A CRUISE TO THE CHESAPEAKE
Robert Barrie
Man that is born of a woman
Has very little time to live
He comes up like a foretopmast staysail
And down like a small flying jib.
-- Old Sea Song.
MOST sailing people do not realize what magnificent
cruising waters we have in that noble bay, the
Chesapeake, which might reasonably be called a sea. In
point of fact, it was called a Gulf, or Sea, by one
Daniel Gookin, a couple of hundred years ago. It is about
two hundred miles long, ten to twenty miles wide, and
full of bay-like tributaries, the exploration of which
alone would make months of sailing.
The scenery is varied, and always picturesque; whether
the pleasant sheltered bays of the Eastern Shore, the
bold bluffs of the Patuxent, or that of the tropic-like
pine-fringed Piankatank. Fish, oysters, and game are all
plentiful and cheap. The supply of crabs, indeed, seems
to be inexhaustible. Ice is cheap, but not always to be
had, and cruisers' necessities -- milk, fresh butter,
eggs, and chickens -- are found at every farm. Strange to
relate, fresh vegetables are the hardest things to get,
and when found require more persuasion to induce owners
to part with them than any other of the desirable things
in which the country abounds. The best of cruisers are
doleful when only "canned" things are aboard.
As we had only one hand we had put on Mona a
storm trysail, kindly given me by the last owner of
Ulidia, the Fife boat sent over here on the deck
of the Umbria. The old packet is quite stylish in
her way, but looked rather queer in her "ocean" rig; so,
at the club, at once received the sobriquet of Fram. The
rig was quite enough for us in one gust we had, and as
all hands, including my brother George, a boy of
seventeen, only made three, we were quite content. Mona
had carried a big rig from Philadelphia to Newport,
outside Jersey and Long Island, so we were not ashamed to
he comfortable when we felt so inclined.
One July evening in 1897 we left the anchorage of the
Corinthian Yacht Club, Tinicum Island, Delaware River,
about five o'clock, light head air, but with tide got
down to Claymont; tide ran awhile longer, but we stopped
there on account of a good anchorage. Went very well with
the small mainsail, small jib, and balloon staysail.
Next morning, up about four o'clock, we ran down with
the ebb against a light head wind -- fine sunrise over
the Jersey marshes; and a freer wind after Deep Water
Point. Just within a mile of the canal at Delaware City
the tide turned, and the air died out entirely, so we had
to anchor about nine o'clock. Fixed up some odds and
ends, had a swim, and lunch at about eleven. Discovered a
very marked "sundog," at which we marveled, but did not
realize its import. About three o'clock we got a breeze,
and worked down. Got off jib and shot into canal dock
under balloon staysail and main, lowering latter as we
neared. Locked in at once, paid tolls four and towage
three dollars, got provisions, mailed letters, and got
off about four o'clock, but lost time almost at once by
going aground in passing a steamer. Aside from the
entrances, there is only one lock in the canal, that at
St. George's, which is a rise. Just beyond it the canal
opens out into quite a lake, where, we were told, there
is good shooting in the fall.
SMITH POINT LIGHT, IN PROCESS OF CONSTRUCTION.
OLD POINT COMFORT.
MONA WITH TRYSAIL. OXFORD, 1897
DRUM POINT HARBOR, PATUXENT RIVER.
Arrived at western lock, Chesapeake City, about eight
o'clock, and were lowered about fourteen feet into the
Chesapeake, here really Back Creek, where we tied up to a
siding for the night. Took on two hundred pounds of ice,
some milk, and other trifles. In the evening no
mosquitoes, wonderful to relate.
Next morning, by appointment with the tug, we were up
at five o'clock, but as some expected schooners were late
we did not get away for a couple of hours. The tug, for a
dollar and a half, took us down to the Elk River; there
we made sail, setting balloon staysail and jib topsail,
and ran down the Elk, SW 1/4 W., to the mouth of the
river, passed Turkey Point at ten o'clock, and shortly
after had a squall out of the East which caused us to
stow the jib topsail. The wind continued easterly, and,
notwithstanding there was very little of it, we made fair
time, passing Betterton on the south side of the
Sassafras River, at a little after eleven o'clock. About
noon we were off Still Pond; then, as thunderstorms were
about and wind seemed to be dying out, we decided to
anchor for the day in the cove at the mouth of Worton's
Creek, where we let go in fourteen feet.
