Victoria Park, again, has a feast of nauticalities now and then for boys who love boats, when the Model Yacht Club sails its liliputian squadron for a half-crown cup.
The competing yachts first lie on the green grass for inspection. They are made in “off hours” by working men, who sail as well as build them. Wife or a school-girl daughter has sewed the sails, and the paint on the hull is gorgeous. Crowds of all classes and ages are at the starting-post, and when the pistol fires the cheers begin. Each favourite in the fleet has its admirers, who run alongside, and the Secretary alone has a grave face, as of a man on important duty. Who can say what sailors’ seedlings may be watered in that pond, and to grow up in manhood afterwards as hearts of oak?
And if a boy is too young, or lazy, or clumsy-fingered to make a boat for himself, let him go along Fleet Street till he comes to the spot where he can turn his back upon St. Dunstan’s church. Depend upon it he will cross over to the Model Dockyard there, and after buttoning his jacket over his watch-chain, and a good shove down to his pocket-handkerchief, if he has one, let him wriggle in by elbow and knees till he gets a good place among the crowd at the window.
Even when it is time to go home he will not have seen half the naval stores here, or the little sailors—from Cork—all waiting to be engaged; but if he buys the Illustrated Handibook inside from the civil shopman, to con at home, perhaps at his next visit he may be admitted up-stairs to a delicious treat, where he can gloat over the more hidden fleet of the future.
Some, perhaps many, people keep yachts who do not enjoy sailing. We have sometimes seen a yacht-owner who could not steer his own dingey. There are others whose chief anxiety when once on board is for their speedy arrival at the next port. To have the best yacht of the year is no sign of its owner being a good sailor. The horse that wins the Derby would most likely not be first if he carried his owner, and a man may have a good carriage who cannot himself “handle the ribbons.”
It is no discredit to anybody that he is not able to ride a race, or steer a schooner, or drive a drag; but it is well to remember more than we do whose is the skill that wins in each of these exercises.
At Cowes one perceives very soon that a good deal of yachtomania is fed upon the good meat and drink afloat, and balls and promenades ashore, and the pomp and bustle of getting from one to the other, not to forget the brass buttons which fasten more vulgar minds to some Clubs.
Leaving aside all these in peace, provided they play with the thing as they have a right to do, and as openly as now, so that none can mistake them, we have still to admire a splendid set of fellows, yes, and of women too, who really love the sea. We know a hardy canoeist who said he would not marry anybody unless she could “pull bow oar,” and it certainly is an addition to the family hearth when the tender help-meet can “mind her luff.”
In the regatta week the tide of a congregation coming out of the pretty church at Cowes is thoroughly aquatic. Fine stalwart men with handsome faces, girls with chignons as big as a topsail bunt, yacht skippers of bronze hue and anxious eye, well fed sailors with cerulean Jerseys, children with hat ribbons and neckties labelled with yacht names. There were 150 yachts on the water here, and the Rob Roy anchored close to the Hotel, from which the sight was magnificent at night, when each mast-light was hung, and the whole made a brilliant crescent reflected in calm sea, while excellent music played softly on shore, and at each half-hour the bell of every vessel tolled the time, the Rob Roy adding her note to the jingle by so many thumps on an iron pot.
Near the yawl was a strange little cutter of five tons, as remarkable for the number of people on board it as mine was for having so few. There was the grey-haired hearty papa, and when we had noticed him taking observations with a sextant, we knew he was “a character.” Then there was his active son, and a younger brother, and a sister in bright red, and a sailor boy. They looked even more numerous, because they kept for ever moving out of sight, and then appearing in new costume, under and above the awning, which like a large umbrella, was spread on their boom.