THE CHESAPEAKE AGAIN
Robert Barrie
O wind,
If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind?
-- Percy Bysshe Shelley.
The wind that blows
Is all that anybody knows.
-- Henry David
Thoreau.
OUR second dash to the Chesapeake did not cover quite
so much of the Bay as that described in the preceding
chapter, but we saw more of it in out-of-the-way places,
and what we saw increased our liking for it as a cruising
ground. We came back more enthusiastic about it than
ever, vowing that we would go again in the fall and there
and then become peaceful outlaws, cheerful hermits,
Omoos, Typees, or some such people; at any rate forswear
work and shore clothes, and live in old ones, and abhor
money for the balance of our lives.
A charm of the Chesapeake, aside from the clear
sparkling waters, the beautiful scenery, and the
accompanying fat of the land, seems to be the immaterial
one of association. The Bay has a history: a cheerful one
of days of ease and plenty, slightly salted with war and
adventure. Relics of both are yet to be found; but sad to
relate, those of war and adventure are rapidly
disappearing. The days seem still to be all of ease in a
great many cases, and the plenty, so far as game, fish,
and fowl are concerned, remains. On the banks of the
River Wye we found a relic of the quintessence of luxury
of colonial days in the home of the first yachtsman, at
any rate, the first so far as the unofficial world is
concerned in America. Opposite our club house in the
Delaware River is Little Tinicum Island, which, history
says, was given by the Swedish Governor Printz to the
keeper of his yacht. The Maryland yachtsman was Edward
Lloyd, Esquire, of Wye House; but of him anon.
To begin at the beginning of the log. We went down to
the club on a June Sunday afternoon and slept the deep
sleep of the free until daylight; then we got our naphtha
launch and towed the ship in to the beach, where the mate
and the hand scrubbed her off, while the skipper went to
town for the finishing touches to the stores. On
returning he found her sporting a fine new green
petticoat, and alongside the pier filling tanks from the
hose, the decks covered with boxes; one really innocent
one being branded "Scotch Whiskey," so the whole fleet of
rocking-chair skippers wanted to go with us. After
bending mizzen we towed out to mooring.
Mona was improved this year for cruising
purposes by removing the twenty-four-inch deep lead keel
and placing ballast inside, so that she now draws only
five feet four inches. She is not quite so stiff,
especially as she has a ton less than before, but she is
drier in a seaway, and sticks as soon as she gets to her
bearings. We rigged her as a ketch, and found it a most
handy and safe rig; in many ways superior to the
yawl.
After breakfast, Tuesday morning, we started down with
the tide, wind very light, but with our new paint slipped
along pretty well until off Wilmington, where air died
out completely and we had to anchor for several hours.
Loafed about until about five o'clock, when the usual
afternoon thunder squalls came along. As we were south of
the center of it we up anchor and scudded down to
Delaware City, where we anchored for the night.
Next morning we warped into the Delaware and
Chesapeake Canal, but as it has already been described,
we need only say that with an easterly breeze in very hot
weather it is better not to go through in the middle of
the day. We had up the awning, which made things
pleasanter, but as the awning doesn't extend aft of the
mizzen, had to expend a great deal of ingenuity rigging
tiller lines that reached to the shade. The only
excitement was the knocking overboard of the iron mizzen
boom crotch which we fished up with a long boathook.
At Chesapeake City we fortunately came out of the lock
just as the usual afternoon down trip of the tow was
starting, and by quick work got a line to the last
schooner. As we were going down Back Creek the
thunderstorms began, and we put on oilskins and
sou'westers. It was well we did, for the rain came down
heavily and steadily for two hours. We anchored in the
midst of rain as hard as ever I had seen in the tropics;
so hard that from each scupper came a stream like from a
hose. It rained off and on all night, but we had the
awning tent-like over the boom, and so were quite
comfortable below. We afterwards saw that the papers
commented on the unusually heavy rain. Luckily for us it
seemed to have rained the heavens clear, for we
afterwards had fine weather.
After a swim and breakfast, Wednesday, we left the
upper Elk, and beat down against tide; air very light.
Off mouth of Cabin John's Creek began lunch, and after a
few more boards were compelled to anchor for lack of
wind. We let go in two fathoms in the cove above Wroth's
Point, just opposite Turkey Point light. The bottom is
hard and sticky, a fine holding ground, but very exposed;
so, although it was late in the day, we took advantage of
a spanking breeze that came up to run over to Havre de
Grace. As we rounded Spesutie Island we noticed a bugeye
following us, and as the channel on chart looked very
narrow, we took in jib topsail to wait to get a lead.