We then rigged up the spritsail on the dinghy and beat
up to a lonely-looking pier, where we found an old man
who knew absolutely nothing. However, at a farmhouse,
after a long argument, we induced the people to part with
four young chickens, for which they asked only a dollar,
and then some peas, beets, and squash. Sailed back to
Mona through brisk puffs, and were soon shelling peas,
our legs hanging over the counter. The man scalded and
picked the chickens. At sundown we had a bully dinner of
the above-mentioned purchases: two chickens, fried
Maryland style in cracker dust, were delicious. After
that we went ashore and bought a few crabs from a lone
boy. Then sailed awhile in the gloaming, and at nine
o'clock went to bed and slept like tops.
Sunday, wind southeasterly and occasional light rain;
sailed out at seven, after breakfast, and were able to
stand down the Bay; passed Tolchester Beach at eight as
two men-of-war were making colors. One seemed to be a
battleship, and the other looked like the dispatch boat
Dolphin. They appeared to have on board the
Maryland Naval Reserves, as they had an old hulk with
them. About this time it began to blow and we were soon
boiling along. As we got to Swan Point the squall got
harder and the rain heavier; here the wire of the port
backstay runner parted at the bend, having been set up
too tightly the night before and now made tighter with
the rain. We had a regular soak of it down to Sandy
Point, then the nearby Eastern Shore smoothed the water
some. Here we passed under the stern of the United States
schooner Matchless, anchored, apparently on some
scientific job. Ran in to Annapolis and anchored at noon
among the schooners off the Academy, in about three
fathoms.
After a gorgeous Sunday dinner we went ashore in clean
togs, the weather having cleared, and found the town shut
up as tight as a drum; finally found the boy who runs the
telegraph and sent off messages; had some queer fun
trying to buy tobacco for the man. The Capitol was
closed, so also the Naval Academy and Museum; but we
walked about the grounds, admired the fine old bronze
cannon captured in Mexico, and saw some queer ones taken
from the Confederates. Walked on the Santee wharf,
where the chief object of interest seems to be a little
hotbed where mint, presumedly for the mint juleps for the
officers, was the only crop. Then around by the old
octagon Fort Severn, where a tablet gives date 1808. The
fort has been turned into a gymnasium. Glad to get home
to the boat with three Sunday papers. Had a queer supper
of cornmeal mush with milk, then potatoes and onions,
cheese and coffee. Government was very slow with
sunset.
On Monday we had a light southeasterly wind, which
made the beat out of the harbor take nearly two hours.
When abreast of Tolly Point buoy we got a fresh breeze
with rain from the northeast; running down S 1/2 E or so,
we made good time, the wind freshening all the while:
when abreast of the mouth of Eastern Bay it came very
hard and a good sea on; rapidly getting worse, passing
Poplar Island we had all we could stagger under with the
small mainsail and small jib.
Knowing we would have to beat up when through the
Sharp's Island Channel, we shook her up and put in two
reefs; the sea washing us meanwhile. When squared away we
rushed for the lighthouse off Sharp's Island, then bore
up when we thought we were far enough down to clear the
bar running down from Tilghman's Island, at the north
mouth of the Choptank. It blew a gale and we thought the
mast would carry away. In our carefulness we kept much
farther down than necessary, and passed far south of the
black buoy.
It was blowing so hard we felt we must find some place
to anchor, and as it looked so wicked to westward we knew
we must do so soon. Running to the east, in Tripp's Bay,
we found it too exposed and went about to try to fetch
Black Walnut Cove. Soon a tropical downpour shut out
everything: fortunately it beat down the sea, and going
about we fetched behind Cook's Point, where we let go in
about three fathoms. It was roaring down the Choptank
from the northeast, but we lay pretty comfortably behind
the point. We stripped and had some hot soup; this was
about two o'clock. In an hour the worst was over, having
blown a gale for just two hours: we made sail, and
although we had plenty of rain, we worked up to the
sleepy little village of Oxford and anchored opposite the
School House green at about five o'clock. The evening was
quiet: and as there were occasional showers we set the
awning.
Tuesday, it was blowing and raining from the
southeast, and we were unable, as we had expected, to do
some refitting. Crabbed in the afternoon.
