockpit again. Cured his seasickness anyway for after warming up below he lit up his pipe as perky as you please.

[Illustration: Saving the Launch.]

During all this ringtum Scotty was playing her part well. Not once did we leave the deck tired, wet and anxious to stretch out in rubber boots and soaking oilskins on our transoms, but Scotty would curl up on our shoulder or in our lap all snuggled close with mighty comforting purr. She was a dear little companion, and in the midst of the circus we cooked her one of her own little oyster stews as a mark of our appreciation. Towards night the wind let go and as we drew in toward the beach, fishermen built big bonfires to warn us away from an inlet which they thought I might be fool enough to try and run. No more inlets for me. The sea was too heavy to anchor so we again prepared to make it watch and watch and let the boat jog off and on under her bit of canvas for we were too tired to make more sail and the night at best looked full of trouble.

[Illustration: Down the Beach]

_December 31st._ Found us slatting about in dead calm. Barometer not rising and heavy cloud. By two o’clock a.m. the sea had quieted to a long, greasy roll and I plumped over the big hook in 3 fath. and turned in for three or four hours’ snooze. Turned out at six and cooked breakfast which tasted good after some forty-eight hours of more or less cracker and cheese diet. Day broke at seven and a mighty ugly looking day it was with dark storm clouds all about and again those waspish little white ones scudding ahead of the black spots. The breeze struck in light at northeast and with it came the rain. The drops were good, big, fat ones and barometer was not sliding down so I hoped for no serious trouble, but down here the easter is only spoken about in whispers and H. and I didn’t speak about it at all. We jumped all sail on at once, up yank and fanned along. Got H. to try his launch and was rewarded by a merry little puff puff, and we were off. Found a lot of sediment in carbureter and in gasoline, evidently corrosion from tank after being filled with salt water. We kept her skipping and jumping along by continually moving throttle and needle valve. Rain and mist often shut out the shore but the light following breeze didn’t have the twang of trouble in it and by my dead reckoning I had only some 20 knots to go before reaching Georgetown jetties which stretch two miles to sea and couldn’t be missed unless it blew on and forced me off shore. I had run my time out at one o’clock and still through the haze that old sand beach stretched ever southward without a break. Worries began again, but in half an hour we sighted the lighthouse and in another half rounded the end of the north jetty and ran into quiet water.

“Way up the river Pedee Way up the river Pedee Where the moon shines bright And the stars give light, Way up the river Pedee.”

How we shook hands and yelled it out. The rain poured, the wind drew northwest dead ahead, but tide and a strong one was fair and the launch was hitting it hop, skip and jump, so who cares.

About six miles upstream and six miles below Georgetown we noted on our chart the entrance to the little creek which is the beginning of the inside route towards Charleston. With the last of the light of the last day of the year we found the little opening in the marsh and snuggled into the quiet water mighty gladly and ran her plump aground on the mud of the eastern bank. We were too tickled at ending our long razzle dazzle to hurry about pushing off, especially as tide was flooding in river outside. There’s where we missed it for tide was dropping in the creek and soon, work all we could, we never budged her and had to run out guy lines to keep from bilging. Mighty little difference that made to us for we were in that kind of shape that lets you go right on working. Not very hard and with mighty little reasoning in it, but still working. While we were mussing around we heard the cry of hounds and soon a big doe took water not twenty yards away, slowly swam the creek and with much effort managed to crawl up the other bank about tuckered out. She looked at us a moment, and then disappeared in the high sedge. The hounds were close up and soon hustling up and down the bank, but none would take water and H. and I sat down to spend our new year’s eve mighty well pleased to think of that deer snugly resting up in some thicket just as we were in our warm little cabin. Honest injun, I was never better pleased to make snug harbor in my life for I had been practically sixty hours without sleep except at odd half hours and had been driving boat under strenuous conditions for over fifty hours. I should have been all in, but I wasn’t at all and I couldn’t see or feel that I didn’t stand the racket as well as I used to in my twenties. Gee, but it’s fine to be in such shape again. H. pulled along all right, too, but insisted upon going to sleep anywhere and everywhere. I must break him of this habit if possible, for it leaves him scarcely any time for eating and none for work.

_January 1st, 1913._ New Year’s Day. Comes pouring rain, and at 2:30 a.m. for mine. Got Mascot afloat but couldn’t handle her alone in tideway and had to call H. on deck. Hanged if the boy wasn’t asleep again. Soon snugged up and after a hot mug-up turned in for some good rest. Turned out about eight and felt fine. Barometer rising. Sky clearing. Wind a beauty at northwest and just what the doctor ordered for round Cape Romain to Charleston outside. Nix on the outside said H. when I finally shook him awake. Afraid I can never beat any ambition into the lad. Can’t understand what a funny lot of insides I must have. I am only just over being pretty well scared up and am already beginning to want to try it again. I’ll get “ketched” good and plenty some day, but I hope that when I do I may be alone. The day was warm, bright and full of sunlight. We dolled up the ship. Cleaned up gasoline tank and in the afternoon walked into the big forest of live oak and long-leaved pine. A day of perfect content and rest. Boiled and roasted a ham which turned out deliciously. Only one thing to mar the peace of our new year’s day and that was a sharp attack of delirium tremens suffered by Scotty. During the blow a small can of white paint upset in cockpit and I suspicion that she ate some. Anyway her tail went right over her back like that animal’s in the pictures of our old geographies which hangs all its young ones upside down on its tail. Her hind legs went 200 to the minute and her front ones only 25. This landed her repeatedly on her head which must have been distressing. In an hour she seemed all O. K. again and except for being a bit dopey has stayed so. Mighty anxious we were, for Scotty is full 50% of this trip. Today an old nigger rowing down stream stopped to gam. He said was all kinds of varmint hereabout. Coons, possums, rabbits, deer and turkeys. No lions or tigers except some 30 miles back in the lumber. Said wild cows wouldn’t hurt us, and that children could walk alone on any of the roads, which was both interesting and comforting. A tug with big ¼ mile log boom swung by us at noon. These are mean, unruly visitors and are mighty apt to do you damage. This one got by without hitting us, but we had to fend off once or twice. For supper we broached a bottle of White Rock and with much ceremony toasted family and absent friends. So ended our New Year’s, 1913.