Much to our surprise, we had to let gaff sails flow
before the bugeye was able to catch up. We held him all
the way up, and felt that we were doing very well with a
little rig. Anchored just above the lighthouse, and after
dinner inspected one of the many scows which are used
here for shooting on the Susquehanna Flats. These flats
go almost dry at low water, and show about fifteen square
miles of weed.
We rather liked Havre de Grace. It has some quaint
buildings, but is dead except for the canning and
shooting. Next day, after getting telegrams, ice, and
vegetables, we ran out about noon with a light northerly
air; met the southwest breeze at Sandy Point, ran over to
the Eastern Shore, beat down to the Sassafras River,
stood out to Howell's Point, and just as we rounded met a
Philadelphia yacht, the Mull. We set our code
number and she dipped her ensign. At sunset we anchored
in Still Pond Harbor. After dinner we rowed up to where
Still Pond Creek should be, but in the twilight could not
find it. Rowed along the beach, and, as the moonlight
became stronger, finally did find the gap in the beach
where the creek was pouring out at the rate of several
miles an hour. We rowed in and found a weird, dismal
place, that looked as though it should be full of
alligators; the dead trees, the croaking of the frogs,
and the shadows of the moonlight had a depressing effect,
and we turned and fled. The place gets its name from the
fact that the water is so often still. This is probably
caused by oil springs up the creek.
CANOE PARTY ON THE MILES RIVER.
THE ROBERT E. CENTRE AND THE GLOUCESTER, NAVAL
ACADEMY.
Saturday morning was cheerful, cool, and pleasant,
while a westerly breeze carried us down past Worton's
Point and along the Tolchester Beach stretch to Swan
Point. Here we couldn't find red buoy No.22, although the
air died away and it was slack water. We looked in every
direction, and finally when the breeze did come from the
southwest we had to give up the job. We started off with
the hopes of making Annapolis, but the flood began to
make, and the best we could do was the Magothy River;
commonly pronounced "Maggoty" River. The tide swept us in
past Persimmon Point in fine style, and we anchored early
in the mouth of Deep Creek, just north of the tide gauge.
Had a ramble on shore in the afternoon, found the
clearest, strongest, and most picturesque spring we had
ever seen, and wished it near enough to the creek to be
able to fill tanks; not that they needed it, but because
we admired the spring so much. Back to the boat with
plunder of chickens and milk, and after dinner sat on
deck admiring the sunset and taking great interest in the
big fleet of bugeyes that came in for the night. Our
fifty-five-foot friend from Havre de Grace was among
them.
Next morning the clanking of chain and slatting of
sails awoke us about six o'clock, and as there was a fine
north-northwest breeze we immediately joined the concert,
and were soon slipping out with the fleet. In the Bay we
found a regular fleet of schooners running wing-and-wing.
Immediately after breakfast we followed suit, and were
soon over the twenty miles to Bloody Point Bar light, on
the south end of Kent Island; here we got the wind on the
beam, set balloon staysail, and had a most glorious bit
of sailing across Eastern Bay; when we got over, however,
we had to pinch up, the wind came out more ahead, and the
tide was strong ebb; we managed to keep the tide on the
lee bow, however, and the old boat did wonders, and we
were up at Tilghman's Point buoy before others who had
been ahead of us. The run into St. Michael's was easy,
and we anchored close to the town just before noon. While
at dinner we had a visit from the ice man, who shocked us
with the sad news that ice, being artificial and
imported, was ninety cents per hundred.
St. Michael's is a clean, out-of-the-world place; the
white oyster shell streets fringed with grass giving a
look like Holland. The harbor is very cozy, and little
oystermen's houses huddle close about it. There is, of
course, a ship railway. It is owned by a courteous
gentleman of the old school, who in a kindly way gave us
much interesting information in reference to the history
of the town and surrounding country. One rather amusing
incident he related, told how the inhabitants, on the
approach of a British expedition in 1812, fooled their
cousins by darkening their houses and hanging lanterns in
the treetops, and so inducing the gunners to overshoot
the mark. The wily townsmen managed to beat off a landing
party at dawn with the aid of a couple of guns charged
with nails. There is a British cannonball on exhibition
at Royal Oak, the next town back, but we could not learn
if it had been shot or carried there.
St. Michael's has quite an atmosphere of the sea about
it; many of its sons have had places of rank in the navy;
many of the old men have been captains in the merchant
service, and we were anchored opposite a house in which a
navy purser had lived for forty years. The fact that the
house has never been painted is a sad commentary on the
ingratitude of republics.
