A VERY OLD GIRL
Robert Barrie
THE SEA GIPSY
- There's a schooner in the offing,
- With her topsails shot with fire,
- And my heart has gone aboard her
- For the Islands of Desire.
-- Richard Hovey
-
AFTER selling Liris it wasn't long before I
wrote to the brokers asking for lists, and oddly enough
the first description which I picked up out of the first
batch received was of the old schooner Azalea. I
had cruised and courted on her eighteen years ago when
she belonged to my wife's father, so I threw the paper
across the breakfast table and said I'd buy her for the
sake of old times.
She is a fine, little centerboard schooner of most
useful type, of the kind of which we should have more;
built like a frigate in 1857, by D.J. Lawlor, at Chelsea,
Massachusetts, almost entirely of white oak, which is
apparently as white today as when put together -- in
fact, a fine example of what could be done in the olden
days. Her lines are particularly easy and graceful, and
it is not surprising that she has a long string of
prizes, such as any modern freak might well envy, to her
credit; many won in the days when she was the famous
flagship of J. Malcolm Forbes, Commodore of the Eastern
Yacht Club -- "first prize in first class" as an
inscription dated 1873 on her rather handsome binnacle
puts it.
Recently, in an interesting article in The
Rudder, Mr. Winfield M. Thompson told the history of
Azalea and her sister ship Edith. Apparently, they
were the first twin yachts built, in this country at
least. Edith was the first constructed of iron and the
first to carry the New York Yacht Club burgee across the
Line, when, in 1858, she made the voyage from Boston to
Montevideo in forty-eight days, part of the time under
jury rig. As an instance of the hardiness of the men and
the ability of the boats of those days, it is well worth
noting that Edith made this voyage with three hands all
told, and that with the same number Azalea during the
Civil War went from New Bedford, Massachusetts, to
Beaufort, North Carolina, in five days. Mr. Forbes's
summer home was on the Island of Naushon, and Mr.
Thompson states that Azalea was used as a family carryall
by Mr. Forbes in those days, that she made the passage of
Buzzard's Bay in all kinds of weather and never failed in
the roughest; one trip, at least, she had a famous
passenger, Ralph Waldo Emerson, who was seasick and
woebegone.
About 1887, when my father-in-law, Mr. Blunt, bought
her from the Forbes' there were at that time about half a
dozen vessels in the Forbes fleet at Woods Hole, and
steam had infested it. When taken to Larchmont the little
vessel was a most consistent and persistent winner in
races of that club and of the New York Yacht Club, and
some good prizes resulted. When sold to J. Clinch Smith
he had a lead keel put on her, but I think it was a
mistake. She later passed to the wilds of Raritan Bay for
awhile, and while there I bought her. She could slip
along well enough, but the particularly strong point of
such a craft is her usefulness. With seventy-three feet
over all, sixty-one feet waterline, eighteen feet beam,
and five feet five draft, her accommodations are
surprisingly liberal; a large cockpit gives comfortable
space for four wicker chairs. The saloon, in mahogany, is
fifteen by eighteen feet, and contains four extra large
sofa berths, with very thick cushions, which make up into
a bed at night. An extension table seats seven more or
less comfortably. There are ample lockers for glassware
and table linen. A large reversible skylight and ports
make the saloon cool and well ventilated at all
times.
AZALEA IN THE THIMBLE ISLANDS, 1903
AZALEA OFF PLUM GUT, STREET STEERING
On starboard side are two connecting staterooms, each
nine by seven feet, and toilet room forward. On port side
is another stateroom of the same dimension. These three
staterooms and toilet room are finished in white enamel
and mahogany; washstands with running water and outboard
waste pipes, and each has mirror and ample drawers and
lockers, quite equal in comfort to the average steamship
stateroom. All are well ventilated by reversible
skylights and ports.
On port side forward of stateroom is large galley,
nine by twelve feet, fully fitted with every necessity.
The refrigerator holds seven hundred pounds of ice,
connected with a large cold storage space for fresh
vegetables, which is very useful. The forecastle is
fifteen feet long, with four cot berths. Three large
tanks hold an ample supply of water.
The Illustrated Sporting News, in an article,
correct in some particulars, devoted to "the oldest yacht
in America," fired a broadside about her in which it
said:
"She is a perfect example of a schooner yacht
of the days when we first gained the leading position
in international yachting contests, and showed the
world that Uncle Sam was as canny a sportsman as John
Bull or any other tried veteran. The two splendid cup
defenders, Mayflower and Puritan, were
modeled on almost the exact lines of the Azalea, and
she is a fine specimen of what enduring results could
be obtained in the days when the building of wooden
yachts was in its prime; for the oak, which is the
principal wood used in her construction, is now as
white and sound as the day it was put together. . . .