On Wednesday it was bright and clear in the morning:
we soon dried everything; put the dinghy on the beach to
dry, and then gave the deck a coat of varnish. After
lunch, about two o'clock, Mr. W. O'Sullivan Dimphel came
along in his launch: we exchanged enthusiastic welcomes,
and had a few drinks; he insisted on taking us over to
his place on the north shore of the Tred Avon River, at
the mouth of Plaindealing Creek. Mrs. Dimphel kindly gave
us tea, and D. insisted that we sail over next morning
and fill our tanks, the water at Oxford being rank
poison, as George had learned. Dimphel showed us plans
and models of his yawl Panola, which is the Indian
name for cotton seed, and in the early evening took us
back in the launch.
Thursday was fine and warm; and while the man was
varnishing the boat we walked about the pretty little
village. There was a fine westerly breeze later, and we
set our ensign on jackstaff, and sailed over,
close-hauled under the balloon staysail to Dimphel's
cove; gave him a gun, and anchored alongside his yawl,
photographed, and meanwhile man filled our tank with the
cool, clear rainwater from the splendid cement
arrangement Dimphel has for storing the water from his
slate-roofed house. He says the fevers of the Eastern
Shore are caused by the shallow wells which fill with
surface drainage.
MONA IN DELAWARE BAY, 1894.
IN THE DOLDRUMS.
OLD DAN LONEY TAKES HIS EASE AT THE TILLER.
MONA : SOUTHWARD HO !
MONA: OFF THE POTOMAC.
After a visit on board from Mrs. D., who berated us
for not dining with them, we set sail, and Dimphel came
along in his boat, beating us; but our anchor was hanging
in the water, we were towing a great big sharpie we had
hired to take the place of our boat, and the wind was
very light for our small rig. After waving farewells,
Dimphel went home, and we went ashore for ice, and made
ready to sail next morning.
Friday was cool and clear, with fair breeze from the
southwest. After early breakfast we were away at six
o'clock; a dead beat all the way out. Air got very light
at Cook's Point, and kept so all the way down the channel
behind Sharp's Island; standing in too far towards the
long pier where we grounded on a hard sandbar; lowered
everything at once and pushed off with the boat boom.
The breeze freshened then, and after a couple of tacks
we were able to clear the south end of Sharp's Island,
and stand all the way across the bay. The western shore
is very fine; bold, with cliffs about a hundred feet
high, in between which are green valleys, or gullies,
running down to the bay. As the breeze freshened we soon
ran due south, close-hauled, down to Cove Point Light.
Here it blew very fresh, and the bobble, as the
local men call it, was bad, the tide running out the
Patuxent making a short confused sea, and we got pretty
well washed. Mona pitched very badly, and the jerks were
hard on the forestay.
We got a hard dusting heading up to Drum Point Light,
where we anchored with some schooners in the cove. The
boat that followed us, a heavy working schooner, had only
a reefed mainsail and jib; showing how hard it was
blowing. We went ashore, and the surf on the beach was so
bad that we had to take off our shoes and roll up
trousers to make a landing. Hauled the boat up under the
cliff; it was too steep to climb, but we found a sort of
ladder made of two logs and cross planks. At the top was
a great deserted house; found a store, but it was locked
up. As we were coming back met a man on a horse, who
turned out to be the postmaster of Drum Point Landing; he
kindly took our letters and told us where we could get
milk: we found it in an old ramshackle house. The pull
back to the boat was very tough. Having only had
chocolate and bread and jam during the day we were very
hungry. After dinner we rigged up preventer forestay of
our tow line, and felt easier about the mast.
The steamer came down the river using her searchlight,
and, as one passenger was going to Baltimore, she was
signaled and made her landing, and so we knew our letters
had gone. The early part of the night was all
thunderstorms, not very bad with us, but they gave a
great display over Eastern Shore. About two o'clock in
the morning I noticed we had wind from the westward. At
half after four we were up and getting under way, and at
five, as we ran out of the cove, the sun rose in a
magnificent immense red ball. We passed Cedar Point
Light, and the breeze freshened so that at eight o'clock
we had made the fifteen miles to Point No Point buoy in
three hours. We had light airs after that and did not
round Stingray Point and anchor in the bay-like mouth of
the Piankatank until four o'clock in the afternoon. Then
we put sail on the dinghy and sailed in to a wharf on the
north shore, which we learned was called Jackson's
Landing, and where we were able to send telegrams via
telephone to West Point, forty miles away on the York
River. Back for dinner, and in the evening had a strong
west wind, which came warm but dry and pine-laden. At
sunset the scene was lovely: the bay seemed like a
tropical one, with white sand beaches surrounded with
tall pines, each with a clump of branches at the top,
sixty feet up; exactly like the palms in the East Indies.