On Monday, after provisioning, we started with the
idea of circumnavigating Wye Island, having been advised
that on the Wye we would find the finest scenery in
Maryland, and the oldest and best houses on the Eastern
Shore. We heard some discussion among the natives as to
whether or not the drawbridge at the head of the island
was in working order; but as the latest advices were
about a month old, the sense of the meeting was that it
must be by now working, so we started out past Deep Water
Point with a fine breeze, past Herring Island, and were
soon in the Wye.
It is a wonderfully pretty English-like river, very
narrow, with trees down to the water's edge; very deep,
three or four fathoms in the center, ten feet right up to
the banks and no middle grounds. It seemed curious to be
taking Mona up this placid stream, which so very much
resembled the Upper Thames, and until we had tested the
accuracy of the chart on several reaches we felt rather
nervous. But the chart was faultless, indeed, the whole
of the work for the Eastern Bay Section is a triumph of
the chartmaker's art, and we never touched all the way
up.
Just after entering the Front Wye, we saw Wye House,
famous as being typical of all that was grand and
gorgeous on the Eastern Shore, or indeed, of all of
Colonial Maryland. The lands have been in the possession
of the family for generations, in fact, seven Edward
Lloyds have, in succession, been the owners, and in the
zenith of their glory are said to have owned a thousand
slaves. It was probably at that period that one of the
Lloyds, who seems to have been a yachtsman of the first
water, wrote to his London agent
"Be pleased to send me a Complete Sett of
American Colours, for a Pleasure-Boat of about 60 Tons
burthen. Ensign and Pennant with 15 stripes; my arms
painted thereon, the Field azure, the Lion Gold; let
these Colours be Full-sized. Six Brass Guns, with
hammers screws, &c complete, to fix on Swivels,
and to act in such manner as to give the greatest
report, with the letters E. Ll. thereon; fitted to
fire with Locks."
This fine old place lost two wings and a lot of
furnishings by fire during the War of 1812, but is still
the great show place of the country.
Swinging past Lloyd's Cove we turned sharply to port
as per chart, but the river ahead looked so narrow we
could hardly believe we were following the proper branch,
so anchored and went ashore at a lovely place to get
posted on the subject. It was Presq'ile on Wye, the home
of Charles Sydney Winder, who received us in shirt
sleeves and with offers of drinks, and gave us a lot of
information about the Wye.
Back on board and turned the boat on her heel by
backing mizzen to starboard and jib to port, and slipped
up the little river with a fresh southwest breeze. It was
a unique experience, and we were sorry when we arrived at
the sort of crossroads formed by the junction of Skipton
Creek and the two Wyes. Here we anchored and rowed up to
Wye Landing, where we found chickens, ice, milk, and one
of the old brick tobacco houses with barred windows,
which used to act as the banks of the country.
We were told that the new drawbridge, built about a
mile and a half west of the old Paca Bridge, was in
order, so we up anchor in the face of a thunderstorm, and
moved along under jib and mizzen; setting the awning low
like a tent, so that we could keep open skylight and
hatch in spite of the rain. We had a few puffs, but just
as we got between the piers of the deserted bridge the
wind left us, and we concluded to tie up, and did so.
GRANERY CREEK, WYE RIVER.
FISHERMEN'S HOUSES, ST. MICHAEL'S.
We were right in the old draw, and it made a snug
place to pass the heavy storm that soon broke. In twenty
minutes it was over and the sun shining so that the mate,
although there was still a little rain, was able to go
over to the other pier and photograph the ship.
AFTER THE SQUALL.
MONA IN THE OLD DRAWBRIDGE, WYE RIVER, 1898.
Much to our disgust, after successfully getting
through the Narrows, we found the draw was hopelessly out
of order, and could not be moved, so we anchored and
dined in the most romantic out-of-the-way spot
imaginable. The night was lovely; moon full, and we put
up the riding light as a joke; it was so cool, too, that
at night we each needed two blankets.
Next morning, Tuesday, we had strong northwest wind,
and to our delight were able to sail out almost as well
as we went in, having to pinch up only in a couple of
reaches. Just at breakfast we reached the rebuilt Paca
House, owned by the descendants of the signer of the
Declaration of Independence, so had the second cup of
coffee on deck as we passed. Saw quite a number of ducks,
which seemed to be butterballs. Opposite Bruff's Island,
as we were coming out of the Front Wye, we went ashore on
a sandy bar, but soon slipped off into deep water. We ran
over to St. Michael's again for ice and provender, and in
the evening went down to Tilghman's Point, where we
anchored for the night. On our run in we had seen a large
turtle, fully five feet long, occasionally rising at this
point, and we seemed to hear him this night; but it might
have been schools of fish.
