October 22nd. Comes again beautiful with again that fresh breeze at E. S. E. We are both feeling effects of our hard preparatory work and strenuous days following, and so it is 10 o’clock before we are half down the river. Once out and away, we begin to bruise water in great shape. Finally hove to and rigged spinnaker in spite of quite a rolling sea. I hoisted it and with a cheer we broke it out to as fair and pretty a breeze as ever christened a new sail. And how we legged it then and when tide turned some more. For seven hours we never started sheets or halliards. Warmed by the kindest of suns, pulled by spinnaker and mainsail, pushed by whitecapped, sparkling waves and hurried by a sweeping tide, we ran by the beautiful Connecticut shores and drove into New Haven 50 miles from our start at 7 p.m. We were well tired, but we had covered as much ground in nine hours as had taken a week till then. We snugged up and sat down to two great bowls of tomato clam bisque which I had been at work on. Oh, it was good and we tucked a lot of it away and then rolled into our bunks for good long sleep, but did we get it? Nit.
October 23rd. Starts at 1 a.m. for mine and about 2 a.m. for Henry. Tomato clam bisques are not good in bulk for tired stomachs. Least said about this day the better. Our spirits went as low as the barometer which dropped 7/10 inch for a nasty S. E. gale which drove in a sea that kept us rolling all day at our anchor. Henry recovered promptly, but yours truly was in his bunk all day. I got lots of sleep, however, which I knew just what to do with. Night came with a storm and rain and roll and pitch, but I was better and slept well. For three miserable days we lay rolling scuppers to while the heavy southeaster drove the rain swishing across decks. My eyes gave out completely, and I spent most of my time clinging to my transom and renewing bandages.
October 26th. Up at 4 a.m. and after a “Jolly boy” which consists of a fried ship’s bread, and a mug of cocoa, we up anchor and started. No wind, but clearing skies. The beautiful hunter’s moon in the west and a glorious red sun popping out of the sea in the east. We took a strong westerly breeze outside breakwater and thought we were in for a good smash to windward. It soon all gave out and for the whole day we just worked flukes along the shore and anchored at 4 p.m. behind the Stratford breakwater with only a dozen little miles to our credit. We saw more ducks than I ever saw before. Literally by the thousand and by the acre. I was too afraid of game wardens to try the shotgun, but Helen Keller, the name we give to the 22 cal. with silencer, whispered close to a number but failed to touch meat. There were coot, white wings, whistlers, shell drake, skunk heads, and thousands of black duck. Night came beautifully. Calm and clear. The eye better and with a patch and blue glasses I was fairly comfortable.
October 27th. Turned out at 4 and under way at 4:30 in cold, snappy morning with fresh northerly breeze and Henry mighty glad to wrap my knit scarf round his neck. Caught the tide just at the turn and away we went with that glorious moon to the west and the old crimson sun popping up behind us. Eye turns out better, and I am less anxious about it. Think too much Pond’s Extract with its alcohol made much of the trouble. Alcohol has but one fit place and that internal. With started sheets we did bruise the water unmercifully hour after hour. The breeze freshened all the time and we were soon carting more canvas than was prudent so ran in under lee of a point and doused sail for a single reef. Here I distinguished myself by tying in two second reef points and tearing two nice holes in my new sail when we hoisted. Age will tell. Away again, and Henry shot a crippled coot which we got. At this time the chief engineer reported fire in the hold. The captain returned answer that he didn’t care a ... how much was in the hold if there was enough in the stove for breakfast so we let her burn. Sheet of asbestos not enough under stove and wood beneath was charring. Officers allayed the fears of the passengers, and crew were employed in ordinary ship’s duties which prevented panic. Off Stamford a Sunday fishing party of five men in a rowboat was sighted being blown out into the Sound. We responded to their frantic waves of distress. Made a sporting pickup and towed them in under the land to calm water. Then off and away again. The Sound narrowing up. Execution Rock in sight. Traffic increasing. Passed Execution Rock at noon, and entered the beginning of East River and caught the Western Hell Gate tide all right. Here the wind left us and we shook out reef and made slow going to the Gate where we boiled through on the rushing tide.