A glowing red sun and a pale pink and green sky completed
the really tropical scene. That night we lounged on deck
until after dark, and felt quite as though we had gone
foreign: say to the South Sea Islands.
Next morning we found a fresh northwest wind, and were
under way at five o'clock, eating breakfast as we rounded
Cherry Point. Then we put the dinghy on deck and made
very fair time down past the Wolf Trap, and kept going
until abreast of New Point Comfort, where the breeze
began to die out. Below York Spit it died away
altogether, and by eleven o'clock we were in the
doldrums. We were delighted with the clearness of the
water; could see everything below distinctly, not merely
the outline, but each seam in the copper: discovered a
small piece was loose near the rudder stock where it
chafes. This calm kept up for a couple of hours and then
we got a light easterly wind, which worked us down to the
Thimble; there the flood tide caught us and rushed us
into Old Point. The entrance to the anchorage is very
narrow and good steerage way is necessary; a steamer
coming out from the wharf bothered us, but we worked
inside the bar, near the Hotel Chamberlain, and anchored
among the pilot boats in three fathoms; the chart gives
no idea of the amount of space and the depth of water
there is in there.
We arrived at four o'clock in the afternoon, and after
furling the sails and setting awning, had early dinner;
dressed and went ashore, walked through the hotels, all
about the fort and over to Hampton, where we saw the old
church, built in 1726. Back and read Sunday papers.
On Monday we went over to Norfolk by boat to
Willoughby's Spit, and then by trolley through the pines.
Saw some immense strawberry beds.
In Norfolk, wandered about, saw fine old residences,
then over to Gosport, where we inspected the Navy yard
and went aboard the new gunboat Nashville and over
the Amphitrite, and through the boat shops. Back
to Norfolk and had lunch, bought a ham; then back on
board Mona. In the evening it rained, but we were very
comfortable under the awning: crabbed and caught a
dozen.
Tuesday it rained during breakfast, but we set out at
nine o'clock with southwest wind; got into the doldrums,
off Back River, as on Sunday, and only reached York Spit
at three o'clock in the afternoon. There we got enough
breeze to take us up to the Wolf Trap Light, where, at
eight o'clock, we had a squall and ran for awhile under
the foresail; as the wind died out again and the rain
came down we set half the mainsail; afterwards set jib;
soon we had another squall and had to again take in sail.
It kept up alternate squall, rain, and calm; finally,
about ten o'clock, settled down a fair breeze from the
southeast, and began to look as though it was going to
blow from that direction. We headed up for Windmill Point
Light with the intention of going under the north shore
of the Rappahannock, but as it cleared a little and we
could see the land in the flashes of lightning, we
decided to run for the Piankatank and managed to get in
about midnight without further bother; as soon as we
anchored it of course cleared off nicely.
Next morning the breeze was very brisk from the
northwest. While waiting to see if it would change we
went ashore at Jackson's Wharf and up to a farmhouse for
a gallon of milk; seeing a fine laurel rose tree I got a
cutting and bought a stone jar to fill with earth to try
to keep it until we could get home; it looked pretty in
the cabin the balance of the cruise, but alas it died. I
now have a living cutting from the same tree as a
souvenir. After taking milk on board we sailed in dinghy
up to the beach on north side of harbor, called Pine Top.
It is a beautiful hard white sand stretch, with pines,
fresh water ponds, herons and hawks hovering about, for
all the world like a tropical island. Soon a bad squall
drove us back on board. About lunch time we discovered
the tank was empty; so sailed up near the wharf and found
a house where the owner let us pump his well dry: two
dozen buckets did it. While this was being done we bought
a basket of melons and one of corn, tomatoes, and other
vegetables.