On Wednesday we made a fine run under spinnaker to
Annapolis, wind southeast, and rapidly growing stronger.
We did not stop at Annapolis, but ran up the Severn,
through two drawbridges, to Round Bay. There we met a
sand schooner, whose skipper, in reply to our hail,
asking when it was ebb, said it was ebbing then. We
concluded, therefore, although the wind was dead ahead,
and very strong, to try to beat back, and followed the
schooner down.
It was exciting work; as the banks of the Severn are
quite high, the puffs from the strong southeast wind out
of the gullies were vicious, and the boards were of
course very short; sometimes we simply held the head
sheets around the cleats. After six miles of this sort of
thing we shot the draw of the railway bridge, having to
luff as we did so. It then seemed that we made very poor
headway for a fair tide.
The next draw works so hard that the men do not open
it all the way if they can entice the unwary seaman into
trying to dodge through. With the strong wind and little
headway, our friend the sand schooner was seduced into
trying before the draw was properly open, and luffing
hard up he shot into the draw, but did not quite clear,
and tore away his port quarter davit and part of his rail
as he fouled the lee pier, but he got away. We were
following him so closely that we were inside the piers
leading into the draw before we saw that he was going to
foul, and in the effort to kill Mona's headway, to avoid
running into him if he should be held, we drifted against
the lee one. If we had not been told the tide was ebbing
we would have pushed back Mona and made another trial,
but, under the impression that we had a fair tide,
although a strong headwind, all hands pushed forward and
out of the draw. Just as we cleared the end I noticed
that the tide was still running in strong; it caught us,
and threw Mona across the end of the piling, where we
began to batter away at a heartbreaking rate. We soon
lost part of the cap of the rail and the spreader, and if
we had not had out two large cork gangway fenders we
would have lost a lot more.
The sea was so bad we could not stand on deck as she
thumped, and as some of the bridge timbers were rather
rotten, there was soon a litter of kindling wood all over
the deck. With sails let go by the run, and halyards in
every sort of tangle, we looked a complete wreck, and if
we had not soon got out the sixty-five pound kedge and
the forty fathom of cable, I have no doubt we would soon
have been pretty well broken up. Although there an hour,
Mona never started a seam, but we lost most of our white
paint. With the kedge we hauled off as far as we thought
safe, and then dropped the large anchor and chain; as ill
luck would have it this had fouled, although we were as
careful as possible, and when the kedge came in we again
drifted back against the bridge.
By this time we had plenty of spectators, and there
happened along in a buggy one of the Naval Academy
professors, who told us to set inverted ensign at
half-mast, saying that one of the powerful Academy
launches would come over and help us off. After
enthusiastic thanks on our part he drove over towards
Annapolis, stating he would send over a launch at once if
one had not already started by the time he arrived. Our
ensign at half-mast stood out like a tin one until
sundown, but no launch came. It was the first time in
eighteen years of boat sailing it had ever done so over
any boat of mine, and I was delighted to haul it down
when, at a second trial, with the help of the bridge
tender and two other men, we got the kedge out and it
held, and we were soon riding clear.
But we were still in a very dangerous position, the
strong southeast wind was getting harder, and although we
had both anchors down, we might drag the hundred and
fifty feet between us and the bridge at any moment, and
in the night that would have ended the boat, stout as she
was, for we would have been too shorthanded to do
anything to save her; so about eight o'clock, when the
tide had turned, with the help of two bridge tenders, we
got in large anchor, set the jib in stops, then the
mainsail, and by a lucky sheer went on our way rejoicing.
It was dark and blowing a summer gale, so we were glad to
have the two extra hands as we beat down past the point
and around into the harbor. The sea was high and hollow,
but the boat behaved splendidly, and under the small sail
plan was comfortable and worked to perfection.
All next day it blew a gale. Heller, of Eastport, made
us a new spreader and repaired about ten feet of rail
very successfully. We took advantage of the delay to have
a new baby-jibtopsail made, and photographed,
provisioned, and antiquarianized to our hearts' content.