During these years the Azalea has had but five owners,
and was for years the flagship and favorite yacht of
her first owner, Commodore Malcolm Forbes, of the
Eastern Yacht Club. Despite the fact that he possessed
at least six other boats at the same time, Mr. Forbes
was devoted to this dainty boat . . . the Azalea
continued her remarkable prizewinning career, which
has been the longest and most successful of any yacht
in this country, with the possible exception of the
America. The latter, however, has not always
been used as a yacht, but at various times as a
trader, blockade runner, and for Government purposes.
The Azalea, on the other hand, has seen continuous
service as a yacht, pure and simple, and sports the
oldest American register number, 1911. She is a
remarkable craft in many ways, being almost twice as
commodious as the same size yacht of modern type, and
is so perfectly balanced that she can perform the
unusual feat of steering herself, without lashing the
wheel, for an hour at a stretch."
I never could get her to go alone without a becket on
the wheel, but be that as it may, she is certainly an
example of what honest building should be, and a notable
specimen of a type in the evolution of which this country
has been particularly successful. Considering her
accommodations and date of launching, one may well ask if
naval architecture has made any great advance in the
direction of cruising vessels.
During the summer of 1903 we spent a month on her in
the Sound and won four firsts in four starts in the club
runs of the Corinthian Yacht Club (of Philadelphia), and
it seemed ridiculous that this little packet, almost
fifty years old, should make a thirty-six mile run one
day during the club cruise, in a very strong northwest
wind, in only one minute more elapsed time than did a new
fifty-foot waterline Herreshoff cutter not much over
fifty days old. Of course, if it had been a beat the
story would have been different, but as in cruising one
generally waits for a run, the difference for a cruiser
is not marked.
Nothing of any special interest happened that year,
except that we got a dusting on the way to Newport from
New London on a day when the Block Island steamer had one
of her paddles smashed, and the only thing we saw out was
a cup aspirant under short sail; we had a heavy gybe
after rounding Point Judith, the old Azalea stood on end
off the lightship until she put cocked-up bowsprit under
and the deck sloped away forward like the roof of a barn.
Passing by Beaver Tail, where the seas began to bottle
up, was even worse, and we were glad to anchor off
Jamestown. Two of us were at the wheel and had all we
could do to keep her from broaching to.
Next year we had an amusing time when five of us,
without any paid hand aboard, spent five days on her in
early September. I had had a new suit of sails made, and
with a view to shorthanded work had ordered a
sharp-headed mainsail, and it was just the thing for such
a lark. She was a little-[?]-headed in light
airs, but pointed up very well when it breezed; and it
gave us a feeling of comfort and security that we would
not have had with a big mainsail.
Inspired no doubt by Bancroft, Roecap, of the
Public Ledger, who happened to be at the club when
we sailed, with a laudable desire to make a "good
yachting story" of the affair, in the effort to make it
impressive, called us "amateurs of wealth and position in
the social world," and expressed admiration that they
should "cook their own meals, look after their own
staterooms, and take turns at watch," and wound up by
adding that while we were all competent to handle the
vessel that
"there is not the same degree of certainty
about the culinary department. Accustomed to be waited
on by servants and rarely having explored the inner
recesses of the kitchen there is some little curiosity
to know which can cook the best meal, and it is
understood each will be afforded a chance to display
his ability as chef."
My brother George, as cook, naturally should come
first on the ship's papers; C. Barton Keen, as consulting
navigator and specialist for Delaware Bay, next; Seymour
Runk, H.L. Street, and I were their willing slaves.
Leaving the club anchorage at Essington at five o'clock
after waiting through a long flood tide all of a calm
Thursday afternoon, we worked down ten miles against
light airs, and finally became tired of it and anchored
for the night to wake and find a drizzly morning and a
few hours foul tide again, but managed to make Salem Cove
through baffling airs. Here we anchored and had a swim,
lunch, and siesta until a little southeasterly breeze
with a sniff of salt in it came up, and we had a pleasant
beat down. Dinner, of course, came when we were going
around the elbow below Reedy Island, and the poor lone
man at the wheel, distracted by the many dredgers, buoys,
and the sight of the roast beef, had a hard time of it.
It then freshened up for awhile, and, with the strong ebb
under us, we had a brisk sail until about ten o'clock
when flood beginning, we made over toward the western
shore to get out of the traffic and anchored. As it was
an exposed position we concluded to have an anchor watch,
hour apiece, and the lucky drawer of slip number one,
settled himself in an armchair in the cockpit with a rug
about him. I am pretty certain I dozed all of my hour
when it came my turn.
AZALEA: OFF SHIP JOHN LIGHT
Runk • Street • Jorge • Keen
AZALEA: OFF MORRIS COVE, THE COOK IN THE HAMMOCK.
