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
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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.
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© 2000 Craig O'Donnell, editor & general factotum.
May not be reproduced without my permission. Go scan your own damn
article.