After sundown we noticed the Eastport lifeboat putting
out, and soon discovered that a bay boat of about forty
feet, capsized, was washing in from the Roads. The
lifeboat picked up the men, and setting her stumpy little
sails, made a line fast to the wreck and towed it into
the harbor. That night the harbor was crowded with
bugeyes. We had all been putting out chain in the extra
hard gusts of the afternoon, and it looked so wicked, and
there were such a lot of boats to windward of us, and
such a hard seawall at the Academy grounds behind us,
that we were delighted when, about midnight, a heavy cold
squall came out of the northwest and made us the weather
boat and under a good lee.
The wind changed with that squall and blew almost just
as hard all day Friday from the northwest, but the day
was cool and cloudless, so we had a delightful rest. The
Flirt, little cat yawl, belonging to a friend, put
out, southbound; she had tried it the morning before, but
came back in a hurry, looking half-drowned.
BEFORE THE MAST, MONA.
QUARTERDECK, MONA.
By Saturday the wind had gone down, but still from
northwest. We were up at daybreak, and soon making a
short cut across the shoals from the lighthouse to
Hackett's Point, having cantaloupes and coffee meanwhile.
We were soon up to Sandy Point, and getting from under
the lee, began to bowl along; cooking was hard work, and
the boy came aft and said he would like to borrow the
chafing dishes, as he thought he could prop them up to
leeward; the Primus stove being to port and windward. One
of them capsized and he got a great scare. Just then the
wind suddenly died out, leaving us off Love Point Light,
the north end of Kent Island, marking the entrance to
Chester River on the Eastern Shore. With a feeble air we
worked in and down behind Love Point about two miles, and
anchored off Kent Landing, just south of the red
buoy.
Kent Island is one of the oldest settled parts of the
country, and on it are the ruins of the oldest church in
Maryland; the Episcopal St. Paul's. We found a man who
knew where the ruins were, and something about the
country in addition; he was an interesting old fellow,
had been a coast survey man, and in the old
Palinurus. I asked if he had been in her in
1883-1884 when the survey of the Thimble Islands was
made, and it turned out that he had. The Palinurus was a
wonderful old tub, looked half as wide as she was long,
and covered high with the greenest of old copper; I
wonder if she now exists?
Driving down the road that forms a spine for the farms
of the island -- there are only four that do not touch
the water -- we passed through the village of Kent
Island, where we photographed the shingled house, said to
be the oldest on the island, inhabited by one "Weston
Shoemaker Ash" a cobbler. About a mile to the southwest
we came to the site of the old church; a Druid-like grove
of ancient oaks on the shore of the Bay, at Broad Creek.
It had been burnt down, sad to relate, and nothing
remained but heaps of vitrified bricks; most of them had
been taken away to build the newer church up in the
village, and we plead guilty to further reducing the
number by bringing away a couple. After photographing we
drove back to the landing, passing on the way, a
speciality of the island, some enormous geese, which were
so large that, at first glance, they looked like
sheep.
IN THE CANAL BEHIND THE SEVEN SCHOONERS.
WATERMELON BOATS IN THE LOCK AT CHESAPEAKE CITY.
As we were back early with nothing to do we had an
"afternoon sail" in the Chester River; read on deck
before and after dinner, and went early to bed.
Just at four o'clock next morning we made sail by
moonlight, feeling very weird and spooky the while. As
soon as we were under way had coffee and rye bread; the
northwest wind meanwhile increasing and swinging, as it
had done the day before. We laid our course north
northwest from the light for buoy No.22, which we had
been absolutely unable to find the week before, and as
luck would have it, while we were at breakfast, the boy
almost ran over it. The run up was made in pretty fair
time, and we anchored off Court House Point, in the Elk
River, in time to receive company and have a swim before
dinner. Distance run, forty-six miles, as we went out of
our way up the Sassafras to Betterton, to inquire about a
cousin who was coming down in his launch.
Next morning we had a little excitement catching the
tow; the tug had picked up seven schooners and started
for Back Creek, she owing no intention of coming near us,
so we hurriedly set staysail and mizzen, awning still up,
and with the strong breeze managed to get alongside the
last schooner and get a line on board. In the canal we
made quite a procession, the tug taking us all right
through, and we found it more comfortable than mule
power. At the Delaware end we had headway enough to shoot
up to the head of the line, and managed to lock out with
the leaders, two fine schooners, one of which we dropped
and the other got away from us off Chester. Arrived at
the club house at eight in the evening: pretty good time
for a little boat.
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© 2000 Craig
O'Donnell, editor &
general factotum.
May not be reproduced without my permission. Go scan
your own damn article.