AZALEA, 1904, WITH SHARP-HEADED MAINSAIL.
BEHIND THE BREAKWATER:
KEEN ON THE LOOKOUT FOR A BREEZE.
Next morning, thickest sort of fog. Got under way in
the light southerly breeze, horn going, and the navigator
did some wonderful work making channel buoys; no doubt
all flukes. We had a close shave with a tug towing a
lumber brigantine that brought us all to our feet,
probably at first to look for life preservers or loose
spars, and afterward to admire the effect. It turned out
a nice afternoon, so much so that great folk like the
cook and the navigator could have siestas in a hammock
slung under the fore boom. Off Brandywine Shoal prepared
for a threatened squall, which, however, petered out and
left us with baffling airs, ahead whichever way we
headed, and finally, late in the evening, we got near the
breakwater, but could not quite make it as tide headed
us, so we again worked in toward the western shore and
anchored near a buoy which we afterward learned marked a
dangerous wreck. The cook gnashed his teeth, but had to
take an hour at anchor watch just the same as the rest of
us.
Next morning, Sunday, was a beautiful one. We worked
into the old breakwater the back way; anchored close to
the reporting station, had a swim, went ashore and
inspected the station, and about eleven o'clock put out
again, and with a nice northeasterly breeze had a
spanking sail of a close reach of ten miles, which
brought us near to Cape May Point. We worked up toward
Brandywine Shoal about lunch time, and as it began to
cloud over in the afternoon, and the novelty of anchor
watch had worn off we began to crave for a harbor. The
navigator urged Maurice River, and although on the chart
the water seemed to me very scarce, he made a brilliant
job of it and brought us to just inside the entrance
opposite the Gut. Sat on deck after dinner, and, strange
to say, the mosquitoes were not so bad as I expected. As
we had not been bothered by any since the start we could
hardly complain.
Next morning someone announced a wonderful sunrise and
we all turned out wrapped in blankets, for it was frosty.
While we were thus grouped in the cockpit, along came the
Albatross, steam yacht, down the river, and we
saw, much to our surprise, the handsome forms of W.
Ellison, Esq. and party, fully dressed, waving to us from
the bridge. (Some people go to bed awfully late). And
then we were treated to a series of pretty pictures as
the oyster fleet, of about a hundred little schooners and
sloops, came single file down the river after their
Sunday at home; most of them taking the short cut through
the Gut, all moving silently with their sails black
against the golden sunrise. As they passed the lighthouse
they scattered to the south and west, their sails
whitening as they left us. When we came out the horizon
was pretty well covered with them. The promised rain did
not materialize, on the contrary, we had a bright sunny
morning. We breakfasted as we slipped along to Egg Island
Light, and after that we put on jib topsail and main
topmast staysail and slipped up the eastern shore very
nicely for awhile, but finally lost our breeze and met
the ebb, so had to anchor for a long while off Ship John
Light, and again lunched and loafed. Then we got it light
from the northeast again and beat all afternoon and
evening until bedtime, when we anchored close to Jersey
below Deep Water Point, just below Wilmington. It breezed
up from the northwest during the night and we were
wakened by the racket and turned out just at daybreak
again, soon made sail, breakfasted on the way up to the
club and topped off an enjoyable little cruise by making
a fine luff up and shoot into the little club basin;
dropping the kedge over the stern, snubbing her as we
entered, and so, much to the mystification of the dear
old secretary, avoiding any smash up.
In 1903, three of us, with a Jap in the galley, took
her to the Chesapeake, and one morning in a fresh breeze
pried her open near the foot of the foremast, so that we
had to put into Betterton and get a bucket brigade from
shore to keep her afloat until a carpenter found where
big, long whiskers of oakum were waving from a seam. The
whiskers were driven back and a bit of plank nailed over
them, and we went on our way to Annapolis. The episode of
the leak was rather comical; imagine our surprise when
one of us went below and found the Jap bailing out the
galley -- taking the flood as a matter of course and
gallantly pouring water from the floor into the galley
sink -- and not a word to us on deck. He was a gamy
fellow, an awfully good cook, and very popular on account
of his good humor, when a party afterward spent
Commencement week with us on board at Annapolis.
I later loaned and then sold Azalea to Keen (strange
to say we are still friends), and he sailed her to
Longport on the Jersey coast and, mirabile dictu back
again. Azalea still floats and is likely to for a long
while, for there is an awful lot of wood in her, so much,
indeed, that I think she should be bought and sold at
cord rates. But it is not fair to make fun of the good
old vessel; her binnacle standing in my hall reminds me
of many happy days on her, and with proper care she
should be good for many more to some happy
owner.
..
© 2000 Craig
O'Donnell, editor &
general factotum.
May not be reproduced without my permission. Go scan
your own damn article.