_January 2nd._ Woke about 2 a.m. to a fearful bump and swash. What next? says I, and tumbled out. Out of the inky black under my bows I saw a big dark shape lift out of water some five or six feet and fall back with a swash. Alligators this time I bet. No such thing, but a big 30 ft. log 12 to 15 inches in diameter caught in a bight of one of our lines. Had good luck in getting it clear and stranded it inside of us where it now lies. “Something doing from one to eleven at the Old Howard.” On deck in a hurry again at four when a tug steamed by with what looked like another log boom but proved to be something else. Out again for breakfast at seven and Henry, well provisioned, started for Georgetown in the launch to get gasoline, provisions, etc., while I stayed aboard to keep ship. Engine not going right yet, and I listened long to its jumps and skips until out of hearing. If he finds a good engine man he may stay overnight and get it fixed up shipshape for we must depend upon it entirely from now on. Come back soon “mon petit Asticot” for I miss you sadly and feel pretty far away among the wild cows.

[Illustration: Raft Life.]

Scandalously tricky weather do we have. Here H. started at 9 this morning with as pretty a day as one could ask for and old barom. showing nothing else. By eleven clouds made up from south, glass began a slide and by 2 p.m. it was pelting rain with barometer still on the toboggan. Rain all p.m. and all evening. I couldn’t expect H. to come back, but how I did listen for the skip-and-go-one sound of that little motor. I missed him like the devil and no mistake. Hope he isn’t nosing round out there in rain and dark with engine broken down and no Scotty. Had a fine black bean soup with croutons all ready for him, too. I am used to being on a boat alone, but I am mighty lonesey tonight just the same. This is our first night apart in three months and a black creek in the marsh is none too cheerful a place at night anyway. By nine o’clock things were doing. Wind pricking on every minute, rain swishing across decks with roar and barometer still on the drop. I turned in but not to sleep. I had my spinnaker pole driven deep in the clay mud at edge of deep water, but it was a flimsy thing to depend on. There had been no flood tide all day, an uncanny sort of thing. By eleven o’clock the gale was on at south and a full-fledged one to boot. I dressed and crawled into my boots and oilers for the tide had started flooding with a rush and every half hour I had to raise the guy lines on my pole to keep it in position. The barometer dropped to 29, nine points in 12 hours. Don’t remember such a drop in many a day. How high the tide might go was guesswork, but if the westerly shift which I knew would come caught me on top of a big tide it would be into the bulrushes for little Harry and make a duck stand out of Mascot.

Now that was quite a longish night, too. Sitting still, listening to the howl and swish of the gale and speculating on where H. was and where I was going to, for I was out on the open marsh not snugged away up among the woods between high banks. When the wind took a whiffle down the canal the old Mascot would shake all over and lean right to it. Tide kept a-coming and I kept a-crawling out on hands and knees to raise my guy lines until the top of the pole was level with my trunk deck and the stick bending and cracking at every charge of wind until I felt sure it must go. I knew that tide must be ’way above common, but it was too dark to see how high it exactly was. Given another foot rise and I would have been all right for pole was slanting under boat then. It was four o’clock in the morning and tide had been coming about nine hours.

_January 3rd._ Bet I was pleased when I crawled out at 4:30 and found end of pole at same level. Crawled right below again and mugged up on hot beef tea. Five o’clock came and tide had dropped a foot. Then the westerly shift came with a whoop and I thought Scotty and I were surely bound for the meadows, but that old pole buckled, bent and creaked and held. Great scissors, how it blew. Couldn’t stand on deck nohow. Just had to crawl and cling on.

[Illustration: Oak + Pine.]

Day broke with clearing skies and found me with bows pretty well up on bank, but stern still in deep water and I make no doubt I can pull her off if this northwester will only blow out as I expect it will before another high water or somebody comes along who will carry me out an anchor to help hold her off. I have ground tackle enough to handle her all right, but without tender am entirely helpless. Poor little Scotty feels these busy nights dreadfully, and is too sleepy and tired to eat a thing. I feel fine and had a good breakfast off of the last Pt. Judith mackerel. I can’t believe that since last Saturday night, and it is Friday now, I have not had four hours of consecutive sleep. I haven’t ache, pain or nerves. Just as I used to be on the old _Raven_ thirty odd years ago. I had to acknowledge later that I did not stand the care, worry and loss of sleep as well as I thought. Between Beaufort and Charleston I lost seven pounds in weight, and again put my eyes almost completely out of commission. H. showed a gain of fifteen pounds in his weight and I begin to wonder for whose health are we traveling anyway.

The clear, westerly gale has continued all day and barometer has moved up only 2/10. Not an inch of tide has come in during the whole day and like a bat I have lived, clinging literally to the rafters, for the boat is very sharply listed. How such days go it is hard to say. You write log and a few letters. Cook your meals, read, smoke, snooze a bit, knit a bit and presto the day is done. Of course H. did not come down river and I am looking forward to another night alone, but I think a peaceful one, for the wind can’t hurt me as I am, and I don’t believe tide can come unless wind drops. I am not going to write to-morrow’s date heading now, however, for things move quickly round here and we may have another eight hands around by midnight.