Then ashore again with the intention of walking to the
village, a mile and a half away; when half way there,
along came the man from whom we got the water and
vegetables, who invited us to ride; he was going over to
North End, a landing on the Rappahannock, to try to buy
some fruit baskets. We went with him, had a pleasant ride
for about eight miles through interesting country. On our
return secured a piece of ice which had just come down on
the steamer from Baltimore, got some vinegar and molasses
and sailed out to the boat in another squall. After
dinner, again went on shore for another gallon of milk,
and then to the beach, where we filled one of the sail
bags with pine needles, or as nearly so as we could
before the mosquitoes drove us away. Up to this time the
only place the mosquitoes had annoyed us on board was at
Old Point Comfort.
Thursday the wind was still northwest, but not so
stiff, so we started out and made fair headway to
Windmill Point, the north shore of the Rappahannock;
there the breeze died away and we had a calm for a couple
of hours, then light breezes; but a bad squall in the
north made us decide to put in to the Great Wicomico
River and not attempt to cross the ten-mile stretch at
the mouth of the Potomac late in the afternoon; the wind
was so light that it was five o'clock before we anchored
among the bugeyes in Cockerell's Creek, behind Fleets
Point bar. We bought three watermelons for a quarter, had
a bully dinner, and after it had log writing on deck. It
was cool and pleasant. Yesterday, on shore, everybody
complained and said it was very warm for that region, but
we found it very pleasant; in fact, it is much cooler
here than on the Delaware; the large body of salt water
must make it so. Even before the thunderstorms it does
not seem to be so warm, and we seldom noticed the heat.
Sampled the melons and found them poor.
Friday the breeze was brisk from the northwest; after
breakfast, however, we sailed at seven o'clock, but as
soon as we got a couple of miles beyond the lighthouse we
found such a head sea and strong wind that we reluctantly
put back, and were again at our anchorage in an hour.
After hauling up the dinghy to repair a leak in it, put
the sail on it and sailed about three miles up
Cockerell's Creek, where we got milk and vegetables,
posted letters and found a telephone in Reed's store,
Reedville. Back on board, shelled lima beans, and after
lunch sailed down the north beach of the bay and had a
beat back.
Next morning the wind was still northwest, but we made
a start and were soon across the mouth of the Potomac;
there the wind died away, and later we got a weak
southerly air, which carried us up to abreast the
Patuxent at three o'clock. As the usual thunderstorms
were ahead we put in, and were anchored shortly after
four; bought fish, went ashore for tobacco and milk: on
our return we went in to swim and unfortunately were both
badly stung by sea nettles. I had it all over, and
particularly bad on the neck; tried everything, and as
Dimphel had told us the sting lasted twenty-four hours,
we were almost crazed by the thought; however, after a
couple of hours it abated, and in four hours was gone
enough to allow sleep.
Sunday morning, wind still north, but we put out
nevertheless; it was a lovely fresh morning, but with
ebbing tide and head wind we made little headway. On
several tacks we stood close into the Devil's Woodyard on
the western shore. This picturesque place is described by
James Hungerford in The Old Plantation.
"There could scarcely be a more impenetrable
wilderness. Seldom, excepting the winter days when the
branches are bare of leaves, did the sunshine have an
opportunity of looking into its secret places. Briers
and various undergrowth filled up the space between
the trees, and over and among these lay, at frequent
intervals, vast piles of decaying trunks. The ground,
too, on which the forest stood was almost a continuous
swamp, either because of the numerous springs, or
because the rain water, being retained from oozing
through the soil on account of its clayey base, and
receiving but little heat from the sunshine to cause
it to evaporate, remained where it fell, or still more
probably, on both accounts."
We made rather short tacks off this spot, wishing we
had time to anchor and make a landing.
What there was of the air was ahead, but we were just
able with jib topsail to screw up to Walnut Cove, where
we anchored about nine at night. Next morning, as the
wind continued ahead, and as I had to be home soon on
account of business, we decided to run up the Choptank to
Cambridge and get a train there; but off Castle Haven,
the air beginning to get light, we crawled over to
Oxford, where we deserted the ship. Got a train at one
o'clock and were in Philadelphia at five. The man got a
hand to help him and in a few days worked the boat up to
the club house.
..
© 2000 Craig
O'Donnell, editor &
general factotum.
May not be reproduced without my permission. Go scan your
own damn article.