Hardly passed the Gate when all wind failed. We lost steerage way and being caught by a swirling back eddy went head on plump into a barge alongside the dock. Then we waltzed around a few times, took a little puff of wind and plumped bang into the barge again. Broke ends off our fish poles and smashed our fish grain pole, and as we were preparing for another dive at the barge and the boat completely out of control, I ordered Henry into the launch and with mother’s helper away we went fluke-o down the river. Henry touched the high places when the ferry boats kicked up the seas, but he stuck in and the little bug never missed a turn. So to Ellis Is. where Henry came on board, and as night shut down we found our way into the Erie Basin and tied up snug and quiet behind the big steam yacht Aphrodite. It was a long day well put in. I don’t think I ever had twelve hours of fair tide before. We made 60 statute, and about 54 nautical miles and that’s some going for a 24-foot boat. Scotty, who has been pretty peevish during the last few days, began picking up to-day, and shows signs of being a sailor after all. If Henry had any mind, he would make a dandy, for his appetite is good. My eye stood the long day well, and I turned in feeling that it was distinctly on the mend.
October 28th. Found us all snug in Erie Basin with warm sun to cheer the cockles of our hearts. I devoted the whole day to patching my torn sail. I took lots of time and care and hope to look at the two patches with pleasure for months to come. Henry took down the stove and put in more asbestos and made an air space with hope of averting another holocaust. Fred Hussey called at 4 p.m. and took Henry to Orange for the night and Scotty and I were left to keep ship alone. Finally I left Scotty and made my way up town for a good dinner. Back to the boat mighty early, for the surroundings of Erie Basin are not conducive of late saunterings. I bet they gave it the name Erie after nightfall. Great stretches of black water half covering blacker stretches of mud. A lonely, unlighted road leads across made land and marsh. Blast furnaces flare up unexpectedly. Trip-hammers pound on iron. Dogs follow and snarl at your heels. Hound’s Ditch, London, must have been like it. No, I don’t fancy the Erie Basin at night where the electric cars stop en route while driver and conductor get a drink in the neighboring bar and light up their cigarettes. Scotty greeted me on my return and was soon muzzling into some chicken hash which I brought back from my dinner. I have to order my meals according to what I think Scotty wants and not at all as I feel appetite for. When waiter isn’t looking I scoop a lot into a piece of paper and jam it into my pocket.
From October 28th to November 1st we lay in Erie Basin enjoying fine weather, and occupied every minute in fitting ship and making ready for the days and weeks to come. There is a raft of things to be done to insure comfortable living on a small boat, and it is always difficult to stick to completion of essentials first. I want to write a book and call it the “Magnification of the Non-essential.” I wonder if I thought that title up myself or cribbed it somewhere. Henry worked hard and well, is making a good shipmate and seems to have a sailor’s heart in him. When we go to town from here we pass the India Docks where Henry’s grandfather Morgan fitted out his clipper ships for the adventures of the sea.
November 1st. Comes cloudy with light rain. Wind S. E. and sharply falling glass. Weather has been too kind to kick at a little change. Up early and leave the nasty, slimy Erie Basin at 8 o’clock. The launch is a sight. All grease brown. Head tide but strong whole sail breeze and we made good time on port tack, hugging the Brooklyn shore as far as the Narrows. Here the wind hauled due south, and we made a stretch over to Staten Island, where I took a few chances and nicked the tide close to the beach for half a mile. Then the wind failed under the high land, and we stretched over to Long Is. again. Worked that shore hard and wind freshened but hauled S. W. right in our teeth. Wind kept coming. We beat through inside Fort Lafayette and were carrying plenty of canvas in quite a chop. Now what a comfortable boat this is. Here we were with rail all awash and lunging to it, with heavy rain squalls driving over. I lighted my fire all warm and comfy below, and in an hour sat down to a roast of beef and baked potatoes. We crossed the river once more with wind increasing and rain sheeting down and the sea fearfully crooked. We had six miles dead to windward at entrance to Raritan Bay. We lugged the sail to her mighty hard for the sea was nasty enough and we had to crowd her to make any headway. All our poles and gear stayed on the davits, but we lost sight of them a good many times entirely, and wondered if we were to see them again. We finally rounded our buoy only to have the wind haul more by the west and dead ahead some more. We thrashed and pounded at it the whole afternoon with driving rain in our faces. Just before daylight left us there was a quick lull and down from northwest came an ugly looking squall. First driving rain, and then a vicious blast of wind. I was ready for it, and laid her to with dropped peak. It seemed likely to last so lowered sail and made a sporty single reef. Henry is a born sailor and acts like an old hand at the game. Couldn’t ask for better help. No sooner reefed than it fell calm and left us rolling scuppers to, etc. An hour or so of that, and the wind came smartly out of northwest which gave us a long and short leg up to Perth Amboy which we made with help of lead line at 9 o’clock. This was a hard day for we were at it thirteen hours and only covered 33 miles. Strong head tides all day.